Get your feet wet

On being an anatomical freak

To the naked eye, I look fairly pulled together. Some have even said “attractive,” though those people have never seen me when I realize TiVo’s eaten an episode of “Bridezillas.” And the liquor store is closed.

On the INSIDE, however, there’s a whole lotta weird shit going on, courtesy of my esteemed forebears, whom I’m now realizing could be glimpsed past the Funhouse, behind the candy-apple booth, for one shiny nickel. Behold the evidence:

1) Despite having a head of hair thicker than a dung-caked sheep, I have virtually no body hair. Arms? Dandelions are hairier. Legs? Let’s just say that over the course of one particularly dry spell a few years back, I experimented in putting down the razor. . . and grew a collective SEVEN HAIRS. Over the entire surface of my legs. Over an ENTIRE SUMMER.

Apparently, this can be traced to that teaspoon of swarthy Native American blood I’m rockin’. And in all, I’m gonna call this a freakish perk, as (unlike my cherished firstborn), I’ll never need a waxer on speed-dial. Go ‘Noles!

2) While “Munchausen” may be more fun to say, I can boast a rare and exotic affliction called Von Willebrand’s Disease. In a nutshell, it’s hemophilia for chicks, or: vWD + klutz(me) = Well THAT’S Gonna Bruise! If Michael even inhales too closely to my neck, I’m living the next two weeks with a hickey so white-trash I might as well add a mullet and a baby on each hip. (Oh, wait.)

In short, the fresh blooms of bruises I’m perpetually showcasing? When Michael evidences them to you with, “Hey, it’s not easy to keep a woman in line — am I right?!” he is merely fucking with you.

3) I have low blood pressure. I mean, yay! Whatevs! But I have clinically low blood pressure. Which, on the down side, means something as simple as standing up too fast can result in lightheadedness or a full-on faint.

Up side? I can (and do) eat buckets of salt with zero consequence! (Closes laptop to go inhale a family-size bag of Lay’s.)

4) My uterus is twice the size of yours. Don’t have a uterus, you say? Then my uterus is comparatively Uterzilla, OH GOD THE UTERUS WILL EAT US ALL. . .

5) I sweat way more out of my right pit. (I’d blame this on the ancestors too, but I’m guessing it’s just some sort of vodka overflow valve my body’s been forced to quickly adapt.)

So here’s to you, freak gene evolution! (And thanks for all the fish.)


  • Amanda

    August 18, 2008 at 1:32 pm

    Hi ho Uterzilla!!
    My swarthy genes are quite jealous of your lack of body hair. I went without shaving today & am consequently paying the price by having some very stylish, bottle-brush gams.

    You may be an internal circus freak, but you are still one of my favorite people on the planet!!

  • Tracy

    August 20, 2008 at 10:52 am

    @Em.: True dat, girl. May the aliens return soon to transplant their evil spawn to a more deserving host.

    And I totally left off the thing about being a hot sleeper, and by hot I mean, “Yeah, it’s a shame we’re trapped in this blizzard and all, but trust me, just curl up with me, and also, after I nod off you can totally saute that bacon on my ass” hot. FREAKY.

  • Troy (former asshat)

    September 7, 2008 at 3:01 pm


    I am really sorry to hear about your giant uterus – I think. I don’t think there is any real problem in having a big uterus if it doesn’t hurt and of course if it doesn’t fall out (uterine prolapse). It sucks when a little uterus falls out, but a big one, that is some shit!

    I have been reading your web site for a few weeks now and it is full of sweet posts, but the mega-uterus — I had to respond. It may be capacious but in my medical opinion it seems to be baking buns just fine judging by those beautiful kids.

    Since I received an invite to someone’s Facebook page, responded to it, discovered Facebook pages of tons of former friends and friends of friends, and subsequently posted my own page, I have been trying to find everyone I have ever known via “internets” investigation. I still can’t figure out what Facebook is good for except tooting your own horn loudly and allowing yourself to be rediscovered by a bunch of people you spent the last ten years hiding from. And so…. little click here, another click there and behold…Tracy Glisson, her mega-uterus, tampon smok’in baby, and pretty kick ass website.

    I am glad to see you are well (except for your many congenital and acquired defects). I love the site.

    Ironic as it is, I loved “Californication.” My wife and I joked that Robert Plant in 1974 wasn’t getting laid as frequently Duchovny’s character on that series. Looks like the joke is on me.


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