A post from a few years back. Thought I'd pull it out again.
Be forewarned: This post possibly contains material which may be unsuitable for younger viewers. Or something like that.
The other morning I was accidentally listening to a morning show on the radio. Normally, I would flip the station as fast as I could because I hate talk shows of any kind, tv or radio. But the topic was Manscaping and despite myself, I got interested.
Manscaping is a new term for me, although the instant I heard it, I knew what it was. Pretty self explanatory. The definition, anyway. The motivation behind it, not so much. While there is nothing wrong with trimming those nose hairs, do I really want my husband in the bathroom shaving his nether regions? After a long, hard day at work, do I want him to take his truck to the salon (and that's Salon, not saloon) and have his back waxed?
God, no. Why? Because I married a man, not a smooth skinned prepubescent boy. I like some chest hair on my men. A man's arms should not be smoother than mine and I shouldn't feel like I have to shave my legs every frickin' day because I'm worried that my husband's baby smooth legs will be scratched raw by my stubble.
No, no, no. That's just wrong. Wrong, I tell you. And as for his...well, you know...C'mon! I mean, really? Really? Why? One of the callers on the station stated "If you trim the bushes around the tree, the tree looks bigger." Hmmm... to me that's false advertising. Yes? Aren't there men out there that complain that the Wonder Bra is false advertising? Wouldn't that fall under the same category? As a subscriber to the "it's not the size of the tree, but how you use it" school of thought, personally, I really don't care. Are there people out there who really do? Apparently so.
Another caller worked in the medical field and had seen middle school boys shaving below the belt. As soon as that hair would come in, they were shaving it off. She said that it's attributed to the smooth bodied men in advertisements. Ooo la la.
But apparently, these kids see that and think that's what the girls want.
Which means that these 13-14 year old boys are already taking their superman underpants off in the presence of 13-14 year old girls. I don't know about you, but that scares the hell out of me. I didn't even know what a penis looked like when I was 13, let alone formed any opinion on what a boy's pubic hair, or lack there of, should look like. They're little kids, for goshsake.
And this works both ways...One woman called in to say that she was completely "bald down there."
She was into trends, she said, and had everything lasered off. What if the trends change? she was asked. Well, she thought of that she said, but "is that ever something that goes out of style?" As for me, I'll shave the bikini line for trips to the pool and I do the whole landing strip thing for special occasions but that's about it. I keep maintained, but there are other times when it's like the Congo down there, and I've never had any complaints. Maybe that's because he knows if he does complain, there will be no more safaris. Ever.
And besides, when I get the chance to take a shower, I barely have time to wash my hair, let alone go bushwhacking. Nor do I have the money to pay someone to do it for me.
And so, to sum up this eloquent post, I'll just say a little hair never hurt...
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
A year ago this month, I attended a funeral for a second cousin who had committed suicide. Even though I hadn’t seen him in years, witnessing the pain his death caused in those close to him was heartbreaking, because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love so violently.
Seven years ago today, my grandpa, “poppy”, shot himself in the head. (The story is here.) Even though so much time has passed, his death still causes a strange ache inside me. There is something about a suicide that never lets go. There is always the “why?” question that never will be answered. I think of that day and the days that immediately followed. I think of my family and the shock and the crushing pain. Awhile back, I found myself with a handful of sleeping pills, wondering how many it would take to put me to sleep. Forever. I’ve thought about my pistol; the gun safe combination and a trigger. So simple. So quick. And then I think of my kids. And I think of poppy. And I realize that I will never do it. Suicidal Ideation is one thing; the actual act is another. No one can know what goes on in another person’s head and we have no right to judge, but for me, I know that as deep and as dark as my depressions can get, I know I will never go that far. Why poppy did, I’ll never know.
I had a tattoo created in his memory; as a tribute and as a reminder of what life is. It is several very vibrant, very life-like poppies, an obvious reference to “Poppy”. The flower is also my birth month flower; it is the flower of remembrance and consolation. They are rendered in a deep red-orange color; representing passion, happiness, life, vitality, and survival. It’s in a very prominent location on my upper left arm. It’s not a tattoo I take lightly, and every time I look at it I’m reminded of everything that is important to me.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
I used to blog all the time. I’d post about 4 to 5 times a week. I had a loyal pack of followers. I was even making money doing it. Granted, it wasn’t millions, but it was a couple hundred. Enough to convince me that maybe blogging could be more than a vehicle which I simply was using to vent my frustrations. I was asked to review products and got some really cool stuff in return. Then about a year ago…what shall I say? I flipped out? Had a nervous breakdown? Became certifiably insane? One of those. Officially it was labeled bipolar, but what’s the difference?
So here I am. Kind of back. Tentatively. I don’t even remember what I used to write about that was interesting enough that I once had over 500 followers. What did I write about? I did write about pubic hair. I remember that one. And my kids, I’m sure they made an appearance. I work at home. They’re like my co-workers. The co-workers that don’t do anything but sit around and complain about the boss and the working conditions they’re subjected to. Did I write about my friends? Maybe. But then they read what I wrote and now I don’t have any more friends. I’ll have to think of something else. There has to be some fresh topics. I have a friend on facebook who makes some really good Whitney Houston jokes. Maybe I’ll have to enlist him.
This shall serve as my come back post. Again. I think I’ve come back many times. Short attention span. But this time I mean it. Until I don’t. But I’m enlisting suggestions…any pressing topics you think I should cover? The exciting details of my day to day life?
Inspire me. Pleeeasssse.