OCTOBER AND BREAST CANCER PREVENTION

This is my October 1 blog for breast cancer education and prevention.  I'm still fighting the fight to insist we NEVER give money or running or walking to any group that:
1.  Will not divulge how much money actually goes to research (prizes are not research.)
2.  Cannot guarantee that no money from their event will ever go to a company that uses harmful ingredients in their products.

Today I did my part by asking some questions about the Army of Women and by contacting my US Representative to ask him to co-sponsor the Harmful Substances Bill.

What are you willing to do to prevent breast cancer in your area?

LOCAL CITY SERVICES VERSUS ME

As usual, the city looked into its crystal ball, noticed that I need to visit St. Joseph's for my annual test, and immediately scheduled street top dressing in front of my place.  And of course, on the whole street between here and the main road to the hospital.  A phone call about parking places for residents led to the run-around.

I found a place to park for today.   Waited for trucks.  Many trucks, no skim coat.  Finally found out they've cancelled all but the one small strip between me and my car.  Until when?  Nobody knows. 
Luckily, my local councilman now has a form for e-mail with such concerns (and brewing tantrums.)  I explained that I can't reschedule a ride 10 times while they decide when to do the street.  And I can't hitch-hike home from the hospital.   I'll let you know what (if) they reply.

BELTS, SOCKS, MY SECRET BARGAIN PLACE

Belts are one place where I don't need a lot of whimsy. I need a lot of bargains. Three times now, Sears has been my secret source for basic leather belts with no chimes, no medallions, no clanking during meetings. And, en route to their belt rack, I also found my black leather watch band (an unusual size) for my favorite price - cheap!

Oh, and now that I think about it, I also got my slippers there and some good black socks that don't collapse and don't feel like a tourniquet.

PS My daughter swears (as did my father) that you can't beat Sears automotive for whatever auto stuff is doing you wrong and needs a good fix.

BRAS - IT HURTS WHEN I LAUGH

Who ever dreamed that a bra would arrive by mail that looks like it is made to fit the ends of grocery store sandwich bread instead of an actual bust? And yet, there it was. And another drive to the USPS to return it.

Then, in desperation, I fell for the old "bra fitting" racket yet again! The phone call for appointment made me suspicious. But desperate people do desperate things. Drove to Glendale. The "fitter" imposter tossed a tape measure over my tee shirt near the waist, asked me what size I usually wear. I replied, "The wrong size. That's why I'm here."

She returned with three bras, two I'd already tried on twice at Macy's.
I showed her how the forth bra was smashing my unhappy bust. She told me to put on my tee shirt and see how good I looked! Back on the street in 12 minutes, with $1.25 left on the new parking gizmo.

Off to another store, saw one bra in the wrong size that looked as if my size might actually fit. They, of course, didn't have my size. And then to another town for Macy's. But Macy's doesn't carry that division of Playtex.

So I'm back to ordering on line again. This time I ordered two sizes in hopes one size will fit. I'm thinking of getting my own space at the USPS for my regular bra-returning trips.

As I may have mentioned, when I returned the "bread wrapper" style bra, I gave them a very complete inventory of the parts of me that it didn't fit. I used my inside writing voice, and did not call the manufacturer any names.

When the postman rings, if this one fits, I may share the style number. . .

The world, the flesh, and BRAS

Bra manufacturers 47
Me zero
I am furious. Why should I re-build a bra that I paid for? Why am I getting e-mail from manufacturers who don't make my size?

I just have one question for you: what do you hate about bras!? Or do you always get just the right one? (Okay, I lied about the one question)
So: Are you willing to write a letter to a bra manufacturer? Or march on Washington or something?

I just sent some well-chosen words on one maker's web site (and also on the paper that goes back with the 39th returned bra.)

Let me know what you hate about bras, and want to do about it.

HIPS HAVE COME A LONG WAY, BABY

I figure it started in the caves. Despite the hassle of preparing mastadon dinner without fire, Cave Wife has developed a little junk in the trunk, so to speak. Cave Husband stops packing for his hunting trip long enough to point to her buns and snarl. He holds up a much bigger and stiffer animal skin and demands she put it on. Their pet saber-tooth, Sabey, snarls at him to get away from the wife. Cave guy smacks the tiger one and stomps out. A neighbor has heard the commotion and shows Wife how to fasten the tight skin with strips of sharpened bone. The word was out--no pudge, no jiggle.
No kidding.

For centuries, women complied. Not content with whalebone corsets, women even egged each other on to bite the bullet, or the stick, and have lower ribs removed to give them the perfect wasp waist. At least they didn't have to go to boring corporate parties until they healed. Botched rib-ectomies and changing styles led us back to the corset. It even filtered down to the middle classes. What a bear trying to get something out of the oven or the wringer wearing those whalebones.

WWII put many women in overalls and pipe wrenches. That pretty much guaranteed the decline of the corset. Luckily the hard work and the swing dancing kept us thin.

Then Lucille Ball arrives via TV, vacuuming in heels and a turbo waist cincher. We laughed. And we bought the Playtex girdle. NO bones, no laces, no air. A women with a bad back couldn't even pull one on. My boyfriend said in public that I should always wear a girdle. He was replaceable.

Spoiled, we demanded even more comfort, like the new control top pantyhose! We swore by them for years.

Now TV strikes again. We don't look like Sex and the City! All that rotten time in the gym didn't make us look like Top Models! Barefoot sandals, so no control tops. Jeans with almost no rise. We don't dare sit down. Muffin tops are scaring small children.

Again the manufacturers come to the rescue--with Spanx. No jiggle from chin to ankles. Back problems? A friendly orthpedic nurse helps you pull it on. No bones, no laces, no air. Free at last.

FACE WORK AND GROCERIES

The recent dental unpleasantness left me with a slightly unmatching left side of the face. Later, I'll probably preach about dentistry being in the stone age. And right now, any photo ops are right side only.

Meanwhile, I took a recipe from Nina Garcia's THE STYLE STRATEGY, and risked the honey facial. Perfect for multi-tasking while ironing, despite the danger of dripping on my work blouse, or someone coming to the door.

For years I'd thought groceries as cosmetics were funny. Then came the day I had to throw out my sunscreen-to-prevent-farmers-tan. It was announced worldwide as THE BAD SUNSCREEN. Gotta wonder what else in the medicine cabinet and the bedside table might be THE BAD CREAMS.

So into the honey pot. It did seem to ease the redness that made the doctor forbid wine for four weeks. It also made my cheeks kinda nice and soft (alas no one noticed but me.) Best of all, I didn't need a bowl scraper and trowel to get it off. You know how you don't dare touch your toast-with-honey or you'll stick to the tablecloth and even the table. But it washed right off.

Buoyed up by that success, I was ready to follow her advice and put the plain yoghurt on my T zone. (That's the middle of the face, guys.) The grocery didn't have individual plain yoghurts, so I didn't get to make my pores disappear. Maybe next week I'll get the big tub of plain, and foist the rest of it off on someone who would actually eat it.