Monday, August 31, 2009

COYOTE UGLY... The Women's Version

A. and I were talking about men ....

"A. do you think you could have sex with that guy Larry I introduced you to? I mean what would it take? Oh God could you imagine him with no clothes"? (yes women think these things).

She screamed and then slyly remarked, "Is he rich"?

I thought about it..."He's got much would you need"?

Again she pondered and squirmed.

Let me describe Larry. He looks very similar to a lawn gnome: same height, coloring, clothes, and sadly physique. But before I come off as all that's evil in the world...he's a very nice guy. Nice I say!)

A. looked thoughtful , "How rich and do you have any Quaaludes"? I could tell the wheels were turning in her head.

"How many would you want"? Truthfully I hadn't seen any since 1983 but I thought we were on to something.

"Well, she demurred, if he's really really rich, maybe 1 drink and 2 Quaaludes. I'd need to be close to unconscious...oh and an engagement ring".

Wow, A. very nice thinking and kudos for planning ahead. This is how she and I devised the female version of "COYOTE UGLY". And there are no "bags" or messy "arm chewing" involved!

Drug and alcohol free - cute guy, having sex with him wouldn't be a problem. Call me asap if you know this man. I want him too.

1 Drink - not bad looking, but not attractive enough to be completely sober.

1 Drink 1 Quaalude - you're horny and he's all you got, but it could be worse.

1 Drink 2 Quaaludes - worse but he's rich and it could mean a nice vacation next winter.

1 drink 2 Quaaludes and an engagement ring - Lord have mercy on your soul and eyes, but he's extremely rich. Retirement and a personal staff are in your future. Oh and a tasty little Mercedes, as well as a Bergdorfs card and unlimited checking account, no questions asked. You would however need a good pharmacist.

"LAWN GNOME UGLY".... fair is fair.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Woodstock ; the wonder years

"By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong and everywhere was a song and a celebration". (Joni Mitchell "Woodstock")

Crap, the 40th anniversary of Woodstock; am I that old? I just glanced in a mirror and the answer is "yes" and "ugh". I am growing my hair long again, and absolutely, I think middle aged women can have long hair no matter what they say on the morning talk shows. I probably won't be wearing bell bottoms any time soon regardless of their being back in style. Now that's a really bad look over 50 and has anyone noticed how expensive blue jeans are? I could have a case of a lovely Sauvignon Blanc for the same price. The wine wins.

Sex, drugs, and rock and roll baby, remember!? Was Woodstock the "good old days"? l'll be honest and trust me this is hard to confess but I would no longer want to be drenching wet for 3 days, sleeping on the hard ground, peeing in a bush, and stuck in traffic for 12 hours even if Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin came back from the dead. Whoa, is there any of the hippy chick left in me? I recently spent two days and searched every street fair between Seattle and Portland for a tie dyed hoodie. Hippy or slave to fashion? As for drugs....pass the Advil. Or is your drug of choice Aleve? And for God's sake, turn the music down. I like quiet. Wow, I've become a nerd!

As for sex...mercy! Men, pull in those stomachs and stop wearing ankle length pants. Not a seductive look. Lordy those hippy boys were cute: pony tails, flat abs, low riding jeans... and they could hear. It didn't take much imagination to picture having sex with one of them. Now I sit across from a date at dinner and visualizing sex ruins a perfectly good piece of Chilean sea bass. Quick a drink! There's obviously not much hippy left in this chick. Peace and love.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Hot or Not; dating over 55

I have to  face it dating over the age of 55 is a huge freaking bummer. Sadly there is not even one lone "hottie" left in the demographic.  And humbly I include myself in the "not a hottie" population. Wasn't that a fun part of going out? Remember the mind boggling, take your breath away chemistry?!  Today chemistry only reminds me of a class I dropped junior year in high school. Now a man with hair and not looking like they swallowed a beach ball is a date to remember. I've come to prefer the shaved head look, as it's far better than three or four greasy strands draped across the top. Hot or not? How about hearing aids , are they a turn on? I remind myself it's better than yelling across the table. At least those men want to hear what you're saying.  Is that the new "hot?"

I went on a date with a man who talked the entire evening about himself, non-stop. Every sentence began with "I, I , I, I". I think I fell asleep. He didn't notice. Hot or not? But he had hair and no hearing aids...good date/bad date? That's tough and a very close call.  My friend Jay says, "It's a numbers game, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs". I was very bad at math so the idea of numbers makes me sweaty . And frogs conjure up the image of some biblical plague for which I'm not vaccinated and would need better health insurance. On second thought are frogs good listeners? Jon tells me I'm too picky, although this advice comes from a man who only wants to date women less than 105 pounds with small breasts. I consider his remark and think his options are limited and jail bait. Jon, wake up! And put the Twinkie down if a thin woman is high on the priority list as she won't be a big eater. Ixnay to double standards big guy.

I don't think dating via "frog kissing" is for me, although I did get an A- in biology, and my teacher was a hottie. Now he's probably bald and hard of hearing or deceased.  Is it too late to try and pass chemistry?

Monday, August 17, 2009

Michael Vick; still a dog killer in my book

This is not my usual funny blog.

Oh for God's sake who in their right mind believed a word Michael Vick said on 60 Minutes last night? I didn't believe him for 60 seconds. Are we really supposed to think he transformed from a dog killer to ASPCA spokesperson? Now I may have had a few glasses of a lovely reisling .... but he's lying. He has image shapers, lawyers, public relations gurus...I didn't see any dogs sitting at his side licking his hand. I still cringe visualizing the images of the starving/dying dogs he left behind when the mediocre quarterback from Virginia Tech/Atlanta Falcons went to prison. He might have been "rehabilitated" ,but some of those dogs never will be. Sorry big guy, you are behind dogs on my priority list. Oh, you've found Jesus? Yea! Whoppee do! I HATE THAT. Bullshit religious hypocrisy and convenience. Let's leave the Lord out of this Mr. Vick. After all who saved your helpless dogs?!

Obviously this pisses me off. He was temporarily re-instated to the NFL and the Eagles fans will probably embrace his sorry ass if they win games with him at the quickly fans forget when they get the big "win". How we love our sports heroes regardless of their transgressions. Trust me there is no bigger sports freak than I am but this guy is a loser in my book. Let's see how long he loves his furry game...two games..and entire season? Sorry ASPCA, next season you'll need a new ambassador.

Should we let him off the hook? I say he should be allowed back in the work force...bag boy , paper boy, Home Depot inventory boy...but the NFL? Forgive a spoiled brat athlete who kills dogs for "sport". Wow, it sure is fun to watch dogs die! Personally this breaks my heart. My heart does not break or bleed for Michael Vick.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Get Me to the Ashram not the Nunnery

My friend Rick thinks I'm sounding "grouchy". I wonder if that's his nice way of saying I've become a raving bitch? I am a getting a little testy! I'm sick of the ranting about cash for clunkers, btw I need cash, but don't own a clunker so I'm still strapped for $$$. The health care tirades are actually starting to give me hives, so should I or shouldn't I call a doctor? MY NERVES ARE SHATTERED and who's going to refill my Xanax? I need peace, love, 1966! Is Jimi Hendrix dead? Get me to an ashram or yoga retreat asap. I read the places are bulging at the seams with cranky folk just like me. Adria, stop jumping up and down on your computer keyboard and join me. We need quiet, shhhhhhh.... and cheap room and board.

I could meditate. No one laugh. I read that at the Himalayan Institute's 28 day self-transformation program the day begins with 6:00 a.m. meditation. Excuse me? I couldn't possibly start self transformation that early. I can't begin transforming until 10:30 after 3 cups of coffee and a quick application of eye shadow. The day continues with hatha yoga classes, breathing and relaxation practicums and about four hours of light chores like making beds and chopping vegetables. Oy and what's a "practicum"? As for "light" chores... those aren't light! I feel crankiness returning. I hate making beds and absolutely do not do "hospital corners". Chopping? I don't want to chop. Do I look like freaking Jooolia Child? I'm starting to itch again. I need different chores, like selecting a nice Sauvignon Blanc for dinner. Oh and I don't share, so no bunking with others. OMMMMMMM!

I feel more relaxed already. Maybe thinking about self transformation and meditation is good enough. Now where's my eye shadow?

Friday, August 7, 2009

"Princess Stripped of Crown"! or I hate to shop.

I hate clothes shopping. I know, I know, I also hate "The New Yorker" and packing boxes. There must be something I like...but I digress. Shopping is at the top of my 'most dreaded' list. This is no more evident than looking in my closet, where my friend Adria recently spent about 30 seconds before she started screaming. "Is this it?! Where are the rest of your clothes?" Sheepishly I stammered, "I don't know....oh wait... there are few things in my office closet ". I took her hand, marched her there, and stood with my head down so as not to witness her expression. "Are you kidding?! There's no such thing as a Jewish princess with so little clothing"! Crap. I was busted and demoted. I felt ashamed and questioned the validity of my DNA. She was right, I was a disgrace to my "title" and mother. Mom btw, could dress the entire third world with the clothes in her closet she has never worn.

I was determined to prove Adria wrong. I was a Jewish Princess! With trepidation and medication I set forth. First stop, JCrew , where I had my friend K on speaker phone. "Now go to the back of the store and look at the "minis" cute", she commanded. "Then you definitely need the little blue pin striped jacket with the rolled up cuffs....oh, and ask the salesmen to show you the jeans in all those great colors". Click. I was overwhelmed and had started to itch. What "cuffs", what "minis"? I left the store in tears, searching desperately for the meds. "I am a Jewish princess... I know I am... I know I am".

I set out again the very next day with my mother in tow. After all why not bring along the Czar of shopping as support. Store one, I stayed long enough to try on two pairs of pants. My shopping A.D.D. kicked in and we left. Store two, I didn't get as far as a dressing room before I dragged my mother by the hand out the door. "MOM, let's go, I hate everything"! I'm not sure she was completely in the car before I pulled away from the curb. Store three, same scenario, only this time faster. Mom was getting dizzy from our pace. I offered her the meds. Store four I was dazed and prepared to face my fate...I wasn't a Princess because I didn't have a wardrobe worthy of the crown. Then like a "once upon a time" moment, I spotted a consignment rack. Thanks to a quaking economy a sexy little black dress called to me and I grabbed it. "Mine"! Was I on a roll? A fabulous jacket was next; so cool, so soft, so cheap! I was suddenly giddy. I did it...I shopped and purchased. The crown was mine!

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Shaken not deterred!

My friend Rick needs help. He isn't stressed out like me about the real meaning of Twitter, cryptic messages on his Facebook wall, or whether or not texting brings, no, no poor Rick has fear of restaurants. (I love restaurants; it means I'm not cooking). He is terrified of being seated. This is a phobia about which I know nothing nor have I done any reading; it's new and it's true. Apparently the sign "Please Wait to be Seated" strikes fear in his heart. Whoa Rick, get a grip babe, it's just a sign. "And put the Valium away, it will spoil your appetite." I've dined with him, and have seen how shaken he gets being lead to a table. He turns a grayish white and gets a little sweaty across the eyebrow area. Quick Towelettes!

"The table for two we're headed for is really a table for six because the couples on either side of us are six inches away. Why don't we just ask for a red checkered tablecloth and call it a friggin' picnic"? Rick's testy! I totally agree with him but wish he'd stop sweating. "And look our neighbors hate us...I can see it in their eyes". On second thought , maybe it was time for the Valium! I hate being squished next to strangers cramped against a wall also, especially when the rest of the dining area is EMPTY! This pisses me off...who are these people resting their elbows on my table!? Oh God, what if they talk to me?! I'm moments away from hearing about their son's soccer game. I rip the Valium away from Rick...."don't hog the drugs".

Unlike Rick I have no fear of a maitre d. Oh they can be huffy but I'm a Jewish Princess, I've been trained for just this type of dining warfare. "Excuse me, but we need a different table, I insisted. How about the booth over on the other side of the room"? I glared .... he glared. Rick was that grayish white color. "Of course ma'am". Yes! Truimphantly we walk to our neighbor free table. Rick's still shaken and I'm still wondering if texting brings happiness.