I got scammed by an anti-aging cream miracle bullshit bank account draining thing and my very first thought was that I could never, ever tell my spouse how stupidly I had bought into a video (A VIDEO ON THE INTERNET YOU GUYS) where rubbing an old lady’s face with a small amount of magic made her wrinkles go away not right before our eyes (because:video, also:internet). After I muscled up and called my credit card company to be my second at a misty morning duel (okay, conference call for those who insist on dreary reality) and got a 75% refund, I mentioned it on the ol’ Facebook. Several people helpfully told me that I don’t need anti-aging cream.
That is nice. It is. It’s nice. But, see, as a woman, in this society, I am OBLIGATED to believe that I am not good enough. I am required to hate my body even as I try, I do try, I really try (and no, I am not talking about self-love and porn on tumblr, that is different entirely) to present myself as a model of self confidence and to be body positive and to, sincerely, I do, love almost everyone else’s body just the way it is. I challenge my notions and push my boundaries but: I hate this meat sack, I really do.
That’s a poor state of affairs and I know that. But you are not, ever, going to see my bare legs, and you are not often going to see me without makeup without a really, really good excuse (heart surgery is a good excuse). Not a one of us needs an expensive or inexpensive anti-aging cream for any reason except maybe if it smells really good because there is no anti-aging there is just the march to the grave that starts when we are born (life does not begin at conception and we are not conversing about that, unfollow pls). I do not love this mess.
Is it then intersectional to discuss that place where being a woman in this culture collides (intersects, see? See?) with being chronically ill? There isn’t a cream that will reverse the aging process but we’ll figure out one long before we can make an errant digestive system work. Indeed. Because women are willing to pay thousands of dollars for cunning little pots of schmutz and Immodium is practically free. Yes, it’s my own theory. Also if we fixed either of those problems we would be the architects of what might someday be called the New Homelessness: Face Cream Salespeople and Gastroenterologists Are Begging. Okay, it’s a little long, I’ll work on it.
I’ve devised my own Gut Fix and it’s a fucking miracle.
I’m lying. It’s not. It’s made things betterish. Two tablespoons of chia seeds, soaked first in about a quarter cup of water, then mixed with either 4 oz of coconut milk (from a can, the thick shit, not that lie in the dairy case) and left in the ‘fridge overnight. It’s like eating a glass of very, very, very thick…..VERY thick suntan lotion. Since I like my punishment varied, I sometimes make the same thing with plain Kefir. Then one day I said, “WTF is wrong with you? Why are you making yourself eatdrink a horrible thing? Put some sugar in that shit!” That helped the kefir but not the coconut milk. I eat/injest it around 9:00 am everyday, and those chia seeds, they get down to the lower levels and I swear–this is my own theory, too—that they form a stopper and soak up fluid and my life is regular and better but I must be very, very careful to drink a fucking lot of water. A lot. More than I have time for. Or you can imagine what happens.
Know what’s fun about finding a thing that works? You get religious. Superstitious. Also, when it doesn’t work, it ruins your goddamned life and there you are, in the bathroom, contemplating suicide. The face cream side of this is dutifully applying it very carefully, seeing zero difference, and getting charged nearly $200 because they started your trial period the day you ordered it and the 15 days were up before that (small) package even arrived in your mailbox, and you’re looking at your credit card statement and considering suicide. Actually, only the gut stuff makes me think that, I just cried a lot over the credit card statement.
It’s very hard to love a body that is both aging and genetically flawed. I have decided to try and if not love it, stop letting it get to me. As much. Maybe. So today, when things did not go as desired and I found myself with this loop in my brain replaying the opening scenes of the movie Parenthood, I thought, “Hey, now, so, you’re paying this new shrink good money and she thinks you should meditate. Maybe let’s push pause on the old movie and listen to that guy with the soothing voice?” So I did. My mind wandered but he said it was okay, and my stomach rumbled and he said not to have feelings about my thoughts, just note them and let them be, and oh c’mon, there wasn’t a miracle. Tiniest attempt at a shift, maybe.
Finally, I’m looking at you RevitaYouth, FUCK YOU. I have some wrinkles, and they were free, so go hassle someone else.