Sticking to Beauty

It’s unbelievable the lengths someone will go to for the sake of vanity.  Case in point?  This lady happily taping her neck to hide her throat wrinkles and wattles.

The inventor of this medical-grade neck wrinkle tape is no stranger to the beauty scene; she gave us the lip plumper (an adult lollipop with no flavors, basically).  She is apparently a grandmother of three at the age of sixty, so there’s that.

No offense to this beautiful lady, but there is no way this tape would work for me.  I superglue my fingers together every time I try to fix a vase, so I can’t imagine trying to tape my neck wattles in the back.

First, you know as well as I do that I would end up taping my hair to my neck.  Doesn’t matter how carefully I pull it back, it will end up taped to my shirt, my face, the mirror, and my dog.  And while this tape may not work on neck skin, I guarantee it will stick to anything and everything else. That’s just a given.

Second, I am well aware of my own luck.  The tape would blow out half-way through a presentation at work, setting my epic folds free in a glorious explosion of skin and fat … I can see the slow-motion capture on YouTube now.  My peers would be utterly transfixed and fascinated by my waving wattles; they couldn’t possibly be expected to take me seriously after that. The tape, under the super pressure I’d need to rein in my wrinkles, would slingshot across the room, taking out a few coffee cups on the way and smacking the new CEO square in the forehead.

Look, I’m all about women doing whatever they need to do to feel better about themselves, but neck tape?  Please, ladies, just say no to neck tape.

I agree that our necks can make us look much older than we are, so I proudly introduce my own invention:  wattle staples.  These can be used in any common stapler, and they aren’t just for neck wrinkles!  Got sagging boobs?  Staple ‘em.  Droopy butt?  Staple it!  And those obnoxious butterfly wings under your arms?  Staple those, too.  I have a staple for everything!  Defy your age, and gravity, by Stapling It! You know, I really should be on Shark Tank with all of my fantastic ideas. I’ve got entrepreneur stapled written all over my face.

OK, so the concept of taping your neck is actually not a new one. There are lots of other brands and uses, too.  Many stars have been taping body parts for years.  I applaud them for not going under the knife, but I am disappointed that they are setting the example for us common folk that aging is unnatural and evil.  It’s not.  I’ve earned every wrinkle, crease, and droop on my gloriously imperfect body. And so have you.

Come on, I mean, we have fake nails, fake boobs, fake butts, fake eyelashes, and even fake hair; now, we have neck tape to complete the package?  Yes, feeling good about yourself is important, but why aren’t we happy with ourselves to begin with?

I blame media for setting unrealistic beauty goals for women. Aging stars are displayed in all of their perfection, looking half their age, as beautiful and timeless as money can buy.  And make no mistake, money does buy youth.  Age-defying stars and models probably spend more money on time-stopping surgeries than most of us will ever invest in mortgages. Even those stars who want to age gracefully are often victims of post-photo shoot airbrushing because the editor of so-and-so magazine decided they didn’t want a naturally aging woman on their cover. God forbid. Hell, even those stars who are already flawless are routinely airbrushed to create a next-level completely unattainable vision of youth and beauty.

For the rest of us, thank God there is medical-grade neck tape!  Ladies (and some guys, too), do what you need to do to feel beautiful, it’s none of my business.  Frankly, though, spending $16 plus shipping and handling on neck tape is a little silly when you can get duct tape at the dollar store for fifty cents.  You’re welcome.

Independence Day

So. I drove into the city last week. Two & half hours away.  Got on major highways and everything. Went to a different city last month, same situation. Yep. Me.

No, I didn’t do it blindfolded. No, I didn’t do it only using my feet. No, I didn’t do it without hitting a single red light. I did it. That’s it. That’s the accomplishment.

Not terribly impressed, are you? I don’t blame you. I don’t see Hollywood optioning that story for their next summer tent-pole.

You may not know this about me but I get a little bit, okay, seriously anxious when I’m on a major highway. I wasn’t always that way. It grew on me over time, through a series of repetitive blows to my self-esteem.

So, when I had a significant other, I let him take care of the driving…believe me, he was only too willing to nurture my anxiety right along with me. But now that co-dependent crutch is gone (I’m currently just addicted to Siri, MapQuest, and my GPS!).

Now I’m driving to cities hours away and shoveling out blizzards and I’m getting my oil changed and flat tires fixed and repairing refrigerators myself…well, I could always figure out how to repair things so that last one doesn’t count.  But now I can do it without first having to let someone else try while I stand there watching and biting my tongue and not saying “that’s really not a good idea,” or “I have an idea how to fix it, if you’d just let me,” because I was afraid of hurting an ego that was quite capable of bringing down the house when it was injured.

I allowed myself to be afraid of so many stupid things, like driving into the city for instance. Over the past 18 months or so, I’m going new places, doing new things, and able to count on myself.  My daughter and I are going to take a bus trip to NYC this summer. Can’t wait. We’re visiting Gettysburg and Antietam on our own when it gets warm…which, guess what? Requires driving. Which is cool, because I’ve got GPS and a funny sidekick riding shotgun.

A trip to the National Zoo and the Smithsonian (National) Museum of Natural History are also on our list. BUT we’ll be taking an Uber for that outing. Hey! It’s Washington D.C. folks. No-one in their right mind wants to drive in D.C., it’s not just ME.

And who knows, if we win the lottery, Massachusetts is also on our go-to list.  The Lizzie Borden House is there and we’re anxious to see it. We’ve been told it’s haunted and that’s just too awesome of a possibility for us to pass up. I’ve already got it mapped out and I’m not afraid. Of the house OR the trip it will take to get there.

So. I’m not saying I have every one of my fears hog-tied as I dance over them in victory — anxiety will always rear its ugly head.  But…definitely making progress.  At least now I only have MY little voice to listen to and sometimes my daughter’s. AND neither starts by saying “Oh no! You can’t do this.” Instead it yells, “You got this!” And you know what…it’s right.

Yes, They’re Real and They’re Spectactular

As my many loyal readers know, there are quite a few things that really annoy me. The list is possibly endless actually. Not the least of which are idiot drivers, as I’ve said many times. Many, many times.  Hey, I’ve never once claimed that I had any sort of patience whatsoever.

But another thing that annoys me is when people who should stick together…don’t. Instead, they pick on each other, for no other reason, I think, than that putting down others makes them feel better about themselves. I’ve always suspected that people like this are in fact hiding inferiority complexes.

In this specific case, I’m talking about women. Women who pick on other women because of their appearance.  As if women don’t have enough of that from other areas in their lives…like the media, the fashion world, their jobs, pretty much everywhere you look.

And I’m not talking teenage girl stuff here like you’d see in middle school or high school which is bad enough. These were full-fledged adults who should know better.  It just really grated on my nerves. In my view, women need to stand together now more than ever. Or really, always.

So, what’s lit this fire of indignation?

Yesterday, there was a sponsored ad on my Facebook newsfeed for a lingerie/bra shoppe.  The ad was a for a summer sports/racer style bra that wouldn’t show under any type of a blouse or shirt. The bra itself is irrelevant. What pissed me off were the comments.

Turns out that the bra was out of stock for some of the larger sizes. What does that mean? Well, that women with large breasts really liked this bra and ordered it, and the shoppe hadn’t made enough for women in those sizes so some sizes were necessarily on backorder.

Not a big deal, right? Women who needed an out of stock bra size could sign up to be notified by email when it was available again so they could then place their order.  Easy peasy.

But there was this one woman who didn’t understand the concept that the item “was out of stock” and was instead annoyed that the shoppe apparently catered only to “smaller” women. She actually posted that the store should “carry sizes big enough for women with REAL breasts and not mosquito bites.” Yeah, I know, funny, right?  Ha ha.

There were other women on the thread who were pissed off (rightfully so) at this vulgar and offensive comment.  I mean, come on.  Women whose breasts are C cup or below (which is to whom the woman was referring) do have REAL breasts.  Actually, women with breasts have real breasts.  Doesn’t really matter what size they are, they’re real.

But this woman must have been having a really bad day, or else was just enjoying herself, and decided to vent her spleen on the internet – anonymously, the way all cowards do these days.

She went on to mock those offended women through a variety of downright vulgar comments that you routinely find in such threads and ultimately said,  well she was really just commenting on the fact that the store catered to smaller breasted women by only having smaller sizes available.

In other words, she just couldn’t grasp the concept that the reason why there were no large size bras available was not because the shoppe hadn’t made any for that demographic…but because that demographic was buying the bra like wildfire! Or, she just wanted to stir the pot.

Because she peppered her comments with such things as “apparently those with smaller breasts never grew a larger sense of humor past high school just like they never grew larger breasts past high school.”  Of course she used much more vulgar terminology throughout most of her rants which I’m not going to repeat here.  You get the idea I’m sure.

I kept reading this woman’s posts as if I were watching a train wreck.  It was gruesome, but I just couldn’t look away.

Women are faced with needless comments such as this that tear them down every day – without having it done to them by other women in such a senseless an idiotic manner.

And why? Did this woman walk away from her computer feeling better about herself?  Did it somehow make her day brighter in some way to insult a group of strangers who were only trying to buy some undergarments? People say “oh, grow a thicker skin,” or “don’t let what people say bother you.” But you know what? You should let it bother you. Oh, not in the way you might think. Don’t take it to heart and let it hurt your self-esteem because, it’s true, what people say is meaningless in that regard. Never let someone else bring you down. However, you should never let offensive comments just skate by without being addressed. Despite the popular opinion that is so common on those types of bullying threads – the people taking offense are NOT the ones in the wrong for being offended by cheap shots and insults.

And as for women who pull this crap on other women, just stop it. We’re all in this together, ladies. Let’s pull together as a team!

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