Tuesday, January 7, 2020

DESIGNATED TWEEZER

I have decided that I need a designated Tweezer. Yes, a friend or neighbor who pledges to tweeze the hair off of my face when I can longer see it no matter how strong a magnifying mirror I have. I just spent twenty minutes tweezer and tiny scissor in hand on a search and destroy mission for those nasty, sneaky dark hairs that have appeared since peri-menopause. They seem to multiply like roaches!
Admittedly I have had hair on my upper lip since childhood and my Mother would mix up some bleach concoction so it looked blond instead of dark brown - ugh and it smelled. I begged her for electrolysis but to no avail. I have since spent years in electrolysis with some success and a lot of expense. Nothing however prepared me for the day during peri-menopause when a coarse black beard hair appeared. Had I become a man over night? I ran like a bat out of hell for the tweezer and yanked it out. Unfortunately that was not the last sighting as I constantly find them in various spots on my face and under my chin.
OMG today I found one stuck in the middle of my cheek! In fear of having a full-on beard when my tweezing skills diminish I had to designate one of my friends for "Operation Emergency Tweeze". To be completely safe I have a back-up. Of course since they are in my menopause demographic this state of preparedness could all be in vain as none of us will be able to see well enough to go after the little buggers! It is a huge relief however knowing they are willing to give it a try. Tweeze on!

Tuesday, November 12, 2019


               Defeated By Plastic Packaging and Seeking Therapy

I have a brilliant idea because I am certain there are other shoppers like me that don’t want to risk their fingers slicing and dicing through molded plastic to open a package.  There should be special containers for people who simply want to rip open the product they purchased, no muss no fuss, no bloody hands or more importantly not go mad in the process.  I appreciate the skilled men and women who have studied product design and pride themselves on the ability to find a way to make plastic packages secure with tightly folded and molded corners but I think they do this to make me seek counseling.

Last Sunday morning which is my time to relax, read the paper and calmly drink coffee I decided to put up a shower curtain.  A very simple task I thought. Now irrespective of risking my life by putting a stool in the tub so I could reach the curtain bar I had to open a hermetically sealed package of rings.  It was closed so tightly that I had to get down from my teetering stool to try and open it.  I was ripping and tearing and bending corners but the plastic didn’t budge.  I fought harder to perforate the packaging and at the last minute had to stop myself from a giant dental bill by using my teeth to lift up one corner.  I resorted to screaming and throwing the package against the wall and although it was cathartic nothing came apart.

With tears in my eyes I headed for the kitchen and grabbed a serrated knife.  I madly sawed through the package and a little of my thumb.  Was this a joke played on me by the god of domestic chores, who I was certain was resting, reading and drinking coffee because it was Sunday? I gathered myself together and tried to remember all my years of therapy in order to stop crying. Slowly with sweaty hands and bleeding finger I loosened each curtain hook from the plastic molding.  At last victory was mine and I had eight rings freed from the package.
I threw away the mess I had made, bandaged my bleeding thumb but no longer wanted a shower curtain or even to ever shower again.


Monday, August 5, 2019

INSANITY, Brought to You by Godaddy

Help! I need a Techno Prince Charming to come to my rescue. I'm weak, confused, dazed, and downright numb. My life has been turned upside down because Godaddy wreaked havoc on my web-site. Havoc I say! It wasn't my fault that my web-site now displays a sign that roughly reads..."enter and die or be struck by lightening."  How could this happen to poor little innocent moi at this point in my life?  I already have sleeping issues and now it looks like I may never close my eyes again as I have been up talking to a Godaddy rep every night since last Thursday. I know Joe, Antonio, Cliff, Mic, Nick, and Mike who made promises like knights in shining armor that they would have the heinous signs on my site down within hours.  "Liar liar pants on fire," to the whole bunch.  It sounded simple, easy, no problema; I believed all of them .  I've gone through a box of Kleenex sobbing as I struggle to dial Godaddy for the 12th time in 4 days. I resist the urge to throw my laptop out the window. Bye-bye little crazy making machine I'm moving to a tree house with no internet access.

 Life was so simple before I talked to the evil Ann at Godaddy who never warned me of the dangers that lay ahead.  Ann, you bitch the sin of omission is on you.  Destroy a male caller, not a fellow woman!  Innocently and to save $79.95 I thought I didn't need an SSL certificate on my GailForrest.com web-site and asked her to cancel it.  I actually had no idea what it was , just the price.  According to Joe, Antonio, Mic, Mike, and Cliff she should have told me of the dire consequences of cancelling, but alas no such words. She began my journey into the land of the technologically insane!  Warnings everywhere on my site to stay away or else die a painful techno death.  Thus began my non-stop calls morning, noon, and half the night to Godaddy.  Empty promises of a fix lead to three glasses of wine and a Valium to calm my jangled nerves.  Now I need rehab, not a web-site.

I hate technology and remember lovingly the click clack of my typewriter keys and the messy carbon paper that got all over my hands and clothes. I would scream, crumple it into a ball and throw it across the room because I couldn't line it up with the paper correctly. So simple and weren't those the halcyon days?  I had my little bottle of white-out that I could never apply thinly enough so I had a big blob over my typo. This brings tears of joy to my eyes.  My typewriter was too big to take to Starbucks, but I didn't care. I could manually line up margins and set tabs, no SSL certificate and Goddaddy employees to make a fool of me or drive me to drink at 10:00 a.m. 


Techno Prince, if you're out there, call me.  Or better yet a good therapist.