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Thursday, October 29, 2009

Whole Lotta Rosie

The story about my super duper life saving skills is going to have to wait for another day. Sorry. But like Janet Jackson said, “I promise, I’ll be worth the wait.”

If you’ve been reading Home Fires for a while, you already know Rosie O’Donnell is someone I look up to as a mom, humanitarian, philanthropist, author and comedian. She has read and commented on this blog three times, always offering a kind word to fill my hungry ego.

You may also know I was able to talk to her on the phone last week. (If you’re new to Home Fires, welcome to my blog/family/life. The link will take you to the back-story.) As I mentioned, I wanted to say I was “Blogger Lois Lane” to see if she remembered Home Fires. Instead, I gave my real name, afraid if I went around claiming to be Lois Lane they would think of me as some crackpot caller and not let me through.

I had the pleasure of talking to her again Tuesday morning during another test show. Thankfully, I got through on the first try, again using my real name.

Not surprisingly, the conversation nearly turned south. As in, below the belt. Don’t go thinking my internal editor finally woke up.

While on hold, I heard Rosie talking about her love of the sun and how it energizes her. A friend of hers was concerned and scheduled an appointment for her with a dermatologist. Once she was given a clean bill of health she said the Leathery Long Island Lady was the look she wanted most.

Although leathery is not exactly the look I’m going for, I do love the sun and think I look better with sun-kissed cheeks. Of course, some of my body parts are so white, they glow in the dark. My boobs are like two saggy little lighthouses on the shoreline, guiding my old man to a night of surf-n-turf passion. If they ever saw the sun, they might just combust. A chance I am not willing to take no matter how much I love the sun or soft golden skin.

Anyhow, she was talking about going to the dermatologist and having to strip down to put on a paper gown.

Ladies, we all know about that, right? I was taken off of hold and asked if I had anything I would like to say on this subject. Naked talk? Me? Uh, does a bear shit in the woods?

This part is for you guys (since I think most of the ladies already know the scoop) and it’s the more detailed version of what I blabbed to the guy who answered her phone. When women go to the doctor, whether it is to have the ol’ wazoo checked out or to have our ears, nose and throat looked at, it is protocol for us to strip…some nurses, “allow” us to keep our socks on, but mostly we must bare all.

Here’s the scenario: Knowing all of our 2,000 parts will be checked out, we shower, shave, put on our Sunday best. We put on a little perfume, lotion, makeup, and sometimes…in the event our socks must come off, we paint our toenails.

Essentially we get ready as if we are going on a date with a very special someone whom we anticipate will ultimately see us in all of our naked glory. I don’t care how nice you smell, how good your makeup and hair may look, if you are wearing a paper gown, nobody notices those positive aspects. Really, why do we do this to ourselves?

Problem number one is that, the doctor never actually sees us in our Sunday best because the nurse makes us strip before she/he ever enters the room. And for some unknown reason, when we are told to undress, we take our clothes off and carefully fold them… as if we are about to under go a military style inspection. But what’s worse is that we hide our panties in the fold between our pant legs.


Ladies, panty raids, as far as I know, don’t happen at the doctor’s office, like ever. But like many of you, possibly all of you, I’m not willing to chance it by stepping out of “The Routine.” I understand, although I really don’t get it either. I believe one day Unsolved Mysteries will have a show about this phenomenon.

We sit there hoping our ass crack doesn’t sweat, causing it to stick to the damn paper gown. We swing our feet from the table, like we did as a child because it brings us comfort and passes the time. We look around the room, waiting and waiting, reading every pamphlet, magazine and poster.

If they make us wait too long we have no other choice but to use our time wisely and snoop through the drawers. That is unless they are slightly out of reach from the safety of the table. Number one, you can’t go wandering around the room in the paper gown because you know it really isn’t covering anything so you sit on that table thinking at least your ass is covered.

But you know if the drawers are too far out of reach, when you stretch, lifting a cheek off the table to snoop, you feel that cool doctor’s office air hitting your butt and you know deep within your heart of all hearts, if you keep that glow in the dark white ass of yours up in the air for an instant, the doctor is bound to come in.

Guys, I know that all seems crazy. Obviously, I’ve spent an absurd amount of time thinking about this, but thankfully, for the guy who answered the phone, I gave an abridged version. So he loved the story and wanted me to share it with Rosie and her friend Weenie who was also there.

He kept coming back to the line, “Lots of energy, okay?” “Get ready!” “You’re going on next.” Seriously, I was on hold for nearly an hour and I can’t remember how many times he came back to let me know it would be any minute. It made me nervous, although I was happy to be on hold because I could listen to everything they were talking about.

As I waited, I sifted through my brain trying to decide which parts of “The Routine” were worthy of discussion. Either there was some confusion in the calls, or they simply changed their minds as she took my call.

I got to play a “Name that Sound” instead of The (mentally-rehearsed) Routine. I essentially popped Rosie’s Radio Game Show Cherry, for which she said she will always remember me fondly in a very special way. Okay so I managed to squeeze in a little perversion. It’s pretty much one of the things I do best.

Once I had that woman on the line, I confessed my blogger identity. Excitedly she said, I was good, “an exceptionally good writer” to be exact. You guys, she remembered Home Fires and liked what I do! (Someone queue, “I’m So Dizzy My Head is Spinning” narcissistic much? A-hem)

She talked about the amazing talent The Land of Blog has to offer, as I listened perched on my happy cloud. She asked how I came up with the name. I told her my dad gave me the nickname when I got my first reporting gig. She asked me for my link, and told me it was way too long. She said she would hook me up with her IT guy because no one is ever going to be able to find me with the current url. She’s so right, but all the good and easy to remember names were already taken.

I blurted, “You can just link me on your site since everyone is already there.”

I don’t know where my internal editor is but that bitch is fired! Who asks such a thing?! (Someone, queue the music to “Do Your Balls Hang Low?”) Whether she said it just to be nice, meant it, intends to, or was trying to get this crackpot off the line, she said she would link me on her page. Should that happen, I’m going to make an honest effort to be more active in the blogging community. I’ve already tried going back to my roots by responding to comments in the last few posts. I will also try to work on a schedule so posts come more regularly.

By the way, I correctly named the sounds, after she provided me with a couple of clues. She said a prize will be mailed to me. I’m sure you’ll be reading all about it soon. Stay tuned.

Rosie Radio begins November 2nd on channel 102 Sirius XM Stars. (click link for subscription info, how to listen online, or call 1-888-get-sirius) Her show will be on Monday through Friday from 10 a.m. to noon (ET).