old lady acne

Thirty-five and still zit ridden. How is it that I have more pimple problems now than when I was 17? I don't care if every thirty-something mom is dealing with it. There's something truly horrific about having to face each morning with graying hair, crow's feet, sagging shaboobies AND freakin' whiteheads. Time is a cruel mistress.

everybody loves a fair

You've gotta love the fair. I know I do. There's nothing like blowing a hundred plus bucks to entertain your family with rickety rides, rigged carnival games and heart attack inducing fried treats. It's not just mind-blowing fun though; the fair's got rules.

Always bring your baby to the fair. The younger the better. Babies love the loud noises, seizure-inducing strobe lights and clouds of cigarette smoke. Their strollers are especially good for lugging around all your carnival crap. Fill it up. The baby will make room.

Always wear your most revealing going-out boobie shirt to the fair. If you've got 8 inches of cleavage, flaunt it. It doesn't matter if the temperature is below 60 degrees. Break out your breasts and give the male carnies something to ogle. They work long hours. They deserve a shot of your shaboobies.

Couples should always plan to make out while standing in the center of the midway. The sloppier the better. Dueling tongues and liters of saliva are key.

Natural eyebrows are OUT while attending the fair. Women should definitely shave their natural brows completely off and draw on better ones. The thinner the better. Oh. Fair eyebrows are always either sharpie black or burnt orange. Please make a note of it.

Older men should always wear their favorite sports team outfit to the fair. If you love the Bears, prove it. You should be head to toe navy and orange; the more team logos the better.

Parents should always allow their tween girls to roam the fair sans parental supervision. However, before abandoning prepubescent youth, encourage them to dress up like mini-tramps. This includes full face make up, super tight short shorts and aforementioned boobie shirts (minus the cleavage). Be sure to drop them off prior to fair opening and do not pick them up until well after the fair grounds have closed for the night.

Always blow a month's wages at the fair. Your family deserves to be fully entertained. What does it matter if the kids will eat nothing but government cheese and grape drink for the weeks following your night of enchanment? Their stomaches are small; they'll be fine subsisting on 500 calories a day for awhile.

If you have 10 or fewer teeth in your mouth, you LOVE the fair. This is your home away from home, and you should spend as much time as possible wandering up and down the midway while drinking malt beverages from plastic cups, scoring meth from the booth operators.

Compression

Nope. That's not me. But it is a reasonable facsimile of my experience. My tech lady was blonde with goggles. And she talked a LOT. She was nice though. Didn't make it less bizarre.

I just kept wondering how I would face placing strange shaboobies on a shelf for digital imaging all day long. I'm sure there are plenty of professional rewards in this line of work, but that doesn't make it any less disconcerting.

Some highlights of the trip:

• AWESOME drapey,capey things that you wear after you remove everything "from the waist up"
• Strangely sinister framed needlepoint declaring, "We Compress Because We Care" (not a comforting sentiment)
• Super tiny second waiting room filled with drapey,capey women pointedly ignoring one another
• Having the tech lady draw a big "X" in black ball-point pen on my shaboobie just prior to the imaging
• Walking around with a metal bb scotch taped above the black ball-point pen X
• Having clear lube squirted all over said shaboobie in prep for the sonogram
• Seeing mysterious, menacing black growthy thing on the sonogram screen

Isn't it weird?

So on Tuesday I went to the ob/gyn. Everything's seemingly fine going in. Do the pelvic. Fine. Aside, of course, from the woman's need to have a conversation with me while she's got the speculum at 15 and her hands are way up into my chest cavity. AWESOME. Too bad this is a once yearly thing.... so fabulous. At this point, I can't remember if the breast exam was before or after the crotch part.... Probably before. Anyway. Get to the shaboobies and right one's fine. Let's move on to the left. Wait a minute... What's that? Some kind of lump or bump or alien artifact. Drink a lot of caffiene? Yep. Yeah. It's probably a cyst. Super! Keep your eye on that....If it doesn't go away in 3 months, we'll check it out. I suppose I must have had a mask of terror on my face because suddenly she was writing a referral for a sonogram. Okay. I'm not excited about it, but I'd rather figure out what it is than wait 3 months, allowing my hyperchondriacal self perseverate on my left boob for the next 90 or so days. Well. The oh-so-simple sonogram has transformed into a sonogram with a full blown mammogram. No lotion. No deoderant. Have I mentioned my addiction to lotion? Not too mention I heard numerous times that a mammogram is an extremely uncomfortable (e.g. painful) experience. I am not looking forward to this.