Butt Pimples: what I found out

More commonly referred to as Butt Acne or Buttne. Seriously. Not to be confused with Bum Knee which is an old injury.

There seems to be general agreement that pimples and pimple like things upon ones posterior are either inflamed/infected pores or inflamed/infected hair follicles. Generally agreed upon causes are sweat and debris, including old skin cells, gathering in the pores or follicles.

There is also general agreement on how to avoid getting them as much as possible. Shower directly after sweating. Don't wear yoga pants all the time. Exfoliate your bum. Don't use oil or lotions that clog pores on your butt. Avoid thongs. Wear cotton panties. Cotton might kill in a cold weather survival environment, but cotton grannie panties protect you from buttne in an everyday environment.

If you do get buttne, it is strongly recommended that you don't pop them. How would that even work? Is everyone a lot more flexible that I am? Would you ask a loved one? Would they say yes? Would they still love you?

Here are the toxic chemicals I was expecting:

1. Benzoyl Peroxide Body Wash - "It will bleach your towels, but it works really nicely." Dr. Tanzi
2. Salicylic Acid Pads
3. Lactic Acid Lotion
4. Antibiotics and steroid injections

Dr. Tanzi also says that you should look for acid percentages of 3 and up in cleansing products for you butt.

Also recommended, but less regulated by the FDA:

1. A sonic cleansing brush (I wonder if this would work on my cat?)
2. Head and Shoulders shampoo - supposed it works on back pimples, so why not lower back pimples?
3. Butt Acne Clearing Lotion by Green Heart Labs - fragrance free with arnica and calendula at www.clearbutt.com
4. Sit bare-bottomed on a hot towel for 20 minutes 3-4 times a day (wish I had time for this)
5. Crush up aspirin, mix with water, spread on bum
6. Cover it in honey - manuka honey apparently being the best - and wait 20 minutes before rinsing it off. I hear who's on first:

Boy: "What's taking you so long in the bathroom, honey."

Girl: "Yes. And I can't even sit down."

Boy: "What?" 

Girl: "It's sticky."

Boy: "What are you talking about, honey?"

Girl: "Yes. That's why I can't sit down."

I couldn't find any spa treatments or wearable inserts for personal hide tanning or even mention of yaks, but still pretty entertaining.

Butt Pimples: why and what to do about it

It just occurred to me to wonder about this today. I have not yet even gone so far as to google it. This is may favorite time in the research process, when you have a question and imagine what you might find.

I'm hoping to find an article or encyclopedic entry titled as this post. It will have a section on why from allopathic medicine's point of view with toxic topical and internal medicines warning of such side effects as erectile dysfunction, male lactation and increased risk of heart attack. It will have various theories from non-traditional medicine ranging from dairy and wheat allergies to your colon chi being in excess due a blockage in the next chi down the line. There will be suggestions of using Tellurium mixed with egg yolks and other such noxious remedies.

Then there will be a variety of spa and home treatments: the butt facial, , butt-buffing, a butt shaped tanning unit you can stick in your pants, special yak mesh underwear infused with mustard oil that massages and wicks away the impurities. The possibilities are so much fun. Unfortunately, what I actually find will probably not live up to my expectations.

Going now to Google, WikiPedia and possibly PubMed.

Ideas are dangerous things

I was all set to go dancing tonight which I love and which I will not be able to do for the rest of the summer, and even though I was exhausted to the point of barely standing up, I put on my dress and went forth for a salad (light enough to not get naseous while being swung.) While eating alone, I was reading (of course) and fireworks started going off in my head and I just sat there neglecting my salad writing furiously, acting upon some serious revelations:
1. I have to quit my job. It is not worthy of me and I don't deserve to so belittle myself.
2. I have to do it soon. Like in the next year.
3. It's Sharon's fault for giving me the book.
4. It is going to be hard for me to find another job since I will not be grateful to be employed; I will be looking for something worthy of my talents.
5. It is going to be next to impossible. Bring it on!

El Guapo is dead

Not the fighter, Bas Rutten, but his name-sake the fighting fish.  He had been dying for a while, not eating, then eating, lying on his side, then not lying on his side. He looked rather as if he had had a stroke except I really have no idea if fish can have strokes and if they can if they effect only one side etc. I kept feeling like I should be doing more for him. At one point I had decided he actually was dead just lying there on his side near the bottom, so I asked the Big Bad Bean, who came over and tapped the tank. I think it was rather like CPR for the little guy since he jumped up and was fine for a few days, then went back to his malingering.

Just to be sure, I left him there and kept feeding him until bits started falling off and drifting away. then I flushed his corpse. I'm not sure why I thought Deer Island was a better solution than being dug up and harried by the crazy neighborhood squirrels, but I did.

Humph.

Fit or unfit? [From last year about this time]

When people ask the Big Bad Bean about how best to get in shape, he always responds with, "in shape for what?"  This past week has made it clear that I am not in any decent shape to be a mom to the Bumble Bean.  We bounced Tuesday morning [ow, sore], went skating Tuesday afternoon (haven't done that in over a decade and never in hockey skates) [crippled, broken, swollen feet] followed by play ground running and climbing and sliding.  Fortunately the Bumble Bean noticed that I was broken and gave me kisses to fix me.  Maybe not so fortunate since he was so darn cute and sweet that I was inspired to keep going instead of collapsing like any moderately intelligent adult.  Then, Wednesday, we decided to take it easy and go on a family walk about at the Sheepfold.  Two hours later, we limped home and I took a bunch of glutamine.

My kid is Winnie-the-Pooh

The Big Bad and Bumble Beans went for a walk the other day.
The Big Bad Bean asked the Bumble Bean, "What are you thinking about?"
And the Bumble Bean replied, "Words that end in 'ing.'"
"Like what?"
"Like 'walking,'" replied the Bumble Bean.
Not to miss a teaching moment, the Big Bad Bean asked, "And what does 'walking' start with?"
"Home."
"And what does it end with?"
"Lunch," was the very firm reply of the Bumble Bean- ending in 'ing' forgotten for more important things.

Facebook is dead, and I'm not sorry

I finally killed my facebook account today.  Yesterday I got a big dose of scorn from the Big Bad Bean about still having an account even though I don't log into if it is so repellent to me.

Meanwhile, all kinds of silly things continue to happen to me.  The Bumble Bean continues to grow and be charming and ridiculous.  An enormous list of things continues to be not done.

Potty time with Pooh

Tonight, as the Bumble Bean was waiting for his bath to fill he was sitting on the potty and he said to me, "Oh bother!  Mommy, you can never tell about poops."

Muse

I am becoming utterly self-obsessed.  It doesn't feel like self-obsession, it feels like being driven, but I can see that the sensation of wanting to push everyone and everything away and just focus on what's inside certainly looks like self obsession.  In fact it is, but it's also described as in the grip of one's muse.  I don't recall ever having it this bad before.  I should ask the Big Bad Bean. 

I dutifully took the Bumble Bean to the beach for his solar system adventure.  Castle Island was full of police and people in silly green things, so we had to drive up to Revere which was mercifully full of nothing at all, not even much water as the tide was lower than I have ever seen it.  Revere Beach on an eighty degree day two days before the start of spring at very low tide dimpled all over with sand dollars, not white, but somewhere between milk chocolate and rust, with dog tracks and people tracks and seagull tracks and what the Bean decided were ocean tracks, the hollows full of sloshing water and what I strongly suspect was clam poop but the Bean determined were worms, the ridges crushing under foot and full of clams, some with grass growing from them and some with sea weed.  I pulled a few out for the Bean to see and he got very excited and silly about the "noses" being gulped and chewed right up with big teeth.  He also pick several enormous bouquets of seaweed, some to set sail in his crocs, some to weight down with sand and other ooze, some to stomp, some to release into the ocean.  It was fun and he was fun and I had fun, but I was really waiting to be alone with my...me? To write and draw and learn to draw and practice drawing and formulate Artemis Winter.

Today I went along so the String Bean could practice his driving.  He drives like an asshole and this is good for me to observe because he doesn't drive this way because he is an asshole, just because driving around here makes no sense whatsoever and he is inexperienced.  We passed a man who was getting dressed on the sidewalk.  He pulled up his pants just as we approached him, but he pulled them up no higher than the bottom curve of his buttocks.

Dutifully, I will meet tomorrow with the childish lecher at work and go for coffee and talk with interest and intelligence on whatever he wants to discuss.  Dutifully, I will meet with the angry mom on Friday, I will go to dance, I will go to science.  Saturday, my duty will take me to lunch with ... someone who i don't feel able to describe.  Sunday with the Bean again, then work again on Monday. 

I will not design half a dozen dresses.  I will not make much progress on my drawing or story.  I will get almost no house work or home projects done or even started.  Was waking up such a good idea?

Losing it again, but I don't care

I have again lost a piece of writing that I had scrawled on a random piece of paper.  It was about either the Bumble Bean or Artemis Winter as a cat apprentice.  I need it to complete the Early Adventures portion of the Artemis Winter book.  I will attempt to recreate it unless someone can tell me where I put it.  I have three more chapters to write: Artemis Winter writes a book, Artemis Winter decides to be happy, Artemis Winter's mom gets fed up and changes his life.

The reason I don't particularly care is very much the continued existence of the Bumble Bean and his infinite silliness.  I was gone from Sunday through Wednesday night at a Library conference in Albany, NY. It was beautiful in Albany and beautiful in Boston, but I was not in Boston with the Bumble Bean to enjoy the beauty.  So we made up for it.

On Thursday, we blew bubbles, we made pancakes, we met a new person, we made tortillas, we went swimming, we took a bath (actually he took the bath, with his little planets and when it came time to get out, he put them all in the drain so they could swirl around with the outgoing water and said, "look Mommy, it's the Milky Way." 

On Friday, we went to dance class, he danced by himself, he danced with his teacher, he danced with me.  Much silliness ensued.  As we left dance class in the rain, the Bumble Bean decided that he needed my shoes so that he could walk them across the street.  So there I was in my socks, cold wetness seeping in, and the Bumble Bean crouched in the cross walk, walking my shoes, one after the other, clomp, clomp across the street.  He was very pleased with himself, so we went home.

He becomes more fun every day.  Today is Saturday.  I am at work, not having fun with Mr. Bumble.

Next steps

Miss A (for anthropy) challenged me to write a book about the toys I make as a marketing technique and I admit that I have not until very recently made any headway.  The break was in part due to trying to find pictures to fill the echoingly empty walls of my office which led me back to James C. Christensen and his College of Magical Knowledge. 

So, I am going to combine my love of houses and buildings with my Windmill Tilting idea and populate the premises with dangling dragons, odd faces and parts thereof, octopi, starfish, mutant undersea air breathing things and just let go the scope of my imaginative life in a story book world.  I can’t imagine how someone is going to illustrate this to my standards, but there you go.

As a side note, in looking for the name of my school, I looked up “college” in my Roget’s thesaurus and the only synonym it had was “jail.”  Hmm.

Several cephalopods

Blogger dot com sucks when it comes to my spelling needs.  Couldn't find cephalopod at all.  Mind you, I had it very misspelled to start, but once I corrected it, this spell check insisted that I wanted sloped or scalloped or scalped.  Is scalped really a more popular concept than octopi and squid?  I suppose it is the scalping of tickets and not the forcible removal of the forelock with a tomahawk.

The liquor store that revels in having fun sayings on its sign as you drive north on 28 had its usual "Holidays mean family, we sell liquor" sign up until a few days ago when they replaced it with "and now without the octopus."  I don't know what it means and I didn't notice until I walked out so I could ask (and yes I would have) but it reminded me that I have a new design idea for the Octopus Obsession and possibly the Magical Starfish.  Also that I am without the squid that took up residence below my belly button.  Maybe it was the swimming?  Maybe I am not ready to relinquish swimming to the Big Bad and the Bumble Beans between them?

I should really get on with the next step of my toymaking career, but I think I need to rest a little first.

And possibly clean the house.  It needs it and so do I.

Happines IS a choice

I got this book (Happiness is a choice) as a side effect of ordering some other books and I though t it might be useful for the Big Bad Bean.  I started reading it last night and found it...not poorly written, but not incisively written either... kind of fluffy in fact.  However, i was thinking about all day and decided to try the first short cut to happiness and found the day more fun, the Bumble Bean more fun, me more fun.

And that was a good thing because it has been A DAY.  I had a really hard time waking up this morning.  I probably should have tried harder (as in 4-5 cups of coffee.)  I burned my bacon.  I got my vitamin adhered to the side of my esophagus.  I boiled over my noxious tea (after Berg the dumbest cat ever, had chewed a hole in the package that I didn't notice before I shook it...all over my feet.  Ding was very offended and stalked around my dripping, reeking feet with her head turned aside.)  Then, the Bumble Bean and I went on our adventure.

He refused to have his diaper changed when we got to the T station, but my happiness pulled us through gracefully.  I did however decide that I would rather not bring my purse as well as his bag, so I took out everything that I thought I would need and tucked the rest beneath the seat.

We had a very fun adventure at the aquarium.  In fact we were in the gift store before I realized I didn't know where my keys were.  They should have been in my pocket.  Happiness on hold for a moment, I passed backward through all my actions in a panic, and realized... I had not lost my keys.  I had decided when going through my purse that I had no need of them while on the trip so I tucked them away in their own little pocket in my purse.  And indeed it was true that I wouldn't need them on our adventure.  I did not think far enough ahead to realize I would need them to get back in the car and eventually back into the house.

No one would be home.  I had left the phone at home and I wouldn't be able to call anyone anyway since i haven't put anyone's number in the phone.  Also, the only other person who has a key is the A Bean (maybe...assuming she can find it) and I was pretty sure she was in NY or PA.  So, we took the bus home and attempted to break in through the window into the basement next to the back door which i was pretty sure I had removed the lock from.  It is a very small window.  I got it open and was trying to convince myself that I would be able to fit through it and all its accumulated grime, but the Bumble Bean would have no part of it.  He was very firm in refusing to let me try to go through or going through himself.  So what next.

I knew that our door jam was in shaky shape, so I broke in by prying away all the wood that held in the latch and opening the door once it was completely insecure.  Happiness still going strong but feeling in need of a Martini even though I gave up drinking last week.  Out of Vermouth.  Hmmm.  Happiness.  Drambuie.

I still have a birthday party to get through, my car to retrieve, milk to pick up, and I was hoping to finish the dragons tonight.  I will continue to choose happiness because the only other option today is to hide under the couch which doesn't have room for me.  A little boy at the bus stop asked me why the Bumble Bean was so happy and I replied, "Why not?  He has to be something and better to be happy than miserable."  The kid didn't look convinced, but I felt better and still do.

Healing Traditions

This evening was an evening when I was off Bumble Bean duty, but I'm such a sucker that when he asked I stayed with him until he fell asleep...it's hard to feel bad about that.  But, I had decided that once he fell asleep, I would do a variety of things on my ridiculously long to-do list for this 3 day weekend, then watch The Rock (the movie not the ex-wrestler) and take a shower before bed. 

Usually when I make plans like this they founder on the to-do list, either because I get caught up in the to-do's or because I become overwhelmed and just play sudoku until I pass out, accomplishing nothing.

This time I got through two and a half items on my to-do list, fast-forwarded through The Rock and just as it was time to take a shower, I decided that tonight would be the night that I oiled myself all over.  Two people have now recommended this to me for health and nice skin, so with no more knowledge than sesame oil and a hot shower (no soap) I took my bottle of cold pressed oil into the bathroom, routed the cat and proceeded to oil myself all over.  This was a rather shocking experience, first because I rarely actually see my body anymore and when I do I'm in a hurry, showering, steam, no glasses, etc... The second reason it was shocking is simply because of what I found upon examination.  I will not go into details since I know the Long Bean occasionally reads this and I don't want to embarrass him.  It was however quite dis-heartening.

I quickly realized that I should perhaps have gone to the website that was recommended to me about this since I found I didn't know how much oil I was supposed to be using... Should I be slick or just glowing?  I went for slick since I figured I was at an oil deficit and my hands were at this point to oily to go use the computer.  I then took my oily self into the shower having decided to not oil my face or my hair since I didn't remember any guidance on those systems.

Upon entry into the shower, two things that I have always known came to the forefront of my mind.  First, that I use my hands to wipe the water from my eyes and push the hair back so I can breathe, and, second, with hot watter, oil becomes impossible to contain.  So with a greasy face and hair, smelling like nothing so much as a tin of tahini, I rubbed and rubbed at my healthily oiled body and came to yet another gap in my knowledge.  Namely, how much of this stuff was I supposed to be trying to remove?  I rubbed and rubbed at the body that I had come to be a stranger in and abruptly came against yet another truth that I know but had forgotten.  Bath tubs are slippery when wet.  They are ever more slippery when oiled and wet. 

I have, in a healthy glowing way, strained one of my groin muscles.  I don't actually know if it is a groin muscle since the only time I am ever aware of it is when the Big Bad Bean feels compelled to do this horrible hip-type set which feels remarkably like I've just been kicked in the groin... or, as it turns out, like I slipped in an oily bathtub.

Ah, well.  I am out.  I am clean-ish.  My skin feels nice and not covered in an oily scum (noticeably unlike the bathtub) and the pain in my thigh has subsided to the point that I think I will be able to sleep.

Perhaps I am a Racontuer

I sit here doing incredibly boring things and find myself ranting in my head:

"Stupid, fucking thieves and home invaders!"

"Autistic spectrum, my lily-white ass!"

"Gamers (role playing) and people who engage in make believe S&M are still playing house with their friends and after about age 12 that's just boring and a little sick."

"First my hammock and now B&E you stupid f*^$ing, f%$&ers!"

I recently spent some time with a man who claimed to be the most offensive person he knew.  So, in the interest of offending the greatest number of people I know (most of whom don't read this blog, but I don't care,) I have decided to rant about:

"Modern child-rearing theory and practice is a conspiracy to promote mindless consumerism"

And now I don't care about it so perhaps more later or perhaps not.

Life has been too full to blog

and I haven't felt inclined.  There has been a lot of life that seems like it could inspire a post but it doesn't inspire me to actually sit down and do it.

Six months descending into a pit of despair, hoping, trying to have faith- it worked.  Everything is looking up.  Except teaching law students.  And various and sundry other parts of my job.

Tonight I attended my second in a series of public meetings concerning the Green Line Extension Project in Somerville.  I'm actually really excited/intrigued/stimulated to be investigating my local government.  I recently read that despite this country's foundational principal of rule by law, not many Americans believe much in law or government, inherently distrusting it.  Hear, hear!  I wonder if I could change that in my town?

More boxer-ed butt...

this time right outside my window.  Never saw the guy's face, don't know anything about height (he was on a ladder), weight, skin color, hair, etc...  I'm guessing he was still fairly young since he did have a fairly nicely formed bottom and most middle aged male bottoms tend to migrate to the front to form a gut... sometimes the crack moves to the front as well which is rather horrifying.

Do your pants hang low?

I'm working to close-of-library this evening and, since I was hungry, went forth for food after 6.  I walked behind half a dozen people who were wearing their pants below their bottoms.  I remember hearing about study that found that wearing high heeled shoes (more than 3 inches) meant that you were very unlikely to develop bad knees in old age.  I wonder what such a study will say about under-bottom-pants-wearing?  While your hips are permanently skewed, your knees are broken and your ankles give out, you don't experience chronic neck tension due to all anxiety being focussed on your behind?

Trumping "The Chipmunk"

As anyone who has followed my blog is aware, the Bumble Bean has been slow to use verbal language to express himself and the world around him.. When he was two and didn't feel like crying when something hurt or upset him, he would clench his fists by his side and say "dit, dit, dit, dit" until the urge passed.  DSS characterized this as toddler swearing.

Later, as in the past year, the Bean developed another unique verbal ploy which was that "The Chipmunk" was what he used to trump any argument.  It would go like this:
"It's pajama time!" said Mommy.
"No," said the Bean.
"Yes," said Mommy.
"No," said and signed the Bean.
"Yes," said and signed Mommy.
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bean, "The Chipmunk."

Neither the Mommy nor the Daddy had any idea what this had to do with, but clearly the Bean felt this was the ultimate argument.

Recently, we tried to turn the tables on the Bean and we introduced "the chipmunk" on our side of the argument.  The Bean came right back with something like "the frazier."

Today, my birthday, I had a call from the Big Bad Bean who said that he tried a different counter and was soundly recountered by the Bumble Bean:

"No," said the Bumble.
"Yes," said Big Bad.
"No," said and signed the Bumble.
"Yes," said the Big Bad (he doesn't do the signing escalation.)
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bumble.
"Veto," countered the Big Bad Bean.
"No comment," recountered the Bumble Bean.

He's the light of my life and definitely too smart for his own good.

Spellcheck, such as it was, seems to have given up entirely.

"Are you OK, Stick"

For the Bumble Bean's 5th birthday we did not have a birthday party because he didn't give a damn and we didn't care for the hassle.  Instead, we played with the Flip video camera: http://www.youtube.com/user/laughingatus?feature=mhum and then we built him his very own birthday fire in the back yard. 

Since then, he has from time to time asked for a fire and I have dutifully gathered all of the fallen sticks from around our yard and built a fire which he has played with/in for 10-20 minutes and then gone on to other forms of backyard entertainment.  I, of course, then have to keep an eye on the fire to make sure it doesn't run away.

A few weeks ago, a very large branch fell off the sidewalk tree in front of our house and some civic minded individual pitched it into our yard so it would be our problem rather than the city's.  Naturally, I dragged it into the backyard for future fire starting activities.  This branch is easily 3 times as long the Bumble Bean with forks and general branchiness. The Bean has taken to standing it on its spindly end and letting it fall over and then rushing up to it and saying, "stick, are you OK?  Are you OK, Stick?" giggling, and then doing again.  Then he balances this long unweildy thing across the swing and pushes it for awhile, reciting, "not too high (I know, I know) not too fast (I know, I know) make sure I don't fall off (I know, Stick!)" then pushing it so hard that the whole thing gets tangled up.

He is more fun every day and I am more besotted with him everyday.  I can't imagine ever converting that into something that a self-respecting man would feel comfortable with, nevermind an angst-driven teenager.  Hmm.