Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Living in "The Twilight Zone"

 I like to call my Covid19  life “The Twilight Zone.”  Yes siree, I wake up every day in the worst of Rod Serling.  When I was growing up the show scared the shit out of me and now my new personal version does also.  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.  For starters should I or shouldn’t I get up?  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?  I drag myself to the kitchen for my daily handful of vitamins and have no idea if they are poisoning or helping me.  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.  No, I do not consider changing clothes first. 

My morning coffee is followed up by hot water and lemon because I heard it repels the virus.  I now believe everything I hear.  I do a little work-out to hopefully fit in my jeans the day I put them on again.  I practice some barely recognizable yoga so I can withstand the social pressure of being able to say I do yoga.  I stay in my life affirming pjs until around noon and then I realize it’s noon and I am still in my pajamas.  Every day it’s the same surprise.

My Twilight Zone life gets really scary in the afternoon when with much trepidation I go for walk with the dog.  I am afraid of humans.  Yes, all of you!  I find myself walking in the zig zag pattern they suggest when a mass shooter is on the loose.  I am on the sidewalk one minute then frantically jump off when I spy a human heading my way.   I duck behind trees, jump into bushes and ironically dash into the middle of the street in order to maintain a “safe” distance.  Like a skilled circus performer I tight rope walked on the curb one afternoon to avoid a child on a tricycle heading my way.  However I nearly ruptured my Achilles when I lost my balance at the last minute and fell.  Enemy combatants are everywhere.  I need counseling and Xanax.

 I long to live on a deserted island with internet access and a wide screen TV.  And now more importantly my hair colorist.

Comfort Food in Corona Time

He’s baaaaak!  Not Michael Jordan but Chef Boyardee.  He’s in demand and flying off the shelves of grocery stores all over the country.  Get the Beefaroni while you can as it’s going, going, going, gone!  The brands that were left in the dust for years are on the front lines now.  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.  Now all I want is to eat dozens of those comforting little pancakes. Bring ‘em on!  Doesn’t Swanson plate a meal as well as any Michelin star chef?  Those neatly sectioned off compartments filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fruit compote are yummy and no dish washing required.  Fried chicken was my favorite but turkey had the brownie or it could have been Salisbury steak.  At any rate the brownie was amazing and made my skin break out but I didn’t care. 

Bring on the unhealthy food.  I want those old labels and nasty ingredients to keep me feeling safe.  Hey, they might also be virus killers.  It doesn’t matter now does it?  A big old Betty Crocker chocolate cake to make me fat all over again like when I was growing up.  Who cares if it took years to shed the pounds and torturous work-outs? To hell with size four Betty, I want cake!  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.

I now think the Pillsbury Doughboy is a hottie.  And he makes it so easy for me to be a pastry chef.  No Great British Bake Off nonsense just twist the cardboard package and voila 12 minutes later: cookies, croissants, or rolls….I win!  So many of my childhood meal memories are here to make me feel warm, safe, ten pounds overweight and  twelve again.  Pancakes are my new best friends.

Thursday, March 26, 2020


It’s finally happened in my lifetime – the sky is falling.  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!”!  My brain is spinning into butter from fear of everything:  kitchen counters, silverware, the refrigerator, gas pumps, other humans, all door handles/knobs in a 1,000 mile radius and my own hands!  Oh no, did I just touch my face and forget to wash my hands?  I might have, I did, I didn’t, I can’t remember.  I’m dazed, confused and only have 6 rolls of toilet paper in the cabinet beneath the sink.  Will that last, will I?  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?  I almost washed my hair with sanitizer before I snapped back into consciousness.  No one has mentioned that yet have they?  My eyes are blood red as I have been staring at the TV for so long that I think I forgot how to blink.  What I really need is sleep, calm, and a Xanax drip.  

Dr. Fauci I have checked my temperature at least 45 times in the last hour.  Do I really think I can develop a fever that fast – yes!  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.  I will get tennis elbow if I can’t stop myself soon.  I haven’t coughed in weeks but am convinced I have one. Uh oh, have body aches set in?  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?  

Meanwhile the stock market is falling faster than the sky.  For one brief shining moment I am excited to be too poor to have bought any.  Then I remember I am still poor. 

I decide to take the dog for a walk and pick up pieces of the sky as I go.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Love in the Time of the Corona Virus 

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.  It’s quick doesn’t require parking but only a small wave and you’re done.  All you really have to know is the make and model of each other’s car.  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.  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.  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.

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.  This is not an opportune time to meet a man and now has my money.  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.

This is where the drive-by idea is genius as expediency is of the essence.  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?  Is the Metamucil/laxative aisle too revealing for a first date?  Condoms too alluring during a pandemic?  The household disinfectant aisle will be quiet due to hoarding.  I doubt I can get a refund from which would sure help out those of us who did not predict social distancing as a dating norm.  I think if they are smart they will offer a free phone sex option for those skittish about the Walgreens/CVS meet up.

My personal preference……  “Show me the refund!”

Tuesday, January 7, 2020


I 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!
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.
OMG today I found one stuck in the middle of my cheek! 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!

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

               Defeated By Plastic Packaging and Seeking Therapy

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.  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.  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.

Last Sunday morning which is my time to relax, read the paper and calmly drink coffee I decided to put up a shower curtain.  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.  It was closed so tightly that I had to get down from my teetering stool to try and open it.  I was ripping and tearing and bending corners but the plastic didn’t budge.  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.  I resorted to screaming and throwing the package against the wall and although it was cathartic nothing came apart.

With tears in my eyes I headed for the kitchen and grabbed a serrated knife.  I madly sawed through the package and a little of my thumb.  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.  At last victory was mine and I had eight rings freed from the package.
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.