Tuesday, October 27, 2009

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. I have mother issues but not as serious as yours. Mostly Mom wants to know what I'm wearing, where I'm going and who I'm with. She's also obsessed with a "facial mask" I should apply for my wrinkles but I'm sure your Mom wasn't as pesty about appearances. Of course you also weren't worried about a mortgage because you lived in a big old castle that was paid for. No loan defaults in your world right? I'm guessing you didn't have the rising cost of health care about which to wrack your brain, and my nagging dilemma of, "to get a colonoscopy or not to get a colonoscopy"? No wonder I can't sleep. Hamlet, dude step aside.

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 like me or Joby? Crap, I forgot to finish my alegebra homework because I couldn't figure out the difference between x and y. On a more serious note did my parents notice the car smelled from cigarettes? Sadly, I wasn't invited to the Senior Prom but had a dress picked out. Tragically and worst of all I had a giant zit on my cheek. Face it those were real sleep busters, but regardless I dozed away. Lights off I'm dreaming like that wack-a-doodle Prince. Btw, Roger liked Joby ...I was crushed yet sleepy.

I listen to the commercials for sleep aids with the melodious voice over enticing me , "Come with us to a calm, peaceful, full night of sleep". "I'm coming, wait up, here I come" , I cry out to the TV. "Take me with you"! I long for sleep ... and oddly my blue Villager sweater.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Find My Glasses and get a Reward

Has anyone seen my glasses? Crap. I know they couldn't just up and walk away. Glasses can't walk right? Of course they can't, but I think there's a vacuum cleaner that can. Besides which my glasses were expensive. Tragically, I looked bad in every single pair except the $400 frames. I call them my "no more vacation" glasses. So now I can't see and the trip to Florida is off. Yes, I looked in the washing machine AND dryer, no glasses but I did find a blue hat that wasn't mine. Nope, not in the dishwasher which I should unload soon anyway. Hey, they were dirty so that was a reasonable option. I ripped apart the couch which I don't advise unless your dog is the same color. (Where do I keep the vacuum)? I haven't used the oven in 6 months but after my usual two glasses of wine it might seem logical.

My purse? Of course, of course! I ravaged it at least four times and vowed to never again buy one with so many compartments. They didn't turn up in the box with my new darling Kate Spade high heels, but it did make me long for a place to wear them. And wonder why I bought them. The refrigerator was a bust, but in desperate need of food. No wonder I'm always hungry. The garbage almost made sense but yuk. Under the bed, behind the bed, nope and nope. I promised however to vacuum before the week was up. A lightbulb when off! They were in a pocket. Yes, yes, yes... I was crazed and sweating when I concluded I had too many , or can you never have enough? Why was the dog staring at me in my wild search? He ate them. After all there's no homework.

The car, they absolutely had to be in the car because I need them to drive. Glove compartment, trunk, under the driver's seat, passenger seat, in the cushions , cupholders, nothing resembling glasses but I wondered if the Snickers bar wedged in the back was still edible. I knew the sticky candy cane in the cupholder wasn't. A friend of mine was at the airport and said he'd look but I hadn't been there in six months, and it reminded me of the vacation I wouldn't be taking.

Is this it? The moment that age had caught up with me? And how old am I? Thankfully I've forgotten.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Sex or the Internet; pick one

Sex or the internet? Hmmmm, which would you give up for two weeks? No really. I for one, have become an internet hermit and junkie, which is a disturbing thought and no, I don't have a beard the last I looked, but I need to re-check. Whew, back from the mirror, no beard, but I could use a hair cut. What season is it? Are short skirts in or out? How much is gas? If I pick sex I better shower. And btw if you're reading this you might consider showering more also. I used to have a life.

There was a time when I got up in the morning and got dressed but now my little laptop calls to me from my office. "Gail, I'm in here...come in....take a seat....maybe "YOU'VE GOT MAIL"! " Ahhhhh yes, yes, yes, yes, mail"! Is this the 21st century orgasm? I don't have to leave the tiny tantalizing little machine when I can get everything from refrigerators to tires to vibrators on line. I can even shop for dates and never actually have to go on one, which is a time saver. I love men I never have to meet ... so much easier to get along.

How did this happen to me? I was a free spirited hippy, a flower child, a vegetarian and totally anti-establishment. Now I'm in my green robe from Target hooked on technology. I can "google" every single ache and pain in my body. It's like a dream come true. I've spent hours just on my left knee. A diagnosis alludes me, but I'm getting close. And my cracking thumb is still ripe for researching. Is this turning you on too? Are my medical symptoms better than foreplay? Are the words "you've got mail" more exciting than that man/woman in your life? Is "Facebook" hotter than face time? Although I bet you could "Twitter" and have sex simultaneously but, THAT'S CHEATING. It's crunch time...no sex or no internet for two weeks. You go first.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Win $3,000, a trip to Paris or me.

I finally had to face it, no one wanted to fix me up. Crap. No matter how I begged, pleaded, threatened or bribed, the response was "I don't know anyone to fix you up with." Give me a break, not one of my family members, friends, or even my mailman (yes, I'm a loser and asked him), knew an unattached male. This couldn't be possible when half the adult population was divorced. The question that continued to haunt me was ,where was this half and how come no one knew them?

When I was in my twenties and lived in New York City every time I walked out the door I got a date. Men were everywhere. Of course my handy dandy Golden Retriever was a guy magnet, but my ego could take it. We were a package deal, love the dog, love me. It sure was fun being 24 yrs. old in New York. Flash forward 35 years and we're talkin' a whole new story. I walk outside and I'm invisible, except to people asking for money or directions. My apologies to that old guy I headed north instead of south. Even my super model yellow Lab doesn't help. I am so over! I was frantic to come up with something better than "do you know anyone to fix me up with?" I needed a new marketing plan.

I decided to focus on bribery. I offered a $3,000 vacation to the person (yes, including the mailman) who found me a long term man. What better investment than myself. I was convinced there was nothing like $$$$ to jolt my friends into action. Check book in hand I went off to offer the vacay to my girl Bobbi.

"What do you mean not enough money?" I practically spit out my mocha skim latte with extra foam hearing this, but couldn't afford to.

"No offense sweetie, but it doesn't really cover the kind of vacation I'm used to, besides I still don't know anyone. Gotta run and pick up the boys for soccer, then baseball, then dinner, homework, baths."

"Blah blah blah blah" was the bubble over my stymied head. I was shocked and despondent. What was I offering, chicken liver? Prison camp? I needed new friends with less income.

Bribery continued to fail at my entry level number. Finally and with great trepidation I ponied up a trip to Paris. If it was the George V my friends wanted in exchange for a man I would borrow the cash. I was an "upstart" company, all new businesses take out loans and then go bankrupt.

"Sorry kiddo, I just got back from Europe and I'm exhausted. Besides Mark and I don't know a single man."

"Nope, I wish I knew someone but I'm so busy with the kids."

"I never really meet anyone on my route except women."

Now what? Or, if not now, when? I was growing older by the minute, I needed help. Someone help me!

"Honey how about one of those dating sites? Someone at the beauty shop told me that her niece's best friend met her husband that way."

I hated the beauty shop tales my mother loved to weave. And her affinity for complete strangers always disturbed me.
"Sure mom, whatever. I bet they're really happy. Uh oh, gotta go."

Could Mom be right or finally have a story with merit? A dating site sounded so desperate and lonely. Yet, I was desperate and lonely. Besides it was a hell of a lot cheaper than my bankrupting offer of Paris.

I was weak, a bit hypoglycemic, and two glasses of a cheap California Cabernet under when I finally relented and turned on my computer to find love. And who was staring back at me but Dr. Phil. I think I screamed. He was the new spokesperson for Match.com. He looked happy. I was buzzed and he was bald. I began to feel a little dizzy and with my blood sugar level dropping rapidly a lightbulb went off....if all else failed I could date Dr. Phil. After a few non-lucid moments of pondering whether or not he was my type I put my spinning head down on the keyboard but not before I clicked "join now" and then fell asleep.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Baby Boomers,be afraid, be very afraid...and don't watch tv.

Fellow Baby Boomers be afraid, be very afraid. Madison Avenue is after us and they're getting too close for comfort. I'm trying as hard as I can to be strong and stay away from the tv, even though my little flat screen is oh so cute. Admitedly however, I'm weak, with little will power when it comes to "regularly scheduled programming". Sunday morning I tried as hard as humanly possible to turn my back on George Stephanopolis and his giant hair. I walked through my den head down putting one foot carefullly in front of the other. Coffee was the only thing on my mind. "I love coffee, I can't wait for my morning coffee....I love coffee, I can't wait"....oh who was I kidding? I grabbed the seven clickers it takes to turn on the tv. Crap, which stupid piece of plastic gets me a station? I had all seven in my hand ready to throw at the wall when it occured to me that would be counter-productive. I had a slight fever and mild delirium when George's face and hair finally appeared.

If only the morning was filled with my usual yelling and swearing at the screen but alas, it wasn't. The commercials are what freaked me out. They may as well have called my name.
"Gail, are you irritable because you're constipated"? "No, well sometimes, maybe, should I be"?
"Gail, are you sleepless? Do you toss and turn and rip the covers to shreds"? "Ok, yes, yes, a thousand times yes! What do I need....tell me, tell me"!
"Gail, would you like to flatten your flabby abs from pregnancy"? Oh God, they can see my abs....I sucked in my stomach and spit out my coffee.
"Gail, are you having trouble reading the menu and sorry you went out to dinner"? AH HA! At last....I got them! "I can read the menu", I sobbed.

I no longer cared about George, his big hair, or his political opinions. I hated him and his lousy advertisers . I defiantly vowed to go out to dinner because I might be constipated, exhausted, and flabby but I COULD STILL READ THE MENU!

Friday, October 9, 2009

Why I Am Not a Cougar Woman

Grrrrrrrrrrr. I wish I was a Cougar Woman. I don't have the chutzpah to hunt younger men which bums me out. Cougar women how and where do you do this? Are you in caves out west; a feral group clad in animal hide feeding on unsuspecting bighorn sheep and flat abbed 35 year old boys with hair? Go girls, go! "Google" defines you as over the age of 40, financially independent , successful, confident, motivated, love your life and self. Are you having a membership drive or bake sale any time soon? Cougar women survive on a tasty cuisine of men at least 10 years younger. Yummy, but I've never been particularly adventurous about food. Curiously old men have preyed on younger women for years and they've been called "lucky" not some form of wild mountain cat. Rumor has it younger men are more energetic, fun, and trainable. The happy word is "trainable". Yet.... it sounds time consuming. I'm the lazy sort who always wonders when I get a new puppy why I just didn't buy a 2 year old dog. No muss, no fuss, they sit, stay and don't pee on the rug. I prefer this in a man also.

I dated younger and "trainable" once. He had all those good puppy qualities: cute, playful, energetic, youthful enthusiasm, stared at me adoringly and mindfully. Not bad huh? Was I crazy, what went wrong? For starters he never read one play by Shakespeare, one book by Hemingway, or F. Scott Fitzgerald, stared vacantly at me when I mentioned Hunter Thompson, no less William Burroughs or Jack Kerouac. No "Catcher in the Rye" in his personal history, or "Annie Hall" and "Easy Rider". Yes, there was a war in Vietnam and Watergate brought down a President named Nixon. "You were three when Kennedy was shot"?! Crap. My puppy man and I had very different life landmarks. Sadly, those aren't trainable. The flat abs were nice.

I confess I really do like puppies and will probably have another one regardless of the paper training, accidental peeing on the rug, and the time consuming lesson of "sit and stay". As for men...must come fully trained.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

I Hate Reality TV More than The New Yorker

I hate, hate, hate reality tv. Yes, even more than The New Yorker and packing boxes. Reality television is like a virus, each night there's a new one infesting my living room...every hour , every channel, someone else's reality. My world is real enough, I don't need a total stranger's problems too. For God's sake who cared about the last "Survivor"? Trust me I have my own survival issues and they don't have to do with eating Scorpions in a bikini. My reality tv show would be called, "Crap my rent is due" or "Who wants my dental bill? Btw, is "The Bachelor" still looking for a wife? Now that is really depressing tv because if the nubile young creatures they prance in front of him can't get a man there's no hope for the rest of us. And girlies get a grip, ditch the bachelor and do some long range career planning. As for losing weight in prime time! Why why why is this a tv show and how did everyone get so fat? LISTEN UP, "Give back the double Mac with cheese and pull out of the drive thru line"! Or hand it to "America's Next Top Model". She scares me.

Hang on there just one sec. Hold your horses ,I have a great idea for Baby Boomer reality tv....."What Would You Trade to be 40 Again"? This is imaginative and very dark programming in my book. Hmmmmmmmm, let's think....there's Mom.... 40 sounds really good and looks even better: smooth skin, no wrinkles, no grey hair, I'd have hormones. That's a toughie. What about my Prada purse instead of Mom? And I'll throw in my Honda Civic. Catch my drift kiddies? Now that's reality tv with just a touch of "The Twilight Zone".

Truthfully, I'd like real people to get off my screen. Eat Scorpions, lose weight, find husbands, and become models on your own time. Now, I better call my Mom and tell her she can relax, the deal's off.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Dance of the Seven Plungers!

"They just don't make things the way the used to". Who said that? It couldn't have been me. No,no, no! I'm too young, too hip, too cool, too blond? Old people sit around and grouse about such things. My dad says that. Oh God, I've become my dad....quick the heavy drugs... take me back to the 70s. I'm kvetching about the good old days....who am I? I need an emergency trip to Neimans in order to get re-focused. "Mom where are you...? You don't care about the way things are made as long as they cost alot.....why am I Dad"?

I am here to say, on the day of my "old person" reckoning that they don't make plungers the way they used to. And yes, every household still needs a plunger regardless of whether you Facebook, Twitter, or use an iPhone. I am however, willing to admit that I'm a domestic loser. I was cleaning the toilet with one of those "thingies" that are on a wand. Now I ask you ,why do they have a "release" button if you can't flush the "thingie" down the damn toilet? WHY?!? Because it's got a hexagonal plastic center is the right answer. No sooner had I released and flushed than I knew. Duh! It will never make it. I ran for the plunger. "Ready, aim, PLUNGE"...I could save the day and the need for a $$$plumber. A plunger that turned inside out and didn't SNAP back into place was useless. Useless I say! The water was rising and my flimsy plunger remained inside out on a stick. The plungers from my childhood did not do this. I'm freaking out so Neil went and bought me another one. Again, "ready , aim, plunge"! CURSES! Who makes these things? General Motors? "This isn't a real plunger", I screamed and ran out the door.

I had to take matters into my own hands. Ace Hardware, plumbing aisle was my first stop. I ripped one off the shelf and practiced plunged. Yep, inside out....another fake plunger. Was the world coming to an end? I flung it back and hightailed it to the car. HOME DEPOT loomed on the horizon. If not there...where?! I put my head on the shoulder of the man in charge of plumbing equipment and sobbed about the good old days of heavy rubber plungers. He understood. He gently placed two types in my hands and told me one was a new plastic contraption that would never bring me happiness and the other exactly what I was looking for. I practiced plunged for 15 minutes and he was right. It snapped back every time. I stopped crying, thanked him and promised to send my friends to his aisle.

I arrived home victorious with my new heavy rubber, good old fashioned plunger. Neimans has never brought me that kind of joy.