Miracle Whip facial

I have a good handle on my flubber. Not a lot of chicks can say that with a straight face or looking anyone directly in the eyes, but I can. However, I’ve recently noticed the once youthful, dewy look to my skin has faded into a, don’t-get-enough-fluids, matte-like, aged-to-imperfect sheen. I’ve been so busy working the other angles of my look, like my hair and make-up and updating my wardrobe to stay current, that I’ve forgotten that you can’t cover old with new. It kind of has to grow together. And there’s nothing like putting on foundation only to have it dry into a chalky look on your face or being able to pinch your skin and it not snapping back.


So, I’ve taken to drinking a lot of water lately. Well, a lot of flavored water because I don’t like the un-taste of bottled water and I’m not particularly fond of the slight chemical taste of tap water (I’m convinced chemicals are added to the city water supply). Along with hydrating my insides, I’ve taken to slathering on insane amounts of lotion and baby oil to keep my skin soft and – a big part of my regimen is exfoliating my entire body in the shower. I read somewhere that exfoliating the dead skin from your body will keep pores from clogging and break outs from happening, keeping your skin in top condition.

Something else I read was that using Miracle Whip is a non-abrasive way to exfoliate the skin on your face. Reading is how all my misadventures and experiments seem to start. But, this time, I didn’t burn my face off. Turns out, Miracle Whip does exactly what the experts say it will without any adverse affects. That is, unless you think smelling like a sandwich as a bad thing. The at-home, what I like to call ‘mini-peel’ recipe calls for a modest amount of Miracle Whip to be applied evenly over the face and neck. After 10 minutes, wipe it off with a damp washcloth – supposedly, you will see the dead skin flaking off your face. I didn’t. What I did see was my face looking shiny and red, as if I had just taken a laser to it. I had to wonder - if this is what Miracle Whip does to my face, what’s it doing to my insides? I’m pretty sure the lining on my stomach shouldn’t be thinned in anyway.

The smoothing effects of the mayo last about a week before you need to do it again. I’ve done it twice, the second time was witnessed by the boyfriend who, of course, took to making the necessary mayo jokes. That was before he admitted to experimenting with the Miracle Whip on his day off – you know, to promote healthy skin. I wasn’t expecting to hear that, so I asked him what the experience was like for him.

“It made me hungry.”

Typical. He didn’t leave it on the full ten minutes and didn’t really see any improvement with his skin tone. Then again, he hadn’t shaved his whiskers and he spent the ten minutes in a steamy shower, so I’m thinking he just didn’t do it right.

One time, last summer, I went for the tan lines ...

Tan lines are an unnecessary and avoidable failure in skin grooming that man has convinced the more impressionable female population into thinking are sexy based what they’ve grown accustomed to from watching porn. I’ve never liked tan lines; all they do is call attention to the problem areas of my body (read, tits and ass) that I dress up with clothes and lingerie. I’m a lot less impressionable. Nothing is less sexy to me than being in an intimate situation with dimmed lights and noticing my less than perfect, been through pregnancy, boobs and butt are glowing neon-white in the dark. So, if I’m going to tan, I’m going to tan all-over. That’s why man invented tanning beds. Skin cancer warnings aside, if I’m going to get the disease, it’s not going to be from tanning in patches – I’m going out with a bang-up, awesome, all-over tan that rivals that of any professional adult model, actor or dancer.


On a whole, though, I don’t care to be tan. Since the birth of The Daughter, 13 years ago, I sustained a massive amount of stretch marks from “eating for two” which have since turned white. Stretch marks do not tan. Tanning only magnifies the white lines that have made my lower abdomen their home (forever, unless the day someone comes up with a tummy tuck procedure that doesn’t leave a scar). When I’m white, it all blends. So, when you see me at the beach, covered head to toe with a floppy hat, long skirt and linen shirt, looking like a walking ad for a feminine hygiene product, it’s not because I’m worried about prematurely shriveling like a raisin. I’m just making sure my body is a consistent, pasty olive tone to camouflage my stretch marks so the lights can be on during intimate moments.

Saying that, sometimes when you’re dating someone, you do things that you normally wouldn’t do just to impress or prove you’re flexible on what you’re willing to do to remain a sexy chick in their eyes. It’s like when you all of a sudden stock up on the hottest thongs, even though you don’t like the feel of floss chafing your crack. Do not even pretend for a minute any one of you hasn’t reinvented your wardrobe to include items that you know your “crush” specifically likes. It’s all part of the ‘mating’ game. I’ve been guilty of taken taking it one step further – I don’t do anything halfway.

My boyfriend, like most men, digs a good, pornstar-style tanline. It was one of the first things I learned about him in the beginning months of dating.

“It’s like being able to see something I am not supposed to be seeing and that’s sexy,” he said. Like invisible lingerie. Note that if I’m showing my goodies to you, you’re definitely supposed to be seeing them. And sporting tan lines aren’t an attempt by me to hide any of that – real panties and a bra would be.

That was in the same conversation where I learned about his fascination with big, juicy, Brazilian booty and his infatuation with Flower Tucci, an adult film star who possessed an ass (and just her ass) that measured in at a magnificent 47 inches – that was intimidating. If my ass ever got that big, the rest of me would be just as big, and I guarantee my boyfriend would not like that as much as what he has now, because with strategic wardrobe choices, I have made him believe that I have a phat ass and decent cleavage.

But getting back to the tan lines …

The Boyfriend is in the military and he goes away for a few weeks at a time, camping with his co-workers. One summer, when he was going to be camping for longer than two weeks, I decided I would surprise him with tan lines. But, I didn’t want to pay for the daily visits to the salon d’tan because a) at $7 a pop, it gets expensive and I had bills to pay that contributed to keeping a roof over my head and my utilities on and b) the teenage girls that work there always make me feel like I’m not young enough to be in an establishment they clearly attributed to others their own age and hot men (who may or may not be gay or men dating older women like me). Spray tanning was not an option, I didn’t like smelling like a bag of chips. So, I donned my trusty bikini and started laying out at my friend’s apartment pool every day. After a week, I noticed I had a definite tan line around the bikini I had chosen to wear, which had full butt coverage. What anyone would find sexy about a big, white butt is beyond me. Which got me thinking, am I doing this right? Who cares, my boyfriend likes it and that’s all that matters.

Later that week, friends had a pool party and I went – this time wearing a boy short two-piece. I was skeptical at first, because I didn’t want mismatching tan lines. But I did it anyway because there were going to be a lot of people there who probably didn’t want to see my stretch marks. By the end of the day, even though I was purposely avoiding the sun, I noticed that I still caught enough sun to bake another set of tan lines over the ones I already had. Now, the coverage area of my bottoms had spread and, I imagine, only made my butt look bigger. This called for some corrective tanning techniques. That meant I was going to have to pay for tanning sessions to try and even out the color.

Don’t ever do this. It’s not like the rest of you will automatically not tan because it knows what you’re doing. The dark gets darker and the light doesn’t catch up that fast. At the end of the first week and a half, I had two different tan lines and enough color on my tummy to magnify the legion of stretch marks I didn’t want attention called to. To make matters worse, I decided to join friends at the beach the following weekend and chose to wear a one-piece suit. By the time my boyfriend came back from his camping trip, I had almost impressively collected three separate tan lines – including a line from the tag on one of my bottoms that I didn’t tuck in, that reached a little ways up my lower back. Sexy.

“I wasn’t sure which set of tan lines you would like, so I got all three,” I remember telling him.

He appreciated the effort, but was quick to point out that the tan lines he was referring to weren’t real bikini lines. Most models and porn-stars sport the lines of thong bottoms and tiny triangle cups on their boobs that let you know they either live in Brazil or have access to a rooftop/private beach that allows them to tan in lingerie. He also said that the half moon area that sometimes doesn’t tan under the butt was sexy, too – it means the owner of that particular tan line has a juicy booty. I always thought it was tacky. Seriously.

I don’t regret doing it. I feel I made an honest effort in showing an interest in something The Boyfriend likes, which is important in relationships. If I ever did it again, I would probably choose the tanning salon and the correct porn-star wardrobe so that I could get it right. Because just like I don’t do anything halfway, I try not to do anything half-assed either.

Lone Star in the Great Place

I only told a handful of people I was moving and the last of those people were my parents. Why? I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want them to talk me out of changing my life because the one I was living wasn’t working out anymore. I didn’t tell anyone else, mostly because I wanted to see if I could keep my mouth shut and not make a big deal about it. Plus, I didn’t want anyone making up insane reasons about why I left town.

It’s been three months since I made the move to Texas and it’s still so new to me. Everything is big, referred to as big or has ‘big’ in the name. Stars are used to punctuate everything from words to signs to pavement markings. If you look out of the car window while driving down the expressway, you can see for miles straight across in either direction, overwhelming proof of the fact that even the smaller cities in Texas are big. Texas pride is as big as the state with the locals as well as transplants. You’ve never seen so many people ready to tell you how amazingly awesome the state of Texas is – even if they came from New York City.  Even the military base, Fort Hood, is big; it’s called “The Great Place.” Every trip through the main gate, I’m welcomed to “The Great Place” as if I’d forget if they didn’t remind me.

You can say that all military towns are the same, but I can tell you they are not. The only constant is the demographic population, which is mostly military. But the overall vibe I get from here is positive, so far. That could be due to the fact that I haven’t gotten out and met that many people. Before I made the move, I was warned that the Killeen area was awful and that I would absolutely hate it. But, you can’t judge a place by location, but only by the company you keep. So, in theory, if you have good friends, you will always have good times no matter where you are.

That said, there aren’t too many places here to have those good times and I’ve only made a few friends who I rarely see outside of work. I've been to Austin twice to check out the live music scene and ended up at Coyote Ugly, just to have something to do. It’s a huge contrast to living in dramaville where there was always stuff to do locally and people to do it with, it just depended on how much drama or bull crap you wanted to put up with at any given time. That’s not to say that I didn’t have good times in the ‘ville, I had great times, stressful times and a fair share of dramatic WTF times. As my brother said, I’d “worn out my welcome years ago” and it was time for me to “move on.” So, I did. I couldn’t have picked a bigger place to move, either.

I joke that I moved to the only state large enough to contain all the awesome that is me, that I was too big for the 'ville. But the truth is, after getting laid off from my job, and having a tough time finding work in the ‘ville, I started looking at my options if I were willing to relocate. My job opportunities multiplied once I expanded my search area. When my boyfriend moved to Texas with his job, I decided to send out my resume to a few companies in the area where he was living.  After spending a year on unemployment and getting turned down for jobs I was more than qualified for because I didn’t have a college degree to prove it, I honestly didn’t expect much response.

But, to my surprise, I heard back from all the companies I sent a resume to and was offered jobs from more than half of them. I just had to decide which one I wanted the most, where would I be happiest and how fast I could move because everyone wanted me to start the day before last week. I made the move in less than two weeks with what I could fit in my car to accept a job working for the ‘A-Team.’  It was the job I initially wanted when I started looking for work i the Fort Hood area. Was moving the right decision? Maybe for selfish me, but I’m sure that mommies aren’t supposed to choose paths that take them 1,300 miles from their kid. But here I am, in a state that’s so big it could be its own country. Now, instead of being a big fish in a small, crowded pond, I’m a small bling in a huge constellation of stars. Literally … there are stars everywhere here. And Mexican restaurants.

I’m looking forward to a few things now that I’m settled: enjoying my job, spending time with the boyfriend, seeing the entire state of Texas – which I understand could possibly take a while – meeting the locals and having my daughter out here in the summer to share the experience. I hear the summers are brutal in Texas, just without the humidity. I’ve already started to experience the mood swings in Texas weather, from windy mornings to the scorching afternoon heat. This can’t be good for my wrinkles, but there's a cosmetic surgeon literally up the street and around the corner from where I live. Talk about "location, location, location."

Brazilian Butt Lift jeans - all the results without the work

My boyfriend likes big butts. 

I’m talking luscious, Brazilian, porn star booty. God didn’t see fit to give me one of those or boobs any bigger than AA batteries (except when I was pregnant and then I had major ass and watermelon tits). He (or She) gave me everything else that adds up to “girl with a great personality” which, lucky for me, the boyfriend appreciates. But what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try to non-surgically augment my assets for the boyfriend’s viewing pleasure? (Rhetorical question, folks.)

You don’t get a great ass by sitting on it, so I knew that I’d have to step-up my workout (okay fine - start a workout). According to Gilad’s Total Body Sculpt, I learned that lunges, squats and running in place help to sculpt the rear to a more desirable shape. So, I majored in the 30 minute workout program with a focus on glutes. After a few weeks of lunging and squatting and running, I noticed that I was losing mass in my ass but it was not perking up at all. I needed a Plan B which came in the form of an infomercial.

So, there I was in my living room, with the Brazilian Butt Lift workout CDs. Leandro Carvalho not only speaks with an unintelligible accent, making it hard to understand his running commentary, but his swiveling hips, stretchy shorts, bright colors and fanny pack only distracted and confused me. Plus, no one told me I had to have a pre-requisite in South American dance to follow the routines. It’s like that one time I bought MTV’s The Grind Workout video in an attempt to make working out less boring (Eric Nies in a tank top = hot). That ended with a broken coffee table and a twisted ankle due to choreography that was obviously for the experienced dancer.

Then, I was in a store in Austin two weeks ago and I found a magical pair of jeans. The Brazilian Butt Lift jean gives anyone the appearance of having a juicy booty without actually having been born with one – or work for one. Of course, I had to try on a pair for myself. So, I did.

Wow …

My booty popped in them. They lifted and sculpted (without padding, BTW) my butt into ass-clapping, Brazilian fabulousness – and without surgery! I wanted them – bad. But, with a $90 price tag, I had to walk away, much like I walked away from breast implant surgery and a nose job. Because, even though the price for the jeans would be worth it, I’d have to buy shirts and shoes to go with it adding to the price of my purchase. It’s like buying boobs - $4,000 ends up being almost $5,000 when you consider new bras and shirts to fit the chest expansion. But … how could I compare a few thousand to a little over a hundred? Right?

Sadly, I didn’t buy those magical, butt-lifting jeans that day and when I got home, I tried on my existing inventory of jeans. What I found was if I stood with my back slightly arched, I could give the appearance of having a phat booty – from the side. Painful and it required some work, but it was less expensive than the alternative.

Sigh. I think I’ll just stick to my personality. It takes almost no effort whatsoever to be this awesome. Besides, I’m absolutely positive that the bigger the ass, the more it will sag as it ages. So, mine will look exactly the same 20 years from now while those lucky enough to have a juicy booty will watch gravity pull it to the back of their knees.

Dear girl with the cherry blossom tree tattoo - nice ass crack

I know we don't know each other personally, I've taken senior portraits of your friends in the past, one of which suggested you as a friend on Facebook last year. However, I recently saw your relationship status update on Facebook switch to single and your response of not knowing why it ended. It's not my business, but I felt this was an appropriate time to address an issue that may or may not be a reason behind why the relationship probably wasn't meant to be, but that actually concerns me directly.


A few weeks ago, you sent a photo of yourself showcasing your finished tattoo artwork (awesome piece, BTW) to my boyfriend. Normally, I could care less except that you were half naked and your ass was hanging out. I know you posted it on your FB page as well, but somehow it seems less wrong to post it publicly than taking the time to send it to individual dudes (if, in fact, you sent it to more than one guy other than my BF). It’s a sign of disrespect to your relationship, mine and any other couple.

Friends with my BF? I doubt it. To be ‘friends’ you would have had to spend a certain amount of time sharing, caring and hanging out - he and I have been dating for almost two years. You’re very, very pretty and I'm sure he pictured you naked plenty of times in his private moments, just like I picture Gerard Butler's hunky bits in my kitchen making me dinner - in nothing but an apron and a man-thong. It's like having a stash of mental porn. But I’m not sending photos of myself half-naked to him out of respect for my boyfriend, and mostly because I don’t have his digits.You get where I'm going with this.

I’m not saying you knew my boyfriend was seeing anyone or that you were doing anything other than showing off your piece (including your ass, no pun intended) to a fellow tattoo enthusiast. If, however, your boyfriend caught wind of you sending pics or suggestively texting or FBing some other dudes (maybe he went through your phone), even if all of those guys are ‘just friends,’ he may not have liked it. To be sure, my guy friends would love it if I sent them glammy pics of myself. But that’s the difference between boyfriends and ‘just friends:’ boyfriends get more than just friends because they’ve earned it through a monogamous commitment - to me.

Considering you may not have known his relationship status (even if he said you were totally in the know), I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t send photos like that to my boyfriend in the future. If you absolutely can’t help yourself and must telephonically share your goodies, I will interpret that as an invitation to share (and tag) as well – with my 2,480 friends who check out my FB wall every day.

Thanks,

D

A note to my cellular phone company

Dear Cellular Phone Company

I wanted to write to thank you for your continuing excellence in customer relations over the time I’ve been with your company. After dealing with dropped calls, inconsistent charges to my bill and outdated cellular phone choices for upgrade options, it’s nice to know that you haven’t changed at all and that I can continue to expect the same shitty service and loyalty that I’ve experienced over the last 10 years I’ve been with your company. Being a part of the largest cellular network, or so you say, afforded me experiences I may have missed out on, had I only went with a go-phone, no phone or land line.

Let’s start with how you connected me internationally to representatives in other countries so that I could experience what it’s like to not be able to understand technical support. Dealing with an international sales/technical support team who can barely speak the English language and doesn’t know f*** about the issue I’m calling about except what one, two or five of any number of multiple choice screens are telling them about key words in my question made me realize that maybe I should learn another language. Except, I’m not sure which one, since I never seem to get the same country or person, and I live in a country where the primary language is English and the only other language that would make sense to learn is Spanish but my calls never seem to get routed to Spain or Mexico.

How about your thank you for my 10 years of continuing patronage by offering me an upgrade on my phone at a low or no cost? When I received the emails, texts and phone calls about my eligibility and took the time out of my life to visit a store to see what my options were, I found they were not the same options as, say, a new customer. While a new customer had the option to get the latest high-speed, 3G or 4G smart phones, as a repeat client, I had an array of outdated flip phones to choose from – at a nominal fee. No iPhone or Windows phone for me.

But I see where you were going with that: I didn’t have enough phones with two on my plan. I needed to upgrade to three phones because then I would be able to get an iPhone to replace a phone I had sent in twice to have fixed, only to have it keep breaking. Now I have an extra line on my bill that I am not using right now, but maybe I will someday. It’s good to know that if I need a stalker line, I have one because your your company foresaw the maybe on that possible future need. Foresight is a good quality in company projections.

Did you perhaps foresee the multitude of insane charges that I would appear on first bill after adding the new phone? Of course you did, because you knew it was time for another phone call to an international representative for a dose of cultural/language confusion as India tried to explain the bill detail to me as I pointed out what I thought were inaccuracies due to what I remembered my initial purchase to be and what was being added with the new phone line. You let me know that I was incorrect; however you would fix my plan to the way I had initially wanted but clearly failed to communicate to the sales clerk at the time of purchase.

Although my bill is still significantly higher than the estimate I was given at the time of sale and then again after three hours of negotiating with the international rep and final adjustment, I will continue to remain loyal to your company. Why? Because I’m still under an f***ing contract which pretty much says I can’t cancel out unless I pay more than what the phone and commitment is worth. Even though that cost amounts to what my last month’s bill came to, I’m not a quitter. But you can bet your sweet, greedy, corporate ass that the minute my contract is up, I’m opting for a simpler plan that fits my bank account better.  Until then, f*** you very much and don’t mention your appreciation for my loyalty and continuing patronage.

Sincerely,
D

Thanks, McD's: Fancy, flavored coffee ... with a twist.

McDonald’s has a new menu item: flavored, iced coffees. I’m not big on iced anything and fancy coffees from fast food restaurants are like gas stations offering spa services – it’s just not right. But, I really wanted coffee and there wasn’t a coffee palace/java joint/caffeine heaven on my side of the 190. In my experience, regular coffee from any fast food place has always tasted bitter or burned, but if this is cold and flavored, how can it go wrong?
… in the grossest way possible.

So, there I was at the McDonald’s drive- thru ordering a hazelnut, iced coffee and plain biscuit. After inspecting my bag to make sure they gave me a straw, I continued driving to the office. Once I was sitting at the desk, I took out my biscuit. McDonald’s, known for their campaign for health and nutrition, decided I needed a more substantial breakfast. There was a sausage patty on my ‘plain’ biscuit. No biggie, I just took it off.

I decided to try the iced coffee. As I stuck the straw in the cup, I saw the only thing that would make me puke on sight wedged in the cap and lip of the cup – a short, black hair. Gross. I was so disappointed – and thirsty. I noticed the hair didn’t actually touch the coffee and for half a second, I thought about just taking it out. Touching it was out of the question; besides, what if I drop the hair and it sinks to the bottom? How will I prove there was a hair at all? D*** it.

I called McDonald’s and they said bring it in, they would replace it. Not really sure I wanted to get another one, I took my coffee back to McDonald’s.

“We are so sorry about that.” Because when you include everyone else in an apology, it somehow let’s people know you were definitely not the one who made the mistake. I really didn’t care. The hair was in it, I was grossed out and I wanted them to see it.

“Are you sure it isn’t your own hair?”

Blink, blink. Really?

“Honey, I haven’t had hair that short anywhere on my body since before I started shaving my naughty bits.”

Sometimes I can’t believe the stuff that comes out of my mouth. My fancy, flavored, coffee was free.