October 1, 2006

Looking Good Never Felt So Bad

I have one thing to say. Electrolysis hurts.

Oh, my, you exclaim. Electrolysis? You mean, as in hair removal?

Yes, I say. Electrolysis. As in hair removal.

At the risk of offending a possible male blog reader with such a personal topic, let me hasten explain that I felt I had to do a blog article about this. I had to Expose the Secret. I had to Tell the Truth. And here it is.

Many Women Grow Facial Hair As They Age.

That is a fact of life that some women hide. We wax and shave in secret, not even telling our husbands or boyfriends. Why? Because we’re afraid they’re going to be grossed out and never kiss us again.

This is slightly ironic considering how gross men can be. Most of them feel free to talk about the hairs in their noses and ears, and don’t worry that we’ll never kiss them. Not to mention the other gross things they do, which many of them would deny.

But women feel (and many men agree) we must have this feminine mystique. We can’t have flaws that show lest we somehow appear unattractive. We artfully cover up our defects and blemishes with clothes and make up, encouraged (or perhaps discouraged) by the perfect women on the covers of magazines. And that’s why we go to desperate lengths to hide our hairy secret. Like carrying a razor in our cars or our purses to prevent afternoon shadow.

I will digress and explain why facial hair happens to some lucky women as they age. It has to do with changes in hormone levels and menopause and other things (topics about which I am going to have a sit down chat with God when I get to heaven so I can ask him WHY?) But, until then, I have accepted the fact that my body is producing more testosterone and less other hormones. That’s why I have more hair. And that’s enough detail for the purposes of this blog.

So, back to my hispid topic, Facial Hair. I say, No More Secrets. Admit It! Tell Everyone! Then go get it removed and be proud!

My mother and I have been discussing this issue for a long time. All because of my grandmother. Remember the one whose ashes were on the mantle? (See my blog called The Haunting, dated 9-3-06). Seems that when she was in assisted living, her beard grew. My mother would visit every two days. And she was horrified by the two day hair growth on my grandmother’s chin, despite my mother shaving my grandmother’s chin every time she visited.

Of course, my grandmother didn’t seem to care much, but, still, the fear of one day becoming the bearded lady sideshow at a nursing home terrified me and my mom.

So, we dreamed about having loads of money to have laser treatments. We thought that was the only way to deal with the problem.

We were wrong. Electrolysis is cheaper.

Why hadn’t we pursued this solution before? I have to blame my mother (it couldn’t possibly be me). The answer to our hirsute plight had been sitting smack dab in front of her for several years, and she never bothered to look into it. Turns out she has a friend who has a friend who is a certified electrolysis technician. She’s been helping people like us for over twenty years, and she’s just up the road.

I had my first appointment this past Tuesday. I have another one this coming Wednesday.

I know that some of my faithful blog readers want details. It’s not enough to hear me say, It Hurt. I know, I know. You want to know how bad it hurt, don’t you? And you probably want to know exactly what that nice electrolysis lady does to me.

Good. And, you know what’s coming next. I’ve run out of blog article room, I'm going to leave you hanging by a hair, and I will continue this hairy, torturous tale next week.

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October 4, 2006

Looking Good Still Doesn't Feel Good

I’m not going to make my faithful readers wait until next Sunday to find out more about my electrolysis treatments. I’ll continue last Sunday’s blog in which I left everyone wondering how much does it really hurt?

In an effort to appear educated about all this, I looked up electrolysis on the internet. One site said that IT’S A MYTH THAT ELECTROLYSIS IS PAINFUL. Furthermore, the site went on to say: The truth is, electrolysis usually does not cause any discomfort. Modern electrolysis methods have reduced any discomfort to a mere tingling. A topical anesthetic may be used in some cases.

At the risk of offending some of my sweet readers with an almost-swear-word, whoever wrote this article is full of crap. And, in fact, whoever wrote this stupid piece of tripe obviously has never had electrolysis done.

Let me say it again. Electrolysis hurts. And I don’t know how it couldn’t hurt unless one was knocked out during the treatments. Let’s face it. Sticking a little needle into a hair follicle, then zapping it with electricity is not superficial.

Okay. I had my second appointment today. I still had some redness from last week’s treatments, and that worried me. I was afraid maybe my reaction would mean a cessation of treatments. But the very dear lady who is does the electrolysis, Pat, said that people with my complexion (fair) often have redness. It was no problem.

So, you want details? Here is what happens during electrolysis: The Electrologist inserts a very fine, sterile probe alongside the hair, in the hair follicle. A very slight amount of electrical current is applied through the probe, which destroys the hair root, ending further hair growth.

The feeling is odd. Like nothing I’ve experienced before. First, the needle in the follicle, which isn’t painful, just weird. Then the zap of electricity, which is. If I had to compare it to anything else, the closest I could come is a bee sting.

I must say, weirdly enough, the treatments didn’t hurt as much today as they did last week. Perhaps because I was expecting pain, therefore, I wasn’t caught off guard. That isn’t to say it wasn’t uncomfortable, but I didn’t feel nauseated when I left. Pat says there are many reasons that electrolysis hurts more sometimes than others. Hormones are a big thing—a topic I’m rather sensitive about, in case you hadn’t noticed. Dang hormones.

Is it worth it? You bet. No question about it. I made another appointment for next week. Knowing that I won’t have to shave my chin again—that I’ll feel feminine again—well, that is worth it all.

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October 15, 2006

Life Or Something Like That

You know what? Sometimes life just doesn’t turn out like it ought to. You’re kidding! you exclaim sarcastically. Yep, I know. You want to know why I would make such an obvious statement.

I have one thing to say. Clorox Ready Mop.

I determined this past week that I was going to do some deep cleaning. Like spring cleaning without the spring. So, I got all ready. Vacuumed the kitchen and mud room floors. Picked up all the chairs and rugs and stuff. Got Mr. Clorox Ready Mop out of the closet and. . .he didn’t work. The little trigger I push to spray the cleaning fluid was jammed in place. I tried for fifteen minutes to fix it. Nothing worked. Mr. CRM bit the dust. Died the death. Crossed over to the other side. Followed the Clorox River Styx to the place where all mops go (not being human and needing a savior or anything).

Oh, well. Sayonara.

Not to be outdone by a mop problem, I just put the cleaning fluid in a regular spray bottle and used the mop part of Mr. CRM. A triumph, if I do say so myself.

And what then, you ask? So. . .I bought another Clorox Ready Mop a couple days later. Mr. CRM the SECOND (or Mr. CRM2). I put him together and was overjoyed to have the spray work just fine. Then I laid him against the kitchen counter and left the room for a few minutes.

When I returned, the floor was soaked. Mr. CRM2 had leaked all his fluid all over the floor. Talk about overkill. I wanted the floor clean, but not like that.

Being a mystery author and reader of crime, forensics, and mayhem, my first thought was that Mr. CRM the FIRST (Mr. CRM1) somehow resurrected and tried to murder Mr. CRM2. But then I realized that was just too Twilight Zone-ish, and really, I shouldn’t be thinking like that. Besides, Mr. CRM1 doesn’t have legs. He couldn’t have walked from the trash to do that.

I had to conclude the fault was mine alone. So, without the help of All the King’s Horses and All the King’s men, I took Mr. CRM2 apart and put him together again.

Wonder of wonders. He worked. He’s held his fluid, and unlike people, it’s good when mops hold their fluid.

So, that’s a perfect illustration of how things sometimes don’t work out the way they ought to. Wouldn’t it be nice if everything was that easy to fix?

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What a Week

If there ever was a week, this past week was one. In fact, it’s still bugging me.

First, of course, was the beetle invasion in my bedroom. If you didn’t read about that, check out this past Wednesday’s blog. I also included pictures for people like my friend Donna S., who wrote and requested more photos from me. She reported that she, too, gets these beetles, so, I don’t feel special anymore. That’s fine. Shared misery is better than being special when it comes to bugs.

If the beetles weren’t enough, the second thing that happened was a gnat invasion. They remind me of the little fruit flies I used to get when I did a lot of gardening and canning. In appearance, they’re a little like regular flies, only smaller and faster. They are bothering me so badly I actually bought fly paper. (I can’t use pesticides in my house for fear of killing Winston.)

Fly paper. You know that sticky, icky, yellow stuff that you pull out of a little cardboard tube? And you hang it up so bugs fly into it? That’s what I did. I hung it up—where Winston couldn’t fly into it. (All I need is a bald bird.) Unfortunately, the gnats are too light for the fly paper. At one point, the strip was covered with them, and I thought I’d won the battle. Nope. They wiggle free with no problems.

What is a person to do? Use the ultimate weapon. A canning jar with a piece of icky fruit in the bottom, like a piece of old banana. How that works is I leave it overnight on the counter, and the gnats fly into the jar to gorge, party, and sleep. Early the next morning, before the gnats have opened their eyes, I slip a plate or a piece of cardboard over the top of the jar, trapping them. Then I put the whole thing outside. No, I don’t get the satisfaction of smashing them flat, but at least they’re out of my house.

So, that’s what’s bugging me now. Beetles AND gnats.

But things could be a whole lot worse. I could have my mother’s problem. She has a wolf spider invasion. She has that every year at this time, usually during my beetle invasion. I think I have the better deal. I’m going to try to take pictures of the spiders. Perhaps I’ll put those up on Wednesday.

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Spiders 'R' Us

I’m not so bugged this week. The beetle population has decreased dramatically. And the gnats are all but gone. However, my mother is not so lucky. She still has loads of wolf spiders.

Wolf spiders are gross, in case you aren’t familiar with them. And they get quite large. Scarily large. They are fast, clever, and demon possessed. Okay, well, maybe not demon possessed, although, according to the Bible, pigs can be filled with demons, so why not spiders? And watching a wolf spider watch you makes you wonder.

Killing wolf spiders is pretty easy, if you can catch them. Especially if you’re dealing with just one. All you have to do is press down on them with a shoe hard enough to break their legs. You don’t even have to mash them into an icky mess.

But, if you have a home spider invasion, you have to handle it like my mother does. She puts out those sticky traps made for catching mice. The spiders get stuck on them.

Here’s the scary thing. If one of them is stuck halfway on and halfway off, they can actually drag the trap across the floor. Once, she heard noises out in her garage, went out to look, and sure enough, a spider was dragging a trap over the cement. Come to think of it, that's pretty creepy that they're so strong.

I’ve taken pictures of two of her filled traps for your viewing pleasure. BUT BE WARNED!!! If you are grossed out by spiders, these pictures will really bother you.