Hair Today

Fiorella comes from a long line of clean-shaven men and mustachioed women. Yes, hirsutity runs in her female line.

Thus she's tried almost every hair-removal method in the book--or advertised on TV.

Electrolysis works well, but takes time and money. It's really not feasible for anything but small areas unless you're really dedicated. There's also a certain amount of pain involved. Fio's tried various depilatories too, but apparently her yeti leg pelt is stronger than their formulae. She's never tried professional waxing, but an at-home kit left a rather haphazard pattern on her legs. The sugar stuff out of Australia was nasty.

Yesterday she bought some pads that one is supposed to rub three times clockwise, three times counter. Today she tried them. They worked--but it took ten minutes to do about twenty square inches. Fio doesn't have that kind of time to spend on being satin smooth.

Okay, Fio admits it--she hasn't tried lasering, although she has been studying spa ads recently. The problem with is, of course, is the money, plus the fact that you have to keep it up.

So it's back to the ol' razor again. At least Fio has the comfort she'll never go bald--anywhere.

Romantic Sex

Years ago, an unbelievably prolific romance writer, Janet Dailey, lifted a sex scene from a book by equally prolific writer Nora Roberts. Yes, she plagiarized word for word. My theory was that she had just run out of descriptors.

As Fiorella has said before, sex scenes are a real bitch to write. Not because of censorship or public standards--those things went out the (bedroom) window years ago. No, it's because sex, after all, is fairly basic, and somewhere along the line, one uses up all the words.

Fio, of course, has her own solution to problem-- an inspirational list of sexually-expressive words and phrases culled from several of her favorite novels. Just reading through them can be an, uh, exhilarating experience.

But, she wonders--what about the story?

Happy Birthday

My father is ninety-five today, March 5. It is not a birthday I celebrate. He is wheelchair-bound, incontinent, half-blind, and three-quarters deaf. He doesn't talk any more and doesn't know me from Eve. His life has narrowed to eating and excreting.

And every time I walk into the nursing home, I think "This is my future."

Rush Limbaugh

Rush Limbaugh. He's like Hitler, slick and quick, a great orator who's got a real way with words. And he's a good actor too--remember how cleverly he mocked Michael J. Fox's Parkinson symptoms? He also delegates well--rather than endangering himself, he sent his Hispanic maid out to score drugs for him. And he's handicapped to boot--his hearing was damaged by overdosing.

And now he's THE voice of the Republican Party. Whoever thought the GOP would be dragged so low?

Calamity

Nothing is working right.

I knocked a big chip out of my car's passenger-side side-view mirror. And Husband nearly asphyxiated me with paint removers and gasoline when he was cleaning up after some work in the garage. And the 45-page paranormal novella I am working on has disappeared from sight in my documents file. And Mutual of Omaha sent a contract for life insurance instead of the requested accidental death insurance. And the Geek Squad "calibrated" our new giant TV so the color went bad, the picture got fuzzy, and the channels take as long as five seconds to change.

In other words, it's life as usual. No matter--I'll keep my lipstick red and my smile bright.

Double Bed

I don't know if it's empathy, sympathy, or annoyance, but when Husband can't sleep, I can't sleep. On the other hand, when Husband takes a weekend nap in his recliner, I tend to fall asleep on the nearby couch. Maybe we've just been married too long.
*****
We've got one of those super-soft mattress toppers on the bed, which means every now and then I begin my morning by sliding off onto the floor.
*****
Our bed faces a spread of big windows, which gives us a wonderful view of trees, trees, and more trees. It's thrilling for me to wake up late at night and gaze at their fantastically gnarled limbs or summer foliage against a full moon. Another benefit of living in the Hill Country.
*****

Handicapped Grammar

Fiorella will now hold forth about handicapped parking, the linguistic aspect, that is.

That's right, Fio said HANDICAPPED parking, not HANDICAP parking. "Handicapped" is a passive participle, as in "Some people are handicapped by having difficulties walking." These people, then, are often referred to as "handicapped." Their special permits allow them to park in places especially designated for the handicapped. Thus "HANDICAPPED parking."

"HANDICAP parking" would imply that one could park one's problems in a designated space, a pleasant prospect, I am sure, but one, unfortunately, as yet unavailable. So we'll just have to make do with HANDICAPPED parking.

"Nuff said?