Monthly Archives: January 2014

Everything Gets Between Me and My Calvins!

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It’s always enjoyable walking through the Jeans section of a department store, isn’t it? If you wanted to up your joy factor, you could simply drop a bowling ball on your foot, and then stroll through the jeans section. There I was in Nordstrom having a revelation – – I would rather shop for swimsuits than jeans! First came “Bell-Bottom” jeans, then “Boot Cut” followed by “Boyfriend” jeans. Someone got smart and invented “Mom Jeans” followed by (depending how confident you were) “Not Your Daughter’s Jeans.” Now I am proposing, “Not My Muffin-Top” jeans. Of course this would be one of many styles in my new Fall Menopausal collection. If that sold well, my final contribution to blue jean heaven would be, “I Ate 2 Peach Cobblers and Still Zipped These Up” jeans.

As I wandered in front of a display with an older, full-figured, wrinkled mannequin (oh wait, that’s a mirror!) I came upon “Relaxed Jeans,” and “Distressed Jeans.” Could “Worried” and “Irritated” Jeans be far behind? But lest we lull ourselves into a false sense of comfort and security within the fashion world, beware of “Yeast Infection Heaven” Jeans, AKA “Skinny Jeans,” right Ladies? I’ve been circulating on the Internet that Skinny Jeans are a major fashion faux Pas, but someone keeps sending back an email that they’ve checked Snopes and that’s just an urban legend. Darn.

Before I escaped, an overly helpful young salesgirl took my arm, offering me a guided tour. She pointed out denim now comes in plum, turquoise, buttercup yellow, seafoam green, mustard, and burnt sienna.

Because self-consciousness always looks better cloaked in Crayola Colors!

It’s complicated where jeans should sit on your torso too. There’s low-rise, (which she assured me would make my husband’s temperature rise!) mid-rise, sunrise, and I’m still hoping for stock market-rise jeans. Oh! You must never make the humiliating mistake I did – – calling them “Slacks,” or your salesgirl will raise her eyebrows and march you over to “the Girdle section,” bypassing Spanx completely.  Like there’s a difference?  I am continuously perplexed when names abruptly change for the exact same fashion item. In the seventies, people trudged around with a pair of “thongs” on their feet at the beach. Now thongs are sold in Victoria’s Secret and instead of coming in pairs, they’re worn below a pair. . . of 36 C’s! And these same people now trudge around in Flip-Flops on the sand, when that used to be a trick that accomplished gymnasts performed on padded mats.  Must you really re-name merchandise, Designers?

But if I thought browsing was fun, I was in for the time of my life once coerced into the no-elbow dressing room. “Little Miss Menopause – – How’s that size 16 working out for you?” the 12 year old, (if she was a day!) sales-assistant blared sweetly over the department store’s PA system. “Field trip’s over – – bus is waiting for you outside,” I muttered under my sweaty breath. She repeatedly returned to check on me, bringing new items (that she just KNEW I would simply adore,) when I finally told her to pretend she worked in Walmart and disappear. I consoled myself thinking that Brooke Shields could be having her own hot flash at this very moment!

As I slinked to the register, I hid my item away from prying eyes. “Baggy, Saggy, Craggy, Shaggy, Haggy Trouser Style” proclaimed my label. “With 48% Span-dex, (for long lifespan?) 32% Fan-dex (for hot flashes) 16% Expand-ex (for Thanksgiving dinner) 2% bran-dex (for constipation) and 1% Man-dex (for lonely nights) Hmmm, only adds up to 99% but who’s counting? I secretly hoped the missing 1% was Demand-ex (for bossy moments)

Handing me the receipt, Miss Growing More Youthful by the Minute cheerily (but suspiciously) remarked, “See you very VERY soon!”

Fat chance. Then I drove home to discover the plastic store security tag still firmly attached to the pocket of my new Trouble Shooter Jeans. Grrrrrrr. Naturally. Bitch works on commission!

Sisterhood of the Traveling Rants

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Growing up with only a brother surely deprived me from experiencing the joys of girl power. You know – – the female closeness that arises when a group of women get together to support, commiserate, elevate, celebrate and then… scratch each other’s eyes out. Okay, so my idea to form a ladies group wasn’t supposed to end up like that, but when you have five women dealing with every symptom in the (mid-life) book, can it really go as smooth as silk? (Silk doesn’t breathe well during a hot flash) Our first order of bonding was to pick a name for our club. That went really nicely. Let’s listen in, shall we?

“We’re calling ourselves the Sisterhood of the Traveling Fans,” said Sweaty Sue, “and instead of passing a pair of pants, we can trade back and forth a magical cooling device that makes our night sweats disappear.” She turned to Huffing Harriet, (who recently made public her struggle with weight gain and exercise) to get a response. “I vote leaving it Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” She said tentatively, “You know, because we get breathless and kinda start to pant when we walk up the stairs?” Testosterone Tiffany interrupted right on cue. “Speak for yourself, honey. Forget the Traveling anything. I want our name after that other chick flick, The Devine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.” Tiffany fluffed her perfectly coiffed tresses as Sweaty, err I mean Sue broke in again. “Change Ya-Ya to Blah-Blah and I’m all over it.” I could see her point — she was always tired and listless. Being a huge Seinfeld fan, I suggested changing Ya-Ya to Yada Yada Sisterhood, but was ordered to stay out of it because I wasn’t deemed sponge-worthy. Well!

“There’s always ‘The Secrets of the Claw-Claw Sisterhood,’ since apparently one of us can get quite catty,” piped up Harriet again. “Just who are you calling catty?” accused Tiffany. “Um, Catty? Did I say Catty? I meant Patty,” Harriet quickly recovered. “Meow” whispered Sue. “Well Thank you,” Tiffany fluttered her impossibly long eyelashes, “I do often get told I look like Lapone.” I overheard Moody Marsha mutter, “Duke. Patty Duke.”

Suffice it to say that we never came up with a name, but we did come up with our Menopausal Bylaws and I’m proud to share them here.

1. All members must wear Mood Rings so we can monitor how you’re feeling before we ever greet you.
2. If you don’t have a Mood Ring, we’ll go by the beads of perspiration on your forehead or the number of dark circles under your eyes.
3. If you lose your keys, glasses, pen, sunglasses or cell-phone, we have a Lost & Found. If you’ve lost your temper, sex drive or your mind, join the club.
4. If you invent a female Viagra that really works, you’re our new President.
5. If the lights go out suddenly, please rely on your own personal Hot-Flashlight.
6. If you forget other member’s names, make some (hot) flash-cards – – don’t try to be clever with, “Hey, Hot Stuff” or “Minny Paz.” We’ve heard every dumb joke.
7. Don’t come in here singing anything from Menopause: The Musical. Don’t even hum.
8. It’s actually a good thing to gain 20 lbs. That’s the kind of motivation you need to stick to your diet.
9. We’re sold out of our “Menopause is the new Puberty” bumper stickers. We never believed that anyhow.
10. Most importantly, Break all these Laws and do it with abandon. Don’t you know your God-Given rights of passage into Menopause, Sister??!

I’ll Have The Menopasta With a Side of Heatballs, Please!

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In this day and age, (especially at our age!) with the influx of baby boomer women reaching their mid-life years, it’s about time someone finally gets smart and opens a restaurant specializing in issues exclusive to menopausal females. Women come to these establishments for a little R&R, hence their name – – “Rest-or-Rants!”

I invite you to accompany me during tonight’s dining experience, complete from droopy butts    from soup to nuts.

As I stroll inside, I immediately detect the light strains of Carly Simon crooning in the background, “I haven’t got time for the pain…” (so far so good!) followed by a cheery greeting from the “Hostess with the Mostest…” wrinkles, that is. But how refreshing to be seated by a Menopausal Mama instead of the usual stunning, Spanxless, skinny-jeaned, stiletto-heeled, sexy siren named Savannah.

“Hello! I’m Esther Jen!” my hostess’ badge proclaims. I later find that customers too, don these cute name tags, saving us from resorting to clever recall tricks with our tablemates such as, “Okay, she chatters like a Magpie bird, so remember her name is Maggie. Wait, maybe it’s Robin?  Or Raven? How about Sapsucker?”

Next order of business — decide whether I prefer to sit in the “Fanning or Non-Fanning” section. I won’t tell you which one I choose, because it will be apparent as Esther Jen (say that 5 times fast) leads me to my table. All around, women in various stages of sweating, swooning, swelling, swearing and swallowing (pills) – –  complain to their male servers (not waiters, women our age hate to wait!) in irritated tones, while their husbands catch a break, reading Victoria Secret catalogues at home.

Thoughtful touches include:

  • napkins folded/creased like makeshift fans
  • Medicine droppers and syringes in place of silverware
  • Placemats have guided meditations printed on them
  • Plates perched on pillows for unexpected naps.
  • Water glasses refilled constantly with Icy stares from servers

Since this is an upscale Rest-or-Rant, a well-dressed woman walks around with a basket of Ice for the gentleman to purchase for his lady. Choice of Cubed, Chipped, or Shaved. For the discerning woman, room temperature ice is available upon request.

Esther places the menu before me with a conspicuous placard stating it will be left during the entire meal for use as a fan.

 

Specials of the Day:

Wilted Insomnia on a bed of Lettuce (lettuce sleep please!) tossed (and turned) with Mean Goddess dressing.
Black Cohash Succatash Squash gently sautéed in Evening Primrose Oil
Chicken Tender Breasts battered with Lose Your Temper Tempura
Hot Flash Sundae

Main Dishes and Sides: Past Your Prime Rib, Alaskan King Cramps, Forgetful Farfalle, Beef Swellington, SlamDoory Chicken deep fried with a vengeance, Arugula Adrenala, Nip N’ Tuck Duck with caramelized Cortisol, Taming of the Shrew Stew with rehashed hot-flashed browns, Fetchabikini Afraido paired with Beach Wobbler for dessert, Chicken Cancha FriggenSee? Accompanied by Shredded Wits with Toasted Testosterone and I’ma Crack Pot Roast served with Half-Baked potato with sex drives chives.

Beverages: Iced Tea, Iced Coffee, Iced Milk, Iced Diet Pepsi (or Irregular Pepsi) and of course, Iced Ice. Dr. Pepper is available by appointment only.

Desserts (Forget gluten free, these are Glutton free!): Muffin Tops, Pumpkin Praline Progesterone Pie, Part-Gray Parfait with Melatonin Mints, TearsofMissYou Tiramisu (the self-pity dessert)

I Scream Flavors: Rocky Road, Cookies & Cramps, Schitzopolitan

Whine List: Chabliss, Chagrin, Chabloat, Crabbyday SaveYourYawn, and a White Sinfandel or Merlobido that will make you Blush.

As I decide what to order, a fellow diner accidentally pokes me and I awaken with nightsweat irritation before I am able to slap him. Yes it’s all been just a wild dream! But I’ll still have what Meg Ryan is having!

How Do You Like Them Apples?

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It happened again! Glamour magazine just called me an apple! As opposed to pear-shaped. Disclaimer: Don’t bother reading this blog if you don’t regularly get labeled some kind of fruit!

I don’t mean to compare apples to bananas but you know who you are. Always too full to eat dessert, even when it’s Molten Lava Cake? You buy bags of fun-sized Snickers in Sept, which stay intact and accounted for when actual Trick-or-Treaters knock? Upon ordering, you request waiters to wrap up half your lunch in doggy bags (and you really do have a canine at home that devours it). And you shun the ‘five seconds’ rule, throwing away the yummiest of dropped morsels even on newly waxed floors!

“Oh, I really couldn’t eat a thing,” my friend Tiffany laments when she’s upset. So how come when I get angry (after being told how to dress as an Apple, for example!) – – I eat everything in sight?? Including biting poor Tiffany’s head off?? And if I hear another busy person remark, “I just realized I forgot to eat all day long.” I’m gonna reply, “Gosh, I can relate. Last night, without a moment to spare — I became aware that my heart hadn’t remembered to beat all evening long.” Seriously? These harried individuals need to write “consume something” on their daily planners?!

Why is it that when my co-workers come down with a nasty bug, their taste buds are thrown “off” and suddenly they have no appetite? Within 48 hrs, these sick office-mates demonstrate how their jeans fall down. (They’re each receiving a belt for Christmas) Yet when I get the exact same flu, cardboard toast and plain white rice never tasted so divine! And everyone else’s prescription seems to list possible side effects like weight loss, yet I get that one persistent sinus infection requiring a steroid that makes me bloated.

Finally, how come no matter which thyroid condition (hypo or hyper) I’m diagnosed with, I never get the one with weight loss as a symptom? Listen, I know my rights! And one of these (I think it’s Hyper!) causes a sped-up metabolism!

If you can relate, are 35-55, and feel like your recent weight gain has upset your entire apple cart, the culprit may be close to home. In fact, it may be your own body — in particular your thyroid. I joked about it above, but it’s really no laughing matter. Recent studies suggest that millions suffer from undiagnosed thyroid problems. Women are particularly likely to develop thyroid issues and experience weight gain, especially in the abdomen (hello Granny Smith!) because the thyroid is linked to other systems that impact weight – – namely proper functioning of the sex hormones (estrogen, progesterone and testosterone) and the adrenal glands.

It is imperative to go to an experienced, healthy aging doctor who understands how to properly test. A whole thyroid panel (not simply TSH) must be run. If not, a patient can be deemed to have normal levels and left unfairly struggling (as a Fuji or a Gala!) with fatigue, dry hair/skin, foggy thinking, increased cholesterol, puffiness around eyes/face, memory loss, and even yikes, heart disease! But once you find someone competent that you can trust, they will be the Apple of Your Eye!

Newsflash: Swimsuits Out of Style Forever!

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Ok, Ok, so that was my first 49th birthday wish, but (Thanks to Twiggy and Kate Moss!) skimpy swimsuits are still very much in style. I think there should be a special “menoclause” added to the “menolaws” when you’re over forty – – you get to have Three birthday wishes! So can this desperate Peri-menopausal woman find a “Peri-Godmother” to wave a magic wand for her 2nd wish? Because if there’s a San Diegan Prince throwing a (beach) Ball, inviting eligible maidens to attend, then I want to escape my wicked diet/evil exercise regime for just one magical night, wear a two-piece (with glass flip-flops,) and promise to come home by the stroke of midnight or before I have an actual stroke (from holding my breath while sucking in my stomach)…whichever comes first.

It’s so unfair! When you gain friends, knowledge, money, creativity, or energy – – opportunity knocks. But gain some weight (or a jean size?) and bam, Jenny Craig comes a knockin’ with Richard Simmons shrieking by her side! In fact, a recent survey reported women confessed they would rather subtract ten years off their life span than add on ten pounds! Let’s face it, in our appearance-obsessed society, weight gain is the scariest “menocausal” symptom of all!

I have a boyfriend (bless his non-muffin top heart) who (sensing that I had the “menoblahs” over my recent “menoflaws”) serenaded me under my window with that Billy Joel song, “Just the way you are.” While he earned my “menoapplause,” I still continued to resort to every trick in the book to lose my “menopudge.” First I heard drinking half my body weight in water helped shed stubborn lbs, so I became passionate about staying well hydrated. Whenever the Culligan Man or Sparklett’s Guy came near me, friends admonished, “Sheesh, get a room!”

Next I drastically banned carbs. I even cut out anything that remotely sounded like “carbs,” which meant I stopped nibbling on all those “curbs, cards and carts” between meals. Hmmm. After that it was the Cookie Diet. Really!? Perhaps Elmo and Big Bird have an eating plan too? And finally I gave the Paleo Diet a go. Gathering berries, seeds, and nuts like my ancestors went fine until one day I was so starved, I gobbled down an actual caveman. But at least he was gluten free.

Unable to make the pounds vanish, I finally decided to just make the scales disappear. Yep, tomorrow I hold a Garage Scale, err I mean, Sale. All the mechanical devises and electronic gadgets ever invented to torture vulnerable females will formally line my driveway with a sign “Everything Must Go! (before my sanity does!) and another which will read, “Best Scoffer Takes All!” Remember ladies, scales are for fish!

And my “Peri-Godmother” just granted my third wish – – because now there is, I kid you not, a new scale out there (don’t believe me? Just google it!) that WON’T tell you how much you weigh, but only whether you lose or gain each time you step on it. My boyfriend (bless his trim, in-shape brain) told me this is akin to having a doctor who WON’T tell you which disease you suffer from but only whether you’ll live or die!

Speaking of doctors, if you want to find one who WILL give you some straight-up answers over the confusion that women our age experience, including explanations for this seemingly unexplainable weight gain (and a myriad of other symptoms) then you need to ask your girlfriends for a referral to a really compassionate alternate health care practitioner because out there somewhere is your own “Peri-Godmother” who will not only grant you three wishes, but will turn an ordinary pumpkin into zero calorie pumpkin pie!

Once Upon Your Prime . . . They Lived Happily Ever Laughter!

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Fairy Tales definitely give “old Hags” a bad rap.
Let me walk you through an 18th century recap.

Did they have Hormone Replacement in those days?
Doctors to carry out the plastic surgery craze?
Supplements or Oils of Olays? Miss Clairol to cover grays?

Could women do a detox or get Botox?
Mommy Makeovers to turn back the clocks?
Could they buy Spanx to slenderize their frocks?
Was it hip to wear baseball caps over thinning locks?

Nope! Aging Queens were left all on their own.
Threatened by younger Beauties for their throne.

And always a chatty, magic mirror on the wall.
Reflecting back how gravity makes things fall.

Flaunting hair as black as ebony, skin white as snow??
Your stepmother might just turn from friend to foe!

Singing like a nightingale all around the palace?
Yep, I would hire a huntsman with a bit of malice!

Is inviting us older gals to christenings too big a hassle?
Sleep forever with prickly thorns surrounding your castle!

Shiny, flowing hair to your ankles gives you seductive power?
Try some female Rogaine while you’re locked up in that tower!

I’m starving on Atkins and you nibble on my gingerbread cottage?
Just have a close-up look inside my oven….check out the wattage!

But for any fairytale to end happily ever after,
There’s always “Old Witch” karma, met with laughter.

We’re pushed over cliffs, stabbed in the heart, turned into a serpent or snake.
C’mon Brothers Grimm & Disney, we’re your menopausal moms – – give us a break!

And now to right the wrong of another childhood crime,
Let’s rewrite a more accurate menopausal nursery rhyme!

READY?

Jack and Jill went on a date,
To see if they could get along.
Jack touched Jill and met his fate,
For everything he did was wrong!

Oh do you know the Hormone Man?
With testosterone and progesterone?
Oh do you know the hormone man? Who lives on Sex Drive Lane?

I am a bitchy “don’t touch!” girl
It’s a pity how witchy I can be…
And all the boys in the neighborhood
Know how crazy sleeping is with me!

Mary, Mary, still eating dairy!
How does your stomach bloat?
With the way Brie smells, and those pasta shells
And 31 flavors all in a row… (not to mention a rootbeer float!)

Old King Cole was a married old soul
In bed, his menopausal wife wanted to flee!
He called (her friends) for a gripe,
and he called for his pole,
and he called for some fiddling around with thee!

Little Miss NapPlop sat with her laptop,
Searching for midlife online dating.
Along came a good provider,
Didn’t care she’d grown wider…
But everything he did was just irritating!

There was an old woman who lived in a Jimmy Choo.
She had so many symptoms, she didn’t know what to do.
She went to a conventional doctor, who examined her head,
So she went out with her girlfriends and drank wine instead!

Living Libido Loco!

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Did you read my last week’s blog, “Confessions of Menopausal Women Who Can’t Keep Their Hands Off Their Men?” Neither did I! And if the title above is the exact same variation of the Ricky Martin song that plays (and replays) in your home….we need to talk.

Sometimes it seems the world revolves around sex. Everyone is fantasizing about doing it, actually doing it, talking about what it was like to have done it, or hoping they will do it again soon. Women our age feel there’s one big universal joke circulating, only we’re missing the punchline. Sadly, we often ARE the punchline. Which cake makes women hate sex? Wedding cake. Hmmmm.

Here are the reasons most studies cite for women losing interest in sex: Hormonal Imbalances, Stress, Anxiety, Irritability, Fatigue, Weight Gain, Depression, Hot Flashes/Temperature Changes, and Pain or Discomfort during Sex. Coincidentally these happen to be signs of perimenopause or menopause as well. And interestingly enough, addressing the first reason, (Hormonal Imbalances) will often alleviate all the others listed. So I always remind my girlfriends that this is precisely where to begin. In fact I’m currently involved (alongside my amazing doctor) in the hormonal balancing act myself, so at least I’ll play cards with a full deck once again.

Another reason a woman’s libido can decline is often not given much attention in research. Low Self-Esteem. Poor body image and insecurities skyrocket when we compare ourselves to airbrushed and photo-shopped images the media bombards us with daily. Or contrasting a friend’s appearance to our own. C’mon, we’ve all done this. Walked into a Super Bowl Sunday party like a relative of Levi Strauss – – evaluating all the other female forms in their jeans. A conversation with our man will thus ensue. “I’m the only one here wearing stretch denim.” To which he responds, “Wanna jog with me tomorrow?” An innocent invitation because he loves our company, right? Wrong! “Oh! So you admit I look awful tonight?!” Because “Hell hath no fury like a woman whose pants are poorly worn!” And now this pitiful guy will be playing solitaire all night.

Confidence also plummets because we remember how we used to look. Jealous much? Yep, we’re actually envious of a younger version of ourselves! We try on jeans from the 70’s and get furious when a seam rips, hoping Gloria Vanderbilt looks heavy and wrinkled today. That’s right – – “Hell also hath no fury like a woman whose pants are torn!” Or we peruse our wedding album sadly humming, “The Way We Were.” But woe to the man who happens to walk in as we’re muttering, “Damn, I never realized how good I looked back then,” when he nods his head in zealous agreement. “Oh! So you admit I look awful today?!” And now this same pitiful guy will be playing 52 card pick-up all night.

So, what’s the solution? I won’t pretend there’s one single answer, especially in a blog. But I know making peace with ourselves while cultivating inner love is the key to stepping out of pathetic puddles of pity. Surround yourself with compassionate women who can relate. Swap the measure of value from our exterior facade to our beautiful interior essence. Identify areas of our lives (aside from physical looks) that need attention and lavish some on them. Become passionate about a new charity, career, hobby, craft, skill or sport. But for now, start small and just cook something nourishing, yet exotic for dinner. Who knows? Tomorrow morning when that same poor guy comes strolling in with a compliment – – “Last night was great!” – – he may not just be talking about your new Hot ‘n Spicy Shrimp Curry recipe!

Fifty Shades of No Way!

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If that’s the version of the recent bestseller you’re reading in your house, this is for you! However, if you’re too busy having sex to read this blog, then you obviously don’t believe in statistics. Research shows the majority of females (in our age range) have low or no sex drive. But apparently, a mere 15% are quite the opposite. If you fall in the latter category of highly sexually “driven” women, before you quit reading this to “rev up your engine” again, I have a favor to ask – – Can I please carpool with you?!? Okay, since this is a humor blog, I am permitted to joke a bit, but there’s a common misconception that lack of libido is a trivial issue. And until it is taken seriously, women will continue to suffer. Unless these same women talk openly with their partners and doctors about how disturbing they find their lack of desire, (hey, we aren’t having sex, we may as well use the extra time in our schedules to talk about WHY we aren’t having sex!) nothing will ever change.

Professor John Studd, (a distinguished gynecologist from England and chairman of the British Menopause Society) is angered by what he sees as the dismissive attitude of many doctors to the problem of low sex drive in women. First of all, go ahead and google his last name so you can put to rest the idea that I made it up! Then read this quote from him – – “Low libido is a very common condition. My patients are aged anywhere from 30 to 70. I think it’s a tragedy when an important part of their lives just disappears, women are expected to do absolutely nothing.”

Well well, Dr. Studd… I’m 49 and doing absolutely nothing this weekend — shall we make London Bridge fall down? Err, I mean…I couldn’t agree with you more that honest communication is a crucial component here. Just look at all the men who fill a Viagra prescription so they can keep up with the women they think want MORE performance. And then to partake in some next day “Vi-Brag-ra” with their buddies on the golf course, of course. Meanwhile, we females are filled with tremendous “Viaggravation,” because the only performance we actually want is viewed from third row, center, orchestra seats. “Wicked” anyone?

So how do we detangle ourselves from this woven web of misinformation and intertwined assumptions that have long been perpetrated? And how do we dispel the myths about hormonal balancing, which in many cases is all that’s needed to bring back sexual desire? I am living proof that using testosterone will not deepen a woman’s voice – just yesterday Disney asked me to fill in for one of their high-pitched characters – – Menopausal Minnie Mouse! And if it grew excessive hair, wouldn’t all men be rubbing testosterone by the bottle on their bald spots?

But don’t take my word for it, get all your sexual questions answered and fallacies set straight by showing up to your nearest bookstore to check out all the new Menopausal Guides on this very subject. Oh, and if you don’t bump into me in one of the aisles, it surely means I’m now one of the 15% too busy having sex to leave my house. Okay, that may be a bit optimistic. If I’m absent, it means I’m writing my own new novel, “Fifty Shades of…Well, Okay!”

PS. I know you’re still wondering – – why do those 15 percent of menopausal females want so much sex? Well, they claim they no longer fear pregnancy. I don’t know if I buy that logic, but let me think about it while I do housework. Scrubbing my (thank goodness, bunless!) oven is a total turn-on!

Somewhere Over The Abstain Bow

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“Sometimes I think it would be easier to follow the Yellow Brick Road and find Oz than to find out where my sex life went during menopOZ.” ~ Me! = Stephanie Lewis

Yesterday in the waiting room of my new doctor’s office, I overheard two husbands conferring in whispered tones. “Cindy has Vaginal Atrophy,” one husband confided. “Well, we’re here because Trixie, the little woman, has SAD,” said the other husband. At which point I could no longer restrain myself. “Listen you!” I said to the second husband, “I’d be blue too if my guy referred to me as Trixie, The Little Woman!” Next, unleashing my wrath on the first man, I shouted, “And I’ve heard of Trophy Wives, but displaying female genitalia-shaped awards on your fireplace mantle is a new low.” Both men rolled their eyes, muttered “Mood Swing Mama” under their breath, then proceeded to inform me that S.A.D stands for Sexual Arousal Disorder while Vaginal Atrophy is an inflammation. As they slipped me their business card, they told me to send the man in my life to their next HAM meeting. “But he’s kosher,” I protested, before reading the full acronym, “Husbands Amidst Menopause!”

A low sex drive is often made light of, but for many peri/post menopausal women, loss of libido is a highly disturbing issue. Wasn’t it just yesterday we shirked the dishes and dusting to get busy between the sheets? Nowadays laundering those same sheets is more Afternoon Delight than any Quicky I know – – unless of course, it’s a “Sticky Quicky” – – meaning someone is overnighting me dark chocolate from Belgium!

But we are not alone. Many women mistakenly believe that losing desire or passion is something that comes with the territory of aging and they accept this situation as the new status quo. Or worse, suspect something is wrong with their relationship because they’re changing the oil in their car more frequently than they change into negligees. Often many unnecessary months are spent in therapy trying to find a psychological cause, (sadly sometimes a divorce is even initiated) when emotions might not have much to do with it.

Then there’s always the old “fake it till you make it,” advice, which essentially goes like this – – “Just start having sex, even though you don’t feel like it. Soon the more you have it, the more you’ll want it.” Really?? Oh, that’s right! Because the other night, I forced myself to eat brussel sprouts and now I crave them. And six months ago, I had a root canal and today I go to a twelve-step program for people addicted to dentistry. C’mom! We deserve better information than this, because (as L’Oreal tells us) we are worth it! It makes sense to me to first explore the physical causes of a change in sexual desire by seeking a medical professional who has expertise in balancing hormones.

This explains why last night, even though my name is not Dorothy, I added a new, creative twist to the old, “Not tonight Honey, I have a headache,” routine. Washcloth draped over forehead, I moaned convincingly, “But it wasn’t a dream, it was a real place, and some of it wasn’t very nice, but most of it was beautiful! And you were there, and you, and you!” I said pointing to my significant other and our two night table lamps. “And I learned that if I ever go looking for my heart’s sexual desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard, because I’ve always had the power to get it back with just three clicks of…” dramatic pause, “my Testosterone crème dispenser!” He looked at me incredulously, with widening eyes, and I decided as long as I was on a roll (not just a roll in the hay!) why not throw in a hint for our next vacation?! “There’s no place like Rome, there’s no place like Rome,” I repeated hypnotically. But that’s another blog.