All posts filed under: Health and Beauty

xray

Betrayed… By My Feet

And now, for some-not-so happy new: last week, I found out that I have a stress fracture. Not one actually but two. And that’s only in my right foot. It started a year and a half ago around Thanksgiving: a little twinge in my right foot near my ankle. It hurt to wear high heels, and it especially hurt to dance in high heels, but I soldiered on. Why? Well, my company had our biggest performance of the year coming up. I knew that if I went to see a doctor, they would tell me I had to stop dancing and there was no way, with the musicians already lined up and the costumes already packed, that I was not going to perform. It’s part of being a dancer. We get injured. All of the time. And the daft amongst us (myself included) wear our injuries like little badges of honor, rattling them off: herniated discs, stress fractures, torn ACLs, and so on… Injuries, you see, come with the territory. Injuries are part of your …

waterhouse

The Height Thing

Last month my aunt and uncle came to visit. I’m not terribly close to any of my extended family so when my mom suggested I ask my aunt about “the thing” I had to stop and think for a minute. “What thing?” I asked. “You know. Your height thing. Because your Aunt Chris is taller than your Uncle Mark and they’ve been together for years now. Maybe she’ll have some words of wisdom to offer.” So I did. Granted, it took me several drinks to work up the courage but after a few Limoncello cocktails at Bistro Romano, I finally sidled up to my aunt and said, “Okay, so you and Uncle Mark. He’s shorter than you. How does that work?” “It’s fine,” she replied. “I can always look him right in the eye.” Hmmm. What I really wanted to know, though, was “How’s the sex?” The logistics, the lining up of the requisite body parts, the being made to feel protected and small and delicate… Only one doesn’t ask those sorts of questions on …

burning-bra

The Braless Wonder

The European and I are going to the beach today. This means that I shall spent the next half hour or so trying to determine whether I’m feeling more confident about the state of my thighs (unlikely, given my futile efforts to rid myself of cellulite) or my stomach (also unlikely because here in Philadelphia we celebrate the 4th of July for about a week and half, which means you end up eating hot dogs and pasta salad and various iterations of cake for 10 days straight). It will be our fourth-and-a-half date (the “half” because he was valiant enough to brave my parents’ annual roof deck BBQ after our picnic in Wissahicken this past weekend. He maintains the BBQ counts as a separate date; I maintain that it was just a continuation of our earlier rendezvous, even though he went home in between to watch the World Cup and change into yet another pair of fabulous shoes). I haven’t been on a fourth-and-a-half date in about three years. So obviously the stomach/thighs debate is …

Clearly these people are VERY religious.

Running: Some Vingnettes

Let’s talk about marathon runners, shall we? I don’t have anything against them personally, in fact when they’re not busy posting Facebook pictures of their race bibs, I like them. But entire albums of those wrinkly, sweat-stained squares of paper? They’re almost as bad ultrasound photos. I mean that’s great that you’re into fitness, and that after six or so months of neglecting everyone and everything else in your life you can now the run the same distance that the Greek soldier Pheidippides ran to Athens in 490 B.C…. But you do know that Pheidippides is said to have collapsed and died afterwards, right? You do know that running that far just isn’t natural? Also, while we’re on the subject, I’m pretty sure that if poor old Pheidippides had had access to an iPhone like you do, he would have used it. For communication purposes. Not to track his heart rate. And certainly not to post his latest time to Facebook. I wouldn’t mind marathon runners, you see, if they weren’t so public about their …

broken heart

Bird Shat and Break Ups

So I’m standing at the bus stop, minding my own business, when my partner in crime alerts me to the fact that I have yogurt stain on my shirt. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a big deal but A) it’s one of my favorite shirts (teal silk, second hand but still…) B) I’m headed into New York for a film shoot thanks to my 30-man, 100-date experiment and C) I haven’t had any yogurt today. “Maybe it’s…” her voice trails off before she can name the unspeakable horror that has landed itself in the middle of my chest. But we both know what she’s thinking.  This is Philadelphia—a city—and there are birds. “It’s good luck!” she concludes. I love this notion of “good luck.”  Its like how they say having rain on your wedding day is supposed to bring good luck.  I mean who decided that?  “Hey, don’t worry!  Your outdoor reception is ruined, and your gown is caked in mud, but you have 50 years of wedding bliss to look forward to!  How fabulous!” I …

brazilian wax

36 Ways to Deal with Unwanted Pubic Hair

Last week, for the benefit of those of you with whom I am not Facebook Friends, I posted the following: Okay ladies… bikini waxing? How do we feel? Seeing as I’m going to be wearing a bikini every day for the next week, I’m considering it but a) I think its gonna hurt, b) I think its gonna be expensive and c) I’ve never had one before so I’m worried that I’m gonna have some sort of adverse reaction and be stuck on a cruise ship looking even worse than before. Thoughts? Also, how long does it last? Will I need a touch up mid-week? The response was almost enough to make me give up blogging.  I received 36 comments for something that took me all of ten seconds to write!  And here I spend hours painstakingly crafting interesting blog posts for your amusement—hmmmph! At any rate, enjoy.  (And for those of who already saw this thread, scroll down to the end to see which option I finally picked!) Jim: I cant wait to read …

My Stickiest, Mitchum-worthy Moment, Part 1

As promised, here is the story of my stickiest situation.  (Click here if you missed yesterday’s post but would still like your chance to win one of two $150 gift certificates, courtesy of Mitchum, to a department store of your choice!) Not surprisingly, my sticky situation had to do with a boy.  Also not surprisingly it took place in London. In order for this story to make sense, I need to explain that before I went to school in London, I spent a year at Oxford.  And although there were several years in between during which I lost touch with most of the people I met as an undergraduate, I did reconnect with a few when I returned to the UK for grad school and one invited me to join her new book club. Ours was one of the worst book clubs in the world.  We started strong (Jack Kerouac, to be specific) but our meetings quickly turned into a monthly excuse to sit around drinking wine and discussing our love lives.  Not that I’m …

The Great Date Experiment Anniversary Extravaganza: $300 for your Stickiest Situations!

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my Great Date Experiment.  My initial plan, as many of you know, was to date 30 men in three months.  Did this happen?  Not quite (men and “fieldwork” are a dangerous combination, it turns out) but it’s been an interesting ride, complete with copious amounts of Chardonnay (mind you, I only pretend to like Chardonnay) and more sticky situations than I care to count. A sensible young lady would take this opportunity to tell you all the things she’s learned over the course of the past twelve months—that her appetite for men has been satiated after 59 dates and that she’s planning, a la Samantha Jones, to concentrate on her relationship with herself for the foreseeable future—but where’s the fun in that? (Plus, I’ve already agreed to spend the weekend in Pittsburgh with Date #7 later this month and I’ve always preferred Carrie to Samantha…) To celebrate, I’ve teamed up Mitchum and their new “Love Thy Pits” campaign.  For me, this means a free stick of their new Advanced …