Confessions of a Middle-Aged Bald Woman

I'm almost reluctant to post this because I know that somewhere out there one of you is going to love never letting me live this down. Don't worry. I said "Almost reluctant." Of course I am going to post this. What's the point of having humiliating experiences if I can't blog about them and share them with the world so you can all laugh at with me?

So, it went down like this...

I am at the store in the health & beauty section. Time to pick up new toothbrushes for the kidlets. There was a recent "fight" over someone accusing someone else of using their toothbrush and then no one wanted to brush their teeth for fear of getting "kooties". And one of my rules is that teeth-brushing is not optional. It was time for new toothbrushes anyway. But I digress. Back to the post at hand.

I am in the Health & Beauty aisle and on the end cap there are the "clearance" items. I see a box of Dr. Gro or Mr. Gro or something like that. Granted, it was on clearance. Normally, I wouldn't waste time or money on a product that had such an underwhelming effect that it was being marked down and "closed out" to get the inventory off their books. But it was only $4.00!

A few of you may remember that once upon a time in my pre-surgery days I was on Lupron Depot with add-back (selective hormone) therapy. Let me tell you that there are some serious side effects to this powerful drug.

Migraines. Blood Clotting. Stroke. Depression. Fluid retention. Asthma or worsening of asthma. Vaginal dryness. Hair loss. Dry skin. Thinning of nails. Bone thinning. Forgetfulness. Hot flashes. Weight gain. Panic disorder. Anxiety.

On top of all of that, one must not be on any type of prescription birth control during the treatment, and yet because it causes serious birth defects, one must not risk getting pregnant while on it. The treatment lasts 6 months at a time. Sounds like a real party, eh?

Notice, it also sounds a bit like Menopausal symptoms? Yeah, in order to "kill" off the disease, they "starve" it of the hormones that produce the disease. So, basically they were medically inducing a mini-menopause. Quite frankly, even though I finally had the surgery and am all better, some of those side effects are still present. I don't feel like I've ever been the same since being on the Lupron injections... just sayin'.

Out of the 11 side effect that I myself suffered, HAIR LOSS was one of them. I get self-conscious about my hair, because after the treatment it never grew back. The thinning is front and center too. I've tried a few hair therapy shampoos and scalp creams, etc. But they are verrrrrry expensive. So, when I saw $4.00, I was like "w00t!" and bought myself some.

The instructions say to use a "few drops" on the affected areas, on wet or dry hair and massage into scalp. So, the other morning, I thought, I will just use it as soon as I get out of the shower. I did what it said. I put a few drops on the areas I felt my hair was thinning the most. I massaged the scalp. I then proceeded to "style as usual".

After blow-drying my hair, I take a look in the mirror and am horrified. I felt like an old man who had just put an entire handful of pomade in his hair. It looked GREASY and GROSS! I was all, "Noooooooo!" My plan was to curl my hair. I didn't have time for a re-wash. I tried blow drying a little more. Nothing doing.

At this point I feel frantic. There is no way I can go to work like this. And I am thinking they will not like it if I show up in a baseball cap either. I saw the container of baby powder out of the corner of my eye. I remember hearing how older generations used to use something called talc powder or talcum powder or something like that (too lazy to google it) when they had oily hair. This allowed them to go an entire week without washing their hair.

Even though I find that a bit disgusting, I am desperate. So, I shake some of the baby powder on my hands and sort of toss it through my hair. Now, because I have dark hair, I had to brush it through so it didn't all of a sudden look like I went from oily-to-gray! I check the mirror and am relieved -- it's working! There are still a few more oily spots, so without thinking I grabbed the powder again and shake it straight onto my head.

Problem. Ummm... yeah, TONS came out. Now I was sporting the Corpse Bride look with white-ish hair. I quickly do a flip of my hair, bend over furiously brushing out my hair. I recheck the mirror. Other than a few white clumps hanging out in the "part" it looks good actually. I flick those out and start to style.

Granted. My hair FELT awful. But guess what!?!?!?! It actually looked FREAKIN AWESOME! My hair never looked so full in a long time. And the curl even held!

So, will I use this product again? Probably. However, I think I will only use two drops TOTAL. Not 2 drops on "each affected area". I probably won't be able to tell for a few more weeks if the cheap stuff is actually working. But for $4, it's definitely worth a shot.

In the meantime, I am going to make sure I always have a supply of baby powder on hand. :)

Becoming a Woman. Period.

The other day my friend and I were discussing maturation and embarrassing moments of tweens' & teens' lives. It reminded me of one of mine. I laughed so hard that I cried as I told him about it. I told him I was going to blog about it. His response? "Wow. Maybe you oughtta just keep that one to yourself." Nah! What's the fun in that???

In 6th grade, I entered Heritage Middle School, feeling so grown up to be leaving Elementary School behind. I remember the awkward maturation "discussion" that was held one afternoon as all of the boys piled into the science labs, and all of the girls were ushered into the math rooms.

The girls' "lecturers" were the school nurse, a secretary from the front office, and a math teacher. They were going to collectively teach us what Becoming a Woman was all about. During their lecture, the Nurse indicated that we will all mature at different stages - and that if any of us were to ever "mature" during the school day that she has some "supplies" down in the nurse's station. The Secretary pipes in and says that we can also come down to the office and explain that we "need a dime" and that she will understand it is for the "vending machine" of tampons and maxi pads in the restrooms. She states that she will provide such said dime with "no questions asked". I make a mental note.

Being the overachiever that I am, I started my period that year, though luckily it was a Sunday morning. Cramps were so bad, I thought I was going to die. But the rule in our home was you didn't miss church unless you were throwing up or had a fever. So, off I went with the family to Sunday worship services. I spent almost the entire church experience in the fetal position on the sofa in the foyer. My mother checked on me periodically, no pun intended.

After about 4 days, it seemed Aunt Flo had packed her bags and went home. Whew, I thought. I'm glad that is over. Guess again. Apparently, Aunt Flo was just taking a quick break. For, as soon as I got to homeroom that Thursday morning, she had returned. I panicked. I was unprepared. I quickly approach BaldTeacher and explain to him that I need the restroom pass. "Negative," he replies. "You know the rules. This is first period -" how appropriate, I thought. "and I don't give out bathroom passes during first period Homeroom." I tell him it is urgent. Request denied.

I return to my seat, and quickly whisper to BFF-Stef what is happening. She affirms that BaldTeacher is a Jerk (well - she had a better name for him). She comforts me by giving me her jacket to wear around my waist and reminds me that I just need to go down to the office after class and "ask for the dime".

The bell rings and I am off to the office. Lo and behold, CuteBoy1 & CuteBoy2 are sitting there waiting to see the principle about the fight they had just been in. A different secretary is working that day. I give her the code, whispering to her that I need a dime. Secretary2 is clueless. In her loud grating voice, she asks, "For what? What do you need a dime for???" I again, trying to keep my voice down, whisper I need "the dime" and added a little head nod, as if to say "it's the code!"

Secretary2 remains oblivious as she continues to question my motives in her abrasive nasally tone. At this point the nurse happens to walk into the office. I practically grab her as she walks past and plead, "I need a dime". Secretary2 looks at nurse inquisitively as if to say, "do you know what she is talking about?" The light bulb comes on, and the Nurse says, "Ohhh! A Dime! Come with me!"

The nurse escorts me back to her little corner office and offers me an array of feminine hygiene products. She also asks if I need to call my mom for a change of clothes. "Yes please," I reply practically in tears. I make the call, and NurseMom is on the way. CuteBoys are still in the front office awaiting their trial & sentencing. Soon I hear my mother enter the office.

"I brought a change of clothes for my daughter," she announces in this booming voice that just seems to echo through the corridors of time. "Geesh," I think to myself. "Could she be any more embarrassing?" The answer to that was, Yes. The secretary shows her the way to the nurses' station, wherein she produces a HUGE Brown Paper Grocery sack containing the change of clothes. Real discreet. At this point I am mortified at what CuteBoys must be thinking.

I use the restroom in the nurse's office, make the quick change and hand NurseMom the soiled clothes back in the grocer's bag. I guess I should just be grateful it was a brown paper sack and not a see-thru gallon size "freezer" bag.

I am sure my face was stained as scarlet as my clothes as I was paraded back through the office in front of CuteBoys. I could hear their whispers but did the best I could to avoid their stares. I shared my last class of the day with CuteBoy1 & CuteBoy2, and sat right in front of both of them. Totally humiliating. I always wondered what they thought about that day.

Moral of the story??? There are a few actually.

1) Be more prepared in life - as depending on others, such as BaldTeacher and Secretary2 will often just lead to disappointment.

2) I should have simply told BaldTeacher the truth. "I'm having my period and need to go to the restroom." Chances are at hearing the word "period", I would have been permitted to go anywhere I desired, so long as I stopped talking about it.

3) Remember this incident, and try not to embarrass my own daughter, should one day she need to call home. I mean, seriously, NurseMom - what were you thinking???

Oh - and By the way - my friend told me that the only thing he really remembers about his maturation "class" was that afterwards he asked one of the girls if she would trade "pamphlets" with him. Ha Ha Ha. Smart move. Probably could have profited from it - charging the other boys for a "glimpse". Too bad she said No.

The Principles of Prospecting

By definition, Prospecting is Something expected; a possibility, and a Prospect is A potential customer, client, or purchaser. A candidate deemed likely to succeed.

This concept of prospecting is not new to the world of sales and finance. In fact in my experience in residential real estate, my business did not exist without the principles of prospecting. In order to reach my goal of a certain number of closed deals per month, I determined that I had to contact 25 *new* people per week, either by phone, email or face to face. In addition to that I sent out 200 direct mail marketing pieces per month to current clients, potential clients as well as potential referrals.

From there it became a little more involved, separating soft leads from hard leads, cold contacts from warm contacts, etc. Anyway, that was the basic concept of prospecting in my business.

This concept of prospecting works in any situation wherein you hope to gain a potential client or customer. Missionaries use prospecting in trying to seek out potential church members. So, I thought, why wouldn't the principles of prospecting work in dating? Then I realized that they already do. True, I wouldn't go as far as to send out direct mail marketing or anything like that. (Could you even imagine???)

And by the way, why does everyone "love the outdoors" and "long walks on the beach"? I don't know about you, but if I was going to be on the beach for a long time, there are other things I can think of doing besides taking long walks. Besides, walking in the sand for a long time just makes my calves hurt.

So, back to the Principles of Prospecting in dating. In talking to Hat Dude, we both decided that in order to fill our Prime Time slots with the best possible leads, we need to prospect throughout the week to find those leads. Just like in business, we can use various forms of prospecting. It can be face-to-face, phone calls, emails, or from referrals. We both agree gaining leads through referrals is the least effective prospecting method.

It is in this method we end up waiting for those around us - our friends, family, and coworkers - to find our leads for us, and then set us up; typically a blind date. First of all, you have to ask yourself, How well do I trust my friends and family to choose someone I may actually like??? Also, depending on the person they choose to set you up with may indicate what your friends and family actually think of you.

Case in point - Camaro Creep! (yuck) Shortest date in my entire life. The whole thing lasted all of three minutes, thanks to Desperate Housewife's quick response to the cryptic text I had sent her. On my way home, I called Pocahontas and told her "thanks, but no thanks" on any future referrals. Camaro Creep was enough for me not to trust her instincts anymore.

So for now, I will continue prospecting on my own, running all leads past my "business partner", Hat Dude. If the lead meets partnership approval, then phone skills are put to the test, and finally the appointment is made. Based on the presentation and sales pitch during that initial meeting, the prospect is either turned cold and referred to as "dead" or it is "turned over" and added to the list of "current clients" with whom future dates are made. By the way, one part of the "sales pitch" includes who pays for the first date. All I can say dudes, is if you even want a chance at a second date, you're gonna have to pay for the first.

So far, our Principles of Prospecting are off to a good start, though we are still in the beginning stages. Hopefully, through continuous tracking of empirical data of turn-over rate and return on investment, we will improve our techniques and methods over time.

So, if you think you can overcome the fear of rejection, then prospecting may just be for you. And now you'll know the truth when you call and ask me what I am up to, and I simply reply, "prospecting".

Open for business, baby!

You Wanna Stick That WHERE???

Warning: The following blog post is not for the weak-stomached. Additionally, no medical terms were intentionally slaughtered or harmed in the making of this post.
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If you have never been hospitalized or subjected to medical testing, be grateful; very grateful.

When I was in college at BYU-Hawaii, I got really sick during my second semester. Hepatitis was going around, so I needed to be checked out by a doctor. The nurse took my vitals and asked when my last physical was. I rambled some guesstimation, which wasn't to her satisfaction. She handed me the gown and told me I would get a complete physical. So there I sat in a glacial chamber of sterile furnishings and peroxidic odors , shivering beneath the paper-thin gown. Mr. McDreamy entered the room. He had long luscious locks and looked HOT in scrubs. I think my temperature elevated at least 2 degrees. He didn't look a day over 21. "You're the Doctor???" I asked. He flashed his million dollar smile, and answered, "Yep. Completing my residency." "Holy Crapola!" I thought. I had never been seen naked by ANYONE since my parents diapered my butt as a baby! It felt wrong somehow - like some soap-opera-hunk Dr. getting ready to put the moves on his Damsel-in-Distress patient. I remember cringing - a lot - and taking a lot of deep breaths. He of course was a complete professional. I didn't have Hepatitis, by the way. Just a severe cold.

Shortly after marriage - like in the blink of an eye - I became pregnant with my first baby. I was sick as a dog. I became weak and couldn't even keep water down. I went to the hospital and they confirmed I was pregnant and stuck an I.V. into me and pumped me full of nutrients. Then they sent me home with suppositories that were to help with nausea. "You want me to put those where?" I thought. Well, let's just say the suppositories were made of this malodorous glycerin type substance and just opening the bottle was enough to invoke a Kermit-The-Frog-Like-Green color in my face as well as yesterday's water from my stomach.

A few weeks later, I went in for my first "Pre-Natal Check-Up". I didn't know what to expect. I was 19 years old, living in Hawaii, and had never been to an OB/GYN in my life. Well, first things first. The locals speak Hawaiian Pidgin - a broken or slang English. Anyway upon arriving, the gal at the front desk hands me a small paper cup, points down the hall and says, "Take dis cup and go make shi-shi. When done, bring back to me. Ok?" At this point I am thinking a couple of things. "Make Shi-Shi? And then I have to carry it back, in front of all the other patients in the waiting room? Oh I don't think so." I tell the lady, that I don't think I can go "shi-shi" at the moment. She replies for me to go to the exam room, and try to "make shi-shi" at the end of my visit. I am still clueless as to why the Dr. might need this sort of specimen.

I enter the exam room, and the Dr. tells me she is going to be performing a Transvaginal Ultrasound. First of all - why is it called performing? Is it some sort of trick? Does she expect an applause afterwards? Second of all -- transvaginal??? Is that what I think it means? She continues to explain that she will use a "transducer" for this procedure, and as she is talking she is opening a package of prophylactics. The only thing I have known of transducers is that they are some sort of sonar equipment that the government uses to test things underwater for the Navy. Gives new meaning to "going down under". Then she pulls out this wand-looking thing and slips the "protective covering" over it. "You wanna stick that where?" I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or cry. At the end of the exam, the Dr. says, "Oh, by the way - I still need a urine sample from you" "Urine sample?" I ask her. "You mean Shi-Shi is Pee?" The Dr. chuckles and says, "Yes. in Pidgin #1 is Shi-shi and #2 is Doo-Doo". Wow, I thought. I am so glad I found that out before I made a doo-dy in the cup and carried it all the way to the front desk! Can you imagine the look I would have gotten from not only the patients, but the girl at the front desk???

For my first Pelvic CT Scan, No eating after 8pm, no drinking after midnight the night before. I also have to drink an entire bottle of some sort of liquid laxative. Don't worry, they tell me. It's carbonated and lemon flavored. What - like a Diarrhea Spritzer? Is that supposed to make me feel better? It was totally nasty. Then, I thought all I had to do was show up the next morning, with a stomach that had been scraped clean. Oh no - that would be too easy. They handed me a jug of some milky substance. I hate milk. Just the thought of drinking it, ugh - i just threw up in my mouth! Well, you get the idea. And whoever had the brilliant idea to "flavor" the milk stuff with Orange flavoring should be shot. Apparently they were going for "Orange Creamsicle". I got news for you, Creamsicle Man, Barium Sulfate Solution is going to taste like crap no matter what flavor syrup you add. It's not a Sno-Cone, you moron.

A year later, I had to go for a second Pelvic CT Scan. It was harder to drink all that crap the second time around, believe it or not. The lab technician comes out twice to get me, and both times I haven't finished the "Orange Creamsicle Cocktail". She finally threatens me with a five minute deadline before disappearing behind the double doors. I quickly scan the waiting room. The girls at the reception desk are busy reading magazines and discussing the latest Dating Quiz that will reveal whether or not they are a perfect match. I locate the restroom and I end up dumping about half of what is left down the drain. I emerge from the restroom, just as another technician comes to retrieve me. I admit to the young man that I am having a hard time finishing the drink. He says, "No problem. You probably drank enough." He informs me to change and wait for Creamsicle Nazi to come and get me. I didn't want her to look down at me with her disapproving eyes. I look around the dressing room and spot the hamper. I quickly shove the jug in the pile of dirty gowns. Childish, I know. I crack myself up just thinking about that.

About 3 months after the 2nd CT Scan, I am sent back to the hospital for a Barium Enema. The prep work is looking quite similar to that of the CT Scans. I was totally freaking out about the stupid Barium Sulfate Solution. Good News! No Orange Creamsicle Diahrrea Cocktail! I don't mind that they strap me to a table, with a cord shoved up my tookus so far it's making my nose itch. I don't care that the table is tilted back and forth, up and down, reminiscent of some lame carnival ride. It doesn't even bother me that the Barium they flush my system with is going to come gushing out the minute I stand up. I do not have to drink the Orange Creamsicle Cocktail and I am elated! At this point, I officially declare that I would much rather have a Barium Enema over a Pelvic CT Scan any day!

So now, I am having pains again. I go into the outpatient radiology unit at the hospital Monday. I learned that I have Inflammation of the Ovaries, though at this point the exact cause is unknown. I want concrete answers. So, what do I do? Research the internet, of course. What was it that Michael Scott from The Office said? "Wikipedia is the best thing ever. Anyone in the world can write anything they want about any subject. So you know you are getting the best possible information." The internet says that it could be 1)PID - which is usually caused by STDs. Whew, I can rule that one out. It also says 2) Ovulation - hmmm. Could be. But I liked #3 the best. 3) Sexual Indulgence. At first I was like, "no that can't be it. Afterall, I am a Born-Again Virgin." But then I read on. Here is what it said: "when the stimulus to the ovaries has long been denied, its sudden presentation is liable to make an inflammatory impression. Its entire absence, too, in persons of strong passions, may result in ovarian disease. This inflammation may be produced by the new state of things..." Wow. So is it saying what I think it is saying? Diagnosis: Horniness.

So, for now, until I am subjected to more poking & prodding, I have made new friends with my ibuprofin and heating pad.

Quite the Conundrum

So, Hat Dude fires off an SOS text. My emergency response time was near perfect. He begins to explain his crisis as I begin to assess the situation. "Wait, wait," I tell him. "I need like a white board so I can diagram the facts."

Here is what I surmised. Hat Dude is approaching his quest for a soul mate with Full Throttle; a race against time, if you will. Based on complex theorems and empirical data, Hat Dude determines that in order to accomplish his objective in an expediential manner, he needs to, on average achieve a minimum of 3 dates per weekend. And 60% of those encounters needs to occur with a new prospect.

So, Hat Dude went out with Hair Stylist Girl last weekend and likes her well enough to go out again (even though we determined she may be a little "high-maintenance"). Hat Dude is also interested in EMT Girl, Teacher Chic, and Utes Girl. He already went out with Red Head Girl, and though she wants to go out with him again, he is not interested. He nails down Friday Lunch with EMT Girl. I approve. Hair Stylist Girl wants to see him, but he doesn't want to commit to her until he has times mapped out with Teacher Chic and Utes Girl. (Do you see why I needed the white board?)

As Hat Dude is dictating, I am charting. Hair Stylist Girl cannot do daytime Saturday because of school. The same is true for Red Head Girl. Teacher Chic and Utes Girl cannot be midday dates, he informs me. Too special - need to be evening dates. Red Head Girl wants to go hiking with him Saturday afternoon, around 4pm.

I tell Hat Dude that will not work. That is cutting it too close to his evening with one of the others. Plus, I remind him that it will be hot outside and he will be sweaty and going to a second date covered in first-date sweat is disgusting. He agrees. I convince him he needs to blow off Red Head Girl; he is not interested in her anyway. Besides, I tell him, he went out with her two weeks prior and they went to Benihana's and he shelled out a fortune when he didn't even like her. I tell him that was a "two-for".....she doesn't get a second date. He is wondering what to tell her. I advise him that he can always just not call, and then afterwards give her some bull-crap excuse like he was out of town and then got really, really sick (see "To Call or Not To Call"). He laughs in response and says, "Awesome", knowing that I was calling him on his crap.

Hat Dude really likes Teacher Chic, and I approve. I mean, how can you not like her? She teaches Special Education and loves her job. However, Teacher Chic is having difficulty determining an available time for him in her schedule. The problem lies therein if she cannot go Friday, he then needs to fill that spot. He considers filling it with either Hair Stylist Girl or Utes Girl. We determine that since he has already went out with Hair Stylist Girl, he will have to put her off until Sunday evening. He needs to fill his Primetime Spots with Teacher Chic and Utes Girl. Though, if all else fails, the Hair Stylist Girl is a good alternate. He agrees. I give him some specific goals:
1) Get commitment from Teacher Chic
2) Nail down time with Utes Girl
3) Fill in the "blanks" with Hair Stylist Girl
4) Keep prospecting, to fill any open spots as they occur.

As our Sales Meeting -- Oops, I mean "coaching session" draws to a close, Hat Dude is feeling much better. He now has some clear-cut objectives. I tell him, "In the future, please run all prospects through me first to avoid potential scheduling conflicts. Seriously, it is a good thing you met me. I don't know how you managed pre-Emma days." "You make a good point, Em," he replies. "Yeah, yeah," I say. "I hear that all the time..."

Finally, after solving all of Hat Dude's problems of the world, he listens to my ventures with Fire Dude, In-Flight Dude, & Secret Agent Guy. He gives me great advice in return and a few "at-a-girls".

I was chilling at Desperate Housewife's, while holding this conference call with Hat Dude. She laughs at Hat Dude's Dating Diagram and can't believe that we consult each other on our dating endeavors - as if we are business partners or something. Well, I don't really know how to explain it. Except to say that Hat Dude and I really do have a vested interest in each other; he's like my BFF in my circle of singles. We care about what happens and we each want the other to be happy. It's really cool, actually.

That's how we roll, I tell her.

The Red-Eye

One of my favorite things is Breakfast for Dinner. It doesn't even matter what type of breakfast. I love any breakfast for dinner; french toast, pancakes, omelets and even just cereal. It's all good. So, when In-Flight Dude suggests we have breakfast for dinner, I immediately agree. The only place still open is the ever-classy Denny's; always a treat. Hanging out with In-Flight Dude is like going on an exciting trip. Though that could also have something to do with the fact that I am fond of his In-Flight announcements and he is always a good sport about performing on demand. "Give me your 'Welcome Aboard' announcement," I tell him. "Where would you like to go?" he asks. "Umm, Anchorage." In-Flight Dude clears his throat and accommodates the request. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to welcome you aboard Delta's flight 1101 with non-stop service to Anchorage..." or something to that effect. He is quite good, and we laugh and have some great conversation throughout our breakfast for dinner.

At one point, Hat Dude calls and asks for ideas for great first dates with chicks. I realize after our escapades a few weeks earlier, none of his other outings have quite measured up. I don't blame him; I understand, Grasshopper. I explain to Hat Dude that I am prepared for take-off with In-Flight Dude, and will have to call him back after returning to my final destination.

In-Flight Dude & I continue our conversation over breakfast for dinner and then decide to take a drive through Bountiful. Of course, I absolutely cannot put on my seat belt until In-Flight Dude has given me the proper safety instructions. "I would like to take a moment to briefly explain the safety features of your Boeing 757 aircraft...to fasten your seat belt, place the flat end into the metal buckle. To tighten your seatbelt, pull on the strap. Your safety belt should be worn low and tight across your lap. To unfasten your seatbelt, simply lift up on the the metal tab..." Whew! I can't tell you how much safer I felt just hearing that.

In-Flight Dude and I end up talking for several hours. Soon we realize how late it is and we both need to head home. "On behalf of your Salt Lake City based flight crew, I'd like to welcome you to beautiful Salt Lake City. The approximate time is......4 a.m. ???" Holy Crapola! Where did the time go?

I get home safely and remember that not only do I still have pies to make for our Enrichment Activity the next night (well, technically the same day now), but that I also promised to call Hat Dude back. I send Hat Dude a text, knowing he is probably just getting home from his late-night shift. He is still up, so I call. He tells me about Canada Girl, and I bestow upon him my wit, wisdom and advice, for which I am sure he is eternally grateful. We end up talking for almost two hours, and I realize at this point there is no point to going to bed.

I get the pies going in the oven, and run to pick up the kids from their dad's. Then by 8:15 am, pies are done, we are all showered and out the door. Work was hard to stay awake for. Luckily it was a quiet day, and I was able take a 20 minute power nap during lunch.

According to my sleep deprivation cycle, this was the longest I had ever remained in Stage 1 (see "Hamster Head"). I was slurring my words so badly, that Boss Man was ready to send me in for a drug screening. Even if I hadn't been slurring my words, everyone knew I was sleep deprived because it was Ugly Glasses Day. My eyes were way too tired for contacts. When Secret Agent Guy was questioning the sanity of my emails, I knew that I was going downhill fast. Everyone and their brother seemed concerned for my well-being. I was told phrases like, "Go home & go to bed", "turn off your cell phone tonight" (Blasphemy!) "You're going to make yourself sick". It was nice to know that people cared.

By the time 5pm came around I could hardly keep my eyes open. I was so worried that I would fall asleep on the way home, I called In-Flight Dude and told him he had to talk to me to keep me awake. He asked me for my ETA. I informed him that since I only live 1.91 miles from work, my ETA was about 6 minutes. But hey - a lot can happen in only 6 minutes. It only takes 6 minutes (or less) for a girl to get pregnant. It can certainly take only 6 minutes for a sleep deprived Mindless Banterer to go off road and crash.

So, I got home, put my jammies on and told the kids they could fend for themselves. They asked what was for dinner. I replied, "If it's edible, eat it." They figured since I wouldn't be going to Enrichment, perhaps they could have pie for dinner. "Go for it," I answer. (I am bound to be nominated Mother-of-the-Year for that one.) I slept for 3 hrs and was up again by 9 pm. I remembered that I still needed to get some milk before the morning. By 11pm, I dragged myself out of bed and ran down to the 24 hr Wal-Mart. With my beautiful glasses and bed-head hair, I fit right in with the other shoppers. Hey! At least I put on a bra and brushed my teeth first.

Was back home in bed by 12:30 and then didn't want to get up this morning. I was able to get my contacts in, but let's just call today Ugly Pony-Tail Hair day.

I guess the lessons learned in all of this are that I am not as young as I used to be, and I won't be taking anymore Red-Eye "Flights" when I have to report to work the next day.

"Princess & the Pee" & "Will Work for Date"

Normally, when you have plans to hang out with someone, you sort of have in your mind how you think the evening will play out. However, sometimes life throws you a curve ball. I have learned that as much as I enjoy well thought-out plans and structure, I have also become pretty good at embracing unpredictability. There are two parts to this post, because they both broach the topic of embracing unpredictability, or catching the curve ball, if you will.

Princess and the Pee

So, Science Guy and I go to eat Chinese on Friday. I inform the waiter that I am really a Camel, and if he wants to keep me happy, he should keep my water glass filled. He agrees. As a result, I think I drank like 6 or 7 glasses of water. Afterwards, while Science Guy is paying the bill, I use the Ladies Room. Then in his car, while driving, all of a sudden I have to go again! I might drink like a camel, but I have a bird's bladder! I am not close to home, but there is a grocery store at the bottom of the hill. I tell him to drive me there. Science Guy is trying not to laugh at me. I threaten him that if he laughs, he will make me laugh, and then he will have to get his car detailed. As he is driving down the hill, his car begins to pick up speed. I tell him to slow down, that if he gets us pulled over, there is no guarantee that I won't pee in his car! Science Guy slows it down, just as we pass a police car. He thanks me for advising him so wisely. However, as he is talking to me, he lets up on the break, and the car begins to pick up speed again. We are still well within the speed trap zone, and sure enough within seconds, there are flashing lights on our tail. I punch Science Guy in the arm, and tell him to cooperate and make this exchange go as smoothly as possible so we can get out of there and I can pee!!! The officer approaches the car and asks Science Guy for his license, registration and proof of insurance. He then asks where we were off to in such a hurry. You guessed it, Science Guy tells him! But it's worse than that --he just doesn't tell the officer that I have to pee, he tells him that I have a bladder problem!!! Great, why don't you just sign me up as the new spokes model for Poise Pads while you're at it too? For the record - I do not have a bladder condition! It's simple...You drink lots of water, you're gonna have to pee - a lot! So, I punched Science Guy in the arm at least two more times, while my foot is ready to go through the floor board as I am trying to contain myself. Finally the officer comes back and hands Science Guy a ticket!!! He tells Science Guy that he is "letting him off easy" and instead of citing him for going 50 in a 30, he will only mark him as going 9 over. Wow...generous. Finally, we are allowed to go, and I am pleased to say that I made it to the grocery store at the bottom of the hill with dry pants. But see, I still get the last laugh (at Science Guy) cuz that was one expensive first date! Dinner at Chinese Restaurant: $30. Speeding Ticket from Bountiful Police: $86. Date having to pee so bad she almost loses it in car? Priceless!


Will Work For Date

So, Construction Dude lives close by, and we've been chatting back and forth for a few days. We discuss hanging out, but his work schedule takes him out of town most of the week, and he works a lot of side jobs on the weekend. He finally invites me over, but warns me that he only has about an hour before he has to take care of a few projects. I agree and go over to visit him. When I get there, he tells me he has to work on the wiring in the house. So, we hang out in his garage (awesome, right?) while he is up on the ladder. Soon, he asks me to hand him some sort of tool. He might as well have been a surgeon asking me for a speculum or a scalpel. I advised him that he would have to describe the tool for me in "girl language". He sweetly asked for the cute little yellow-handled wire strippers. Precious! His next door neighbor is outside finishing a call on his cell. He turns and sees Construction Dude and I in the garage. Construction Dude informs me that the neighbor guy has been his bishop for years. The two banter for a minute before Bishop Neighbor makes his way over. Bishop Neighbor & I are introduced. He asks how we met. Construction Dude tells him that we met in a bar, and he was in a bar fight and I saved his life. Bishop Neighbor looks at me. I laugh and respond, "Something like that." Bishop Neighbor asks me where I'm from. I tell him Northern Indiana, east of South Bend. Construction Dude looks down from the ladder and says, "I'm from Kalamazoo! I used to love our Tri-Stake Youth Conferences with you guys!" Then he says, "We probably also played against you guys in High School Sports." I respond by saying, "and we probably kicked your butts." Construction Dude laughs and says, "Probably. In fact I was probably the kid on the bottom of the wrestling pile, crying for my mom." I retort, "And I was probably the chick checking out all of the guys that weren't crying." With that, Bishop Neighbor says, "I guess you two having some getting-to-know you stuff still." Construction Dude confirms this is our first official meeting. Bishop Neighbor looks at me, and says, "You do know about his tattoos, right?" I nod and laugh; I knew. Bishop Neighbor looks at us both a little skeptically, not really sure what to make of the whole thing. He finally smiles at me, with a twinkle in his eye and says, "Well I don't know many girls that would come and work for a first date!" Bishop Neighbor then turns to Construction Dude and admonishes, "For Pete's Sake...will you at least take her for some Nielson's Custard or something?"

So there you have it. Who says life has to be predictable? Predictable is overrated. Oh - and no worries, the tattoos are nothing to get alarmed over.

Nice Girl to the Rescue!

So, I was chatting with College Guy today and we were talking about college, of course. Reminiscing about things we did and people we knew. When we were in college, College Guy & I used to tell each other almost everything. He would tell me about dates he went on and girls he kissed, and I would tell him about the dates I went on and the guys I kissed. It was cool, because we could give each other advice from the perspective of the opposite sex. We were never more than really good friends. He was the "nice guy" and I was the "nice girl". Nevertheless, we did tend to get jealous of the other person's time spent with various dates or potential relationships.

College Guy pointed out that I was always very competitive with the girls he dated, even though I wasn't attracted to him in that way. He is right. I am competitive. I started to laugh when he reminded me of this, because immediately two experiences from my past came rushing back to the forefront of my mind.

Back home in Indiana, our church had a Stake Youth Dance on the first Saturday of every month. We got to see our fellow church-member friends from about 3 different counties. Anyway, there was this boy, I will call him Suspender Boy (cuz those were really super-duper cool back then and he wore them at the dance) and we danced and danced together all night long. His parents were the DJs, and I thought this was way cool, which made Suspender Boy way cool in my book. At any rate, we had a little fling going, and he wanted me to be his "girlfriend". Well, being too young to date, this mostly meant phone calls and letters back and forth between Middlebury and South Bend. I wouldn't go as far to say that I was in love with him or anything, but it was a cute puppy-love crush. After a few months, I decided that I had to "keep my options open", so Suspender Boy & I broke up. Anyway, like the next week I went to our Stake Girl's Camp and there were two other girls from South Bend there; Curly & Blondie. Curly was cute and nice to everyone. She was also slightly shy. Blondie was mean and snobby - or at least to me she was. One day during free time, after swimming in the lake, I was in the showerhouse and overheard Curly & Blondie talking. Blondie was telling Curly how she was glad that Suspender Boy & I broke up, so now SHE could have him. Oh no she didn't, I remember thinking. Suspender Boy deserves better than that! He deserves someone like, ...like, ...like me!

I would show her! I wrote Suspender Boy a little love note, telling him I had made a mistake and how much I missed him and wanted him back. I sent the note home to him via a reliable courier. In order to secure my position I followed up with a confirmation phone call the minute I arrived home from camp. Suspender Boy wanted me back too! I remember dancing with Suspender Boy at the next dance, looking over my shoulder, gloating at Blondie. Eventually, we both grew tired of the relationship and broke up again. I was pleased, however to find out later that he eventually started dating Curly. I was happy for both of them. A side note, Suspender Boy & Curly ended up getting married! Aww, precious!

Another time this competitiveness reared its ugly head was during Middle School. There was a boy who was a year younger actually, that I thought was totally hot. And he was on the Basketball Team. Basketball boy was tanned, good-looking and really nice. He lived in the same neighborhood as one of my friends. So, whenever I would go to her house after school, Basketball Boy & I would hang out and flirt. Again, we did the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing, which meant writing little notes, calling each other on the phone, eating lunch at school together, etc. The only real problem was Basketball Boy was a little shy which meant I was the one doing all of the work. It's like, what's the point of being witty and clever when the other person has nothing to add? So, I broke it off. Until, that is, I heard through the grapevine (gotta love the grapevines) that Big Schnoz liked him. Ok- normally, I would be nice with my nicknames, but this girl had a like really big, super huge nose. Like her faced was smacked into a wall, and her nose was crooked and bent in at least 3 different places. Anyway, Big Schnoz had heard that Basketball Boy & I broke up and I heard that she wanted him. Immediately I sprang into action. I sought out Basketball Boy to retract the break-up. Worked like a charm. Later that afternoon, I was heading to P.E. while Big Schnoz was leaving PE. She glared at me, I glared at her. She swung. I grabbed her fist and went for the hair. Girls always go for the hair! We had this mean, nasty, drop down, drag out cat-fight in the middle of the hall outside the locker room, without having said even a word to each other. Clueless Art Teacher came out to break up the commotion. I was pleased to see that my long claw-like nails had made streak-like gouges in her face. It was the only time I have ever gotten into a cat-fight, and I won.

We were both hauled down to the office, and I couldn't believe that I was in a fight, and over a boy no-less. Miss Priss Guidance Counselor, who I am convinced only cared about the affair she was having with the asst principal, asked me how the fight started. I couldn't bring myself to tell her. I didn't want my mother being called down to the school, because I had a fight with some chick over some dude. Too embarrassing, plus there was sure to be punishments handed out. All I could do was sit there and cry. Miss Priss tried again to get it out of me. Finally, to no avail, she said, "Well, I know [Big Schnoz] has a reputation for being mean to other girls. I can only guess that's what happened here, right?" I just sat there and sniffled, and let Miss Priss think what she wanted. As a result, I was allowed to go back to class while Big Schnoz sat in In-School Suspension. I must admit that I couldn't help but flash Big Schnoz a little half-smile (nanner, nanner, nan-ner) as I trotted out of the office, back to freedom.

So, back to College Guy... I am telling him these stories, which he is finding hard to believe. He says, "I thought you don't like confrontation." "I don't" I reply. "So," College Guy wondered, "why the fights with the girls? Especially if you didn't really like the boys?" "Because, these were nice boys, and they deserved nice girls. I guess I was trying to protect them from Witches with Capital B's."

"Nice Girl To The Rescue! Is that it? Saving men everywhere from Witches with Capital B's?," wonders College Guy.

Hey - just doing my part to serve and protect. No honors or medals please. I simply do what I can.

Cougar on the Loose!

Ripped from today's headlines in the Deseret News...

Cougar captured in West Jordan
By Pat Reavy Deseret News
Published: June 3, 2008
WEST JORDAN — A cougar caused some excitement in a neighborhood here this morning. An 18-month-old female cougar, described by wildlife officials as being "good sized" went on a trip through some backyards near 8600 South and 5000 West. Just before 6 a.m. a resident let his dog out into the backyard. When he went to see why his dog was barking, he spotted a cougar lying in the grass, said West Jordan police Sgt. Greg Butler. A few moments later, a second neighbor spotted the cougar and also called police. A couple of hours later, a third sighting was called in to police about three blocks from the initial area, Butler said. Police did a reverse 911 call to the area. A machine automatically called 600 homes in the area and left a recorded message cautioning residents to keep their pets and children indoors for now.
___________________

No worries...the cougar was caught hours after the initial reporting. No children or pets were eaten.

The reason I find this so funny, is because just 5 minutes before this story broke, Hat Dude, who is actually from West Jordan, was telling me about some older woman who was trying to pick him up online. She was "warning" him about all of the people that meet online to "hook-up". I laughed and said, that's probably what she wanted. He then told me that she was 10 years older than him. I purred, "Wow. A Cougar." He replied, "Aren't Cougars supposed to be hot?" Poor Hat Dude. Getting hit on by older women who just think they're Cougars. I asked him how it felt to be Cougar Bait, and warned him that Cougars bite. Yikes!

So, anyway, what is the deal with Cougar women? In case you are wondering, by definition, a "Cougar Woman" is a predatory woman, usually between the ages of 35-50 who hunts, stalks, lusts after and imposes her attentions upon some innocent, inexperienced young males. It's almost like the female version of the old term Sugar Daddy. I think this is the stupidest thing!

First of all, do not act like this is normal! We all know what is going on! The younger person in the relationship just wants financial security without having to work for it. They want to go play with their friends with an unlimited allowance. The older person in the relationship wants to feel young again and therefore enjoys being around the younger partner. Of course, not to mention other liberties that come with the package. So, don't give me this crap about it being "love". C'mon Sugar Daddies....you're old and in a wheel chair, breathing on a respirator, and you want us to believe that your super-model bombshell of a wife is attracted to you? And as far as the Cougar Women go, you need counseling!!! I mean, granted, you're probably in your 40s, lonely, and perhaps have had no children of your own, if you're single. If you want to raise a little boy - adopt! Don't prowl around at the arcade and lure one into marriage. Oh and by the way, did you know that there is actually a group out there that is trying to get the term "Sugar Daddy" changed to "Panther Daddy" just for equality??? Seriously!

These aren't the only terms we use to describe women in today's society. How about the term, Yummy Mummy? This term started over in England, which is why it is "Mummy", meaning Mom and not someone under 1000s of years of wraps. At any rate a Yummy Mummy is an attractive, very sexy young mother between the ages of 19 - 30. Yummy Mummies wear trendy clothes, have great hairstyles and always look fabulous. Though these women aren't predatory in nature, if they do attract a certain male type, it is usually the neighborhood teenage gardener.

So, what I am wondering is, do women like being labeled like this? I mean, no doubt Men were the ones that came up with these names. What if the tables were turned? What names could we women possibly come up with for the men in our universe? Here's a few I wouldn't mind seeing implemented...

• Cheetah Guy - for the man who cheats on his wife
• Flubby Tubby - for the nasty old man with the big beer gut, donning the nasty pit-stained wife-beater undershirt, who smells so rank he makes your eyes water. Of course he just thinks he is attractive and is always hitting on the Yummy Mummies. (go ahead, say it... EWWW!)
• Peniless Peter - (you had to read that one twice, didn't you?) This would be the man that can't hold down a job. Always broke, always bumming off of someone. He is of course able-bodied, nonetheless just waiting for that "perfect opportunity" to come. I've got news for you Peniless Peter...Ed McMahon is not going to be knocking on your door with a fistful of balloons and a giant-sized check. So get your hand outta your pants, get off the sofa, and go get a job!
• Chester the Molester - this is for any guy that is creepy, is a creep or looks like a creep. You know who you are.....

Now, this one I didn't make up. Dolores Claiborne said it best, so I didn't have to...

• Mr. Grand High Poobah of Upper Butt-crack - for the man with his head so far up his butt, well...you get the idea.

These are the kinds of guys we should be labeling. In fact, wouldn't it be great if they could just have T-Shirts made? They would be like walking warning signs to women everywhere.

Of course there are lots of great guys out there too. And they definitely deserve our praise. College Guy is insightful and compassionate. Science Guy is smart & sensitive. Truck Guy treats others with dignity & respect. Secret Agent Guy is strong & thoughtful. Hat Dude is witty & affectionate. Mechanic Man is a great father (good for you Desperate Housewife), and my own Dad is the best!

As I have mentioned before, I enjoy nicknames. I guess this is a little hypocritical, seeing as I am now left thinking, what sort of names and labels do people possibly have for me??? which I don't really want to know.

Too bad, we can't have some sort of reverse 911 calling system to warn unsuspecting people of Cougar Women, Panther Daddies, and Grand High Poobahs of Upper Buttcrack. That would be the day!

"Attention all unsuspecting citizens: Please keep all children and pets indoors as the following predators are on the loose..."

Well, suffice it to say, it probably won't happen, as no one has been eaten at the hands of a Peniless Peter yet.

To Call Or Not To Call?

To call or not to call? That is the question. In this day and age where almost everyone has a cell phone, we tend to get a little impatient with the turn-around time it takes to receive a return call - myself included. On the other hand, it's like - hey, why have a cell phone if you're not going to use it???

Well, they say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Let me tell you that I am not addicted to my cell phone. True, it is on 24-7. True, I even have it with me when I soak in the tub. True, if I lose it I go crazy. However, I can put it down for a brief period of time, if there is something important that needs to be done. I do not answer it during church, or while my feet are in the stirrups at the Dr.'s office, or while at lunch with a client, etc. I am not addicted. I am however, very fond of my cell phone and I make no pretensions about that.
With that said, I am one of those people who expects a return phone call in a timely fashion. Even more so, if you tell me that you're going to call me, then I expect you to do just that. (Call me crazy, I know. What am I thinking, right?)

So...without naming names (yeah right, what's the fun in that?) Hat Dude (upgraded from Technique Guy) said he would call and then didn't. He could certainly take lessons from Science Guy. Science Guy calls whether I want him to or not. He even calls to say he's not going to call.

Well, not wanting to jump to conclusions or be "that girl" - you know, the needy, clingy one that gets bent out of shape if he doesn't call - I decided to take the rational approach (after muttering a few words under my breath, of course).

I determined, in my rational thinking, that there are really only 5 Reasons a Guy Does Not Call when he says he will. Drumroll please........

1) He is dead, or nearly dead
2) He is busy with work or family
3) He is with some other woman
4) He takes sick pleasure in not calling when he says he is going to .........OR...............
5) He is done with you, but doesn't have the Kahones to tell you

In the very short time that we've known each other, it's been my experience that Hat Dude usually does call if he says he will. I knew he was out of town and not feeling well, so I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. As it turns out, Hat Dude was really sick (so he claims) which falls into the #1 category of being "nearly dead". All I can say is that he is lucky; Cuz if it was like any other reason, he would've wished he was dead! (Just kidding, Hat Dude.)

Hat Dude apologized, though he did admit that he could have lifted a finger to send a text. I mean, c'mon, we all know when you're sick you can still "click" a remote or a mouse; you could have certainly sent a text.

So, the lesson to Dudes everywhere out there??? When it's a matter of To Call or Not To Call? The answer is CALL! Always Call!