Mercury has started its biannual phase of retrograde today, so I thought I’d take a minute to warn any readers who may still be out there of possible weirdness and other off-kilter happenings that are expected for the next three weeks.

This message brought to you by the letter “G”

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It’s not a shocker that my post-baby body is completely foreign to me. While I weigh less than I have since the 8th grade, I’m still striped with stretchmarks along the tops and inside of my thighs that are as wide as my pinky (they look EXACTLY like when you have balloons that have been sitting out for a while and have deflated and you push your finger into it and watch that now-stretched part come back and it’s all wrinkled and frail-looking. Yeah, that.) and there’s the whole looser boobage situation I’ve written about, and that’s all stuff that I feel uncomfortable with the recent arrival of, but really was expecting and, for the most part, have come to expect. And even with that, I’ve seen a few wrinkles start forming around my eyes where I giggle myself crinkled, and there have been a couple stray greys here-and-there, but again, this is all parf for the course as far as I’m concerned.  Then yesterday, I was putting on a little eye makeup for my twice-weekly venture out into the real world (thrice if I have to go get groceries) and I saw the most horrifying bodily development to date: Age spots. I’m not talking one or two that could be confused for adorable little freckles. These are light brown smudges around my eyes that are really pronouced in natural light and, since I don’t carry a mirror with me outdoors, I hadn’t yet noticed the intensity of.

Um, really?! I thought age spots were something that you deal with when you’re 35, maybe 30 if you’re a smoker. I only smoke about 6 or 7 evenings a year, I don’t drink anymore and I rarely go out in the sun for long periods of time because I’m usually with a baby and her skin is still supersensitive… Soooo… REALLY?!

I won’t lie here; I panicked a bit. I started experimenting with the tiny amount of [4-year-old] MAC concealer that I squirrel away for emergencies and later I even ducked into a drugstore and splurged on one of those completely ludicrous “anti-aging” serums that cost $20-some for 3 oz. Now I’m so scared that my whole face will be covered in splotches by my 30th birthday that I’m putting away water like it’s air and I’m resigning myself to intensive face masks and lavender oil treatments every week and I might even go so far as to moisturize everysingleday and yeah, I’m tooootally doing the sunscreen-or-a-veil-thing every time I poke my head outdoors and I might even throw an extra $15 out there for an intensive eye-rejuvenator cream… And I flipped out like this for a while until something hit me that made me stop dead in my tracks and sink to my knees with crippling mortification and shame.

Somehow, in the course of an hour, I’d become the living incarnation of the beloathed Sunday comic strip character “Cathy”.

God help us all.

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Speaking of laugh lines: I’ve always been one of those nerds about stand-up comedy whereas not only do I watch it on TV and own a couple DVD’s but I have a massive collection of stand-up comedy media and even historical references and biographies about some of the greats. Honestly, I even have a few bootleg recordings of say, drunken backstage ramblings between comedians on tour together, (like “Patton vs. Alcohol vs. Zach vs. Patton” in which Zach Galifanakis and Patton Oswalt hurl insults at each other in a real drunken tirade without knowing that they’re being recorded. It’s HILARIOUS.) So yeah, I’m obsessively fanatical. Gross.

HOWEVER, yesterday I literally had to pull my car over to the shoulder of Myrtle Beach’s only freeway to settle down because the tears of my convulsive laughter was blocking my vision and impairing my driving. Patton Oswalt has always been one of my favorite unsung heroes of stand-up comedy (Damned Dane Cook and his anti-joke humor! Apparently, even in this post-Tina Fey reality in which we exist, the public still prefers looks over brains.. Who knew?) and I finally got his most recent album “Werewolves and Lollipops” last week after 2 years of putting it off.

Dear reader, I do so enjoy our talks and you know I’d never ever demand anything of you that would hurt our relationship. However, if you ever ever ever should want to do something just for me it is this: Stop what you are doing rightthisminute (which, I assume is reading my ramblings here), go to Amazon.com and purchase “Werewolves and Lollipops”. Right Now. I don’t care if you get one of the cheaper used CD’s (that’s what I always do.) but do it. Listen to it. Please. You won’t regret it.