Ginger Snaps

A New Kind of Lipo

We used to watch medical procedure shows fifteen or twenty years ago. My Mom was a hypochondriac, remember, and she was very interested in all things medical. These shows taught her many things, like her spleen wasn't necessary or diabetics' toes can fall off. I am serious. They shrivelled up like marbles that failed quality control and the nurses would kind of jiggle the socks to spill them onto the counter.

The really cool procedures were ones where the surgeons' hands would disappear into the patient. We had to take their word for it, really, because the images were all blurry - like a Barbara Walters interview. Just knowing what was going on was enough to make us feel like we watched an entire lobotomy, even if we didn't really see anything. Cable TV really has relaxed its standards - now we can see all kinds of things. It is only a matter of time before we are even allowed to see the cosmetic procedures performed on genitalia.

No joke. That show Doctor 90210 had a couple undergoing surgeries to reduce the size of their sex organs. His scrotum looked big to him, and she thought her labia was unsightly. Both had their bits reduced, and they were happier with their more petite parts. The TV censors blacked out the before and after shots on these procedures, but we can surmise what a smaller testicle case would look like.

So imagine my surprise when I tuned into CNN and saw lipo going on. There is a new liposuction procedure available now that is easier, faster, with more precise results - and a huge price tag. It really surprised me that this footage - obviously a press release - was broadcast on a non-medical show. How is new lipo procedure mainstream news, anyway?

Perhaps it sucks out our brain since most of us aren't using any sort of grey matter.

I Am A Crappy Neighbor

A new neighbor just moved in upstairs. She has a grouchy pit bull and works strange hours. When she comes home at 12:30 she walks her pit bull in front of the building and she lets it crap right in front of my bay window. Sweet. No, she doesn’t scoop it up, either. This really irritates my dog, and I think the sun comes up before he is calm enough to stop barking at every car, noise and person within a 50 mile radius. This time, though, I am trying to be nice about this.

You see, the first neighbors I ever had were a loud, obnoxious twenty-something couple with stringy hair and very bad taste in the very bad music they blasted until 1AM. The female half of the oafish duo was obviously a crackhead. It was evident because I might’ve been able to squeeze one leg into her freakishly tiny pants. My next neighbors were straight out of Mayberry, and the neighbors after that had a white fluffy dog named Angel that barked all the time. I called her the Devil Dog. Oh yes. I can’t forget the neighbors with the kids with very bad vision. They dented my car more than once when they miscalculated their ability to throw a football so it could actually be caught.

            My last move left me with neighbors hosting a yappy dog and very poor parking courtesy. While lamenting my bad luck with a lifetime of bad neighbors, I realized something:

            I was the crappy neighbor.

            It’s true. There is no way 7 addresses yields 7 bad sets of neighbors. It is a statistical impossibility to strike out this many times. I am forced to look at the common denominator… which is me. Maybe my dog is just neurotic and some other dog’s poop on his turf is his problem, not the pit bull’s fault. And that poor parking courtesy? How many times did I help anyone out in that place? Once or twice, maybe. No one owed me a better parking spot. The crackhead might’ve been a vegetarian or had a lightning fast metabolism.

            In any case, I am determined to break the cycle. I don’t want my son to pick up this nasty anti-neighbor vibe from me and to perpetuate it for another generation. The buck stops here. I will keep the curtain securely shut so my dog can’t be goaded by a little pit’s stop. And I can use the 12:30AM wake-up call to clean my place once every one is asleep. I won’t even make fun of her half-rotted tooth whenever anyone asks about the new tenant. It just wouldn’t be neighborly, would it?

And the Menu Foods Secret Ingredient Is...

            So today we find out loving pet owners all over North America unwittingly fed rat poison to their precious Fluffies and Fidos. I couldn’t imagine the betrayal I would feel if I were a Menu Foods customer.

            The companies relying on Menu Foods to make their concoctions should be quite angry – some brands may never recover from this awful tragedy. Responsibility for quality control falls squarely on Menu Foods’ shoulders. Life will march on for Menu Foods. Not so true for all the pets who have eaten the products they manufactured.

            Thankfully, my neurotic but lovable cat Abu and his canine companion Sand are not affected by this catastrophe. I feed them Wellness brand and Newman’s Own products. This food is so healthy, I should stop eating the garbage I live on and add it to my diet. I am serious. It goes for at least 2 bucks a pound. But I spend the money for what I am not getting – cheap filler, byproducts, and heaven knows what else. I buy my pet food from a great little place – Lucas Avenue Pet Supply – and the guy running the place has done a great job educating me about all the things in pet food I really wouldn’t want my dog eating.

            It all started with Clifford. He is a gorgeous Greater Swiss Mountain Dog I picked up from a doggie rescue. His only real problem was the stench emanating from him. His coat stunk as bad as his… well… gas. His coat was dry and flaky… did I mention stinky? “Stay out of the drive thru with him,” the veterinarian cautioned. “Buns are especially bad for dogs.”

            It broke my heart to drive past Burgerville. Their Rogue River Valley Bacon Burgers were to die for, but I couldn’t stand to eat in front of Clifford. So we went cold turkey together, and something magical happened. He stopped stinking and I lost 15 pounds. I started looking at labels and researching foods. And one day it happened. It was like a movie – I swear. We were at the park and the sun danced off his smooth black coat. Every muscle in his body was defined while he shimmered. I know it sounds crazy, but I was so proud at that moment I knew without a doubt that his diet made him gorgeous. I never begrudged a $49.99 bag of food again. Once, when money was really tight, I felt so guilty stretching the budget by mixing in store brand kibble with the good stuff. Thank heaven he survived.

            This recall has reminded me about the real costs of being mindless. I could just as easily be affected if not for Clifford. Abu and Sand survived the most recent skirmish in Lebanon and were evacuated to the United States as war refugees. It would’ve sucked if they dodged bombs and bullets to come to the land of opportunity to be felled by pet food filler – which is what wheat gluten is. I don’t mind paying for the peace of mind knowing my pets are eating the best foods out there. If only I took my own advice, put down the Diet Coke and ate out of their bowls, well, I would probably be as healthy as they are.

Baby Luv

     When I first learned I was pregnant I was warned about all the people who would want to approach me and rub by growing Buddha belly. They would tell me about their horrific 6 day labors and their tragic distant relative who lost her life, her baby, her partner or some combination thereof as a casualty of the process. And it was largely true. As my circumference increased, so did strangers’ curiosity… and their offers to help.

I am not talking about offers to babysit Saturday night (never happened) or a willingness to hold open doors or haul groceries (happened a lot). Nope. Complete strangers offered me their cast-offs. At first I was offended. Most maternity clothes are very unflattering, but did I look destitute? As I struggled to heave my wobbly self off the couch for basic necessities like using the bathroom, I just didn’t have the energy to stand at the sink to style my hair. Turning the steering wheel in the car was a challenge, too. The steering wheel sort of edged into my tummy. It made it nearly impossible to find the right eyeshadow and blush sitting on the passenger seat, so I was too big even to put on makeup.

Now that my son is older I have a bunch of baby gear he no longer needs. So you know what I do? I stalk pregnant women. I do. I ask them if they are having a boy or a girl. If it is a boy, I feel like I hit the jackpot. I know I have a shot at unloading the blue themed blankies and rolling bassinet. The quest to find good homes for perfectly good secondhand items is difficult. It is the conspiracy of Consumer Reports and Target.

Consumer Reports has everyone afraid to use secondhand baby equipment. We spend $5 billion a year on car seats because we are cautioned against using one of unknown etiology. This is true of cribs, bassinets, strollers, and pretty much every other thing we rely on to save our backs when hauling around our little bundles of joy. Target can rescue us. We host baby showers to guilt people who don’t really like us into procuring all the above referenced items for the new arrival. Big box stores – like Target – make it easy to select all sorts of goodies without shame. $200 stroller? Put it on the registry. $150 car seat? Put it on the registry. $20 onesie with less fabric than my $2 pair of panties? Put it on the registry. There is such a glut of stuff that by the time the kid is born, we have ten boxes of newborn diapers, enough blankets to cover every homeless person in town and so many clothes they are practically disposable. This is fine because you don’t really have time to do laundry anyway once the kid comes.

A lot of things I had for my son went unused. I would like to see someone save a bit of money and haul it off for me. Ebay has been a lifesaver – I have disposed of countless pieces of my son’s precious infancy on the site. But nothing beats giving a boppy pillow to a young lady I just met in the store when she has a baby on board. So watch out for me, all expectant moms, because I still have a bouncy seat and a slew of sneakers to unload. And I really just want to help.