Good Stuff

This is all the news around here today. Of course I cried like a baby just watching the clip. Why is it so rare to find kids that are good-hearted anymore? In the monotonously tiring world of self-centered, self-absorbed kids that seem to surround me, this is refreshing and worth passing on. Ike Ditzenberger has Down Syndrome. He's also got the ball...

Sexy as a Sasquatch

So I've been thinking a bit. Mostly about shaving my legs. I have a few things to share.

First of all, can we discuss the discrepancy between an unshaven man and an unshaven woman? I mean, check this picture out:

That guy is sexy, right? The rough, rugged look of whiskers coming through his chiseled jawline? Yummy. Now imagine the reverse:

The rough, rugged look of whiskers coming through her shapely legs? Barbed wire. Steel wool. Nasty. No one wants to even THINK about it, forget experience it. My fabulously sexy husband shaves his head every day. I am less vigilant about my legs. I mean, I'm no Sasquatch, but daily shaves? Ain't happenin. And yet... I am fairly mortified if anyone catches a glimpse of my stubbly legs, while my aforementioned fabulously sexy husband could conceivably skip a day or two and still look... well... fabulously sexy. As a matter of fact, I would daresay that his skipping a day or two would actually enhance his fabulous sexiness.

I feel like there's a conspiracy against women. Let's move on to my 2nd point, shall we? Razors for women, vs. razors for men. For the sake of this frugal and practical woman's debate, we will discuss only disposables. Have you seen what's out there? Check out the men's section, and then compare it to the women's. First of all, they have TWICE as many to choose from. And not only do they have more to choose from, but they have WAY better choices. Observe:

The grandaddy of all razors. The new Gillette Fusion. My man wanted to try this, so I bought it for him. He tried it, and then spent the entire day rubbing his head and singing its praises. "Never had a smoother shave!" "Wow, this may be my closest shave EVER!" "Babe, feel my head! What a shave, huh?" And here's where I make a confession. The next day, standing in the shower staring at my stubbly legs, my gaze was drawn to the Fusion, hanging there on his side of the caddy. I am not even kidding you, the thing said, "Try me, Andrea. Just try me." Of course, I looked over at my baby-blue Venus, checked the fading moisture strip, noticed some stray hairs stuck in the blades, and thought... "Well, I would like to see how close of a shave I could get..." So I did it. Yes, I know. This isn't even something one should confess to their clergyman, far less publicly on their blog. My husband doesn't even know about this little indiscretion yet.

But ya know what? WHAT A SHAVE! When I finished, I looked down and I swear to you I was standing on two sticks of butter. BUTTER, I tell you! I am now going on day 3 since my foray with the Fusion, and I barely have stubble. Can you explain that to me? And where is the women's equivalent of this depilatory machine?

Why is it so much more work for a woman to maintain a certain level of sexiness than it is for a man? Marketing conspiracy theory, that's what I say. All I know is it's kind of a bummer I wasn't born a Sasquatch. Seems like a win-win to me.

Rubbin Me the Wrong Way...

I sent this email to my friend today, and my former massage therapist. As you may know, I get regular massages to help with the laundry list of back problems I have. Yes, it sounds divine, and it is, but I'd gladly give up scoliosis, stenosis, arthritis, herniated discs and hypermobility in exchange for not needing the massage. anyhooo... I've been trying to establish a new provider here. I figured I'd start with physical therapy, so I can also develop a new workout program. Here's what my email said:
so i mentioned to you that my PT is ed asner, right? about 5'5", no neck, 2 chins, very large ears, and probably 64 years old. reeks of old spice. thank you, tricare, for this outstanding referral.
i went in today for my 2nd visit, the one where we're done discussing my history and we get to work. mr. ed asner did a decent job of hooking me up with some core strengthening exercises, and a few good stretches. then ed asner told me we would be doing some soft tissue manipulation. GREAT! it's the only way i can get the insurance company to pay for my massages, which i desperately need. so let's call it soft tissue manipulation and get on with it.
ed asner asks me to lie face down on the freezing cold, rubber-padded table. sure, no problem ed. but i'm fully clothed, and wondering where this is going. ed asner then moves my shirt up... okay, no problem. gotta get to my soft tissue somehow, right? ed asner then UNHOOKS MY BRA. no joke. i was like WHOA THERE, EDDY! back up off a sista! but no, i'm mature, i figure this is just fine. he didn't want me to actually undress, so this is logical. then ed asner puts refrigerated massage cream on my back. "is it cold in here?" ed asks me. "try to relax." relax? sure. no problem. there's an overhead radio in the room, and guess what song starts bumping while ed asner massages me? YEAH... l'il john. oh i'm in the zone now baby. ed asner does not have the hands of a massage therapist. ed asner has the hard, rough, calloused hands of a 64 year old man. they do not feel good on the soft, virgin skin of my back. WE WANT A LADY IN THE STREET BUT A FREAK IN THE BED! thank you, l'il john, for helping me through this awkward moment. ed asner is finished manipulating my soft tissue now, so he hooks my bra back up for me. how's THAT for service! i threw some coins in his tip jar on my way out.

Getting the REAL Story...

So maybe you've read this story by now. I can hardly stand it. This woman calls herself a sports reporter. I use the term loosely. Let's put all the cards on the table right up front, shall we? She's an attractive woman. She has a smoking hot body, she's blond, and she has perfectly straight, white teeth. Her assets are all well stocked, and frankly, we can't hate her because of that.

Here's the thing. If she wants to be a sports reporter, her physical appearance shouldn't really keep her from doing so. But if she wants to be taken seriously, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say THIS is not the way to accomplish it:

Yeah, she was doing a story on the before and after of a particular GNC supplement, right? Right. Ms. Ines Sainz is the kind of woman that causes even the most secure wife to tighten her grip on her man's arm. (Maybe almost as tight as that tape measure...) I have a lot of respect for legitimate female sports reporters. They are clawing their way through a man's world. They have a passion for sports, and they can hold their own with most men in a serious discussion. I never really feel like Hannah Storm or Cheryl Lewis are slipping players their number on the side. I feel like they are thrilled with the game, and want to tell me all about it in their coverage. In all fairness, I have never heard Ms. Sainz cover a sporting event. But if this is how she shows up dressed for work, I'm guessing her "coverage" is fairly limited.
I'm not saying it's ever okay to sexually harass anyone, for any reason. But I AM saying that if you roll around in crack cocaine for awhile, some junkie somewhere is gonna try and smoke you. If this woman wants to be a respected sports reporter, she should dress in a professional manner, and quit flirting with the players.

Where was the team management when this woman showed up at the locker room? Who bothered to step in and say "hey, we need a dress code here." Better yet, why are reporters, male or female, even allowed inside a locker room? This situation was brewing from the get go, and I feel the management is just as much at fault for allowing her into the locker room as she is for walking her unprofessional self up in there. I can't wait to see where this one goes... and what she wears should she get her day in court. I'm betting for one day, the label says "Liz Claiborne" instead of "Applebottom."

CALLING ALL UTAH HOTTIE WANNABES

My friend Tristan has recently returned to the workforce. She is quite handy with the makeup brush and styling tools. If I lived near her, I would choose her to do my hair. And I would also choose her to do my makeup if I ever had anywhere to go where I wanted to look hot and sexy.

ANYHOOO... if you live in Utah, check her out. Here's her latest promo:



And if you tell her Andrea sent you, she'll throw in a complimentary hug. No kissing though. We want to keep it professional.

Professional Chit Chat.

So. I'm slowly getting started doing some photography in the new town. Sometimes I feel weird when I say "Oh, I'm a photographer! I'd love to do your newborn shots!" Because, really, am I? I'm actually a teacher. That's where I find my professional identity. I feel like I'm more of "someone who happens to own a camera" than an actual, certifiable "photographer." Anyway. I did just that... I met a cute pregnant couple and told them those exact words, and after the baby was born recently, they contacted me... and here's a few of the highlights. Now maybe she'll end up in my 2nd grade class one day, and validate me again professionally.

*And p.s. Yeah, she just gave birth. And could she look any more fantastic? I literally jaw dropped when she walked in the room. If I hadn't seen her pregnant, I wouldn't believe it.