Oh Brother.

Today I confided in my brother that I was disappointed in my daughter’s choice of boyfriend.  “I’m coming up there, and I’m going to let him know that if he steps out of line I am going to kick his ass” was the immediate reply.  Coming from a small, rough steel town my reply wasn’t exactly politically correct...  “Don’t you think her father should kick his ass instead?”  “No,” he replied with absolute moral certainty.  “He’s too close.  I should definitely do the ass kicking.”

Perversely, the thought of my brother kicking anyone’s ass made me nostalgic.  After my father died, ass kicking became my brother’s modus operandi.  I was a rather wild teen who generated plenty of opportunities for my 2-years-older brother to exercise his newfound sense of responsibility.  He lurked in the background of my teenage relationships, grading the quality of my choices and taking action when he considered my judgment flawed.

Unfortunately, my judgment seemed to be flawed a lot.  My brother was creative in the ways that he scared off my boyfriends.  In addition to the classic ass kicking, his techniques ranged from the sideways glance fraught with threat (enough, most times, to do the job) to direct interrogation techniques, to the time he threw a boyfriend over our front porch and into the bushes for attempting a first kiss.  Standing on the porch with my brother, watching the now “ex-boyfriend” run off down the street I felt angry, but also completely and utterly safe.

It is truly miraculous that I found a man of whom my brother mostly approved.  But I did, and I suppose that I owe a great deal to the, um, “non-verbal guidance” that my brother provided over those teenage years.

My brother’s ass kicking days are likely done.  He’s an attorney and a businessman, a gentle father and a sweet and loving husband.  But for a moment he reminded me that he will always be my big brother, and will always take care of me and keep me safe.

Dog Gone Good

I am blessed with two very, very good dogs.  I live with an elegant German Short Haired Pointer named Milo and a swayback chunk of Chocolate Labrador named Dina.  Sometimes when I am working, I look down at my Labrador, her massive head resting trustingly (stupidly?) on the wheels of my office chair and think “I want another dog.”  Then I remember Chester.

Dog from hell.

I should have known better.  But on those days that I ate my lunch at the mall, I had to walk right past the pet store.  It was an old school pet shop, a breed of retail establishment that I fervently hope will die out.  Puppy mill puppies sat dejectedly in small wire kennels, looking hopefully at the people walking in to buy fish food, fashion collars or other pet perks.  All of the dogs there claimed a pedigree, and they had the papers to prove it.  But their flaws told a deeper truth, and you could see the kind of miserable existence they may have had through their too-close-set eyes, their improperly cropped ears or the wagging stumps of tail, cut too short.

The Springer Spaniel was near the front. You could see him from the mall concourse, and over the weeks I started to look away as he grew larger and larger in the tiny cage, turning and shifting to find a comfortable spot to rest.  I knew he must be a puppy mill product, and I resolved not to support that brutal practice by purchasing one of their dogs.  But it wouldn’t hurt to let him stretch his legs, would it?

Could you resist?

The next thing I know the pet shop owner and I were chasing the little liver spotted puppy down the aisles.  We ran with flailing arms, me in a dress and heels, dodging the pet toys and pooper scoopers that were tumbling off the shelves, swept away by the long handled fishnet in the puppy’s mouth.

Best friend gone bad.

My husband never stood a chance when I opened the car door several hours later and our cute new puppy tumbled out of the car and into his arms.  We would name him Chester, we decided.  He looked like a Chester. We didn’t know then that he would later be referred to as “Evil Chester,” "Chester the Molester" or sometimes “The #$@% Dog.”

No, not interested in this....

Much better.

Evil Chester has many tails to tell (sorry,) but suffice to say that he was the worst dog ever known.  Our handsome friend filched dozens of dinners from the kitchen counter and lifted lunches from contractors with endless creative zeal.  He used his warped doggy intelligence to terrorize the vet’s office and developed perplexing health problems that would trouble him (and us) all of our lives together, including the diabetes that blinded him and required twice-daily injections.  He was the star at doggy training and hell raiser at home, chewing our child’s prized toys and biting family members whenever they deserved it.  He would stare into space with his post traumatic doggy eyes and growl quietly at phantom breeders we would never know.

Still, we cried the day Chester blindly made his way down to the creek and lay down for the last time.  And other than accidentally running him over one time (it was only once!) we were comforted by knowing that we treated him with love in spite of his shortcomings.  Here are the lessons he left behind:

I hoped this book would help, but Chester ate it.

If you must have a purebred dog learn from our mistake and don’t go to a pet store. Pick your breed and your breeder carefully.  Check this web site for loads of valuable information about working with a breeder: www.buyingapuppy.com

Be careful of shady or disreputable breeders.

 Please, please consider a shelter or rescue dog.  The best dogs we have ever had (notably, not Chester) have been shelter dogs.   Here is a great site to walk you through choosing the right dog from your local shelter:  www.clickandtreat.com/pickadog.htm

Shelter dogs can be shy or uncomfortable at first.

But they tend to relax after awhile.  

Not every dog is a good dog, but you must be a good friend to every dog you live with. So think hard, and put your head in front of your heart.  Otherwise, you never know, you might end up with a Chester and lots of stories that won’t be funny until many, many years from now.

Chester tortured, I mean followed us everywhere, even after blindness.

They could have done without a dog entirely.

But I can't...

My Fear Factor

I just hate spiders.  And that’s really too bad, since I live in the middle of the woods and a lot of spiders live here too.  People always try to persuade me otherwise, but I know that spiders hate me right back.  I am the person they choose to dangle above in bed, and it is my car that always has a spider on the door handle.  If I summon the courage to smoosh a spider I am the person at whom the spider will make its last brave, desperate lunge before expiring.

My neighbor.
Photo: Livescience.com

It turns out that spiders are widely feared (though some of us show it more than others.) Livescience.com suggests that arachnophobia, our fear of spiders, is innate and may develop in the womb.  Gallup confirms that many of us carry this fear through life.  Our fear of spiders ranks 5^th in a 2001 poll of people’s phobias; a little less frightening than being enclosed in a small space but a little scarier than needles and shots. (“Most feared” on the poll are snakes, public speaking and heights.)

We would choose this over spiders and public speaking.
Photo: Residencialorandino.com

I have a long history of ridiculous behavior when it comes to spiders.  For example, a friend and I once abandoned her ‘68 Camaro on a rural road because of a spider dangling from the visor.  On a ski trip, a friend and I emptied an entire can of her hairspray (yes, hairspray—it was the 80s after all) into a sink bowl to kill an unsuspecting but ultimately well groomed spider.  So it should not surprise anyone that last week, when I saw not a mere spider, but it’s bigger badder cousin--a four-inch scorpion-- in our garage storage closet I did not react calmly.  I looked down towards my bare feet to see what was moving and suddenly the toilet paper I was there to get seemed utterly unimportant.  This creature was nothing like the tiny scorpions we sometimes encountered on our trips to Mexico.  It was fat and angry, its tail curling up in the classic “I’m going to f#&# you up” position.

Could probably survive hairspray.
Photo: Dimackey.com

Four inches is large for a scorpion, but they can be as long as eight inches, big enough to eat small mice and snakes.  Luckily, four inches was considerably smaller than the sole of my husband’s muddy work boot, which I mentally noted as I brought it down repeatedly upon said scorpion while screaming like a banshee. (I might have let it go but I really needed that toilet paper.)  Good thing I was accurate—according to EHow “a scorpion can easily grab on to a shoelace, sock or pant leg and hitch a ride to gain access to...your ankle or leg.” It makes spiders suddenly seem to be nothing more than innocuous inconveniences.

The source of my trauma.
Photo: Thefrisky.com

Scorpions are endemic to California, so knowing a little about them might be useful:

Very few scorpion stings are dangerous to adult humans, except in the cases of allergic reaction, or when the human runs screaming into traffic.

Ice can lessen the pain of a scorpion sting, but watch the victim for difficulty breathing or swelling that does not subside over time.  Difficulty breathing after fleeing does not count.

Children who are stung should always see a doctor as a precautionary measure. 

The best scorpion reduction strategy is to keep your grass short, and clear loose stones, bricks, logs and trash away from your foundation before it becomes an insect convention center.

Weather stripping or otherwise sealing the house will help to keep scorpions outside. 

Scorpions live here.
Photo: Fineartamerica.com

Scorpions come from the sky too (OK, I was really shook.) Prune back trees that overhang you home.

Place firewood that you bring in directly on the fire, not in that cool log carrier you bought from Eddie Bauer.

Scorpions are largely nocturnal.  Get your toilet paper out of the storage closet during the daytime.

Don’t keep scorpions as pets.  Get a pet that will not try to sting and eat you.

Move. (Unfortunately, Antarctica which is the only continent without scorpions.)

No scorpions, but penguins can be pesky here.
Photo: Coolantarctica.com

Both chemical and natural pesticides are available if your scorpion problems are not solved through the above measures.  Of course it is worth noting some people welcome scorpions, and eat them after removing their poisonous tails. I’m going to go ahead and skim over that, but if you are a person that does not like to waste you can find recipes on the web.

Skimming over.
Photo: Wikipedia.org

I thought I might never go into that closet again.  But then I read a story in Huffington Post this week detailing how a Tampa-area woman found a 7-foot alligator in her bathroom, and I though I might get over it after all.

Scarier than the scorpion.
Photo: MSNBC.com

Getting ready to enter the storage closet.
Photo: Geekologie.com

Where all the toilet paper went.
Photo:  Freerepublic.com

All the rage.

Everybody has family stories; maybe fishing at the lake or funny vacation trips.  I smiled at our last family gathering as my daughter joined in to tell a Halloween story...until she got to the part about the devil horns, bright lights and police. It seems that the story most central to my daughter’s memory of Halloween is the time we got cut off on the freeway after trick-or-treating, and then pulled over by a police officer who saw me flash my brights at the offending vehicle. As the policeman walked towards the car, my then 8 year old reached forward and pulled off my largish devil horns.  “Just be nice, Mommy.”

This was not a Halloween costume.
Photo: 

 I confess that I have had problems with road rage (or at least road irritability.)  It brings me no comfort to know that I am not the only one. In a Scientific American study (March 2009) 90% of drivers reported experiencing, being victims or witnessing road rage.  It turns out that we Americans are extremely territorial--we guard our personal space diligently-- including the space around our vehicles.  According to Clinical Psychologist Leonard Holmes we regularly and purposely annoy people by taking more time to vacate a parking space if someone is waiting for it, and drive more slowly in the fast lane if someone is trying to push us out. We take it as a personal affront when a driver cuts us off, mouths angry words at us, honks or flashes bright lights.  Sadly, sometimes we hurt or even kill the strangers who anger us. Just Google a phrase like “killed in road rage incident.”  I just did and Google returned almost 2 million results. 

Rethink passing on the shoulder.
Photo: Steigerlaw.typepad.com

 According to AAA “road rage will be responsible for 25,000 injuries and 370 deaths this year.”  That doesn’t include all the close calls and rattled nerves that don’t get reported!  This next fact won’t calm anybody down:  Harvard’s Dr. Matthew Miller took a sample, and estimated that 11 percent of drivers “always or sometimes” carry a loaded gun in their car. More than one out of every ten people driving along with you have a gun! With bullets!

You never know who's armed...
Photo: Drdriving.org

Any regular, easygoing person can turn into a maniac on the road, but there are distinct personality types that are more likely to engage in road rage. (Some psychologists believe that it is a recognizable mental disorder.) Since we can’t stop to assess the mental health of each of our fellow travelers, here are some warning signs and defensive behaviors to keep in mind:

Watch for bumper stickers. An article in The Journal of Applied Social Psychology (June 2008) predicts that lots of bumper stickers and decals on a car are the single largest predictor of potential rage -- 16 percent more likely to be involved in a rage incident than a vehicle without opinions.

Yup.  This bumper sticker could be a clue.
Photo: Cafepress.com

 Don’t take it personally!  Aggressive or erratic actions by other drivers are not about you.  Most erratic drivers are not targeting any other driver in particular when they drive aggressively.  They might be bad drivers, late for their mahjong group or tending to a crying toddler in a poopy diaper smearing stuff on the window. 

Your driving behaviors may be misinterpreted.  Do not help crazy, angry drivers escalate the situation.  Leave space, change lanes or even leave the freeway and drive to a safe place if the situation warrants.  Even if you’re not sure what you did to anger the other driver, this may not be a good time to find out.  Remember some of them have guns and no impulse control.

She doesn't want to chat. Drive on.
Photo: Ideas&thoughts.org

Leave enough time to get there.  Other drivers have no way of knowing that Joey is waiting for you at the orthodontist.

Don’t drive when you are extremely tired or upset.  These states leave you more vulnerable to emotional upset.

Do a self-check.  Edmunds suggests that you tape-record yourself while driving. If you are swearing, mumbling or ranting then you are in danger of raging.

No tape recorder necessary.
Photo: Thevoiceofonegirl.com

Put it in perspective. Of all the road rage you have felt over the years how many specific incidents do you remember?  That’s right you can’t remember.  Because it is not important.

Use your head. Being a patient driver does not make you a wimp, or a person others will take advantage of.  It makes you smart.

Too relaxed.
Photo: Safetyxchange.org

Relax. Use your time getting to know your kids better, enjoying music (talk radio might get you mad) or taking deep, relaxing breathes.

If all of the above fail you, remember that your child will tell what you did at a family gathering some day.

What will she remember?
Photo: Pricelessparenting.com

 I did listen to my daughter that day.  I was nice.  The police officer was nice back.  He looked down at the devil horns in my hand and the red tail curling up the seat besides me, checked out my two candy-addled kids in the back seat, decided that I had enough problems and let me drive calmly and safely home. I listened to my daughter at the family gathering too.  And decided that I don’t want her memories, or role models to be about rage. 

Retired.
Photo: Costumes4you.com

Easily Puzzled

I am easily puzzled. 

People who wear these are confused enough.
Photo: 123rf.com 

I wonder why sock sizes are different than shoe sizes.  If you are a shoe size 4-10 why do you have to buy socks that are size 9-11?  It seems that every package of socks 9-11 also carries the legend “fits shoe sizes 4-10,” so why can’t they just use the shoe size to begin with?  I think the people who created sock sizes must be the same people who made up women’s underwear sizes. 

Do not disturb.
Photo: comicbookmovie.com

I speculate on why the law states that “no one may annoy a lizard in a city park in Fresno.” I am curious as to why anyone would want to annoy lizards (or how, exactly, lizards become annoyed,) creating the need for this law. More understandable to me is the Eureka law: “Persons may not sleep on a road.”  Although I wonder why anyone would nap in the road, I am quite sure that not napping in the road is a pretty good idea.

Surprisingly easy to find pictures of people sleeping on a road.
Photo: sydney.concreteplayground.com.au 

I do not understand why obvious warning labels are necessary, even in our litigious society.  Do we really need to know that we should  “not take (Zantac) if allergic to Zantac?” How would we know we were allergic to Zantac unless we had already taken the Zantac? Doesn’t that make the warning label obsolete? Would people really try to stop a Swedish Chainsaw with their “hands or genitals?” The shortcomings in people who need labels like this seem more a systemic problem, possibly originating from flaws in an individual’s early education or upbringing, or perhaps prolific glue huffing, and one which cannot be solved with mere warning labels.

Warning: your dog should skip his evening cocktail when using this med.
Photo: mazamail.com

Warning: You should skip YOUR evening cocktail if you think this is a good idea.
Photo: mazamail.com

I also wonder about photographs.  Why do some people look better than they do in real life, and why do some people look worse?  Don’t say bone structure.  Some people just don’t look anything like themselves in pictures.  It’s almost like photos reveal another hidden identity or perhaps some underlying alien presence.  Sometimes, two different photos of the same person don’t look remotely similar. How can anyone know what they really look like? Especially since mirrors seem to be a lot like photos. That’s why I look so good at Macy’s and so bad at home. 

There's hope.
Photo: degree360.com

I am not a good gift giver-- I agonize over my choices-- and so I really do marvel at creative gifters.  But I am still at a loss to understand who would need or want a 3100 Swarovski crystal bejeweled Coffee Maker ($4,000) or a bejeweled toilet ($75,000.)  Actually, the toilet seems like a good buy, but I am unsure about how comfortable it would be.

Photo: kaboodle.com

Why do things that hurt for months go away the day before your doctor’s appointment?  And why does that sound your car makes refuse to repeat at the auto repair shop?

I have a metallic taste in my mouth.
Photo: emergiblog.com

Do you have answers for me?  If not, how about sharing puzzles of your own?  At least then I’ll know I’m not alone.

OK, I might want to rethink stupid warning labels after all.
Photo: mazamail.com

Changing your mind

OK, I admit it.  I have been putting off writing this for weeks.  But since I told you last time how you can get a tattoo with an electric toothbrush and a guitar string it would be irresponsible to leave out how you can get rid it after becoming sober.

If tattoos are, as we discussed, personal bumper stickers, then removing them is akin to scraping those old McCain bumper stickers off of your car...a long slow process that corrects an embarrassing lapse in judgment.

Tattoos are now a mainstream standard. Nearly one of every 5 Americans display their thoughts, memories, dreams and relationships on their body.  But as we age, “Hooters” may not be our happy place anymore, we may change our religious or political affiliation (even Reagan changed political parties!) or we may stop dating “Natalie.”

According to estimates from the American Dermatological Association and Inc.com, 50-70% of tattooed individuals undergo at least one tattoo removal.  That probably explains the 575% growth in the laser removal business in the past decade. 

There are several tattoo removal methods, but laser removal is the most popular, with 3-10 sessions required, depending on the colors, size, age and depth of the art.  Sessions will cost you $150-$500 per treatment, and will take approximately 15-30 minutes every 4-6 weeks.  Lasers work by striking the ink in your dermis with energy that fragments the dye, allowing the immune system to remove it.  Different types of lasers are required to address various colors in your tattoo, so make sure that the dermatologist you go to has relevant experience and the right equipment.

Thinking ahead when you get your tattoo can save you a lot of trouble in the removal process.  Though many tattoo artists have strong feelings about making their art permanent there is a new ink material called Infinitink that responds more easily to laser removal, and will often require a single laser session.  Think of it as a prenup...you know you love it at the moment, but one cannot predict the twists and turns of life. Consider angering your tattoo artist by asking for this semi-permanent ink. If his ego is bigger than your insecurity, find another artist.

Here are some other things to mull over before, during and after your tattoo.

When you choose a tattoo, make sure that it will age with you.  Your devotion to crude or pornographic jokes, a particular lover, zombies, fairies or David Hasselhoff may change over time.

Think about how partners and potential employees might react to a visible tattoo when deciding upon placement.  Not every employer wants to put a ghoul in front of their client.

If you do remove your tattoo, research your options thoroughly.  Sandpaper, lime juice, pigeon poop and a plethora of mystery creams are discussed on the internet.  Consider and then reject all of the above.

Talk to your dermatologist about the type of lasers they use, and how they will deal with multi-colored tattoos, if needed.

Lasers are getting better, but DO expect some pain and possibly some light scarring. 

What to do if you don’t get a perfectly smooth result when you scrape off the old bumper sticker?  Well, do many of us do as our political loyalties fade and our interests change.  Cover it up with a new bumper sticker and move on.