Mandate

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From the “When I am Queen of the World” Files.

The following two phrases will be eliminated from the vocabulary of denim jeans manufacturers:

“Low rise”

and

“skinny fit”

That is all.

Perspectives

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I’m going to do something that I pretty much figured I’d never do. I’m going to post a photo of myself, unretouched, without any makeup or clean up whatsoever. I’m doing so because it helps make the point of my story.

I find myself the unwitting victim of a sociological experiment.

As mentioned here, I had some heavy dental work done on Monday. The tooth is healing fine, still a little cold sensitive, but all in, healing well.

However, in the process of giving numbing injections so the dentist could work on my tooth, he accidentally hit a blood vessel in my cheek.

So, as expected, the vessel bled out leaving me a bruise below the skin, which, due to gravity, has traveled to my jawline.

As this week has progressed, the swelling has gone down and the tooth has improved but the bruise has gotten blacker and meaner looking.

I’m feeling fine but my face is a mess.

Today, I ventured out into the world to try to find some new spring clothes for work. Because I am a cheap ass b*stard, I went to the “discount fashions for less!” type of stores to shop. Make my dollars go farther.

Fascinating sort of clientele you get in the low, low price kind of stores.

The kind that yell at the fitting room lady because she miscounted their stack of clothes. The kind that shout angrily to all in the store, “C’mon honey, let’s leave, the line is too long, this is ridiculous!!” (both of these stories are true).

Yeah, so I’m out in the world looking at work pants and minding my business. Me being me, inside my own body, I don’t see the bruise on my face unless I look in a mirror. What I do see are people’s reactions to me. I am continually reminded I have a beat up looking face.

I am reasonably certain that a fair percentage of the society I have encountered thinks that some guy has hurt me. At least I suppose that is what they think…I can’t read minds…much.

It really freaks me out that someone, even one person, would think my husband might hurt me like that. It makes me feel defensive and, yes, angry.

I guess I can’t blame them in their assumption, but what a sad commentary on how we live our lives. The whole Rhianna/Chris Brown thing is top headline news right now, so everybody has an opinion.

From a sociological standpoint, here’s what is interesting. Today I went to six different stores and encountered fellow customers, fitting room attendants, store clerks and cashiers, all of them women.

Older ladies, say 50 and above, looked at me with sympathy. I got a kind of “I’ve been there, honey” look, and they would treat me with kid gloves. Called me “dear” and patted my hand.

Younger women, 30 or less, treated me with disgust. Most wouldn’t meet my eyes or would narrow their eyes at me when I approached. I even had a young lady, another customer, look at me, stare at my bruise, then turn her head and say “ugh!”, shrug her shoulders and walk away.

I don’t know what this means. I do know that it is kind of freaking me out. It’s also playing hell with my self-esteem.

As a woman, I have a profound bit of fear and healthy respect for women who have lived through the torment of an abuser in the form of a boyfriend or a husband. I am not that woman. I want to yell to all who will hear “It was my dentist, for chrissakes!,” but really, at the end of the day, no one cares. We all just want to cast a judgment and go on about our bargain shopping day.

Decisions!

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A couple weeks ago, The Good Man and I took the Fabulous Mom-in-Law out to dinner at a really beautiful San Francisco restaurant (if you know the area, it is located at the Marina, at Fort Mason, right on the water, with stunning views of the Golden Gate.)

As I enjoyed the “wine pairings” with my meal, this meant that it wasn’t long before I had to take myself and my walnut sized bladder to the ladies room.

With business complete, I went to flush the toilet and was presented with…a choice.

The top of the toilet had a button that was divided in two. One side said .9 The other side said 1.6

And I thought to myself…is this a .9 or 1.6 sized event?

Hell if I know!

Well, TMI and all that, but I determined it was really only a .9 sized event so I pushed that one. Then, when that was done, giddy with all this decision making and wondering how big a 1.6 flush was, I hit the other button.

Then realized that this ingenious toidy is supposed to save water. So what did I do? Gratuitously flushed, that’s what I did. And used up 2.5.

Oh the humanity!

As the old saying goes, you can dress me up, but you can’t take me out…

(This is not my picture, but it was *exactly* like this)

Going cold turkey

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You see, I have this little morning ritual. A morning check in, if you will. First I get on the scale. Then I check my investment account.

This had been going good for a while. One was going down, one was going up and that gave me a self-satisfied smirk to start the day.

Since, oh, about November, one is still going up and one is still going down, but not in that “isn’t it great to me be” kind of way. More in that lurch of the stomach at the twist in the roller coaster kind of way.

The ubiquitous “they” say you shouldn’t weigh yourself every day. “Too much fluctuation” they say.

I’m thinking that’s true of my investment account too.

Or maybe I should just stop checking it at all……..

And that scale. Ay yi yi!

Going cold turkey on both.

Why you gotta?

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Holy CRAP people, you were *almost* obliterated by something REALLY big flying out of the heavens!

I swear to GOD it came *thisclose* to smacking you down, eating your lunch and spilling your latte!

I swear it! Like it was RIGHT there!

Whew, so glad is just barely missed us!

Phew! Asteroid’s passing was a cosmic near-miss

Wouldn’t want you to be FREAKED OUT or anything!

Frappin’ media…..why they gotta be fear mongers?