Monthly Archives: July 2014

Are You Kidding Me! (AYKM)


A few days ago I came up with this, what I thought was,  brilliant title for my next blog.  I had the idea in the middle of the night.  The title is a phrase I use quite often when I am stymied by something I thought was going to be quite simple.  My blog was going to be brilliant and incisive and, and, and…

I sat down to write the damn thing and my brain went whoosh!  It was going to be funny and earth shattering and it had bloody absconded with my brain.  So I devised a new plan.  Over the years I have received emails that have left me laughing so hard I was crying.  It’s always rough when I’m wearing mascara.  Most women will understand what I’m talking about, as well some men.  So sit back, relax and if I may be so bold, put down your cup of coffee you don’t want to spill something hot on your lap.  Especially you guys!  I hope you enjoy.


My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my
mind for the next few hours: “Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the
medicine cabinet.” So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It
was one of those “cold wax” kits. No melting a clump of hot
wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and
you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you
pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I’m not a genius,                                                           but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each
other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks
in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. (“Cold wax,”
yeah…right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around
it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn’t the best feeling, but it
wasn’t too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am
She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin
extraordinaire. With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on
the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting

I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same
procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini
line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the
inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply
and brace myself….RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I’m blind!!! Blinded from
pain!!!!….OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only
managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and                                                                                              RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out…                                                                                          must stay conscious…Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe…                                                                                       OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy – a wax covered strip, the one that has
caused me so much pain, with my body hair sticking to it. I want to revel
in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!

There’s no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the
hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch, I am touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is
now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake…

Remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need
to do something. So I put my foot down.  DARN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming
of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk
around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself
“Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!” What can                                                                                      I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I’ll run the hottest
water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits
and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe. It off, right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!*                                                                                I get in the tub – the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners                                                                         of war or sterilize surgical equipment – I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having                                                                    your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the                                                    bottom of the tub…in scalding hot water.

Which, by the way, doesn’t melt cold wax so, now I’m stuck to the
bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a
phone put in the bathroom! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed
before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good
conversation starter – “So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the
bottom of the tub!”

There is a slight pause. She doesn’t know any secret tricks for removal
but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly
where the wax is located, “Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?”
She’s laughing out loud by now…I can hear her. I give her the
rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else’s night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax
off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies
covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and
then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working,
dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need
Post-Traumatic Stress counselling for this event. My friend is still talking
with me when I finally see my saving grace….the lotion they give you to                                                                                 remove the excess wax.

What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY
GOD!!!!!!!  The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens                                                                                           out of my friend. Its sooo painful, but I really don’t care. “IT WORKS!!                                                                                             It works!!” I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.                                                                         I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my
grief and despair….THE HAIR IS STILL THERE…….ALL OF IT!!!!!!. So                                                                                               I recklessly shave it off.  Heck, I’m numb by now.  Nothing hurts.                                                                                                         I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I’m going to try hair color.




Whoosh is the sound

Of a life passing by

But wait just a minute

I beg to defy


Whoosh is the sound

That I hear in my head

As I flit between poems

And stuff that I’ve read


Short stories and quips

A thought just erupted

Came right to my brain

Perhaps I’ve corrupted


An idea for a story, oh wait

That’s a quip

Now whoosh it is gone

Not right for this trip


Oh look there’s a sale

On shoes for my feet

A poem about footwear?

I’m thinking I’m beat


Perhaps maybe not

As exhaustion seeps in

And I flutter about

That whoosh such a din


The words racing by

That I’m trying to hold

A few near my pen

My passion is bold


I’ll share my beloved

As they’re whooshing about

These words I hold dearly

Some semblance no doubt


Whoosh is the sound

Of a life moving on

Not backward but forward

Cuz my time’s not done


Nov 5 2013 020




August 2013 023


Has your perspective changed?  Over the years people grow and mature (usually).  Their life experiences will colour the way they see and understand the world around them.  I know having a disease has changed my perspective.  I have come to realize that I have to take charge of my life.  I have doctors, therapist, etc. as advisors only.  They have their place in my life but they are not my life.  If I want to live, really live, I have to work at it.  Life is not easy at any stage.  But life is a gamble worth taking.  If everything were easy there would not be as great a feeling of accomplishment as there can be.  Let’s face it, the alternative to life is death, the end, no more curtain calls, no last chance, no one more try.  I think I will stick around for a while, maybe a half century or so.  I‘ve got lots to do!


Someone once asked me what the biggest challenge I have to overcome is.

Well, other people with disabilities is perhaps the biggest problem I deal with.  Please don’t misunderstand; we all deal with our own personal hurdles in our own personal ways.  No one can tell you how you feel.  But I have a very difficult time with people who ‘put up’ with shoddy service or incorrect attitudes because they don’t want to rock the boat.  THE BOAT NEEDS TO BE ROCKED!


A few years ago I tried to get into a local variety store that had a post office in it.  Out front they had a mini step.  It was perhaps only an inch high, but it had a sharp edge. If I had blown a tire on that mini step I would have been in very big trouble.  I refused to enter the store.  I would open the door and announce myself.  They very correctly dealt with me on the sidewalk.  I pointed out the problem and was informed that no one else had an issue with it.  People came in the store in wheelchairs all the time.  It was awkward as the door was heavy and that mini step a problem.  When I contacted the post office I was informed that this was unconscionable.  The matter would be rectified.  It was not.  When the gentleman from the post office found out that people with disabilities were ‘making do’ he changed his tune.  The step was not fixed until more than five years later.  New owners decided to do what was right as opposed to what was convenient.  I shop there every chance I get and I made a point of thanking the owners for their efforts.


This situation would never have happened if everyone would speak up.  We don’t have to be adversarial or aggressive but we do have to be assertive.  If something is wrong let’s fix it. We shouldn’t wait around for someone else to take care of our problems.  If we know how to fix it. We should speak up.  This is lesson #1 on ‘How to Be a Cripple’:  don’t be! We are people . . . . .with a disability. Take note and listen up.