Pedicures--cheap and legal

I treated myself to a pedicure this weekend.  A treat it is with money being so tight.  But the past couple of weeks have been hard and my poor dogs were barking and sore and I thought they could use it.  (And besides, I can't go to BGW with crusty old feet. Ick.)

I sat there in the massage chair reading trashy magazines while my feet were soaked, scrubbed, and moisturized.  My legs were exfoliated, kneaded and pounded until they were tingly and relaxed.  This went on and on until my nails were finally tipped with my favorite polish color "Naughty".   I texted a friend while I was in the midst of this luxurious orgasm describing the decadence and asked him if there was a male equivalent. He replied that there was, but it was more expensive and illegal in most states.  Heh heh.  Well, I got my happy ending. 

A brazen hussy

Many years ago when I was in my early teens, my mother and I hit the big city to go to some sort of a play put on by the church.  It was at a huge, unfamiliar convention center and we wandered a bit before entering a large auditorium filled with people in dresses and suits.  It simply had to be the right place.  As we were looking for seats I kept getting evil glares from people.  I was bewildered.  When someone actually hissed something along the lines of "brazen hussy" I finally noticed that all the women were in dresses and I was wearing--gasp!--pants.  Red pants at that.  (Hey, this was the '70s.  Fashions were hideous. Just watch the old Brady Bunch reruns.)  It seemed we were in some sort of Saved Christian revival and pants were not acceptable for women.  Apparently they were the equivalent of slutty.

Fast forward to BYU this weekend.  I was just there to attend a musical performance and I wore my favorite black cami, bra and sweater.  I felt like a stripper. Shirts layered two and three deep that covered up to the clavicles were everywhere. And there I was showing a hint of what might possibly be cleavage!  I kept my sweater wrapped well around me the entire night lest someone hiss "brazen hussy" at me.  Wearing pants, showing clavicles.  Where will the sluttiness end!? 

Oh, my freaking heck!

An absolutely hilarious article from The Onion.  What's really going on at BYU since the Brandon Davies incident.  But beware, it's at least R rated.  I spewed my coffee laughing though.

What?! Who said that?

I had a long talk with my heathen sister about listening to myself and trusting my instincts.  All those times in my life I was trying to listen to "the spirit", what was it I was really hearing?  Assuming it was really some part of ME that was talking, what was it?  When have I made good decisions and when have I not?  Were those decisions made with my brain or my heart?  Maybe my kidney or spleen put in their two cents?  Or perhaps some other body part?   Have I made ANY good decisions in my life?  Maybe I've just gone along for the ride and let other people decide for me so that 48 years later I can point the finger at them and say, "It's YOUR fault!"

You can tell this spiraled down to an unproductive rant and much angst.  My sister is very patient.  I'm pretty sure she was playing a game on her computer while I spouted.  It's no wonder she gets those enormous scores on Zuma.

But I still have no answer as to how to "listen to myself".   It seems reasonable to let the brain rule.  It's smart, right?  It looks at the pros and cons of things and makes the intelligent choice.  The heart, maybe not so much.  It can sometimes be very, very stupid and easily led.  But the heart takes feelings and people into consideration. Without heart, we'd just be robots living the letter of the law and forgetting about the spirit of it. Been there, done that.

As for some other body parts, well, they just need to shut the hell up.  I'm going to try and listen to my brain this time.

 

A stroke of genius and other shit

I've been pondering a blog post titled "The Death of Shame" but some things not even I will blog about. I will say I have been in a spiral of depression and guilt lately. I'm just not sure how to pull myself out of it.

On a brighter note, I think I've decided on a tattoo!  I saw this incredibly awesome one:

But I'm not sure I want that much of my skin colored on.  Not even for Douglas Adams.

But I had a stroke of genius this morning!  I will get a musical note on my foot.  It will be my footnote!  *crickets chirping*  Somehow that seemed like a much better idea at 3AM.

But I am looking forward to BGW!

Hanging with the other mofos.

Enjoying the amenities.

Cutting loose a little.

And hopefully this won't happen:



Church balls

My awesome baby girl plays on our ward's basketball team.  In past years they've gone to regions.  This year, however, it is no longer called "regions".  It's "stake on stake play"  or some such drivel.  It still means they were the best team in our stake and get to play against the best from other stakes now.  I've only been to a couple of her games this season because of work and they have been played at our ward chapel.  I managed to creep in and creep out without attracting too much attention.  Though after one game I noticed that my jacket was gaping and showing my tank top and bra strap.  I'm sure that fueled the gossip fires for a while.  Too bad I didn't think to bring a flask and pull it out of my black, lacy bra for a sip or two.  That would have created a bonfire for MONTHS!

Not having the excuse of work, I girded up my loins and moseyed over to the stake center where they were playing their first  "steak on steak"  game.  It didn't take long to find the cultural hall since it was the typical racetrack floor plan.  I felt as if I had walked into a cave.  Dark carpet, dark walls, no lights on in the hallways.  My skin started to itch.  (I swear I must be allergic to something in the air in those damn chapels.  Not sure if it's physical or mental.)  There were five girls on our team and three times that many on the other. They all stood and said the Young Women's theme and had a prayer that they could "feel the love of our savior and spread love and friendship".  Yeah. 

I sat in the "fan seating' and tried to watch the game as a herd of small children ran around bouncing balls and generally being loud and obnoxious.  At one point I moved my chair to avoid being bounced on.  I should have just grabbed the damn ball and sat on it.  Our team beat them soundly, even as outnumbered as we were.  The other team really wasn't that good, but they went down fighting.  And love and friendship was felt all around, as our girls nursed the scratched faces and bruises shared by the other team.  I'm not sure I can gird my loins up far enough to go to another game unless I find me a bra flask.

Rehab for the old and jaded

It's been a very busy work week.  I have a "special project" to finish by today which involves lots of piddley, fiddley stuff.  I begged one of my coworkers to please help!! and she set aside a day just for me.  So for six hours we sat across the table from each other.  I don't think we've ever had that much face time since we've known each other.  I'm pretty sure I scared the shit out of her. 

She's in her early twenties and completely awesome. She juggles two part-time jobs, goes to college, and actively writes, does radio and is involved with worthy causes.  Young, bright, inquisitive and full of life.  Love her.  She is one of my favorite people.  But just sitting next to her made me feel like a dried-up husk of jaded bitterness. 

I seem to remember being young and idealistic.  I think.  It's kind of hazy.  Life has a way of kicking you in the balls a few times and you soon learn to curl up and drop when you see something coming.  Morning no longer brings a sense of  promise, just an OH SHIT NOT ANOTHER DAY.  Then it occurred to me.  Celebrities are always going to rehab for one problem or another--sex addiction,, drugs, alcohol.  Why not a rehab for the old and jaded?  Someplace to help bring back a little freshness, sweetness and wonder to a body.  I'm just not sure what that might consist of since I've never been to any type of rehab.  Lots of unicorns, rainbows and cotton candy?  Or collagen, valium and booze?  Maybe just lots and lots of lovely sleep followed by strong coffee.  How about some more ideas?