Three Steps for Complimenting Weight Loss- OR How Not to be a Dick

1. Start out by making eye contact with your intended recipient. Allowing your eyes to wander to the parts of the body where your friends fat rolls used to be will only end badly. Your seeking eyes will be construed as "fat hunters" and indignation and hurt feelings will ensue!

2. Begin with a positive and benign comment. Something along the lines of "You look well. Vibrant actually!" Depending on how this is perceived you can move forward. If the intended is of the kind that take offense to the concept of personal value being based upon physical appearance it is safer for you to stay neutral in your compliments. Say things like, "You are lighting up this room! It is so great to be around you!" With this sort of compliment your intended may construe multiple meanings, any of which will make him or her feel properly validated. They may prefer to believe that you meant that they light up the room with their dazzling personality and quit wit. Or, they might assume their impact comes from a strong education and sound intellect. Then there are those who will realize that you really mean that their smoking hot body and much smaller ass are lighting up the room and they will be okay with that. But, staying neutral keeps the sensitive pussies from calling their mommies and drawing violent depictions of you being tortured by ISIS in their diaries at night.

3. Fight ALL of your impulses to say what you are thinking because it is very likely on the list of "Things to NEVER say."
Keep this list in mind when censoring yourself:

• "Wow! You have a waist!" This of course implies that the intended recipient did not have a waist which is factually incorrect. Please don't make yourself look stupid. It is also a bad to suddenly inform a person that they have cheekbones, hipbones, a collarbone, etcetera. As with the waist they have always had these physical traits, unless of course they have received a bone implant that you are aware of.  A basic developmental stage for toddlers is understanding object permanence- the concept that just because something isn't visible doesn't mean it isn't there. Do you want to be developmentally surpassed by toddlers? 
• "I didn't even recognize you! You look so amazing!" Once again this makes you seem really stupid. How pitiful are your skills of identification if you are unable to adapt to physical modifications? I guarantee you if a total stranger or a chimp were asked to match thin and fat pictures of a selection of people they would be able to figure it out, unless of course someone also added a spray tan in which case all  bets are off.  Unnatural shades of orange can confuse anyone. However, you should be able to figure the rest out. Eyes? The same. Height? The same. Mouth? The same. If you suffer from this disability I am confident there are games designed for young children that could help you develop overcome your unfortunate state. 
• "You look so beautiful!" This is primarily offensive if you have never paid this compliment to the individual before because it indicates you found them hideous prior to the weight loss. Making someone feel hideous should never be the effect of a compliment. If you can't do it right just stay away. 
• Never say, "Are you sick?" This of course implies that you do not believe they are capable of modifying their body without the assistance of a terminal illness. There is scientific evidence out there that proves weight loss is possible with lifestyle changes. When you say this it translates you are confident while other people may change their lifestyle this particular person lacks the strength of character to do so unless they contract some hideous disease. It is also inappropriate to ask the person if they have developed an addiction to cocaine or amphetamines. Same principle. If either statement passes your lips you can consider yourself a thoughtless asshole. 

Just remember, it is always a safe bet to say "You look great today!" And leave it at that. If the intended wants to discuss their bodyfat with you they will direct the conversation.  You should now be able to safely chat with friends who have lost weight without being a jerk. You're welcome. 

Ammo and Axes- Welcome to My Comfort Zone

Kevlar can be sexy!

Are you running low on pepper spray?  Need more ammo for your automatic weapon? Perhaps you're in the market for the latest styles in kevlar vests;  these are a must have.  After all, what's the point in being bullet proof if some hormonal fashionista decides to hang you for wearing last seasons protective gear?


Where I live these needs are easily met.  Within a mile and a half of my home there are two police supply stores, two shooting ranges, and one massive weapons and ammo store called Dongs.  I love Dongs for so many reasons. Obviously the name is fabulous.  And then there is the building itself- painted like a zebra with a giant zebra mounted on the roof.  A twelve foot chain link fence with curled razor wire slanting from the top surrounds the perimeter. These guys obviously don't mess around.


However, the proximity of this huge collection of lethal weapons to three independent chainsaw sharpeners and one lone bail bondsman really makes me think.  Thought One: Usually retailers invest in real estate that allows them to cater to their primary demographic.  Thought Two: Businesses stay open because there is a demand for their product.  Thought Three: I DO NOT live in a forest. Thought Four: The logical conclusion is that I live in a community composed of poorly supplied police officers who need A LOT of practice firing their weapons, as well as a devoted group of Texas Chainsaw Massacre disciples who are secretly creating re-enactments yet don't anticipate the need for bail.  This makes perfect sense, doesn't it?  

Or maybe it's a north side versus south side thing.  Maybe among the zoning laws, in tiny old English print there is some amendment that reads "There may be no more than one fire arm purveyor per five square miles anywhere south of Admiral."  This law, was of course written by someone whose campaign was almost entirely funded by Tulsa's division of the Crips.  (for the sheltered- Crips are a scary gang) Fund raising, armed robbery.  Tomato, tomoto.  You know what I mean.  Firemen are the ones standing at intersections collecting donations in a boot.  Crips are the ones who pull a gun on the fireman, take his boot, and then car jack the hose groupie who is lingering at the intersection.  

Or maybe the landlords who own these properties are being coerced into low rents or kickbacks.  You have to admit, a tenet with a full arsenal from machetes to shotguns COULD induce a person to look the other way. Maybe there is a secret society branch of the NRA with a strategic plan to take over Admiral Street.  Maybe they want to shut down places like Subway (who by the way, has excellent cookies that make great hospital visit gifts) and open places like "Build-A-Bomb," where you go through an assembly line of explosive components and custom make your very own bomb. The bomb of course would have an ID chip in it so that you could find it anywhere in the event that the two of you were separated, and you would leave this enriching, creative experience with a framed photo of you holding your completed bomb and smiling.  Both of these factors also ensuring that, (a) after you take out subversive groups of vegetarians and hippies you get full credit for your work and, (b) the local police department still has time for their doughnuts. 

 

Invasion of the Killer Moths!

Many great Americans understood the horror of moths.

 This is not an urban legend, nor is it a campfire story.  This is as real and true as gay priests and tax fraud.  The following events REALLY happened.

It started as an innocent night of hanging  out with girlfriends.  It was after dark when Candi and I stood on Carrie's front porch and rang the door bell.  Carrie lived with her mom in a lovely, older part of town.  We knocked on the door and patiently waited.  The balminess of an Oklahoma summer gleamed on our faces, and mayflies and moths securely gripped the black waffling on the screen door in front of us.  Everything seemed perfectly normal.  There was nothing amiss.  


I slapped my ear.  Something had tickled me.  It was not a good kind of tickle, (i.e. hot guy using his tongue) but rather an odd, irregular tickle, like a cats whiskers or a toddler's grimy finger.  Just then Carrie's mom opened the door and let us in.  I had barely said "Hello" when a sudden explosion dropped me to my knees!  The noise was deafening, but no one else seemed to notice.  A very brief time later I realized the explosion I was hearing was entirely limited to my ear canal.  This of course effectively explained why I was the only one in the room who suddenly screamed like a maniac, writhed on the floor, and then assumed the fetal position.  What had happened?  Nature had gone wild.  A moth had burrowed into my ear and was now beating its wings against my eardrum in a desperate effort to escape.  How does that feel you ask?  I will tell you.  Imagine the intense noise and pressure you would experience if you were to drive an eighteen wheeler down the interstate with your head hanging out of the window.  Now imagine that occurring in your ear while you rock back and forth on the floor like someone with social anxiety at Times Square on New Years Eve.  That pretty much sums it up.


When the girls understood what had happened, (once again, i was the only one lying on floor and shrieking) operation "Exit Moth" began.  They poured water in my ear.  They poured hydrogen peroxide in my ear.  They poked around in my ear with pointed objects under the glare of a min mag light.  Sometimes the moth would get tired and become still, and I would revel in the cranial silence I had previously taken for granted.  Then, just as suddenly as the first time it happened, the moth would startle and begin to flap its wings, compelling me to spasm and scream.  My friends stared at me with pity.  To an uniformed stranger I looked like a heroine addict in the last stages of withdrawal; or perhaps an epileptic who also suffered from Tourettes. 


 My friends wanted to take me to the emergency room, an idea that I vetoed on two counts.   One, I was planning to join the Peace Corps and didn't want to shame the Corps.  After all, how could I possibly do valuable work in a primitive African village if I couldn't cope with ear-rape by an American moth?  Secondly, I didn't have health insurance, and no way was I going to end up owing some hospital 2k because a moth found my ear wax sexy.  


 Finally someone decided to try pouring olive oil in my ear, and sweet Mother of Mercy, it worked!   Beautiful, blessed silence!  The moth had been smothered.  I was free from random explosions in my head, however I now the challenge of falling asleep knowing there was a rotting winged carcass somewhere in there.  I whispered "Peace Corps" to myself, took three times the recommended dose of Benadryl and then passed out with a towel draped over my pillow, just in case.    


The next morning I called my family doctor, explained the situation, and made an appointment for later that afternoon.  When I got there and signed in they had no record of my appointment.  Flustered, I formed a slow sentence....but I called...this morning.... a moth in my ear?  Oh. The receptionist laughs.  They thought it was a prank call.  They never scheduled the appointment. 

The Future of Anti-Moth Wear

They got me right in and a suspicious doctor looked in my ear and declared it to be empty.  I don't see anything, he told me as he prepared to leave the exam room.  I promised him he would find a moth, so he begrudgingly requested a  massive plastic syringe and a basin from his nurse.  A few minutes later he shot nearly a half a cup of very hot water into my ear.  It felt like a tidal wave, so for about the tenth time in twenty-four hours I screamed aloud and swore like a relatively wholesome sailor. 


And there it is.  It's floating in the pink, plastic bowl and frankly all of us are a little shocked to finally see it.  I pick it up and respectfully  spread its wings their full width.  When I finish admiring it I carefully wrap it in toilet paper and put it in my pocket.  This was in my ear, I proudly tell anyone who will listen as I showed them my moth.  This pride lasted about two days.  On the second day I stepped in front of a box fan and my moth blew away. 


Years have passed since then and I have put the night of the moth behind me.  But now I know what can happen and sometimes I must warn others.  So, if you are ever standing on a porch in the dark, waiving away the moths that are buzzing the light over your head, listen carefully!  When you hear someone yell "Hey!  Watch your ears!"  You will know you've just become a part of my mission.  Shaunda Cottingim.  Legendary survivor.  Saving the world from moths- one set of ears at a time...

Seeing Joplin, It's no Emerald City

Today was the first time I've been to Joplin, Missouri since the F5 tornado burst through town and changed the face of this city forever.  Trees that were nearly as old as Joplin itself were torn from the ground, their massive trunks uprooted and their roots standing taller then men,  gnarled like the arthritic fingers of a giant.  


Driving through the city it seemed all was normal, and then as suddenly as an irregular heartbeat, everything changed.  Roofs were missing, twisted cars were abandoned, massive piles of debris lined the streets, and in some areas rubble covered slab, making it  impossible to tell what had been.   The mission minded were all around, with vans, trucks and trailers laden with food, water, and clothing.  Spiritual advice was also readily available- I saw a Billy Graham trailer there, and in one debris filled parking lot a homemade banner was stretched across two telephone poles.  The hand painted words assured us that none of this was a surprise to God, and that He had a plan. 


 The church where we checked in for our volunteer shift was parallel to a fast food restaurant that had not been damaged by the tornado.  As customers exited the drive through they passed lines of people in the church parking lot who were there for a meal or clean water.  As I watched both lines move I wondered about the people in them, and what they were thinking.  The ones that still had jobs, and cars, and clothes, and were still able to eat at restaurants, were they thinking, "those poor people in line for water and toilets, that could have been me!"  And the families with nothing left but each other, eyeing those in line at the restaurant, wondering with grief and a tinge of envy, "Why couldn't that be me?"  


We spent part of our day stocking a food bank and helping distribute the contents.  One woman came in to get food and medical supplies for her mother who had been caught up by the tornado, breaking her leg in the process and requiring two surgeries.   After meeting several of the citizens I got online and read some news reports to fill in my knowledge blanks about this disaster.  Five hundred homes destroyed.  One hundred and forty-two lives lost.  When President Obama actually got out and walked among the ruins of this city, he won this people.  One impressed gentleman told me, "He didn't just fly over.  He came down.  He walked around."  I could tell his heart had been warmed.  


 Driving through the neighborhoods I feel like I've violated someones privacy.  I was not invited in, but these homes have literally been turned inside out for everyone to see.  One garage has the front half ripped off but we can see the back wall and a few tools still hanging on pegs.  I see their kitchen counters, their heirloom furniture, the paint they painstakingly picked out when they made their house a home.  Me, a total stranger.  I feel violated for them.  


Enough time has passed that although the destruction and chaos is still obvious, the businesses that were unaffected are humming, because even when it seems impossible, life does go on.  Things are coming together here, but the people of Joplin need everything we can give them.  They have suffered a tremendous loss.  If you can imagine the difficulty of losing all of your possessions, or of seeing your hometown ripped up like the letter of a spurned lover, or if you can feel for even a second the pain of losing just one person you hold dear- then you know it is impossible to love, serve, or give too much to these people after what they have been through.  It's the way for mankind to even out the score card of life.  

Insanity: You get it from your dogs!

If Cesar the "dog whisperer" and Dr. Phil could have a love child it would be my dream come true.  I'm pretty sure this would be the only person out there who could give my dogs the help they need.  They say dogs often mirror their owners- I totally disagree.  I have two little "mirrors," a five year old Pug named Howard and an eight year old black Lab named Sophie.  Where to begin....  Howard is codependent, has wretched gas, and the minute you think you can trust him he will turn around and do something bizarre.  If you leave dirty laundry lying on the floor you may rest assured Howard will see this as a directive reading, "Please poop here."  On two separate occasions he has actually pooped in his food bowl.  As you may imagine this involves a very deliberate squatting effort.  He is short, stubby little dog and there is no way that was an accident.  I adopted Howard because my other dog, Sophie, had such horrible separation anxiety that she required a babysitter.  I would drop her off at my mom's before work and then pick her up after.  If left alone she wreaked havoc.  She pulled down the blinds, she put holes in screens, she knocked books off the bookshelf and dishes off the table.  One day while I was at work my neighbor called because she had come through the screen and was down in the courtyard partaking in their family cookout.  And so then came Howard, because Sophie needed a companion.  Having a buddy did help Soph with her anxiety but she still has issues.  First of all, she doesn't like the water, won't retrieve, and overlooks birds within a paws reach even when she is in full on hunting mode.  She is a complete embarrassment to Labs everywhere.   In public I try to pass her off as a poodle.   Secondly, she will run away whenever she gets a chance.  She has improved slightly but for the longest time I had to warn anyone going through my gate to be on high alert because nine times out of ten she would sense their vulnerability and charge at them like a bull in a china shop, knocking them over as she bolted through the partially open gate.  Last but not least she is very stubborn and opinionated about going anywhere, outside if its too hot or too cold, and God forbid we have an appointment with the vet or the groomer.  Sophie goes into "passive resistance"mode. She becomes completely limp and forces me to drag her ninety pounds of dead weight through the door, but not before she hides behind the bed, or under the table or anywhere she thinks I can't get to.  These dogs obviously need therapy.  We've had obedience school, they pronounced Sophia to be "very timid and sensitive," and well for Howard, there were no words.  However, even at their most maddening, when those deep brown eyes gaze into mine or a soft furry head seeks solace against my knee- I know they are worth it.

white girl out north (no, this is not an add for cocaine)

   Living in almost north Tulsa has many, many benefits.  I love being close to major highways, I love old buildings and old businesses, less franchises and more mom and pop places.  I love seeing a variety of people and being just a few minutes away from the crucial areas of midtown, downtown, and of course Brookside and Cherry Street.  There are a few things I don't like, but they are fairly insignificant. 
      I don't like the fact that when I walk my dogs in my neighborhood it pays to be incognito and genderless.  If I go walking at night in baggy, figure obscuring clothes with my hair hidden under a cap and my eyes downcast, there is far less of a chance that any of the man children in my village will try to get my attention with the usual compelling conversation starters.  "Hey baby!  You need some help with that dog?"  or "Yo girl, you gotta man?  Come on over here. Come hang out with us!"  When the guys are younger they depend on the herd for courage, and they are far less likely to try these lines on their own.  Then you have the over 35 guys.  Fearless, shameless and fully aware that when it comes to getting lucky its a numbers game. This means if hitting on you doesn't work it at least brings them closer to that statistical law that says at least one time out of fifty, some dog walking girl will respond with, "I've been waiting for that offer all day!  Quick, let's not exchange names but rather run into your office and video record us having raunchy sex on your desk.  Then I will leave and never bother you again.  Sound good?"  Oh statistics... 
      I also don't love ancient fuse boxes, seeing really old people walking to grocery stores in 100 degree weather, and arguing with pan handlers in front of Quick Trip.  The thing I dislike the most?  Driving to south Tulsa.  First of all it takes more than five minutes.  So sue me. I'm spoiled.  (although honestly I drive to Owasso and Jenks all the time and those five plus drives don't bother me)  Then there seems to be a  fifty-fifty chance that an accident, construction or Amway meeting will have the traffic on 169 S  down to a one lane crawl, as people drive 10 miles per hour and rubber neck saying things like, "I had no idea Amway still existed!"  You get my point.  Then when you actually finally exit, say 71st street, it could be simple or it could be almost identical to a semi literal definition of hell.  Like God was playing marbles with cars, threw a handful down and then said, "Hey!  Good luck!"  I used to work in this area so maybe the issue I have with it now is some kind of post traumatic stress from having to deal with Christmas traffic, when a 15 minute drive became 45.  So I rarely go there, and if I do I try to make it late and night or early in the morning, certainly not at 5 pm.  What am I missing out on?  Krispy Kreme?  I thank God every day there isn't one closer to me because I don't need the temptation!  Woodland Hills Mall.  Nope, I'm not a teenager any more.  I don't want to see or be seen and the only place I'm trendy is in my mind.  Everything I need is right here.  Most of it on Admiral. And truthfully, what I never see I will never miss.  So everyone put on your blinders.  You'll be shocked how easy contentedness can be.

Anal.....Glands

10:49 pm
 I'm about to watch an E How video on how to express a dogs anal glands.  Until now I have paid $15-20 for a vet tech to enjoy this privilege, but my pug has been going nuts scraping his little behind across the bars of his crate and since it is Memorial Day weekend I may not be able to get him in until Tuesday.  That is how I came to contemplating this issue.   Hmmm.


10:51 pm
 This is kids stuff!  It would appear you just grab the dog by its tail, reach around the elimination point at 5 and 7 o'clock and give it a little squeeze. A dribble comes out, (I'll pretend it's...mop water.  I don't feel like any edible substitution would be tasteful. HA! No pun intended.)  I can do this.  I've had to handle far more disgusting things in my midwifery background, heck, in my childcare background for that matter!  And it's possible I've done something similar with an ex-boyfriend after a night full of margaritas and double strength Jello shots.  No biggie.


10:57 pm
Where to do the deed?  What if Howard (my dog) has some crazy obscene amount in there and it's like the pea soup scene in The Exorcist, but instead of coming from his spinning head it comes from the other end?  Can't have pea soup, I mean mop water ending up on, well, anything I own or have to look at ever again.  Hmmm.  More things to take into consideration.


11:02 pm
I have vinyl gloves already.  I purchased them to wear when I pick up trash that has blown into my yard.  The glove factor should make it less disgusting.  Howard is sitting on the couch watching me curiously as I snap the gloves on my wrists like scary student doctor at annual pap smear. Crap.  I'm not sure I'm ready for this.


11:22 pm
After twenty minutes of staring at Howard and thinking about all the other things I could be doing I snatch up his 30 pounds of fur like a football and perch him on the washing machine which gives me easy access to his backside.  I grab his curly tail and look for my target.  He's solid black so this takes a minute.  I'm not going to lie. I don't even like looking at it, and now I have to...  Brace yourself Howard!


11:31 pm
I thought I was in the right place, but maybe not, nothing is coming out.  Howard! Hold still! Wait!  Wait!  Howard has decided to fight the assault and is barking and wiggling, making it really hard for me to keep the fingers of my right hand at 5 and 7 around his poo portal. 


11:33 pm
Good heavens!  What is that smell?  I thought there was one basic vile smell for dog excrement but apparently its more like Skittles- smell the rainbow...


11:36 pm
Traumatized dog in corner licking himself.  Traumatized owner in kitchen preparing adult beverage.  What!  No vodka?  After that I need something!  Please God don't force me to drink NyQuil or Scope out of desperation!!  Whew.  There's a beer in the fridge.  Now I'm dropped on the couch wondering how groomers and vets do such foul things all day long.


11:38 pm
Hmmm!  Did you know there is also an E-How video on neutering?  Howard?  Howard?  Now where did he go???