No Cooking Required

I have no New Year's resolutions. Oh wait, I do. I resolve to have sex in the kitchen. Does anyone really do this? It's always mentioned in the conversation about "places you've had sex other than the bedroom", but then everyone shakes their head "no". It's not the normal type of New Year's resolution, but I don't need to lose weight so what's left? Every daytime tv show is pushing weight loss in 2009; I wish they would make other suggestions. There are a few people in America who aren't fat. A bit of reverse discrimination, wouldn't you say? Matt Lauer, you're not overweight, so find another subject ok? Oprah, you do whatever you want. Dr. Phil, you might want to put in some gym time after the lst.

Let's see, in 2008 I could be nicer, but then my friends would think I was sick and dying. It's better to remain a little cranky and neurotic for their sake; I wouldn't want to worry anyone. I could whine less; but whhhhhy? I could spend more time in the grocery store . Again I have to ask myself why, when I've perfected the one meal at a time, lifestyle. I could drink less red wine but that would just be stupid. I could go to the movies more, but that isn't really a resolution. I could get a colonoscopy. It is a popular event in my peer group, actually more than going to a movie. Imagine how cranky and whiney I could get before I drink all that horrid liquid. I could actually be dragged crying and screaming all the way to the procedure; I'm liking this, it could be my first real resolution. Maybe 2009 is the year to kick the "All My Children" addiction. Thirty years is a long time to have the Erica Kane needle in my vein, but then I think about how much we've been through together and we've started to color and wear our hair the same way. I'm not sure I can leave her yet. I do think however, it's too late to catch up in the husband race. I've fallen way too far behind and even though she's not getting older, I am. Sadly I'll never even catch Liz.

It looks like I have one tentative and one for sure resolution. I'm iffy on the colonoscopy; oh I know I should and it costs about the same as a movie with a large popcorn and diet Coke, so maybe. Sex in the kitchen doesn't require shopping or cooking so I think that's a definite for 2009.

It's a man's world, if you're a man

Why is it men don't need advice about women? I get endless letters about men and dating from Christian Carter, the internet "catch him and keep him" guru. Are we the sadder sex? The more pathetic? The dumbest gender? Is there not one man in America who is wondering why he can't get a date? As far as I can gather from Christian's letters every single man is dating. EVERY SINGLE SOLITARY MAN is busy. Give me a freakin' break. The biggest problem they seem to have is who to choose? This is simply not possible. According to his letters I better listen up! If I didn't get the engagement ring I was expecting at Christmas, it was a flaw in me. If I thought I was on a great date and the guy never called again it was something I said. If I get the, "I want to see other women" talk, it was definitely because I did something to scare off my man. Why, why , why is it always the woman Christian?

We're flawed? And lonely? And desperate for a man? Legions of flawed, lonely, desperate women and not ONE flawed, lonely, desperate man? This is mind boggling. But women don't despair, Christian will give you four things that make a man want you! Yea!! He will tell you how to meet the right man and get him to need you. Yea!! How to change things back to how it was when you first started dating. Yea!! How to inspire affection from your man. Yea!! How to push the right buttons so a man really opens up to you. Yea!! And last but certainly not least, how to "speak his language." Double Yea!! Isn't this great? I'm so close to being really happy.

Men are lucky. They're sitting back waiting for us "advice letter" readers to behave correctly. And this is the best part, when we strictly adhere to the instructions we can finally have a man of our own. Anyone still interested? It doesn't sound that appealing afterall, does it? Besides, I was never good at following directions. My friend Tim once told me all men really think about is "sex and food" so for God's sake how complicated can they be? Christian, my best advice to you.... teach men how to catch and keep women instead.

Little bo beep and her sleep deprived sheep

WANTED! and small REWARD to any two people that can get a good night's sleep on a queen size bed. There might be a short pop quiz as I don't believe it's possible to wake up cognizant or able to do simple addition. The bed is just too damn small. And don't protest with the "cozy" argument as I think what you really mean is cramped. Cuddling is sweet , but face it, three minutes is the maximum cuddle time and then it's "every man for himself". Staking out territory involves skill and speed. I like to sprawl around looking for the exact spot to claim. Oh, but wait, I can't move, I can't stretch out, in fact I can't go anywhere. I'm in the upper left hand corner, my right arm is hanging off the side turning blue from lack of circulation and I'm rapidly loosing feeling in my left leg. That sweet person with whom I was just snuggling needs to move over or be shot. Admitedly, I'm a bit of the "Princess and the Pea" type, as a good night's sleep involves hundreds of stars to be in perfect alignment. I can't survive without my two almost featherless pillows I've had since I was a teenager scrunched under my head. The sheets must have a thread count of more than 340, and yes, I know if they're 339. Anything that ticks, hums, or vibrates must be stifled or smashed to smithereens. And then there's snoring. I'd like to meet the person who can sleep through the night with a snorer. My girlfriend told me she crams pillows over her husband's head to muffle the noise. I think a hammer is the better solution. It's clear I'm going to end up alone.

A king size bed is the only hope for two people to survive. It's like your own planet; room to move about freely , vote on reasonable borders, meet in the middle for drinks , sex, the 3 minute cuddle, or math. But you queen size lovers when you're done counting sheep and alert enough, feel free to come collect your reward.

Money walks and talks

It's official, I've decided to give up preaching to my friend Sam's current gal pals! And all those in his future. Trust me there will be more. If you're one of them and think sex will keep him home and off dating sites...I'm sorry....or get over it. His, "We just met for coffee and then had sex" tales never end. All I ask is, "So what's new?" and he nonchantly remarks, "Oh, did I tell you about S--?" And he starts in about another innocent first coffee date with its routine naked ending. Does this happen to everyone? Come on men if you're out there and reading this let me know. Or if you did let me know, fill me in again as obviously I'm stupid. Sam is very charming and cute especially for his age (don't worry darlin' I won't reveal numbers), but what's going on here?

I don't think he's throwing a pile of cash down on a table as incentive. And btw my ex-hubby used to do this along with his Harvard degree, kind of a little pep talk. Let's face it money has a language all it's own and there are no difficult verbs, or confusing nouns. All you have to do is remember the color. I wear alot of black but green does go with everything doesn't it? Rich men know the money trick . Why else would a twenty-something super model type walk down the street holding the arm of a short paunchy sixty five year old and look so damn happy? I'm in my fifties and the sixty five year old guy isn't really giving me that Mona Lisa feeling. I'm thinking, "Oh my God, I can't be old enough to be dating this guy, can I? Isn't he my father's age? Ick, he even looks like my father."
Meanwhile the leggy model is happily listening to the jingling of the keys to her new Mercedes SL500 that are in the pocket of her sheared mink coat. Hey babe if you can have sex with this guy, more power to you. Please don't tell me about it however. And hey older rich guy, enjoy it while you can, but save a little cash for age appropriate wife two, because this vision is temporary; there's the young hot country club tennis pro in her future.

So are Sam's girls thinking he's a cash cow? He does have some good ecoutrement: Porsche, fancy condo, Hermes ties, second home , big blue eyes to match his blue blood blue blazer. I can see the gravatational pull. But, ladies, ladies, ladies, don't line up for the Mercedes or mink. I've looked in the crystal ball and there are no big ticket items in your future. He's a bit of a trickster himself. Merry Christmas.

AHHHHHHHH reality

He's back! Dr. Ahmet Oz is budding into my life again with good advice for my well being. Where does Oprah find these cheery advice givers? Personally I'd prefer if some day she had a confirmed existentialist sitting across from her and telling the audience how we're all living in a dark void. There, doesn't that clear things up immediately? Being concerned about good health and happiness really isn't necessary after that. So much simpler, and less confusing isn't it? In the meantime Dr. Oz is offering, "Stress Management 101" for 2008. For God's sake I have two more weeks to go in 07 , let me feel stress in peace. And why is he always in surgical scrubs; it seems he's on Oprah more than he's in the operating room. Get some street clothes Doc.

MINDFULNESS , mindfulness, mindfulness, is the key to a stress free life says the good doctor. He says I should live in the moment without judgement. What moment are we talking about? The moment I discovered someone backed into my car and cracked my bumper in half? Should I take a deep breath and feel the love? Should I embrace my $250 deductable because the person didn't leave a note claiming responsibility? I'm in the moment of seeing my bumper hanging off my car and I'm mindful of what a freaking pain in the ass it's going to be to get it fixed. AHHHHH, doc this feels great.

PAY ATTENTION to your mind and body, notice things in the present he says. I rush to the mirror and notice I look like crap; my eyes are bloodshot and my roots desperately need color. My skin is dry and itchy, and I slump to the floor from fatigue. In my new attentive state on the floor I notice it needs cleaning as does the tub. This immediately depresses me, so I know I'm in the present. You're right doc I'm at peace.

ACKNOWLEDGE PRESENT MOMENT reality as it actually is, he urges. I run to the window, yep, there's snow, ice, no sun, and the thermometer reads 22 degrees. It hits me, it's really winter. I suddenly notice I'm shivering, pasty white and wearing flip flops. Oh my God, it's only December, I have Jan, Feb, March, and possibly April of this reality. I feel the blood drain from my face , my breathing become shallow , and an urge to jump in my car and drive to Florida. Wait! I can't do that I have to get the bumper fixed. You're right doc I'm one with the universe.

I think I'm going to forget about a stress free life as "Stress Management 101" has made me anxious. Perhaps mindful reality is too stressful for me and I'll just wait for Oprah to have on an existentialist.

Cranky Christmas greetings

Baah Humbug! There I got it out. It's been roiling up inside of me for weeks and furthermore I feel as a Jew it's perfectly acceptable language. After all only eight days in December are designated to me and quite honestly it's hard to keep track of when they start and end. On top of that I don't have the necessary items to actually celebrate Hanukah, or is it spelled "Chanukah"? For starters I don't have a menorah (again the spelling is just impossible), a dradel, the special menorah candles ( birthday candles do not fit in the holders, and fyi I don't have those either), or whatever the celebratory food is and I'm certain it's not matzo (sp?). See how easy it is to get the holiday crankiness going? And forget the eight gifts. How do you get a present a day to another Jew ? This can be a logistical nightmare. My nephew had a Hanukah party and invited "some local Jews" he said. Maybe this is a solution, just post a sign in the neighborhood and see who shows up. He's a clever boy. I for one decided I needed to get some rest and do some breathing exercises before the pressure of "Secret Santa" weeks began.

This Christmas game was a complete mystery to me until I moved my horse to a friendly stable where it was a holiday ritual amongst the boarders. I'm miffed by rituals . I'm not sure they're ever really fun, just habitual. I needed a stocking for my horse's stall door just to get started. Ouch. I'm stumped already. I want to make it clear that my flimsy cheap stocking in no way reflects how I feel about my horse. Secret Santa starts weeks before Christmas and with each passing day my stress level escalates. Now granted we have "guidelines" but guidelines are for loosers aren't they?! We randomly draw from a hat the name of the person whose Secret Santa we will be. There's no trading allowed or even whispering about who you've picked. It's a very hush hush operation even to the point of sneaking presents into stockings so as not to reveal your Santa identity. A bit Watergate, Deep Throat-esque. The gift pace is furious for me , approximately two or three small gifts a week which culminates in a Christmas party where we reveal our Santaness and hand over a final big gift. Whew! I for one would like my Secret Santa to place a vial of Xanax in my stocking right away.

For the three weeks leading up to the party I'm a wreck. Oh my God, it's Thursday and I don't have small gifts! I'm frantic and run up and down the aisles of Dominicks . Is Pepto Bismol inappropriate? It's a nice pink. How about a ham? It's good and not something you always buy for yourself. I dash through the mall in and out of stores, flinging small items into shopping baskets. I can't get behind, I'm a competitor, I have to get ahead. I'm going to buy for next year and the year after. Maybe even the year after that. I'm exhausted, but there's no stopping me. I have so many small gifts in my car I can't see the road.

Tomorrow is the party, I feel relief is on the horizon. No more shopping, no more sneaking around, no more thoughts of Santa suicide. I have my big gift wrapped and ready to hand over (it's not a ham). I survived rash free, no nervous twitching, no nail biting to speak of, my eyes are a little bloodshot ,but regardless I pretty much lived up to the Secret Santa code of ethics. I am however, reconsidering Hanukah.

Diamonds are always a girl's best friend and pizza

I have some great gift suggestions this holiday season: cushion cut and blue sapphire diamond necklace set in platinum $49,999.99, emerald cut pink sapphire and diamond ring regularly $16,365 now $11,699.99 , round brilliant diamond ring 3.88 ctw $59,999.00 (delivery free), men's designer cologne $41.99 or 40 rolls of ultra soft Charmin for $6.99. What's so cool is you can buy all these stocking stuffers at the same store. How could that be? How is that possible? Diamonds and toilet paper in the same store, maybe the same aisle, tossed into the same shopping cart? It's like a dream come true isn't it?!?!? No more schlepping to Tiffanys , Van Cleef and Arpels, Graff, or Cartier, and then a mad dash to Dominicks. Think of the gas money you can save, to say nothing of wear and tear on your car. Personally I like the idea of not having to re-park, really a big stress reliever. I'm not sure gift wrapping is free however, although delivery is thrown in on any item over $50,000 it appears. I'm wondering if I could be happy with an unwrapped cushion cut blue sapphire and diamond necklace? Isn't the real fun openning the box? It would also be hard to re-gift because I'm a terrible wrapper.

For you serious shoppers I might be leery of the emerald cut pink sapphire and diamond ring that's been reduced from $16,365 to the suspisciously low price of $11,699.99 . I mean who wants to think their ring wasn't full retail? I for one would be sad and disappointed. I also wonder just who would be delivering the $59,999.00 round brilliant diamond ring? Will it be arriving in a Yellow Cab, Fed-ex truck, limousine, or sub-contracted out to a local Domino's Pizza driver? I don't care how expensive the ring, wouldn't it loose something if it came with a pizza you didn't like? At that point I'd just forget Christmas altogether.

I think for the man in my life I like the idea of the men's designer cologne for $41.99 and the 40 roles of Ultra soft Charmin for $6.99 as a gift combo. It could be tricky wrapping and involve skills with a scissors and tape I simply don't possess. This makes me pray they wrap for free. I may spring for the pizza delivery however as I think it is a really nice option to the big Christmas turkey or ham.

Where can you find all these great gift items you're wondering? Costco. Surprised?! The question is, can a woman be happy with diamonds from Costco? What if they're gift wrapped? Or come with a pizza?

Post script hysteria

Dr Phil wake up! I'm handing this issue off to you because I can't take the stories anymore. I'm nauseous and anxious. As I mentioned in my previous blog, it's your job not mine to pound some sense into the heads of women internet daters. So Doc get off your ass and get these women to stop having sex on the first , second or without sounding like Mother Superior, ( btw I would look terrible in her clothes as anything with such a high collar makes my neck look wrinkled and I really like short skirts better), third date. I can hardly believe I'm saying this again but I'm begging you to get to know someone. These men are strangers! And I've stopped caring about how horny anyone is, get a "jackrabbit". They come in a lovely candy apple red and you can order them on-line as easily as you can "wink" at someone on Match.com.

Why am I still on this soap box? I am getting dizzy and oxygen deprived being up here so long but no sooner had I finished writing about my friend Sam ("The horror, the horror") and his dating travels, than he called and told me how his week was going. Keep track here.... he checked in with me on Friday. To keep the story straight, it was only five days since his weekend with the woman who invited him to stay in her house. Now she thinks he's her boyfriend. Great. The day before he left on that trip however, he had a date with another internet woman . "We went dancing, it was fun. She was a good dancer", Sam mentions very nonchalantly. Big fucking deal girls, fun is nice but it's doesn't mean an engagement ring is forthcoming. Remember your "jack rabbit" can be fun also. He came home from his road trip and immediately went out for pizza with the dance date woman again. This was date two. She invited him over to her house after cheese and pepperoni and proceeded to have sex with him. Great. "She was nice, I didn't like her house though". "Didn't you just meet her?", I exclaim. I'm getting very tired of exclaiming! "Yea, last Friday". It was Wednesday. THURSDAY, he met a brand new woman for a drink, a simple innocent drink. It's so easy to get up when you're finished and say "good-bye, thanks". For God's sake a two year old can say "bye-bye". Even if lightening bolts and sparks are flying around and you're dizzy with desire, and you can hardly breathe, choke out "goodnight" NOT, "would you like to come over." He went home with her and no sooner than they walked in the door she started taking off her clothes. Huh? Dr. Phil why is she doing this? Remember Mr. Stranger Danger from childhood? So Boyscout Sam said he wouldn't have sex without a condom. Kudos to someone. He didn't have one because it was just a drink remember? She asked, "have you had sex recently?" PAY ATTENTION NOW, he didn't say "yes, last night" he said "no". She then shrugged she didn't care about a condom. Who else is feeling queesy, yet able to scream? Well sorry woman with no clothes on, no sex without protection. He left.

And that was his week. Nothing special really, but we did get a giggle about his escapades. Are you pissed off I'm not lecturing him? Should I have screamed, "you're a slut", hung up the phone, outraged for all women ? He's the one getting the offers. I'm the one hearing the stories and shocked he's getting so many. My advice to women internet daters is to hang in there, take some time window shopping for a man, get to know your "jackrabbit", maybe it's all you really need until a good offer comes YOUR way.

"The horror, the horror"

LISTEN UP SINGLE WOMEN!, especially internet daters. Dr. Phil this includes you, because this is your job , not mine. You're getting endorsement money and I'm just getting nervous and hoarse from screaming in disbelief. I'm going to cut to the chase here ....why are you having sex on the first date???? And why are you inviting strange men to get on an airplane to come visit and stay in your house? What about hotels? Motels? Tents? Come on girls, are you freaking nuts?!!?!? I know for a fact this is true because I hear it from my male friends who are flying around the country to meet you. "You mean you stayed in her house? She just let you, a total stranger off the internet, stay with her?" And my friend Sam answered, "yea". This is where the hoarse voice comes from because I start screaming in horror.

Dr. Phil I simply cannot believe women are this desperate to find a man. They're nice I agree and it sucks to be alone , and sure we all get horney .... but to put yourself in harm's way to solve the, "I want a boyfriend" problem is just bad, bad judgement. And don't give me the lame ass argument that you'd been writing back and forth for days, or weeks or even months. I'm sure Ted Bundy was literate. Oh, you say you'd been talking endlessly on the phone and he was so great and understanding and you had so much in common. I'm sure Ted Bundy was a lovely conversationalist. Now of course I'm using the extreme example, but am I? How do you know? Why, why, would you take this risk? Hey I'm not innocent here, I've had men fly to meet me, but I've never offered my house as an option to a hotel. First of all, if they can't afford a hotel, who wants them anyway? It's a sign you'd be the money earner . Take a pass on this guy immediately. Second of all and really most importantly it implies you're having sex and this is my big "no no". How are you going to feel when he spends the weekend screwing you and then leaves and never calls. I dare you to say "fine".

If you just said "fine" you're lying. Back to Sam and his thousands of air miles. He no sooner leaves after a weekend of fun and sex and his cell phone starts to ring, ring, ring. It's the woman who now assumes she's the new girlfriend. Very bad thinking and planning. Then come the messages on his Blackberry, "why aren't you calling back? " The phone rings again and again and the, "I thought you liked me" emails start. Sure darlin' you were ok, but you're not really his type . He's back on Match.com and I'm still back at "I can't believe she let you stay at her house." I'm not letting men off the hook either. You need to get to know these women before you jump in bed with them. I can''t tell you how many of Sam's little weekend vacays have ended up with women tracking him down for weeks/months and one for over a year via phone and email. Does that sound like fun? Was the sex worth it? Do you like to spend your day screening calls?

I have never ever thought of myself as prudish or old fashioned and it's hard to believe I'm going to say this but before you end up an episode on CSI: Miami, New York, Chicago, Louisville etc.,...get to know someone! If you can make a date on the internet you can make a hotel reservation.

Chicken Little

Now that I know there were never weapons of mass destruction I can breathe a big sigh of relief. I also feel far more relaxed thinking our borders are secured from an invading Iraqi army. Thanks Mr. President, whew that was close! I need to talk about the real terror I feel however. I do believe there are terrorists among us. It's Orwellian in nature; they are lurking, waiting , watching ,busy preparing . I never feel ready or armed for what's coming. I'm always ambushed, caught off guard, innocently going about my day and then there's a voice on the radio or face on my tv screen and I want to scream, "no, no, don't say it, go away, leave me alone. Don't interrupt usually scheduled programming. Stop!."

I have fear of weathermen. They are my terrorists. In Chicago it seems not a day goes by without a weather "orange" level alert. SNOW! SNOW is coming! It's coming from Minnesota and it's white, very white, big, dangerous, slippery, deep, there have been deaths, pile-ups, and airport shutdowns. Thousands of flights have been cancelled already. You can't go anywhere, you'll be stuck for days, weeks, maybe the rest of your life. If you have a compromised immune system it'll be even worse. Huh? Oh my God , I need a Xanax, I need a hat. I hate hats, I look terrible in hats. I need mittens, I can never find pure wool mittens . They don't make them anymore without fingers inside. Mittens don't have fingers !!! I need dozens of pairs in case I loose one. I need boots. I have black silk heels, black patent leather wedgies with a little sexy ankle strap, I have ballet flats, I have pink flip-flops, I have red suede really high heels, I don't have boots. I want the Christian Leboutin sandals I saw in the Neiman's catalogue not ugly mini snow plows on my feet. I need sweaters, dozens of layers of sweaters for the frigid cold the terrorists say is coming. Coming fast, too fast to put on all the sweaters. How did Heidi do it? I need a parka. No wait ,I need two parkas. I can't wear an everyday parka with my cocktail dresses. Dolce or Gabanna, can you make me a party parka? I wonder if my mom saved my snow pants. I used to wear them under my skirts. Of course boys didn't like me. I think I can safely assume Heidi never had sex. I need food in the refrigerator in case the snow piles up in front of my door and I'm pushing and pounding on it and no one hears me for days and I can't get out! Scratch that image I live in an apartment on the 4th floor. But I don't have food. How long can I live on ice cubes and four bottles of red wine? I do have a nice Chianti. Oh wait, back behind the condiments I see a left-over turkey wing. I resist my urge to eat it right away.

Sky blue

One of my male friends wanted me to write about women's eyebrows. I'm a little confused but here goes, "Women, what's up with your eyebrows?" I asked him to explain what it was about their eyebrows that was so disturbing. He seemed unusually upset. I'm still confused after hearing his concerns. "Have you noticed how far apart they seem? And the color is weird. It doesn't go with their hair. And what's with the shapes?" I wasn't getting the point. I'm a really really good nose job detector, I can spot one at 50 feet, but I admit my eyebrow radar is weak. The only response I could conjur up was, "are they like the color "Burnt Umber"? I think I just wanted to use "Burnt Umber" in a sentence. I loved my giant crayon box. I also loved "Sky Blue", but I'm certain no woman over the age of 22 would dare. Bob Costas, during one of the Olympics he was moderating had hair that was Burnt Umber. Bob, no ones hair should ever be that color. As for eyebrows, my friend liked my crayon comparison and agreed it was accurate. Unfortunately, he wouldn't reveal the names of the women with this disturbing phenomanon so my sleuthing would have to start from scratch..

I decided I needed a second opinion before I ventured out to pursue the eyebrow issue , afterall it's winter ,and perhaps this could wait until spring. I queried another male friend. He knew exactly what I was talking about and blurted out, "It's the botox". He's color blind so the crayon questionning wasn't relevent. "Everyone's forehead is filled with Botox and nothing moves". Can I assume this explains why eyebrows look so far apart? And they must look tens of miles apart if men are noticing. Are you listening to this Botox gals? How have I missed these immobilized foreheads? I'm an expert at detecting face lifts, clueless about breast implants, as I mentioned earlier, a veritable Jedi Master at determining a nose job, and yet have a very low forehead IQ.

I must say this subject made me a little self conscious. I looked in the mirror and admit my eyebrows are slightly asymetrical. This is due to my impatience with the tweezer to say nothing of how dull it is. As for color, they are the original dark brown and therefore do not match my newly minted blondish hair. It's not in the crayon box, but if it was I'd name it "Fool's Gold". I'm guessing my eyebrows are a little over 1 inch apart and the gap will never widen due to my deathly fear of needles.

So thanks alot for the blog suggestion and if you have any more questions do not hesitate to ask someone else. As for me , I'm on the look-out for Burnt Umber.

Getting to know you

Dear Condi: I just wanted to send a note to wish you luck with your meeetings in Annapolis. I must admit after almost eight years, I still don't feel I know you very well and I think most of the women in America share my sentiments. I remain miffed as to why you have never been on Oprah. Come on now, Maya Angelou has been on more than once and even had a make-over. Or was it Coretta Scott King that had the re-do? At any rate they looked much better. Has Oprah not called? Are you more afraid of Oprah than Dick Cheney? As for the make-over, it's free for starters, can't beat that , and if I can be really honest I think you could use a new "do" and some hipper clothes. Your beauty routine is way too '50s. Shake out the hair a little and walk into those Middle East meetings wearing a pair of Manolos and a Chanel suit, give those misogynists an eyeful as well as an earful.

Another thing that has confused me over the years is your taste in men. I would feel so much better if I knew you had a man of your own and stopped sharing with Laura. And for God's sake what is it you see in that man anyway? You're a well educated woman, don't you just want to slap him when he says "nuculer"?
He sold you out to Donald Rumsfeld, that must have hurt your feelings. Not a good boyfriend thing to do. Do you think they got a "locker room" laugh over it? Now granted he plumped up your resume, as it's pretty hard to get trumped for a job when 2004-2008 reads Secretary of State, but that pesky little war you supported could deter some employers. Condi, I think it's time to find another guy as soon you will all be packing up and moving; long distance relationships rarely work. Do you honestly see yourself cutting down brush the rest of your life and there's still Laura . You might want to try the internet, I'm sure Dr. Phil would help you out on Match.com. I think he would support my make-over suggestion however, so you might want get started on that now.

As I mentioned earlier I really do wish you luck in Maryland. I think it's great that you finally care about a legacy for this White House. I don't think it will completely take my mind off of the Iraq debacle. I am a stickler for the truth, and come on girlfriend you really didn't believe there were WMDs, did you? A nice play setting up Colin Powell however; oh that's right you got his job, I almost forgot. So with little time left, dust off that "roadmap to peace" in the Middle East and maybe when the meetings are over you can ask for directions to New Orleans.

Duck!

I'm worried about the Supreme Court; ok, I'm freaked out about the Supreme Court, for oh so many reasons, not the least of which are the Justices. I mean look what happened in the 2000 election. Hey kids great job; it's been a joy. Things are really going well for the country. Sandra , do you feel a little guilty? Although you do have problems of your own at the moment. Giving up that cushy job to spend more time with your husband and now he's got a new woman sucks. Don't start yelling, I'm not ignorant about the perils and trials of Altzheimer's disease. Sorry Sandra, you tried, at least in that case your heart was in the right place. As for Justice Rehnquist, death was the coward's way out. Is there guilt in the afterlife? Well at least he got away, the rest of us are hanging around waiting for the next election to clean up the mess . Hey Floridians follow directions, ok?!

In the meantime I see the 2nd amendment is on the docket. Nice. I can't wait to bear arms . Or is it bare arms? Mine have gotten a little flabby with age but I can still wear strapless. As for guns in our bare hands; holy crap! I'm shaking thinking about it. There won't be a safe shopping mall parking lot anywhere . Can you imagine a hand gun on the passenger seat or in a cup holder; "you take that parking space from me and it's all over buddy". The economy will come to a stand still as people become terrified to shop. Dead bodies slumped over the steering wheels of Mercedes, Jaguars, BMWs and Porsches . Perhaps there is a reason to own a Humvee . I assume they're bulletproof, because lord knows they're not fuel efficient. I fear for my life driving into the mall now; everyone frantically pulling in and out of aisles trying to get one step closer to the store. "Hey, big deal if I got to the spot before you. Don't look at me that way, it's not my fault you forgot to take your meds this morning. Walk an extra few steps, this is America we're overweight". As for senior citizens, my best advice will be to stay home or learn to drive faster! Creeping down the aisles looking for a spot trying to see over the SUV in front of you will be certain death. And may I also suggest, just TURN THE CORNER, do not wait for a car to be at least 200 yards away to make your move. Go Nana go!!

Whoever survives the parking lot, still has to make it out of the store alive. My local "Whole Foods" and "Jewel" could become like "Resevoir Dogs" or the New Jersey toll booth scene in Godfather l. Who's first at the deli section or stepped out of the check-out line and slipped back in won't beg a dirty look or disgusted sigh, it could mean a trip to the emergency room. And nasty scar! I can't help but wonder if the new spring Prada line will have a small tasteful black gun with a little logo on the handle. That would be a nice touch. Judith Leiber ,I see a tiny diamond and ruby crusty weapon in your bags. For those of us who can't afford such folly, perhaps Target or Wal Mart will carry the "copy downs". How important will matching be?

The Court has decided to hear the case for the right to bear arms. There are a few new members and the usual suspects, so listen up... bearing an arm does not mean you can control a gun.

Stepford boys

Dr. Phil, you're keeping secrets from me. I thought we had an open honest relationship. I've entrusted my personal life to you. Now I hear on the Today Show that I could be a Cougar woman, and not just sitting around waiting for your help. Cougar women who are you ? Where are you? Are you in caves out west? A wild, feral group hunting and feeding on unsuspecting deer, bighorn sheep and cattle? Why haven't I heard about you until recently? How did I miss this phenomenon? I've heard of the "Cat Woman" Jocelyn Wildenstein, albeit her moniker is only attributed to the physical similarities. God knows why anyone would want to look like a feline. The last popular cat I can remember was Felix. She obviously has issues. And unconscionable doctors. Now there is a new kind of big cat, the Cougar woman has arrived, and I say what took you so long?

Ladies, I've done a little research, it appears you're Googleable; good work in so little time. You're between the ages of 30 - 50 , financially independent, successful, confident, motivated, love your life, and self. Nice. Are you having a membership drive? I especially like your "prey"; no bighorn sheep, cattle or deer but men at least ten years younger. I've thought about a diet of these men, but I'm not adventurous about my cuisine (for reasons I'll explain in the next paragraph). I'm curious why this is news worthy, afterall men have preyed on younger women for years and they're called lucky, not some form of wild mountain cat. Or in barnyard terminology, why isn't what's good for the goose , good for the gander? Apparently younger men are more energetic, fun, and trainable. The "ah hah " word is TRAINABLE. Too time consuming for me. I'm the sort who always wonders when I get a new puppy, why I just didn't buy a year old dog. No muss , no fuss, they sit, stay and don't go on the rug. I like this in a man also.

I dated twelve years younger and "trainable" once. He had all those good puppy qualities: cute, playful,energetic, youthful enthusiasm,and stared adoringly at me . So what could be wrong? He never read one play by William Shakespeare, one book by Hemingway,or F.Scott Fitzgerald, stared vacantly at me when I mentioned Hunter Thompson , no less William Burroughs, no "Catcher in the Rye" in his personal history,or "Annie Hall", "Easy Rider" Vietnam War, Watergate, knowing exactly where you were when Kennedy was shot , or ever forgetting the 1968 Democratic National convention . These are a few of my landmarks, and they're not trainable they are the sum total of a life.

So Cougar Women, I am proud of you regardless of my proclivities. Your fierce independence , financial success, and self confidence gives me pause. Why shouldn't you have choices ladies, you have earned them. If you want young men, they're lucky to have you. As for me , I have less patience, I want the already trained. It would be nice however, if they came with a book of operating instructions.

Let me eat cake

Religion is a tricky subject. Truthfully, I'm not a very religious person. Granted, I'll listen to thoughts about heaven, hell,and a higher being; although I am convinced God is not in the end zone , at the free throw line, or pushing someone's frozen ass up Mt. Everest. This is skill or luck, not religion. As for 25 virgins in heaven, I've yet to figure out why, why,why, any man would want 1, no less 25. If there is a reward in heaven I would want a lot of chocolate cake. I was relunctantly knee deep in a conversation about Evolution vs. Intelligent Design when I had an epiphany.

It suddenly struck me; an "ah ha" moment. Giorgio Armani is intelligent design. Who can resist his tailored elegance and sense of classicism? Too expensive for me unless it's on sale, but nonetheless very intelligent. Ralph Lauren, is too predictable to be intelligent. He is consistent, and there's nothing stupid about a forest green cashmere crew neck , but it can also get a little boring. I will say however, that this fall's couture line looks fabulous. Again unaffordable, but stunning and I encourage him keep it up . Dolce and Gabbana have a long way to go by my definition . Ugh, Dolce and ick Gabbana. I don't get it. I know I'm supposed to, but I pull it off the rack and immediately shove it back. Sorry boys, not smart. Calvin Klein is always too big for me, although last season he had an amazing grey wool strapless party dress that brought tears to my eyes . Very close to a religious experience. Marc Jacobs, are you intelligent? Chic... getting close... love most of the shoes, purses are adorable, again, can't afford the clothes but I try them on. Just say "no" to Prada. I confess however, that I did have a fake Prada purse, even though I hate, hate, hate visible labels. I could afford the $35.00 price tag. I'm cheap not intelligent. Jil Sander was intelligent. There is no guarantee it's forever babe, sorry. Spending $4,500 for a black jacket is plain stupid. My Donna Karan black cashmere coat shows extreme intelligence, so Donna, you make the cut. I can't forget Chanel, if I was going to believe in something it would be classic Chanel; very close to heaven especially when worn by Audrey Hepburn.

As for religion I'm still a skeptic; but upon reconsideration, I whole heartedly believe in intelligent design.

I miss Betty Ford

Betty! Betty Ford! You need to come back. You left too soon. There are more addicts you can help. A kind you never dreamed of, beyond your wildest imagination about addiction. There are no outward symptoms: no stumbling, no needle marks, no reckless driving charges, no slurring of words, nodding of heads, or glazed over eyes. Betty, did you know Dr. Phil? I digress, back to my topic. They are men, women, divorced, widowed, short, tall, thin, heavy, young, old, have a propensity to speak in adjectives ,(caring, sharing, loving, giving,) and lastly yet most importantly endlessly looking for that perfect person. This is our addict Betty. They're internet dating junkies.

It's true, come on now admit it....and don't worry I'm not suggesting you unplug your computers, pull the needle out of your vein, after all Dr. Phil needs the endorsement income and he has a great smile, doesn't he? He'd be cranky and pissed off however, to think you're all looking for a perfect person, who BTW doesn't exist. Hey, I'm including myself in this drug addled group, so don't get defensive. Betty, here are the symptoms as far as I can determine: continuous running to the computer to see if anyone has "winked" or emailed you, continuous running to the computer to see if anyone has returned your "wink" or email, continuous sitting at the computer rummaging through profiles to see if by chance you missed one of interest, running home to the computer after an internet date to see if there's someone just a little better looking, taller, shorter, thinner, funnier, sexier, richer, smarter...GET THE PICTURE? There is not as much running involved if you have a Blackberry, regardless, this is insanity, but I'll be kind and label it addiction. Why isn't anyone the right person? Not one single solitary person is good enough for ya?

I'll be honest, a couple of men I've met were absolutely good enough for me. I turned off my computer cold turkey and dated them thinking perhaps I got lucky. Well I may have pulled the needle out of my arm but they were still mainlining and it was only a matter of time until another "profile" lured them away. I'm sure I can be a big pain in the ass at times, or spoiled , or cranky, or demanding, but let's dig deep here and admit WE ALL CAN. For God's sake it's only your mother who thinks otherwise! Betty, what can be done? Is there room for this new addict at your clinic? Should we pack our bags, bravely and a little sweaty leave the Blackberrys and laptops behind and check in? Perhaps AA could help; the 21st century 12 step program for internet dating addiction. Is anyone willing to confess ? Stand up in front of a group and admit they're perfect but no one else is.

Speed Dial

I need Dr. Phil on speed dial. Where is that man? I thought he was supposed to be helping me date. I never hear from him. Has he once called or even emailed to ask me how it's going out here in cyber manland? No. Well Doc, it kinda sucks, but don't worry your pretty little head about it, I'm a survivor type.
Perhaps it's all Oprah's fault as she continually tosses her personal gurus out into the general female population. First it was some spiritual cheerleader whose name I've completely forgotten. I never really understood a word he said or wrote anyway. I guess everyone else did because his books became best sellers. I'm a spritual dunce as a result. Next Suzie Orman, a financial planning wizard for all of us flagrant nonplanners. She tried, but she made me so nervous about my future I would sweat every time she came on the screen. Suzie darling, you have to make money to save money. Besides , I think I can fit all my possessions in a shopping cart. Along comes Dr. Phil because of beef, or a hamburger, or a herd of cattle . I haven't eaten a piece of red meat in 40 years , so again I'm miffed. He is a feisty guy however, who I can never find. And last but not least we have been tossed Dr. Ahmet Oz, cardiovascular surgeon who appeared on my tv holding a colon in one hand and kidney in the other. You rock, is all I can say.

Now don't get me wrong, Oprah is pretty freaking amazing; I have no idea how to become so successful. I'm not blaming her for any of my spiritual, dating, or health issues, after all I'm the master of my one bedroom kingdom. It's way too small for a plane, cook, personal trainer, driver, large pile of cash or Stedman (he's quite tall and may I add Oprah, a very nice touch). She did make me think nostagically about my little red leather diary. I wonder if my mom threw it away. Oprah is really big on journals. Come to think of it I loved my little diary. "Dear Diary, I want a pony." "Dear Diary, I don't need a bra yet, but I'd like one ." "Dear Diary ,I wish my mom would let me shave my legs". "Dear Diary, I wish my husband wouldn't cheat on me" "Dear Diary, I'd like to kill his divorce attorney"." "Dear Diary, I lost my job." "Dear Diary, there are just too many bills." "Dear Diary, paid the bills, got a job, raised a son, but my chin line is sagging" "Dear Diary , I'm more than half way through my life." "Dear Diary, where did it go, and have you heard from Dr. Phil!?"

Crazy calculations

I just read somewhere that 60 is the new 40. I thought 50 was the new 40. Wasn't 60 the new 50? So I can only assume that 70 will soon be the new 50 not 60? What will 80 be? I'm confused. And for God's sake isn't anyone ever going to realize it doesn't matter because we're all going to die? What's up with this new subtraction? Do French people do this? Are we still mad at them? Is this calculation something to make us baby boomers feel better? Is it the big mind fuck? Do I really think I'm going to be 40 again? Do I want to be 40 again? Maybe, it was a good stretch for my hormones. Here's the catch, when I turn 60 I'll be the new 40, but my hormones won't know so they'll still be 60...crap.

Ironically I couldn't wait to turn 30. Apparently most people find 30 traumatizing , but for me it was a piece of cake. I was so confident about how young I looked for my age I couldn't wait to blurt out the number. Hey, look at me, I'm 30..35...oh my God, wait!, no, no, not 40! Forty was a killer and then it wasn't the new 30. I freaked. My friend Bob pulled me aside one day and told me I was "Taking it far too seriously." Forty sounded so close to 95. But surprise! not as close as 50. Does fifty just have too many fs? And there's 60 out on the horizon all big with an "x" in the middle. I've never had an "x" before.

Am I one of those baby boomers fudging the numbers, cooking the books, re-inventing subtraction, waiting to be the new 50, 40, 30? I'll let you know when I turn 21 again.

Yikes!

It wasn't bad enough I have Dr. Phil and his dating advice on Match.com to contend with ,now I have Oprah's favorite life saver, Dr. Ahmet Oz. Thank God he's not trying to orchestrate my social life or find me a social life, but he is getting a little pesty about my health. Hey doc, I'm doing the best I can, but truthfully I'm not convinced I really want to live to 100. It's a nice round number but I'm not sure it's a fun number. I guess I could look forward to Willard Scott putting my face on a Smuckers label and wishing me happy birthday; for certain I would end my life that morning. Aren't those labels red? Hate red. It appears however, that there's no way I'm getting that old because regardless of how nutritiously I eat, or how many vitamins I ingest, or how religious I am about exercise, I am certain to die from cleaning my apartment. The news just keeps getting worse. Who ever thought living would be so much work?

I'm a good little cleaner but it won't matter because I'll be dead soon; lying on the floor with a bottle of "Fantastik" clutched in my hand. Well at least I'm saving the life of a cleaning woman by doing the work myself. Here I just thought I was saving money. It seems I'm living in a toxic petri dish and not an expensive one bedroom apartment. This makes me a little nauseous. So Dr.Oz listen up, I would love to keep the windows open for fumigation purposes but it's 30 freaking degrees outside, and dying of hypothermia in my home is not as exotic as on Everest. That's "no" to the open windows. As for taking off my shoes and leaving them outside my door so I don't track in pesticides and lawn chemicals , sorry Doc, I'm not letting my $400 fabulous Kate Spade high heels out of my sight and btw I have them in red and black. I shouldn't leave microwave food in plastic containers because they could leak. Huh? I need to check with NASA about this. Do not clean with toxic chemicals, use baking soda. I may capitulate on this one, as I've always had a sneaking suspicion that those spray cleaners I use really contain Agent Orange and a splash of Napalm. Now for the plastic cleaning bags; get a life for God's sake. I have a grown child, the possibility of his running around with one wrapped around his head is over; I'm free to have them on every article of clothing. Yet you dare to tell me to throw them away before they even enter my apartment, as it wasn't about suffocation afterall, it was the clothes cleaning agent. And continue to say I should let the clothes air out a day before wearing. I want what you're smoking. Who has that much clothing!!? Or time. Last but certainly not least, I need plants, plants, plants for chemical conversion purposes. Doc, I'm not good with plants; dogs, horses, maybe a cat, an orphaned goldfish, but I'm not secure about the watering. I never get it right, and plant death is slow, I feel so helpless and stupid. Ixnay to the oxygen converters, I'll have to take my chances.

In summation , I'm exhausted and apparently close to death. Dr. Ahmet Oz, why can't you just stick to your Cardiovascular specialty and I'll call you when I have chest pain.

Me and the Prince of Denmark

"To sleep, perchance to dream" hold on there you wacky Prince of Denmark, if you could fall asleep, why can't I? I don't have nearly as much on my mind as you did. Yet night after night, tossing, turning, more tossing, and a few more turns, for God's sake I'm figure skating not falling asleep. This has a high degree of difficulty. I listen to the commercials for sleep aids with the melodious voice over enticing me to try their drug and experience a full night of calming, peaceful, restful sleep. I'm coming, please help me... It's so important to read the directions. Throwing myself on the mercy of my Internist he gave me a prescription. Clutched in my little hand was a bottle of sleep. At about 10:00 I took a pill went into the library to watch the news...fell sound asleep! Except, I wanted to spend the night in my bed not the couch, so I got up. Again I can't emphasize enough the need to read the little white sheet... I got two staggering drunken like steps before I realized walking was a very bad plan but hey I was determined. I was convinced I could make it, but not before I fell into the wall. Ironically I didn't need the pill as I practically knocked myself unconscious.

What happened to the days when I woke up at the crack of noon? Granted I was 17, but I had stress then also....was my blue Villager sweater back from the cleaners, did Roger Sloss like me or Joby, I forgot to finish my algebra homework, did my parents notice the car smelled of cigarettes, I wasn't invited to the Senior Prom yet, and worst of all I had a giant zit on my cheek. Come on those were real sleep busters. Regardless sleep was a piece of cake, lights off, I'm dreaming like the Prince of Denmark. Btw Roger Sloss liked Joby.

I read all the studies, I've tried the herbal route which kept me up the whole freaking night; my kidneys prefer pharmaceuticals. My friend Dave says he pops up wide awake at 3:00 a.m. and without bursting into tears, gets his day going.
Wow Dave, is all I can say. I've tried the hot baths, the hot milk, the no tv or reading in the bedroom, meditation tapes, etc. Tom suggested I try hot sex. Huh?! Why didn't my Internist tell me that? .

The envelope please

I have a new inductee into my Bad Date Hall of Fame , aka my personal pantheon of bad dates. I'm not "happy" to make this announcement as it means I had a really crappy time. I think a "sad" announcement however should only be about death, disease, or another republican president. Dr. Phil I think since you're the spokesperson for Match.com perhaps you should come to the induction ceremony and hear why this man qualifies for such a dubious honor. Perhaps it will help you in the advice giving department. There was a runner-up candidate also, and it was a difficult decision . Oh btw there was one more option, a man I fondly refer to as Hannibal Lector. I still have my liver, so he didn't make the final cut.

Mr. Runner Up gets the prize for shortest date ever (minutes). From the time we sat down for a drink until I left approx. 14 elapsed. He looked at me, smiled nervously, pulled out of his pocket a small piece of white paper , unfolded it, and proceeded to ask me questions he had written down in very tiny handwriting. Who does this? And how far was I from the door? I did not set in motion the, "go to the bathroom, call a friend on my cell phone and tell them to call me in 6 minutes about an emergency at home, rule". You know who you are. I did however, employ my friend Sam's 10 minute maxim. "Gail, if you're miserable just get up, say you're not a match and leave." Although he espouses this, I think I'm the only one who has ever used it. I basically pleaded insanity. I got up and said "I'm so sorry but I'm very uncomfortable and am going home." Ok, I'm an ass, and although I did have a severe case of guilt... good-bye Mr. Runner Up. Dr. Phil advise this man to memorize the questions.

I'd like to remind the new inductee that women have been given the right to vote. There's a woman running for President, a woman Secretary of State, a woman Speaker of the House, Oprah, a woman President of Harvard, etc. etc. ad infinitum.. . so my best advice is to let the woman you're out with SPEAK. We are a legitimate gender. I met my date at a bar to watch a sporting event. I could blame the evening on the Colorado Rockies for not making a game of it, which gave us way too much time to fill. From the moment I arrived he did not stop talking. Even while my back was turned watching the game he was talking, talking ,still talking. Not about politics, sports, the weather, movies, but about his apparent favorite subject, himself. Dr. Phil feel free to jump in. Ironically a movie did come to my mind, "My Dinner with Andre". Andre Gregory wove tales of his adventures both spiritual and real while Wallace Shawn sat at dinner and listened. His life journey was mesmerizing and the time flew as he talked. This was not my evening. It didn't seem to matter if I was there. I began to wonder if I was there. Did he notice I had not said a word for two hours? I know I'm having a really bad time when all I can think about is killing myself and I'm not depressed. I just wanted to go home. The 15 minute rule was shot to hell and I was now working on a three hour time table. I thought about screaming "just shut up!" at the top of my lungs, I thought about it alot. I realized however as I listened to the life story of every one of his family members, why bother straining my voice? At the reasonable time of 10:30 I lunged for the check, paid my half,(a guilt absolving gesture) said thank you and left.

If we do elect a woman President, like it or not, my new inductee will have to listen. Even if we don't, learn a little from Mr. Runner Up, have some questions!

Say what?

"Gail, did you hear about the new name for a vagina?" An unlikely question from my mother. "Huh?" was the only response I could come up with. "I read it somewhere today, I think it was the New York Times, oh for God's sake did your father throw it away already? Why does he do that?" I was still back at "huh?"
Well I know it's here somewhere, I'll find it and mail it to you." I must say I was stunned by her interest in some new vocabulary word for a sexual body part and also shocked to learn there was a new word. This was clearly something I missed.

Was there a re-naming resolution proposed by the religious right ? Do we need "kinder gentler" words for certain parts of our anatomy? Was Clarence Thomas in on this? Was mom on drugs? My head was spinning. I checked the New York Sunday Times on-line and to my surprise there it was.... a new name for a vagina; pop culture nomenclature driven by and again, why would this surprise me...."Grey's Anatomy". The official introduction was Feb 12, 2006,and you know I think I saw that episode but didn't realize the impact it would have on my body. Or vocabulary.
It seems I have a vajayjay. Ok, then. It's catchy, in the same way "rayjay" is. Apparently Oprah is a fan of the word . Isn't she great about sharing? I'm much more selfish and probably would have just kept it to myself. But now that 46 million viewers heard her use it in a sentence it's officially part of the public domain. I am so out of the loop, as according to the Times , it's even been overheard in grocery store lines....I've got to get out more. The article quoted a known linguist as saying perhaps there was a need for a "pet name", a word women could use amongst themselves. I have to be honest, although I talk about sex with my women friends we rarely refer specifically to our vaginas and if we did, a pet name would not be handier and could be confusing. Do men know this replacement word? Is it something we should make clear to our husbands/lovers? "Honey, that's great but could you just move a little more to the left in my vajayjay?" That could put an end to the evening.

So mom thanks for letting me in on the news, as afterall, I was an English major and believe in correct word usage. Shonda Rhimes the creator of "Grey's Anatomy" said "it doesn't belong to me or anyone at the show. It belongs to all women..." I guess I should also thank Shonda for her generosity . But whereas I can say "vagina" I don't think I can say "vajayjay" with a straight face.

Chemistry lesson

Where can I find a science teacher on an emergency basis? I'm desperate. I'm confused. I need a refresher course. Not just any science teacher however. I understood biology, it made sense to me. I loved the word Photosynthesis,it's permanently stuck in my head . I am sad however,because I don't have too many opportunities to use it in a sentence. I have a much more serious science problem. Should I try the yellow pages, or don't those exist anymore? Do we still have phone books? (another subject entirely). Dr. Phil did you ever teach science? How about Mr. Wizard, remember him? I loved that man. I was mesmerized by his experiments. Poof!, liquids appeared from solids, and gases sprung from beekers which floated magically around his head. Nice Mr. Wizard. I remember having a chemistry set. I was hopeless however, the beekers broke, liquids spilled on the floor, my mom got pissed and I never had patience with the directions. But Mr. Wizard I need you more than ever.

I miss chemistry. There's no "POOF!" in my life. Is there a new science I need to learn? I looked up the word "chemistry" on Dictionary .com,( but I believe we still have dictionaries). There it was: 2) Chemical properties, reactions, phenomena 3)The interaction of one personality with another. That's it, the Poof! moment I've lost. It's in the dictionary but gone from my love life. Why? When you turn 50 does romantic exhuberance immediately become rational reasoning ? Will I never look at a man again and feel my heart flicker and my head feel ever so slightly dizzy? At my age if I get dizzy it means I might be having a stroke, and should call an ambulance. Is chemical combustion too much to ask? Is this why men date women half their age? Is chemistry really biology?

If there is a new science I need to learn it . I've gone on what seems like endless dates and nothing happens, no combustion, no poof!, no dizziness, no heart flickers. I queried Nate about whether he believes in chemistry, "sure I do". Except the last time he said he experienced it was 15 years ago. "I don't expect it anymore, and that's ok". Is it ok? Dan thinks, "attraction can change as you get older, it's not necessarily entirely physical. Something else can click." Ok. Michael thinks chemistry is like the side of a vitamin bottle ,a strange analogy but urge him on, "look at how many elements make up the contents." Ok. After all I've excitedly dated chemistry men and six months later happily broken up with them.

It makes me wonder,is it chemistry I long for? Or is it a man with whom I can create history?

Good morning Iraq!

I need a political moment. WAKE UP THERE'S A WAR GOING ON! Have we become immune to the news from Iraq? According to Tom Friedman this morning in the New York Times, the Beltway has. Is it too boring? Are we all suffering from ADD? Too busy ordering coffee? (Which I've noticed takes signficant time out of the day). Too worried about being fat? Too consumed with buying SUVs with gas mileage ratings that hold us permanently hostage to middle eastern oil? This is disappointing to me. I'm disappointing to me. I'm not doing anything either, except arguing with Republicans at parties or anywhere I can corner one. And I've noticed our newly elected Democratic Congressmen aren't doing much either; chickens! The Bush boys aka the gang that couldn't shoot straight have 15 more months in office, count them and feel afraid, feel very afraid. Can you say "tactical nuclear strike on Iran?" Everyone better duck.

I'm going to try and not get too hostile, because I won't be signing up for a course in anger management anytime soon, but rest assured I am angry. I think there is one way to end the war in Iraq quickly. Let's make this an equal opportunity event, the national attention deficit disorder would disappear almost over night. Bring back the draft. Does the war feel a little closer to home now? Our entitled children who grew up with cars, cell phones, designer gym shoes, and organic vegetables will be going straight from college into the armed forces. Still love this war? Still worried about the fate of the Sunnis? Perhaps the President was hasty with an invasion? Feel like shopping for a car with better gas mileage? Oh and let's not forget "equal opportunity" could mean women also. Can you picture the Bush twins in camouflage fatigues? I don''t think green is Jenna's color, do you? Sorry sweetie, Kate Spade shoes are not standard military issue. Excuse me Mr. Vice President, don't you have a daughter draft age? How about you Paul Wolfowitz or William Kristol gotta sacrificial son or daughter? Donald Rumsfeld where ever you're hiding perhaps you'd like to loan us a grandchild or two.

Wasn't the spin , that we're fighting it there so we don't have to fight it here? What if everyone draft age had to fight it there? What then? Are you awake now?

I'ts a mad world after all

It's official the world around me has gone mad. Or perhaps we're in the final stage of the "Fall of the American Empire". It's not due to global warming or some drug resistant super bug. Not air pollution, or the drinking water. Not the disolving of the ozone, or melting ice caps. Not flu from Chinese chickens, or the Ebola virus. Not sub- prime mortgages, or a plummeting Dow Jones. Not the left wing or the right wing. Or even the Christian Coalition. Not George Bush and although it would seem logical it's Dick Cheney, it's not . Not the NRA or IRS. Not my imagination or hormone levels. It's coffee.

Coffee drinks have taken over our minds and sanity. I've witnessed the madness. I've stood in the line . I've heard the language. Do they teach this in the school system now? Is coffee the new Latin? I for one need a translator as the words that are barked from one barrista to the next are foreign to my ears. Huh? is really all that comes to my mind. I don't even think the word "coffee" is part of the vernacular; it's far more complex. There is no "I'll have a cup of coffee". I think "cafe latte "is Coffee 101. And I've noticed that no one in line is happy. They're angrily pushing and making sure I haven't somehow displaced them. Take it easy people, slow down, I'll wait my turn. And you might want to try the Xanax line that forms to the right, I'm not sure caffeine is a good idea right now.

I'm wondering isn't non fat whip cream an oxymoron? Have real whip cream for God's sake, it's all fattening. Half, half caf, what does that mean??? Or grande , but not too grande, a little less than half grande, with latte, half steamed, half air, half non fat, half mocha,... do you have non fat mocha? I for one, think it's all the same drink and no one knows because their order is so nonsensical. My son who worked as a barrista one summer insists this isn't true. He was very good in Latin so I stand corrected. To make matters worse ,and the line a far more congested angry place, parents are ordering these cryptic drinks for their children, "I want a shot of chocolate, but not all the way to the top, with half whole milk, half skim, in a grande size cup but only filled part way , oh and make that hot, but not too hot." What happened to Bosco in a glass of milk at home?

Is this madness or am I the one that's crazy? Am I resisting change? Am I old and set in my ways? Should I speak up and order in this new language? Or does this crazy coffee talk really mean "I NEED TO BE IN CONTROL OF SOMETHING IN MY LIFE!" I don't blame you, I'd like to be in control of something in my life also, but I just want a simple cup of coffee.

The religious left

I'm not a religious person. I went to Sunday school for about 2 weeks but they couldn't hold me. I kept sneaking out on the march from the synagogue back to the classroom . I'd hide out in the village drug store until car pool came to pick me up. Quite a scam and statement early on about my religious beliefs. Well beliefs might be too profound a word for a 12 year old girl , I just didn't like it.

Home life wasn't exactly a biblical experience either, we celebrated Christmas and Hannukah. I was partial to the former as the gifts were so much better and I liked openning them in bulk as opposed to one night at a time. My dad , not being very religious himself, was happy to stop paying for Sunday school and especially the building fund at the temple.

College pulled me even farther away from religion, and truthfully I was convinced I was never going to reconsider/re-exam any of it. I was a girl of the sexual revolution, a one night stand wasn't the sign of a "slut" it was a sign of the times. It meant nothing or it meant everything, I didn't care. "Had a great time, call me",or "I was high, good-bye" . I could handle it. And men are simple folk when they're young and horney, sex was a sure way to someone's heart,; they wanted strings/commitment/wife/children. It was definitely a mating instinct; perpetuating the species and all that. Quite honestly, I rarely got to know someone first, that came later or not at all. I must sound like a cold hearted bitch or sexual predator, but hold on , there's a bait and switch.

Flash forward 30 years and I've become a "born again virgin". I believe, I believe! And my best advice to single women over 50 is to join this church. I have divorced male friends, and bless their hearts, they tell me everything. I have insider information and now I'm telling you... they may be horney but they do not want strings/commitment/wife. This is important, listen up! They just want to have a date and get laid. Getting a man's attention via sex is a very short term device. I've heard first hand what happens, "Why is she still calling me? I told her I'm seeing other women. She always starts crying." "Oh, I knew I wasn't going to see her again, but I had sex with her". " Sue's nice, but Alice called, and she invited me over,so I'm going". I don't know about you but this makes me a little nervous. If you can honestly say and I mean HONESTLY that having sex on date one, two, three means NOTHING to you,... no tears, no "why didn't he call?" no obsessing over every word you said/he said , then by all means have at it. I can't. Oh, it's not for religious reasons, I'd still ditch Sunday school, but I finally figured out having sex really is an emotional attachment as well as physical fun. I'm not ready to cry over a man I just met and fantasized was "perfect", or drive my girlfiends crazy agonizing over why he hasn't called. That feels like shit and I can't afford therapy. I want to know more about Mr. Perfect and I'm betting if I don't have sex with him, he'll want to know more about me.
That ends our prayer service for today. Amen.

Frog Kissing

"It's a numbers game" my friend Jay always tells me, when I whine to him about not meeting men I like, "you gotta kiss alot of frogs". Well I was very bad in math, so the idea of numbers makes me nervous and sweaty. As for frogs, it conjurs up the image of some biblical plague for which I'm not vaccinated. My friend Jon tells me perhaps I'm too picky, although this advice comes from a man who only wants to date women under 105 pounds with small breasts. I consider his remark and think his options are limited and jail bait, but perhaps he's right and I should expand my man universe. I decide I can go older and shorter; this makes me proud of my flexibility. Oh for God's sake who am I kidding, my demographic sucks, men my age want to date women Paris Hilton's age, and flexibilty isn't an option it's a necessity.

Call it coincidence or biblical but a short old man emails me on Match.com. Normally I would dismiss him, as 74 seems really "icky" and 5'5" is exactly my height and I just bought two pairs of Kate Spade three inch high heels that I long to wear. My only flat shoes are flip-flops and it's cold out. But in order to explore my expanded universe I searched my closet for the lowest heel possible and accepted his dinner offer. I never have anyone pick me up at my apartment , this seems unsafe as I still remember the Ted Bundy story, so we agreed to meet at a local restaurant. To avoid anxiety on the drive over I reminded myself to expect nothing, in fact less than zero, zip, nada. This was a calming thought but I still almost drove off the road.

My new demographic was waiting for me in front. I am not a religious person so as I mentioned a few posts ago I don't think I'm going to find a really cute guy in heaven, but I'm definitely reconsidering it because earth has become a test. I know how shallow I sound but this expansion process is going to take some visual adjustment. He looked a bit like my dad who's 87 and my mom who's 5'3". But before I get branded a bitch I knew he might have been looking at me with the same sinking feeling. Maybe he was expanding his demographic also, maybe I was the oldest woman he ever had a date with. Maybe we had more in common than we thought. Or maybe we should both apologize , plead temporary insanity and go home.

I learned alot during dinner; he was an extremely successful businessman who has a plane, large home with swimming pool, travels the world, stays at the Penninsula or Four Seasons, and has dated women younger than myself. See the joke was on me after all! I realized however, with a little practice I probably could date older and short, but when he called the waitress heavy right to her poor sweet,young face I realized no matter what, I could never date rude.

Fractured fairy tale

My mother goofed again. Granted she was busy at the make-up counter of Saks, and shopping the sales at Bonwits but this information would really have helped me out. I hate hearing "pearls of wisdom" from a woman half my age on the Today Show. This makes morning programming too much like televangelism instead of background noise. I picked my head up from the newspaper upon hearing, "Three out of four women will be widowed by age 75". Huh? She went on to "prosletize" that women should marry for love and not as a financial alternative. Mom, are you listening? This is interesting news that came about 35 years too late. She also went on to say that I should be actively involved in financial planning as I could end up a poor widow or just plain poor and alone. Now I'm a little panicky because I re-joined Match.com which set me back the $70 I should have invested in the stockmarket and the double whammy is, even if I met someone he'll be dead soon. I run to the closet to make sure I have a clean black dress.

I can't blame it all on mom, and my obsession with Cindarella. I was from the generation of women on the brink; so close to reality and yet so far. I wasn't raised to work . I don't know what I was supposed to do with my time but it wasn't earn money. If mom was my role model I was supposed to spend my husband's money, a reasonable plan with good perks like: a new car, charge cards, weekly hair appointments, clothes and a maid. Career woman was an option still a few years away. I only got as far as birth control pills, bra burning, and political protests, but no income. I quit taking the pill when they determined they could cause strokes, my breasts are no longer defying gravity so I need the bra, and political protests have morphed into, let's wait for the next election, complacency. So with no words from mom about how to support myself, I married a rich man and thought I solved the problem. Although, let's not place all the blame on mom, afterall dad had a career, and could have mentioned the "c" word as something I just might want to consider. He forgot. Or was working. .

I have a career now, it took two divorces and two questionably small divorce settlements to shock me into the work force but I parlayed art collecting, into art advising/selling. Although starting so late I will have to work until about ten minutes before I die, or just enough time to look around and wish I had started saving sooner. Since I didn't have a daughter I didn't have the chance to instill in her more than the Prince Charming option; a storybook which would have been banned from my household along with the movie "Pretty Woman". I probably would have sent her off to medical, law, dental, business, and veterinary school, just to make sure she could buy her own horse and not have to rely on the Prince.

Mom, it's not your fault for not sending me to the aforementioned professional schools; I was terrible in chemistry so it was never in my future regardless. You only wanted the best for me, and thought a husband should provide it. I wonder however if my $70.00 is deductible?

Rod Serling is that you?

I am a hypocrite. I should be locked up and drugged to prevent me from further hypocrisy. Halloween's coming up, I should go as Hester Prin with a GIANT scarlet " H "on my chest. After ragging at Dr. Phil a few posts ago about all the crazies on Match.com I had a moment of temporary insanity yesterday morning. Ok, ok, I need serious help. I'm not entirely sure what possessed me. I must have had an out of body experience or I was channeling Rod Serling.

Well the truth is I'm was bummed. I was sitting on my lazy ass in my apartment convinced I would never go on another date. I don't know any single men who aren't just my friends. (Don't even suggest " friends with privileges".) When I was in my twenties living in Manhattan, I felt everytime I walked out the door there were men possibilites. Thirty years later I walk outside and I'm invisible, except to people asking for money. I knew I had to come up with a plan, so for starters I began a campaign of asking everyone I know to fix me up. They all stared at me with a blank expression and the predictable "I don't know anyone". How is that possible? 50% of the population is divorced, how can you not know anyone! Is there divorce profiling going on?

I then considered a $3,000 vacation bribe to the person who fixed me up with a man I date long term. I read about this in the New York Times and it seemed like a plan I could afford. I have $3,000 what better investment than in myself. Besides, profit motivation could produce results. I offer the $3,000 vacay to one of my girlfriends, she shrugged and said that it wasn't enough for the kind of vacation she was used to. For God's sake, help me out here, there may not be a week at the Geoge V in your future, but three room service filled days at the Regency in New York isn't Guantanamo. I was despondent from her response and realized I needed new friends with less income.

Begging, and bribing failed, and prostitution was out for the obvious reason that I had no appropriate clothing. The computer was sitting right on my counter bursting with dating sites calling me to click my way to happiness. I was weak, and a bit hypoglycemic as I walked across the room. There you were Dr. Phil smiling in the ad for Match.com; you looked so happy and I felt so over caffeinated. I can't resist you, I need Betty Ford to keep my hand from the mouse. I'm trying to fight you off, remembering the last time I tried this; I'm
thinking about all the "ing" endings, and male pattern baldness under the baseball hats, I'm remembering 5' 10" means 5'6" .... I began to feel dizzy and with my blood sugar level dropping rapidly a lightbulb went off....maybe I should date Dr. Phil.

Show me the money...honey

How many men are dating women half their age? Isn't delusion great? I have a friend who is 61 and has recently started dating a 30 year old. Well if you don't believe me you could ask him because that's all he talks about. No matter what question you pose his answer is, "oh Kristi is half my age." "Yea, great, but who do you think will win the democratic nomination?" He is obsessed with the age difference. I guess I'm obsessed with WHY a woman half his age would date him. I don't get it. I was 30 once, a 60 year old man was my father not my boyfriend. Men, do you think these women like you for your business acumen, politics, wisdom, athleticism, or virility? You know the answer....face it , it's the cash.

I, for one, wouldn't want to date someone half my age. For starters I don't have enough cash . And as stated in my profile I'm kinda cheap, so bribes are not in my nature. And bribe is the correct word. But there is a bigger factor in my reluctance to have a generation x or y guy....PARANOIA. I have a decent enough ego, I think I'm smart, cultured, dress hip/chic, athletic, successful, thin, but I'm not stupid. If I'm out with my boy toy and a great looking woman half my age walks in the room, he's looking at her not me, and I don't blame him. For God's sake I'm looking at her too. What do you do next, put a pile of money on the table to divert his attention? This is not my idea of romance. I don't want to spend my time worrying about how long I'll be able to keep his eyes on me. I'm a realist, worrying creates wrinkles and heart trouble.

Do men not understand this applies to them also? Are they living in some alternate universe? Why isn't my friend worried about Ms." half my age"? How long until her eyes are diverted by the great looking 35 yr. old guy across the room who can also stay up past 10:30? Hey older guy with money, do you really have enough so she only has eyes for you? You may not think about the wrinkles worrying can cause but can you afford the chronic heart ache?

Thanks, Bill Clinton

I owe Bill Clinton a thank you note. I can't speak for all women but he did me a huge favor. He helped me think in an entirely new way. I feel more liberated and less vulnerable; what more could I ask for from an ex-President? I don't know when it dawned on me, what day, what time, what I was wearing, or who I was with but thank you Bill Clinton for helping me decide, like you, that a blow job isn't sex. This is a good thing. Sex is a huge deal for women and anyone who doesn't believe this is LYING to herself. For men it's no biggie but for women it is almost an engagement ring . We have sex and we're attached, like barnacles to a shipwreck, only we're the barnacles and the wrecks! "I've slept with him, why doesn't he call?" "I can't believe I had sex with him and he didn't ask me out for Saturday night." "I slept with him and it was so great but I haven't heard from him." That feels pretty crappy. I've come to realize the more narrowly you define sex, the less sex you're having, and therefore the less attached and emotional you feel. Thanks Bill, this helps me out .

And if any men are listening a blow job really isn't that intimate. Women know if you could do it yourself you would. Life would be far less complicated for everyone that way. The other reality check for you guys out there is that women really are just not that into it. Oh we do it, but if you yank the truth out of us, no one's that anxious to get the job. Sorry, did I say "job"? I guess it can be a time to think, or remember what you have to pick up at the store. My girlfriend gave me the finer tips on giving a blow job over the phone , so how difficult can it be? And face it girls and this is difficult, I'm betting there's no such thing as a bad one . Feeling more emotional about your man now? Bill I agree this is not sex or intimacy, it's like getting the oil changed in your car. Do it every 3,000 or 7,500 miles but no need to cry.

Heaven, the new singles bar

"I'm going to meet a really cute guy in heaven", said Tina Fey on "30 Rock" Wednesday night. Ok, so now I'm quoting tv characters, but maybe they are my new role models. Afterall, I don't want to fashion myself after George Bush; the English major in me just can't make that leap of faith, and I'm historically a war protestor. ( btw as a Jew I'm very disappointed in you William Kristol, Richard Pearl and Paul Wolfowitz). Could it be Tina was onto something, maybe heaven is the new singles scene? Perhaps this is the fate of the baby boomer generation as just maybe we were too quick to pull the divorce trigger.

Our parents stuck it out, and even if they were miserable, and bitched and moaned about each other, they had each other until the end. They didn't take personal happiness as seriously or perhaps selfishly as we did. They remembered the "for better or for worse" part of the ceremony. Me, I have no recall. No sooner did the words come out of my mouth, TWICE, than I was wondering if I really was happy. My definition of "worse" was probably too liberal. Divorce had become a socially acceptable option and as cavalierly as I chose the sun roof option on my car I chose divorce . Now I'm wondering if I'll meet the next husband in heaven? I really should look up "worse" in the dictionary before I even go on another date. Maybe "worse" isn't as bad as I thought and better than alone?

Maybe happiness is over-rated. Is it possible to stay with one man your whole adult life and smile? What did I expect from this institution called marriage? And now that I've been released from the instituion on my own recognizance why do I want to be readmitted? The divorce rate is 50%, that's a lot of personal happiness gone wrong...a lot of sun roofs.

Tina, unfortunately I don't believe in heaven, but am I optimistic you'll find a cute guy there.

English 101, or Dr. Phil are you listening?

Dr. Phil just one more thing. Gotta minute? I mean afterall, I paid my entry fee into this land of fantasy, aka on-line dating. One of my pet peeves is people misusing words. It hurts my ears. I do however, struggle with whether or not to correct someone. I personally like to be corrected, as to me there are few things more embarrassing than using a word improperly. This is an instance where I can take being humbled. To prove my point, when my ex-husband told me "penultimate" meant "next to last" and not "the best or quintessential" I was grateful. I admit I fought his correction for a minute, shaking off his smugness, but hey the guy was right, there it was right before my eyes in the dictionary. I was an English major so I do feel an allegiance to words.

There is however, a new language with which I realize I am totally unfamiliar. It's the language of "ing" and it's spoken almost exclusively on internet dating sites. Whereas I have always thought it was simply an ending to a part of speech, I've come to realize it holds more meaning. In cyber dating it knows no grammatical boundaries, it's mutated into something much much bigger...defining character!

"Ing" is typically used in the profile questionnaire regarding personality issues.
"What is your ideal relationship?", is a common question and I've read dozens and dozens of answers on more than one site, and here's the common answer:
My ideal relationship is one in which there's , sharing, caring, trying , talking, crying, laughing, sighing, explaining, communicating, and listening. The "ing" language continues on with the answer to "Tell us about yourself": I'm sharing, caring, trying, listening, communicating, laughing, crying, hugging, kissing, walking, talking, caressing. Hold on there Dr. Phil, don't answer yet, it just gets worse. "What is your perfect first date?" When there's talking, communicating, laughing, sharing, walking (always on the beach) and thank God, no crying! And last but not least, "What have you learned from past relationships?" There should have been more talking, caring, listening, communicating, sharing, caressing, explaining, relating, walking (more beach time).

My ears hurt! Should I correct these people? Would it be constructive to call the date who said he loved "talking" to me and thought we were "relating" so well he asked me out and then stood me up, to tell him he was "lying"? Or is that too much "sharing"? I'll NEVER forget the widower who told me that the best thing that ever happened to his marriage was his wife "DYING".

"Ing" is a very hard language; much more difficult than it seems. If it was spoken correctly no one would be divorced because there really would have been: caring, sharing, talking, communicating, explaining, listening, hugging, kissing, far less walking, and more screwing.

So Dr. Phil, after listening to all of this you have a lot of explaining to do.

Statistics and.Dr.Phil

The smiling face of Dr. Phil kept popping up on my computer screen. It seemed he was the new "voice" of Match.com and I assumed from all the advertising ,I was supposed to take joy and comfort in this news.  Finally someone who could find me a date? Should I sign up again because Dr. Phil is a difference maker? I wondered if he'd be sitting up nights cross referencing my questionnaire and getting to know the true me.  Could he find my man, because I sure as hell couldn't. I've tried before and I hoped that this new improved Match.com would let the doc yell at men through the computer screen when they lied on their personal profile, or reach out and slap them back into reality.

Dr. Phil, dating guru ,tell me this, why don't men answer honestly? The questions aren't tricky. Not one person I met resembled the information they gave. In college it was called cheating on a test. There should be a web-site where profile abusers are "wanted" or a cyber citizen's arrest. After three tickets you're banished from the internet and forced back to the land of personal ads. The Doctor could be captain of the dating police.

I didn't get it. If you're bald, is wearing a baseball hat in all of your profile pictures fair? Are you never planning on taking the hat off? Do you sleep with it on? Have sex with it on? What if we meet on a really windy day? No offense hat guy but it is a leap of faith from the cutie in the Yankees' hat with brown hair around the edges to "male pattern baldness". Please, I beg you avoid the element of surprise!

The height question seems to be a real challenge for men. How tall are you isn't a test of one's imagination. Height is a number not wish fulfillment. If for some reason you don't know, use a tape measure or mark the wall like mom used to do. The question is not , what height do you want to be?

I found a man on a dating site, who looked pleasant enough, he was in tennis clothes standing by his car. He listed his height as 5'9" . That's ok with me, and I agreed to meet him for a drink. I arrived at the bar, he recognized me and stood up to introduce himself. A man who looks me straight in the eyes is 5'4 1/2". My skirt length would be perfect for him. I could wear his jeans without shortening them.  He is not 5'9". I'm sorry you want to be taller, so do I, but if you're not that 5'9" person at least be an honest one.  Internet dating math has replaced the "new math" that came into vogue when I was in 2nd grade. I didn't get it then and I don't get it now, but I believe the formula is ,their stated height minus 2 1/2 inches equals the man waiting at the bar.

Surprisingly men lie about their age. I thought that was the exclusive domain of women and yes, we are allowed.  Men aren't.  Isn't it enough that they can pull off gray hair successfully? I went out with a man who in "profile" life was 66 but in real life was 76.  That was quite a fudging of the numbers or was he becoming senile and forgot?  

 I just had one more quick math question for the Doctor, how could he find me a man when statistics say it was more likely that a woman my age would be hit by lightening than find a partner?