March 14th, 2010 | 17 Comments »

I was going through my old pictures because Loralee posted pictures of her various haircuts. Not one of them was particularly embarrassing. And that was just so wrong. I not only had embarrassing hair, but look at the clothes and shoes!

Nowadays, I have so many different looks and body changes that people seem to only recognize me when I speak. Think Marge Simpson’s older sisters. Yes. Like that.

But I do have strange looking pictures of when I was younger. I was a bit surprised to recall that I wore a few wigs back in the day. Who knew?

Age 16, almost 17. Daisies in hair for wedding of my father and mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She was 23. I’m pretty sure we had our hair done professionally for this event. But I wore this do in a less poufy way for quite a while.

This is mildly amusing OCD stepmother’s (MA OCD SM) signature hairstyle for others. Ringlets. It was my prom. Even the ringlets didn’t stop me from getting naked that night. I shudder with embarrassment at the dress. Check out the shoes.

Evidence of the ringlet-making. This would be Dizzee’s first wife the night before their wedding. Nobody looks happy here. Foreshadowing.

And this would be the result. See? MA OCD SM was all about the ringlets. And Dizzee’s bride was all about the boobies, cuz she was knocked up.

This would be me, with hair in rollers night before Dizzee’s wedding. Note how hard I was trying to appear sober and no fun. That’s because I was posing with my father. Totally wasted.

Self-styled hair. Note the prom shoes. Many years later. Hey, I have Sasquatch feet.

I thought I had uploaded the bedhead photo, but instead, I give you the having a poop photo. Any mother with a kid that young never gets to poop alone. Not all husbands document this, however. Especially when his wife is wearing a Superman t-shirt and leather clogs. Notice how he cleverly distracted me with a cute baby before ambushing me with the camera.

I had a fondness for wigs at one time. And apparently, for over plucking my eyebrows.

The wigs got beat up a little. It was fun to wear them drunk, like here.

One more wig and I’ll stop. This was the mighty afro, which Dances With Shrapnel (also in picture) loved. He said:”Oh, Mommy, I love your hair. It’s aaaallllll MESSY.” So cute. He was coming down with chicken pox there.

Then there’s the matching hair. His was real. Mine was a perm.

My 50th birthday. You’d think I would have Photoshopped out the red neck, but you would be so wrong. The hot flash queen. And? It’s close to the cut I had with the daisy hair at 16. Only less poufy.

My green streaks. I really like green streaks. This was taken last summer or the summer before that. I’m old and don’t remember stuff so well anymore.

Thanks, Loralee! That was kind of fun.

Posted in it's all about me
November 8th, 2009 | 16 Comments »

Most everybody in my hometown had nicknames, crazy nicknames like Cardboard, and Neva Nabber. They meant something in particular to the originator, but whether you knew the origin or not, the nicknames stuck.

The last time I visited there, my BFF from highschool took me with her to visit Neva Nabber,who had recently returned home to live.

During our catching up, Neva mentioned that her gay son lives in Salt Lake City. whereupon my recent research of FLDS sects kicked in, especially the old ways of dealing with sinners whose sins were too serious for the blood of Christ to atone for. So I figured a gay man in SLC was a target for Blood Atonement.

me: SLC? That’s an evil place for a gay man!

Neva: SLC is very cosmopolitan. Why do you say it’s evil?

me: Cause it’s full of those effing MORMONS!

Neva: Oh. Well, we’re a Mormon family.

me: frozen smile, cutting eyes wildly to BFF, who is trying very hard not to look at me.

me: changes subject, convo continues.

We had a mostly lovely visit. Neva was still the perky, fun-filled person she always was, and we left on good terms.

BFF and I get into the car, look at one another and totally lose it. Big, long gaspy breaths, tears streaming down the face. There may have been a little pee.

It’s good to know I still have the knack.

October 13th, 2009 | 21 Comments »

Okay, so it turns out I have pneumonia. Don’t worry. At least, I think it’s pneumonia, because of the symptoms, all pneumonia-like and all, but I snuck a peek at my xray, and about a quarter of my left lung showed a shadow. More like a pool of snot, but shadow works for the queasy.

Yet my doctor was all freaked out that I lost 25 pounds without trying, so he says if the xray doesn’t show cancer, we are going for a cat scan. WE??? Yeah, doc, get in that machine for me, because it fah-reeks me out.

I prefer the weight loss theory that Cat espouses, a tapeworm. She is all obsessed with the tapeworms, and when she discovered she didn’t actually have one, she had to foist it off on me. Makes perfect sense, lose 25 pounds, you have a tapeworm.

I am a big believer that knowledge is power, and I refuse to get my knickers in a twist until I am sure I have something to fret about. (Did you notice how I refrained from saying “panties”? Because, apparently,some internet folks really hate the word panties.)

Lately, and I apologize to my best bloggy friends for this, but I have been so ignoring my blog and only updating when I get a polite notice from BlogHer. It’s just that life has been interfering with the online stuff. But really, Twitter has been more absorbing to me lately.

I’m sorry, bloggy friends. I will try to do better after I resolve the health issues.

And all these thirty somethings saying “I’m old”? Old hurts. Physically. Don’t delude yourselves.

Posted in it's all about me
September 8th, 2009 | 20 Comments »

I may have mentioned that I brushed the dirt off the bathroom scales a while back and was surprised to discover that I had lost 25 pounds. You may have wondered “How the hell does that even happen?” to a woman who spends most of her days in pajamas. Because, clearly, elastic waistbands just beg for expansion of the waist. And really, who knows? Physio means more exercise, less pain=MUCH less wine to manage pain. Like none. Wine is strictly recreational now, as it should be.

So I got mildly giddy and got me some of those mid-rise jeans and a few tops to go with them, so I could have something non-elastic to wear outside the house on errands, and of late, on twitter meetups in my local area. Enough of the pajamas for me, yessir.

I was proud to be shopping and to forgo the purchase of pajamas, which has been my favourite article of clothing to buy. Working apparel. Business attire. Gotta look good on the phone, you know?

That plan pleased me.

Until.

I was in the kitchen in front of the fridge. This would be the kitchen with a bigass window, which was open to all the social goings on of the neighbours in the back yard. Can you see where this might be heading? No? I so suck at foreshadowing. Let me put you out of your misery.

My drawahs fell down to my ankles as I was standing there with my hands full of dinner ingredients. And my glorious, white bread, flat arse was exposed to all and sundry who were hanging out in the yard, or even possibly passing by on the sidewalk.

I mean, aren’t elastic waisted pajama bottoms supposed to be self-adjusting? I hadn’t given it much thought until the waistband FAIL.

The drawahs were stepped out of, laundered, and put aside with others I immediately drop tested. My awesomely warm polar fleece jammies with the periwinkle background and all the cute sleepy moons and stars on them. A goofy pair of red polar fleece with penguins. Warrior Woman agreed to give them a home. When she travels, her colleagues have these goofy pajama contests, and she thought these might qualify. She was really holding out for the jobbies with big honking frogs on a pink background, a pair that even makes me wince with the fugly.

So a few days ago, she accompanied me on my quest for polar fleece jammies THAT WOULD NOT FALL DOWN EXPOSING MY BARE ARSE. And lo, it was good, for I bought many pairs.

And I presented Warrior Woman with the freshly laundered fugly green frog jammies, because, oh, how she coveted them in the work fugly jammie competition.

I caught her hints for my green, red, and white HOHOHO jammies, but I’m holding out on those bad boys. They have the drawstring type waist. Totally adjustable.

Back away from the HOHOS, beetch.

August 19th, 2009 | 9 Comments »

Hi. Remember me? I almost don’t remember me myself. For those of you who have wondered about my references to Herman, I explain it all over at Kelley’s place.Code name: Teh Awesome. Because she is.

Long story short, a while back, I had severe problems with my arsehole, and it caused me a lot of discomfort. The always solicitous Krissa was very concerned. Why, I do not know. She’s caring that way. She loves her a good arsehole. Or a defiant one. Whaddoo I know? She’s great.

My first TMI Thursday post details the whole conversation to give my arsehole a name. And now that I think about it, how sad am I that I wouldn’t put it on my own blog?