Qualified

Have you ever noticed that people LOVE to give advice? They give advice when they are asked. They give advice when they are not. The tell people what they would do if it was THEIR child rolling around the floor at Gymboree, or how they feel about pacifiers, thumb sucking, co-sleeping, losing weight, drinking Pepsi, or VBACs. I am one of those people who loves to give my opinion. My dad has an old saying, "Opinions are like Butt-Holes...everyone has one and they ALL stink." My dad is wiser than I gave him credit for. Originally I thought I was "Qualified" to give my opinion on most things. I do a great deal of research. Most decisions I make have been thoroughly studied and thought-through. I have a degree in Psychology. I minored in Family Studies, focusing mainly on Child Development. I know nothing of Politics and don't claim to. I love the Internet and when I say something dumb I typically check up on the dumb thing I said so I can either learn from it, or beat myself up about being wrong in the first place. All in all, I think I am pretty sharp. I say dumb crap once in a while, and my memory sucks so I get information wrong from time to time. At the end of the day though, it doesn't matter. Nobody wants my opinion, or they would ask it. They don't give a crap about how many people have a uterine rupture with a VBAC, or the amount of Caffeine March of Dimes says is okay to drink during pregnancy. They most likely think I am making my information up, or that I am snotty for imposing my information on them. If they wanted to know these answers they would ask a Gynecologist. The reason I even bother to mention this is that I realized today that I HATE getting advice from people. It has taken me 28 years to figure out who I am. So how can someone claim to have an edge on my life after knowing me for seven months. Even if you really know me, you only know the side of me I show you. I can say the same for you. I could point my finger at you, at your lifestyle, at your parenting, at your marriage, at who you claim to be from what I see. But is that fair? Does what I see adequately represent what you are? Is what you see when you look at my life how it really is? Next time I think to give my advice I will refrain. I will hold my tongue. I will try and realize that there are proffessionals in this world who could give qualified advice and that I am not one of them.

My Day at the "SPA"

For my birthday this year my husband asked the gals at work what he should get me and they suggested a day at the spa. My husband knew instantly that this would be perfect. Yesterday was THE day. I arrived at the Spa feeling a little out of place in my sweatshirt and jeans. The woman coming out of the door when I was entering had ATLEAST a full carat and a half of diamonds on her ring finger. First stop was the facial. I met a very friendly and Spa-like lady who took me to a room, told me to undress and wrap this towel thing around me and climb into this Gernie and then left the room. I looked at this very small towel thing thinking...how and where in the HELL is this supposed to go. I opted to keep the bra ON and wrapped the miniature towel around my waist like a hula skirt. Knock knock went the door. Before I had a chance to protest that I wasn't under the blanket on the Gernie, the Esthetician walked in. She took one look at the giant pregnant belly and the hula-skirt bra ensamble and began to laugh. Apperantly it was supposed to go under the armpits and cover the bra. Woops. How does one come back from that and enjoy a facial? Once the laughter died down I let the pasty mud on my face soothe my humiliation as well as my face. The lady proceeded to tell me that I have one of the driest faces she has ever seen. Thanks. She added that the lines and wrinkles that are surrounding my eyes are due to skin starvation and not to aging. Thanks again. It is surprising to me that ANY part of me could be starving. She listed off the many products she was going to give me. Finally, something for free I thought. She excitedly shows me my new face with an amplifying mirror. Eew, if I am this hidious now, imagine how I was BEFORE the facial. I NEVER want to see my face that close up ever again. When the facial was done I got to go to the massage. More nudity and Gernies. More nature music and more hippies rubbing my body. This time add a body pillow. You would think THIS would be relaxing, unfortunately I am slightly uncomfortable with ANY physical contact. I know, with three kids how uncomfortable could I really be, but I am one of those people who will stare at a crying person rather than hug them. Alan likes to call me Frigid, but I prefer the word awkward. The massage felt nice, but the entire time I was thinking..."Damn I haven't shaved my legs for a week and a half...I wonder if I am going to be allergic to this massage lotion...I bet I am the fattest, poorest person she has ever massaged...What am I supposed to do with this arm...Do you think they washed this body pillow after the last pregnant woman used it? How much am I supposed to tip each of these ladies?" Halfway through the massage, the therapist turned off what little lighting there was in the the room. That answers the question about being the fattest person ever...she can't even stand to look at the appendage she is massaging. Nice. Fifteen long, embarassing minutes later I heard the sweetest words I have ever heard. "You can go ahead and get your clothes back on and come out when you are done." At this point I have gone an hour and a half without speaking, mostly naked, getting touched by strangers I am paying. I have a new definition of hell. It is a place of quiet nudity where lights are dimmed, candles are lit and people are touching me. There is seriously something wrong with me. Most people enojoy crap like that. I wrapped my day up with the Manicure/Pedicure which I can say nothing bad about. It was awesome. I went to pay my balance, leave my tips and pick up the crap the esthetician took up front for me, I love free stuff. The free stuff came to a total of $300 and the tips came to $27. I passed on the free stuff and left with what dignity I could muster. I may have starving wrinkly skin, and a fat gooey body, but my nails look spectacular. Thanks Alan for the birthday gift.