Plastic Surgeon FREAKED Me Out

I went to see the best plastic surgeon in town … on a lark. If you had access to my bank statements, you’d know it was a lark. I’m a cat, curious and skittish. But more curious. And I wanted to see what this man would say to me. He’s known for “Sleeping Beauties”, performing facial surgery on women who, when recovered, look like they’ve had the best rest ever. And they don’t have those crazy Jack Nicholson eyebrows – the first tipoff that somebody’s been under the knife.

Made a consultation appointment and appeared at the correct time. After very little paperwork, I was ushered into surgeon’s office. He was nice. But he’s in his seventies and had no grey hair and very few wrinkles. Oh yeah, he’s a plastic surgeon. And here’s how it went:

Doc: “What are you here for?”

Me: “Well, you have an excellent reputation and I’ve admired your work. Am not loving the fine lines around my mouth and wanted to know what you would do?” (Why does he keep putting his left hand under his desk?)

Doc: “Well, you have a long neck so I would do a neck somethingorother and then a midline facelift. You don’t need body work.” (How would you know? I’m fully clothed sitting across the desk from you.)

Me: “My neck? Facelift? Draw me a picture.” (And stop putting your hand under the desk)

He proceeded to draw the scariest picture of the side of a head with stitches and scars everywhere. Enough!

Me: “That looks terrifying, not to mention the recovery would be heinous.”

Doc: “I’ll throw in the upper eyelids for $1000.”

Me: “Upper eyelids … I don’t even wear mascara. What? Forget the eyes, how much for the stuff you suggested?”

Doc: “blablablablablabla”.

Me: “So you’re talking $20,000 walking? Are you f-ing kidding me? No offense, and I realize it’s your job, but ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Doc: “No, and you’ll probably need tweaking in about eight years. Show me your stomach.”

Like a moron, I pulled up my shirt and showed him my stomach. What in the living hell did a midline facelift+ have to do with my stomach? I must be on Candid Camera.

Me: “Thank you for your time. You’ve confirmed my intention to age gracefully = no knives near me unless eating. But good luck – for every one of me, there’s ten you”ll “fix”. Yeah, you!”

And for the record, Dr. Demento, keep your hands where I can see’em AND hahaha, my stomach is none of your business, surgically speaking.

Oh, and if I decide to take him up on his offer in the next year, my consultation fee will be deducted from the 20K. I have happily eaten $75 with my own knife and fork.

Later.

*Unlike Nora Ephron, I feel great about my neck!

Eleven Things I Know Are True

*Never get to blog anymore so when that one fine moment presents itself, I’m in. Which may explain why my posts are lengthy – want to get all these thoughts down because I don’t know when I’ll get back again. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I miss my friends in blogville. But the bills must be paid.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

  1. Laughing feels so good.
  2. It’s ok to cry.
  3. Author Regina Brett says, “Everyone is important to someone.” I think she’s right.
  4. Sometimes I struggle with my age – even though it is only a number; I’m perpetually 27 but lately my bod had been issuing ugly reminders that I’m not … knees screaming about all the running and aerobics, back screeching about ridiculous yoga positions, arms bitching about carrying heavy stuff. My daughters gave me a Wii for Christmas. They said I couldn’t possibly do the Michael Jackson dance videos. Game on, I did them and got the high scores. No matter that I pulled a calf muscle. The look on their faces when they found out was worth the limp.
  5. It’s fun having hair. Mine is now long enough to put up in a crazy mess on top of my head. I LOVE that. Sort of weird – why grow hair out to put up. Because I can.
  6. Have mentally tossed a lot of people out of my lifeboat this year. Maybe a touch passive-aggressive, but the swimmers have no clue they’ve lost their spots, which is why they are gone in the first place. Duh.
  7. I love surprises! Today, two different adorables left me valentines and treats! Am I lucky or what?
  8. I can live with the fact that my daughters, on some level, will never forgive me for divorcing their dad. It is what it is. And that’s ok. At the risk of beating a very popular dead horse, I have to put on my oxygen mask first in order to help anyone else.
  9. Faith. Faith can be a real bugaboo for me. There are some things I know, and no noise can knock me off course. Other questions seemingly have no answers and comfort doesn’t exist. So I have to find that quiet place and hang there for a while.
  10. Work is good for me. Am so grateful to be working in crazy wonderful environments.
  11. Just finished cooking Valentine’s feast for my choice of best Valentine’s date in a long time … my eldest daughter! It will be great … as long as we don’t discuss politics, religion, money, furniture, or the future. Awesome.

This is lame and random. I am tired. Will return with ridiculous stories of real life adventures, sooner than later.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Be happy. Your choice.

Good Reads, Phrases Translated, BS Intervention and Questions!

Good Morning, All! For some reason, my interior clock has been going off at 5 am, no matter how late I’ve gone to bed. It’s my theory that our “interiors” change every seven years – guess this is one of those. But I digress…..

Reading

  • Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller (read this one first)
  • Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness by Alexandra Fuller
  • Stupid and Contagious by Caprice Crane
  • Be The Miracle by Regina Brett
  • Duty Free by Moni Mohsin – hilarious

Listening

  • I wish I could play the piano like Gavin DeGraw does in his song, “Not Over You”. Beautiful. Even for people like me who are not even in that place (missing an ex), it still is mighty fine. Would also like to play the guitar like Jimi Hendrix beginning with “All Along the Watchtower”.

Not Watching  – one of my jobs allows me to work from home which allows me to watch tv and/or dance while I work. Am giving up tv because of these shows:

    • Extreme Cheapskates – watched this once time for 15 minutes; REPULSIVE and two of my former relationship men DID some of this stuff – told you I was a bad picker. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww.
    • Dance Moms – some of the stage moms on this show make any and all Housewives of Who Cares look like church ladies. Instructor Abby Lee Miller scares me more than Ron Paul + Nick Sabin + Rick Perry but she does get results out of her child dancers. One mother, the embodiment of self-control and a perfect role model, aimed her mouth at Abby Lee screamed “Whore” several times, in front of the children. I mean, her daughter didn’t get the part Momma thought she should. NOTHING. RIGHT. ABOUT. THIS.
Watching
  • Downton Abbey on PBS – Amazing period piece with costumes I am drooling over. Plus, these people behave properly.

Translations English to English

  • cool kicks – nice shoes
  • throwing bo’s – place is so crowded, elbows needed to make way through

BS Intervention and Man Stuff

  • Help, SOS maybe – ok, this is where your input is requested; do know that if you say something I don’t like, you will have 17 years of … something. I THINK I NEED A BS INTERVENTION. Specifically when speaking with Possible Possibility Guy. Back story: have been running into him for years but paid no attention for whatever reason. Plus, when he saw my youngest daughter, he was rendered fairly speechless and he is too old for her. It has been recorded here time and again, I am a geriatric magnet. I am not a geriatric nor am I interested in men older than my dad. Possible is about my age, has hair, and is one cool customer. When I talk to him, my bs reeks. The most inane information flies out of my mouth, truly horrifying. This is uncommon. Maybe it’s the seven-year change thing. If I don’t get my bs in line, I will be forced into a world where I’m pushing wheelchairs, cleaning dentures, and changing catheters with a mortal beloved (short-term, of course). Help. Why does this happen?
  • While walking my dog last night, I noticed one of my neighbors (he is my eldest daughter’s age) emptying his saucepan in the bushes outside his front door. Good grief – someone needs to tell him about disposals, non? His neighbor, an elderly man, puts peanuts out for the squirrels. The white styrofoam kind. Lots of dead squirrels.

ENOUGH! Must go back to creating big pink spheres for event. Am getting real $ for this. Something new and different.

If you have ideas about good bs with Possibility, do share – keep in mind, I have delete button.

Be happy. Or fake it. Or not. Your choice.
Over and out. Later.

Pink Balls, Lame Line, SIRI Sucks and Other Stuff

Happy New Year! Whew, it’s crazy around here. Crazy good, but crazy nonetheless.

Where to start …

I think it was last Tuesday when I got a cool new part-time job and an order for 12 giant pink balls for an upcoming event (I design decorations/side business). The new gig has nothing to do with balls. Rah. So, I’ve been working my balls fingers off to get order ready and have a life. No complaints, just tired. So here’s me:

Balls!

No balls, after hours

Everything is running smoothly as I have an amazing assistant who is 100% involved in making life easy around here:

After my beauty rest, I'll get back to you, Iz

 Moving on. In the Lame Line department … ok, so here’s the back story. Tomorrow is THE football game of life. Around these parts, anyway. Made a mad dash to my dad’s man cave to swipe some of his Alabama gear to wear to a party. Said party will be 99% lsu fans. I must represent as my birth occurred a few hours before he had to fly with the team to play Rice. Focus, Izzie. Okay, so I’m on my way home and stop by Whole Foods to get some coffee. Note: I am dressed in leggings, a little t-shirt, an Alabama football cap, and my “Take Me Seriously” glasses. As I approach the coffee aisle, a man with hair on his head and the Holy Bible in his cart stops me.

Hair/Bible Man: ” Do you work here?”

Moi: Do I look like I work here?”

Blind/Hair/Bible Man: “Yes, yes you do.”

Moi: “But I’m thismany years old!”
Weirdo/Blind/Hair/Bible Man: “Well, I’m 75!”

Before I could self-edit,Bullshit!” flew out of my mouth, accompanied by, So is my mother!” Such  comments should deter anyone from trying to continue a conversation, but no. Methinks he mistook my “Take Me Seriously” glasses for “Take Me, Seriously” specs. Meh! Fey! Yech! And to think I’m on the highway to hell for weirdo verbage with a hair man carting the Holy Bible while trying to pick up bespectacled chicks hens at Whole Foods. Just another day in paradise …..

Before I dash, must address SIRI, the worst personal assistant via iPhone 4S. SIRI is a bitch. To me. I asked her why she is so passive-aggressive. Her response, “I don’t know what you are talking about“. See, totally passive-aggressive. I asked her to sing a song – she’s so lame, I got “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do“. Really, SIRI, is that your best shot? Her response, “I aim to please.” Am quite sure she’s much nicer to others and it is totally weird to verbally spar with my cell phone BUT I am paying her salary, really. Bitch.

This photo of my assistant sums it all up – whatever “it” is:

Fill my trough and get lost, you nutty broad!

Be happy. Or not. It’s a choice.

ROLL TIDE!

Later. Or not.

P.S. Any misspelled words and format fails are the fault of SIRI. So sue me.

My Evening as a Hooker

It all started so innocently.

Around 6:30 last night, we joined the crew of Captain Wack and his wench, Walden.

Before venturing any further, you must know that Walden is thematic. She is into whatever the upcoming holiday is and goes all out with decorations and whatnot. But her favorite holiday – which she celebrates year-round – is “Talk Like A Pirate Day“. She LOVES pirate stuff. While shopping in Hobby Lobby one day, I’d found a pirate part for her. And I gave it to her last night as we headed to a wedding.

Ha ha ha, the “hook” was a hit. Then tossed in the back seat.  Off we all went to a beautiful ceremony and an insanely fun reception. Well, “yo-ho-ho and a bottle of gin” later, we’d been well fueled with food and drink and danced ourselves into a sweat. (Thank God, the band was awesome; I was having rolling hot flashes so I had to dance my ass off to explain why I was soaking wet). Walden announces her ship is sailing, so we say “ta-ta” to no one in particular and pile into her transport. Arrrrrrrr! We were minus one … the Captain. After much unintelligible convo, Walden nominated moi to fetch the yakking Wack. While wearing the pirate hook. Made perfect sense to me at the time, so I ran back into the swanky black-tie reception in my fancy high heels and matching hook. Which I hid behind my back. The first time I spotted Wack.

He was chatting up friend #1; this man already knows I’m insane. I slipped the hook inside Wack‘s tie and said, “Ahoy, Matey – Away!,” and took off for the car with my victim. Or so I thought. Damn, he’d found someone else to talk to. So it was back into the reception on my second search and rescue mission.

He was chatting up unknown-but-pretty person. I had to get tough. I shook my hook in his face and said, “Ye scurvy bilge rat, away before ye buckle be slashed!” As I ran back out to the car, he was right behind me. NOT.

Round three was a success! After explaining to a horrified girl my right hook was not real, I found him again. With a “Heave ho, Dude” and a well-placed equipment maneuver, Wack remained in my clutches until we reached our destination.

Clearly, hooking is not my forte. Should you want to give it a try – hit Hobby Lobby and throw down $1.99.

Enough for now. I’m off to find a greasy cheeseburger for my stomach and an ice pack for my head.

Be happy … or walk the plank. Your choice.

Later.

*Everyone here is wearing ice packs on their heads. Because it is 250-degrees outside. The gin has absolutely nothing to do with it.

*Also need to make it perfectly clear this is a pirate’s tale and in no way has anything to do with anyone who has challenges.

*Talk Like A Pirate Day is September 19. Just sayin’…….

I Don’t Drink Outside My Zip Code

Isn’t that the best line ever? My friend, Demona, threw that down when we were discussing where to have dinner.

Topics for today include: Books, Movies, and Finds. Off we go:

Loving the WordFoto App

Books and Movies

One of the books I recently read was The Paris Wife by Paula McLain. Historical fiction about Ernest Hemingway and his first wife, Hadley. I’ve read everything about F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald during that crazy time; it was nice to get a different perspective. And I’m damn glad I did because …. two weeks later, I saw Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. Had I not read that book, I wouldn’t have “gotten” all the nuances in the movie.  Book – good; Movie – not so much. I’ve also read Maine by J. Courtney Sullivan; really liked it until last chapter. Next up: The Man in the Rockefeller Suit by Mark Seal, Joy for Beginners by Erica Bauermeister, and Wait for Me! Memoirs by Deborah Mitford, Duchess of Devonshire.

Finds

If you are anywhere near Oxford, Mississippi, do stop by Bottletree Bakery. Everything in that place looks delicious; everything I managed to cram in my mouth was delicious. Find yourself in Houston? Head right over to ….

Yum!

I swear, Relish has the very best Blueberry Cookie I’ve ever eaten. The hummus is amazing as well.

On the shoe front, a group of us stumbled upon the most comfortable sandals in the entire world in Charleston, S.C. The Charleston Shoe Co. and sister store, Savannah Shoe Co., sell these babies in an abundance of styles. Because they use a bunch of elastic and rubber soles, I could wear them every day. And, one of the sales women told me they can go in the washing machine. Won’t happen at my house because I am on a laundry strike, but you can do whatever you want.

Can't help myself

*It has been said you cannot stick your tongue out and look at the ceiling simultaneously (tendons say “no”).

You just tried it AND you can do it.

I know, because I did.

Idiots all.

Later.

Getting My Flirt On in All the Wrong Places

About a month ago, I decided it was high time I tossed out some chum. Get that flirt on and see what I catch. In my world, that would mean smile instead of growl. I can do that. When I first found myself back in the dating market, I had several conversations with my Guidance Counselor. Redating, after a long marriage, is strange. Even stranger was my GC’s suggestion. Each time I unloaded my man confusion on her, she said the same thing. “Make some lentil soup.” Huh? Instead of stirring the pot, I broke up with her, professionally speaking. I can do this all by myself.

As of today, I am still practicing. Haven’t met anyone I want to dance with. But Momma said, “Practice makes perfect”, and I am perfecting my skills – or lack thereof. Results so far:

“Hey, Mr. Thousand Year Old Grocery Bagger, those are some awesome paper sacks!”

“Hey Mr. Dog Store Checker, you are lucky to have hair at your age!”

“Hey Mr. Convenience Store Clerk, you are brave to have such a dangerous job!”

“Hey Mr. Target Employee, red is your color for sure!”

“Hey Mr. Delivery Truck Man, thank you for driving so fast I had to stop, drop, and roll to avoid your massive grill!”

“Hey Mr. Garbage Man, you have big muscles! No hable? Merde!”

“Hey Mr. Policeman, your handwriting on this speeding ticket is so precise!”

“Hey Mr. Homeless Man Who Drives A Porsche, hand over the cup. I just got a ticket!”

Ok, so maybe I need to work some different arenas. The point is, I’m working it. 🙂

Sooner or later.

Underwear Fail, Tribal Insanity, and Some Other Stuff

Today I am blaming EVERYTHING on Sean Kingston. For the life of me, I can’t get that 911 song out of my head. Nor can I get the lyrics right. I thought he was singing, “Someone call 911, Shortie’s on fire on the dance floor”. Looked lyrics up and they are, “Somebody call 911, Shawty fire burning on the dance floor”. What the hell is a “Shawty“? So I had to google that as well; a shawty is a “fine woman”. Hating on that whole situation. But let me share some more.

Underwear Fail  Seated around a restaurant dinner table with mixed company, this was the convo:

Bare Bottom: “I have to go put on some underpants. I forgot I didn’t have any on.”

Me: “YOU DON’T HAVE UNDERWEAR ON? DON’T CALL THEM “UNDERPANTS”; THOSE ARE FOR MEN. WHERE IS YOUR UNDERWEAR?”

Bare Bottom: Left’em in the car hours ago. Just bought some around the corner. Where’s the restroom?”

Just like that – stomping around a windy city for hours, in a dress and no panties – and it takes 5 hours to figure it out?  That, my friends, is typical dinner conversation around these parts. Would say we are a pack of toothless, inbred  hillbillies if not for my mother’s recent convos.

Mama Says – After reminding me what my middle name was (not that I asked), she said “Five of our family members signed the Magna Carta“. Ok, so we might be toothless and inbred. When I went to visit my Dad today, she said, in this order, “Get a job. Your hair needs a trim. I’m exhausted.” Well, hello to you, too, Mrs. Happy Pants. I make myself scarce and go find my Dad.

Daddy Says – Let me give you a little “dad” info. Mine speaks in quotes, a lot. “She looks like 40 miles of bad road”, “That dog won’t hunt”, and “I am NOT a rich man” frequently pepper many a chat. When I saw him today, he was stoned out of his gourd, but he did ask me the same question he asks me every day. I’ve told him the long-winded answer. Every day. Except today. “What is the graduate doing?”. My answer – one word. “Plastics.” Which made perfect sense to him after a Vicodin cocktail. Thinking about all his ‘isms made me think of some other ‘isms my friends use.

Friends Say – The ones that come to mind include Jeez o’peep, Lawd A’Mercy, Reeeeeeally?, and one I’ve yet to figure out, “F*^k me running”. Could that be the same as “Cool Running”? Don’t know, can’t get a bead on that visual. Then I remembered what we would say in middle school when mad at one another. Start low, end high. “Get so mad, would ‘ya? Yes, I will, thank ‘ya”. Somehow, this stroll down short memory lane reminded me of what I just read.

WHAT I JUST READ

  • WHY DOES A PSYCHIC HAVE TO ASK YOUR NAME?”
  • “HOW CAN YOU TELL WHEN YOU ARE OUT OF INVISIBLE INK?”
  • “WHY IS THE NEEDLE STERILIZED FOR A LETHAL INJECTION?”
  • “SILLY CYCLIST … STEROIDS ARE FOR BALLPLAYERS!”

Wow.I am scaring myself. Would go find an adult refreshment but, whoops, ex-housekeeper drained liquor cabinet. Instead, I’ll just go all optimistic here!  Winner, Winner! It’s a Charlie Sheen day! Now where is that Dragon Blood?

Later. Maybe. Probably.

Are You Superstitious? Part 13

 

Parts 2-12 do not exist. But if you  are superstitious about that number, you can call it, Part 2. Am currently wearing a press-on device, $7, guaranteed to give me a brow lift in one hour. Which would be proof that I’d believe anything … including superstitions, except for the following:

  • “Wear your underwear inside out for good luck.” Trust me here, if you turn that frown upside down with inside out panties, you will NOT get lucky. And you might be drunk.
  • “A dog chasing its tail brings tornadoes.” No, no, no! Rabies? Yes. Tornadoes? NO! Rabid Luck … or drunk dog.
  • If you have a hole in your jeans, you will have a visitor.” Especially if the hole is in front of your privacy. A bit too “come and get it” for me.
  • “Eating a hair from a horse’s forelock is a cure for worms”. Let’s think about this. If you have worms, you are either dead or sick – if the latter, go to the damn doctor. If you can’t find a doctor and think this horsehair/forelock thing is the way to go, please wear a helmet. This is a recipe for a head injury, indigestion, and an isolation unit until the end of time.
  • “A cat onboard a ship is considered good luck.” Well, double duh and slap me silly. Of course a cat on a ship is good BECAUSE of all the rats on the ship. Purr Luck.
  • “Never bring a hoe in your house.” Especially if you can’t spell and you are a married man. Bad juju.
  • “If you drop a dishtowel on the floor, a worse housekeeper that yourself is coming to visit you.” Not. Possible. At. My. House. Dirty luck.
  • “If you sleep with a teabag tied around your head, you are an idiot”. ‘Nuff said here.

Must dash off to the store. The one hour, $7 brow lift worked! It lifted every piece of skin, from brow to scalp, right off the front of my face. As my skull is exposed, I either need to tie a pirate bandana (arrghhhh!) around my head for 4-6 months or find a perky, come hither, man magnet skull-cap. Ta Ta For Now!

Later.

Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got A Lovely ……

 

If you are easily offended, please do not read this post; come back another day. You have been warned. 🙂

Got an email a couple of weeks ago that promised to make me laugh. All I had to do was watch the You Tube video. It features part of a BBC show, apparently about the Brown family. When the title is, “Mrs. Brown Gets A Bikini Wax“. I love British humor; despite the fact that “bikini wax” in the title is a bit much, of course I looked it up and watched. And laughed my self silly. Should you need a good laugh and are a bit twisty, please watch it to the very end. You can find it here:

I’m a link loser so just go straight to You Tube and type in the show title. Oh, don’t complain, like that’s a bunch of trouble.

Speaking of losing, since I have taken on the odious chore of cleaning my house, I have found lots of surprises. Each day I discover something amiss. Today, it was the shower door.  Most of the time, I shower downstairs. My shower exerts as much pressure as a new-born baby. But I was in a hurry. Have worn glasses for about a month. Looked at the shower door, which is all glass, as I got in. It had been cleaned with a Brillo pad and looks like a cat with metal claws went into a glass-slashing frenzy. Who in their right mind would do that?

Delving into my kitchen cabinets, I found all sorts of cutlery and dishes that were obviously removed from the dishwasher and put away – but the dishwasher was never used. GROSS.

Later, I went to my liquor cabinet. Never go there unless I’m having company … and happy pills treat me much better than moonshine. When I opened the door, I saw a slew of empty bottles: tequila, scotch, bourbon, gin, vodka. Of course, my first thought went to my girls. Wrong. They are of age and live elsewhere. Who in the world drained all the liquor bottles?

I pondered these mysteries while walking Cooper earlier. And ran into my friend, E. We chatted and I complained about house cleaning, glass slashing and the missing adult beverage material. She gave me a look that said, “HELLO!” I always wondered why my former house helper had a hard time getting to her car at the end of the day. And that also explains the glass door mess, the dishwasher that wasn’t allowed to do its job, and all the gouges in my walls and woodwork.  There was a cocktail party, attended by one, every week at mi casa. God knows, house cleaning is wretched, but get drunk after work, like everybody else.

Dumber than a bag of hammers, I am was. I once was blind but now I have glasses. Which I accidentally wore into the shower today. Whatev.

Off to bed now as I must get up at three a.m. to attend the Royal Wedding. I wonder if Mrs. Brown was invited?

 Nighty Noodles.

Later.

*Not a peep from Ms. DeGeneres … yet. 😦