Of Anal Glands and threaded face

It has been a while since I last posted. I blame it on my job. I blame it on my exercise videos. I blame it on American Idol. Truthfully, I just haven't had that certain spark of inspiration to pour forth what's on my mind into my dainty fingers and onto this blog. I guess what inspired me to write now is that certain need to reflect on anal glands and facial threading. They are 2 separate things that share a common denominator: Pain. Yes, Pain for the common good.

My dog's routine check up didn't turn out as routine as I thought it would be. Whilst enjoying a movie, I got a call from the vet explaining to me that my dog's anal glands were inflamed and had to be lanced. I gave her the go signal and just took a deep breath. In the back of my head I knew that there will be a lot of TLC-ing to do. Fast forward to 6 pm. I expertly chose the XL Elizabethan collar for my "S" sized dog. Why? Because the small cone is no match for my dog's eerie capability to curl himself enough to reach his ass. Yes, it is quite an enviable skill ;) The XL collar worked like a dream and it's kinda entertaining to see my dog struggle to get to his red hot anus. The drawback? Feeding my dog by hand and giving him water by holding a bowl within his collar. The TLC begins. And let's not start with the medication. I had to get creative. My kitchen turned into a chemist's lair-- pounding drugs, changing them into forms more easily accepted by animals. Alas, my dog is too smart and he spat in my face as a dissatisfied patron would on a lazy hooker .

10 more days of this and then my dog will be free from the cone and I, free from subservience.

And speaking of freedom, I am a proud owner of a peach fuzz free face. Thank you "Eyebrows plus" of Tanforan. Thank you for not being limited to eyebrows. Thank you for looking me in the eye and saying: "yes, we thread cheeks". Yes ladies and gents, I swallowed whatever ounce of masculinity I had left and surreptitiously slid into their vinyl chair and succumbed to this painful art of hair removal. My gal, "Roshitha" artfully twisted quilting thread and ran it on my face as you would with a lawnmower on a yard out of control. I felt as if a billion little daggers were jabbing my already reddened face. It was at that moment when you think to yourself : "should I take this all the way and just let the tears flow?" I kinda did. At that point, I saw, from my peripheral vision, passers by checking me out. Oddly enough, along with my masculinity, the shame disappeared. Along with the shame, the peach fuzz disappeared. And when the peach fuzz disappeared, a beautiful hairless radiance appeared (at least for the next 2 weeks).

Text me not !

I have been witness to technology gone awry.

I have received a text message meant to be for someone else. I received a text message that was supposed to be for my friend D's eyes only. This said text message ruined my otherwise uneventful, and might I say, relatively happy day. The gist of the text revealed how he disliked the fact that we hang out with his bf, our friend, D.

Of course when I showed the text to D, they immediately went into battle mode. The effect was another text--this time addressed to me. It contained an apology. Somehow, I could not digest his apology. It felt fake, contrived and just blah. This apology,in my world, did not warrant a reply.

It is indeed amazing how one simple electronic mistake, in this day and age, can reveal so much of how others may feel about you. It was so potent that it managed to ruin, deconstruct and discredit all the bliss I was experiencing prior to that particular incident.

I do not care for D's bf. I do not care for his lies, his manipulative behavior, his drama. His issues, whether real or imaginary are not my concern. What I do care about is my friend's well being. I hope he realizes that. I hope he stops seeing his boyfriend through rose colored glasses and see him for what he really is. But like what I always say at my work: "I can only help people who are willing to help themselves."

Oh yeah, about D's bf again..

...he's on my shitlist.

Facial Discrimination

Today was D-Day. Today was facial day! I have been seeking high and low for the ideal setting of this beautiful torture. I wanted to be away from the city . I wanted to feel what it's like to get a facial in suburbia ala Eva Longoria on Wysteria Lane. I booked a week ahead and set up my errands to compliment the facial schedule. I was so excited that I cut 10 mins of cardio from my usual 20 to get to the place on time. There I was, entering the soothing glass doors of " The estheticians" in San Mateo, CA.

"Hi, I have an appointment at 1.."

"Oh..(confused look), let me check on the computer..and you are...", said the hefty woman

"Vonn"

Brief pause. "Ah here you are. Can you hold on for one minute"

"sure"

Chubby middle aged woman comes back and says: "Im So sorry, there must have been a mistake. This spa is for WOMEN only..I see the confusion as Vonn can be both a man or a woman's name"

"But I booked the appointment myself, for myself..Surely I DID NOT sound like a woman on the phone"

"Im so sorry but again, this is for women only"

"That's fine". Exit Vonn.
Actually. It wasn't FINE.
I was pissed. I was more than pissed. I was in shock. I felt discriminated. I really did not see the logic behind being male and being denied facial services. It's a face, not a penis!
To top it off, I felt like her apology came out of her cellulite ridden derriere. She never even bothered to offer any alternative or suggest other businesses that would accomodate my face.
No, she half-assed apologized and whisked me away like the plague.

This is facial discrimination. This is a hate crime against one's inborn right to look beautiful. This is discrimination against something I do not have control over.

A drive back to the city and a non-fat latte' after, I got over it. This was the D-day. Like grime and dirt, I went into my bathroom and exfoliated this nightmare.

Hope for the Flowers and the Evil Cake

Today, Labor Day, I struggled to find the inner strength to move my filipino butt into working out. It had been such a crazy week and an even crazier long holiday weekend. I ended up hanging out with my friends last Saturday and Sunday. I indulged in a calorie-laden slice of cake and attempted to burn it off by dancing in the club later on. I never got to do it in the club as it was packed with the usual partying crowd. I think I may be too old for the clubs. Needless to say, the sea of people inside the club reminded me of a Freshman book called "hope for the flowers" by Trina Paulus. Its an illustrated novel, if you will, about 2 caterpillars who were just climbing up a column made up of thousands of other caterpillars. When asked about "what's up there?" No one knew. It was exactly like that in the club-- A column of tight t-shirt wearing, cologne splashing, cocktail tossing people with nowhere to go. There was this constant dizzying movement that seemed more like a blur than anything else. Naturally, all the dance movements you can do were the default head bops, shoulder shrugs and minimal pelvic rotation. Dancing for 2 hours with that limited amount of movement would burn as much calories as quilting. Well maybe not. But my point is, the cake was still in me, finding a comfortable pouch in my body to call home! Im just glad I parked pretty far. I think the walk back to my car vanquished the evil cake. Now, If I can only find the inner strength to get my filipino butt into working out today, I would be able to defeat the dreaded "lumpia".

Singing with Ariel

So I was briefed last Friday that one of my co-workers' patients was going to see the little mermaid sing-along playing at the castro theater. For some strange reason, I thought that the movie was not till a week later. Anyhow, this glorious news sent me on a phone tree frenzy, trying to reach friends who have been touched, one way or the other by the magic of Disney. I remember mouthing not just the songs but the dialogue as the movie played in my old Betamax some 19 years ago. I was able to get my friend Arnold to come along with me (with his date). I could not wait for work to be over. I needed time to vocalize.

7 PM, I confidently drove myself to the castro theater only to be faced with horrendous post rush hour traffic. This of course, sent me into panic mode. I think I may have beseeched all the gods, saints and martyrs for a miracle. Thanks to my Manila driving training and gallons of adrenalin pumping into my veins I made my way into Castro Street. I made it just in time!

I had 2 minutes to enjoy the electicity in the air. People were garbed in Disney-inspired costumes. Men, women and kids were all dressed in various interpretations of the beloved underwater princess.

The movie came on, the people cheered and I could not stop smiling.
I was so entranced by this 19 year old cartoon about a love struck lass who went against all odds to seek her true love. The perfect Disney recipe.

An hour later, I discovered I lost my voice. Not because I traded it in for a pair of killer legs (I already got 'em). But because I screamed, exclaimed and most of all, belted out those songs that were profoundly part of my childhood.

This was my first Movie sing along and I could not wait to go to another one. It was a great way to end a long work week as well as to reminisce about the time when true love was still true.