I Hate New Year's Eve

Oh crap it's New Year's Eve. I can feel the pressure mounting. What am I doing? Where am I going? What will I wear? Does anyone like me? Is it too late to get a date? What if someone sees me home alone? Am I still in high school? Answers: nothing, nowhere, my pajamas, no, yes, yikes, and no. Why and when did this one night become a barometer of popularity ? And is there really such a thing as "popularity" once you're out of 12th grade? I long for the peace and quiet of 4th grade. I take that back, my last peaceful New Years was 2nd grade as if I recall correctly 3rd grade was the year I had a crush on Roger S. and realized he didn't like me. I was devastated and unpopular.

New Year's Eve is totally over-rated. Who can even stay up until midnight? I remember fondly when 12:00 a.m was a starting point. I wasn't tired, I was dressed and ready to go, go, go. Now I'm cranky and irritable if I'm up at 11:30. Who am I? The go go go girl has come and gone. I've morphed into "I'm tired and have to go home." Aside from my inability to remain conscious until midnight, the pressure to have fun is overwhelming. Does a good time involve party hats, noise makers and drugs once you're over 50? I look really bad in hats, most of my dates are hard of hearing so anything that makes noise is wasted, and the drug of choice is now an anti-inflamatory.

Only 14 hours and 10 minutes until midnight. I think I'll get a jump on the night and open a bottle of champagne now. I'll be asleep by noon. Happy New Year!

I Need New Years Resolutions Quick

Crap, another new year looms. It's resolution time again. The pressure to resolve something, anything ,mounts and I can't even remember what I resolved or didn't resolve last year. I know for certain I didn't vow to lose weight, but I think I did anyway. I'm sure this is a big bummer for people who have weight loss on the top of their list, but I recommend getting yourself in a state of high, mind bending anxiety and the pounds will melt away. Trust me on this and feel free to send any uneaten Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes or Mounds bars my way. Uh oh, I'm pretty sure I said I would have a colonoscopy in 2009, but didn't. I bought a pair of silver Prada high heels instead. Colonoscopy? Prada? Colonoscopy? Prada? The shoes were cheaper.

Another year went by without having sex in the kitchen. I know, I know, it's on my list every year and I can't seem to get it checked off. I did however, see "Julie and Julia" which took place in the kitchen. I guess I should start taking applications in January and what if if I only interview men under 40? Hmmmmm 2010 is lookin' hopeful. Btw, Dan, don't worry you're safe. I could finally kick the "All My Children" habit or start a 12 step program for others like me. I know you're out there. I've given up on matching Erica Kane husband for husband. I don't have enough years left. I would however, like the name and phone number of her plastic surgeon because she's aging a hell or a lot better than I am. Curses. I'll never turn the channel.

There must be something to resolve. I could give up wine or whining. Why and whhhhhhhy? I could finally act like the Jewish Princess my mother dreamed I would become and shop "last call" at Neimans with her, but then I'd need to be medicated. I'm resolutionless with 3 days left. Help me!

Help bring Holiday Cheer to Elliot, my Yellow Lab

My Yellow Lab Elliot needs your help this holiday season. He wants a nice big crate so he never has to drive to Palm Springs with me again. He hates the car and knows I'm too cheap to buy the crate. He may not like airplanes either but I think it's safe to say he's willing to chance it. I saw daggers in his eyes as I packed suitcase after suitcase after suitcase. "Oy, she's leaving again? Didn't we just take this trip?" Poor thing perked up a little when he saw the bag of dog biscuits I had in my hand but it was short lived. When I opened the back door and told him to jump in he sat down. "Go Elliot go , I cheered. I promise we'll stop at nicer gas stations this year, and no more cheap motels either but please just jump in!" He didn't budge. I ran back to the house for half a chicken.

I was in tears and the dog was licking his lips. He loves chicken, especially my mother's but we had to get going and he didn't want to move his bootay. I admit the backseat wasn't inviting, as it's a little small for my beefy boy, but trading in the car would take too long. Crap. Maybe my tears worked or my trick of slowly pulling away without him , but he got up. We were out of the driveway 45 minutes behind schedule. Elliot is very particular , the exception being food. He would eat loose change if I wasn't too much of a tightwad to leave it laying around. Where he pees is another story.

Grass is his preferred surface. It must smell inviting and feel soft and cushy under his very sensitive feet. Once out of Illinois, Missouri and Oklahoma there was no more grass , just brush. "Pee for crying out loud," was the bubble over my head as I watched beefy boy gingerly place one paw at a time on the prickly ground trying to walk no less consider anything else. With each tiny step he held up a foot for me to wipe off . I think this added 5 hours to the trip. I tried to be patient yet longingly looked up at planes as they zoomed overhead. So this holiday season if you eat a chicken think of Elliot and help get him a crate.

How do you spell Hanukah?

"Baah Humbug!" There I said it. It's been roiling up inside of me for weeks and furthermore I feel as 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. To make matters even worse I don't have the necessary items to actually celebrate Hanukah, or is it spelled "Chanukah?" See I can't even spell the holiday no less partake. For starters I don't have a menorah (the spellling is impossible), a draidel, or the special menorah candles. Birthday candles do not fit in the holders, which is either a merchandising trick or I'm just a loser. Whatever the celebratory food is and I'm fairly certain it's not matzoh, I don't have that either. See how easy it is to get the holiday crankiness going?

Forget the eight days, eight gifts...how do you give a present to another Jew? This can be a nightmare. We are a group that can spot "re-gifting" at 50 feet. I would love to get rid of the little powder blue scarf I got last year but any self respecting JAP could sniff out the smell of the old box and have me shunned. I would be so busted. The gift idea is making me anxious and a little sweaty. I guess I could individually wrap my Xanax stash and give them as the gift that keeps on giving for about eight hours, but I don't like to share.

My nephew is having 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. In my neck of the woods it would be no one. I get to keep the Xanax

I did not have sex with Tiger Woods

I did not have sex with Tiger Woods. I'm beginning to feel quite alone. Every day or hour a new chickadee comes out of the woodwork. He's been a busy bee. I don't know if I ever slept with that many people in such a short period of time even in the the early '70s. I hope Mom isn't reading this. I wonder if Tiger would consider an older woman? He doesn't appear to be very discriminating which really must make his wife feel bad. If he had been fooling around with Condi Rice I think Elin and I would agree he was at least trying to challenge himself intellectually or get the inside scoop on W. and the invasion of Iraq. From what I've heard 24/7, he liked big breasted blonds, cocktail waitressess, porn stars, and to frequent Perkins .

Although I'm available I don't fit his profile. For starters no woman over 55 has been mentioned except his mother. I don't have big breasts and don't plan on buying them. This seems to be important. I am blond but only to someone who has cataracts. I like cocktails a lot but have never served one and really don't trust myself not to spill. As for porn star status or aspirations I'd have to say I'm too close to Social Security to risk a new career. Ixnay to Perkins no matter who I might wait on. Sorry Tiger there are too many items on the menu so I would never ever get an order right. I couldn't bear people screaming at me about eggs when they wanted meatloaf. "Eat the damn eggs." I also do not want a job that requires a uniform with a name tag.

It looks like I'm never going to have sex with Tiger. I probably will never play golf either.

How I Got the Black Eye or Happy Birthday Blues

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear me, happy birthday to me. Crap.

Celebrating my birthday in the emergency room sucked. A big fat hairy blond put me there. She was just a little too anxious to eat. "Hold on there fatty, you're gonna get food." If only I had a chance to say that. "Let me just step out of your way." Didn't have a chance to say or do that either. POW, right into the wall she shoved me, head first. And how did I go from standing to kneeling with my forehead smashed into the side of the barn so damn fast. Yep, Ginger the evil fat mare nailed me. She sure was anxious to beat me and her pasture mate to the feed tub. No birthday cake for her. I leaped to my feet just to be sure I could. Well that was the good news, although walking a straight line would have been a challenge. Crying was a good option right after I stopped swearing. Luckily I had my cell phone handy and could make out the numbers. Ambulance? Friend? Ambulance? Friend? Or should I just sit down under a tree and sob? Ambulance seemed so serious and even though I felt my injury was just that I was trying to avoid reality.

"Dan, come quick, the fat mare got me." With ice packs on my neck and head we hightailed it to the emergency room. Trust me, this was not a "destination" birthday. I did however thank everyone in the ER for celebrating with me and it was a good gag until the nurse in the CAT scan room spoke the real truth "this really sucks." Yes siree it sure did. The ER doc couldn't have been nicer or cuter, but too young for this birthday girl. The neck brace was a necessary touch but a bad bad fashion accessory. Dan and I watched the pathetic Bears game on the very nice flat screen TV they had in the ER cubicle. I highly recommend this hospital. As much as I enjoyed the accommodations I was a wreck waiting for the results of the CAT scan. Dan, ever the optimist was optimistic. I'm cursed with the "oy" gene and was nervous and sweaty. Some party. In what seemed like 15 hours but in fact was 45 minutes the nurse came in took off the cervical collar and gave me my birthday news, no concussion, and no neck fracture. I loved her. The doctor came and said good-bye. He was so cute, but I felt so old.

Under the circumstances my birthday had a happy ending. Oh except for the multi-colored eye which magically appeared two days later and is still with me. My predominately black wardrobe sets it off nicely however and my bangs cover the lump on my forehead. I accept late presents/cards for up to a year.

Damn, nothing looks good with a black eye.

Anyone want my makep-up? I just bought a really nice new eye shadow by NARS called, "Star Violet." I have a lovely navy blue liner by Lancome, a Yves St. Laurent touche eclat radiant touch stick, Smashbox shimmery green eye shadow which looks excellent with the "Star Violet" and Clinique black mascara to perk up the old wilting lashes. I'll even throw in my NARS "Malibu" rouge as no one will be noticing how pastie white I look for a while. I almost forgot , take my fabulous new lipsticks "Mystic," a great color for everyday, and "Diva" a perfect red for dress up. Why am I being so generous, cheap as I am. Yes, I'm cheap that's not urban legend. I have a black eye. No make-up required, it's already a lovely shade of purple and green. It goes nicely with my blue pupil which is barely visable. I suggest looking away or screaming.

To think of the time I spent running from make-up counter to make-up counter at Bloomingdales and Nordstroms searching like a crazed lunatic for new eye and lip colors to perk me up. I was looking a bit cadaverous according to Mom, who btw is called by name at every cosmetic counter in the Chicagoland area. "It's Bea," they cheer as they run after her with new skin products promising "youth." Mom, has me in tow as we schlep from store to store. I had at least a dozen lipstick colors smeared on my face and hands in our search for the right shade. I couldn't find a color that matched my age, no less my skin tone. It was labor intensive, exhausting and sad. I sure looked bad in a large array of colors. Finally success was mine thanks to the sales girls at the NARS counter. She knew her stuff and whipped out the magic colors that brought my face back to life. Trumphantly tiny bags in hand I marched out of the store. Whoops, where's Mom? I had to drag her away from a scarf marked down 50%.

Sadly, I look in the mirror and realize nothing looks good with my green and purple swollen right eye, not even my left eye.