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What Every Girl Needs to Know About Skin Care and Shaving The Fuzz Off Her Face

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There comes a time in every woman’s life when she realizes her husband is connected to a lot of well-endowed Facebook friends under the alias ‘Shazam Man!’ she’s not getting any younger, trades her engagement ring for a boob job breaks free from the constraints of social judgment, and installs a stripper pole in her bedroom starts to shave her face.

Or at least she should. Shave her face, that is. Stripping is pretty much all about daddy issues, flexibility, and cash flow.

Take me as an example. Not for the parts above I can’t discuss in public any of the stuff crossed out in the first paragraph, but for a hairy face.

That’s not me, but it could be (at least the beard part).

One day, I was lounging on the sofa in a killer pair of Jimmy Choos trying to figure out the horrendous stench coming from my son’s backpack, when my daughter made an interesting statement.

“Mommy, your face is furry,” she said.

“My face is not furry,” I replied as I attempted to pry open a lunch thermos while simultaneously resisting the urge to throw up in my mouth.

“Yes it is. You look all fuzzy and stuff.”

“You wanna see fuzz? Check out these meatballs,” I said.

“They’re not as hairy as you mom!”

“Well, you look like Mike Tyson,” I replied.

Image via blogspot.com

This, in fact, was true. She’d just had eight teeth pulled a couple of days before.

Grace's teeth look a lot less hairy than my face.

My daughter’s teeth aren’t hairy at all.

Since I’d pretty much laid down the best “In your face!” comeback ever on my 10 year-old, who gave me a serious “oh Mom, you’re such a loser” look had no idea who Mike Tyson was, I was feeling totally righteous. But I was also feeling a little premenstrual vulnerable, because out of the mouths of babes comes the truth, weird songs that can win you a bunch of money on YouTube or get you arrested, and stuff like that.

Anyway, as soon as I freed myself from the binding constraints of the ankle biters got my little darlings off to school, I checked the mirror. Closely. To my surprise, dismay, and genuine horror, I found that my daughter was 100% right. The entire side of my face looked alarmingly like the back-end of my dog.

You don't want your face to look like this.

You don’t want your face to look like this.

I immediately called 9-1-1 to report an emergency my friend, Lisa, the best paramedical esthetician in Denver, to let her know my hair of the dog philosophy to hangovers had morphed into something literal I had turned into a werewolf.

Image via sodahead.com

She just laughed the laugh of a confident, beardless woman and told me I needed to dermaplane.

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Who wouldn’t want Lisa to shave their face?

According to a random website with a super-cool design, dermaplaning is a highly effective procedure for removing the outermost layer of dead skin cells. Dermaplaning will also remove the layer of vellous hair that often covers the face, commonly known as “peach fuzz,” which traps dirt and oil. The treatment gives the skin a smoother appearance. The removal of the outer layer of skin cells also allows for better penetration and absorption of both pharmaceutical and cosmeceutical products. These skin cells are no longer a protectant, but are a barrier for other procedures and/or products.

Yep, that's me getting a scalpel shave.

Yep, that’s me getting a shave.

That sounds pretty much right on to me, so after informing my daughter that she can no longer take piano lessons finding some extra cash for my treatments, I feel just as qualified as the neighbor who constantly hits you up to buy girl scout cookies skin care products you’ll never use that promise you the ability to time travel, to offer my advice.

As a self-certified expert, I’d like to debunk several myths about skin care you may have read on the late-night chat room you haven’t told ‘Shazam-Man” about Facebook.

1. Some skin care remedies not only remove dead cells, buy can actually resurrect the dead.

This, in fact, isn’t true.

The woman on the left supposedly applied some freaky bovine hormone-enhanced cream a hydrating scrub to improve her skin’s appearance and achieve the look on the right. There’s just one problem. They aren’t the same person. I’m willing to bet my CSI home starter kit that the hand on the left is my great grandmother’s. I have the exact same bulging veins skin tone. My great grandmother made the best fried okra in the state of Georgia, mowed her lawn at the age of ninety-three, and dipped Bruton Scotch Snuff until the day she died. Which was in 1992.

Don’t believe the hype. As much as I miss my great grandmother, no amount of topical lotion will bring her back.

2. Anyone capable of giving you toenail fungus from a dirty set of clippers can successfully treat your skin.

This, also, is not true.

The process of dermaplaning involves the use of a surgical knife. It’s kind of like a custom-made shiv scalpel for fine lines, wrinkles, and whiskers.

te-animas-a-probar-el-dermaplaning-2

If your manicurist tells you she just purchased a cosmetology license from an infomercial dermaplanes, and pulls out a Bic Single Blade Lady disposable razor? Run. I made the mistake of cheating on Lisa with another recreational liar skin care specialist who ended up making my face look like this.

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That’s road rash on my face inflicted by a supposed expert (not Lisa) who dug so deeply during a dermaplane treatment that I thought she was trying to kill me reach my soul. I think she may have used a Lady Bic but I’m not sure because I couldn’t watch. The feeling of my own blood coursing down the side of my face in rhythm to Enya’s “Sail Away” was an experience I never want to repeat.

3. It’s a good idea to purchase skin care treatments with a Groupon.

Please refer to the previous two paragraphs.

4. Proper skin care will improve your sex life.

Maybe, but check out the items crossed out in paragraph one or the soft porn section on Netflix for a sure thing.

5. A well-planned and properly executed skin care regiment will reverse internal damage from heavy recreational drug use.

Image via trutv.com

These two women aren’t even remotely related. Just kidding. That’s Tawney Kitean after and before becoming addicted to prescription pills. Here’s a freebie piece of advice that has nothing to do with unwanted facial hair but will help you keep your teeth. Don’t do drugs.

So thanks to Lisa, I no longer have to endure “Chopsticks” being played over and over on a keyboard. I also have super-smooth skin.

If you’d like the best shave and skin care in the state of Colorado, visit Lisa at:

http://faceitandothernews.wordpress.com/about-lisa/

(303) 792-3838

If you’d like to install a stripper pole in your bedroom, check this site out:

http://www.yourtango.com/experts/sex-expert-chrystal-bougon/4-tips-choosing-right-stripper-pole-your-home

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The Other Side of David Versus Goliath or Why I Actually Feel Bad for Duke Fans and Will Cut You for My Team

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Everyone loves a Cinderella story unless you’re the older, more experienced stepsister who, even though you’ve been around the block one too many times, are a little passive-aggressive and decidedly OCD, is used to getting your way.

Like you, I prefer to take the underdog’s side in just about everything in life. Except college basketball. That’s where I draw a really clear line.

I grew up in Louisville, KY, better known as ground zero for NCAA hoops. You won’t find any native of the state who says, “I really don’t care who wins when Louisville and Kentucky play each other every year. I’m just out here for the five-way chili cheese dogs, a mint julep, and a little bit of fun.”

Wrong.

Basketball in Kentucky is a blood sport, right up there with cockfights and whatever Michael Vick was doing in his backyard with innocent dogs. Veins course in either a bright shade of red or electric blue, and there’s no chance of a transfusion between the two. You’d rather die on the table than risk being infected with vital fluids of a fan from the other team. The Great Wall of China might as well be running along the rolling, bluegrass-covered hills of our sidewise state, because loyalty is embedded so deeply below the earth that not even Sarah Palin in a bikini with a machine gun could loosen it up.

This is not a real picture. But oh, how I wish it was. Image via politicalhumor.about.com

As I watched in disbelief when Lehigh University took it to Duke in the final minutes of the game last Friday night, I couldn’t help but flash back to a David and Goliath moment of my own, when Louisville played no-name Morehead State in the NCAA tournament last year. The game was in Denver, and having convinced my husband, Scot, that we should blow the money we’d set aside for a new washer and dryer on box seats, I was actually there. Front and center.

The first sign of trouble reared its head before the game actually began. As I settled in with a five-way chili cheese dog and ginormous Coors Light, I searched my section for a friendly, painted face, and noticed that nobody but me was wearing the requisite red and black. Since I was clearly gonna be responsible for leading section 148 in the U of L fight song, ushering the arena toward the cheers my mom sang to me when I was a baby, and starting the wave, I shotgunned the entire $20.00 beer I was holding and went back for another before the players even hit the court. I was literally buzzing in anticipation of the action, and in hindsight, blowing my t-shirt money on alcohol before it all started was a big mistake. Leadership can be stressful though, especially when you’re drunk.

Was Sarah Palin drunk or sober during the Vice Presidential debates? You be the judge. Image via http://www.americantimes.org.

The second problem that day was the fans, and not just the annoying guy with the big bobble head sitting right in front of me in a Vandy hat. More on him in a minute. I’m talking about an arena full of thirty-something generation X whities in their khaki Dockers/Steinmart golf shirts/receding hairlines who’d kicked off work for the day because their buddy scored a free set of tickets. They didn’t even know who was on the court.

Morehead State? Is that, like, right next to Russia? Image via backseatcuddler.com

If I was drinking a beer every ten minutes? Everyone else was doubling down as they high-fived each other and screamed with the wild abandon of 5th graders off their ADHD meds, “MORE HEAD MORE HEAD MORE HEAD!” Get it? More head? As in “Morehead State” chanted in a dirty way and nothing like the cheers my mom sang to me as a child. I mean, how do you compete with that? Nobody, and not even the ushers, were spelling C-A-R-D-S with me in my upper body, pseudo-Village People dance moves, and my team was handicapped right out of the gate.

So I got louder. I had the monumental task of carrying the entire arena, and probably city of Louisville for that matter, as the other guys scored basket after basket and that dude who now plays for the Nuggets started the painful process of taking us down. Destroying a team with multiple NCAA titles, a rock star coach who can get away with wearing white pimp clown suits on occasion, and an almost unpayable mortgage on a state-of-the-art arena isn’t easy. Being the only person under the glaring lights at an away game who’s cheering for the anointed ones (who everyone in the state of Colorado apparently now hates) isn’t easy either, and that’s where the bobble head guy comes in.

Image via nbcuniversalstore.com

Vandy dude, with his invisalign braces and baseball-cap turned backwards in an “I’m not as old as I look” pathetic play on youth, was in the fortunate position of occupying the seat right in front of me and my big mouth during the game. As I ratcheted up the volume for my hometown team, he turned it on for that other school in Kentucky where you go when your grades aren’t good enough to get into WKU. Even though he was there for the next game being played and had no real skin exposed, by halftime he was turning around and nodding at me in an exaggerated white man’s overbite, can’t find the beat to the song expression of glee whenever the back-and-forth on the court went in the direction of Morehead State.

So I did what any self-respecting, organic produce buying, kettlebell throwing, member of the local library coalition, forty year-old, mother of three would do in the same situation.

I got in a fight.

Sarah Palin uses any words she can find, in random and non-sequential order, in a fight. Image via http://www.palingates.blogspot.com

Before the Louisville-Morehead State game, the last fight I started was at a bar in Chicago. I was about thirty and my husband and I were there with friends to see a Neil Diamond/Abba impersonator band: Thunder and Lightning. Thunder was this ancient dude with Grecian Formulaish hair and awesome, sparkly shirts, and Lightning was the girl/grandma, wearing machine gun jubblies and some kind of Renaissance Festival hat and gown. Anyway, you had to knock down about 34 drinks or so to really get into it. So I did.

Before I knew it I was dumping a full beer over some guy’s head who told me I looked like Natalie Merchant of 10,000 Maniacs. I have no idea why that bothered me at the time because I think she pretty much rocks. But whatever. Somehow aware in the shaky neuron misfiring of my brain that I was once slated to go to law school and naturally possessed the rabid mind of an attorney, I didn’t actually crack the glass bottle onto his head. Instead, I poured it over him with an exaggerated motion: like I was slugging a clogged bottle of ketchup. I had pretty much emptied the whole thing and was going back for round two when the bouncer threw me over his shoulder and dumped me out the door and into a cold, dark alley. But at least I wasn’t in the back of a cop car. I didn’t even get to hear the Cracklin’ Rose/SOS duet.

It felt like déjà vu as the clock ticked down at the Pepsi Center, the six true Morehead State fans in the house plus 20,000 drunk pharmaceutical salesmen erupted into deafening applause, and the Vandy dude turned around and pointed his finger in my face. Yes. He was in my face in the same way that you would nail a dodgeball at your lab partner’s head in 4th grade and yell, “In your face!

I turned to look Scot in the eye, he shook his head back and forth in a “please do not embarrass me again” appeal toward any shred of rational thought left in my body as he rolled up his sleeves to defend me, I shrugged my shoulders, bared my teeth, and attacked.

Sarah Palin uses a lot of whitening products. Image via the immoralminority.blogspot.com

Luckily my husband was sober, grabbed me by the hair as I flew, no, tumbled into the air in an Angelina Joliesque cat move intended to crush the dude with the big head, and took me down. My dream of connecting my heel to Vandy dude’s face was destroyed by Scot’s quick reflexes, and instead I ended up flat on my back as he commandeered the keys to the SUV. I had to be in carpool line within the hour to get the kids and nobody really wants to deal with a drunk, crying basketball mom crashing onto the sidewalk and taking the kindies down one-by-one.

So what am I trying to say? I’m not really sure, except it sucks a lot more to go down as Goliath than David.  Lehigh University and Morehead State were just happy to be at the dance. Teams like Duke, Kentucky, and Louisville are supposed to be the prom queens, and when you lose to that girl who stole your boyfriend? It hurts.