Category: The Junk Drawer
My parents had a kitchen junk drawer, a catch all for gadgets that otherwise had no home. This is my writing junk drawer, a catch all for my writing.
Itching & Festering: Prom Q & A
A few weeks ago my friend Abby and I decided we should host an adult prom. It’s just what it sounds like: a prom for adults. I’ll give you a minute to let it digest. You have questions. I have answers.
Q: So you hosted an adult prom Saturday night? Why on earth would you do that?
A: Why not? What better way to spend a Saturday night? And you thought you’d never pull that old prom dress out again. Wrong, my friend.
Q: Did anyone else come?
A: Surprisingly, yes. There were about 20 people all dressed up, including 1 mind-blowing plaid tuxedo.
Q: Did everyone dress up?
A: Do you really have to ask? I can describe my prom dress in two words: zebra print.
Q: Are there pictures?
A: Of course. We even had a real prom photographer.
Q: What did you do at the prom?
A: We had dinner at Red Robin, dancing in my backyard, and gave out crowns to the king and queen. The highlight for me was when Thriller came up on the playlist and one girl busted out the full Thriller dance routine.
Q: What was the most surprising part of prom?
A: Well the Thriller dance was pretty fantastic, but not as surprising as waking up two days later itching and festering. I get that this happens after prom often, but this was not that kind of itching and festering.
Q: What other kind of post-prom itching and festering is there?
A: Poison oak. Itchy, scratchy, festering, blistering poison oak. On my face, neck, hands, legs, arms, stomach, and backside areas.
Q: Um, this is getting uncomfortable…
A: You’re telling me! I’m allergic to poison oak. I’ve spent the past few days in a Benadryl fog. Not to mention the fact that I’m a glistening homage to hydrocortisone.
Q: Seriously, this is getting weird. Can we go back to talking about prom?
A: You bet. Today, as a clinic nurse was giving me a super fun shot in my nether regions, she asked “Where did you get poison oak anyway?” I pulled my pants up and replied “Prom”.
Q: Um, I have to go and do something else now.
A: Funny, that’s exactly what the nurse said.
Summer Top Ten
It’s late at night and Letterman is on, so, here we go Top Ten style.
The Top Ten Reasons I’m Giddy For Summer
10. I’m hoping to re-vamp my backyard a little bit so it feels more like an oasis and less like a slab of cement surrounded by dead plants.
9. I’m heading to the NCWP Summer Institute again. That means new ideas, new people, and time to reflect on my practice as a teacher. Not to mention regular doses of Jon & Bon’s frozen yogurt. Mmmmmm…
8. After two weeks at the Institute, Terry and I head to Alaska with four of our friends. We will mountain bike to justify eating unholy quantities of delicious food. Then we’ll take a zipline ride and throw it all up.
7. Fourth of July will announce that it’s birthday week for Terry and I. I heart fireworks.
6. On my birthday I head to Southern California to hang out with a few hundred of my favorite high schoolers, not to mention some of my dearest friends at Western States.
5. I fly from Southern California to San Jose where I will meet up with Terry and The Rocket to ride 100 miles and show cancer exactly what I think of it.
4. A few days later I fly to Arizona to participate in The Writing Project’s National Retreat where I will soak up as much knowledge as I can in hopes that this bear of little brain can retain some of it.
3. Five of my nieces and nephews will be spending a month in Redding. I can’t wait to squeeze, kiss and snuggle them all, especially the boys who pretend to hate all that mushy love stuff. Deep down they love it. Deep, deep down.
2. In August I’ll sit down for a second in my new and improved oasis, surrounded by dead plants, and laugh at the fact that I’ve once again failed to cure my brown thumb.
1. Terry and I will celebrate another year together. The best compliment I’ve ever received came in the form of two little words: I do. The fact that he still does makes my heart full.
It’s not a mustache. It just looks like one.
My female plumbing has gone haywire. And that is all I’m going to say about that because I don’t like talking about stuff that goes on down there. Apparently my little daily pill, which prevents me from creating devil spawn to unleash upon the world, can also cause weird skin pigmentation. Especially when exposed to the sun a lot. Like say for several hours at a time while riding a bike.
I’ve had a couple of darker little spots on my cheeks, but really who cares about those. I wear SPF daily and have a drawer full of face products to help my skin retain its youth. I simultaneously recognize, and give a bit of thanks, that I’m no longer a fresh-faced twenty year old. Scars and the occasional sun spot are proof of my adventures, proof of a life lived well. I don’t mind them.
More accurately, I didn’t mind them until they started appearing on my upper lip. First one small one. A sweet, innocent beauty mark. Then it invited all of its relatives to move in. Siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, in-laws. One by one these dark spots traversed my upper lip and set up camp indefinitely.
Off and on, in an attempt to be helpful, people say to me “You have something on your lip.” While I appreciate this concern for my appearance, it’s hard to explain that it’s not something I can wash, wipe or shave off. The other funny thing people have started doing is subconsciously wiping their top lip when they start a conversation with me. Kinda like when you notice someone with a zipper down and automatically check your own.
On one particular day in the recent past, three separate people told me I had something on my lip. One of them even tried to brush it off for me which was weird because unless you’re my husband, my dentist, or my orthodontist, you don’t get to touch my mouth. Ever.
So when I talked with my doctor about my haywire female stuff, I also brought up my spot mustache. He was leery of changing pills because my spectacular plumbing is impervious to month to month pills. Instead I get to apply bleaching cream twice daily to encourage my spotstache to vacate. I’m not entirely thrilled about the prospect of bleaching my face. I mean, we’ve all seen how that worked out for Michael Jackson. Yeesh!
Upon reading the box of the bleaching cream I discovered that this cream can cause redness, peeling, flaking, and burning. Yes, burning. As a general rule I try to avoid things that burn my face. I’m not sure which is worse; people thinking I’m growing a ‘stache or bleaching my upper lip into oblivion. It’s day 2 of Operation Spotstache Removal and so far no peeling, flaking, burning or other uncomfortable side effects. I’m assuming they’re all lying in wait to appear this Saturday at my big family reunion.
My mom is concerned that all 9,687 of us wear white or another light color for the family photos. We can be all matchy-matchy. After all these pictures will hang in our homes for eternity. Fine. I’m wearing a white sundress with green flowers on it. That is the least of my problems. I’ve got one day to figure out how to make my face look less like Tom Sellack. It doesn’t look good.
In order to survive family photos, I figure I’ve got three options. I could feign a cough and cover my mouth with my hand just before each click of the camera. I could apply unholy amounts of make up so that I have the nice, waxy sheen of a trollop. Or finally I could sneak around at night and Sharpie mustaches on the faces of my relatives while they’re asleep. I like the third option best, but somehow I don’t think this is what my mom meant when she said she wanted all of us to match.
If you have any other ideas, please drop me a comment. In the meantime I’ll be warding this thing off before it looks like a full-blown beard.
The Nose
The other day a friend saw a photo of me and exclaimed “Oh! I see your mom’s face in this picture.” Now a lot of you might have fearitude about becoming your mother, but if you’ve ever seen my mom, you know that her face is beautiful. Her eyes are emerald green and her nose is one of those perfectly straight, sleek ones.
I do not have my mom’s eyes or her nose. I have my dad’s bright blue eyes. And I have my dad’s nose. The Wheeler Nose. All of my siblings share The Nose as do all of my cousins, nieces and nephews on that side of my family. It is a genetic wonder. Everyone, I mean everyone, has The Nose. The Wheeler Nose is known for being a bit bulbous and very springy. Nothing straight and sleek about it. It’s quirky. Unfortunately, the quirkiness of The Nose sometimes leads to people pressing it like a button. Sometimes they even make sound effects like “Bing!” or “Boop!” I really have to work hard not to run away yelling “No touchy! No touchy! NO TOUCHY!” Anyway, other than the occasional unwelcome nose poking, I’ve come to terms with The Nose.
Did you know that your nose never stop growing? I don’t know the name for this, but I think it should be called Pinocchio Syndrome, don’t you? I accept the fact that my nose will one day take up a large percentage of the real estate on my face. Fingers crossed, maybe, just maybe, as The Nose expands it will straighten out and I will have the sleek nose of my mother.
For now, friends, appreciate the nose you have. Be nice to it because one day it just may swallow the entirety of your face. The good news is that your ears also never stop growing, so you’ll have a pair of Dumbo sized ears to match your honker.
Vigilante Kindness 