Ass Kickin’ Women

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.  I think they have special genes as mine would be screaming “Stop, turn back, go to Neimans.”  The training is not for the faint of heart, or needing their therapist on speed dial.  One call home and that’s it, poof(!) cut off from the outside world until the day before graduation.  I would hold my breath and turn blue right after that call.  No email access which gives me a rash just thinking about it.  I need to text, Instagram, FB, Snap Chat, Tweet, and change my profile picture!   There is one piece of good news, I could pass the initial physical fitness test.  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).  There is hope on the dating front as there are 750-1000 women and 2,850 men.  Better odds than on Match.com I’d say. 

The typical day is a real downer for me however as it starts at 4 a.m. What is 4 a.m.?  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?  Uh oh trouble is on the horizon no matter what my hair looks like.

“The Crucible” looms large – a 54 hour marathon of physical and emotional endurance that tests every cell in your body.  I am dripping in sweat writing about it.  The test of all the training and I cannot even remember my name at this point.   Here goes so be strong :  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.  Is anyone thinking they can do this no problema because there is MORE.

“Noonan’s Evacuation” a mock rescue based on a real evacuation that took place in Vietnam.  The recruits have to tend to and evacuate their wounded and dead while receiving simulated rounds of sniper fire.  I think I just fainted. 

Exhausted and blistered (no pedicure, or big spa day) they receive the coveted Eagle, Globe and Anchor insignia.  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. 

You kick some serious ass!

Introducing GATEWAY MAN! Dream Date or Nightmare?

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.

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?

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.

MY INVISIBLE LIFE

 I vanished.  Invisible!  Where did I go?  HELLO!!!  Can you see me now? I still have an Instagram account. Maybe I’m on a milk carton, or sign at a tollway booth.  Does a woman become "Vapor Woman" after her 50th birthday?  Poof gone, it'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. 

  

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.

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.

P.S.  I will be making my own funeral arrangements.

CURSES! OR SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

Oh no another harsh midlife realization; some things never change.  Btw, I have no idea if I am in mid or late life.  It gets increasingly confusing as mortality rates fluctuate, but I insist on calling myself “mid”.  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.  Clairol had it right when they declared blonds have more fun. Yes, they do and get a hell of a lot more action as not one head ever turned my brunette way.  Bringing reading material was my default activity. I finished a lot of books in bars. I gave up and got a dog.

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.

 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.

 A blond walked in the bar.

Bra Buying is a Bitch!

My Disappearing Lip

Dr. Pimple Popper and Me

 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!

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!

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.