As Seen On TV

i have a secret confession to make: I love television. Okay, okay, that's not really a secret. But the fact that i love bad television, and above all, infomercials should be. There. you all know my filthy little secret. Although, some of you may have already suspected this after eagerly unwrapping a Christmas or birthday present from me only to find some product that has been hawked on late night television by some former child star.

i jest, i cant say what it is exactly about the infomercial that attracts me, perhaps the poor production value, the terrible acting, the ludicrous empty promises and claims of success or maybe its the jazzy synthesized beats. At any rate i must admit that i am a bit of a sucker sometimes. You wont catch me rockin' the snuggie on a cold night, nor grilling some chicken in that glass crock pot that Mr T endorses. I have a general rule about these things: IF THE PRODUCT ACTUALLY WORKED, IT WOULD BE SOLD IN A STORE, and not just the virtual Bazaar that is late night T.V.

I get so giddy with glee when i see the products that have actually peaked my interest make it to the shelves of my local Target or CVS. I get a sense that because the product is in an actual store that it may actually work and i don't have to worry about giving my credit card number to some yokel over the phone. I have bought plenty of things that have been advertised on TV and have had great success with them like:

• the Ove' Glove that is really amazing if you use the oven a great deal which i do since i don't own a microwave so i heat everything up in the oven and plus i love to bake
• ShamWow which does have me saying "WOW" every time i use it. It sucks up a lot of water and dries fast. WOW!
• the Iron Gym, which at first was a bust since it did not fit any of the doorways in my apartment. But i gave it to my friend and he raves about how well it is working for him. (and i can totally see results too)

So i nearly messed myself when i was trolling the aisles of CVS and i found the Smooth Away! i could not wait to try it out and see how this miracle product would remove my hair, painlessly and without chemicals. Ten bucks later, i had myself another truth test.

The plastic pink pads look sturdy and the pack includes 5 adhesive backed sandpaper strips for each pad. (5 little, 5 big sandpaper strips) The instructions are self explanatory- rub in a circular motion, clock wise then counter clockwise no up and down, no side to side.

The sandpaper strips are very fine, and do not break the skin, nor cause it to burn nor itch. However i did catch a whiff of burning hair when i was doing my test.

BEFORE:
(Please forgive the picture of my hairy ass leg.) The instructions indicate that the hair should not be too long.

AFTER:
The hair was gone, and my leg was hella ashy afterwards. i assume that was the gentle exfoliation that was promised on the box.

So the verdict? it works. Its not as close as a razor, and not as clean as a good waxing. But the Smooth Away actually works. I did find the the little sandpaper strip lost some of its sanding abilities after one leg so i wonder if they sell replacement pads or if i can just buy some at Home Depot and make my own?

Secretly i think i just want to invent something that will make me Millions of dollars and get me out of HELL. all i need is one idea, my very own snuggie, or clap-ON, or flashlight key ring. No matter how stupid it is, someone out there, (perhaps someone not too unlike me) will buy it.

12:01

FRIDAY:
Every year on Good Friday the Catholic church across the street puts together a commemoration of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ by re-enacting the event. I've lived here for 3 years and this was the first year i caught the spectacle. It was a low budget yet heartfelt affair. Members of the congregation made the mile hike around the hilly neighborhood while "Jesus" was whipped by Romans, and a pickup truck with speakers jimmy rigged onto it blared dramatic 'Passions of the Christ-esque' instrumental music. I watched the whole thing from the roof of my building. Some of my neighbors came up too and it was truly an opportunity for togetherness and reflection, mostly because we all complained about what slumlords our landlords are and how all of us have issues with water pressure. Irregardless, leave it to Jesus to unite the village.

SATURDAY:

On Saturday night/Sunday morning at 12:01 i poured myself my first beer in almost 50 days. I took special care to frost the glass and chill the beer. It was like Christmas, my birthday, and PROM nite all rolled into one. the anticipation was palpable. Then as i brought the ice cold glass to my lips and took my first sip i realized that it was exactly like Christmas, my birthday and PROM nite; totally and utterly overrated... the anticipation far exceeded the actual excitement of the event. I don't quite know what i expected. I've tasted beer before so i did not expect it to make me drunk at first sip, but i expected it to taste better, to be more refreshing. It was bitter, and made my tummy ache. i can say with all honestly that it was a little disappointing.

I must confess that as Lent was coming to an end i began to worry about drinking again. It was such a relief to drive around at any hour of the day and not worry about getting pinched by some flat-foot. It was nice to save money that would have otherwise been squandered at countless bars. AND best of all, it was wonderful to learn that i can hang out with my man and have as much; if not more, fun with him than i did when we drank together. (don't get me wrong, he's my favorite drinking buddy. Now he is my favorite sober buddy too!)

SUNDAY:
Lazy Sunday went off without a hitch. The day was on Indian time. (for you non speakers suspecting that i am politically incorrect[i am], but i implore you to hear me out. I dig the idea of Indian time, getting there when you get there, being more ONE with the universe and going with the flow rather than being bound by the annoying restrictions of TIME: minutes, hours, micromanaged seconds...) at least on Sundays. The usual suspects started trickling in and the feasting began. We stocked the fridge with beer and fired up the grill. My brother made a cameo and assumed the role of alpha male by manning the grill: topless. When i asked him to put his shirt back on he replied, "sun's out, guns out". He bombarded the guests with a litany of racist epithets, and kept touching the carne asada with his fingers which he wiped on a blue bandanna he pulled out of his back pocket. For years i would make myself crazy trying to control him, trying to get him to act right and not embarrass me. It has taken me a long time to realize that although i love my brother and care for his welfare, i am not responsible for what he says nor what he does, and therefore i should not feel guilt nor shame at his shenanigans.

Overall it was a beautiful day that was not hot even though the sun shone bright, and was breezy without being windy. The lesson from this years exercise in self discipline was very valuable. I learned that i did not love drinking booze as much as i thought i did and i learned that i love my brother just the way he is, shirtless and asking for a to-go plate.

P.S. if you ever stop eating meat for any extended period of time, its not a good idea to gorge yourself of flank steaks right out of the gates.

Trying is the first step towards failure

I really dislike the antiquated notion of "woman's work", stuff like sweeping, ironing, dusting, window washing. But when i was 6 years old i knew nothing about gender politics, just that the center of my universe: MOM did these things and all i wanted more than anything was to be like her, and for her to love me. One day i begged her to let me sweep, she said the broom was too big and that i could not do it, but i tried hard and she seemed pleased. After the novelty of the praise i sought from mom and even that pat on the head she threw in for good measures wore off, i was stuck with a broom in my hands and a daily chore on my plate. I remember learning a valuable lesson soon after that: to never volunteer for anything-EVER. And if asked to do something, to do it as half-ass as possible to avoid ever being asked to do it again.

I have fared well with that lesson learned. I have avoided doing many things, and have found comfort in the freedom my under achieving affords me. For the most part, when it comes to my half ass endeavors i can give two shits what people think of my capabilities but when it's something i care about, something i wish to do well, i become a 6 year old looking for praise. The unfortunate thing about praise is that it is short lived and not to mention incredibly crippling.

Recently i have become angry, overwhelmed, and worried with my inability to write. I don't fancy myself a talented writer in the least, I'm just a gal from some place who truly enjoys the cathartic dance of words across a page. But old habits die hard and the fear of failure lingers like a motherfucker. I understand now that a good review is just as detrimental as a bad one, that the expectations that come with praise stymie creativity. Its easy to quit something you don't like, but impossible to deny doing something you love, even if you suck at it. So here i am 32 years old with a broom in my hands wondering what the fuck I've gotten myself into.

Pretty Bad-Ugly Good

{i originally wrote this about 3 years ago. its a reader's digest version of a much sadder essay. I know i should stay true to form, and not betray the "craft" by holding back but i am weary of being too personal- exposing too much of my private self. I'm sorry, but I left in all the good stuff. i promise. Besides, i gots me a classy fella who's made a respectable woman out of me, and i cant just display my intimates for all to see, that would be very unbecoming of a lady. Not to mention disrespectful to my gentleman friend. Enjoy.}

***
I tried to make the fact that I did not leave my apartment for the greater part of nine days for more than an hour at a time; with human contact ranging from little to none, a little more digestible by going out and trying to be a part of society. What a disaster. I don’t know why I still try. I thought I was lonely, but the strangeness of that place, last night, today, those people, this world, leaves me dizzy and more self-loathing and narcissistic than ever.

Never a feeling more enveloping than failure existed.

I have given up on working people over to liking me. It is much easier getting them to hate me in those limited first impression fleeting moments. It is less effort on my part and more genuinely emotional on theirs. Their disdain for me is much more passionate than any warm fuzzy feelings of lukewarm (like) they could ever possibly muster up in a million lifetimes of first impressions.

It was always at the mercy of dissolving, like a tablet of Alka-Seltzer in a glass of water. Fizzy fizzing, fading, till the bubbles all but cease to surface. And all that is left is a glass of flat acrid water with a thick film of residue where substance once was.

***
“…and I always thought cats were for losers that lived in apartments…”- Homer