The word Mesmerize

is Mesmerizing.

Just enjoy saying it.

Let it trickle off your

tongue.

Get a tattoo on the

crevice of your

most intimate area

saying,

Mesmerize Me.

Love it so much,

I'll probably name

my kid

Mesmer.

Ninth grade, high school, A blank slate, a new era...Pep Squad.

I gave up sports for dance. Well, for pep squad. Instead of gym, I had dance. I think deep down, a part of me still preferred to be in gym class. Or better, athletics. I've never been very athletic, but I love sports.

I enjoyed cheering on the football team every Friday or Saturday night. I lived in Texas after all. I already new the rules of football, but I'm still a die hard fan to this day. Football was fall. In the spring came competitions and preparation for next year's audition. Dance team, Varsity Dance team, Cheer, or Pep Squad...again.

I wasn't the best dancer, but I could do most moves and I was flexible.

"Wow! You can do the splits! You should tryout for cheerleader!" a classmate said.

"Hahaha." I laughed it off.

Me? A cheerleader? Never! Besides, cheerleaders need to know how to tumble. Sure I could do a forward flip. It's basically a cartwheel with a little extra twist. But a backhand spring? I couldn't.

Well, why not give it a try? I can climb trees, jump off roofs, and jump over trash cans on roller blades. Surely I can do this backhand spring.

I went upstairs to my bedroom when I got home. Took off my socks and shoes, then changed into some workout gear. Let's try this.

I bent down into a squat, just like I saw the freshman cheerleaders do on the sidelines. Then, my mind knew I had to throw myself up/back and adjust my gravity in the air all while remembering to put my hands down just right, to catch myself.

I put on some music so my mother wouldn't hear all the commotion from downstairs. It happened so quick. My biggest fear was blacking out if my head hit the floor. But my head didn't hit the floor. In fact, my body never made it halfway in the air, nor did I need to adjust my body's gravity.

In the first half-second of the act, the top of my left foot hit the bar at the bottom of the bed, the sharp piece of the bed frame, slicing the top of my foot a good 2-3 inches wide and at least a few centimeters deep. Deep enough for me to show my friends the next day how I could make my battle wound talk by splitting the flaps and moving them back and forth. I made it look like a mouth and was talking for it. Yes, I had issues.

Of course, I needed stitches. But never got any. Was too afraid to tell my mom I needed to go to the doctor and too embarrassed to admit what I was doing. Ouch!

The scar is still there today. Bright, pinkish-brown, and rough. Handsome devil. And just so you know, I never ended up auditioning for cheer or either dance team.

So, two things really.

My hair and my period. I'll start with my hair. It's been thinning at an exponential rate since I was in high school. My mom says she's always remembered me having thin hair. She also remembers a large piece of heavy wood falling on my frontal lobe during elementary school.

I've always worn my hair up in a ponytail (Yes, I know it's bad for my hair) in my adult life because the makeup I use to cover my bald spots will only stay in place this way (no, I don't have alopecia). In high school and college I could wear it down, but it never really looked right. If I have my hair down without any makeup in it, I swear I look like the Crypt Keeper from Tales from the Crypt. It just won't stay in place down. It has no weight because it's so thin, so it goes all over the place and tangles easy. Sure it bugs me that I have to wear my hair up everyday. The most annoying question to hear is, "Why don't you ever wear your hair down?" Well, I would if I could, but I can't so I won't.

Doing my hair is the most frustrating part of my day. I started using makeup to cover it when I was around 22. The makeup I use, Toppik, goes everywhere and gets all over everything. If you know of something better, let me know. But I hear they use Toppik in Hollywood. I've asked doctors about my thinning hair, have gotten my thyroid checked, taken hormone panels, and everything always comes back normal. I even looked into a hair transplant with Bosley. The doc there wouldn't touch it. He said my hair is thin all over and they take hair from the back and put it in the front. He said he wasn't going to let me spend $12,000 just to be back there in two years, which I appreciated. He recommended I see and endocrinologist. But I had already seen one.

Which leads to my period. Throughout high school I would constantly bleed. Most people bleed 5-7 days every month. I bled non-stop and if I was lucky, every 3-4 months I would have 5-7 days with no blood. My period would come through full force. I would often skip class because I would constantly stain my clothes. I eventually became anemic from all the blood loss and was always weak and sleepy. One day during the summer between 9th and 10th grade, I swear I was laying in bed and was afraid to fall asleep because I swore I was going to die from blood loss. I didn't think I'd wake up. Some days I'd wake up and it looked like I had given birth.

Finally, sophomore year, my mom took me to the gynecologist and I was put on birth control. That solved the problem. At least put a bandaid on it. Easy fix it seemed. But the doc had no explanation for the constant bleeding and if it was connected to my thinning hair.

I have now been on birth control for over 23 years. I've stopped a few times over the years, but the constant bleeding always comes back. Perhaps I should just have a hysterectomy?

I swear both these things are connected. I used to get depressed about my hair, but have grown comfortable enough to talk about it with people over the past few years. I know I'll need to start wearing a wig soon, but a part of me just wants to shave it all off. I'd need to lose a bit of weight to rock it bald. And the bleeding...well. I'll just have to stay on the pill a bit longer. But I wish there was a solution. Or at least a diagnosis.

One more thing about my hair, It's mainly thinning in the front and on the sides. That's at least where I wear most makeup. I can remember at least two people I have seen that look to have the same issue. But I didn't dare ask them about it at the time. The first person I saw was a younger woman back in 2011 on a plane. I saw her as we were exiting the plane. She looked maybe just a couple years older than me, maybe in her late 20s or early 30s. But her hair was down, with no makeup in it, and she had all the confidence I didn't. She even had a boyfriend, he was cute too. The second lady I saw was at an Al-Anon meeting in 2016. She was older. Maybe in her 50s. Short curly hair, but completely thinned out in the front. My partner at the time told me afterwards, "Yeah, babe. If your hair ever gets like that we're gonna need to get you a wig." Ouch.

Maybe I'm just being petty. But my hair really bothers me. And the bleeding can't be healthy. I've learned to live with both conditions, but if you know of anyone willing to take my case, I'm willing to undergo all tests. As long as my insurance covers most procedures.

Consider this my plea for help.

By the time the juniper blooms in the dead of winter,

It’s known, 7 weeks will have us in a vernal state.

The time has come, I shall leave my cabin and gallop among the crocus and dahlia.

Out in search of the gold.

Off I go,

Squandering the fields and prairies.

I am to slog, as the ides of March are upon us.

After foraging all day

No gold.

Nothing left to do but replace the juniper in my hair with crocus.

As I approach home

What beauty to see the smoke coming out of my chimney.

Something must be cooking.

Enter the cabin,

Looking for a lumpy meat patty,

Off the grill.

Door opens,

Ash.

In the pit of the oven.

I’ve lost again.

That is why they call me, Caesar.

Juniper is resilient. Crocus is not.

Juniper.

There I was, lying in bed, hours before I needed to wake.

Caught halfway between meaning to get up and pondering the day's tasks ahead.

My phone vibrates/blinks.

Grrr. It's her.

Wash your dishes!

Clean your bathroom!

Have I not taught you anything?

Seriously?

I'm at sleep-away camp, and she bugs me with this.

nag.

nag.

nag.

The woman never stops!

Shall I respond?

no.

That's feeding the beast what she wants.

But I can't let her get away with this emotional abuse.

I'm away at camp, my happy place.

Listen here you naggy beastie!!

I've had enough of your harassment, leave me be!

You can nag me all you want when I get back,

But I'm currently away at sleep-away camp.

The beast responds:

Oh, I'm sorry

I didn't mean to bug you while you are away at camp.

I was simply making a statement for my own wellbeing.

Now how can you argue with that?

Boy meets girl.

Boy and girl fall in love.

Boy kills himself.

Girl wakes up.

Fairies. Fairies. Lots of fairies.

And a hockey puck.

3 witches.

Woman! You've gone mad!

Mad? Never!

Screw your courage.

Oh, and a woman drowns herself.

She’s beautiful! How do I know her? Who cares, she’s beautiful and standing outside my office door.

“Hello. Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Hey, handsome! I’m going to let you take me out to dinner!”

“Well, uh, I was actually fixing to head home. I have papers to grade. But, okay. I do need to eat dinner. Let me get my coat!”

How do I know this woman? Is she one of my students? No, my students don’t look like that. I’ve seen her somewhere before. Do I have amnesia? Was I in an accident? Am I dreaming?

“I like your office, Professor!”

I like your…uh…(glances at breasts)…your red hat!”

“haha! Let’s go!

She has the face of a model! No, an actress. I knew I’ve seen her before! That’s it!! She’s Mad…

“So, Professor. You know I don’t expect you remember my name.”

“Huh? Of course, I do! You’re …”

“…Mae. All the way Mae, they call me.” She winks.

The two of them smile at each other. Meanwhile, somewhere across town, poor Helen is still looking for her red hat.

Every weekday at noon. I’d get to see the glistening, cut tan bodies running on the sand aligning an ocean full of waves. A surfer’s paradise.

I’d cycle on my grandmother’s stationary bike as I watched. Hoping to rip my 12-year-old body up the way Pamela Anderson’s quads looked as they busted out of her one piece.

Honestly, though. I wanted to look like Matt Brody. David Charvet’s character. Perfect abs, full pink lips, and Lucious dark hair with the one strand that hung just right above the eyebrows. Yes, I wanted to look like that!

My favorite stories were the ones that involved plenty of saves with multiple guards diving in the depths of the dark, crystal-clear blue sea. I remember they’d run a few steps into the ocean and then dive into at least a 10-12-foot-deep body of water. Must be Cali oceans, I thought.

I vacationed to Cali, Orange County, that summer. And it’s true. Malibu, Long Beach, Redondo Beach, even Manhattan Beach with the huge waves. I ran straight in with my boogie board in tow, and jumped right in. Not as perfectly as David Hasselhoff would have, or even Newmie. But I did it.

What I didn’t like were the episode where Mitch Buchannon, Hasselhoff, played more of a police officer or detective than a lifeguard. Seriously, what was the guy thinking getting involved in every dangerous situation on the beach.

Anytime a lifeguard rode an ATV, a Jet Ski, or Yasmine Bleeth was involved, it was a good episode. I loved watching them do CPR compressions and making saves. Only problem, I had to give CPR once, and instead of remembering my training I did, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – Breath!” It’s 30 compressions these days.

The saddest episode was the one with the shark attack. Jill went in for a save, but was taken under by what looked like a great white. Somehow, somewhere Mitch Buchannon was able to save her. She ends up in the hospital and looked to be recovering. The next day the guards walk into her hospital room, and she’s gone. Lost too much blood. She died.

I don’t have much else to say about the show other than asking how Mitch Buchannon could afford to buy his son, Hobie, a Ferrari on a lifeguard salary.

And who names their kid, Hobie?

The smell of pure mint winter green,

Dark brown patches touching like sardines.

One pouch on each side.

Fiberglass piercing the gums is what makes it sting.

But it’s a good sting. More of a burn.

The taste of the tar,

Bleeding out of the patches

Careful not to drip down my throat.

Spit.

I miss the buzz.

The feeling of my eyelids slowly closing.

Euphoria.

Serenity.

Then yearning.

I pull both pouches out.

Toss the round can of minty sardines.

Till next time…