tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23599240065684869722024-03-13T20:13:41.594-07:00gone pausalgail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.comBlogger363125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-24046823601675035302021-05-25T18:50:00.002-07:002021-05-25T18:50:41.372-07:00 THE PORN QUEEN CHRONICLES<p><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I am a porn
star.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Yes, it’s true.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And I have proof.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ironically I have never watched porn in my
life, nor been in a porn film. Yet, my star status continues to climb.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There are, according to Google approximately
42,000 porn sites and I have not clicked on any of them. The U.S. pornography
industry is 8 billion strong and yet I am not part of that statistic.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">However, unbeknownst to me my stardom rose
exponentially during Covid.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">While I was
home hiding from humans and bathing in Purell, I was becoming a porn queen via
my YouTube channel Gail Forrest.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Without
knowing it I had 11K views on my video “The Bl*w Job- It’s a Job with Hazards”
and 124,650K views on “A Tale of Two Blow Jobs.” Unwitting and new to the mega
porn industry I became a rising star and here’s why.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Before Covid
I was doing open mics in LA and Palm Desert CA and surrounded by young male
comics. Not only was I the oldest comic
in the room and felt grateful no one called me “Nana,” I was also usually the
only female in the group. And how those
boys loved to get up and talk about their genitals. Dicks, dicks, dicks, that was their favorite
“go to” funny stuff. Truthfully rarely
funny. It was boring yet eye opening for
this old girl comic. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> It
dawned on me that there is another side to this subject about which I haven’t
heard much…the female point of view (pun intended) of what it’s like to be up
close and very very personal with the aforementioned genitals! I put my brain to
work and thought about what’s possible when down in the “blow job zone”. What could go wrong? What is it really like for a woman? I had heard enough of the male version and
felt it was time for a female comedian to speak up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Unfortunately
Covid arrived before I could put an act together and tell the female flipside.
Damn. But together with my former Second
City stand up teacher I started to do stand up sitting down. Hmmm, now what were my list of
complaints/problems down there in the “zone”?
For starters I believe Jewish women get a bad rap as blow job haters
when I am certain it’s non-sectarian.
The consequences can happen to any religious persuasion. Here is my list and granted you may have more
to add so let me know. As for the blow
job lovers…bless you!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s humid down there – makes for a
very bad hair day<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Your mascara drips all over your face<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You can lose an earring and never
find it<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Smeared lipstick and you come up
looking like the Joker<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Chip a nail – not likely but possible<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Your necklace gets caught and you are
down there far longer than expected or forever<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">TMJ issues flare up – costly trip to
the dentist<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Pull a muscle and then no yoga class
for a week<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Cannot multi-task – no texting,
answering a text, or returning a call <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Miss
a week of your favorite TV show <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <span>It's</span> boring and you didn’t bring a book or your iphone<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">They
don’t call it a job for nothing! Should we unionize?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I put this bit on YouTube and called it “The Bl*w Job- It’s a Job with
Hazards.”</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">At the same time I added the same
blow job schtick to a stand up piece I had already done about catching my 90
yr. old Dad watching porn. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I swear it’s
true. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I performed it many times but
thought adding my complaint list at an opportune moment – which there was -
would make it funnier.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So I put</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">it in the piece and we filmed a brand new
routine.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I changed the title to “A Tale
of Two Blow Jobs.” I liked the literary reference but I am certain that’s not
what drove the viewership.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I had uploaded videos to my YouTube channel during the long days of Covid
but never checked or paid attention to what was going on.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Nine
months earlier I had 32 subscribers , only one video with over 500 views and a
few with twelve. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">When I finally took a
good hard look in April 2021, I had over 331 subscribers and “A Tale of Two
Blow Jobs” and “The Bl*ow Job – It’s a Job with Hazards” had crazy big numbers that
shocked the shit out of me. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What the
hell happened?</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I was stunned, and
incredulous.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I decided to check the analytics to see what was going on.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As it turns out 96% of my viewers are men on
the “porn(?)” videos. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This did not
surprise me.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What was surprising to me,
but not my therapist, was that 54.3% are men over 65! He mentioned they were
probably not getting any blow job action anymore so looking for some fun on the
internet– sorry guys. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">35.1% are men
between 55 and 64 and 0.1% are men 25-34.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The average stay on each video was approx. 2 minutes which meant not
many watched them until the end which hurt my feelings until I read 2.08
minutes is the usual length of stay on porn videos.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I felt better, but also knew men were looking
for real porn and my title is a tale of not one but TWO blow jobs which could
make someone think it would be hot, sweaty and provide a few minutes of
entertainment, or as needed …</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">So I just want to take a moment to thank men
over sixty five for making me a porn queen.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I definitely owe you, but not a blow job</span></p>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-65791634563469240602020-04-29T09:44:00.000-07:002020-04-29T09:44:38.826-07:00Living in "The Twilight Zone"<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I like to
call my Co</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">vid19</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">life “The Twilight
Zone.” </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Yes siree, I wake up every day in
the worst of Rod Serling.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I was
growing up the show scared the shit out of me and now my new personal version
does also. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">In childhood I would quickly
turn off the TV when it got too scary but now there’s no off option. It’s the
same freaky episode every day. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">For
starters should I or shouldn’t I get up?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Whereas I used to jump out of bed ready to start the day now I slither
down the side in ambivalence because honestly what’s the rush?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I drag myself to the kitchen for my daily
handful of vitamins and have no idea if they are poisoning or helping me.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">The dog is growing antsy to go out so I throw
a coat over my pajamas, put on a mask and gloves and we hit the street.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">No, I do not consider changing clothes
first.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My morning
coffee is followed up by hot water and lemon because I heard it repels the
virus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now believe everything I hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do a little work-out to hopefully fit in my
jeans the day I put them on again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
practice some barely recognizable yoga so I can withstand the social pressure
of being able to say I do yoga. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stay
in my life affirming pjs until around noon and then I realize it’s noon and I
am still in my pajamas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day it’s the
same surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Twilight
Zone life gets really scary in the afternoon when with much trepidation I go
for walk with the dog. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am afraid of
humans. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, all of you! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself walking in the zig zag pattern
they suggest when a mass shooter is on the loose. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am on the sidewalk one minute then frantically
jump off when I spy a human heading my way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I duck behind trees, jump into bushes and ironically dash into the middle
of the street in order to maintain a “safe” distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a skilled circus performer I tight rope
walked on the curb one afternoon to avoid a child on a tricycle heading my
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However I nearly ruptured my
Achilles when I lost my balance at the last minute and fell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enemy combatants are everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need counseling and Xanax. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I long to live on a deserted island with
internet access and a wide screen TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And now more importantly my hair colorist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-35756412943306802862020-04-29T09:36:00.003-07:002020-04-29T09:40:30.309-07:00Comfort Food in Corona Time<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">He’s baaaaak!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Not Michael Jordan but Chef Boyardee.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">He’s in demand and flying off the shelves of
grocery stores all over the country.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Get
the Beefaroni while you can as it’s going, going, going, gone!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">The brands that were left in the dust for
years are on the front lines now.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Hello
Aunt Jemima, oh how I loved the pancakes of my childhood and the Log Cabin
Syrup poured over them until they floated on the plate. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Now all I want is to eat dozens of those
comforting little pancakes. Bring ‘em on!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Doesn’t Swanson plate a meal as well as any Michelin star chef?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Those neatly sectioned off compartments
filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fruit compote are yummy and no
dish washing required.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Fried chicken was
my favorite but turkey had the brownie or it could have been Salisbury
steak.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">At any rate the brownie was
amazing and made my skin break out but I didn’t care.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Bring on the
unhealthy food.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I want those old labels
and nasty ingredients to keep me feeling safe.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Hey, they might also be virus killers.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">It doesn’t matter now does it?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">A
big old Betty Crocker chocolate cake to make me fat all over again like when I
was growing up.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Who cares if it took
years to shed the pounds and torturous work-outs? To hell with size four Betty,
I want cake!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">Sprinkle it with Pepperidge
Farm Goldfish or Cheetos; on second thought put the Goldfish and Cheetos on the
side but don’t forget them in this time of Corona eating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I now think
the Pillsbury Doughboy is a hottie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
he makes it so easy for me to be a pastry chef.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No Great British Bake Off nonsense just twist the cardboard package and
voila 12 minutes later: cookies, croissants, or rolls….I win!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many of my childhood meal memories are
here to make me feel warm, safe, ten pounds overweight and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>twelve again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pancakes are my new best friends.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-48824569139841022062020-03-26T13:00:00.006-07:002020-04-29T09:58:46.105-07:00<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">CHICKEN LITTLE or
THE SKY IS FINALLY FALLING</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s finally
happened in my lifetime – the sky is falling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I am doing my best impersonation of Chicken Little running around
holding my head in my hands, screaming “the sky is falling ,the sky is falling!”!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brain is spinning into butter from fear of
everything: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>kitchen counters, silverware,
the refrigerator, gas pumps, other humans, all door handles/knobs in a 1,000
mile radius and my own hands! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh no, did
I just touch my face and forget to wash my hands?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might have, I did, I didn’t, I can’t
remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m dazed, confused and only
have 6 rolls of toilet paper in the cabinet beneath the sink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will that last, will I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hand has become one with the remote as I channel
surf from one news outlet to the next, and OMG did I sanitize it before I
surfed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost washed my hair with
sanitizer before I snapped back into consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one has mentioned that yet have they?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes are blood red as I have been staring
at the TV for so long that I think I forgot how to blink. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I really need is sleep, calm, and a Xanax
drip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dr. Fauci I
have checked my temperature at least 45 times in the last hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I really think I can develop a fever that
fast – yes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hand/arm is suddenly on
auto response to check my cheeks to see if they’re extremely hot or medium hot,
or mildly hot or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will get tennis
elbow if I can’t stop myself soon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
haven’t coughed in weeks but am convinced I have one. Uh oh, have body aches
set in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope I just tripped and fell on
the rug running to clean my hands so I can use my iPhone. But hold on a sec,
don’t I have to wash my phone too? Ironically I have spent years desperately
trying to keep my phone safe from water. The phone, my hands, my face, my mind,
which will go first? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile
the stock market is falling faster than the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one brief shining moment I am excited to
be too poor to have bought any.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I
remember I am still poor. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I decide to
take the dog for a walk and pick up pieces of the sky as I go.</span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-82975762330937301632020-03-19T08:35:00.000-07:002020-03-19T08:35:09.323-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Love in the
Time of the Corona Virus <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Social
distancing will be a new dating challenge. Coincidentally years ago I thought
the best way to meet a man who contacted me on a dating site was to arrange for
a drive-by date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s quick doesn’t
require parking but only a small wave and you’re done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All you really have to know is the make and
model of each other’s car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sounds
so much easier and less stressful than sitting with a man and after sixty
seconds knowing it was the last sixty seconds you ever want to spend with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On many occasion I have held myself hostage to
boredom and zero physical attraction in the name of civility but now those days
are joyfully over. There is a certain beauty to the new dating as well as an advisable
speed limit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Driving more than 20mph
won’t allow you a long enough look to know if pulling over, getting out and
maintaining social distancing is a good idea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I made the
unfortunate error of joining a dating site recently and if a Corona Virus test
came with the membership it would have been worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not an opportune time to meet a man
and now Match.com has my money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
gotten quite a few “likes” and messages from prospective dates but social
distancing and the closure of everything but CVS and Walgreens sheds a new
light on romance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is
where the drive-by idea is genius as expediency is of the essence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can quickly assess if I want to hightail it
to Walgreens/CVS for a six feet apart meet and greet. More importantly what
aisle is appropriate for social distancing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is the Metamucil/laxative aisle too revealing for a first date?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Condoms too alluring during a pandemic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The household disinfectant aisle will be quiet
due to hoarding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I doubt I can get a
refund from Match.com which would sure help out those of us who did not predict
social distancing as a dating norm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think if they are smart they will offer a free phone sex option for
those skittish about the Walgreens/CVS meet up.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My personal
preference……<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Show me the refund!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-80708025659584904912020-01-10T13:19:00.001-08:002020-01-10T13:19:47.567-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-28972777710592950932020-01-07T08:31:00.002-08:002020-01-07T08:31:22.118-08:00DESIGNATED TWEEZER<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> have decided that I need a designated Tweezer. Yes, a friend or neighbor who pledges to tweeze the hair off of my face when I can longer see it no matter how strong a magnifying mirror I have. I just spent twenty minutes tweezer and tiny scissor in hand on a search and destroy mission for those nasty, sneaky dark hairs that have appeared since peri-menopause. They seem to multiply like roaches! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Admittedly I have had hair on my upper lip since childhood and my Mother would mix up some bleach concoction so it looked blond instead of dark brown - ugh and it smelled. I begged her for electrolysis but to no avail. I have since spent years in electrolysis with some success and a lot of expense. Nothing however prepared me for the day during peri-menopause when a coarse black beard hair appeared. Had I become a man over night? I ran like a bat out of hell for the tweezer and yanked it out. Unfortunately that was not the last sighting as I constantly find them in various spots on my face and under my chin. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">OMG today I found one stuck in the middle of my cheek! </span><span style="font-size: large;">In fear of having a full-on beard when my tweezing skills diminish I had to designate one of my friends for "Operation Emergency Tweeze". To be completely safe I have a back-up. Of course since they are in my menopause demographic this state of preparedness could all be in vain as none of us will be able to see well enough to go after the little buggers! It is a huge relief however knowing they are willing to give it a try. Tweeze on! </span></span></div>
</div>
gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-48576913238883723942019-11-12T09:56:00.002-08:002019-11-12T09:56:33.437-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Defeated By Plastic Packaging and Seeking
Therapy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have a brilliant idea because I am certain there are
other shoppers like me that don’t want to risk their fingers slicing and dicing
through molded plastic to open a package.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There should be special containers for people who simply want to rip
open the product they purchased, no muss no fuss, no bloody hands or more
importantly not go mad in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
appreciate the skilled men and women who have studied product design and pride
themselves on the ability to find a way to make plastic packages secure with
tightly folded and molded corners but I think they do this to make me seek
counseling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Last Sunday morning which is my time to relax, read the paper
and calmly drink coffee I decided to put up a shower curtain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A very simple task I thought. Now
irrespective of risking my life by putting a stool in the tub so I could reach the
curtain bar I had to open a hermetically sealed package of rings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was closed so tightly that I had to get
down from my teetering stool to try and open it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ripping and tearing and bending corners
but the plastic didn’t budge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fought
harder to perforate the packaging and at the last minute had to stop myself
from a giant dental bill by using my teeth to lift up one corner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I resorted to screaming and throwing the
package against the wall and although it was cathartic nothing came apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">With tears in my eyes I headed for the kitchen and grabbed
a serrated knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I madly sawed through
the package and a little of my thumb. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was
this a joke played on me by the god of domestic chores, who I was certain was
resting, reading and drinking coffee because it was Sunday? I gathered myself
together and tried to remember all my years of therapy in order to stop crying.
Slowly with sweaty hands and bleeding finger I loosened each curtain hook from
the plastic molding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last victory was
mine and I had eight rings freed from the package. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I threw away the mess I had made, bandaged my bleeding
thumb but no longer wanted a shower curtain or even to ever shower again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-2597914899053859992019-10-22T06:47:00.002-07:002019-10-22T06:47:59.123-07:00A Blond Walked in a Bar or How They Have Ruined My Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-38072287923921982252019-09-02T11:42:00.001-07:002019-09-02T11:42:22.798-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-8156188657800230062019-08-09T12:07:00.003-07:002019-08-09T12:07:58.694-07:00My Fun Filled Video Interview with Catherine Grace O'Connell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-41701118686079873392019-08-05T06:43:00.000-07:002019-08-05T06:54:30.057-07:00INSANITY, Brought to You by Godaddy<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";">Help! I need a Techno Prince Charming to come to my rescue. I'm weak, confused, dazed, and downright numb. My life has been turned upside down because Godaddy wreaked havoc on my web-site. Havoc I say! It wasn't my fault that my web-site now displays a sign that roughly reads..."enter and die or be struck by lightening." How could this happen to poor little innocent moi at this point in my life? I already have sleeping issues and now it looks like I may never close my eyes again as I have been up talking to a Godaddy rep every night since last Thursday. I know Joe, Antonio, Cliff, Mic, Nick, and Mike who made promises like knights in shining armor that they would have the heinous signs on my site down within hours. "Liar liar pants on fire," to the whole bunch. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";"> It sounded simple, easy, no problema; I believed all of them . I've gone through a box of Kleenex sobbing as I struggle to dial Godaddy for the 12th time in 4 days. I resist the urge to throw my laptop out the window. Bye-bye little crazy making machine I'm moving to a tree house with no internet access.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: large;"> Life was so simple before I talked to the evil Ann at Godaddy who never warned me of the dangers that lay ahead. Ann, you bitch the sin of omission is on you. Destroy a male caller, not a fellow woman! Innocently and to save $79.95 I thought I didn't need an SSL certificate on my GailForrest.com web-site and asked her to cancel it. I actually had no idea what it was , just the price. According to Joe, Antonio, Mic, Mike, and Cliff she should have told me of the dire consequences of cancelling, but alas no such words. She began my journey into the land of the technologically insane! Warnings everywhere on my site to stay away or else die a painful techno death. Thus began my non-stop calls morning, noon, and half the night to Godaddy. Empty promises of a fix lead to three glasses of wine and a Valium to calm my jangled nerves. Now I need rehab, not a web-site.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";">I hate technology and remember lovingly the click clack of my typewriter keys and the messy carbon paper that got all over my hands and clothes. I would scream, crumple it into a ball and throw it across the room because I couldn't line it up with the paper correctly. So simple and weren't those the halcyon days? I had my little bottle of white-out that I could never apply thinly enough so I had a big blob over my typo. This brings tears of joy to my eyes. My typewriter was too big to take to Starbucks, but I didn't care. I could manually line up margins and set tabs, no SSL certificate and Goddaddy employees to make a fool of me or drive me to drink at 10:00 a.m. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana";"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: large;">Techno Prince, if you're out there, call me. Or better yet a good therapist.</span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-72388922178828536122019-06-06T09:31:00.000-07:002019-08-05T05:54:45.539-07:00Sex Over Sixty - Hot or Not?<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I almost caused my friend Dee to die of fright. I told her all the men I date (over sixty) definitely want to have sex. "No!" she cried out. "I'm sorry hon but men no matter how old never stop thinking about sex." I think it fills the largest portion of their brain no matter how ancient the gray matter. It appears to be a lifetime preoccupation. Poor Dee it was like super stressful "Breaking News" and I pictured her stumbling to her knees clutching her chest. In a weakened voice she mumbled "but what about cuddling, holding hands, and best friends" which I interpreted as delusional, wishful thinking and in a galaxy far far away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> It's true cuddling is nice but I have not met a male who would trade sex for a cuddle. I once witnessed a man at least 90 teetering on his bar stool barely able to lift up his head, winking and crooking his finger at women who walked by. I mistakenly thought he was having a seizure but the waitress assured me he was fine and sat in that exact spot every night trying to hook up. The ick factor was so great I had to leave or stick pins in my eyes.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My friend Rick likes to call sex over sixty "senior citizen sex" which by definition is accurate but makes me want to re-claim my virginity. Which begs my wondering if that's possible after enough sexless years have passed. It's tempting isn't it? Ah to be a virgin again sounds like a place to hide from old guys with sagging balls. "And yes big guy they sag just like breasts." You see it's not that women don't want to have sex with men over sixty it's just that the idea doesn't fill our every waking moment, or depending on the man any moment. It's tough out there in my man land to find a hand to hold, a good cuddle, a new best friend, no less a hot sex life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now about virginity...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-53005904119357427062019-05-22T10:01:00.003-07:002019-05-22T10:01:25.609-07:00Mother of the Groom Seeks Shopping Therapist<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Help me! Do it quick as I am running out of time and endurance. My shopping tolerance meter is dropping as fast as my blood pressure is rising trying to find a dress for my son's wedding. Yes, I am finally Mother of the groom. And thankfully before they would have to wheel me down the aisle or bring me in a nice vase. Is there appropriate clothing for this role? Dressy but not too dressy so as not to upstage the bride? To me dressing up is high heels with jeans, so I am feeling pressured and also doomed. My future daughter-in-law sent me a Pinterest board. Is that a party game about the British playwright? If not, I am confused with nothing to wear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have called in Emily and Karen,the big shopping guns on respective coasts to give me the full frontal fashion outlook. Sadly these two specialists feel the Spring styles are a throw back to the days of "Little House on the Prairie." Blousey, flowery, and gingham are not a good look for anyone unless you actually have a little house on the prairie. I felt sweaty and noticed a very unattractive rash spreading across my nose as my coping skills had hit the wall. I had tried to venture forth alone into the vast wasteland of Bloomingdales but briefly lost consciousness when a flowered dress got stuck pulling it over my head. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Karen and I searched all the on-line sites but zippo that wouldn't make me look like a giant Geranium. With the days drawing closer and my nerves jangled, I stopped in a neighborhood bar for the sustenance wine provides. At that moment the gods of shopping magically appeared and smiled upon my sorry ass. Next door to the bar was a boutique that seemed to call out to me..."Gail come in asap and bring your high limit VISA card." As if in a trance I crossed the threshold and sales person Vanessa, like Glenda the Good Witch, listened to my tale of dress desperation (and also told me what to put on my rash), but more importantly made me try on a dress. I was resistant remembering what happened at Bloomingdales but she was enthusiastic and looked strong. Voila perfection! I found it, no more searching, crying, sweating , and mixing wine with Valium.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Mother of the Groom dress was mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-17222559176421158102019-04-23T14:33:00.001-07:002019-04-23T17:54:30.683-07:00The Mad Texter Found Me<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is anyone else sick</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">and tired of texting? What is so freaking hard about holding a phone up to your ear and talking into it? Is it too heavy? Did you lose your voice along with your car keys and glasses? Texting has become a life style. I refuse to devote my waking hours to answering text messages. I hate engaging in entire conversations via my thumbs. Aside from all the typos and the fact that I can hardly see the teeny tiny keys (which almost makes my brain explode), I want to look up, not stare down at the key board. Use voice texting you say? Whoever is in my phone makes more errors than I do and is not a good listener.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ironically, or via my bad date karma I met someone on Match.com that brought texting to a whole new level. A level which only exists in the matrix or hell. After reading his profile I thought he might be someone worth pursuing. We picked a time and place to meet for coffee and exchanged phone numbers in case one of us was late or had to cancel at the last minute. Reasonable planning if you're not "The Profligate Texter." It was as if I said "ready, set, text!" Non-stop all day and most of the night I heard ping, ping, ping from my phone. Words, pictures and links bombarded me. Every thought he had or movement he made generated a text. At first I was polite and answered, which was a very bad idea as then the texts came faster and faster. Is this normal now? Or was I living in the techno dark ages? I thought about throwing my phone at the wall or giving it to a priest to perform an exorcism. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Finally I texted him that I was spent, exhausted, practically unconscious and could not keep up with his warp speed. I desperately needed a time-out, a moment to remember verbalizing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> After one cup of coffee I realized we were as mismatched in person as in text messages. I texted him good-bye, got up and left.</span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-5974578993709082642019-04-04T06:52:00.002-07:002019-04-04T07:15:08.888-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ass Kickin’ Women<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These women
kick ass! Kickin’ some ass to join the Marine Corps. Holy moly what they have
to go through on Paris Island South Carolina brings tears to my eyes…tears of
fear. It is the only place in the country where women become Marines who can serve
in combat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they have special
genes as mine would be screaming “Stop, turn back, go to Neimans.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The training is not for the faint of heart, or needing their therapist on speed dial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">One
call home and that’s it, poof(!) cut off from the outside world until the day
before graduation.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I would hold my
breath and turn blue right after that call.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No email access which gives me a rash just thinking about it.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I need to text, Instagram, FB, Snap Chat, Tweet,
and change my profile picture!</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There is
one piece of good news, I could pass the initial physical fitness test.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Yes siree all those gym days have paid off:
15 push-ups, or one pull up (that’s still a little iffy), 44 crunches (?) 1.5
mile in under 15:00 (if my left leg doesn’t fall off).</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There is hope on the dating front as there
are 750-1000 women and 2,850 men.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Better
odds than on Match.com I’d say.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
typical day is a real downer for me however as it starts at 4 a.m. What is 4
a.m.?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no mention of your own
bathroom which is really a “must have” on my planet. None of those nasty
haircuts for the women which is a big relief but do they have a good colorist I
wonder?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uh oh trouble is on the horizon
no matter what my hair looks like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“The
Crucible” looms large – a 54 hour marathon of physical and emotional endurance
that tests every cell in your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
dripping in sweat writing about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
test of all the training and I cannot even remember my name at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here goes so be strong :<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>long hikes day and night, climbing ropes,
figuring out how to get the last person over a plywood wall and crawling
through thick mud while pushing boxes of ammunition under barbed wire as they
blast battle sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is anyone thinking
they can do this no problema because there is MORE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Noonan’s
Evacuation” a mock rescue based on a real evacuation that took place in
Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The recruits have to tend to
and evacuate their wounded and dead while receiving simulated rounds of sniper
fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I just fainted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Exhausted
and blistered (no pedicure, or big spa day) they receive the coveted Eagle,
Globe and Anchor insignia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admit I am dehydrated, hallucinating, covered in hives and terrified reading about these
women and yet want to thank every last one of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">You kick some serious ass!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-17483143111579736192019-03-21T14:37:00.000-07:002019-03-21T14:37:20.146-07:00Introducing GATEWAY MAN! Dream Date or Nightmare?<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I met "Gateway Man" on a
Match.com date. Who or what is a Gateway Man? He is the answer to
your prayers if you are a single woman...just ask him. He will tell you
that he is what every woman over 50 is looking for. Yikes mister, have
you looked in the mirror lately? He must have the magic kind like most
men. The variety when you look in it you see a full head of hair, no bags under
your eyes, pearly white teeth, a furrow-less brow , zero laugh lines and no
nose or unsightly ear hair. To say nothing of the magically flat abs and
extra 4 inches in height! Trust me that is what they see but not what you
get. Welcome to my on-line dating nightmare.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Gateway Man was 77 and out of my desired age range but coincidentally we had a
friend in common who encouraged me to go so I agreed to a dinner. Admittedly he
didn't lie about his height (5'7")which most men do by approx
3". Curiously he asked me if he looked his age and I can only assume
he thought I would declare "not even close" but truthfully he looked
85. Gateway Man told me his dating life was going great guns and lots of women
liked him. I had to query further, as "huh?" was the bubble over my
head. Holy moly, his dating life was flourishing and mine was DOA. He
must have a secret and I needed in. Surprisingly he volunteered his
appeal - money. With a shit eating grin on his face he stated he offered
women a better life ; a way out of their financial struggles and there were
plenty of takers! He implied he was fishing in a stocked pond. I grimaced.
Could this be true?</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Admittedly money is not new bait, it is practically biblical, but no one had
ever sat across the table from me and stated their dating strategy so candidly.
I have nothin' in the way of bait. Regardless, this date was not a gateway
but a dead end.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-242506199059986392019-03-14T11:19:00.003-07:002019-03-14T11:25:12.379-07:00 MY INVISIBLE LIFE<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I vanished. Invisible!
Where did I go? HELLO!!!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Can you
see me now? I still have an Instagram account. Maybe I’m on a milk
carton, or sign at a tollway booth.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Does a woman become "Vapor Woman" after her 50th birthday?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Poof gone,</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> i</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">t's all over but the funeral
arrangements. I find this deeply disturbing and obviously need a better
sense of humor to pass the remaining years. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But wait, hold on just a second,
there might be hope as Gwyneth Paltrow just declared she is 45 and also peri
menopausal - a double whamee yet she's still visible. Why her and not me?
Her face isn't on a milk carton but in fashion magazines. I wonder if she sees
a reflection when she looks in the mirror? I admit I was surprised by her
big announcement, but she's a trickster and also has a new product line called
Madame Ovary for menopausal women. I am suspect of her motives but maybe she can save me from
my vaporous state. I have my fingers crossed but might get arthritis
first.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
And how about the big announcement that Candice Bushnell who brought us
"Sex and the City" is coming out with a new book about being over
50. Ha, ha, ha. I would be more curious as to how Carrie, Samantha,
Charlotte and Miranda would cope with middle age but will have to settle for
Ms.Bushnell's new single life. I wonder if she can find sex in
ANY city and make it a hot story line this time around. Not many Mr. Big types
out there now that you're sixty. Slim pickins' isn't it Candice? I
have no interest in sharing my dating or sex life as it reads more like
"Apocalypse Now" than "Fifty Shades of Gray." I hope
she is luckier than I am but I kind of doubt it. Maybe all I can hope for is
the name of a good plastic surgeon.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">P.S. I will be making my own
funeral arrangements.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-17831946231459510542019-02-20T10:09:00.002-08:002019-02-20T10:29:37.884-08:00CURSES! OR SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh no
another harsh midlife realization; some things never change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Btw, I have no idea if I am in mid or late
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gets increasingly confusing as
mortality rates fluctuate, but I insist on calling myself “mid”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless, I am still a bar loser. In my
twenties I made the mistake of going out to bars with my blond girlfriends.This was definitely a lose lose
situation for my brown hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clairol had it
right when they declared blonds have more fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they do and get a hell of a lot more action as not one head ever turned my brunette way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bringing reading material was my default activity. I
finished a lot of books in bars. I gave up and got a dog.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fast forward two marriages and multiple failed attempts at dating sites later I decided to venture out to a bar alone to see if times had changed re: hair color. No blonds to get in the way now. I also brought a book. I was in Palm Desert, Ca where almost everyone is over 60 so I knew I wasn't up against fab, hot twenty-somethings. Me, my book and my ego sat down at the bar. I placed the book on my lap like a security blanket and ordered a glass of Chianti. There was a nice looking man sitting alone on my left. If not now when?! And this was definitely my moment as he was watching a college basketball game on the overhead TV. Coincidentally I am a college basketball savant! It was like a perfect wave.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> I had a great opening line about the college rankings and although he answered my question there was no ensuing conversation. Brave and confident in my knowledge I tried again and even switched my focus to the NBA. He was politely monosyllabic. I was a little dumbstruck as what man doesn't want to talk sports? It was my ace in the hole subject with the male species. I dazzled with my acumen and in this regard my brown hair never held me back. Hold on a sec! The man on my left suddenly seemed to perk up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> A blond walked in the bar.</span></span></div>
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-8976104926551730352019-02-12T09:46:00.002-08:002019-02-12T09:46:36.151-08:00Bra Buying is a Bitch!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-82771372539130169282019-01-14T07:45:00.001-08:002019-01-14T07:45:29.181-08:00My Disappearing Lip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-1389090007188791912019-01-09T11:32:00.001-08:002019-01-09T11:33:32.661-08:00Dr. Pimple Popper and Me<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I thought nothing could be more disturbing to watch on TV than The Real Housewives of Orange County. Their whacked out choice of clothing , giant breasts and frightening plastic surgery simultaneously mesmerized me and caused a tightening in my chest. Who are these women and why are they on TV? But now the show looks tame and oddly comforting as I have witnessed far worse. Far worse I say! Ewwww, it's Dr. Pimple Popper. Omg, was I having an acid flashback? Shew, go away, get off the screen, pop elsewhere, anywhere but here. I was grossed out, sweaty and struggling to stay conscious watching the doctor pop pimples that resembled lava flows. How about a nice little white head and not Mt Vesuvius? I needed blinders!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My friend Amy is addicted to Dr. Pimple Popper. I was innocently watching TV with her and had no idea what to expect. I didn't know that she was a popper from as far back as childhood. It was never my idea of fun but apparently it was hers. I was fine for the first 60 seconds as the lovely little doc met her first patient. She was reassuring and smiley as she administered a numbing agent on the arm of a young woman. Then "the horror, the horror" began. The scalpel in her petite hand sliced and diced the pimple. I think there were sparks. "Stop, please stop!" Amy was watching intently and I saw the room start to spin as rivers of pus were streaming down the arm. Convinced I was having a nightmare I tried to shake myself awake before I realized I was awake!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Is this educational TV because it is on The Learning Channel? I know I didn't learn anything except that the right pimple can become a media star. </span><br />
<br />gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-50236758137453974612017-12-30T16:21:00.002-08:002017-12-30T16:21:55.658-08:00The Force Wasn't With Me<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My dating life has become a Star Wars movie. After vowing to go it alone and to hell with dating sites, I broke. I was weak, hypoglycemic, and concerned Advil PM was affecting my waking life when it was as if Darth Vadar called to me , "Gail you will never meet anyone in the vegetable aisle at Whole Foods. Real men are at the meat counter. You're a vegetarian. You're not blond so no bars for you. No one talks to brunettes. Millions of single men are on the internet waiting for you. Come... come over to Match.com." The Force wasn't with me. It was night time and a full moon. I was spooked. With a glass of Cabernet in my hand and feeling a little sweaty I clicked "join".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I admit a teeny tiny part of me was optimistic. Maybe this round I would get asked on a second date? I secretly relish my "Queen of One Date" status but it takes a toll on my ego. I had just arrived in Palm Desert Ca for the winter and my best friend Ron put strict parameters on my decision to internet date. He promised to parse the profiles with me and get to the bottom of what men were really saying. He would break through the typical and delusional words like "cuddling, openness, soul mate, beach walking and sitting by the fire." I was dazed by his code cracking as he ixnayed profile after profile. I realized however, with Ron at the helm of my dating life I would be home a lot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was crafty and unbeknownst to him sneaked into internet dating land alone. I quickly made coffee plans with a formerly gay man. Yes, I am serious. His husband of 40 years had died and now he was looking to meet a woman. I read his profile 3 times before it really sunk in, but then a light bulb went off in my head. What fun, maybe he would love to shop or get Botox with me. Could this be a man who wouldn't pressure me into sex or even want to have sex? I was stereotyping and ashamed, but hopeful. He suggested we meet at 9:30 a.m for coffee which isn't an hour I resemble human form. Do people date at this hour? I prefer less sunlight at my age. He was nice, witty and cute but appeared to still be grieving the loss of his mate. Of course I asked him the obvious question as it was burning a hole in my brain...why women? He responded that he had a girlfriend or two before he met his husband and wanted to explore that path again. I stared, he finished his coffee. I concluded he would be fun to hang out with but I didn't think up for Botox, shoe shopping, or me. I was definitely not sorry I put on make-up and clean clothes to meet him but vowed to never again go on a date at 9:30 a.m.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I met date 2 at a restaurant for a drink at 6:00. This is a better time of day for a first date as less sunlight becomes me. I foolishly thought a glass of wine at this hour would beg an appetizer so did not eat earlier. I was wrong as every time the waitress asked us if we wanted something to eat my internet man said to come back. She kept returning and he kept sending her away. "Wait I'm hungry" I wanted to scream but the alcohol had affected my ability to react and talk. Cabernet is not a food group. I am not sure I spoke the rest of the evening as remaining conscious became a chore. I appeared a good listener as he lectured me on what it means to be a Libertarian but actually I had dozed off. The saddest moment came when the waitress gave up and took our bar menus away. I held back tears. In hindsight I should have ordered for myself or joined the table in the corner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Ron, forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing when I ventured forth into the internet manscape without your profile wisdom. I'm back, I'm humbled, and in search of appetizers." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-75387866659957208602017-10-24T15:21:00.005-07:002017-10-25T07:32:09.643-07:00Dating Dead End or I Am Out of Shampoo<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Have I reached a dreaded dating dead end? Could it be? Am I ready? Admit I have bad date battle fatigue? Wail "I surrender" to the Gods of Bad Dates? Have I reached my dating limit? Do you only get x amount of good ones in a lifetime? I had optimistically decided to try Match.com again after watching one of their cheerful commercials about how happiness is just a click away and also after 2 glasses of wine and an Advil PM. I felt ready and prepared. I was certain I had developed an internet dating immune system by virtue of previous exposure. I was Super Dater capable of fending off liars, commitment phobes and the politically incorrect. I had become a veteran of profile reading. No ten year old pictures, prom photos or baseball hats hiding male patterned baldness could get passed my x-ray vision. Bad grammar and misspellings were banished, as I was (ta da) an English major. No profile that read as if lifted from a romance novel would get a passing grade unless the correct author was footnoted. I was ready.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I lied. I was not ready regardless of my magical thinking about "immunity" or super powers. I listened to my friend Ron,"Gail, read the profiles carefully and exchange multiple emails, don't rush into a date." And my friend Marc "Just go." I went both ways. I believe however, that these dates are decided in the first 11 seconds as everyone is looking for instant chemistry. What the f**k is chemistry over 55? Has anyone looked in a mirror lately? No one looks hot. They may look nice, decent, or not homeless but not HOT. I hope for a version of, "attractive for his age," taller than I am, and not in need of stomach stapling. I am a realist and have covered all my mirrors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My first date back on the front lines I think had assumed another identity like "The Talented Mr. Ripley." He didn't order a drink as he had just come from a colonoscopy, which I categorize as too much information and slightly nauseating. His stories of unbridled wealth and the beautiful younger ex-wife who reaped the rewards of their divorce were trumped by his second ex wife whose ballerina daughter he supported and went unappreciated. I might have dozed off. He also had no bottom teeth. I admit I spent a lot of time staring at his mouth. I don't know anyone without teeth except my 99yr old Mother who at least has dentures. Did a judge deny him money for teeth in lieu of alimony payments? His stories just didn't add up and I felt compelled to leave and make a dental appointment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I soldiered on to my next date who was a no show. I dressed in my cute skinny jeans, washed my hair which is a symbol of my good intentions, probably shaved at least one leg and went to meet him at a local bar. I waited and waited and checked my watch over and over to no avail. After a reasonable 30 minute wait I left pissed. Who does this? Are we in high school? Before I departed I showed the girls at the reservation desk his picture in case he miraculously appeared disheveled, bloody and crippled from being run over and thus his late arrival; in which case I would forgive him. He never showed and I vowed to never again watch "An Affair to Remember".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> " It's a numbers game" my friend David kept reminding me. I hate when people say that and math. Had I reached a dead end or should I wait until I ran out of shampoo? I received multiple emails from a man proclaiming that we were perfect for each other and to call him asap. I hesitated and parsed his profile to understand his thinking as he continued to bombard me with emails. I finally agreed to have a phone conversation. I literally asked him two questions. One about his business and one about his hobby and off he went. Thirty non stop minutes of blah blah blah blah. Didn't he wonder if I was still alive? I know I wondered if he did this in one big breath. I finally told him I had an appointment and had to go. Those were the only words I had spoken in what felt like a month. Ixnay to this man. He had other ideas however and sent me a 3 paragraph email about what a horrible person I am. I deleted him and prayed I was out of shampoo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was one glimmer of dating hope. I call him Mr. 3 hours and 45 minutes as that is as much time as we spent drinking, eating, talking, and laughing. It was going smoothly. I actually thought he was attractive for his age, taller than I am and thin, the guy trifecta. He walked me to my car and told me I was a "hoot." All good and all bad as I never heard from him again. Was that possible after 3 hours and 45 minutes? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yes it was. And I am finally out of shampoo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2359924006568486972.post-23996690817733311952017-04-18T09:26:00.000-07:002017-04-18T09:26:10.281-07:00You're Never Too Old to be Ten Again<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ouch! Ouch! And OMG are you freaking kidding me?! How and why are women submitting to what seems to be the "extreme sport" of beauty? What's even crazier to me is why anyone would want to become prepubescent all over again. It was hard enough when I was wishing and hoping for breasts; obsessing that I would never have a reason to trade my little white undershirts for a bra. To say nothing of the nightmare of wearing anklets before my Mother let me shave my legs. I felt doomed to a life in my bedroom. After all I couldn't go to a boy/girl party looking more primate than Homo Sapien. Ah the wonderful childhood memories of hairy legs and a flat chest. Now decades later on the horizon lies a question I could never have imagined.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To Brazilian or not to Brazilian and am I really asking myself this question? Incidentally I don't mean a trip to Rio, or good strong cup of coffee. I am also not talking about the ridiculously expensive but gloriously humidity defying Brazilian Blow-Out which btw my hair could use right now. Oh no I am talking about the bikini wax gone rogue, the mother of all waxes, the kill me now waxing of all pubic hair. Whose idea was this? Is Kate Moss behind the conspiracy as she looks oddly hairless? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Decades after going thru puberty, I should now consider being 10 again? Even more surprising was that a man told me about this new beauty regimen and yes I was dating him. "You talkin' to me Mister?" I became weak, sweaty and oddly itchy. A mind numbing bikini wax isn't enough? Consensus, I desperately needed consensus! Was every woman hairless? Did I miss the memo? Is this the new normal? I needed data quick! I collected answers from my male inner circle regardless of my burning desire to ask every man and woman I saw in Starbucks. A non fat grande mocha skim latte or Brazilian wax?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Data is a mixed blessing. From my male friends I heard two words more associated with aviation than a beauty must - landing strip and runway. I wasn't deterred by my visual confusion or urge to book a vacation as I queried my women friends. Oddly they were less adventurous and not venturing further north than a bikini wax. Trying not to get arrested I looked around the locker room at the gym.. whew, filled with women afraid to fly. Is a sign a "sign?" I saw plastered in the window of a beauty salon - "Brazilian Waxing Special 30% off on Regular Price $50 now $35... Only Tuesday." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was Wednesday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>gail mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14558329165342330529noreply@blogger.com0