Tag Archives: Farmville

Botox This

No, I’m not angry, I was born this way

Last year I had my first Botox injection:  30 units pumped straight into the trenches of my forehead.  I grappled with the decision for years before actually getting it.  I have wacky vision and I furrow my brows alot and on top of it all, I have a macabre scar that runs between my two eyebrows from jumping on my bed and faceplanting on the headboard.  I was four, my oldest sister dumped me in the bathtub and let me bleed furiously while she watched “Love of Life” until my mother came home.  I am grateful she didn’t try and stitch me up because things could have been worse.  So with the horizontal scar and the vertical furrow lines, my forehead was a multi-purpose gameboard, you could play tic tac toe, hangman, or harvest some crops if you couldn’t log into Farmville.  When I was a teenager I used to tape my forehead at night so things wouldn’t get worse.  But the creases deepened and by the time I was in my twenties, people thought I was angry all the time.  Random men would say: “Why are you so mad?  Smile!”  STFU, I would grit my teeth.  Bangs were the answer.  Then Botox came on the scene and I knew I wanted it.  But it seemed really scary and anytime I would chirp about it, someone would inevitably say:  “Don’t you know that it’s poison, POISON!!!  It’s made out of botulinum toxin, you will die a slow death!!  And look like a duck while you’re doing it!”  First of all, I am going to die a slow death without Botox and look angry while doing it, and secondly, and most importantly, Botox does not make you look like a duck, the fillers do.  Botox just relaxes the muscles, okay, paralyzes the muscles and then they gradually over time go into atrophy, the same as your ass does when you watch too many soap operas.  My only fear was that the injection would affect my ajna chokra, you know the third eye that is the centre of your intuition.  What if I lost all instincts and started dating men who advertised on Craigslist?   Nurse D assured not only would my chokra be intact, it would be running on overdrive, all that furrowing was actually blocking it.  Nurse D also said she could fix my one eyebrow that arches too much, but I said no, it is what makes me look clever.  So the needle went in and I never looked back.  A year later, the verticle lines have softened, I don’t squint anymore when I read {less headaches!)…seriously this shit should be on OHIP.  So last week, wagjag had an offer for 20 units of Botox for $79 from Skin Vitality at 11 Yorkville.   I jumped on it, a little nervous about discount Botox but it turned out great, my brow muscle is losing its furious furrow but you can still tell when I am truly pissed at something, which is good because I don’t want to be perceived as a pushover.  Just don’t try and upsell me on the fillers…yet.

One is the Only Number

The Only Cafe, Danforth at Donlands

Last week, one of my friends’ Facebook status read:  “I’m off the Island, it was a rough dive but an easy swim. ”  It’s Toronto in July, everyone and his FB buddy is at some cottage somewhere fighting mosquitoes so I took her message literally.  But then yesterday she IM facebooked me:  “I’m single now, have great stories, let’s go for brunch!”  Yay!  Brunch, I’m in!  You know, I used to hate that word “brunch”, just pick a meal and call it breakfast or lunch, why don’t you?  And then I realized “brunch” is just an polite Anglo Saxon term for drinking booze at breakfast.  Most ladies who brunch in the East End go to Joy Bistro and order a mimosa with Norwegian Eggs Florentine so I suggested going there but my FB buddy, Dolores (not her real name) ixnayed it.  “Let’s get dirty,” she said.  So off we went to The Only Cafe for eggs, sausages, and pints of Wellington.  The Only Cafe is that beacon of colour in that otherwise dreary section of The Danforth near Donlands.  It’s graffiti art on the outside and a mish mash of decor on the inside with an impressive selection of beer on tap.  There’s a patio in the front and a quiet one in the back where you can languish all afternoon and chat away without judgment.  Newly single Dolores talked about her breakup (very exciting except that it turned out that “diving off the island” was just a metaphor) and we also discussed the ramifications of Facebook.  She defriended him but he kept her friends as his friends and since they broke up he makes sure he writes witty comments on their statuses so that she can see them and that way she won’t forget him.  There’s a smart man.   She did keep his relatives as her FB friends because the actual process of defriending someone is a political statement that requires quite a bit of emotional energy.  I hate it when people defriend me (I notice!) but then I’m sure my Farmville activity last spring was unbearable when they were reading their updates, so I try not to take things too personally.  And I have always found it strange that Facebook suggests putting a  relationship status in your profile section.  How bad would you feel if your beloved chose the “it’s complicated” as an option?  If you’re a man, let’s face it,  the only reason you choose “in a relationship” or “married” is because a certain someone p-whipped you into it.  If you’re a woman and you choose the “single” option then people think you have cats.   And some folks get all paranoid about Facebook;  “I’m being stalked!”  Nobody is stalking you, honey, unless they are sitting in a tree looking in your bathroom window, don’t flatter yourself.  If they’re looking at your profile, consider yourself lucky that someone cares.  My motto:  Just keep it light and happy and pretend Facebook is like being out in a public cafe where you conduct yourself in a civilized manner.  And you can play that mutated form of Scrabble called Lexulous!  And post blog entries!