Tuesday, November 12, 2019


               Defeated By Plastic Packaging and Seeking Therapy

I have a brilliant idea because I am certain there are other shoppers like me that don’t want to risk their fingers slicing and dicing through molded plastic to open a package.  There should be special containers for people who simply want to rip open the product they purchased, no muss no fuss, no bloody hands or more importantly not go mad in the process.  I appreciate the skilled men and women who have studied product design and pride themselves on the ability to find a way to make plastic packages secure with tightly folded and molded corners but I think they do this to make me seek counseling.

Last Sunday morning which is my time to relax, read the paper and calmly drink coffee I decided to put up a shower curtain.  A very simple task I thought. Now irrespective of risking my life by putting a stool in the tub so I could reach the curtain bar I had to open a hermetically sealed package of rings.  It was closed so tightly that I had to get down from my teetering stool to try and open it.  I was ripping and tearing and bending corners but the plastic didn’t budge.  I fought harder to perforate the packaging and at the last minute had to stop myself from a giant dental bill by using my teeth to lift up one corner.  I resorted to screaming and throwing the package against the wall and although it was cathartic nothing came apart.

With tears in my eyes I headed for the kitchen and grabbed a serrated knife.  I madly sawed through the package and a little of my thumb.  Was this a joke played on me by the god of domestic chores, who I was certain was resting, reading and drinking coffee because it was Sunday? I gathered myself together and tried to remember all my years of therapy in order to stop crying. Slowly with sweaty hands and bleeding finger I loosened each curtain hook from the plastic molding.  At last victory was mine and I had eight rings freed from the package.
I threw away the mess I had made, bandaged my bleeding thumb but no longer wanted a shower curtain or even to ever shower again.


Monday, August 5, 2019

INSANITY, Brought to You by Godaddy

Help! I need a Techno Prince Charming to come to my rescue. I'm weak, confused, dazed, and downright numb. My life has been turned upside down because Godaddy wreaked havoc on my web-site. Havoc I say! It wasn't my fault that my web-site now displays a sign that roughly reads..."enter and die or be struck by lightening."  How could this happen to poor little innocent moi at this point in my life?  I already have sleeping issues and now it looks like I may never close my eyes again as I have been up talking to a Godaddy rep every night since last Thursday. I know Joe, Antonio, Cliff, Mic, Nick, and Mike who made promises like knights in shining armor that they would have the heinous signs on my site down within hours.  "Liar liar pants on fire," to the whole bunch.  It sounded simple, easy, no problema; I believed all of them .  I've gone through a box of Kleenex sobbing as I struggle to dial Godaddy for the 12th time in 4 days. I resist the urge to throw my laptop out the window. Bye-bye little crazy making machine I'm moving to a tree house with no internet access.

 Life was so simple before I talked to the evil Ann at Godaddy who never warned me of the dangers that lay ahead.  Ann, you bitch the sin of omission is on you.  Destroy a male caller, not a fellow woman!  Innocently and to save $79.95 I thought I didn't need an SSL certificate on my GailForrest.com web-site and asked her to cancel it.  I actually had no idea what it was , just the price.  According to Joe, Antonio, Mic, Mike, and Cliff she should have told me of the dire consequences of cancelling, but alas no such words. She began my journey into the land of the technologically insane!  Warnings everywhere on my site to stay away or else die a painful techno death.  Thus began my non-stop calls morning, noon, and half the night to Godaddy.  Empty promises of a fix lead to three glasses of wine and a Valium to calm my jangled nerves.  Now I need rehab, not a web-site.

I hate technology and remember lovingly the click clack of my typewriter keys and the messy carbon paper that got all over my hands and clothes. I would scream, crumple it into a ball and throw it across the room because I couldn't line it up with the paper correctly. So simple and weren't those the halcyon days?  I had my little bottle of white-out that I could never apply thinly enough so I had a big blob over my typo. This brings tears of joy to my eyes.  My typewriter was too big to take to Starbucks, but I didn't care. I could manually line up margins and set tabs, no SSL certificate and Goddaddy employees to make a fool of me or drive me to drink at 10:00 a.m. 


Techno Prince, if you're out there, call me.  Or better yet a good therapist.

Thursday, June 6, 2019

Sex Over Sixty - Hot or Not?

I almost caused my friend Dee to die of fright.  I told her all the men I date (over sixty) definitely want to have sex. "No!" she cried out. "I'm sorry hon but men no matter how old never stop thinking about sex."  I think it fills the largest portion of their brain no matter how ancient the gray matter. It appears to be a lifetime preoccupation.  Poor Dee it was like super stressful "Breaking News" and I pictured her stumbling to her knees clutching her chest.  In a weakened voice she mumbled "but what about cuddling, holding hands, and best friends" which I interpreted as delusional, wishful thinking and in a galaxy far far away.  

 It's true cuddling is nice but I have not met a male who would trade sex for a cuddle. I once witnessed a man at least 90  teetering on his bar stool barely able to lift up his head,  winking and crooking his finger at women who walked by.  I mistakenly thought he was having a seizure but the waitress assured me he was fine and sat in that exact spot every night trying to hook up. The ick factor was so great I had to leave or stick pins in my eyes. 

My friend Rick likes to call sex over sixty "senior citizen sex" which by definition is accurate but makes me want to re-claim my virginity.  Which begs my wondering if that's possible after enough sexless years have passed. It's tempting isn't it? Ah  to be a virgin again sounds like a place to hide from old guys with sagging balls. "And yes big guy they sag just like breasts."  You see it's not that women don't want to have sex with men over sixty it's just that the idea doesn't fill our every waking moment, or depending on the man any moment.  It's tough out there in my man land to find a hand to hold, a good cuddle, a new best friend, no less a hot sex life.

Now about virginity...




Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Mother of the Groom Seeks Shopping Therapist

Help me! Do it quick as I am running out of time and endurance. My shopping tolerance meter is dropping as fast as my blood pressure is rising trying to find a dress for my son's wedding. Yes, I am finally Mother of the groom. And thankfully before they would have to wheel me down the aisle or bring me in a nice vase.  Is there appropriate clothing for this role? Dressy but not too dressy so as not to upstage the bride? To me dressing up is high heels with jeans, so I am feeling pressured and also doomed.  My future daughter-in-law sent me a Pinterest board. Is that a party game about the British playwright?  If not, I am confused with nothing to wear.

I have called in Emily and Karen,the big shopping guns on respective coasts to give me the full frontal fashion outlook.  Sadly these two specialists feel the Spring styles are a throw back to the days of "Little House on the Prairie." Blousey, flowery, and gingham are not a good look for anyone unless you actually have a little house on the prairie.  I felt sweaty and noticed a very unattractive rash spreading across my nose as my coping skills had hit the wall.  I had tried to venture forth alone into the vast wasteland of Bloomingdales but briefly lost consciousness when a flowered dress got stuck pulling it over my head.  

Karen and I searched all the on-line sites but zippo that wouldn't make me look like a giant Geranium. With the days drawing closer and my nerves jangled, I stopped in a neighborhood bar for the sustenance wine provides. At that moment the gods of shopping magically appeared and smiled upon my sorry ass.  Next door to the bar was a boutique that seemed to call out to me..."Gail come in asap and bring your high limit VISA card."  As if in a trance I crossed the threshold and sales person Vanessa, like Glenda the Good Witch, listened to my tale of dress desperation  (and also told me what to put on my rash), but more importantly made me try on a dress.  I was resistant remembering what happened at Bloomingdales but she was enthusiastic and looked strong.  Voila perfection!  I found it, no more searching, crying, sweating , and mixing wine with Valium.
The Mother of the Groom dress was mine.