Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Mirror Mirror on the Wall I'm so Screwed

OMG just when I thought getting up and looking in the mirror couldn't get any worse I've discovered everyone I know may soon be able to see me first thing in the morning too. Confused? I'm innocently having a nice dinner with my friend Jay and his IT guy Anthony when I noticed they're on the phone to each other. Yes we're all at the same table but they were playing with their new fun toy iPhone4. All of a sudden Jay shoves the little device at me and says "Look, 'Face Time' - it's the future." Lord have mercy on my soul there's his face on the screen and then Anthony's who he was calling. I might have burst into tears or spit out my taco I can't remember. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? If people can see me when we're on the phone? It means I will need make-up on, hair combed, and in presentable clothes from the minute I wake up until the second I fall asleep. No more ripped gray gym shorts , ratty ponytail, or yesterday's mascara running down my face in the morning. Who am I kidding, that's how I spend half the day. Life in my schleppy clothes will be over. It's like a dagger in my heart.

I'll be visable 24/7! That is a personal nightmare. It will be hell and I love to talk on the phone. If "Face Time" is the future I won't be taking or making calls. What will I do? I'd need help - a live in make-up artist and hair stylist ready to go go go the minute I get up. "Oh god the phone's ringing!" I run to the mirror and realize there is no freaking way I can answer. I grab a cocktail dress out of my closet and put it on over my boxer shorts and ripped t-shirt. But wait, I wore that dress yesterday on the phone. I fling the dress and myself on the bed and start sobbing. I want desperately to answer, I feel the need to talk but can't let anyone see me like this. The pressure and stress mount. I CAN'T TAKE IT. I throw the phone across the room and long for the days of my powder blue princess phone. It's 9:00 a.m.and I'm making a martini to calm my jangled nerves. I hate the future.

My dinner with Jay and IT boy Anthony was ruined. I was reeling from the stress of "Face Time" and a bad taco. Don't call me and I promise not to call you.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Twitter or Neiman Marcus?

 I'm a "Twitterholic." There I've said it. Yet strangely I don't feel any better, but itchy to get back to it.  Yes, I'm the same person who thought "Twitter" was a neurological condition and anyone who "tweeted" should seek immediate medical attention or take up residence in a bird sanctuary. I felt inept, lonely and useless because I had no ability to participate in the new "social media" world. I could barely figure out Facebook. The pressure of finding "friends" made me anxious and break-out. What if you have no friends? Or just three and they're not Facebooking -is it a new verb? What if you have a page that's blank except for your lone photo? OMG what is worse than that except being back in high school? And what about the pictures and photo albums everyone posts? I'm a photo album loser and don't have a digital camera. My last camera was a Brownie.

I had to take serious stock of myself. If I couldn't Facebook how could I possibly join "Twitter" a site that demands you express yourself in 140 characters. "Hey, I have a lot to say I absolutely refuse to shorten my sentences and write in initials or emoticoms. As fate and horror would have it my literary agent Laurie told me I had to hightail it into the 21st century join Twitter and have followers. It sounded scary and oddly liturgical. Martini in hand www.gonepausal.com joined.

I've become a Twitter junkie. It's fun, it's easy and who needs 140 characters? It's too many. I can now express myself in under 100. Sometimes I have 130 left over. I wonder if you can sell them on eBay? I have 450 "followers" so far and thankfully they never want to come over. I'm tweeting with people I've never met from countries I've never heard of. It's endlessly entertaining and time filling. I can barely pull the Twitter needle out of my arm long enough to walk the dog. He hates Twitter. I've stopped longing to go shoe shopping. The Mother Ship, Neiman Marcus calls to me from right up Michigan Ave. but the Twitter force is strong. Thankfully I am weak and want shoes more than emoticoms.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Dating Tips For Those Seeking Immediate Answers

My friend Charlie approaches finding a mate like a job interview. I think this is a little harsh as not everyone gives good "interview." I happen to be a great interview and not so good once I get the job. Go ahead and ask my ex-hubbies. I think don't think they'd provide me with a letter of recommendation. F##k 'em if they can't take a joke. Charlie on the other hand, takes his hiring process very seriously. He's just short of handing out a questonnaire like you get in the doctor's office.

"Charlie darlin' don't you think it's a little pre-mature on the first date to ask someone so many questions? You don't take their blood pressure do you?"

"I think it's good to know right off the bat whether we have compatible life styles." Hmmmm and girls beware I think it's like the dreaded "pop quiz."

"Well what's on this life style list?" I was curious to see if I would pass or fail because I'm the competive type.

"I need to know if they're still working or retired. I'm retired so I can't be tied down with a woman who works and can't travel. (Uh oh I've got one wrong already. )

"Ok, what else is on the test or ah hem , 'interview' ?"

"There's the dog vs. cat issue because my dog doesn't get along with cats. That also begs if she like dogs because I'm not getting rid of "Hobo." Well I'm on his side. Ixnay to dog haters. My "Beefy Boy" stays - dog haters go.
"Common interests, are big, he continued uncoaxed. Absolutely no golfers because I don't play and they tend to always be out on the course. And I can't tolerate the endless golf talk."
Personally I don't play golf but like to watch the game on TV, so I don't know if I got the question right or wrong.

"I also want to know if they're a morning person or a night person. I'm a daytime guy and don't want to start the day at the crack of noon and be up until all hours." Two wrong for this girl. I'm rarin' to go anytime after 11:00 a.m.

"Any more biggies for your unsuspecting victims.... I mean dates?"

"Compatible sex."

"Well that's not a question. Isn't it more like an action verb?"

"It's good to find out quickly. Why continue if the sex isn't good?"

"I'm curious.....do men ever think sex is bad? (this is a great question, isn't it?)

"I once broke up with a woman in bed. (I think I lost consciousness for a second) She didn't move. Just laid there. (Was she filing her nails? ha ha, old joke) I told her right then we were not going to be a match."

I have no idea whether I'd pass or fail that last question. It's personal not business. I can't help but wonder if Charlie has the right approach. Maybe I should work up a questionnaire and hand it to a date...it would save a lot of conversation and I could file my nails.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

"Kloutless" in Chicago

My day is ruined. I just learned that I have no "Klout" and no I didn't spell it wrong. What's "klout" you ask? I have no freaking idea except I have zero. I was meeting with my social media girl Leyla www.leyaruinseverything.com as she was trying to help me become more savvy about networking www.gonepausal.com across the wide world of the internet. She said we should check my "klout" status on Twitter. "Ok, darlin' whatever you just said, I'll do."

On August 18 my literary agent told me I should have more "followers" on Twitter. I'm still not sure why but I have subsequently become a Twitter junkie. Junkie I say! I have to pull the Twitter needle out of my arm in order to leave the house. In fact right after I finish this post I may check myself into Twitter re-hab if there is such a thing. Today I am proud to announce I have 335 people following me. Alas,keep in mind Oprah has approx 14 million. My girl Leya has thousands. I'm a person who only learned how to "copy and paste" last April so in effect I'm a 21st century loser. Naturally I was a little nervous about Leyla checking my "klout." It sounded sci-fi scary and possibly expensive if it sent me back into therapy. We were at Starbucks so I grabbed another sample of spicy pumpkin latte and fidgeted as she spun her way around the internet.

I'm "Kloutless" it turned out. I think she noticed I was getting a rash on my face as she immediately said,"You probably haven't been 'tweeting' long enough." OMG I was unpopular! I was in high school all over again. I was totally devastated yet still had no idea what"klout" meant and why it was spelled with a "k." "But Leya I love Twitter and they don't love me."

She assured me my score would increase the longer I used the site. I was stunned and over caffeineated. My head felt like it might spin off and my rash was worsening. I packed up my little laptop and vowed to try some of the Twitter tricks she taught me right after I called a therapist.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Breaking News - A Confirmed Bachelor is Off the Market

Hang on boys and girls it's "Anything can happen week." Just when I thought my friend Sam was a man determined to never take a woman on more than two dates, what does the old boy do? He gets engaged. Yep, single girls cry your eyes out because he is officially OFF THE MARKET. Either that or I'm living in the movie "Groundhog Day" because every morning I get up, he's still engaged. I pinch myself to make certain I'm awake yet have black and blue marks running down both arms. There are just not enough colloquialisms to cover this event: "Will miracles never cease, Holy Cow Batman, Jiminy Cricket, what's up Doc?!...." Having known our bachelor Sam for many years my personal comment is "holy shit."

Sam helped keep Match.com. and eHarmony in business. He dated a lot of women and trust me they all liked him. Our boy is a 60 year old cutie, which is not an oxymoron in this case. He is a really good listener and women love love love that because we're always bitching and moaning men don't pay attention. He is what I call a "fun boy." On a date this is a really good quality. Oh and no middle age paunch. Aren't you lovin' him too? I never thought he would settle down because - why? Yet after two months of dating Jennifer I got an email that read ,"We're engaged." Two months! Dr. Phil stop screaming and waving red flags. I immediately emailed back "You're kidding?" I was thinking "you're crazy." Two months , who does that except on TV? "The Bachelor" takes longer to decide.

I'm happy for him because I was exhausted. I couldn't keep up with hearing about his evenings. There definitely comes a point when a man's been single too long. The girl chatter becomes, "He's dated every woman in a tri-state area." My personal theory is one random day a man wakes up and suddenly says "I think I'll get married today." Whereas women are always on relationship "alert" and weighing their options.

Sam and Jennifer are in engagement heaven. Rings and things are in the air. Their endless smiling is almost annoying. Yet I still wake up wondering if I'm in the movie "Groundhog Day."

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

I Failed "Mapquest"

I am directionally challenged, in other words, I always get lost. When I have to go somewhere new I take copious notes on how to get there. I make little arrows and never abreviate words so as not to get confused later. I never understood how to use a compass back in the "stone age" of my youth and could only determine "North, South, East, and West because I knew that Lake Michigan was East. I pretend I know where the North Star is. My car does not have a GPS which I always confuse with an APB. I do however, know how to "Mapquest." Ha!

Recently when I was visiting my son in Seattle I boldly decided to take his car and venture into downtown to meet a friend . I was nervous and realized there was a chance I could end up in Idaho. I "Mapquested" the directions and clutched them in my sweaty hand as I drove. I was desperately looking for the first turn off the highway... and looking and looking. Uh oh, I began to realize I had gone too far as the giant cruise ships to Alaska were on my right and I had lost sight of the skyline. I knew I didn't want to go to Alaska because I hate snow and had to get off the road. Crap. I wildly drove back towards the city - or so I thought. When I ended up in the parking lot of Safeco Field I was screwed and 12 hours early for the game. I then did what no man dares to do,

"Excuse me, sir, could you tell me how to get to ...." I jumped out of my car and asked for directions.

I was back on track - but not for long. Five minutes and six blocks later I was lost.

"Excuse me sir, could you tell me how to get to...." Yep, I jumped out again. I stared with awe and wonderment at the guy who whipped out his iPhone for directional help. For a delusional moment I dreamed I could learn to use the slick little phone and then woke up.

I only got lost twice getting back to my son's apartment. Sadly and shamefully , the second time was in his parking garage.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Tale of a Labor Day Hermit - Bah Humbug

OMG, not another holiday weekend?! These are a special kind of torture for me. Pressure, I can't stand the societal pressure to grill. A grill must symbolize something, but what? It also begs blowing up the house because of my complete ineptitude with large equipment. If I had a handy dandy barbeque I'd have to invite people over which requires cleaning and appetizers. This sounds less and less like a celebration and more like pergatory. Shouldn't a holiday really be where you sit around alone in a messy house, reading back issues of "People", eating potato chips out of the bag and drinking wine from a plastic cup? No cheeriness required. This also eliminates the risk of ptomaine/salmonella from nasty yet traditional holiday foods like eight hour old cole slaw, undercooked chicken, or the dreaded hot dog on a stick. What's in a hot dog anyway and why a stick?

Is there a parade on Labor Day, I can't remember. Although this year with such high unemployment I can't imagine there would be many marchers. As well as it being potentially dangerous for the lone employed person walking down the middle of the street waving a tiny flag. I'm not a parade person even in a high employment economy. Although I do like one that has a giant inflated Mickey Mouse or Willard Scott.

Crap, the long holiday weekend looms. I feel my anxiety rising. Should I lock the door, pull down the shades, break out the stack of "People" and hope I have enough chips and wine to make it to Tuesday? That sounds so right.