Friday, April 30, 2010
Forty four years ago, I was conceived. How do I know this? Well, I really don’t know this for certain, however, my parents married on April 30, 1966. I was born January 30, 1967. Nine months, to the day. My mother also “claimed” that she was a good, Catholic girl and didn’t do the nasty until she said “I do”. I really don’t know if I believe her on that one, however, the dates don’t lie.
I’ve joked about this for years. One year, I was on a cruise for my Conception Day. Anyone who has ever been on a cruise knows at dinner they sing to just about everyone. They sing Happy Birthday, Happy Honeymoon, Happy Anniversary. Well, imagine the room going silent when they hear the waiters start to sing “Happy Conception Day” to me. My friends arranged it. The look of confusion on faces was priceless. Everyone was all, what are they saying? Are they really saying what I think they are saying?
I share this day with some special friends. Some great ladies in my life were born today. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we share this day together. The most special lady that shared this day with me was Nick’s Mom. I always told her “You may have been born today, but “I” was conceived today!” and we would have a good chuckle and eat cake.
This is the third year that we are not celebrating this day together. It dismays me that three years have passed and she still does not have a headstone. I have no control over that and it kills me. There’s no excuse for it.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Okay ladies, getting older comes with a lot of setbacks. You have wrinkles, sagging, bagging, you name it. You also usually have to deal with Aunt Flo being a roaring bitch. Now she's always been a bitch, but once you hit forty, she kicks it into high gear.
I’ve been complaining about Aunt Flo for some time now. Her monthly visit has become not enough for her. No, this bitch wants to visit every other freaking week. UNACCEPTABLE! So, I complained to my doctor about it. He promptly scheduled me in November for a trans-vaginal ultrasound. Ever have one of those? NO? Well, let me enlighten you.
First, you have to drink 32 ounces of water, one hour before your appointment. I nearly puked trying to get all that water down. You go in and they do a traditional ultrasound on your abdomen, which is really uncomfortable with a full bladder. They then let you pee and you get to come back for more. Little do you know the joys that await you now.
They now have you remove all clothing from the waist down. They then hand you this HUGE looking wand that they have lubricated and tell you to insert it into your twinkie. As I sit there with my mouth gaping open, I finally get the courage to ask how far I have to insert it. I am told at least to my cervix. I then ask, exactly how far that is, because at this point, I think my cervix is close to my tonsils judging by the size of that thing.
So, I insert it and figure if it isn’t in far enough the tech will take care of it. If that is not embarrassing enough, now comes the REALLY fun part. For the next 15 minutes, I feel like an old-school video game that you found in pizza shops and the technician played me like a video game with that freaking HUGE joystick! OMG! Spin to the left, spin to the right, twist around upside down, right side up. You get the picture.
I went through all that to find out two weeks later that I am normal. Really? Aunt Flo visits every other week and that is normal? Whatever.
Fast forward to my annual exam in February, I get sent the next week for my annual Mammogram. I think I am done for another year. WRONG!
I get a call telling me that endometrial cells were present in my annual test. SO! I was scheduled for another one of these GDF’n trans-vaginal ultra-sounds. Two of these in five months is enough to make a woman kill someone.
I go for my appointment, fully educated as to what is going to go on now. At one point I tell the technician that it isn’t fair that we have to go through all these things and men don’t. She then tells me that men have to have the prostrate exam. I kindly ask her how old she is, to which he replies 22. I then educate her that once a woman turns 40, she pretty much gets the same exam, but the difference is with men, usually they are being violated by a slender, female, physician’s assistant’s finger and we get a HUGE male gynecological finger! The look of shock on her face told me that she had no idea of the joys that await her in 18 years.
So, I live through that and it comes back normal. AGAIN. So now, I am scheduled for an Endometrial Biopsy. I have no idea what is in store for me. I figure it’s done in the office, how bad could it be? I am given a prescription for 800mg of Motrin to take one hour before.
Wouldn’t you know, Aunt Flo’s back. BITCH. I consider canceling the appointment. After speaking with the nurse and trying to find a date and time to reschedule and coming up empty, we just decide to go for it. Personally, I thought it was time for him to finally see, first hand, how big of a bitch Aunt Flo really is.
I arrive. They are prepared for me. The equivalent of a puppy pad is on my table. See, the nurse understands. So, in he comes and we start. He informs me that he has put a drip pan below me, like I am a George Foreman Grill. Nice.
The next 10 minutes, were probably the most painful and worst 10 minutes of my 43 years. OMG! I actually cried. CRIED!
When I was five years old, I had to have my tonsils taken out. My grandmother, a nurse, coached me that when they put a mask on my face to take a deep breath and it will smell like roses. Well, I took one whiff of that ether and I promptly kicked the doctor in the face and fractured his nose. My arms and legs were promptly tied down. Afterwards, the doctor told my grandmother that he pitied the doctor that delivered my child some day.
Well, I’ve never had a child, but my gynie came very close to being kicked in the face that day. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Really. But OMG! As I left, all the eyes looking at me from the waiting room confirmed what I had feared. They had heard me. God, I can't remember if I cussed or not.
So, after all that……two weeks later……………everything is normal. Are you f’n kidding me? Fuck Aunt Flo!
I am going to post a salon article on this blog because it is becoming more and more apparent to me that people need to be educated on gel nails......
We have been getting a lot of people asking if we fill gel nails. After some questions, it is determined that these people DO NOT have gel nails, they have acrylic nails with a gel top coat. These salons are purposely misleading the client and charging them more for a service they are not getting.
If you truly have gel nails, you will know. Gel is in a pot and looks like really thick hair gel. It is clear, translucent pink or white and you don't mix anything. Your technician will put a layer of gel on and you will have to put your hand into a ultra violet light. She will apply two to three layers of the gel, placing your hand into the light between layers.
If your technician takes a brush and puts it into a liquid and then into a powder, this is not gel. This is liquid and powder acrylic. Most technicians will finish pink and white or pink and glitter tip acrylic nails with a gel top coat. This top coat will stay shiny until it is filed off.
Applying a gel top coat to a set of nails does not make it a set of gel nails.
Posted by The Purple Pinkie at 9:27 AM
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
They need to teach a class in Telephone Etiquette. Seriously. Every week, we are given more and more cases of how people don’t know how to use a telephone in a manner that allows a business to give them the best service possible.
First you have the Hang-Up’ers. People who call, get the answering machine, hang up and call and call again. Over and over. In small salons, such as ours, we can’t budget someone to sit and just answer the phone all day long. If we did that, we would have to raise the prices that you pay to pay for the receptionist. No one likes raised prices. We utilize an answering machine while we are with clients, because every client deserves 100% of our attention. They don’t need their service interrupted every five minutes with a phone call. We return calls promptly. Leave a message and let us call you back. It’s a win-win, you get our undivided attention on the phone.
Next you have the Hang-Up’ers, Come on Over’s. Now, if we are with a client and can’t answer the phone, what makes you think that it’s a good idea to show up in person? You are interrupting someone’s service. Would you like someone to interrupt your service? Leave a message and let us call you back when we can give YOU 100% of our attention.
Next you have the Mumblers. We have had messages, where we have had to play them over and over, play them for other people to listen to. We can’t understand you. Please do not mumble, speak clearly and for goodness sakes don’t say your phone number like you have one second to live and if you go over your head is going to explode. Say the area code, pause, first three numbers, pause, then say the last four numbers. It’s very easy to do and makes it easier for those trying to write down your number to understand it without having to play the message 10 times getting one number each time we listen.
Finally, you have the people in the Witness Protection Program. These people aren’t giving any information in their message as to who the hell they are. True story, I once received a message that said.
"Hey Rhonda, I need to get a gift certificate for a bridal shower tomorrow. Call me."SERIOUSLY! No name, no number and caller ID said PRIVATE. Guess who didn’t get a gift certificate to give as a shower gift? Oh yeah and I am sure whoever this person was. was totally miffed that I didn’t call her back.
Daily, we get messages that either don’t give a name, so then we have to guess if we wrote the number down correctly and hope we are talking to the right person. Do you realize how stupid you feel when you have to say “This is Rhonda, returning a call from someone at this number, are you the person I need to speak with?” Worse is when we have you name, say Mary and no telephone number. Do you know how many Mary’s we know? We can’t rely on Caller ID because sometimes you have your number blocked like the example above and other times, we get 20 calls in between and have to guess what number it is. Then, we call a business, because you are calling from work and we ask for Mary, they then ask “which Mary?”. Yeah right, we know exactly what you are talking about, you see? You just made us have very poor phone etiquette now!
Stop the Tom Foolery with the phone, folks. It’s very simple. If you get an answering machine or reach voice mail, leave a message. Speak clearly and give your number in a slow manner. Make sure to leave your name and phone number. If you are calling from work and leaving in five minutes, for God sakes, give us another number to call.
This rant is about no one person in general and actually not about anything that happened recently, just the result of a conversation this weekend about how kids today don't know how to use the telephone.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I have a lot of friends, in all areas of my life. Some friends will be close friends until the day I die. Others, when I see them now, we are like strangers. They don’t bother to acknowledge me, let alone say “Hello”. What’s the deal with this? Was I that insignificant in your life that you can ignore me? No one is that insignificant to me.
Growing pains, I am suffering them again. It’s time to just count my blessings and thank God for the good, true friends that I do have and I have been truly blessed with many. I will not concern myself with fair weather friends.
I promise to blog more. I will not let other things consume my life.