(via tumblrsaid) (via bowlingalleylawyer)
WHY IS IT THE SEASON FINALE! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS RIGHT NOW!
I had to keep getting up to finish washing my dishes…I couldn’t stand to watch a good bit of it.
The local news is doing a feature segment on skin cancer after Grey’s and Private Practice tonight, tying it in with summer and Izzie Stevens’ melanoma.
I’m super scared.
I was a lifeguard for three years, and I love the beach and the sunshine and laying out, and I always, always, always use spf 30 but there’s also a history of cancer in my extended family. I always try to be careful, but I know sometimes it’s not enough. And I’m a hypochondriac. I can’t pay too much attention to any of the swine flu stuff because I make myself feel sick. I visited my gynecologist for check-ups seven times in a year and a half. I’m a hypochondriac, and a pessimist who always thinks the worst.
There’s a tiny spot on one of my wrists that I first noticed the summer I lived at the beach. It’s just a little bit of a red blotch. It worried me, and I wanted to get it checked out, but then it went away. Apparently it only comes out when my skin is tan. On the same arm, I have a spot I thought was a freckle (I’ve always had a few of those on my arms) but I realized it clearly wasn’t when I looked clearly. It may or may not be anything to worry about, but I know it wouldn’t hurt to get it checked.
On the other arm, I have a tiny raised spot. Right now, it’s pale pink, but sometimes I can only find it if feel for it.
I know I should probably get a full body scan. I told my ex about my concerns, and he’d been out in the sun a lot in his life, and he said he should probably get scanned too. He probably didn’t. I hope I will sometime. I’ll probably have to get a lot of my skin sliced into, to get samples for testing. I hope nothing will be serious, that I’ll be okay.
I haven’t gotten tested before because of insurance issues, and not having insurance, and switching insurance for work, and who even knows where to find a derm? None near where I am, and even if I found one, they generally have really long waits for appointments. Which is why I should probably make an appointment now.
But I’ll be honest. Partly I’m scared. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to find something malignant. I can’t imagine not being able to lay out in the sun, not ever being able to get tan, even though I know tan is a sign of damage but hey, we can’t all be Nicole Kidman.
Plus, I just spent a lot on a sharehouse for the summer, and I’m not about to go find out now that I can’t enjoy it. (I always think worst-case scenario.)
But after this summer, I’m going to make sure my skin’s healthy. Hold me to it. And cross your fingers everything check out.
I plan on being a hot-ass puma/cougar, and if a time comes when no man wants my sexy granny ass, I’m going to eat all the chocolate cake I want, and not shave my legs, and travel around the world, and perhaps cavort with some hot foreigner with a granny fetish.
Expiration dates are for milk cartons, not women.
Chiara Atik, via NonSociety - Meghan
Click through, read the entire thing, and take comfort you’re not the only one. Or click through, read the entire thing, think how pathetic she is and then go screw yourself for being arrogant and having your shit so together.
If you feel like your rights and privileges are some how lessened because gay people share the same ones, that suggests that you think you’re somehow “better” than gay people. Not allowing gay marriages is discrimination. Trying to prevent them is not protecting the intistution of marriage; it’s turning it into an exclusive club which makes it more unsavory. Who wants to do anything supported by some of the National Org of Marriage zealots.
Oh wait. Miss California Carrie Prejean.
She said “It’s all aout respect” when people disagree on things, yet she also says same sex marriage is disrespectful to traditional marriage. Honestly, isn’t the very fact that people are fighting for the right to marry who they want a testament to how much they respect marriage? It’s something many people aspire to have, which doesn’t seem like a threat to the institution to me. Isn’t getting a divorce more disrespectful to “traditional” marriage than two people of the same sex wanting to love, honor, and cherish each other as long as they both shall live? If Miss Prejean wants to “protect” marriage, is she not misdirecting her efforts? Shouldn’t she be concentrating on all the traditional marriages that people enter into lightly and give up on too easily?
The bigger question, though, is has Miss California ever been married?? Because she’s going on and on about protecting and respecting marriage, but if she hasn’t been there, girl doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about. If you haven’t experienced it, how can you be so sure, so publicly sure for that matter, that it’s so worth protecting?
I love my mama. She’s so sweet, and she worries about me. She always makes sure to tell me to be careful if she knows I’m going out, or going on a trip, or going on a date, anything.
Tonight, on the phone, she randomly told me to make sure I’m washing my hands “All.The.Time.” (I say randomly because neither of us had mentioned anything about swine flu to that point.) She says this forgetting that I’m a huge hypochondriac and a mild germophobe who used to wash my hands so much, especially during cold season, that I had to put Vaseline on my knuckles because my skin was so dry lotion didn’t work and my sister would make Aviator jokes about it and my mom would whisper “OCD” behind me while I was standing at the kitchen sink scrubbing the damned germs out, out.
So she worries when I wash my hands too much, and then that I’m not washing them enough. Basically, she’s a typical mom. But mom, you know I freak out at the thought of illness (hence the overwashing). So because my mama’s so concerned about me avoiding swine flu, I’m now concerned that I have it, as in “OmgIcould’vegottenitthenfrom [insert entirely unreasonable scenario here].” And now my back’s aching (probably from my workouts today) and my stomach’s feeling a little weird and I swear it has nothing to do with the fact that the last things I ingested were Peeps, peanut butter, and fat free Redi Whip straight from the can.
Or maybe I’m overreacting?
Patti Stanger, Millionaire Matchmaker
So. Freaking. True.
-He kisses my back when I wake up.
-He cooks the best dinners.
-His eyes speak sentences even when his mouth is shut.
-He let’s me fall asleep in his arms.
The above: helpful suggestions if you want to be my “him”
The position’s not frozen, but I’m not actively looking to fill it either, so your resume better be absolutely fabulous. Just fyi
Sometimes your heart needs a long restart to realize how it feels to be off your sleeve, and back in your own chest.” —Boy Meets Love (via kari-shma) (via loveundercover) (via skysignal) (via pieceofmymind) (via thefleetingmoment) (via thoughtsonasunday)
I will never be happy with the way I look! I have manyyyyyy insecurities!
Put on Spice Up Your Life, Strip down to your underwear, and feckin’ dance like a betch. It’ll make you feel better. There is always some way we can be working on improving ourselves but if you don’t love yourself for who and what you are right now then you can forget ever achieving those self improvement goals. Love yourself. Love Yourself. Love. Yourself.
Best Advice Ever. Taking it!
A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him — woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things — a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds — engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him.
A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn’t matter what his job is, because if a man doesn’t like his job, he gets a new one.
A man can speak to dogs. A man listens, and that’s how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It’s not that he must. It’s that he can. A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.
A man owns up. That’s why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.
A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it’s just to put an end to the bickering.
A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided. Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It’s a set of rules.
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale bosom, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the wrist and the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee.
Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his bottom.
A man doesn’t point out that he did the dishes. A man knows how to ridicule. A man gets the door. Without thinking. He stops traffic when he must.
A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool. He knows how to lose a month, also.
A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.
He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher’s ERA.
A man does not know everything. He doesn’t try. He likes what other men know. A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails. A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.
He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn’t winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn’t see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That’s the liberal thread; it’s why men won’t line up as liberals.
A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That’s why men won’t forever line up with conservatives, either.
A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps. Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.
A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won’t spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn’t. Who knows what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next.
I’m archiving this for another day. so if my husband ever doubts himself, I can point to this and say see… you’re doing more than alright babe.
but I do know there will be an open bar.
I am so far from having wedding plans that I never even get any of those annoying, ridiculous and sometimes borderline offensive Facebook wedding ads. My wedding plans consist of celebrating everyone else’s vows…with an open bar, of course.
Chinese proverb/Lid of my Peach Honest Tea
LISTEN TO YOUR LIDS, PEOPLE. And with that, I’m going out of the office to enjoy some warm weather (let’s not kid, my office is hot enough as it is - and I LOVE the heat) and treat myself to a coffee and a cookie even though lunch didn’t really happen yet and to go home and get the work I left there that I put off all morning. Righto then.