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!