This weekend I was trying to put on makeup. Trying, because when a baby is demanding in no uncertain terms, “pick me up! look at me! smile at me! look at me, now! really! NOW!” and the husband was gone and XBoy was having his own visual affair with the TV, everything feels “trying”.

So, I picked up a hand mirror and some of my makeup and sat down next to ZGirl in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone.

At one point, I had put the mirror down next to ZGirl to look down on her and make a face. I made a face alright, if the reflection in the mirror was any indication.

My face? It fell forward.

Two chins. The beginnings of a neck waddle. Loose eyelids.

There was more, but I could barely look at myself for a second longer. It was… frightening.

If I had a buttload of money, I’d have a surgeon on call 24 hrs (once I removed the money from aforementioned butt). An eyelid lift, a little pull at the temples (even though the before and after tv shows on plastic surgery where they peel the face off the skull freaks me the fuck out), a chin lift, some restalin here, some botox there, and even a little plumping of the lips…oh yeah. Any needle phobia I may have had went out the window after my first IUI attempt back in the summer of 2005. So what if it’s to my face and not my dimpled ass/thigh? Which someday I would like to fix as well.

Getting older sucks. Knowing that my O face looks the way it does? Sexy, it is not.

What one plastic surgery¬†would you do if money wasn’t an object?

(You can use this as an excuse to delurk! Cool, huh?!)



That’s me whoring for comments. And since I realized it’s National Delurking Week (pretend that I’m from whatever nation you are from), you can meet me in the back alley and I won’t have to face the pimp hand any time soon. January 4 – January 10, 2009.


You’ve been dieing to tell me I’m an asshole? Or you need to admit anonymously¬†you enjoy going commando? Or maybe to share what your favorite jelly bean combo is? Here’s your chance.

Comment whore? You bet. Subtle, I am not.