Flaking and Cursing


Thanks to Jesus and his lot–and Lot’s Wife–I need some new swears.

If it weren’t for them and all their high-fallutin’ “Biblical history,” I probably would never have heard of the Dead Sea and its abrasive salts.

Which means I wouldn’t use sea salt in my homemade olive oil/cedar essence/sea salt body scrub that I daub on during Almighty Showertime Exfoliation. Instead, I would use pine needles and lentils softened with sap.

And if I’d never heard of Dead Sea salt and therefore didn’t use it in my sacred exfoliation process, then I would be a nicer person with a cleaner vocabulary.

You see, I have a little trouble with the order of my shower agenda; I get wet, add shampoo, slather on the soap, shave, rinse, add conditioner, and then scrub up with saltishness. But Sweet Maria von Trapp, if there’s one thing on the planet that scourges the body with an evil necromancy, it’s salt applied with great vigor to freshly-shaved legs.

To make things worse, this morning I managed to nick one my legs as I shaved. Then, a mere 74 seconds later, having forgotten all about the recently-inflicted Nick (I did that one hungover morning in college, too! But that Nick had blue eyes, little endurance, and lacked the depth of the one on my leg today), I massaged on a hefty palmful of my sea salt scrub, making sure to grind and rasp it into every crevice of my newly-minted nick.

As it turns out, the sins of the razor do not wash away. Instead, they fester and protest, as did my mouth at that moment.

Easily, I came up with a “Frick!”

Thoughtlessly, I shouted out a “Tarnation, you wascally wabbit!”

Off the tip of my tongue tripped a “SHEEE-IT” and a quick “Hell would be a mercy right now!”

But, frankly, all my efforts at verbal expressiveness fell flat compared to the stinging, briery pain that shot through my stubble-free gam as salt met blood.

Thus, I curse–ineffectively–the salt that buoyed the Lamb of God.

Damn it, Jesus. Just damn it.



By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. Paper cuts and finger nail wounds warrant “Frankenberry” here. But sometimes I beat my breast and rail at the heavens, channel Job.

  2. oh, and you asked about the maintenance or eyebrow arches…about 5 minutes 2x a week….it’s more about maintaining 2 distinct eyebrows as opposed to the decidedly eastern european tendency i have toward the unibrow.

  3. um, but lets do salt before shaving… really. and if you need dead sea salt, i’m your girl. yes, i agree with lime…maintain a few times for a minute or so weekly.

    because of la liv’s extreme face touching phobia, she must do this eyebrow thing at home.

  4. Oh, I needed that. I can always expect to come away laughing from your blog (not at you, but with you). At least I hope the Nick in college was more fun than the one on your leg. You could always start swearing in Spanish, now that’s a language with lots of good expletives.

  5. Thanks for the giggle first thing on a Monday morning.

    Have you considered switching the order around a bit? Just a thought. My shower time laziness – the shampoo and/or conditioner left in my after I put it in my hair is the perfect thing to shave with.

  6. I had a Nick once too. But his name was Ryan.

    Homemade exfoliant? Shaving in the winter? I suddenly feel unkempt.

  7. I have never used sea salt in my own homemade olive oil/cedar essence/sea salt body scrub. Mostly because it doesn’t exist.

    I think Joan Van Ark uses Ajax in hers.

  8. I’m pretty sure that would’ve warranted a Christ-on-a-Fookin-Crutch!

    And I agree with the others, salt before razors. This is also a good rule of thumb for the kitchen.

  9. Ouch! I always look as if I’ve decided to die, in what I like to term, ‘the death of a thousand nicks’.
    No salt for me, not while the blood is streaming down my legs in rivulets.

    (But I’ve got a great store of ‘swears’ if you need ’em!)

  10. I am so impressed you make your own scrub.

    A lady I went to for a pedicure admonished me for shaving before the toe and leg treatment. I thought I was saving her from severe stubble and she was saving me from your fate.

  11. Perhaps you should add a final step to your routine. After you shave and scrub with salt, spray some insect repellant on those tender legs. It will make you forget all about the salt.

  12. Yes we could do with some more satisfactory expletives. My kids use ‘barnacles’ and ‘fishpaste’ but somehow they don’t quite hit the mark for me. I wonder why?

  13. Sounds like the salt was already damning you instead of the other way around.

    Isn’t it a wonderful thing: that delay along the nerve that senses the extreme pain and the reaching of the pain signal to the brain, leading to an extra couple of seconds of rubbing the salt into the wound before you realize what you’re doing?


  14. These days, around my house, one can be heard screaming, “SHIRT!” or “FROG!” in place of other, similar-sounding exclamations.

    Then there’s my personal favorite, “SWEET CORN OF CHRIST!”. I don’t know if Christ ate corn, but the vision of Him wearing plaid and a ball cap, sitting astride the Blessed St. John Deere Tractor makes me smile, and that normally difuses whatever pain/anger/frustration caused me to shout in the first place.

  15. Christ-on-a-sidecar! Ouch! I agree that exfoliating should come before shaving. Salt in the wound rates a Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!

  16. This is exactly why I don’t shave my legs. Too painful when I use the salts. And I’m not that creative in thinking of non-swear swear words.

  17. Rubbing salt in wounds has never been my best thing but yes, you do need some shiny new expletives. I would tell you the ones I use in moments of duress but you’d probably never speak to me again.

    I’ve been thinking I should come up with some nice euphemisms so I don’t offend myself anymore.

    Aloe helps all. That would be the last step after toweling dry.

  18. You had me cringing by the end of your post! I can almost imagine the humor in your post but dare not mention it! 😉

    Take care!

  19. We have been watching a LOT of Battlestar Galactica around here lately, and in good sci-fi fashion they have their own swears – “Frick” seems to be an approved, all-purpose one and we have taken to using it with relish (pickle relish, obviously).
    I have a salt scrub that does wonders for the face and neck. Too bad that I also have a raw nose from the Winter Cold That Will Not Die, and I only remember when it’s slathered and burning.
    I’m with you on that one!

  20. Jocelyn, dear,

    Why not a little milk and honey from the Promised Land as a body scrub instead? Throw in some oats and brown sugar and you’re all set.

    But if you insist on the torturous salts, may I suggest a few expletives: (as fast as your tongue can roll)

    Hijo-de-la-gran-puta, me-cago-en-tu madre…

    Throw in some ave-marias and you’ll feel better. Promise.


  21. Sugar, lavender and mint oil. FABU! (And gentle, no need for swears, even though swearing is SO much fun!).


  22. My friend Lopakalolo is teaching me to cuss, gosh dang it. He says I got the vo-freaking-cabulary down pretty good, but I gotta work on my timing, the hell.

    I thought I’d go to the source for cussing lessons, and I opened my bible to where the big J flames the fig tree for not having fruit when he was freaking hungry. Never mind that figs weren’t in season goddamn it. The hell. I didn’t get much useful information, though. Apparently nobody wrote down or remembered what Jesus said. It would have had to be profanity more than cursing though, because what, is he going to say “I curse you all to heck…” It just isn’t the same as a big “GOD damn it…”

    I always secretly liked that little tantrum though. As a kid I thought Jesus was a little immature, and since I noticed, that made me a little more mature.

    Speaking of which…my 18-year-old son got home today. He says fuck and fuckin’ every other word. The other day he lamented the lack of a decent vocabulary when he’s angry. I thought it was pretty good, but to him, the profanity is just an everyday word, so when he’s freaking mad, he has nothing to say. The heck.

    I bet Jesus had that problem. I can see him storming around the temple “you have made my father’s house a den of thieves…” and later thinking, “dang I coulda done better…”

  23. I used to work with a girl with autism who had a tendency for repetition. As such, my usual round of curses had to be replaced by “dear me” and “heavens”. I was the most awkward 22 year old ever.

    (And, why, yes, Britney and I are a mere two weeks or so apart. The similarities are incredulous, yes?)

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