Cut Me Off in Line and I'll Kick Your Ass

Uh oh it's really going to get crowded in your local plastic surgeon's office. I foresee lots of pushing, shoving, and bruising to get to the receptionist's desk as the number of men going for cosmetic procedures is increasing exponentially. Hard to believe because the culture always embraced the lines and wrinkles of men as dignified, handsome, or nicely weathered. Ha! If a woman is "nicely weathered" she's considered a body double for the Wicked Witch from "The Wizard of Oz." As for women looking dignified or handsome from aging, when was the last time Donald Trump or Rupert Murdoch married a dignified or handsome mature looking woman? Catch my drift kids? I admit I am surprised when I look in the mirror and have to stop myself from sobbing. I seem to have been replaced by some alternate form of life. "Mirror mirror on the wall what the hell happened?"

I am also surprised however, that men are beginning to get panicky when they look in the mirror. Are they finally realizing those jowels, lines, and turkey necks aren't nicely weathered and worn features but kinda scary? Welcome to my world little fellas! And FYI gym memberships and an exercise regimen does not help from the neck up. I see more and more burly boys in the cosmetic department as Calvin Klein et al are raking in the dough with the promise of age defying lotions and potions "especially" for men. Right. It's all the same snake oil darlins'. But why shouldn't your Neiman's bill be as big as mine?

The truth is needles filled with botox, plumper uppers, or a sharp scalpel and a hopefully steady surgeon's hand are really the only way to get rid of wear and tear. Personally I love that men are becoming afraid that "weathered" really means old looking and the standard of beauty they apply to women also applies to themselves. Lord have mercy, it does seem only fair. So little buddies save your $$$ because youth and beauty isn't cheap and whoever shoves me on the way to the receptionist's desk gets their ass kicked.

Someone Please "Card" Me!

I had a fake ID made when I was a senior in high school so I could be 21 and of legal drinking age. There was always someone who knew someone who had a friend who could either alter your driver's license or make some form of identification with a new date of birth. That sure was tricky and I probably drank and partied too much for my age. I was a little nervous when I was asked for my fake ID but tried to stand up straight and avert my eyes. I also wore a lot of make-up to appear older. Ha! When I could finally drink legally I thought it was great when I was carded because I looked too young to have a cocktail. One of my happiest days was when I was 30 and the bartender at the "Red Onion" in Los Angeles asked to see my driver's license. I wanted to marry the guy!

It seemed like a long time from 21 to the day the letter from AARP arrived inviting me to be a member. I shook and turned a pale shade of green holding the envelope in my sweaty hand. "Are they kidding? I can't possibly be a member, I didn't look AARPish," I thought as I ran to the nearest mirror to check. Nope still didn't look a day over 41. There was no way I was joining. I ripped up their literature for years rejecting the notion that it was a club in which I was eligible or wanted to be a member. That was until I realized I could get really good discounts with an AARP ID. The cheap side of me over-ruled the age phobe I had become.

Now I would do anything to be carded. Why is it no one demands an ID when I ask for the "senior" discount? There's not a movie theater in a 2,000 mile radius that wants to see if I'm really a senior. They just happily dispense a ticket without saying "Can I see your driver's license?" I walk away sad and drag myself to the cheap seat. The "senior" age varies depending on the venue so sometimes I really am lying. I want to yell "I'm not 65! I'm cheating! Can't you tell? Wanna see my driver's license?" But no one does.

Please, you don't have to marry me, just "card" me.

"No No Anything but the Car Keys!"

Happy 90th birthday Dad. He turned 90 even though he's been telling people for the last three years he's 90. He's the only person I know that lies in an upward direction. My Mother has been tweaking her age as long as I've known her. Rumor has it she has two drivers license with different ages. Knowing Mom she might even have more than one birth certificate. She's a trickster. I've followed faithfully in her footsteps since I was 40. Until 40 I bragged upwards every year as people never thought I looked my age. Thirty was a breeze - no problema for this girl. "Yep I'm 30 and I don't give a damn," was my attitude. Then along came 40 and I went into hiding right after the birthday cake. "I can't possibly be 40," I would cry myself to sleep. My friend Bob had to do an "age intervention." He dragged me out of bed to go drink.

I didn't give Dad a present yet because he returns all gifts, even pastries ,which I thought he couldn't bring back, but found a way. But I will say that the very best gift he received was from the Department of Motor Vehicles of Illinois. Ya gotta love their generosity. The DMV re-newed my Dad's driver's license for his birthday. Yea way to go! Now my present to everyone who lives near Dad is telling them to stay home and off the roads. This includes all the folks who like to shop at Nordstroms and Neiman Marcus because he drives my Mother there a lot to shop. Why don't we take his keys away you might ask yourself? We did and even sold his car but when no one was looking he tricked us and went out and bought a new one. He's crafty.

The worst part is I know the day will come when my son is standing in front of me requesting the car keys. "No anything but the keys!, I'll scream clutching them in my hand and running or by then crawling out the door. Take my good china that's never seen a morsel of food, my silver which is still in the tarnish proof packaging, my Tiffany wine and champagne glasses, but not the car." I'm sure he'll be gentle and consoling as he chases me down the street bribing me back with cab fares or a bus pass.   Will I hand them over? You bet your sweet ass I won't. So Dad on your 90th birthday all I can say is "run!"

A First Time for Everything

There's a first time for everything. Some first times you forget and some you never forget. I was thinking recently about my first kiss. That first kiss had so much potential but so little promise. He was darling and a year ahead of me in high school- yes I was behind the kissing curve because I am not counting any form of "spin the bottle" in sixth grade. Or Jimmy Adler's attempt in 3rd grade or BillyTauber's in 2nd. Nope my first kiss was tall, had dimples and I think a slightly cleft chin. Doug was very cute and more importantly popular which was a big deal. He drove me over to his house after school and we were out by his swimming pool (did I forget to mention rich?) and we were standing very very close when he leaned down and kissed me right on the lips. Let me take you inside the bubble over my head "Huh? This is kissing? Ewwww, bad." Thankfully I wasn't discouraged and went on to kiss again.

I have no recollection of what my first word was but knowing me it was probably "help." If I spoke more than one I have testimonials to the fact that they were most certainly "feed me, buy me." The first time my Dad took the training wheels off my bike and ran down the street holding on to the back of the seat while I steered and screamed ended abruptly when I tipped over to the right. I did however learn on the fourth , fifth or tenth attempt. I distinctly remember my first day of school because the bus driver couldn't find my house to bring me home and being four I had no idea where I lived. I never again liked school.

Adulthood brought firsts all over again. College produced one of life's biggest - sex. I will never forget and then again wish I could, that landmark night. He was a graduate student in art and almost a ringer for Bob Dylan. I stalked him for week as I decided he was the cool older mystery man I needed. It happened in his apartment over the local laundramat , which wasn't very romantic but I had to get the virginity noose off from around my neck. Like kissing I had the same "huh, this is it? ewww, bad" bubble over my head . Thankfully I wasn't discouraged and went on to have sex again....but not with him.

The firsts came fast and furiously after college: job, apartment, paycheck, marriage, child, and divorce. And then surprisingly a few "seconds" kicked in: marriage and divorce. I'm into the "thirds" stage of my life but at least I can ride a bike.