Got Milk?

We drink a lot of milk. It usually sends us racing to the convenience store a couple of times a week for a replacement jug. Tonight I had to make a run. I went in and got one from the back of the shelf (you know it's the freshest) and proceeded to check out. I talked to a couple of people, and left. I got home, and put it away, and then it dawned on me. A little fresh air wafted up my backside, and I remembered then that I had a hole in the butt of my jeans. Well, damn. That is not too embarrassing, but then I went into the bathroom to pick up my son's dirty clothes, and glanced in the mirror. I had eaten a well crusted steak earlier, and the remnants of the pepper crust were smashed into the crevices of three or four of my front teeth. Well, my God! Could this evening get worse? Uh, yah! We were settling in to watch a show, and my son noticed a little wet something on one of the blankets we have on the couch. I looked it over, and decided it was dog throw up. I took the blanket to the wash, which sucks because I still don't have a dryer, and am having to hang my clothes out on the dog pen fence. (I was not raised like this, I swear) My old dryer is conveniently parked in my back yard for now, or 10 months from now, and the new one I got didn't work. Anyway, we looked at one of the other two blankets to see if it too was soiled with used puppy chow, and wouldn't you know it, it was. Off to the laundry with that on too. Only one blanket left. We checked it over, and of course, there it was, dog puke. This laundry thing is about to get me down. This morning I went out to get the clothes off the line (dog pen will from here on out be referred to as the line) and the 50 mph wind had scattered most of them all around the yard and inside the dog pen, so I had to rewash. Towels are crispy when hung out to dry too. Socks do not do well with staying hooked on the chain link, and I have absent mindedly hung my bras and panties in full view of the street more than once. I have a full time job around here taking care of the little messes my husband and son make, 3 dogs, 1 needy cat, and a new completely blind cat that turned up on our back porch two nights ago. That cat's name is Ray. (Ray Charles) Between dog throw up, doo doo stains, crunchy towels, handicapped animals, and the regular stuff, I am starting to think of that old Calgon commercial. Do they still make that stuff? I also caught the corner of my cheer box when I was piling puke blankets in the laundry room, and spilled the entire contents on the floor. I still have a hole in my jeans, don't care, I did get the pepper out of my teeth, much too late, cleaned up the 10 pounds of doggy throw, and I am thinking it is time for bed. But guess what! I got milk for my cereal in the morning. Damn, you know what I don't have? Cereal.

What We Won't Do For Beauty

I was recently doing an inventory of the things I had saved on my computer, and in the process I took a look in my favorites file. I have a vast array of interesting topics stored away for later viewing, not limited to, but including, show lambs, hogs, make up tips, cars, fencing, art, ebay items, and even a website selling quality diving equipment and wetsuits. Why in the world I thought I might ever need a wetsuit is beyond me, but it's just one of a hundred things that peaked my interest over the past several months on the net. One thing I noticed I had marked several pages for was a product called the Derma Roller. The Derma Roller is a device that looks like a tiny paint roller with little needles sticking out all over it, and is used to increase collagen production in the skin. The purpose of the new formed collagen is to heal scars and wrinkles, and give you an over all youthful appearance. I have stretch marks from pregnancy, and I have not gone a week in the past 13 years without thinking about them and wishing I could zap them away. I marked several pages about creams and potions, celebrities that were marred by them, and have admittedly spent hours feverishly searching for others who were afflicted with the same problem so I would not feel so alone and ugly. I have to confess that I have spent a butt load of money over the years on creams and hours rubbing them in in an effort to rid myself of the ugly things, but alas, they are still with me, and I continue my search to this day for the wondrous beauty aid that will cure me forever. The derma Roller is an evil looking thing. In order for it to work, you have to puncture the dermis thousands of times by running the needles over the affected skin forcefully up to several times a week. I pondered the idea many times, and if it weren't so expensive I feel certain that I would be the proud owner of one right now. What's funny is the fact that I hate needles, shots, and the very idea of sticking myself even once makes me wince. It got me to thinking about all the difficulties I have run onto in my life with beauty products, and why we women are so determined to make ourselves more appealing to the masses that we would incur actual damage in the process. People spend millions each year on new boobs, nose jobs, lipo and injections to deaden the muscles in their faces in hopes of being happy when they look in the mirror, and I am no exception when it comes to conquering the aging process. Although I have not spent even a thousand bucks on any one issue, I certainly have dreams of doing so, and will, like the rest of you, go down fighting for the cause. When I was in Jr. High I remember getting a couple of little blemishes on my face. Not being accustomed to acne, I was not having it, and stupidly burned two patches of skin off my face by doing an overnight procedure on myself with a common acne facial scrub. These things were not meant to be left on over night, but I figured if a little works a little, then a lot must work a lot. I was sure sad to have to go to school with those giant lesions on my face, and would have gladly opted for the two minute blemishes that had been there the day before. When I was in high school, I convinced my boyfriend at the time to buy me an at home electrolysis kit for me to use on my eyebrows. That thing made a quick trip back to the store it came from after I realized that I could not convince myself to stick a tiny threadlike needle deep into even one hair follicle before turning on the juice. I pluck my own eyebrows now, or wax them, which is not pain free, and I still have to man up to do it. I also own a little machine that was supposed to painlessly depilitorize your body and leave you hair free for weeks at a time. A big ha ha on that one. You had to actually bite down on something to use it, and if you could suck it up long enough to get past one ankle, it would leave hairs that you had to go over again and again before it was hair free. I chose shaving as the better option on that issue, but can't count the times I have removed the skin off a shin, or nearly nicked an important vein in my leg getting even that done on a semi-regular basis. I burned the hide off of my bikini line once with some special bikini line hair removal cream, which stinks, and actually melts the hair and skin right off your body. If it had scarred enough to kill the hair follicles in the area, it might have been worth it, but I had new hairs forming before the scabs were even healed over. I have burnt myself to a crisp in a tanning bed in order to have a more youthful appearance and sunny glow. All this work and pain, and I am still 35, still have eyebrows where I don't want them, still have a flourishing bikini line, still get white in the winter, still have hair on my legs, still have wrinkles, and still have these branding marks on my belly. So back to the derma roller. This torture device is my new love interest. I have convinced myself that I could actually do this to myself, even though when I was younger and gave myself weekly allergy shots, I would wear the skin out on my leg or arm, and go through 10 cotton balls soaked with alcohol before gathering enough courage to stick the needle in the dermis just once. That was before stretch marks though, and I hate these things more than I hate needles, or at least I think I do. I wonder why I consider putting such medieval equipment in my beauty line up, but I think I might give it a shot, so to speak. We women are plainly tortured by ourselves, and I can't help but find humor in it. Come this summer when I feel the financial freedom to make this purchase, I will probably get one. You will be able to see me coming a mile away. I will be the one with the swollen bloody forehead walking hunched over due to the horrid skin infection on my stomach. Wish me luck, and, yeah, go look it up right now, the Derma Roller is a real thing, and I know you are going to want one too.