Angry Eyebrows

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Recently, I went to the dermatologist for my six month check. I see my dermatologist more often than any other physician due to sun damage caused by excessive time spent in swimming pools, fishing with my dad, and being a teenage beach bum. I’d barely walked into the exam room when the nurse asked if I would be interested in Botox.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked.

“Oh! No, no, no. I just happen to have some left over that I need to use up. It’s about to expire.”

Expire?

“Huh. Where do you think I would need it?”

“Between your eyebrows. It erases the lines there.” She held out a hand mirror.

“Which lines?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

“Well you have to scrunch your eyebrows together to see them,” she said.

I scrunched my face to make my angry eyebrow look.

“There! Those lines!” She stabbed her finger between my eyes.

I flinched back, “Well, there aren’t really lines if I don’t scrunch.”

“And with Botox, there wouldn’t be any there when you do scrunch,” she chirped.

“So then, how will people know when I’m angry?”

She paused for a perplexed moment, then snatched the mirror out of my hand, “I don’t think Botox is your thing.”

“I don’t think expired Botox is my thing,” I murmured, angry eyebrows on full display.

…Two Years Later

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It’s been two years since I lasted posted. Two tumultuous years. To say some shit has gone down would be an understatement. Some things have been good, but there has been enough bad to cast a grey cloud over it. And then the year 2020 kicked into high gear and sent us all into a tailspin. Like a lot of people, I’m a bit flustered with the state of things right now. Flustered, frustrated, frightened, and f’ing pissed off. Frankly, just down and out. I had the highest of hopes for the year 2020. The greatest of expectations. I should have known from experience though, that the quickest way to be let down is to have high expectations. Or maybe any expectations at all.

Hoping for the best always reminds me of Snorkel Bob’s on Maui, where a very stoned employee once suggested we choose the mid-priced rental gear, “…which SHOULD work fine, brah. Just hope for the best!”

The good news is none of us drowned that year. Although that has more to do with the beaches being subsequently shut down due to a fatal shark attack, than being in possession of adequate snorkeling equipment. Good times.

I’d have to say my biggest loss during this time has been the loss of my sense of humor. My humor was usually what got me through the true tests of life (the passing of friends and pets, health struggles of my own and others, work/life balance, family matters, etc.). But it’s elusive right now. My sense of humor, that is. Only on the rarest of occasions do I feel it peaks out to remind me it’s there somewhere, buried under life’s heaviness. My humor going MIA has left me feeling mostly empty. Which in turn leaves me feeling flustered, frustrated, frightened, and f’ing pissed off.

Like Stella, I’ve lost my groove. And I guess, when you feel like this, the best thing to do is take the advice of Snorkel Bob and hope for the best. Or maybe just get stoned and wait for this to pass.

EBWW 2018

I’m back! If you’re reading this it is likely because you are attending the 2018 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, like me. It also means that with deep reservation, I handed you a card with this web address scribbled on the back (because I was too chicken to have it printed on the card) as an attempt to force myself to admit I’m more than a just a technical writer. Or I hope to be. Plan to be. Might actually already be? Somebody smack me with the confidence stick please!

This blog is comprised of totally random posts. There is an essay about a woman with a rat in her bra (posted April 2016). May not be the best sampling of my work, but it IS a true story.

Off to enjoy the EBWW!