Birth Control

While I was home over Christmas, I had my yearly facial with the awesome esthetician I’ve been seeing since I was 15  (15, and then in the throes of dermatological unpleasantness).  She is the mistress of the art of extraction, and my first visit to her was as much a cultural touchstone of my entry into modern womanhood as my first trip to the gynecologist.  Though no less painful than my first pap, at least the esthetician rubbed my face and shoulders down with essential oils, and I had glowy skin a week later, once the zits she coaxed to the surface and the redness had subsided.  The gyno just poked me with a metal spatula and gave me the pill… which made me break out.  (Sudden stroke of brilliant idiocy – spas that also offer pap smears!  I am trademarking that business idea right now.  Whole Women’s Health & Beauty sees you inside and out!).

Sadly, after treating my skin for almost 15 years and my own mother’s for 30, our esthetician was hanging up her tweezers, imported creams, and bug zapper to retire.  This would be the last proper facial I will have in a while, as I’ve yet to find anyone half as good.

Lying back in the chair, listening to Enya, snuggled in my quilt, wholly safe in the hands of a professional, I was sad, and wanted to mark the occasion somehow.  What about… a lip wax?  I’d been annoyed at the downy hairs on my upper lip for some time.  Terri is the only person I would let wax and pluck my eyebrows, given her skill, and the only person I trusted to tell me if an upper-lip wax would be a terrible mistake, or a bold move forwards. (more…)


I don’t think the website Some Ugly Baby is here to encourage baby bodysnarking.  I regard it more as a celebration of those odd babies out who don’t quite fit the Gerber baby mold, those babies that make stangers bite their tongues, those babies that defy convention in their own unknowing way.  I am a fan of the unexpected, subversive, ugly baby.

I don’t have a baby of my own, but I believe I would know if my infant was ugly (maybe, maybe not).  An ugly baby doesn’t mean an ugly adult – it’s obviously a transitional phase that predicts little about a child’s looks in the long-term, which is why I’m not too bothered by how amusing I find ugly babies.  That said, I am always sort of weirded out when I see little kids and can visualize exactly what they’re going to look like in middle age.

This is definitely a middle-aged baby.  A lot of babies look like old men, of course, especially the brand-new ones. (more…)

pageantTo be honest, I actually have a pretty high threshold for people babbling about their kids.  I like kids, I used to work with them, and I genuinely find them fascinating and their parents’ sense of delight charming.  Kids are great.  I am interested in their first words, the playground throwdowns, and how their respective parents are tackling puberty issues.  I’m a good audience for kid stories in general.

What I have a lower tolerance for, however, is both the total overshare aspects of childrearing and the stupified superiority complexes exhibited by some parents, which is why I had to stay at work an hour late today to make up for the fact that I read every single entry in the STFU, Parents tumblr.  I was alerted to this blog courtesy of a Salon Broadsheet post, and it happily exceeded my expectations.

STFUParents is a lovingly-crafted wee gem that encapsulates (and takes to task) the smug and pedestrian tendencies exhibited by some folks the second they discover they’re about to birth their own “little miracle.”  Specifically targeting the mind-numbing and nausea-inducing Facebook updates people impose on their friends (and by friends I may mean people-they-have-not-actually-spoken-to-in-twenty-years) about their shitting, puking bundles of overachieving joy, STFUParents hilariously skewers obsessive parenthood, lack of awareness, and the self-satisfied “Supermom!”

What breed of parent are we talking about here?  Not necessarily the nice people you work with, who might bust out with a wry and exhausted anecdote about their firstborn teething.  Not your cool friends who have, yeah, experienced a life-changing event and share some of the joys and punishments with you, without losing their perspective or their ability to relate.  Rather, the blog tackles those folks who have taken the self-congratulatory and exclusive road by proclaiming things like:  “You can only relate if your (sic) a parent!!!! lol :).”  Or:  “Baby Cleopatra unleashed an atomic bomb today!!!  I didn’t know poo could explode out the back of the diaper and into the hair!  LMAO!!!” (more…)

Jennifer Culp is a metal artist who creates striking and wearable art, with a strong focus on sexual health (so yeah, we’re big fans).  Here, Jennifer shows us some of her innovative stuff and answers questions about her work.



Feeling a little nauseated?  Maybe you ate a bad burrito, or that 8th Jack-and-Coke isn’t sitting in your stomach so well (you drunken whore).  Looking for something to tickle your gag reflex?  Then enjoy the trailer for the soaring epic “Come What May,” a story of one white boy’s brave battle to overturn Roe v. Wade, coming straight-to-DVD near you!:

If the trailer failed to spell out THE REAL ISSUES for you, here’s a plot summary from the film’s website: (more…)

uterusJust to overshare, since we all enjoy talking about birth control and bloody mishaps (yeah, that’s the home removal/uterus of steel post), here’s my basic situation.  Since getting my IUD a few years ago, I’ve been blessedly period-free, aside from some occasional spotting.  Yes, it is awesome, and no, I don’t feel like less of a woman.  While I was never of the had-to-be-hospitalized-for-my-period camp, I experienced extremely painful cramps (lower back, uterus, and vaginal canal) and my fair share of PMS.  This has (magically!) been reduced to some tolerable twinges and minor irritability.  However, in the last several months, my period has reared its ugly head with more natural regularity and despite the fact that I no longer circle my blood days in my planner, I can tell when the onset of the curse is nigh, even when I don’t require a pad. 

And I think that time is upon us, judging by the symptoms that remain.  Here’s what I’ve experienced since yesterday:

1) SOBBING:  I’ve been feeling listless and distracted all week and last night, instead of doing a blog post (my stated goal), I got wrapped up in watching Urlesque’s list of the 100 most influential viral videos on the internet (click this link only if you have two to three free hours on your hands). 

Which is to say, I sat in my pajamas and cried for two hours, rewatching guaranteed tearjerkers “Christian the Lion,” “Otters Holding Hands,” “Free Hugs,” and my ultimate sob-inducer, “Where the Hell is Matt?”.  I’ve watched the first and the last about a dozen times each and I know what they do to me (reduce me to shuddery breaths while the tears drip down my face and my glasses fog up).  UGH.  I make it a point in life, in general, to not watch shit that will make me cry, but I was helpless as a baby last night.  The vast pain of the world was on my shoulders, in beautiful and terrible glory.  Feeling this connected to humanity through the digital age made my heart ache so badly I had to retire to bed, snuffling into my pillow. (more…)

I’m posting this after the jump to give you fair warning – what you are about to see will astound and frighten you.  TMZ claims to have an exclusive photo of Nadya Suleman, new mother of octuplets, revealing her pregnancy belly.

Ladies, cross your legs and prepare yourselves.


Next Page »