I Know the title of this blog is a bit shocking, but I just finished reading my hometown magazine and I was aghast at the amount of advertisements there were for cosmetic surgery. I almost feel like a big fat failure, due to the all too obvious consequences of my normal aging process. Not to mention, I am down to my last feminine wile. Please don't ask me which one, I have forgotten and misplaced it as well.
When, as a society, did we place so much more importance in how something or someone looks rather than who they are? Maybe it has always been this way, but I believe we're way over the edge. Gone are the days of successful ageing, or being revered for being rich with experience. The elderly are no longer turned to for their wisdom or worldliness, but sadly reduced to a 20% discount and considered a second-class citizen.
Want to know who I blame? Car manufacturers! That's who! Notice how the names they give cars reflect the way society behaves? We started out with the model T and the Model A. Simple, timeless, and absolutely no underlying message. Then came the nouns. Viva, Previa, Nova, Probe, symbolizing reaching out. Animal names became popular. Mustang, Colt, Durango, Falcon, Impala, Cougar. GRRRRIP the road! Go for the jugular! Names morphed into a sort of lifestyle. Land Rover, Dakota, Yukon, Tahoe, Tacoma, projecting adventure and ambiance. The biggest culprits are, Infiniti, 5th Avenue and Park Avenue, whether you're playing Monopoly or driving a car, the message is the same...larger than life, rich, and beautiful.
I would like to recommend some no-nonsense, down-to-earth names for cars that actually tell it like it is. No sugar coating, just the unvarnished truth and then let's just see where it takes us. Hopefully, our addiction to outer appearances will begin to diminish and we can relax into our comfortable wrinkled bodies and instead, work to expand our spirit.
How about:
Ford Derelict – The main function of this utility vehicle is to drive you to drink. Navigation is performed solely on Bott dots, as tires collect cognizant and constant feedback from the lines on the road. Deluxe interior features include, thirty-three cup holders with automatic lid capabilities, to avoid violating open container laws, driver’s sun visor is equipped with detachable eye patch, to eliminate double vision when inebriated, dual function windshield wiper fluid/beverage storage, with toggle switch, to wash windows or serve your favorite beverage to the central cup holder directly from the fluid well. Lush, leather interior, is available in champagne beige or burgundy red.
Mid-life Chrysler – Youthful design and enough power to take you from sixty to hero in six point five seconds. Equipped with a younger, fitter, replica of your spouse or, if you prefer, a current rock or movie starlet. Complete with soft-focus mirrors behind the sun visors and also on rear view mirror to blur those pesky wrinkles. Satellite navigation is pre-programmed with younger crowd night spots. On-board slang dictionary is constantly updated to include the latest terminology. Inset moisturizing and anti-wrinkle lotion dispensers in each door and bucket seats with Mesotherapy to eliminate cellulite. Handy overhead botox dispenser will keep frown lines from forming due to road rage. (we should have at least one model to maintain our vanity).
Dyslexis SL – Whatever car you currently drive, this model is the exact opposite. Left is right and right is left. Or is it the other way around? As a bonus, this model, will automatically and without notification, backtrack to correct directional miscalculations. Speedometer begins at 120 mph and ends at zero. Luxury signage transposer, will photograph and flip the image of any road sign in as little as five seconds. A lavish treat for any driver suffering from Dysleiax…Dsylexi…Dyslexia.
Oldsmobile Bulimia – Don’t let Consumer Reports frighten you away from this vehicle. Once a portion of all fluids have been purged from the engine, this little roadster has very few rivals. Suspended fluid pan protects garage and driveway surfaces from stains and corrosion. Flushed fluids are fully recyclable. This model is light on its wheels and sport tuned. Actual mileage may vary.
Dodge A.D.D. – The perfect vehicle for, on-the-go, inner city driving. Optimal performance limited to short trips. If longer excursions are necessary, the battery cables can be re-routed to stun the engine at five minute intervals to prompt responsiveness. Stereo scans available music stations every 10 to 20 seconds and is programmed to jump from news-to-news broadcasts every 15 seconds. Turning signals and windshield wipers tend to activate before being initiated. Caution: This model is known to have trouble executing turns and tends to rev the engine without notice.
Just my 2 cents.
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Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Appliance Whisperer
I couldn’t sleep last night. Two hours of tossing and turning compelled me to remove myself from my sleeping platform and shuffle into the kitchen for a glass of water or perhaps a chunky peanut butter and banana sandwich on lightly grilled Turkish flatbread.
I was almost through the living room when I thought I heard conversation. I stopped to listen, half expecting to hear the familiar voices of our neighbors telling each other where to go and where they could stick unpleasant things, when all of a sudden I realized that the voices I was hearing were coming from the kitchen. My thoughts were racing which I believe may be the cause of my insomnia in the first place. Thousands of daily stragglers stumble in at ungodly hours hitting both walls of my temporal lobe. Who could sleep through that?
I inched closer to the kitchen and listened to a strange rasping. It was sort of a Mezzo-soprano droning that sent chills up my spine. Its comments were perceptible now. “If she opens my door one more time and sticks her butt-ugly, no-make-up face, morning hair, looking like a troll with an updo, in one more time I think I’ll blow my compressor.” I held my breath. My ears felt as if they were distended as I strained to hear more. “I don’t think she has aired out my crisper in months! There are mystery veggies oozing in the back and growing God-knows-what kind of bacteria. It offends me.”
“I hear you,” a deeper voice replied. “My hood is greasier than a used car lot and my burner knobs are cracked. Really burns me up.”
A shrill voice piped up, “I’ve seen the same stupid orange Fiesta dishware for years and my spray arms are exhausted from fending off week-old dried food chunks. I’m losing teeth and rust is eating its way through my intake valve as we speak.”
My hand flew up over my mouth. Dear God, was it me they were complaining about?
“Just you wait and see what happens to you!” the soprano voice said.
“I’m new, never been used,” a younger voice said cheerfully.
There was a knowing chuckle. “Yeah, we were too once but look at us now. One day you’ll be struggling to melt a piece a cheese over one of her Tuscan chicken crock pot sandwiches and she will just toss you in the garbage.”
“Crossbreed!” a barratone voice bellowed. “What the heck are you anyway? A toaster or an oven? She used to come to me when she wanted a hot meal. Now I have cobwebs on my rack and dust bunnies in my broiler. I might get a once-a-year job when she shoves in an oversize fowl. Talk about feeling useless!”
“Can’t we all just get along?” came from the direction of the blender.
“Easy for you to say,” the refrigerator chimed in. “You and your sharp blades and tight base gasket. Didn’t you get here at the same time as toaster-oven? New, never been used, fourteen speed, 450 watts of ice crushing power!”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should be ostracized,” the blender whined.
“I thought Oster was your name,” said the stove. “I guess that would make you Ostercized.”
A burst of laughter filled the kitchen. I took a step forward to get closer. The floor squeaked. Suddenly the laughter stopped and everything went silent.
I almost did a half in-half-out back flip with a ½ twist in tuck position when my husband tapped me on the shoulder and asked what I was doing.
“I’m trying to hear what the appliances are saying about me but they are non-responsive.”
He gave me a quirky look and turned around and went back to bed.
I was almost through the living room when I thought I heard conversation. I stopped to listen, half expecting to hear the familiar voices of our neighbors telling each other where to go and where they could stick unpleasant things, when all of a sudden I realized that the voices I was hearing were coming from the kitchen. My thoughts were racing which I believe may be the cause of my insomnia in the first place. Thousands of daily stragglers stumble in at ungodly hours hitting both walls of my temporal lobe. Who could sleep through that?
I inched closer to the kitchen and listened to a strange rasping. It was sort of a Mezzo-soprano droning that sent chills up my spine. Its comments were perceptible now. “If she opens my door one more time and sticks her butt-ugly, no-make-up face, morning hair, looking like a troll with an updo, in one more time I think I’ll blow my compressor.” I held my breath. My ears felt as if they were distended as I strained to hear more. “I don’t think she has aired out my crisper in months! There are mystery veggies oozing in the back and growing God-knows-what kind of bacteria. It offends me.”
“I hear you,” a deeper voice replied. “My hood is greasier than a used car lot and my burner knobs are cracked. Really burns me up.”
A shrill voice piped up, “I’ve seen the same stupid orange Fiesta dishware for years and my spray arms are exhausted from fending off week-old dried food chunks. I’m losing teeth and rust is eating its way through my intake valve as we speak.”
My hand flew up over my mouth. Dear God, was it me they were complaining about?
“Just you wait and see what happens to you!” the soprano voice said.
“I’m new, never been used,” a younger voice said cheerfully.
There was a knowing chuckle. “Yeah, we were too once but look at us now. One day you’ll be struggling to melt a piece a cheese over one of her Tuscan chicken crock pot sandwiches and she will just toss you in the garbage.”
“Crossbreed!” a barratone voice bellowed. “What the heck are you anyway? A toaster or an oven? She used to come to me when she wanted a hot meal. Now I have cobwebs on my rack and dust bunnies in my broiler. I might get a once-a-year job when she shoves in an oversize fowl. Talk about feeling useless!”
“Can’t we all just get along?” came from the direction of the blender.
“Easy for you to say,” the refrigerator chimed in. “You and your sharp blades and tight base gasket. Didn’t you get here at the same time as toaster-oven? New, never been used, fourteen speed, 450 watts of ice crushing power!”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should be ostracized,” the blender whined.
“I thought Oster was your name,” said the stove. “I guess that would make you Ostercized.”
A burst of laughter filled the kitchen. I took a step forward to get closer. The floor squeaked. Suddenly the laughter stopped and everything went silent.
I almost did a half in-half-out back flip with a ½ twist in tuck position when my husband tapped me on the shoulder and asked what I was doing.
“I’m trying to hear what the appliances are saying about me but they are non-responsive.”
He gave me a quirky look and turned around and went back to bed.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Laughirmations
People who know me can attest to the fact that I am an avid fan of multi-tasking. However, I am most drawn to the tasks that can be performed while I am sleeping. You have heard about them, ‘earn money while you sleep’, ‘become smarter while you sleep’ and my most often tried, ‘lose weight while you sleep’. Of course, I have not mastered any of these techniques but that doesn’t mean I am not open to the idea that some vigorous sawing of logs can’t manifest a desired goal.
I recently came across the title of an article, ‘You can become gorgeous in your sleep’. This thrilling promise intrigued me and I was compelled to read some of the suggested methods but before I tried them I researched the aging process. Big mistake.
I found that our skin is composed of two main layers, the epidermis and the dermis. Both of these diminish in aging and the dermis thins by about twenty percent. The blood supply drops off with time and wrinkles develop. That coupled with the loss of collagen, a cement-like protein that holds cells together is what causes appearance of aging. What I found is that I am literally coming unglued. This gives the ‘War on Aging’ movement a whole new meaning for me even although I consider myself a lover not a fighter. The underlying message here is the older I get, the better I was.
The difference between my earlier attempts at sleep goals and the one I am attempting now is in the preparation. Getting richer, smarter or thinner involved affirmations whispered to me while I slumbered. Obviously, my subconscious is a much more resistant opponent than I suspected. I think it will take a lot more than encouraging whispers for me to become rich, smart or thin.
The first suggestion for waking up gorgeous was to sleep on your back. Now I don’t know about you but after I fall asleep I don’t know what position I assume although I have at times woke up in the duck and cover position that I learned in elementary school. I would have to be resourceful to insure I stayed on my back all night. I asked my husband to straddle a chair over me once I found the most comfortable position on my back with my head slightly elevated. Wedging myself between the legs of a kitchen chair was the only way I could be sure to maintain this corpse-like posture.
The second suggestion was to use a humidifier in the bedroom but between my husband’s resonate snore and the constant hissing of the humidifier, my dreams involved snakes sucking madly on straws long after their beverage was gone. I woke to my own screams, sat up rigid as a tombstone and bumped my forehead against the wooden dowels on the back of the chair. My husband was happy to hear I decided to discontinue these two techniques. Besides, I was tired of waking up like I had just entered a wet-tee shirt contest.
I washed my hair and combed a deep conditioner into it. I put on a shower cap as suggested so I wouldn’t ruin my sheets. Then I diligently applied Frownies (patches that adhere to your skin while you sleep to prevent your face from making the facial expressions that cause wrinkles)and afterward applied a thick ultra-hydrating moisturizer. Next I glopped petroleum jelly on my eyelashes (to prevent them from becoming brittle and falling out), hands and feet. I wore gloves and socks to seal in the moisturizer. Next I applied several layers of medicated lip balm the color of old lace and slipped in my teeth whitening trays.
Words cannot describe the expression on my husband’s face as I slipped into bed next to him. So I won’t try. When I turned out my light, the only thing I said was, “No more waking up to split ends, yellow teeth, a pale, pasty complexion or droopy bags under my eyes.”
His response was, “This is how you’re going to wake up gorgeous?”
I awoke early the next morning with the shower cap over my face as I gasped for air. The teeth whitening trays were lying neatly on my husband’s chest. My socks and gloves were on the end of the bed and the sheets were mottled with grease stains. I must have rubbed the petroleum jelly into my eyes while I slept because it took hours for the blurriness to go away. It was when I looked into the mirror that I realized that I am gorgeous. The petroleum jelly had provided a sort of Joan Collins filter to my naked eye and all the lines and wrinkles on my face had vanished! I had discovered the secret! This is the reason God planned for our eyesight to diminish…so we can’t see what happens to our bodies. I have limited my beauty regimen to one thing. Petroleum jelly. Now we’re all gorgeous. If only I could convince everyone to use it.
The last thing I’m going to say is, “younger people, why don’t you mind your own damn business!” You’ll get there too one day. The next time I see one of you jogging past my house with your three-hundred dollar running shoes and hand-held dumbbells I’m going to pick up a rock the size of a fibroid tumor and holler, “Serpentine, runner… serpentine!”
I recently came across the title of an article, ‘You can become gorgeous in your sleep’. This thrilling promise intrigued me and I was compelled to read some of the suggested methods but before I tried them I researched the aging process. Big mistake.
I found that our skin is composed of two main layers, the epidermis and the dermis. Both of these diminish in aging and the dermis thins by about twenty percent. The blood supply drops off with time and wrinkles develop. That coupled with the loss of collagen, a cement-like protein that holds cells together is what causes appearance of aging. What I found is that I am literally coming unglued. This gives the ‘War on Aging’ movement a whole new meaning for me even although I consider myself a lover not a fighter. The underlying message here is the older I get, the better I was.
The difference between my earlier attempts at sleep goals and the one I am attempting now is in the preparation. Getting richer, smarter or thinner involved affirmations whispered to me while I slumbered. Obviously, my subconscious is a much more resistant opponent than I suspected. I think it will take a lot more than encouraging whispers for me to become rich, smart or thin.
The first suggestion for waking up gorgeous was to sleep on your back. Now I don’t know about you but after I fall asleep I don’t know what position I assume although I have at times woke up in the duck and cover position that I learned in elementary school. I would have to be resourceful to insure I stayed on my back all night. I asked my husband to straddle a chair over me once I found the most comfortable position on my back with my head slightly elevated. Wedging myself between the legs of a kitchen chair was the only way I could be sure to maintain this corpse-like posture.
The second suggestion was to use a humidifier in the bedroom but between my husband’s resonate snore and the constant hissing of the humidifier, my dreams involved snakes sucking madly on straws long after their beverage was gone. I woke to my own screams, sat up rigid as a tombstone and bumped my forehead against the wooden dowels on the back of the chair. My husband was happy to hear I decided to discontinue these two techniques. Besides, I was tired of waking up like I had just entered a wet-tee shirt contest.
I washed my hair and combed a deep conditioner into it. I put on a shower cap as suggested so I wouldn’t ruin my sheets. Then I diligently applied Frownies (patches that adhere to your skin while you sleep to prevent your face from making the facial expressions that cause wrinkles)and afterward applied a thick ultra-hydrating moisturizer. Next I glopped petroleum jelly on my eyelashes (to prevent them from becoming brittle and falling out), hands and feet. I wore gloves and socks to seal in the moisturizer. Next I applied several layers of medicated lip balm the color of old lace and slipped in my teeth whitening trays.
Words cannot describe the expression on my husband’s face as I slipped into bed next to him. So I won’t try. When I turned out my light, the only thing I said was, “No more waking up to split ends, yellow teeth, a pale, pasty complexion or droopy bags under my eyes.”
His response was, “This is how you’re going to wake up gorgeous?”
I awoke early the next morning with the shower cap over my face as I gasped for air. The teeth whitening trays were lying neatly on my husband’s chest. My socks and gloves were on the end of the bed and the sheets were mottled with grease stains. I must have rubbed the petroleum jelly into my eyes while I slept because it took hours for the blurriness to go away. It was when I looked into the mirror that I realized that I am gorgeous. The petroleum jelly had provided a sort of Joan Collins filter to my naked eye and all the lines and wrinkles on my face had vanished! I had discovered the secret! This is the reason God planned for our eyesight to diminish…so we can’t see what happens to our bodies. I have limited my beauty regimen to one thing. Petroleum jelly. Now we’re all gorgeous. If only I could convince everyone to use it.
The last thing I’m going to say is, “younger people, why don’t you mind your own damn business!” You’ll get there too one day. The next time I see one of you jogging past my house with your three-hundred dollar running shoes and hand-held dumbbells I’m going to pick up a rock the size of a fibroid tumor and holler, “Serpentine, runner… serpentine!”
Monday, May 30, 2011
Six Weeks
Just think, in one eighth of the gestation time it took to build me, I can fall in love with myself. That is what the ad promised me. The course would give me everything I need to create the outcome of loving myself and receive help and guidance from Mother Mary
who is channeled by an unknown seeker. By signing up for the course, I would be giving Mother Mary permission to suggest actions to take that would profoundly affect the way I feel about myself. Loving myself, would be the result of taking the actions Mother Mary would recommend each week and help me find my inner compass. I paid $50.00.
Week one: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was just about to slice off a second hunk of chocolate peanut butter pie. Enveloped in a moment of clarity, I set the server down.
Week two: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was just about to flip off the driver who wheeled into the parking space I had my eye on. Nodding in agreement, I exercised restraint of tongue and finger.
Week three: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was considering mentioning to an acquaintance in the nicest way possible that her bracelet, the size of Alaska, was competing with her rocket ship earrings. I suddenly realized the rattling of her baubles were drowning out the negative comments she was sharing about a mutual acquaintance.
Week four: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I refrained from beating an annoying salesman with a display rack. I took a deep breath, smiled and wished him a nice day.
Week five: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” Instead of yelling at the neighbor’s dog pooping in my yard, I gently picked him up, bagged the poop and set both on their porch. No, I did not light the bag.
Week Six: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I looked up from my laptop and gazed around at the many writers sitting with their own laptops at the local Starbucks racking their brains to touch their reader’s soul with the perfect product review and ignoring their fellow coffee drinkers. Instead of releasing a primal scream, I asked the woman at the next table if I could get her opinion on her favorite restaurant for an article I was writing.
As I completed this course, I realized that I never need be ambassador of the world, custodian of fashion, minister of the road, or overseer of bad manners again. I need only watch my own side of the street by monitoring my own behavior, my own diet, my own clothes and simply treat others as I wish to be treated.
Who would have thought that this two-thousand-year-old direction would be the very thing to turn a hard-headed, fix-you-upper into a keep her eyes on her own paper kind of woman?
I can’t say I am in love with myself but I did give me a wink as I put on my make-up this morning. I’m toying with the idea of buying me a new outfit and next week I think I’m gonna take me to dinner. I got the skinny on a great restaurant at Starbucks.
who is channeled by an unknown seeker. By signing up for the course, I would be giving Mother Mary permission to suggest actions to take that would profoundly affect the way I feel about myself. Loving myself, would be the result of taking the actions Mother Mary would recommend each week and help me find my inner compass. I paid $50.00. Week one: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was just about to slice off a second hunk of chocolate peanut butter pie. Enveloped in a moment of clarity, I set the server down.
Week two: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was just about to flip off the driver who wheeled into the parking space I had my eye on. Nodding in agreement, I exercised restraint of tongue and finger.
Week three: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I was considering mentioning to an acquaintance in the nicest way possible that her bracelet, the size of Alaska, was competing with her rocket ship earrings. I suddenly realized the rattling of her baubles were drowning out the negative comments she was sharing about a mutual acquaintance.
Week four: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I refrained from beating an annoying salesman with a display rack. I took a deep breath, smiled and wished him a nice day.
Week five: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” Instead of yelling at the neighbor’s dog pooping in my yard, I gently picked him up, bagged the poop and set both on their porch. No, I did not light the bag.
Week Six: Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom…”Let it be.” I looked up from my laptop and gazed around at the many writers sitting with their own laptops at the local Starbucks racking their brains to touch their reader’s soul with the perfect product review and ignoring their fellow coffee drinkers. Instead of releasing a primal scream, I asked the woman at the next table if I could get her opinion on her favorite restaurant for an article I was writing.
As I completed this course, I realized that I never need be ambassador of the world, custodian of fashion, minister of the road, or overseer of bad manners again. I need only watch my own side of the street by monitoring my own behavior, my own diet, my own clothes and simply treat others as I wish to be treated.
Who would have thought that this two-thousand-year-old direction would be the very thing to turn a hard-headed, fix-you-upper into a keep her eyes on her own paper kind of woman?
I can’t say I am in love with myself but I did give me a wink as I put on my make-up this morning. I’m toying with the idea of buying me a new outfit and next week I think I’m gonna take me to dinner. I got the skinny on a great restaurant at Starbucks.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
Good Morning, Joel,
It's been a while since I posted a blog and I remember how much you said you enjoyed reading them. Today is Mother's Day and I felt your presence this morning so this one's for you.
Gabrielle texted me and wanted my recipe for French Toast. She's making a breakfast in bed for her mom. She's grown into such a beautiful young lady. Age ten going on twenty. She's sensitive, loving, talented and extremely bright. You would be so proud of her.
I want you to know how much I miss you and if you were still here, I would remind you of my favorite times of being your mother, like rocking you in our chair until you fell asleep and feeling your heart beat against mine. When you were two, you loved pretending that you were talking on the phone which is why the extension was always off the hook in the master bedroom.
The day you went off to kindergarten and I thought you would be scared but you weren't, you were excited. You didn't cry, I did. You always shared whatever you had, wondered why some people were mean, loved animals and seemed happier when earned something than when it was given to you.
You said lots of things that made me laugh. "I just stuck my tongue out at God." (Age 5) "Was the world in black and white when you were a kid?" (Age 7)You watched too many old movies. "When you turn 40, do you stop having sex and listen to the WAVE?" (Age 9) "Why do they always ask that trick question when you interview for a job? Why do you want to work here?" (Age 16).
I miss taking you to Woodcraft Rangers, to the library to work on the reports you forgot were due the next day, to Disneyland, Magic Mountain, the snow, Reseda park to feed the ducks, the beach, and to play on the metal Robot at Santa Clarita Park. I miss going to 31 flavors and I remember one particular day when you asked why people were laughing at you (age 6). You had vanilla ice cream from ear to ear. I told you not to pay attention, they just didn't know how to eat ice cream. Of course, you always wanted vanilla ice cream no matter what the flavor of the day was. I order it myself now and think of you while I eat it.
I miss the sleep overs with your friends and waking up on Sunday mornings with sleeping bags plopped all over the living room, not even knowing who was in each one. I miss making you cream of wheat and watch you blazing a trail with your spoon so the butter would run down in a spiral. I miss watching you play video games on Saturday morning, skate boarding and riding your bike. I miss scrambling for money because the ice cream man was coming. I miss open house at school and your sixth grade graduation when I embarrassed you by crying so hard that I snorted when your class sang, Wind Beneath My Wings.
I miss hearing you laugh, sing your favorite songs when you thought I wasn't listening and not being embarrassed to be seen with me when you were in your teens. Thanks for taking me to see Ghost among many other movies. I loved it just as you said I would and I loved you more when we ran into some of your friends at the theater. It's not easy for a sixteen year old to tell his friends he wanted his mom to see the movie.
I cried each time you left to go to the prom. Three times! You never believed me when I said you were a hunk. I loved going with you to the tux shop and the time you chose the beige tux with the black lapels and I thought you would get criticized for being odd man out but all your friends were blown away and they loved it. I cried hard at your high school graduation but you were too far away to hear me to get embarrassed.
I was proud that you went to college and graduated with honors while you were working and supporting a wife and baby. I cried again. And again. I was proud each time you told me you were promoted and got a raise. I was happy to see you with your daughter. She's a lot like you.
If you were here today, I would tell you that life is hard, some folks will always be mean, ice cream is better when it's all over your face and there will be times when people let you down although it isn't because they don't love you. I would tell you I love you and never stop. Never stop. Never Stop.
You are always a blessing, never a loss. I thank God for giving me the privilege of being your mother and I am flattered that he trusted me with you. You were loaned to me for a time and I will always treasure that. I know you are really God's kid.
Blessings to you and yours and I look forward to the day when you will escort me into the next dimension.
I love you to the moon and back.
Momma
It's been a while since I posted a blog and I remember how much you said you enjoyed reading them. Today is Mother's Day and I felt your presence this morning so this one's for you.
Gabrielle texted me and wanted my recipe for French Toast. She's making a breakfast in bed for her mom. She's grown into such a beautiful young lady. Age ten going on twenty. She's sensitive, loving, talented and extremely bright. You would be so proud of her.
I want you to know how much I miss you and if you were still here, I would remind you of my favorite times of being your mother, like rocking you in our chair until you fell asleep and feeling your heart beat against mine. When you were two, you loved pretending that you were talking on the phone which is why the extension was always off the hook in the master bedroom.
The day you went off to kindergarten and I thought you would be scared but you weren't, you were excited. You didn't cry, I did. You always shared whatever you had, wondered why some people were mean, loved animals and seemed happier when earned something than when it was given to you.
You said lots of things that made me laugh. "I just stuck my tongue out at God." (Age 5) "Was the world in black and white when you were a kid?" (Age 7)You watched too many old movies. "When you turn 40, do you stop having sex and listen to the WAVE?" (Age 9) "Why do they always ask that trick question when you interview for a job? Why do you want to work here?" (Age 16).
I miss taking you to Woodcraft Rangers, to the library to work on the reports you forgot were due the next day, to Disneyland, Magic Mountain, the snow, Reseda park to feed the ducks, the beach, and to play on the metal Robot at Santa Clarita Park. I miss going to 31 flavors and I remember one particular day when you asked why people were laughing at you (age 6). You had vanilla ice cream from ear to ear. I told you not to pay attention, they just didn't know how to eat ice cream. Of course, you always wanted vanilla ice cream no matter what the flavor of the day was. I order it myself now and think of you while I eat it.
I miss the sleep overs with your friends and waking up on Sunday mornings with sleeping bags plopped all over the living room, not even knowing who was in each one. I miss making you cream of wheat and watch you blazing a trail with your spoon so the butter would run down in a spiral. I miss watching you play video games on Saturday morning, skate boarding and riding your bike. I miss scrambling for money because the ice cream man was coming. I miss open house at school and your sixth grade graduation when I embarrassed you by crying so hard that I snorted when your class sang, Wind Beneath My Wings.
I miss hearing you laugh, sing your favorite songs when you thought I wasn't listening and not being embarrassed to be seen with me when you were in your teens. Thanks for taking me to see Ghost among many other movies. I loved it just as you said I would and I loved you more when we ran into some of your friends at the theater. It's not easy for a sixteen year old to tell his friends he wanted his mom to see the movie.
I cried each time you left to go to the prom. Three times! You never believed me when I said you were a hunk. I loved going with you to the tux shop and the time you chose the beige tux with the black lapels and I thought you would get criticized for being odd man out but all your friends were blown away and they loved it. I cried hard at your high school graduation but you were too far away to hear me to get embarrassed.
I was proud that you went to college and graduated with honors while you were working and supporting a wife and baby. I cried again. And again. I was proud each time you told me you were promoted and got a raise. I was happy to see you with your daughter. She's a lot like you.
If you were here today, I would tell you that life is hard, some folks will always be mean, ice cream is better when it's all over your face and there will be times when people let you down although it isn't because they don't love you. I would tell you I love you and never stop. Never stop. Never Stop.
You are always a blessing, never a loss. I thank God for giving me the privilege of being your mother and I am flattered that he trusted me with you. You were loaned to me for a time and I will always treasure that. I know you are really God's kid.
Blessings to you and yours and I look forward to the day when you will escort me into the next dimension.
I love you to the moon and back.
Momma
Saturday, January 22, 2011
FUN WITH TEXT AND PAIN
Wow, the internet was buzzing with freaky news yesterday. Two articles were especially interesting. First, a woman at the Berkshire mall fell into the indoor fountain while texting and walking
. Unfortunately, the security guard who posted the video on You Tube
was fired. I imagine this unforgivable breach of security may lead to a career change. On a lighter note, I posted the video on my wall, as we know a video is worth a thousand words.
The second article that caught my eye was about a 44-year-old woman in New Zealand who suffered a small stroke caused by a hickey
. She went to the emergency room after she found that she couldn’t move her left arm while she was watching TV.
Who would think that a love bite
could be so dangerous? It seems that if someone sucks your neck close to a major artery there is a chance of bruising the vessel and creating a blood clot which is what happened in this case. The clot traveled to the woman’s heart and caused the minor stroke 
which left her partially paralyzed. She was treated with an anticoagulant and the clot disappeared within a week. Whew!
Doctors poured through medical literature to find an example of this happening in the past and they found nothing.
This makes me wonder…why can’t I write things like this?!! This is good stuff. Two women are finding fame and fortune because of measureless stupidity. I’ve done stupid things but they never get filmed. I’ve seen stupid things that will never get reported.
There’s definitely something to be said for being in the right place at the right time. Remarkably, in these cases, bad news is good news. The texter will most likely sue the Berkshire mall and win her case. Indoor fountains
will be permanently banned. Hickey lady will begin to tour high schools with her warning about the dangers of neck sucking.
I only have two questions. What the hell is a 44 year old woman doing with a hickey? And why do you have to move your left arm when you’re watching TV?...OMG, unless of course her amorous lover was sitting there.
. Unfortunately, the security guard who posted the video on You Tube was fired. I imagine this unforgivable breach of security may lead to a career change. On a lighter note, I posted the video on my wall, as we know a video is worth a thousand words. The second article that caught my eye was about a 44-year-old woman in New Zealand who suffered a small stroke caused by a hickey
. She went to the emergency room after she found that she couldn’t move her left arm while she was watching TV. Who would think that a love bite
could be so dangerous? It seems that if someone sucks your neck close to a major artery there is a chance of bruising the vessel and creating a blood clot which is what happened in this case. The clot traveled to the woman’s heart and caused the minor stroke which left her partially paralyzed. She was treated with an anticoagulant and the clot disappeared within a week. Whew!Doctors poured through medical literature to find an example of this happening in the past and they found nothing.
This makes me wonder…why can’t I write things like this?!! This is good stuff. Two women are finding fame and fortune because of measureless stupidity. I’ve done stupid things but they never get filmed. I’ve seen stupid things that will never get reported.
There’s definitely something to be said for being in the right place at the right time. Remarkably, in these cases, bad news is good news. The texter will most likely sue the Berkshire mall and win her case. Indoor fountains
will be permanently banned. Hickey lady will begin to tour high schools with her warning about the dangers of neck sucking. I only have two questions. What the hell is a 44 year old woman doing with a hickey? And why do you have to move your left arm when you’re watching TV?...OMG, unless of course her amorous lover was sitting there.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Current Events
Happy New Year!
I logged onto my computer this morning and a listing under local news caught my eye. It was titled, Botox
: guilty of crimes against beauty? As I read the article, I experienced a strange feeling that I had read it before. I have to admit that I have had many of these types of encounters and have even gone so far as to consider myself borderline psychic. Of course, that was before I read the date of the article, Thursday, 23 September 2004, and realized that I really had read it before.
Are we running out of news? Why would this article be posted under current events? Are they trying to make me think I am crazy? Hah! No challenge there. I was prompted to scan my ancient document files and found a very short story I wrote in 2004, I’m assuming this was the article that inspired, Botox and the Three Dares. Hope you like it.
Liz peeled the paper backing from her name tag and stifled a sigh. "Marla’s such a twit," she whispered to Ruth while pressing the tag over her right breast. “I can’t believe she’s doing this.”
Ruth looked around the room anxiously. "Well, why did you agree to come if you are so dead set against the idea?"
The corner of Liz’s mouth tipped up. "You wouldn't want to go anywhere without your voice of reason would you?"
"Oh stop it. You're just mad because she thought of it first."
"You've gotta be kidding, I'm not going to let some quack shoot me up with Botulism." Liz nodded in the doctor’s direction.
"Well, personally I don't think that getting rid of a few laugh lines is all that bad."
Liz huffed out a breath."Laugh lines? How would Marla get laugh lines? She's been married to Barry for fifteen years."
“She was just released from rehab
you know”, Ruth whispered. She got hooked on pain meds after her breast augmentation
. Barry said it got really bad, she was flirting with death.”
Liz smirked. “I heard it was more of a lap dance. See where all this vanity takes you?”
"Look, just talk to him, he's coming this way,” Ruth said. "Hello Dr. Barton." She smiled sweetly and shook his hand.
"Ladies. Enjoying the party?" His glance drifted down to their feet and back again. "Any questions I might answer?"
Liz reached for a glass of wine from the table. "How many forehead furrows have you conquered today?"
Dr. Barton looked at her solemnly. "Not everyone is a good candidate for treatment."
Ruth leaned close to Dr. Barton as she pointed to an infinitesimal discoloration on the bridge of her nose.
"Do you know what this might be?"
He examined the area briefly and smiled. "My dear, it is nothing more than a small footprint left by time, of course the foot size will grow and won’t be satisfied until it has trampled away all evidence of your youth.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder.
“Come to my office.”
"Where is that? In the bedroom?" Liz said thrusting her face close to his.
"Liz! Dr. Barton is trying to save us from premature ageing.”
Liz rolled her eyes. "Oh good then, pass the hors d'oeuvres and consent forms."
"Tell me Dr. B, how exactly does the Botox work?" Ruth asked.
Dr. Barton pushed back his lab coat and drew a gold watch from his vest. He pressed his thumb on the catch and snapped the cover open to stare blindly at its face.
"When Botox is injected into the muscles surrounding the eyes, for instance, those muscles can't scrunch up for about six months. If an area of the body can't move, it can't wrinkle." He returned the watch to his pocket.
"Sounds great if you're playing poker, it's so hard to maintain that numb look with a winning hand."
Ruth looked concerned. "So is there a chance that something could go wrong?"
"Well of course it could!" Liz chimed in. "Your muscles will be paralyzed! I mean doesn't Brad complain enough about you being non-responsive in bed? How do you think he will like you staring back at him with a blank expression? Permanently!"
Now, Liz," Dr. Barton put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "May I call you Liz?"
Liz winged an eyebrow up.
"The injectable form of botulinum
toxin is perfectly safe.” He smiled broadly and
held up a swearing palm. ”There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Now, may I take your picture with my UV camera?"
Liz brushed past Dr. Barton. "You want another drink?" She glanced back at Ruth.
"Don't mind her Dr. B, you can take my picture." Ruth grinned.
"Just fill out the form and wait for me in the next room I'll be right with you."
Dr. Barton strolled over to Liz. "Sure you don't want to join your friend?"
"Am I the only one concerned here?" She waved her hand indicating the eagerness in the room.
Dr. Barton raked a hand through his thinning hair. "Nonsense, nothing to be concerned about, everyone is doing it."
"Excuse me for being skeptical doctor but I believe anything that has the ability to attack my muscles poses as a severe threat." Liz downed her wine and reached for another glass. "I mean if it were injected in my chest, it would have a profound impact on my breathing wouldn't it?"
He lightly touched her cheekbone with his pinky finger. "Yes, but it isn't your chest…it's those pesky little lines around your eyes."
"Dr. B, will you be injecting me soon?" Ruth rudely rattled the form next to his ear.
Marla sauntered over with a rather annoyed looking chap in tow.
"Liz…Ruth, so glad you could come to my Bo party." She had a fierce grip on the gentleman's arm. "I'd like you to meet Hunter."
"Well hello, Hunter." Liz smiled and extended her hand, but Marla jerked him aside before he could reach it.
"Hunter is an actor between pants, ah parts." Marla said. "He came to offer me emotional support. I despise needles…don't I Hunter?" She threw him a pout.
Hunter smiled wryly. "In spite of appearances," he reached out and took Liz’s hand. "Marla is not a ventriloquist and I am no dummy." Liz caught the defiant tone in his voice as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “As a matter of fact, I just landed a part in one of the daytime operas. I’ll be playing the part of a transient who blows into a small town and falls in love with a co-dependent debutant obsessed with giving him a make over.”
“Oh? Which soap would that be?” Dr. Barton asked.
Hunter looked at Dr. Barton and gave Liz’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Women Betrayed.”
Dr. Barton nodded knowingly. “Yes, I inject the whole cast of that one.”
"Hunter dear, would you mind refilling my glass?" Marla shoved her empty goblet at him.
"Happy to." He took the glass, made a slight bow and gave Liz a spectacular smile.
Dr. Barton nodded politely and then drifted away to begin treatments.
Marla sneered. "So Liz, are you still in retail?"
"Yes, Marla, I still work at the boutique in the mall."
"I just love that red dress you're wearing, in fact I love it more each time I see it." Marla's collagen filled lips quivered before forming a smile.
"Thanks."
Marla turned to Ruth. "Tell me Ruthie, is Brad still looking for work?"
"I'm afraid so, I really shouldn't spend the money for the injections but,” her voice trailed off as she twirled a lock of her hair and stared at the tops of her shoes.
"Well, he must be coming up to the last of the unemployment checks," Marla winked. "Then again, you must be ever so tired of staring at those unsightly lines in the mirror. Thank God for Dr. Barton, huh?"
Marla clasped Liz's forearm and spoke softly. "You know Liz, I have the name of another dermatologist. He works wonders with enlarged pores, I'll give you his number before you leave."
"You're too thoughtful Marla.”
"Oh, excuse me will you? Hunter is trying to get my attention." Marla scurried off toward the dining room.
Liz’s eyes followed Marla and she slowly shook her head. "Should I have offered her a toothpick?"
"She did kind of make a meal of us didn't she?"
"Picked our bones clean." Liz said through gritted teeth. She switched her attention to her new acquaintance and smiled. "What do you think of Hunter?"
"God, he's really cute and he keeps looking over at you,” Ruth said with a giggle.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind running my fingers through that thick dark hair of his."
"Liz! What would Marla say?"
"Who cares? She's married and I'm single…all is fair in love and pores.”
"Whatever Liz, I'm going to get my injections now. Are you sure you won't join me?" Ruth gave her an encouraging nod.
"How old do you think Hunter is?" Liz asked.
Ruth leaned forward and squinted to see his features. "I would guess he's a good ten years younger than us."
Liz turned and snagged one of the consent forms from the table and regarded it carefully. She held it up and as she tore it neatly in half when her gaze met Hunter’s.
“You know Ruth, I have a hunch that not too long from now, I’m going to be feeling about ten years younger.”
I logged onto my computer this morning and a listing under local news caught my eye. It was titled, Botox
: guilty of crimes against beauty? As I read the article, I experienced a strange feeling that I had read it before. I have to admit that I have had many of these types of encounters and have even gone so far as to consider myself borderline psychic. Of course, that was before I read the date of the article, Thursday, 23 September 2004, and realized that I really had read it before. Are we running out of news? Why would this article be posted under current events? Are they trying to make me think I am crazy? Hah! No challenge there. I was prompted to scan my ancient document files and found a very short story I wrote in 2004, I’m assuming this was the article that inspired, Botox and the Three Dares. Hope you like it.
Liz peeled the paper backing from her name tag and stifled a sigh. "Marla’s such a twit," she whispered to Ruth while pressing the tag over her right breast. “I can’t believe she’s doing this.”
Ruth looked around the room anxiously. "Well, why did you agree to come if you are so dead set against the idea?"
The corner of Liz’s mouth tipped up. "You wouldn't want to go anywhere without your voice of reason would you?"
"Oh stop it. You're just mad because she thought of it first."
"You've gotta be kidding, I'm not going to let some quack shoot me up with Botulism." Liz nodded in the doctor’s direction.
"Well, personally I don't think that getting rid of a few laugh lines is all that bad."
Liz huffed out a breath."Laugh lines? How would Marla get laugh lines? She's been married to Barry for fifteen years."
“She was just released from rehab
you know”, Ruth whispered. She got hooked on pain meds after her breast augmentation. Barry said it got really bad, she was flirting with death.” Liz smirked. “I heard it was more of a lap dance. See where all this vanity takes you?”
"Look, just talk to him, he's coming this way,” Ruth said. "Hello Dr. Barton." She smiled sweetly and shook his hand.
"Ladies. Enjoying the party?" His glance drifted down to their feet and back again. "Any questions I might answer?"
Liz reached for a glass of wine from the table. "How many forehead furrows have you conquered today?"
Dr. Barton looked at her solemnly. "Not everyone is a good candidate for treatment."
Ruth leaned close to Dr. Barton as she pointed to an infinitesimal discoloration on the bridge of her nose.
"Do you know what this might be?"
He examined the area briefly and smiled. "My dear, it is nothing more than a small footprint left by time, of course the foot size will grow and won’t be satisfied until it has trampled away all evidence of your youth.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder.
“Come to my office.”
"Where is that? In the bedroom?" Liz said thrusting her face close to his.
"Liz! Dr. Barton is trying to save us from premature ageing.”
Liz rolled her eyes. "Oh good then, pass the hors d'oeuvres and consent forms."
"Tell me Dr. B, how exactly does the Botox work?" Ruth asked.
Dr. Barton pushed back his lab coat and drew a gold watch from his vest. He pressed his thumb on the catch and snapped the cover open to stare blindly at its face.
"When Botox is injected into the muscles surrounding the eyes, for instance, those muscles can't scrunch up for about six months. If an area of the body can't move, it can't wrinkle." He returned the watch to his pocket.
"Sounds great if you're playing poker, it's so hard to maintain that numb look with a winning hand."
Ruth looked concerned. "So is there a chance that something could go wrong?"
"Well of course it could!" Liz chimed in. "Your muscles will be paralyzed! I mean doesn't Brad complain enough about you being non-responsive in bed? How do you think he will like you staring back at him with a blank expression? Permanently!"
Now, Liz," Dr. Barton put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "May I call you Liz?"
Liz winged an eyebrow up.
"The injectable form of botulinum
toxin is perfectly safe.” He smiled broadly andheld up a swearing palm. ”There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Now, may I take your picture with my UV camera?"
Liz brushed past Dr. Barton. "You want another drink?" She glanced back at Ruth.
"Don't mind her Dr. B, you can take my picture." Ruth grinned.
"Just fill out the form and wait for me in the next room I'll be right with you."
Dr. Barton strolled over to Liz. "Sure you don't want to join your friend?"
"Am I the only one concerned here?" She waved her hand indicating the eagerness in the room.
Dr. Barton raked a hand through his thinning hair. "Nonsense, nothing to be concerned about, everyone is doing it."
"Excuse me for being skeptical doctor but I believe anything that has the ability to attack my muscles poses as a severe threat." Liz downed her wine and reached for another glass. "I mean if it were injected in my chest, it would have a profound impact on my breathing wouldn't it?"
He lightly touched her cheekbone with his pinky finger. "Yes, but it isn't your chest…it's those pesky little lines around your eyes."
"Dr. B, will you be injecting me soon?" Ruth rudely rattled the form next to his ear.
Marla sauntered over with a rather annoyed looking chap in tow.
"Liz…Ruth, so glad you could come to my Bo party." She had a fierce grip on the gentleman's arm. "I'd like you to meet Hunter."
"Well hello, Hunter." Liz smiled and extended her hand, but Marla jerked him aside before he could reach it.
"Hunter is an actor between pants, ah parts." Marla said. "He came to offer me emotional support. I despise needles…don't I Hunter?" She threw him a pout.
Hunter smiled wryly. "In spite of appearances," he reached out and took Liz’s hand. "Marla is not a ventriloquist and I am no dummy." Liz caught the defiant tone in his voice as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “As a matter of fact, I just landed a part in one of the daytime operas. I’ll be playing the part of a transient who blows into a small town and falls in love with a co-dependent debutant obsessed with giving him a make over.”
“Oh? Which soap would that be?” Dr. Barton asked.
Hunter looked at Dr. Barton and gave Liz’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Women Betrayed.”
Dr. Barton nodded knowingly. “Yes, I inject the whole cast of that one.”
"Hunter dear, would you mind refilling my glass?" Marla shoved her empty goblet at him.
"Happy to." He took the glass, made a slight bow and gave Liz a spectacular smile.
Dr. Barton nodded politely and then drifted away to begin treatments.
Marla sneered. "So Liz, are you still in retail?"
"Yes, Marla, I still work at the boutique in the mall."
"I just love that red dress you're wearing, in fact I love it more each time I see it." Marla's collagen filled lips quivered before forming a smile.
"Thanks."
Marla turned to Ruth. "Tell me Ruthie, is Brad still looking for work?"
"I'm afraid so, I really shouldn't spend the money for the injections but,” her voice trailed off as she twirled a lock of her hair and stared at the tops of her shoes.
"Well, he must be coming up to the last of the unemployment checks," Marla winked. "Then again, you must be ever so tired of staring at those unsightly lines in the mirror. Thank God for Dr. Barton, huh?"
Marla clasped Liz's forearm and spoke softly. "You know Liz, I have the name of another dermatologist. He works wonders with enlarged pores, I'll give you his number before you leave."
"You're too thoughtful Marla.”
"Oh, excuse me will you? Hunter is trying to get my attention." Marla scurried off toward the dining room.
Liz’s eyes followed Marla and she slowly shook her head. "Should I have offered her a toothpick?"
"She did kind of make a meal of us didn't she?"
"Picked our bones clean." Liz said through gritted teeth. She switched her attention to her new acquaintance and smiled. "What do you think of Hunter?"
"God, he's really cute and he keeps looking over at you,” Ruth said with a giggle.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind running my fingers through that thick dark hair of his."
"Liz! What would Marla say?"
"Who cares? She's married and I'm single…all is fair in love and pores.”
"Whatever Liz, I'm going to get my injections now. Are you sure you won't join me?" Ruth gave her an encouraging nod.
"How old do you think Hunter is?" Liz asked.
Ruth leaned forward and squinted to see his features. "I would guess he's a good ten years younger than us."
Liz turned and snagged one of the consent forms from the table and regarded it carefully. She held it up and as she tore it neatly in half when her gaze met Hunter’s.
“You know Ruth, I have a hunch that not too long from now, I’m going to be feeling about ten years younger.”
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