Tag Archives: women

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.

IMG_1848 - Version 2

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

If you liked this post, you might enjoy:

Seven Ways To Get Me On My Back

Taking Your Kids to Vegas: A Lesson in International Culture, Etiquette, and Ethics

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Once upon a time, before I lost my moral compass in a land far, far, away, I swore on a bible, under oath, that I’d never take my kids to Vegas (O.K. it wasn’t really that dramatic but I like the visual, especially because in my version of the story I have newly shellacked nails, a flowing iridescent robe with ruching in all the right places, a super-sweet spray tan, and Legolas standing by as my cabana boy witness).

Son of Thranduil and King of the Woodland Realm of Northern Mirkwood or cabana boy? You be the judge. Image via freewebs.com

Anyway, I was certain, based on past experience, that Vegas simply wasn’t a place fit for English Royalty, my grandmother Tim Tebow fans, or children. But the winds of change kicked up a ginormous tumbleweed as airfare hit a price point better known as dirt cheap and my children embarked on Fall Break, which, without some type of vacation, would end up being unbearable uneventful. So I pulled a complete about-face.

I’m a Gemini. Don’t judge me.

Blimey! Image via guardian.co.uk

Everyone knows Las Vegas is the capital of glitzy-glam-glut the United States of America, and I’m all about sipping cocktails by the pool providing a well-rounded education for my offspring. Intent on showing them why they should go to college the positive side of the world’s largest, most collagen-enhanced melting pot (behind L.A.), we recently loaded up our sunscreen, sensible shoes sequins, and hand sanitizer, and hit the road.

Is this former Knots Landing star Joan Van Ark or her Madame Tussaud wax mold? Image via zimbio.com

International Culture

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t actually have to visit Europe to experience European bathing. Instead, you can be from like, Alabama, frolicking through the family friendly lazy river ten tequila shots down with your surgically enhanced assets bobbing in the fake surf screaming “Roll Tide Roll!” as my son, completely entranced, who’s also unfamiliar with the metric system, gets a crash course in Girls Gone Wild 101 anatomy and physiology.

Image via shopncaasports.com

Etiquette

As a parent, I’ve used technology as a babysitter more than I’ll ever admit diligently taught my children the value of proper etiquette. So when a fellow tourist (possibly European but thankfully not nude), boxes your children out with her fanny pack and blocks their view of the Bellagio fountains because she’s using her nifty new iPad as a camera? Get all up in her face, step away from the safety rail and let her memorialize her future Barcalounger programming options trip in peace.

“Hey lady in the Depends. iPad cameras suck!” Image via vegastripping.com

Ethics

Most parents don’t know this, but it’s not the casinos, international tour buses, or third row of a minivan taxi cab wave pools you need to steer clear of when you’re in Vegas with children. It’s actually the M&Ms store. That place will make you throw up in your mouth rob you blind as you quickly check your phone for the over/under on the Monday night game, sprint across the street to the Luxor to place a fairly sort of smallish bet, and return in time to discover that each of your kids has figured out how to personally monogram a container of candy that you can buy at Walmart for $1.97 each.

This is $80.00 worth of personalized M&Ms. O.K, actually $78.92: two of my kids ripped off the lids and started shotgunning them before I could pry them from their talon-like grasp. Image via Stacie “that was the most expensive bet ever” Chadwick.

Your penchant for five-finger discounts fight or flight instinct will immediately kick in as you weigh the odds of being caught stuffing three pounds of candy down your shirt. Since the store is wired with a security camera every two feet you’re a good, moral person, you instead spend the night’s blackjack money on candy that you’ll regift as Christmas presents to elderly relatives who haven’t yet had cataract surgery let your kids have, in limited amounts so that it will last the rest of their lives (which are now considerably shorter), when you get home.

So take it from me, a trip with the family to Las Vegas is something I’ll never do again much more than just a vacation. It’s an international experience of love, hope and harmony filled with opportunities to blow their 529 savings sky-high teach them about world culture, etiquette, ethics, and that those things being handed out on the sidewalk looking a lot like baseball trading cards? Not so much.

Images have been blurred to protect the innocent and the addicted. Image via mobypicture.com

P.S. “Thunder From Down Under” is not a show about variable weather patterns in the New South Wales/Victoria region of Australia.

Image via ethanjstone.com

P.S.S. We watched the second presidential debate with the kids while we were in Vegas, because it’s illegal to leave them alone in the hotel room to hit the craps table I believe in a well-rounded political education. In case you’re wondering, I can assure you that the term “binders full of women” has a completely different meaning in Las Vegas than in American politics. I think.

Image via abcnews.go.com

If you liked this, you may also enjoy reading:

Is That Your Daughter’s Bra Hanging From A Tree?

It’s Not Easy Being Me.

Is A Boyfriend Who Could Be Your Son the Latest Status Symbol?

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If so, count me out. Ever since Madonna started taking NyQuilesque shots from the fountain of youth about a decade ago, I’ve been kind of obsessed interested in what it means to age gracefully. Not that I’m particularly graceful. Or aging. Because I’m not.

Just because I like to gear-up in mylar, completely spread- eagle, for hours a day to increase blood flow and stimulate new skin growth doesn’t mean I’m worried about getting old. It means I’m desperate. Image via greatwaywellness.com

I’m all for girl power, free drinks, equal pay, and getting your groove on to whatever poorly written porn you choose, but when it comes to throwing out the thongs and embracing Spanx, there’s one place I draw a line.

Image via muffintopmommy.com

It’s this:

“What? Of course I’m completely comfortable dating a boy who could be my son. Just because he likes to aggressively manipulate my shoulders in public, appears to be carrying rabies, and loves it when I slip a Rufie in his wine glass is none of your business. He’s still in high school. Back off.” Image via zimbio.com.

As I woman who’s logged a certain number of untold X marks on my back the calendar (there’s a reason I hide my birth year on Facebook), I’ve earned the right to express my thoughts on foreplay aging, and in my opinion, everything in this picture is wrong (except the Medieval-looking wine glass. Drinking anything out of a goblet while screaming “Show me the money!” is forever cool).

So in an effort to stem the tide of inappropriate behavior increasingly desperate female stars of a certain age who use every last shellacked nail to hang onto those swag bags filled with $1,000 disposable syringes of baby giraffe hormones, I’m offering some advice. Consider it a gift, words to live by, and my good deed for the day. Especially if you’re Demi Moore.

“What am I hiding behind my glasses? My wrinkles, silly! Ashton doesn’t realize he wasn’t even born when “About Last Night” hit the screen. Duh!” Image via freeimagesarchive.com

Reasons Not To Date A Guy You Could Have Given Birth To:

1. You’ll no longer be able to listen to your favorite 90s boy bands. Anything by NSYNC is an open invitation to a loud, petty, spit-filled midnight fight over ab definition.

OK, maybe NSYNC was the wrong visual. Image via people.com.

2. Mary Kay Letourneau. Not only did she go to jail because she was a teacher dating a thirteen year-old student (nothing wrong there), but now that she’s forty-eight? She has to deal with her own raging hormones and getting her husband through puberty at the same time.

“I just love it when your voice cracks and you slam the bedroom door repeatedly for no apparent reason!” Image via bumpshack.com

3. The inverse relationship between gravity and aging. As he’s struggling to get his up, everything you’ve got going on is sliding, well….down.

There are so many things wrong with this picture that I don’t know where to start. Plus I just threw up in my mouth. Image via saveyourselffromyourself.com

4. Jennifer Lopez

“Hola Mami! Does J Lo mean jello because I’m hungry and it’s time for my afternoon snack!” Image via thesuperficial.com

5. Dealing with errant facial hair. His and yours.

Image via apowl.com

5. While he’s texting naked pictures of you to his dorm mates, you’ll never figure out how to Pinterest his tweeter. Or pin his twitter-thingy. Or something like that.

6. Madonna

“Oh baby, is it bad lighting or is your face cracking off?” Image via cradlerobber.com

So that’s it. If these images aren’t enough to scare you out of dating someone who could have popped out of your womb, I can’t help you. Anyway, I’ve got my own issues to deal with, like getting to the plastic surgeon before the kids get home from school for BOGO breast implants. Can’t leave my ladies waiting!

If you like this post, you may like:

Seven Ways To Get Me On My Back: seven-ways-to-get-me-on-my-back

An Open Letter To Steve Wynn: Why the Forty Year Oldish Woman is Your Ideal Guest: an-open-letter-to-steve-wynn-why-the-forty-year-oldish-woman-is-your-ideal-guest

Did My Words Help Ann Romney Connect With Women At The Republican National Convention?

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In her speech last night, Ann Romney passionately claimed an ability to hear the voices of women around the nation. Is it possible, as she worked through the chatter of children, careers, and the background noise of everyday life, that she somehow picked up mine?

On August 13, 2012, I wrote a piece asking Paul Ryan to pay particular attention to the distinct and powerful voices of women around the country as he took a huge leap onto a national stage. Something about my post struck a chord, and it became the most popular essay I’ve ever written. Over 10,000 people read it, and hundreds more took the time to share their thoughts on my blog, via Facebook, and through texts and emails. As a fairly new writer trying to find my way through the daily ebb and flow of millions of words, I was happy to have written something that seemed to matter, even if only on a small scale.

Surrounded this morning by the same chatter of children, careers, and background noise of everyday life that Mrs. Romney successfully navigated to reach her target audience, I heard a brief clip of her speech on T.V. Something about it made me stop in the middle of a moment and pay closer attention, and unfortunately, it wasn’t the message that caught my ear. If there’s such a thing as peripheral hearing, mine kicked into gear, and I honed in on phrases that seemed eerily similar to those I recently wrote.

Mrs. Romney’s Speech:

“And the working moms who love their jobs, but would like to work just a little less to spend more time with the kids…”

My Letter to Paul Ryan:

“As mothers and wives, we’re often the emotional backbone as well as a financial anchor for our families. What we earn in a paycheck we give back in time spent away from our children.”

Mrs. Romney’s Speech:

“It’s the moms of this nation, single, married, widowed, who really hold the country together.”

My Letter to Paul Ryan:

“We’re married, divorced, widowed, and single…We’re smart, dedicated, and we care about the future of our country.”

Mrs. Romney’s Speech:

“We’re the mothers. We’re the wives. We’re the grandmothers. We’re the big sisters. We’re the little sisters and we are the daughters.”

My Letter to Paul Ryan:

“I’m a daughter, a sister, a mother, and a friend.”

There’s a lot of heated dialogue floating around at the moment, from the corridors of our nation’s political leaders to the kitchen tables of family and friends. Within those conversations, important words like integrity, honesty, responsibility, and trust are repeated and consumed. When I write, and more importantly, when I read others’ work, those exact words are at the forefront of my mind.

I know Ann Romney didn’t write the speech she gave last night. When she delivered it, she looked like this:

082812_ConventionSpeech_011

Image via flickr.com.

When I write, I look like this:

Image via Stacie Chadwick.

But someone, more likely a team of people, wrote it, and if my words were recycled? I wasn’t at the table. If my work did in fact end up on some speechwriter’s desk and was repackaged into a pivotal piece of Mrs. Romney’s dialogue last night, I suppose I should feel flattered. I don’t. All that a writer has to offer the world is his or her voice, with the sole hope that someone will hear it and connect to a larger part of the lives we’re all trying our best to lead. If that gift is compromised, and a voice sanitized, it impacts everyone it touches, but no one more than the person who originally spoke.

I can’t substantiate my instinct any more than a woman can prove legitimate rape, but something about the cadence, tone, and word choice of the opening to Mrs. Romney’s speech feels too familiar. Last night, Mrs. Romney stated, “We’re too smart and know that there are no easy answers, but we’re not dumb enough to accept that there are not better answers.” I couldn’t agree more.

You can read the transcript of Ann Romney’s speech at: http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2012/08/28/transcript-ann-romney-speech-at-republican-national-convention/#ixzz24x7M6cIK

You can read the letter I wrote to Paul Ryan at: i-said-id-never-write-about-politics-but-i-know-paul-ryan-and-ive-got-some-advice

I Said I’d Never Write About Politics, But I Know Paul Ryan and I’ve Got Some Advice.

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Who am I to Paul Ryan? No one and everyone.

I’m a forty-two year old suburban mom who knew Paul in college. I’m also a registered Democrat who has voted for both parties over the last twenty-four years. I live in Colorado, a state that offers electoral votes crucial to the outcome of this year’s presidential race. I’m a bleeding heart who lives in a gated community. I’m self-sufficient, yet I feel a responsibility to help others who are in need. As a voter, I’m a pretty interesting mix, difficult to label and hard to define. In my experience, most women are, and from what I understand, our demographic will be a deciding factor in November.

Who is Paul Ryan to me? Someone to watch.

As a U.S. citizen, I’m troubled by the precarious spot our nation occupies on an international chessboard of pieces in constant flux. I don’t support finger-pointing and placing blame for an economy that was weakened by both parties as much as free will. I’m concerned about the future of my children. I dislike negative politics and am frustrated by the inability of our bipartisan House and Senate to find common ground. I’m an optimist who believes tomorrow will be a brighter day, but I see real storm clouds in my direct line of sight. I want our country to move forward, and I’m worried about falling behind.

I’m a daughter, a sister, a mother, and a friend. I vote with my head and I vote with my heart. I read. I listen. I debate. I decide. I’m a potential liability and asset to both campaigns.

Three generations of women who don’t always vote the same way. Image via Stacie Chadwick

And with Mitt Romney’s introduction of Paul Ryan as his running mate, I’m now engaged in this race in a way that I hadn’t been before. Maybe it’s the deepening differences I see in the platforms of the two opposing parties. Better yet, a curiosity around the potential impact of a clear, if not controversial voice. Perhaps it’s due simply to the fact that I know Paul. More likely, it’s my hope that he’ll take the time to reacquaint himself with me, and by that I mean millions of women like me who will vote in the upcoming election.

I also consider Paul to be a friend. Am I jumping on the bandwagon headed straight from Janesville, WI to a national stage? Probably. Although I’ve followed his career, I haven’t spoken with Paul in over twenty years. But something about his addition to the shape of our legislative landscape piques my interest. Regardless of political beliefs, I’m proud that we graduated in the same class at Miami, watched votes together in the Senate gallery when we interned in D.C., and hung out on campus. I’m betting on an accurate memory of the person he was when we were college kids masquerading as adults, and a time-honored belief that as individuals, we don’t really change. In the heat of battle, we often forget the people behind the politics. I knew him as a smart, ambitious, honest guy with Midwestern values and a focused vision. I’m sure he still is. And now? He’s running for Vice President of the United States of America. When I tell my children that they can be anyone they want to be, I can now point to someone I know who is.

Children masquerading as adults. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

So surrounded by a cacophony of shrieks and giggles sung by kids who are stealing the last ounce out of summer on their way back to school, enough dirty laundry to fill a semi, and a stack of bills, I’m doing what I said I never would. I’m flipping my position and writing about politics. I’m offering unsolicited advice to someone who pays people to advise him. I do this because I’m a woman and a friend. It’s my nature. Humor me.

***

Dear Paul,

Mitt Romney’s misspoken reference to you as “the next president of the United States” plays directly into what should be the underlying backbone of your political strategy. Run with a broader vision than the role of Vice President and set your own course.

Show us how you simultaneously lower government spending and make a real commitment to education and job creation. As mothers, we have children who are high school dropouts and can’t support themselves, and post-college boomerang kids who are underemployed. We understand that there’s a real chance their generation will reach a ceiling constructed at a lower height and of lesser materials than ours, buttressed by flawed trusses and support beams. Show us a concrete plan to correct a system that’s broken and produces students who continue to slide behind other countries in core curriculum, is rooted in the industrial age, and pays teachers much less than what they’re worth.

Addressing the economy is a given, so consider looking at it from our point of view. As mothers and wives, we’re often the emotional backbone as well as a financial anchor for our families. What we earn in a paycheck we give back in time spent away from our children. Dig deeper than budget cuts and tax reform in addressing our role in this issue, and show your sensitivity to our increasingly complex jobs.

The Wall Street Journal has championed your cause for years, but the majority of its readership is already part of your base. Embrace media outlets that will challenge your voice, but give you a long runway. With your intelligence and passion, a successful one-on-one with someone like Katie Couric could be a brilliant move, made more so by the failure of your predecessor’s endeavor.

Show us how you privatize Medicare without decimating it. We’re the daughters of aging parents and the mothers of children with disabilities, and often serve as emotional and physical lifelines to three generations of our family. We’re taxed and we’re tired, and yes, a little scared.

Disclose your tax statements. Immediately.

Follow your heart. The ugly side of bipartisanship is based on a world painted in black and white, when most of reality exists in various shades of gray.

Channel Alex Trebek and brush up on foreign affairs. You already know that Syria is further away from Wisconsin than Russia is from Alaska, so silence the naysayers.

Dial down the camo and the ammo. There’s a large group of undecided female voters who will roll their SUVs to save one of the thousands of overpopulated jackrabbits darting in front of their truck as they race off to the grocery store to figure out what’s for dinner.

Give us a small glimpse of the family behind the photo op. To the extent it’s not invasive, let us see the side of your life that we live every day…dropping the kids off at school after the tardy bell rings and staying up late to watch the Olympics as laughter turns to tired tears. We’ll relate to the emotions behind the smiles on your annual holiday card because we know how many tries it takes to get the perfect picture.

My family had to climb a fourteener, build a guard rail, and go without water for three days to get this pic. OK, not really, but it felt like it. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

You’re a well-versed, physical, engaging public speaker: use your open hand gesture and tone down the finger pointing. The first makes us feel included and the second one doesn’t.

You’re an athlete, you vacation in Colorado, and you love the outdoors. It might be a good idea to take a well-documented run through our great state. There are a lot of thirty to fifty year-old female voters who are athletes, live in Colorado, and love the outdoors.

Act like both a CEO and a salesman. Use your gut to champion causes and finesse to drive them home. Women follow people we trust and hire people we like.

Translate the budget deficit into a language we understand: a realistic picture of how the current trajectory will impact our children and our grandchildren’s lives is much more meaningful than rhetoric.

You’re at the heart of our demographic, and your youthful enthusiasm is appealing. Don’t run away from your age.

As women and constituents, we’re straight, gay, wealthy, and poor. We’re married, divorced, widowed, and single. We’re CFOs of corporations and Treasurers of the family budget. We’ve started businesses that have flourished and others that have failed. We’ve decimated our savings accounts and we’ve cut our discretionary spending to build them back up. We’ve sacrificed for our families and feel a twinge of guilt whenever we take time for ourselves. We’re smart, dedicated, and we care about the future of our country. We’re uneasy about the prospect of war but are passionately committed to taking care of our soldiers. We’re healers who want to leave the world a better place for our children than the one we gave them, and we’re not sure that we can.

We vote with our heads, and we vote with our hearts. Understanding the significance of that phrase is the key to your success in our demographic. Your introduction to this race has attracted our attention. My best unsolicited advice? Find a way to keep it.

Regards,

Stacie Whitten Chadwick

No matter where you go, your friends will always have your back. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

As always, please feel free to leave a comment. My only request is that you refrain from personal attacks and inflammatory statements. Due to the polarizing nature of the subject matter, this is my first and last foray into politics. I think.

Seven Ways To Get Me On My Back

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Having just returned from my annual pilgrimage to Labialand, where the scale sits five pounds too high and peeing in a cup is a full contact sport, I’ve come to an obvious conclusion.

Visiting your OB/GYN for any reason other than having a baby seriously blows.

Even though my childbearing days are long gone, I force myself up on the pleather-covered table once a year because experts swear that a smiling vagina makes the world a better place. Since we could all use a little more peace, love and understanding, following are some ideas that the Board of Obstetrics and Gynaecology might want to consider discussing with its clamp-carrying members to make the ride a little less rough.

Image via laserlabs.com.

If Happy Wife = Happy Life, then Healthy Lips = Less Hormonal Dips. You can quote me on that, but not in public or in front of my dad. He gets super-embarrassed when you shout VAGINA! during thought-provoking dinner conversation with the new neighbors and prefers to use the word bohunky instead.

Anyway, if you happen to be my OB, here are seven ways to increase your chances of getting me on my back (sorry Simon, it’s another hook, but if you’re still here, you’ve earned major props for reading this far since you’re a dude).

1. Replace this:

Yep, that’s me. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

With this:

Beam me up! This couple laughed all the way through menopause. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

2. Don’t pull the surprise “Time to prick your finger and check those iron levels!” gig right after shoving a three-foot long Q-tip halfway up my small intestines through a hole I didn’t want to explore in the first place. You’re a doctor after all, and should already know that my sweet summer tan and glow-in-the-dark teeth are proof positive of my excellent health.

This is how I feel about getting my finger pricked. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

3. Replace this wall art:

Birth Control is so mid-twenties. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

With this wall art:

Image via fanpop.com.

4. Please stop asking if I remembered to do my kegels after each pregnancy. I’m sorry if I’m leaking all over your bifocals, but I haven’t been pregnant for nine years. The answer is no. It’s always been no. It will always be no, and while we’re at it no, I don’t want an inpatient, hook and needle craft kit suture to tighten up the opening to my woman-cave. When it comes to peeing all over yourself on a regular basis you have to think positively. Adult diapers are a lot more form-fitting than the package leads you to believe, and paired with a new set of Spanx, take playing on the slip-and-slide with the kids to a whole new level.

That’s not me. Image via geekinheels.squarespace.com

5. Replace this:

Country-chic tampon holder. Image via Stacie Chadwick.

With this:

Cristy Carrington knows how to choose an OB. Image via myopera.com

6. Consider exchanging those flimsy paper gowns that barely cover my cheeks and catch the draft of every open door in the building for Snuggies. If you’re interested, Walgreens has an entire landfill’s worth of the 2011 Tim Tebow Broncos version that you can pick up for next to nothing.

A three-month pregnant Le Clown could use a Snuggie to protect his Tori Spellingesque silhouette. Image via clownonfire.wordpress.com

7. Replace this:

Image via Stacie Chadwick.

With this:

I’ve never read Fifty Shades of Grey, but 100,000,000,000,000,000 women can’t be wrong. Image via Wikipedia.

And there you have it. If you, Dr. Feelgood, can find a way for me to kick back with a cocktail in a barcalounger wrapped in the cocoon-like warmth of a Tim Tebow blanket while I gaze up at Johnny Depp and read porn, I’ll come visit once a week instead of once a year. Promise.