Rantopolis

Category — My skin just moved again

FB friends tattoo on your arm. Bad idea.

At the risk of offending a few readers, I have to say that when it comes to tattoos, I’m not a fan.

I just can’t wrap my brain around doing something that permanent to my body.

I can be a teensy bit more open-minded about ink that’s small and in a discrete place, but when it comes to things like full sleeves, tribal face art and the like, my reaction is…eeewwww!

So when one of my friends posted this YouTube link on her Facebook page recently, the only thing I could think was that this person’s insanity meter was definitely in the red zone.

Sorry, but tattooing your Facebook friends’ photos on your arm is beyond freaky deaky.

I just went to my 40th high school reunion.  The thought of walking around for the rest of my life with my friends’ high school yearbook photos tattoo’d on my arm  is enough to make my want to amputate it.

People, what seems like a good idea today, isn’t probably going to sit well with you 40 years from now.  Would you be caught dead today in 60s tie-dyed or 70s disco attire?

I didn’t think so.  And that’s something you can simply remove.

So what makes you think that ’10s body art is going to work for you in the ’30s?

We live during a time when people would rather live together than go through the hassle of marriage and subsequent 50% chance of divorce.  However, they think nothing of making permanent marks on their skin that is going to look disgusting when the aging process takes hold.  Sagging skin + tats = high gross factor.

Last year’s gladiator sandal is this year’s Salvation Army contribution.  Getting rid of clothes and shoes is one thing.  But, I’m pretty sure that donating a limb would be frowned upon.

So, before you think of subjecting yourself to this ritual, take a look at the oldest person you can find.  Try to imagine what those tattoos are going to look like if you are fortunate enough to reach a ripe old age.

If that’s not enough to deter you, then you are far less vain than I am.

June 14, 2011   1 Comment

Bones are to blame for hip spread. Awesome.

Okay, so my curves are not totally my fault.  I will cop to partial blame due to my boyfriends Ben & Jerry and other double-digit Weight Watcher point foods.  However, today’s report from ABC World News exonerates me.

Somewhat.

My hip bones have actually been spreading on their own.  Who knew that those little big calcium sticks were part of a conspiracy?

“Most people don’t grow any taller after the age of 20, but a recent study published in the Journal of Orthopaedic Research found evidence that the pelvis — the hip bones — continues to widen in both men and women up to about age 80, long after skeletal growth is supposed to have stopped.”

You know what that means, right?

Unless I plan on crushing my pelvis, which is not in my foreseeable future (I checked my Outlook to make sure), then I just need to deal with my spreading girth.

Growing, as we speak. There's a comforting thought.

I do have a teensy concern however.  The report says that the hip bones continue to widen until age 80.  Does that mean I need to start looking for housing now with wider doors and hallways?  I mean…how wide are these suckers going to get?

Am I going to be able to straddle a harbor like the Colossus of Rhodes?  Will I be able to stand with one foot in each football field end zone?  Am I going to have to pay resident tax in two states?

And what about frequent airline flyers.  OMG…those people just had a collective stroke.

I’m thinking the airlines are going to start stacking people sideways like toast.  Between rising fuel costs, ridiculous seat widths and the newly discovered spreading hips, we are only a few centimeters away from spooning strangers on transcontinental flights.

And all I thought I needed to worry about was sagging skin.   (In lieu of flowers on my next birthday, please buy me belt extenders.)

June 7, 2011   1 Comment

Plastic strip on your eyelid?

I saw an commercial on a cable station the other day that had me doubled over in laughter.  The product is called Dream Look and its basically a small curved piece of plastic that you adhere to your eyelid.

Sticking plastic on my lid? Uh. No.

What's next? Sticking a letter opener in your cornea?

It’s purpose?  It’s supposed to lift the the droppy part above your eyelid to give you a more “open” eye.

Bwwwaaahaaaha.   Who buys this stuff?!!!

Yeah, because it’s really normal to stick a piece of plastic on your eyelid.  And it won’t make you look like a freak or anything when people stare at you.  It’ll be great fun to try to apply eye make up over this.  Then, there’s the whole experience of ripping the adhesive off at the end of the night.  Daily chemical peel.  That’s exactly what you want to subject your sensitive eyelids, to.  Fab!

Hey, I wonder if this company has plans for line extensions.

Could I have an ass lift strip?  Make it in the shape of a boomerang so not only will my cheeks be lifted, but they will have a nice hammock to sit in.

Or how some arm tape?  You know…to prevent those upper arm “flags” from waving.

Oh, and don’t forget the boob tape.  Instead of underwires, how about a suspension system that involves plastic strips and a pulley?

Honestly.   Who buys this crap?!!

April 19, 2011   2 Comments

Oh, but it’s such a ‘good’ fat

I’m out the door in two hours to catch my flight to Florida.

Have been handling last minute business things all morning interspersed with packing.  Clothes and electronics all organized.  Final stage is toiletries and jewelry.  But first…a quick lunch break.

Having let the refrigerator empty out during the course of the week, I decide to make lunch from leftovers.  I spy a small piece of poached salmon.  Great!  Normally, I like to put some onions and lettuce on it, but I decide this a lucky day for my seat companion in row 13.  (Hopefully, that’s not the only lucky thing about sitting in that row.)

I'm thinking omega 3 overdose.

Ahh…I see half of an avocado.  Salmon and avocado.  That’ll work.

Then it hit me.  I’m about to eat a fat sandwich.  Salmon is not the “skinniest” fish around.  And avocado is like what?  A bazillion calories per half?

Yet on the other hand, I’m told it’s a good fat.  Is that like a good witch?  The whole thing just screams oxymoron to me.  And I’m thinking I just might be the moron.

On the other hand, just think how much omega 3 I just chipmunked away.  I can just hear my arteries expanding.  Or maybe that’s just the sound of my thighs expanding.

I probably should have stuck with the onions, afterall.

March 30, 2011   1 Comment

Bathing suit shopping: DEFCON 1

Everyone has something that frightens them. It could be anything from heights to spiders.  However, other than finding magicians a little creepy, the usual phobias don’t affect me.  But there is something that does strike terror into my heart and puts my nerve endings into DEFCON 1 alert. ( The 1962 Cuban Missile Crises only got to DEFCON 2 level, so that should tell you something.)

Wall of horrors.

As you have surmised from the title of this post, it’s shopping for a bathing suit.

So when one of my close friends called me earlier today and invited me to go bathing suit shopping with her, I started feeling a little anxious.  Never mind that the suit was for her, and not me.  Just the thought of being within a few feet of those little strips of fabric was enough to get my heart palpitating.

It prompted me to remember when the last time was I shopped for a bathing suit.  I’m pretty sure it was during the Clinton Administration.  Which would actually explain why wearing one of my suits last Christmas in Florida resulted in a sunburn.  Did I mention that the burn was under the fabric?

It took me a while to realize that the age of the suit coupled with a 20 pound weight gain undoubtedly stretched the fibers to the point that as far as the sun was concerned, I was wearing the equivalent of a window screen on my stomach.

Sooo attractive.

And here I was happy that I could still fit into the suit.  Clearly delusional until I pan-seared my epidermis.  The lesson here is what works great for ahi tuna, is not ideal for human skin.  Just sayin’.

Undaunted, I applied sun screen on the covered bits before putting the suit back on the next day. Apparently, even that humiliation didn’t motivate me enough to go shopping for another suit.  It may very well take a third degree burn and a trip to the ER, where the physician on call ends up handing me a script for a new bathing suit for me to finally take action.

Sadly, I think it’s time that I retire the rotisserie bathing suit.  I now need to move onto the last one from the Clinton collection.  It’s either that or rappel into a clothing store in the middle of the night to shop under cover of darkness.  But then again, if I could rappel, then I wouldn’t need to shop in the middle of the night. Get my point?!

Which leads me to the only logical conclusion for the time being.  I need to stock up on SPF 30.

March 18, 2011   3 Comments

Spy dining

While in the shower this morning, I had my iPhone tuned into a Chicago morning radio show.  The DJs were talking about a recent study which identified several things women don’t like doing in front of their significant other–boyfriend, husband, etc.   The DJs then asked listeners to call in with what they thought was the correct answer.  They further told listeners that 60% of women responded with this answer.

As I was loofah-ing this wonderful Korres fig body wash (if I’m not eating food, slathering it on my body would be my second choice), I rolled my eyes and thought to myself what an easy answer.  Undress. We hate to undress in front of them.

Let’s face it.  There are things that stick out now (veins, cellulite, sun spots, last night’s dessert…you know…stuff like that) where smooth skin used to be.  There’s also the gravity thing.  Body parts that used to angle toward the North Pole are most likely facing Argentina now.)

They answer the first caller and she says “undress.”   The announcers say wrong!

Are you people serious?  Who answered this?  Girls on their way to the prom?  Hawaiian Tropic bikini models?  Porn stars?   How is undressing in a bright light situation not the most horrific thing…ever.  There is something more traumatic on the list??   Is that even possible?!

The survey said….wait for it….eating!!

Correct spy attire for secret dining

Fellow females…well, at least 60% …what is wrong with you?!!!   You don’t want men to see you eating?!!!

What is it that they think you do at the supermarket?  You just buy food because you are a collector of labels?  You visit the meat counter because you like to gaze at animal flesh, but not eat it.  The produce section is cool because you have a thing for the color green?

The point is…it’s not a surprise to anyone that you actually eat food.  You get that part, right?

Okay, look.  I’ll admit that food and I have had a lifelong love affair.  Probably a bit more dis- than functional, but to take the shame of nourishment to the point that you don’t want your partner watching you eat, is kind of well..umm…ahh…really disturbing behavior.

So, if you fall into the 60% that think this…I’m encouraging you to please find something that is more hateworthy.  May I suggest hording?

January 28, 2011   3 Comments