I know I do.

But I do miss it.

Yes, I know that I’m loved; and being half of a pair of comfy old shoes should be enough. And usually it is.

But still, sometimes a girl (you may laugh heartily) just wants to feel pretty, and be romanced, like the good old days.

Keep that in mind as I explain…

Last night I brushed my hair.

I know, you’ll alert the media.

Actually that’s a line from one of my favorite movies, Arthur.

True, the brushing of my hair isn’t an everyday occurrence as my MIL so nicely pointed out last summer. And it’s not because I’m lazy.

It’s because I have such long, thick, curly hair.

It’s actually hard to get a brush all the way through it unless I want to REALLY brush out the curls. Then when I’m done brushing, my hair is neither straight nor curly. To be really straight I have to use a CHI iron and to be really curly it has to get wet again. Instead it’s in some Twilight Zoney place where confused hair lives. So usually I only brush it out just before I wash it, then hop right into the shower.

This time I’d brushed my hair out because I was going to color it (yes, I’m that vain); and it’s a lot easier to color my hair when it’s somewhat straighter rather than it’s naturally curly self.

I walked in to the den with my freshly invigorated scalp and confused hair. Doug said “God, what did you do? You look like a guy out of the 18th century.”

Be still my heart. With such sweet talk it was hard for me not to just jump him on the spot and have my way with him. Instead I suggested he just move to St. Louis and work for Hallmark.

“Just WTF does that mean? I inquired.

“You know, like the guy in The Princess Bride.”

This is what can happen when you’ve been with someone since forever.

You’re just so comfortable with someone that the words just comes tumbling out of your mouth before your brain can stop them saying “NOOOO!!”

Doug had one of those times apparently.

“I think you’re confused.” was all I said as I turned and left the room

As luck would have it we had to go out today before I could do my hair so I just pulled it up in a ponytail. I looked a lot like Pebbles Flintstone’s GMA ( minus the one shoulder fur dress of course). I kept thinking about Doug’s comment while we were out and as soon as we got back I looked up Cary Elwes and showed the photo to him.

“Is this what you meant?”

  “Oh no, that’s not what I meant.”

I felt relieved.

While pressing him for more info I had an epiphany…

So I went to Google images and pulled up another photo.

“Here come look at this photo. Is this what you meant?”

“THAT”S IT!” he said with great emotion, finally relieved that I understood him. It was almost a Heller Keller- Annie Sullivanish moment.

and what was he looking at you ask? ? Who did he think I looked so much like?

Here you go…  

Apparently with my curls temporarily gone I now bear a striking resemblance to Charlie Sheen in the Three Musketeers.

Thank God I finished the electrolysis.

So this afternoon the color goes on and when it’s done my curls will be back and all will be right with the world once again.

But for now, I must take your leave.

I have loins to gird and a sword to sharpen. And he has some major sweet talking to do.

Fare the well…

Well yesterday was my 2nd in a series of 3. When I first got there they took another series of photos, including one that showed all the UV damage from my years as a sun worshiper. They put the original snaps and the new ones side by side on the screen. I must admit, I did see improvement. Although no one is going to look at Doug and think he’s a dirty old man because he’s squiring about a 20-something, a trophy wife. (We saw a lot of those when we spent some time in Aspen a few years ago.) Ewwww….

And no one is questioning us yet when Doug goes to pay and asks for the senior discount for us. Well not yet anyway.

But I did see improvement.

Right after that I asked for the numbing cream that I heard about. A layer of the cream was applied to my entire face. I could feel it tingling which they said meant it was working. I sat and waited 30 minutes, looking through all their photo albums of “before and afters”. One entire page was deducted to a woman who’d had a chemical peel. They had a series of 6 photos. Photo two, three days post procedure, was brutal to look at. It looked like the worst sunburn ever. I can’t imagine enduring it. However three months later, I must admit she looked good, really good.

During that time I saw the Dr. enter the office. She came and said hello, looked at my photos, then disappeared. Which I thought was odd. The next thing I know I was escorted into the treatment room, given my tiny goggles, and told to lay back, they we ready to start. The Dr. was no where in sight. Finally I inquired as to her whereabouts.

“Oh, she only does the first session, to see how well you tolerate it. I do the rest.” I was told.

I found this a bit disconcerting. This was a laser being taken to my face after all. I had a quick, silent discussion with myself as to whether or not to proceed. But since all the reviews I’d read on Yelp about this place had been good I decided to proceed. The young woman assured me that she’d done hundreds of these without incident. I just hoped she hadn’t been taking orders at a drive-thru a week ago.

Then she told me she was going to the max setting for this treatment; about 30% more zap then my first treatment. Yippee!!

I laid back and waited.

I heard the click, saw the flash and yes, still felt the pain each time. However, even though the laser was set for 30% more, the pain level was just about the same as the first time. The numbing cream had helped thank God.

I tried to go to a happy place, but it never lasted very long. The zaps to the forehead weren’t too bad. But when they go around your mouth, it really gets your attention. And I’ve never ever smoked a cigarette, not one. (I thought of Doug while getting zapped there. I must admit, the thoughts weren’t nice.) Ladies, if you’re a smoking and are looking for another reason to stop, let me urge you to stop now if you want to save your face.

After approx. 100 zaps it was finally over. They’ll take a new set of photos in 3 weeks before my last treatment.

I watched an episode of Taboo last night. It’s a series produced by National Geographic. Last night’s segment was on beauty and the lengths to which some people would go to make themselves “beautiful”. One segment was on a young Russian woman, 5’2″ who spent $26K and 4 months in bed to have her legs lengthened- 1″. Just an inch!

They showed the actual surgery, the insertion of the steel rods, then the placement of the circular framework around her lower leg. Then the surgeon took a chisel and hammer and pounded on the bones in the her lower leg til they broke. They said it actually took 10 minutes. Thank God they only showed a minute of it. (It reminded me of Kathy Bates in Misery.)

It was excruciating to watch.

Then every day for 4 months the screws would be turned to pull the leg bones apart to make them grow longer while they mended, eventually making her 1″ taller.

But then I wondered if what I was doing was so very different from that young Russian woman with two broken legs. Just how far would you go to look better?

It had been a baaaad day.

The event we did yesterday we’ve done the last five years, averaging about $2200 each year.

Until yesterday.

We did a third of that.

Usually it’s so crowded that you can barely walk around near our booth. Not so yesterday. I was in one booth. Brett was in another about 15′ from me. At 1:30pm he gave me the “WTF” hands, to ask what was going on.

I had no explanation to give him, except the price of gas which is $2.69 a gallon.

The weather was fine.

It was hot of course. But it’s always hot at kid’s fest in San Antonio. That’s nothing new or unexpected.

Then someone told me that the U.S. military is all on half pay right now, due to budget concerns. That explained a lot. Next to tourism the biggest employer in the city is the military.

We’re going to be in San Antonio next weekend too. The booth fee is already paid. I fear we may face the same problems next weekend. I sure hope not. We need a good show- a really good show though or we soon may be relocating to an overpass. Of course we’ll have to build a fence around our shopping carts for the pack; but I guess you just do what you gotta do in life.

Now onto to hopefully happier news.

Tomorrow morning I’m going in for the first of a series of three IPL facials that I bought on Groupon last summer.

Yes, I’m that vain.

It’s the first thing, other than topical creams and home remedies that I’ve ever opted to try in an attempt to turn back time. I once whipped up a lotion whose main ingredient was the sweat of virgins.  It worked pretty well too; but it’s getting increasingly more difficult to find virgin sweat these days, and when you do it is crazy expensive.

The laser treatments are cheaper.

I used to be a sun worshipper back in the day. The darker the tan line, the better was my motto. I always reeked of cocoa butter.

I was young. And dumb.

And my skin is paying for it now.

As I understand it they take a photo of everyone before their first treatment- then again when they’re finished. I guess as a public service I should post them here. So I guess I will. Of course then the papparazzi will be all over me all the time, but such is the price of fame I suppose.

Doug took it as a sign from above that this was to be our “getting reacquainted” weekend. So yesterday he broke out the ginormous bottle of Lambrusco that was in the frig and the “romance” began.

Now for those of you who’ve been with me for awhile know, the month of February around Casa Eigler was stressful. All the pre-rodeo madness wrecked havoc on our relationship. We knew it was still rock solid underneath; but it was not a fun time around here. Then the month of March was the rodeo itself- an experience I’d only wish on my worst enemy. There were no thoughts of slap n’ tickle. The only thing I wanted was sleep and for time to magically be sped up so we could be finished with it as soon as possible.

And with Doug taking a fall just before the end of the rodeo and boogering up his shoulder, I’ve been keeping all things slap n’ tickle on the back burner, wanting to give his body as much time to mend as possible for pleasures of the flesh began in earnest.

His shoulder in fact is still bad. Bad to the point that I actually called one of the personal injury attorneys that advertise on TV here. Apparently though since Doug wasn’t involved in an 18 wheeler wreck his case isn’t big enough to be considered by Mr. Adler.  But I know he still needs an MRI. So my search continues.

Anyway, for once I have a kinda serious question that I’d really like an answer to.

If it’s been awhile since your last “romantic encounter” (how’s that for a euphemism?) with your significant other, do things feel a bit awkward, almost uneasy when things first get going or is this just my hang up?

Doug thinks it’s just me.

Is it just me? I can take the truth.

He isn’t angry about it or anything; but he is confused why just 5 minutes of kissing doesn’t have me all revved up like an Indy car just waiting for the green flag to go at full speed.

It works for him after all.

Being hormonally challenged these days certainly doesn’t help me.

And of course I don’t have the same body I used to, which actually does bother me (when I’m sans clothes at least).  Doug assures me that he loves my body now just like he did back in the day when I could bounce a dime off my rock hard abs.

You can stop laughing now. Quit spewing liquid all over your computer. I had hard abs; once upon a time long, long ago in a parallel universe. Now I’m not sure I could even find my abs with a GPS.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know for some of you all this is TMI.

And some of you may not want to answer the question I posed. But I really hope you do; because this is something that I’ve wondered about for a long time and this way I can get input from people all over.

So I guess that’s it for now. I hope everyone has a great weekend. I’ve gotta go.

Mario Andretti is waiting for me. :)

When I got home from the gym I was feeling virtuous. I’d made the first step, the hardest step and in fact planned to take a Zumba class Saturday morning at 10.

When we went to bed Friday night I had planned to spend some quality time with Doug before class the next morning. I even shaved my legs Friday night, the universal signal that slap n tickle would soon follow. It’s like the guy on the tarmac with those big lights waving the jets in.

Doug got up yesterday morning went to the hall bathroom for his morning ablutions, let the dogs out, and was coming back to bed with an agenda. While he was out of the room, I brushed my teeth and attempted to make myself fetching. Well as fetching as I could be upon first waking anyway. Now that my hair is long, it tends to just do whatever it wants to do. First thing in the morning I tend to bear a striking resemblance to to Medusa.

And just when things were beginning to get interesting, the phone rings. It’s 7:20am. Our kids would never call that early just to chat. So I surmised that someone must be in trouble.

So I drug my butt outta bed, away from a snuggle that was quickly morphing to more, crossed the room to where my phone was, picked it up and what did I hear?

“GET YO ASS OUTTA BED! GET UP! GET UP! WE’RE GOING TO THE GYM!

It was Evelyn. Shrieking at me.

OMG!

Talk about a mood killer.

And no matter what I said she would not be put off. She was a woman on a mission as she’s going on a cruise in 10 days and was coming to get me come Hell or high water. I told Doug to have his troops stand down and gave him a rain check. I laced up my shoes, went to the gym, did the treadmill and the machines and went  home. Lucky for me the Zumba class that I thought was going to be at 10am actually started at 11. So I had enough time to rest and recharge between the two workouts.

I was wrong.

By the time I got to class there were at least 50 people already there waiting for it to start. Knowing that I’d be bouncing about looking like a differently abled elephant in an Ace bandage since I’d never done it before, I wisely chose a spot at the back of the class, not wanting to draw undue attention to myself.

I was relieved when I looked around and saw people in varying levels of fitness. They were not all bodies beautiful. Of course the instructor was. She was a beautiful young Latina, a mere wisp who’s entire body was the size of my thigh. But looking at some of the others in class I felt extremely relieved. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as hard as I thought.

I was wrong.

There was no warm up; and the time between songs was less than 60 seconds. But technically it wasn’t exactly hard. I was actually able to kinda pick up on about 65% of the steps as they transitioned from one to another. It was just the pace, which was relentless.

Note to self: Wear two bras when going to Zumba next time.

Remember when I thought that I had enough time to rest between working out at 8am and doing Zumba at 11 am?

I was wrong about that too.

Sweet Jesus was I wrong. I lasted exactly 17 minutes, after which time my legs felt like they were made of lead. I could’ve gone on but thought I should stop lest risk needing a defibrillator which I thought just might put a damper on class.

Remember my wise decision to move to the back of the class as to not draw undue attention to myself? Was that a good decision?

Not so much.

As I turned to leave I realized that all during class I’d been directly in front of the ginormous floor to ceiling window that everyone on the treadmills and bikes faced. How did I not realize that before?  After my trip to the dentist earlier in the week however, somehow this didn’t surprise me at all. I guess it was just my week to be in the spotlight whether I wanted to be or not.  Well at least no one laughed in my face when I exited the class and walked by the treadmills.

I’m hoping to go through next week totally unnoticed. Wish me luck.

Isabelle Caro, French model, dead at 28 from anorexia. I looked at her photos. They made me sick. Apparently it is time once again for me to drag out my soapbox.

This subject makes me both incredibly sad and really angry. Apparently Isabelle had suffered with this for a number of years, at one time getting down to as little as 55 lbs. From what I can gather she was once told that in order to be model she had to lose weight-; and you can bet she wasn’t heavy to begin with. And as sometimes tragically happens in people, that statement flipped a switch in her brain that sent her down a hideous path to her all too young  death.

Over 20 years ago I now heard a teenage girl say in an interview with Phil Donahue “I did eat breakfast today. I had my Cheerio.” That was no joke. That’s what that girl said. At lunch she was going to “pig out” and have some celery.

I can’t begin to understand how the mind of an anorexic works. I think it would be a scary place indeed.

What makes me crazy is that so much pressure is brought to bear on young women by people in positions of authority in the modeling business and in Hollywood where being stick thin is often a requirement and rewarded.

The average woman is the U.S. is a size 12.

Is that really so God awful? Get the Hell over it people. If I could I’d take a switch to most of the clothing designers while screaming this question at them: Why are you making so many of the sample sizes so incredibly tiny, therefore putting unbelievable pressure on girls who want to become models?– and the clothes so BUTT UGLY to boot.

Do you need glasses, Lasik or just a swift kick? Perhaps all three?

Just who do you think is actually going to wear that shit? Not the vast majority of women in the world, that’s who. So why do you keep trying to cram it down our throats and make us feel less than beautiful because we can’t or won’t wear it. Things that look good on a size 0 are not going to look good on a woman size 12 or God forbid 18.

Perhaps they think every woman over a size 6 should have a warning system on her ass so when she backs up it beeps, like the garbage trucks do.

Do you think people really should shun a size 12 woman on the beach who is wearing a swimsuit? Should they they cover their children’s eyes so as not to let them see the hideous spectacle?

I’d love to be a size 12 again. I was at one time; but that was sometime last century. My wedding dress, which I never got to wear, was a size 8. I’d worked hard to get to down that size from a whopping size 14, and in the process lost half my boobs and many of my curves. I became “chicken chested”, all bony looking around my collarbone. It was not a good thing. I was not made to be that small, truly.

Should I lose some weight now? You bet. I’m not disputing that. I’m not saying that I would be a vision of beauty parading around on a beach in a bikini these days- far from it. But did you look at those pictures of Isabelle? Neither would she have been, prior to her death.

At her biggest, my mom wore at size 10.  But even when she was a size 10, she never starved herself to be that size. Some people are just genetically destined to be smaller. It’s like eye color. I’ve got a friend who’s never been bigger than a size 6 her whole life. And on top of it she eats like a lumberjack every meal, and never exercises.

I hate love her. No I do love her. But it is frustrating that she can eat anything, at anytime and never gain an ounce, when the rest of us suffer when we make bad choices. Almost everyone I know put on at least a few pounds over the holidays.

Not her, the bitch. But forgive me, I’m rambling…

I got so fired up about this topic this morning I read a lot about her and came across this: On “thinspiration” Internet forums yesterday there were a number of tributes glorifying the model’s anorexia problems. One blog placed a picture of a painfully thin looking Caro alongside the words “die young, stay pretty“.

How sad is that?

My soapbox is being put away now. Back to the funny manana.

Sometimes it seems like you just can’t win.

R U Hairy? is actually emblazoned on billboard along I-10 in Houston. It’s not subtle advertising. It’s more commando in-your face advertising. Yeah we’re talking to you, you poor hirsute SOB! Call us, we can help.

The thing is, if someone has the problem, they know it. Believe me. I was one of them. I mean I wasn’t stared at in public (well not for that anyway). I was never mistaken for a Yeti. But it was a problem to me. Doug, being the good guy he is, never said a thing. Although he did ask me occasionally what the secret word was.

For you young ones out there may not even know who the man with the mustache is, I will enlighten you. It’s Groucho Marx.

Actually my few problem hairs were never a problem for anyone else. It wasn’t like people really had to work at not staring at my mustache.

Although I’ve known a few poor unfortunate women where that was the case. Our old next door neighbor actually had a VanDyke. (I actually think she liked it. I mean really who can’t afford a pair of tweezers?)

I wasn’t given mustache wax by my secret Santa. Nevertheless, it really screwed with my self-esteem; and as I got older and didn’t always feel good about my body I really started to focus on my face and it bothered me more and more.

Yes, I am weak… and vain.. I have written about this before.

But wait…..I have good news!

I have graduated! I’ve been sprung from Masochist U and no longer have to go in to be plucked! There are Disney bluebirds actually circling my mailbox as I write this. My face is now as hairless as a baby’s backside (except for my eyebrows and lashes of course.)

Yesterday was my last visit to Mistress Bonnie.

With all the pain she inflicts it only seemed proper that she had a name that befitted her. All she was missing were the thigh high black boots. I never called her that to her face though. The woman had zero sense of humor- at least that I could ever detect in the many months I went to her. I did try to make a joke there, one time. But when she gave me that RCA dog head tilt and I knew my wit was wasted on her and never again tried to make her smile.

Of course paying someone to inflict that kind of pain on you is serious business I suppose. However, it would’ve been nice to be able to laugh there- at least occasionally.

I saw a young woman on the Today show who had electrolysis over her ENTIRE body she said. She became an electrolysis junkie. I cannot even fathom that unless one is truly a masochist. That shit hurts!.. And is expensive! But my chin is now forever smooth and my eyebrows have a nice, smooth arch. I’ll never again be mistaken for a female Andy Rooney.

I will no longer be out in public and be asked when Pirates of the Caribbean 4 will be coming out. No more one will come up to me and say “I really like your cough syrup!” And no more gigs for me as a look-alike for Billy in ZZ Top.

So my fame is over, but what’s done is done.

I think I’ll go moisturize my smooth chin.

Yesterday I spoke to friend in San Fransisco. I’ve known him for almost 30 years. I knew him before I met Doug. When I met Billy I had never known a gay person before. The Houston area 30 years ago wasn’t the most progressive and openly accepting of the gay lifestyle. I really didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if he’d open the door wearing a turban and dangly earrings or what. It’s amazing how idiotic your expectations can be. When he opened the door he was just a “regular” looking guy, no fake eyelashes or exaggerated movements. He was wearing a caftan, which on him didn’t seem altogether odd. It did seem odd though that he was introduced to me as “Wanda Lamont.”

I later realized that he used that name in the phone book. If his phone rang and someone left a message for Miss Lamont he knew it was a telemarketer. If he answered the phone and they asked for her he’d come out with this horribly affected high-pitched voice and say that they had the wrong number, she didn’t have this number any more. It was actually pretty smart I decided. Over the years though he’s still Wanda to me. That’s still how he’s in my cell phone.

I met Wanda after I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship. My self-esteem was zero. We became fast friends and spent quite a lot of time together. He worked at his dad’s steel company which had a 4 day work week. I was an art director so I pretty much set my own schedule. Our partying would begin Thursday and go until Sunday afternoon. Although I had been a bartender while at UT, I never really drank much back then. Wanda liked to drink scotch and dance. It was 1978. Disco was king. I was self-conscious and needed to drink to loosen up back then before I could dance. I never really liked the taste of booze so I wanted to drink as little as possible and still get a buzz. So I drank 151 proof daiquiris on the rocks. It gets you very loose, very quickly.

There used to be a place in Houston called the OP. It stayed open until 4 am and was packed every weekend. Songs by Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, the Bee Gees or others would blare out at a decibel level that I’m sure I could no longer tolerate today. (Did you say something?) We’d dance and he’d spin me. We were actually quite good or so it seemed to us anyway. I was so soaked after dancing my clothes would be plastered to me with sweat. Last call was at 2am so if you stayed and danced until 4am you were in much better shape to drive home.

For Halloween that year the OP was having a costume contest. I was having trouble coming up with something creative. I saw a movie listing for the Red Bluff Drive In in Pasadena. The Red Bluff was the X-rated drive-in back then. (I never went, however I heard lots of interesting stories from their patrons.) Anyway, I saw the title of their main feature that weekend and knew what I would be- The Suburban Lust Queen. In all fairness to the producers of what I am sure is a film classic, I never saw the movie. Instead I did my own interpretation. I had an old blue satin baby- doll pj gown. I bought some fishnet stockings and put a few rips in them prior to wearing them that night. On  my head I wore a rhinestone tiara. Across my chest I wore a sash that said Suburban Lust Queen. I looked fabulous. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t win. (Perhaps it was because I wasn’t gay.)

At any rate, I still have fond memories of that night and many others with my friend Billy. He was a good friend to me and helped get me through a difficult time. I rediscovered my self-esteem that had been hiding. We traveled together on many trips and shared lots of experiences. Some I will tell you about, some not. Right after Doug and I married,  Billy moved to San Fransisco. I still see him though not as much as I’d like. We seem to get together every few years. (Of course now adventures are much more sedate.) Remembering the past can sure be fun though. More on our journeys another day…