I'm disgustingly average. I can get off on someone else's medical misery, say a hip replacement or orthopedic surgery, but I'm god-awful afraid when it comes to my own health woes. Which is why I don't go to the doctor too often or submit to colonoscopies, MRIs, mammograms, urinalysis, gynecological exams, bloodwork, or any other 21st century diagnostic tool. I figure the less information collected, the less everyone has to worry about. And it works for me, except in the area of dermatology.When I was younger, I cried and carried on--and also went regularly to the dermatologist--due to acne. And it wasn't the easy, primetime Hollywood type where you look in the mirror and see a zitz and say, "oh my!" and squash it with a tweezer or something equally unhygienic. Oh no, I had to get the full-blown variety. I never actually counted the number of pimples or blackheads, but they had to fight for room on my face. It was what you'd call a mob scene. Natur
The times of my life. A look into the experiences of a fully functioning adult with mental, domestic, and marital problems. From the perspective of a childfree person. Ha-ha funny but truthful. On Twitter, Facebook and G+