Posts tagged ‘Shopping’

I Look Mahvelous

Change is a necessity, and perhaps the only thing, besides God, that you can rely upon in this life. There will always be change. Sometimes, though, change is hard. Even when change is positive it can cause what’s best thought of as growing pains.

It has become a necessity that I change a habit that had become a fundamental part of my life. Necessity may be too strong of a word. To be truthful, I could have continued to indulge in my bad habit. I made the conscious decision not to do that anymore. I didn’t want to continue to live my life in the manner in which I was living. The natural consequences of my habit were no longer something I thought was a good trade off for whatever pleasures my habit was providing for me.

So, I made the choice to do what was necessary to overcome my habit. And, let me tell you, so far that has been no fucking picnic. I miss my addiction. I miss the ritual of it. I miss not being depressed all the time. I miss the illusion that I have it all together, and I don’t need help. I miss the illusion that my friends thought I had it all together. If you’re going to break an addiction like mine, then you have to ask for help. You have to humble yourself.

The hard part is not humbling yourself before God. Eh. God has known me for at least nearly forty years now. He knows I’m messed up. It’s the people. I had to tell friends. Surprise, surprise! I doubt that they actually thought that I had it all together, but not all of them had guessed at my dirty little secret. It’s not a secret anymore. I have to tell total strangers that I need help. Shocking, I know, but when you ask for help, you can get it. What is it the bible says? Ask and ye shall find. Not a single friend decided to flee at the breaking news that I wasn’t perfect.

I suspect even my coworkers know something is going on. There are days when I sit in my cubicle with a lump in my throat and tears permanently in my eyes, struggling to talk normally and not cry on the phone. I actually take smoke breaks now. One day during my now routine smoke break, my eyes were so swollen and bloodshot that a coworker asked me in earnest if I was drunk. Don’t I wish, but, no, I’m not drunk.

I have been so miserable that I’ve had to go to a counselor and relate a mere fraction of my woes in a session where I came very close to bawling like a newborn baby in need of a bottle for a solid hour. He wants me to go to a doctor and get happy pills. Thank God. Finally! Happy pills! I just lost the only thing that made life bearable and had my heart broken again, so happy pills might be just the trick. Apparently, crying jags first thing in the morning for no apparent reason and hearing the voice in your head insult yourself continuously are not normal behaviors. Who knew?

I have to have faith that eventually things will get better. And they will. They are. With the more time that goes by, the easier it is. And the great thing about change is that you have an excuse to get new hair to mark the occasion. New life, broken heart, new man, you name it. A fundamental change marks the need for new hair. Everyone knows this. I feel horrible, but I look good. And as Fernando says, “It is more important to look good than to feel good.” So, there is new hair, and there will be happy pills. Change is marvelous.

January 17, 2010 at 9:42 pm Leave a comment

I Pay a Vietnamese Man To Touch Me Every Couple Weeks

The title of today’s post sounds more concupiscent than it actually is. The real truth is that I tend to go to a nail salon on average every couple weeks. At the nail salon I get my nails done and get a pedicure. During my pedicure I get a nice leg and foot massage in a chair that also massages my back. Since my feet are very ticklish I have to work hard not to kick the poor pedicurist in the face. The luxury of being pampered like this does cost me a significant amount of money.

However, I think it’s money that’s completely well spent. In our modern day American culture we don’t get touched much. Human beings require touch. However, what do we do when we don’t get it? Adults in our culture get touched when they shake hands. Sometimes, with good friends, we give and receive hugs. The rest of our touch is confined to sexual relationships and physical altercations. If we aren’t having sex with anyone, then we’re almost totally confined to handshakes and brief hugs. I don’t recommend picking fights.

What I do recommend, beyond getting a pet to cuddle with and pet, is going to the nail salon or paying a massage therapist. Or maybe do both. Aside from getting nails that are pretty, I also get to effectively hold hands for about an hour or so with a very sweet Vietnamese man named Philip. Philip has been doing my nails for about three years now and I chatter away as he’s doing them, so he knows me better now than some of my former boyfriends. I gave him a friends and family discount to make a purchase from my employer and he gives me discounts sometimes now on my birthday and holidays. I even bought him a present once of a tiny golden fat Buddha statue.

Without touch, human babies tend to wither away and die. They never develop properly. Maybe the lack of touch even causes adults to become weary or even a little crazy. So, I would like to thank the good people of the nail salon for rubbing on me and holding my hands every once in awhile. Just imagine how crazy I’d be without them.

July 27, 2009 at 10:55 pm Leave a comment


Sunburn, photographed 2 days after a 5-hour su...

Image via Wikipedia

As I write this I am in the middle of the peeling stage. It’s still miserable but not as unbearable as it once was. The problem is that I have pale skin, the kind of pale skin that just cries out for eugenics. I tan eventually, but it almost requires one bad burn a summer to make that happen. I’m not Irish, but most of my ancestry is German, Dutch, and English, so when God and his angels were passing out the melanin in heaven, I didn’t get much. Maybe one day, with the help of genetic engineering, people like me can be born with parasols that shoot out of our vertebrae at the first contact of direct sunlight. Or maybe one day they’ll just give us all stars to wear and put us on cattle trucks bound for Siberia or Finland.

On the day of the tubing trip I had meant to get my own sunblock. I went to Wal-Mart the night before and got everything I meant to get except sunblock. Then the next morning I was running late and knew the other group was waiting for us, so when Katina said she had sunblock that was good enough for me. It was 40+ sunblock, so it wasn’t lightweight stuff. I had already been a little burned a few weeks prior at a weekend pool excursion, but it had heeled. I figured I might just be alright.

We put on our sunblock in line for the tubes, and this, for me, was the first mistake. Sunblock should be put on in advance of direct contact with sunlight. The directions on the bottle usually read something like a half an hour in advance of going into sunlight. For people like me, this should translate to one application the night before and then another one an hour before you get in the sun; do not shower in between applications.

The second problem was when the sunblock that Katina purchased stopped coming out of the bottle. All of us got one application. That was it. It was one of those new fangled spray bottles, and it was hard to get it to come out. Eventually it didn’t come out at all, no matter how hard we pressed down on the trigger.

The good thing about floating down the river on tubes is that most of the time I was not in a position to burn my back, which meant I still got to sleep like a baby. When we got back I went to Wal-Mart first thing and bought my very own tube of 50+ sunscreen, a stick of the same stuff for my face, a bottle of aloe vera lotion, and a jar of Noxzema. I knew the sunburn was pretty bad. People stared at me as I shopped. A little Hispanic baby with plenty of melanin of her own, actually stared and pointed like I was a new and heretofore unseen race with actual red skin. You just thought Native Americans were red.

I took my stuff home and was looking forward to lathering myself in several applications of Noxzema when it occurred to me that I needed to call my parents to wish them a Happy Anniversary. My mother answered. My father was napping. My mother is a nurse. I mentioned my plans. She said I couldn’t do that. No lotion until my skin actually stopped radiating heat. Otherwise, I’d be trapping the heat in and cooking the skin. It works along the same principle as those clear plastic roasting bags they sell for baking turkeys. This would make things worse. She recommended cold water, cold showers, and ice.

Katina called the next day, probably to see if I was alright, or if the heat had literally baked me clear through. She recommended white vinegar. So, I made a trip to HEB. I bought an empty mister bottle like the kind you are supposed to use to iron clothes. I got a large bottle of distilled white vinegar. I also bought a bag of ice and the cheapest styrofoam cooler I could find. This I saved for after I went to bed. Then I misted myself all evening with white vinegar, which, apparently, if you look it up on the internet is a legitimate form of sunburn relief. It has analgesic properties. It reduces swelling. So, basting myself like a turkey for the next couple days until my skin finally stopped radiating heat, did actually help. The weird thing is that I did actually smell like salad the next day. I don’t think other people noticed, but in the middle of the day I would suddenly sniff vinegar.

I’ve been sunburned before. Unfortunately, I’ve been sunburned many times before, but never quite like this. It actually reminds me of the way we cook lobsters by boiling them alive. It almost makes me think about not eating lobsters anymore out of solidarity. But lobsters are so good, with melted butter. And you know those cheese herb biscuits you can get at Red Lobster? Mmmmmmm. Yeah, unfortunately I’m low on principle at the moment. Does anyone want to go to Red Lobster this weekend? Call me.

July 3, 2009 at 5:10 pm Leave a comment

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