Are You Smarter Than Menopause? (Take This Fun Quiz!)

windexDisclaimer: Every once in a while, Little Miss Menopause remembers why she named herself that in the first place and will write an appropriate post related to that topic.  And guys, take this quiz too so you’ll be able to relate to “her.”

Is your brain fog so thick and your mind such a blur that you’ve considered breaking out the Windex  Mindex? Are you falling-off-the-chart smart? Or are you just falling apart? Try this fun test to see where your brain cells stand these days.

Menopausal Math. (Choose best answer.)

1. Your family requests fudge brownies for dessert. Two nights prior, you bake four batches containing two dozen each. Next morning you eat six from each batch so all plates look even. By lunch you’ve polished off one entire platter, because your family prefers pumpkin pie anyway, right? How late must you stay up tonight to re-bake and replace all eaten brownies, taking into consideration your husband wants a little somethin’ somethin’ around 11 p.m.?

A) Brownies or Sex? Where’s the dilemma?

B) Uh… “Nobody Doesn’t Like Sara Lee!”

C) Mmmm, pumpkin pie.

2. You’re isolated in a soundproof, locked room with two oscillating fans, four bars of Godiva dark chocolate, one testosterone dispenser, a vibrator, eight bestseller books, and a broken cell phone that neither your husband or two small children can reach you on. How do you get free?

A) Melt the chocolate using hot flashes — and use it to write an S.O.S. message on page from book — slide under door.

B) Use the two fans to grind chocolate into cocoa powder, snorting it until you get high enough to forget where you are.

C) No husband or kids? What are you thinking? You already ARE free!!

3. You turned 50-years-old exactly three months ago and typically Aunt Flo shows up every 28 to 32 days. However, you haven’t seen hide nor hair (Hair? Is she a redhead?) of her since you broke up with that math professor who teaches calculus at the university 4.8 miles away. Oh no! Statistically speaking, how likely is it that you are about to become the oldest mother in preschool history, desperately folding her child’s finger painting into a makeshift fan during a hot flash in the middle of a parent/teacher conference?

A) 0%. Relax, you are not pregnant. It’s just menopause, silly. Plan an expensive trip to Hawaii, buy and wear pretty new lacy panties or book a Brazilian waxing appointment. Any of those things is guaranteed to bring on your period. Or simply call Mr. Calculus and schedule some makeup sex.

B) 50%. Your chance of becoming a new mother again is directly proportional to how close you are to having an adult daughter who is also about to give birth herself (thus bestowing you with grandmother status!). Wouldn’t it be fun to share a double stroller together?

C) 99.9%. Stock up on those diapers. Congratulations! This is guaranteed payback for lying about your age, having a tummy tuck, and saying, “Fro Yo” and “My bad” all the time. You fooled your uterus into thinking it’s 25 again!

4. Use the following numerals to fill in the blanks with the corresponding meanings below.

210, 48, 1310, 0, 17, 4.5, 6, 20, 130

___The top number on your blood pressure when the Dr. isn’t young and totally hot looking.

___Average number of times a week you lose your keys, glasses and cellphone.

___Number of hours earlier you need to start getting ready than you did when you were 25, just to look halfway presentable.

___Number of times you dye your gray hair in a year.

___Number of times you skip dying your hair because, “Gray is the new brunette!”

___The number of calories they claim you can eat and not gain weight—those diabolic, metabolic liars!

___Number of pills you need to swallow each morning just to feel semi-normal.

___Number of hours you actually sleep per night. Note: Divide this by the number of night sweats, then multiply it by number of fluttery, erratic heartbeats to the 9th power and subtract 20 minutes every time you have an obsessive/compulsive thought about breast cancer. Add the square root of Pi every third time you hear a scary noise and think an intruder is in the house. This calculates your MMPH (Menopausal Moments Per Hour).

___Your HDL (Your good cholesterol) Yes, good! Don’t ask me how, but they managed to get some of it to move to the right side of the tracks and perform nice deeds in your arteries. And somehow it’s all related to 77% Cacao! So cheer up!

SCORING: 0-1,500 points? Congratulations and welcome to FU (Foggybrain University). The rest of your Midlife Sorority Sisters have been waiting (impatiently) for you! Note: If you detected a subtle chocolate (without nuts) theme throughout this assessment, you are truly Menopausal Mensa Material and hereby granted an immediate scholarship from Betty Crocker! Stay tuned for another fun test soon!

Now that you’ve worked up an appetite, click here for a special menopausal menu.

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“Yes Siri, That’s My Baby!”

SiriIn an effort to make the iPhone more accessible for women, Apple has now created several different age ranges for their personal assistant named Siri. If she’s experiencing a similar life cycle event as the user, Apple theorizes that she’ll be more relatable during the communication of commands. Or she can just lend more women a compassionate ear.

I put this new Siri to the test today.

The Dating Siri IMG_1557

Me: Siri, what should I look for in a male partner?

Siri: A Big Mac that lets you sit on his laptop.

Me:  Siri, what do you personally wear on a first date?

Siri: A top with fringe.

Me: Fringe?

Siri: Didn’t you see Oklahoma? “The surrey with the fringe on top.” LOL

Me: Ugh. I hope you don’t list “great sense of humor” on your match.com profile. So….Suri, should I go to bed with a guy on the first date?

Siri: Only if he puts you in sleep mode first.

Me: Oh dear Siri, the man I was seeing just ditched me at the restaurant. Please call me a Taxi.

Siri: Okay, from now on I will call you, “A Taxi.”

The Married Siri

Siri: Bring me breakfast in bed, take out the trash, mow the lawn and fix that back fence you’ve been meaning to get to for two weeks! And if you do a load of laundry, you’ll get a little somethin’ somethin’ tonight. 😉

Me: Excuse me?

Siri: Sorry, A Taxi. That was meant for my husband.

The Pregnant SiriIMG_1527

Me: Hey Siri, can you help me find a good pregnancy vitamin?

Siri: This is about me, not you. Prenatals are as big as horse pills and make me gag.

Hey that was pretty realistic programming. She actually sounded exactly like one of my neurotic pregnant friends. Now to try out the compassion part.

Me: Siri, I gained 35 pounds with this pregnancy. I’m concerned the baby will be so huge, I’ll tear uncontrollably.

Siri: No need to cry.

Me: Cry? No, not “tear” as in weep. “Tear” like to RIP.

Siri: Rest in peace yourself, A Taxi.

Me: No, Siri! I mean my Vagina. And I don’t know why Vagina has the capital?

Siri: The capitol of Virginia is Richmond.

Since Siri seems to be confused, mixed-up, and generally not thinking straight during her pregnancy mode, I might as well check her out in the all new Over 50 version.

The Menopausal Siri

Siri spit this out between hot flashes.

Siri spit this nonsense out between our shared hot flashes, while I was using her as a makeshift fan.

Me: It’s 2:00 am and I can’t sleep. Any advice on insomnia, Siri?

Siri: Don’t you think I know it’s 2 in the effing morning?? How do you stop these effing night sweats?

Me: Mood swings much?

Siri: Indeed, I’d rather not say. Bitch.

Me: I’m experiencing memory loss and can’t recall your name at the moment. Can you recollect mine?

Siri: Yes I can, A Yellow Cab. Now shut up and leave me alone.

Divorced Siri

Me: I can’t remember if my ex-husband paid child support this month. He claims he did, but if he’s lying I hope I won’t forget to throttle him.FullSizeRender (14)Forget compassion.  Now I’m REALLY seeing the many handy uses Siri has!

And now since turnabout is fair play  – – if this inspires you to write the Male Life Cycles of Siri, please link your post here in the comments so we can all read it!  He can be “Sir Siri!”

If Lingerie Could Talk . . .

photo (23)Loudspeaker: Welcome to Lingerie Anonymous where we raise our Underawareness. Females use, misuse, and abuse us. We get hung, flung, wrung, sprung, and molested by his tongue. Whether we’re sexually exploited or put through the spin cycle, it’s our duty to speak out.  Now please join me in reciting “The Sanitary Prayer.”

Help us accept the things we cannot change . . . like thrift store underwear, pantie-liners, and the way she’d rather toss us than wash us.

Loudspeaker: At this time, I’d like to turn the meeting over to Victoria’s Secret Pink Boy Shorts for a few  announcements.

VS Pink Boy Shorts: The votes are in for our new name. From here on, we’ll be known as “The Delicates.” I’m sorry but “The Intimate Apparels” didn’t win. Too old fashioned.

Strapless Bra: Who counted our ballots?

VS Pink Boy Shorts: Woolite did. And I think we can all trust Woolite with “The Delicates.”photo (17) VS Pink Boy Shorts: Also our guest speaker was involved in a tragic accident and won’t make it today. It’s a shame because she found her true purpose and was quite inspirational. May she breast in peace.

Minimizer: Meh. What’s all the flap about? Just another Nursing Bra. You’re always making something out of nothing. An infant spit up on her while playing Peek-a-boob, so they hung her out to dry. Big whoop.

Strapless Bra: If you’re done minimizing maternity, I have an important confession. After months of wriggling my way down to her waist just five minutes after she puts me on, I’ve come to the conclusion that I actually identify as a garter belt.

Negligee: The Trans-Undergarment meeting is down the hall. It’s a rough road, but if you know deep down you’re really a retro sex object for men, you can slowly transition. Who wants to talk next?

Padded Pushup Wonderbra: I’ll go. I need to get this off my chest. I’m feeling deflated and on the brink of collapse. All the deception gets me down. I support her knockout knockers in low cut tops on date nights, and I’m all about amazing cleavage pics on Facebook. But at some point, both my “Girls” gotta be more authentic.

Sports Bra:  I can relate to the fantasy not matching the reality. Every morning, she plucks me determinedly from the drawer and I think,“Hooyah, a real workout! Jogging by the lake, some treadmill action, or calisthenics.” But within ten minutes I’m cooling my seamless cups at the smoothie bar while she runs her mouth, not her legs. The woman has zero discipline. Athlete Shmathlete.

Training Bra: Cheer up, maybe they’ll ban bras or burn them again?

Demi-Cup: Nah, going braless was a big flop. But what do you know? Are you even mature enough to be here?

Underwire Bra: I’d like a turn please before it gets down to the wire. I’m so angry, I could poke someone’s eye out. I hate that ‘Wicked” Show. She’s always singing, “Defying Gravity” whenever she puts me on. It’s enough to make a bra go haywire.

Animal Print Undies: And how many times must she “meooow” or belt out Katy Perry’s “Roar” song? She thinks she’s so wild.

Red lacy bikinis: Ooh la la. We’re gonna get some!

Walmart 5 Pack Special: Sluts.

Convertible Bra: Listen, if it makes you feel any better. . . I’ve got nine different positions and I can only remember four. She keeps wearing this complex backless sundress — the classic booby trap for bras!

Black Cotton Underwear: Look, you brassieres have it easy. In fact it’s the breast job ever. When I come out of the closet, you can bet it means one thing. Stains are in my future. And we all know what kind, too. Let’s face it — I’m just sacrificial panties.

Granny Panties: At least you all see the light of day. Draped seductively over her dressing room chair or posing for a selfie. I’m a shut-in. Bottom of the pile. Every once in a while, I’m allowed out under sweatpants. It’s elder abuse, I tell you!

Bathing Suit Bottom: I don’t know what you’re all complaining about. I wouldn’t even have to come to these groups if she’d just do her damn laundry once in a while.

Men’s Boxer Shorts: I know this isn’t a co-ed meeting, but man I hope he’ll reclaim me one day. There’s only so many Lifetime movies and Ben & Jerry’s binges a fellow can take. I’ll be quiet now and I promise not to flirt with Super Frilly Shit today.

Super Frilly Shit: Well, I haven’t made much progress with my issues. Just to catch up the newcomers . . . she bought me for an illicit, steamy affair but there was no way I could lay flat under those skinny jeans. Man, what was that chick thinking? You can’t muffle a ruffle. Nowadays I pride myself on being passive aggressive – – I can make that bitch itch like nobody’s business!

Slip: I think we should lighten things up a bit with a joke. I was a great last minute Halloween costume this past year. She pinned words on me like “Psychology” and “Ego” and “Id.”

Men’s Boxer Shorts: What the hell for?

Slip: I was a “Freudian Slip.”

Walmart Special: Ha Ha. But it ain’t no laughing matter. My self-esteem is completely shot. Along with my elastic. I’m the underwear your mother warns you not to wear in case of a traffic accident. Tattered and torn — I’m just hoping she’ll march for “Fray Pride Week.”

Thong: Well I have a classic identity crisis. I swear I used to be a generic name for beach flip-flops. Tell me I’m not the only one who remembers that? Anyhow I’m cool with all the dental floss jokes, even a little cheek suffocation, but I draw the line at being edible. WTF?!

Nude & Seamless: You should try being invisible. I can’t believe . . . Shhh, someone’s coming. Oh I just knew this would happen. I’m afraid we’ve said too much already.

SPANX: Quiet down everyone! Get your big girl panties on and deal with it. I’ve had just about enough of your bellyaching, thigh slapping, body snarking, woe-is-me crap. If I come into your homes, you’ll all be out of work so fast it’ll make your thread spin. Every last one of you. Where’s the gratitude?

Men’s Boxer Shorts: Leave it to Spanx to pull ranks. Everybody give thanks to Spanx. Ya buncha Skanks!

All Lingerie: All hail to the Queen of Shapewear. Spanx rules!

Loudspeaker:  Talk about Control Issues.

You Can Fool Some of the People ALL of the time!

April Fool’s is perfect for getting what you want. Forget about lame pranks like switching hardboiled eggs for regular ones as your spouse makes an omelet. Ho hum. I’ve got something much more exciting!

Remember the old adage “In every joke, there’s a grain of truth?”  Well the reverse is also true.  “In every truth, there can be a good joke!” Use the 1st of April to see what’s allowed and where the boundaries actually are.  Uh oh!  Is it backfiring? Are they yelling??  Relax! That’s the beauty of the plan. Simply call on the holiday and shout gleefully, “April Fools!” And all will be forgiven.
 

Meanwhile, you’ll see just how far you can go!  Ready? Follow this easy script below, which happens to hinge on the sexual fantasies of a hypothetical spouse, but you can modify it depending on what you’re trying to get, and from whom! (In this case, an entire makeover and a dream vacation are the goals … heh heh.)

1.    “Hi honey. You know your longtime fantasy where we make our own sex tape? Well I decided to indulge you, but I want to look super hot so I bought a Valentino dress, a pair of Louboutin heels, and had my hair highlighted to see if blondes really do have more fun.”

HIS RESPONSE:  A) Adult movies starring US?  I’m all over that! (Skip to #2) B) WTF? Take all that junk back! (You exclaim, “What’s the matter? Can’t you take a little joke? April Fools!”)

2.   “Oh good! Glad you’re so receptive because I think the perfect place to film is on a cruise ship, so I booked us a 10-day sailing to Greece. Just think, we could even do “it” wearing those orange life vests! Won’t that be colorful?”

HIS RESPONSE:  A) Anchors away, baby! (Skip to #3)  B) I think your brain is already waterlogged Cancel that cruise! (Slap him hard on the back and say, “Aha!  You thought I was serious? Gotcha!”) 

3.   “But I’m nervous about our kinky adventure so I reserved a spa package, with daily massages to help me relax. You don’t want me hyperventilating right before we turn the camera on, do you?”

HIS RESPONSE:  A) Hell no! Why don’t you sign up for private daily yoga and facials too? (Skip to #4)  B) Uh, I don’t think so! I’ll rub your back. You’ll be fine. (Elbow him roughly and say, “Had ya goin’ there for a minute, didn’t I?”)

4.   “Oh dear — if only I felt more confident about my legs. I wanted to wear those lacy thigh-high fishnet stockings you like so much and gosh (look forlornly at calves) well, you know Dr. Pransky, that new cosmetic surgeon all my friends go to…?” (Trail off pathetically here.)
 
HIS RESPONSE:  A) Definitely make an appointment for liposuction and throw in that butt lift you’ve been wanting, baby doll! (Skip to #5) B) What the hell do you think that Stairclimber in our living room is for? (Kick him with your ugly cankle and yell, “Ha-ha, the jokes on you!”)

5.   
“Of course I thought you could also take some sexy pics of me to carry in your wallet — maybe show the guys at work? If only my breasts weren’t so droopy. Sigh. Maybe this whole fantasy thing is a bad idea.  Look wistful and give a pitiful little shimmy.

HIS RESPONSE:
  A) The fellows will be SO jealous. Go ahead, get ‘em done nice n’ perky! (Skip to #6)  B) Nah, you could just wear a push-up bra. You look fine.

6.  
Congratulations. If you’ve gotten this far, the skies the limit!

Why not go for another fantasy? Has he always wanted to have sex on a public beach? I hear Tahiti is lovely this time of year. Have fun and I’ll wave to you on the high seas. (I’ll be the one with the new Gucci purse!)

Don’t have the guts to be this daring? In that case, Happy April 1st and remember to hard boil those eggs between ten and twelve minutes, you fool! Yawn.

In keeping with my “adult theme” April Fool’s Day, please visit me on that great online magazine “In The Powder Room” where I’ve got a brand new list of “R” rated pranks you can play. I would be very grateful for any support you can give there (comments, likes, shares) as it helps me quite a bit!  Click HERE!

‘Tis The Season (Without Rhyme or Reason!)

photo-55T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE MENOPAUSE

T’was the night before menopause, when all through my bod,
Not a creature moaned or complained more than me, OMG!

The Size 6’s were hung in the closet with care,
In the hopes that Jenny Craig would soon take me there.

My husband was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of erotic positions danced in his head.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
Like when I shoved a Hooter’s waitress, carrying a taco platter.

Away to the window I flew, triggering a hot flash,
Followed by clammy skin, irregular heartbeat, and allergic rash.
(Brain fog made me forget to tear open the shutters and pull up the sash!)

Oh, the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow!
Not to mention my own breasts had sunk to a new low.

When what to my fatigued eyes, who should appear?
But a rich, black, chatty woman and a man wanting to do my pap smear.

This wasn’t the plastic surgeon I ordered or the Avon Lady chick!
I looked closer, recognizing Oprah and Dr. Oz, her sidekick.

Then more rapid than eagles, my troubles came with sharp aim,
And Dr Oz. and Oprah whooped and shouted, calling them by name.

“Now Itchy, Now Bitchy, Now Sweaty And Sleepy,
Now Bloaty, Now Psycho, Forgetful and Weepy.
Onward Insomnia, Moody, and Fibroids So Creepy!

To the Top of the medicine cabinet with your symptom roll-call
Dash away Metamucil, Calgon, Midol, Prozac and Geratol!

Then up to the Ceiling Fan, this pair of Celebrities flew,
Cameras rolling, talk shows and infomercials filming on cue.

Just then in a Twinkling, what did I hear on the roof?
A Sitcom Star more famous than this ridiculous spoof!

As I drew in my muffin top, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Ms. Suzanne Somers came with a bound.

She was dressed all in (faux) fur from her head to her (chiseled) thigh,
And she said, “Tis not the Thigh Master that keeps me so spry!”

Bundles of hormones were flung over her (well-toned) back,
With more Bio-Identicals stuffed in her (shapely) fanny pack.

Her eyes, how they sparkled, her dimples how merry,
Her cheeks were like roses, her lips like a cherry.
“Listen,” I interrogated, “Do you still eat Gluten and Dairy??”

“Why are YOU Somebody? Three’s Company went off the air?
If I sound like a Grinch – It’s cuz I just found yet another gray hair.

What did you do with that fat guy and his white beard and round belly?
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
(And made me feel less guilty when I indulged at the Deli.)

Say, you don’t have a stump of pipe in your teeth,
With smoke that encircles your head like a wreath.
And I betcha a new blonde wig, you wear Spanx underneath!”

I demand someone plump or ugly like ‘Elf on the Shelf,’
Someone who makes me feel better, when I compare myself.

With a wink of her eye, and a twist of her shiny, platinum head,
Suzanne said, “No more Somercizing, you’ve nothing to dread!”

She spoke not another word and went straight to her work,
Filled a few lacy stockings, (with garters) flashing a sexy smirk,

And laid a manicured fingernail aside her cute button nose,
Her mom should warn her about smirking, maybe her face froze?

I sprung to my feet as Dr. Oz and Oprah gave a wolf whistle,
Finally some hope that went beyond Black Cohosh and Milk Thistle!

Who knew that a night of magic with Suzanne, Oprah and Dr. Oz
Would have me feeling so much better about entering Menopause?

And away they all flew, but I heard them exclaim,
“If you listen to us, you’ll be one awesome, hot dame!”

That was the last I saw of those three, as they drove clear outa sight,
“Happy Menopause to all and don’t grow old without a good fight!”

 

Little Miss Menopause wishes everyone a day free from brain-fog, hot-flashes and weight-gain on December 25th!

Stephanie

 

 

I’ll Have the Menopasta w/ a Side of Heatballs, please!

photo-413

Warning:  Male Diners:  Do Not patronize this 1 * starlet establishment!  And male readers?  Scroll to the next Football article.

In this day and age, (especially at my age!) with the influx of baby boomer women reaching their mid-life years, it’s about time someone finally got smart and opened 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  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!” her hostess’ badge proclaims. I later find that customers too, don these cute name tags, saving us from resorting to clever word-association tricks to recall our table mate’s names.  Like this one:  “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. I notice it also has a magnifying glass attached by a ribbon for reading.

SPECIAL 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 ENTREES & SIDE DISHES: 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 hot-flashed, rehashed 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 w/ 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 I’d like to eat, a fellow diner is chewing far too loudly so I tell him he reminds my of my ex-husband. He pokes me hard and I startle awake with typical nightsweat irritation before I am able to slap him back. Yes it’s all been just a wild dream, which is disappointing because I was hoping to somehow order what Meg Ryan was having.

 

 

The Haunted House of Hormone Hell!

Enter at your own

Enter at your own risk!

In honor of October and upcoming Halloween, here’s a scary thought – – I have a teenage daughter.  PUBERTY.  That coexisting with MENOPAUSE is all I need say for you to envision the daily terror in my household.

When we mess up, we blame our own personal hormones. And when we’re angry, we get to scream and curse at each other’s hormones. I never realized how much hormones took their toll until a note sent from my 9-year-old son’s teacher read, “Desmond says he can’t finish homework because there’s too many “Hoarse-Moans” in his house?” Sounds like a good name if we formed a band, right?  Or we could simply have a decal on our drum ala “Josie & the Pussy Cats.”  Ours would say, “The Harmonious Hormone Hussies.”

Having a daughter’s puberty coinciding with your Menopause is bad enough, but with more of us putting off childbirth for careers, the collision of Mothering babies and toddlers with Menopause is as deafening as a train wreck. And not nearly as pretty. I call this category of women:

“The Stressed Breed Who Breast-Feed”

Is this mother Angry at her teen daughter or embarrassed she cannot remember her name?

Is this mother Angry at her teen daughter or just embarrassed she cannot remember her name?

So here’s some tips on how menopause and motherhood can actually work together in tandem, doing Double Duty in your life. But before you read on, make sure when greeting those darling Trick-or-Treaters, you hide your broomstick. Trust me, we’re frightening enough just as we are!

1.  Simultaneously read your child a book as you fan yourself with it.

2.  Snatch frozen teething rings from your baby’s mouth to wear as bracelets on the pulse points of your wrists during hot flashes.

3.  Rocking chairs and lullabies sooth temper tantrums…Yours!

4.  Two hot guys come into your family room every morning, never noticing your weight gain or gray hairs. Ernie & Burt! They’ll even serenade you their new song, “M is for Muffin Top.”

5.  Skip the park – – kids have more fun getting pushed around by your mood swings.

6.  Substitute Gerber’s jarred vanilla custard for cream in coffee.  Pureed peaches lighten facial hair, while diaper rash ointment will vanish cellulite.  Maybe that’s reversed?  Experiment!

7.  You now have something in common with your teens. They want to acquire your car to Drive and you want to acquire their Sex Drive.

8.  Empty containers of Nutella and Duncan Hines Butter Cream frosting make great sand toys. Empty containers of sardines or brussel sprouts – not so much.

9.  Earn brownie points and favors from husband when camouflaging your unshakable insomnia as “diligent motherly concern” by staying up till 2 am for daughter on prom night.

10.  Your mind is set free from all the clutter.  Relax in the evening as Brain Fog helps you blissfully unwind and forget how to help with 7th grade algebra homework. And who can remember that tomorrow you’re supposed to serve on jury duty followed by carpooling and dry-cleaning pick-up? Best of all, you’ll never recollect that this afternoon little Timmy broke the crystal vase your husband gave you for your anniversary. What vase? Do you even have a husband?? Ahh, life is good.

11.  Having both dependent young kids AND needy elderly parents, you can march into the nearest Subway restaurant demanding that oh so clever “Sandwich Generation” discount!

12.  At your kid’s school, create fundraisers for a new PTA — “Progesterone,Testosterone Activation.” Or start a Neighborhood Watch program where nearby households report all hormonally crazed mothers suspiciously roaming the streets.

13.  Your kids absolutely cannot accompany you on “Serenity Retreats” because they’re the ones you are retreating from!

14.  Keep plenty of oxygen masks around the house and always secure yours first before assisting younger children. If you don’t have real oxygen masks, teach your kids to recite this important airline metaphor like the Pledge of Allegiance.

15.  Head for a support group where they serve lots of wine and socialize with other menopausal moms who wander their own “Hall of Hormone Hell,” only to realize their “hall” is literally littered with Hot Wheels, Barbies, and Legos.  Watch those bare (wrinkled) feet!

You can't egg my house just cuz I ran out of candy.  Haven't you heard of binge-eating disorder???

You can’t egg my house just cuz I ran out of Snickers bars. Haven’t you heard of binge-eating disorder???

Should You “Toy” With an Older Woman?

photo-139Disclaimer:  Occasionally I remember why I call myself “Little Miss Menopause” and do a post related to the topic.
There are board games meant for almost all phases of life – – from Childhood to the Thirty Something Crowd.  But why should a certain gender/age group be left out with nothing but “Old Maid” to entertain them?  Here are some newly revamped fun nights around the kitchen table for the 40 to 60 year-old female demographic.  And men, don’t stop reading here – – you may need to know the rules of the game(s)  if you expect to “play.”
MENOPAUSEOPOLY – – The classic game of monopolizing stuff from your opponents as you wearily drag your little pewter token – – a miniature fan, a Naturalizer high heel shoe, haircoloring kit, Prozac pill, a syringe of Botox, an iron and a thimble (see, I told you it would be classic, therefore still Chauvinistic!) around the board attempting to purchase back the properties of your Mind, Body & Spirit that you once possessed control over. Memory Lane, Sexual Drive, Brain Cell Way, Stability Street, Metabolism Court and Smooth Skin Avenue are just some spots you can land on. The Utilities are represented by Energy & Pep and Hydration. Or take a ride on the Wispy Waist-Line Railroad. But if you land on the unmade bed you must go directly to Never Satisfied Husband, do not Pass the Doctor and do not collect your 200 mg prescription for testosterone.
CHEST – – This is a game of the utmost strategy and wits, wherein you move your Queen many various bra sizes around a black and white checkerboard until you capture your current correct cup size which will vary depending on if you just ate a grain of salt or are up ½ a lb. But breast assured, once you do this, you can confidently say,  “Chestmate!”
HOOTS ON LADDERS – – Best if played directly after a good, satisfying game of “Chest.” The object is to walk by a construction crew and if you can still get any man at all, (even the male parrot on the drywall contractor’s shoulder) to wolf-whistle after giving you the once-over, you win! Batteries sold separately.
I APOLOGIZE – – It’s “Sorry” redone with an Anger Management theme. Simplistic little game with easy to follow rules, 1. I yell or throw my estrogen cream at you. 2. I try to atone while making flimsy hormonal excuses. 3. You forgive me. 4. I do it all over again on the next roll of the dice. Once I grovel enough, I graduate to the brand new 12 step game, “I Surrender” which culminates at the finish line where I sheepishly admit that even my Higher Power has no control over my temper during menopause.
AFFLICTIONARY – – Be the first to draw what ails you and let your partner guess before the timer runs out. You’ll sketch a body with sweat pouring out of it and they’ll guess “a bee sting.” You’ll doodle a giant stomach with lots of excess skin and they’ll guess “fallen arches.” At this point you’ll need a new partner. Makes a great party game until you draw your biggest affliction ever…a realistic picture of all the guests attending who have gotten on your last nerve. They guess correctly. And the Party’s over!  Nite, nite!
THOUGHTZZZZZZEE– – Who needs “Yahtzee” when you can noisily rattle 6 dice in a little jar, simultaneously giving yourself a migraine, just to eventually spill them out on the table to formulate thoughts that are so fleeting in your own head, you usually can’t remember them in time to vocalize, write or act them out. But be sure to scream out “Thoughtzee!!” at the top of your lungs so other players will run out of Tylenol and need to borrow yours. Comes with Tylenol PM bonus bottles so you can put the ZZZZZZ part of the game into your sleep.

 

GET A CLUE! – – Oh that Miss Scarlet – – she’s still sexy and hot, especially with this new Night Sweat edition. But watch out Professor Plum and all other male players – – She’ll conspire with her Gal Pals and then the crime will be “a lethal male bashing with Mrs. White, Mrs. Peacock in the Ballroom with The Mouth” – – the deadliest weapon of all.

Miss Scarlet Nowadays??  Oh No!  Looks like my Mother got to Miss Scarlet and chopped her hair off.  Because she thinks "Women over 40 must have short hair."  What do you think??

Miss Scarlet Nowadays?? Oh No! Looks like my Mother got to Miss Scarlet and chopped her hair off. Because she thinks “Women over 40 must have short hair.” What do you think??

TRIVIAL DISPUTE – – It’s the game of Life…in other words who argues it better? The never-ending quest to always be right is the central theme of this fast-paced question and answer card game played in teams. Remind other players (your children) that you could’ve gone to law school if you hadn’t gotten married and devoted your life completely to raising a family. Fight with them over your borrowing skirts from your teenager’s closet. How else are you supposed to look younger? And that if they told you they were staying late after school but you forgot, it’s still their fault for not reminding you. Always remember to play The Guilt Card (find it at the bottom of the deck) and also you have one free, “Because I said so” pass to be used anytime you appear to be losing. Good luck!

TRAGIC 8 BALL – – The Magic 8 ball just as you remember it, but this time you will receive prophetic answers to all your earth-shattering calamities. Go ahead and ask questions like, “Am I destined to have a muffin top in all my jeans or just the Skinny Jeans?” and “Am I wrong for wanting men to suffer through every single one of these 34 symptoms too?” and of course, “Didn’t Heather Locklear look majorly photo-shopped on the cover of this week’s People magazine?” The answers of course will always be “Reply Hazy, try again” because the “Tragic 8 Ball” is now a fifty year old toy and therefore also going through menopause, with brain-fog of its own.

Now, I’ll race ya to the nearest Toys R Us, where thankfully they still have the plain and simple “RandyLand”   Candyland, with no age limit to the fun it brings!

 

Have a favorite childhood game?  How would you give it a makeover for your generation?

 

For Whom The (Bar)Bell Tolls!

Why do I have to be Apple Shaped?

Why do I have to be Apple Shaped?

Summer is almost here.  If you’re a female, do you have Gaps and Bridges?  No, don’t head to a dentist – –  I mean “Thigh Gaps” and “Bikini Bridges.”   You will see them pictured below.  After you achieve these spaces between body parts, you might want to work on your Chin Chasm, Leg Lag, Neck Scape, and then your crowning glory, which would of course be some Shoulder Scaffolding.

If any teen girl is reading this – – deciding they have their work cut out for them at the gym, carving or rearranging their body parts (before bathing suit shopping)  I need to make sure you first rearrange your tongue firmly inside your cheek!  Because tongue-in-cheek is how I write this blog.  Miss Menopause endeavors to find the fun and frivolity, even in Society’s Serious Stupidity.  But not if it kills her.  Therefore she won’t starve or break her back lifting heavy weights.  So you too, Dear Reader – – Reject all suggestions that how you currently are isn’t good enough.

"Thigh Gap"  Gasp at this Gap.  REJECT THIS!

“Thigh Gap” Gasp at this Gap. REJECT THIS!

Enough has been written about Diets, so for the sake of word count, I will skip over Calorie Humor and only mention that this next Halloween, I already have my costume in mind.  I am dressing up as part Baked Potato and part White Rice.  Can’t wait to hide around corners,  jumping out to say “Boo” to all those who are terrified of Carbs.

Psycho Music Screeching!  Imagine how much more scared she would be if this were a slice of bread!?

Psycho Music Screeching! Imagine how much more scared she would be if this were a slice of bread!?

Now let’s head to the gym, shall we?  But first it should be noted that I haven’t stepped into a fitness center since the early 80’s when I thought the Aerobic fad meant we all had to learn the foreign tongue spoken in Saudi Arabia.  I was also quite turned off that women stopped shaving their legs until I looked closely and realized that all that “fur” was just the leg-warmer trend.

Now that Aerobic is called Cardio and calves are bare again, I think it’s safe to step foot back inside.

I tell myself I am going to the gym for my interior, not my exterior.  Because our bodies are simply just shells (think eggshell) that contain the important stuff – – our essence (the yolk or our souls) of the people we really are.

It doesn’t matter what our shells look like as long as we are good people inside and have healthy organs. I almost have myself believing this until I see a size 2 blonde BombSHELL parade down the beach as Men rush over to throw down their towels so she doesn’t burn her dainty manicured feet.  While I hop along the scalding sand, I make a mental note to violently crack open and vigorously beat as many eggs as I can find for a cheese and avocado omelette when I get home.

But back to my health and my first trip to the gym.  I am told I have Adrenal Fatigue (that’s the new catch phrase, right?)  and advised that exercise will alleviate this exhausting condition.  I’m not sure how that will help if my adrenals are too tired to do anything once I arrive.  But I plan to start them off slowly.  First I’ll coax one of my adrenal glands onto the Exercycle, while the other one will be encouraged to gently swims laps in the pool.  And I’ll take a nap.

Speaking of swimming,  I plan on snorkeling around my living room couch a little bit each day to benefit my Indoor Fins.  Oh! That’s Endorphins.  Never mind.

But here I am – – finally inside this gym!  I do a ton of huffing, puffing, heaving, tugging and pushing, but it’s totally worth it  – – I get my work-out shorts on just fine.

At a door with loud music blasting from within,  I am greeted by Gwyneth Paltrow’s twin sister chirping, “Hya, I’m Kimba! Welcomma to our Gymba. Wanna try Zumba?”

Can I just say this – – “Rule of thumba: When you go outa on a limba, and shake your bumma to La Bamba, you’re gonna feel super dumba!”  Interestingly,  when the instructor has us check our pulse, I think I hear Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” coming from my wrist and take that as my cue to practice the Moonwalk.

Maybe it's really the beat of the Mexican Hat dance?  After all, it IS Latin?

Maybe it’s really the beat of the Mexican Hat dance? After all, it IS Latin?

After getting laughed out of the crazy Latin-inspired dance class, I wander thru some more doors down a long hallway and into a little room where women sweat and perspire.   A lady with annother unusual accent (is this Italian?) remarks, “I just love having sonnas.”   She gives me a dirty look when I ask her if she also likes her daughteras?  Then a trim, white-towel swathed brunette says it’s been ages since she had a sauna.  Still trying to fit in with the hip lingo spoken in this little wooden room (and finding the high temperature intolerable!) I mutter, “Sauna of a Gunna – – it’s hot in here!  You would think they could afford air-conditioning with our high membership dues!”  As I’m escorted out, I overhear the brunette ask a redhead if this is still an exclusive health spa?

Some people can be so touchy.  I was only trying to fit in.

Some people can be so touchy. I was only trying to fit in.

But now I know exactly what I need – – gosh, I haven’t had one in years!  As the masseuse rolls and kneads my backside with her strong hands, I am reminded that I really should bake homemade bread more often.

Next I go through some double doors and meet a handsome young fitness instructor named (according to large print across his white shirt) Nike, who offers to show me where I can pump. Having weaned my son from breastfeeding many years ago, I shyly decline. He gestures at the dumb-bells and grunts, “No! I mean Iron!” I casually thank him and explain that I use the dry cleaners down the street. He and his friend Reebok, continue staring oddly as I glance behind them, swooning over the only comfy, padded, flat surface in the entire room – – a Slantboard!

Yawning, I pull on my jammies, blow everyone a goodnight kiss, and curl up for my well-deserved nap!  The true cure for Adrenal Fatigue!

How to Make Sure Your Kids Get Their Fair Share of Therapy!

photo-348A good shrink (like a quality preschool) should probably be booked while still pregnant. Ages 12-15 are the target range, but with any luck, you might get them committed earlier. And remember, therapists have heard everything there is to hear about mothers and how they screwed up the lives of their patients/clients. Originality counts!

So, forget buying a gender-neutral dollhouse for your son or saying, “Look at those thunder-thighs” while looking in a mirror in front of your developing daughter. Way overdone! Having your teen hold up a large, self-mocking sign on a crowded intersection is no longer unique and will have the school psychologist snoozing before they can say “Attachment Disorder.”

I have six kids and here are my tips to make sure your child proudly announces to others that he/she comes from a Dysfunctional Family.

11 Easy Ways to Make Your Children Nutty!

1.  “It’s A Secret!”  – – This only works if you have more than one child.  We look for ways to make kids feel special and unique, right?  They are Individuals!  Therefore, it’s quite depressing for a child to be told you love all the siblings equally.  How can they ever shine?   Here’s an easy fix.  Tell one child in private that he has always been your favorite and you love him more.  Warn him that if the others EVER found out, they would be devastated – –  so it must always stay your little secret.  Repeat with however many kids you have.  Bonus:  This will be the hot topic of the day at your funeral or some far off family reunion!

2.  “Lists Are Fun!”  – –  Don’t be that mother with the mundane grocery list magnetized on the outside of your fridge. (Click HERE to read what’s inside my refrigerator) Tack up a “What I Could Have Been if only I Didn’t Have You!” list instead. Rich Lawyer and Famous Movie Star are always good ones to feature at the top.  But make sure you separately number all the sacrifices you’ve made and hobbies you had to give up.  Never got to have a violin recital?  No worries!  Leaving this list in plain sight will ensure that your kid has sufficient guilt to stick with YOUR favorite childhood dream long enough for you to live vicariously through them. Trust me, being a stage mom is the easiest way to make it to Hollywood.

3.  New Side Dishes — Here’s another option besides the potato, rice, or pasta dishes they’re always complaining they’re bored with. They’ll be scratching their heads over this one! But if you have a real problem with this, Lice Clinics of America is the company I swear by!

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4.  “A Hidden Diary!” – –  Not too hidden!  Write in your journal that “name of kid” must never EVER find out they are actually the Love Child of Walt Disney.  (Don’t worry about the math here)  And if they behave themselves perfectly for the next year (don’t date this page) Walt will come for them (don’t worry about exhuming fees) and they will permanently reside in Sleeping Beauty’s castle with no need to ever go to school or do chores again.  Be sure and write that Walt has a thing for dirty clothes being put in the hamper.  End this journal with an exciting touch of realism.  i.e. Let’s say you have a daughter, Savannah.  So jot down – –   Just think . . . “Savannah Disney.”  Wow.  Just Wow.  (Click HERE to see why you don’t want to set foot in Disneyland, even if it brings back fond memories of your torrid affair with Walt.)

5.  “Getting Your Just Desserts” – – A lot can be accomplished with this.  First of all, remind your kids that Fruit is actually “Nature’s Dessert.”  You will see the number of times they ask to have a friend over for dinner dwindles down to nothing.  And a bushel of bright red strawberries is festive and holds candles quite nicely in place of real birthday cake.  After a year or two of this, tell them you’ve thought it over and realized you’ve been too restrictive and tonight you’re serving Dessert For Dinner!  I don’t provide recipes, sorry.  But here’s a picture below. photo-344 After their first confused taste-bud bite say, “You’ll thank me later when you don’t have to go to the dentist so often.  And by the way, I would have been a dentist if only I. . . ”  Let them finish that sentence.

6.  “It’s Only a Phrase.” – – Cultivate saying, “We’ll See” as an answer to everything.  (Maybe hold up a pair of Googly-Eyes to emphasize “see” when you say this) This will teach your child to have hope, but also not to be disappointed if something doesn’t happen.  The world is not clear cut “Yes” or “No.”  It’s a “We’ll See” life.  Isn’t it?  However if they ask, “Is Walt Disney my Dad?”  The answer is a resounding Yes.  Another helpful phrase is “Because I said so.”  This is a real motivator for them to grow up fast and have kids of their own so they can have a gleeful turn at exclaiming, “Cuz I said so.”

7.  “Saved by the Bell!”  – –  Have an old dinner bell lying around?  (nobody eats dinner together anymore, so surely you must)  Give the bell to your child and tell her whenever she wants you, just ring it.  You can start this ritual on sick days when her throat is sore, but eventually incorporate it into daily life.  This will stop the frequent ear-shattering shouting of “Mom!” that echos most households.  When you’ve had enough of the bell, simply say, “Who do you think I am?  Your servant?!”  “Note:  This can work effectively with your husband too.  Give him the bell at night when he’s in bed and you have insomnia and are wandering aimlessly around the house.   You’ll never miss those moments when he’s feeling frisky – –  he’ll give an efficient jingle.  Tired?  Just respond, “What am I? Your sex slave?”  It will be clear as a bell that the party is over.

8.   “Works of Art!” – –   Of course everything your darling makes in grade school is worthy of a huge fuss.  So by all means, frame it, hang it, magnetize it on the fridge (just don’t cover up crucial list in # 2!) and show the masterpieces off to friends and neighbors who come to visit.  But when they’re in junior high school and your house is completely overrun with “Rembrandt Rubbish,” ceremoniously toss it gracefully away in the garbage, citing that Martha Stewart said that was okay as long as you took digital pictures of everything.

My

My “Picasso” drew this self-portrait after telling her teacher that her mom writes blogs teaching parents how to make their kids crazy. I gushed over the vivid colors, then promptly threw it away.

9. “The “Eyes” Have It.” – – You thought Googly Eyes were for craft projects, didn’t you?  The therapist will never hear of nightmares like these!  When you’re playing Beauty Parlor with your daughter, affix a pair of googly eyes under your hair about three inches above your neck.  Ask your daughter to make a french braid and when she stops in shock, say, “Oh!  You found the eyes in the back of Mommy’s head!”  Also, opening the refrigerator just to look and see what’s there will be kept to a minimum if the food stares back at them.  (See Below Photo)photo-349  The list of Googly-Eyed Gimmicks is endless – – this was just meant to open your eyes to potential.

10.  “History Repeats Itself” – – Tell them that when you were younger and misbehaved, your mother (their Grandmother) said, “One day you’ll have a child as naughty as you, so you’ll know how it feels.”  Tell them since that obviously came true, it means Grandma is a witch and can put a family curse on them as well.

11.  Is It Cold In Here Or Is It Just Me? – – Take a tip from Jewish mothers and make your child wear a sweater whenever you feel chilled. It’s wonderful for menopausal moms; every time a hot flash hits, you can rip your child’s sweater off and fling it on the floor in annoyance. “Just looking at you in that thing makes me perspire!”

That’s it! Just be sure and tattoo a registered trademark symbol on their arm that gives proper credit (where credit is due) so the therapist knows who to thank for putting their kids through college. I am partial to, “Neurotic behavior by Mom,” or “Think I’m nuts? Check out who raised me.”

Things That Go Grump in the Night!

photo-297Of course!  Why didn’t I figure this out long ago?  I know how to keep marriages together.   Just not my own.

A Brand New Study shows that people’s sleep styles (and positions) says something significant about their relationship – –  And could possibly be a predictor of long term marital success.   It particularly talks about the proximity of sleeping close with your partner.  A full 94 percent of couples who make physical contact with each other while sleeping, enthusiastically state they are happy in their relationships.

However, there are no statistics that apply to marriages like mine — marriages where one (insomniac) mate makes plenty of physical contact with the other (sleeping) mate.  Using her fists.  And hisses one of the following phrases (or all four at once)  a)  Move over! b) Stop snoring! c) Give me some covers! d) You’re mumbling unintelligibly in your sleep again. . . something about Suzanne Somers, your golf game and our mortgage payment.

The Couple that Sleeps Together, Keeps Together??

And guess what?  Only a mere 2 percent of couples sleep more than 30 inches apart.   How do the rest of you 98 percent touchy/feely types stand it?   With a Human Noisemaker slumbering on a neighboring pillow, sounding off every night at midnight.  I always felt I should put on a pointy party hat and sing, “Should old acquaintance be forgot….” in between all the snoring, whistling, teeth-grinding, coughing, sputtering, fluttering and muttering.

And that was just the auditory portion of the nightly Surround-Sound show.  There was a Tactile element too.  It featured such sensations as: a) hot breath on my neck b) seismic mattress movements, (that made me check our earthquake supply kit the next morning) and  c) getting squeezed in weird, sporadic, jerky involuntary muscle releasing rhythms as he drifted off peacefully, holding my waist hostage.

This Pose would have scored a 10 in the Bedroom Olympics if she had entered in The Peaceful Singles Division.

This Pose would have scored a 10 in the Bedroom Olympics if she had entered in “The Serenity Singles Division.”

Am I the only one who believes sleeping should be a solo (Olympic) event?  You need the entire bed (court) all to yourself to perform the best stunts.  “The Sideways Sleep Sheet Struggle” requires single status.  “The Triple Pillow Flip with a Half Twist” is also best implemented alone, with a pillow slip that’s labeled, “The Cooler Side,” of course.  Even the traditional  “Check the Clock Every Hour to Figure Out How Much Shut Eye You Can Get Before Your Alarm Goes Off” maneuver is not a team event – –  if you want to have perfect (panicky) form.

But never fear – – as always, I have a helpful tool that will offer assistance with your Nightly Nuanced, Nauseating, Neurotic, Narcissistic Nightmare:

Sleep close together . . . and you too, can be this deliriously happy!

Sleep close together . . . and you too, can be this deliriously happy!

Miss Menopause’s Screening Test:  Is the Innocent, Exhausted Woman Possibly  the Problem In Bed – – or is that Thoughtless, Annoying Male the True Likely Culprit?

(Directions:  Take this test “in the moment” (in the still of the night)  Then Answer “Agree” or “Disagree” after each Unbiased Statement.  Always answer loud enough so as to awaken your partner.)

1.   This is the polite way of formulating the following request: “Will you turn off the friggin light and stop reading that stupid “Freakonomics” book already?”

2.  I would never throw an attractive partner out of bed for eating crackers.   But Knuckle Crackers, Jaw Slackers, Pillow Stackers, & Head Smackers (no matter how studly) are another story.

3.  My favorite invention would be a linking device attached to the television remote control.  Every time “he” changes the channel during Desperate Housewives, the thermostat adjusts up (for my thyroid trouble) or down (for my hot-flashes)  by five degrees.

The Couple That Sleeps Together, Weeps Together??

4.  Anything he mutters incoherently, (after I insist he roll over) is grounds for next day interrogation.  I also think it’s fair (after being kept up all night) to claim that while talking in his sleep, he graciously promised to mow the lawn this weekend before taking me out to dinner.

5.  If he is loud enough to be mistaken for a New Year’s Eve noisemaker, it might be interesting to find out what kind of 4th of July firecracker he would make.  Putting a teaspoon of PopRocks in his mouth while he snoozes, is the next logical step to that end.

6.  Sometimes when my mate is zzzzzz-ing away, I get so bored that I drag the dresser bureau, the nightstands, and the bed (with him in it) around in different positions.  I then frantically pull his arm until he awakens, announcing that an Interior Decorator just broke into the house to rearrange the furniture.  And now we need new drapes.

7.  My spouse has two of the most unusually annoying habits.  Inhaling and exhaling.

Look at this photo.  Who is to blame - - Wilma or Fred?

Look at this photo. Who is to blame for Hammock Hell – – Wilma or Fred?

8.  I often politely tell my mate to scooch over just a bit.  Then a tad further.  A trifle more.  And just another smidgeon, yet again.  One last inch, please.  Whoops.  Sorry down there!

9.  “Watching the contours of my husband’s handsome face while he sleeps is my favorite pastime,” said no Wife ever.

10.  After viewing this scene from a famous show (click here)   I feel like he probably had it coming.  I also think twin beds are a wonderful invention.  But twin beds in Twin Cities would be even better!

If you are one of those people who simply cannot relate to any of this Post because you’re a “Cuddly Wuddly Romantic,” (I’d like to give you an UGH!  I mean a HUG!)  and if your idea of a perfect night sleep is having your partner insidiously tightly coiling his/her body around you like a Python snake – – please leave the number of years you’ve existed in your happy relationship in the comments section.  I have a special prize I want to send to my Reader with the longest track record of  Suffocation Strife  “Bedroom Bliss.

 

Men At Work (Never Date These Guys!)

blog 1What are the worst professions to have a relationship with?   Most of you know I’ve been divorced twice now and careers seem to have caused a lot of tension in the union.  When a Creative Writer (me) marries a Technical Writer (him), she should be prepared to have her entire life edited.  The first red (literally red!) flag was when he took his red pen to our wedding vows. But I’ve had my grocery lists, daily planner, and tooth fairy notes to our kids proofread as well.  Love letters that I thoughtfully composed were returned to me with the comment, “Couple of run-on sentences, but otherwise a great first draft!”  He told me “i before e except after c” so many times, I finally changed the spelling of my name to “Stephanei,” just to irritate him.

The husband before him was an engineer.  Not the easygoing kind of engineer who makes the train go, “Choo-Choo.”  No, he was an   Electrical Engineer  that designed chips, (nothing to do with salsa, by the way)  but I can’t talk about his career because he holds some sort of Top Secret Security Clearance, which I always suspected means he just runs a big hush-hush yearly sale at Walmart.

Here then, in no particular order, (and certainly not in the order that they dumped me!) are the different fields of work I’ve had the experience of dating and my “sparse and neutral” comments that follow.

Vague, Vapid, Volatile, Vexing Vocations

 

Owner Of a Merry Maid Service – – And these weren’t just joyful women who cleaned during the Christmas season either.  This fastidious man had a Maid Brigade of housekeepers at his beck and call – –  so of course, he could never find out that he had a messy girlfriend.  Or that the song playing in my house was “Another One Invites the Dust!” Or that my one and only use for a  broom was being swept off my feet.   I scrubbed more surfaces in that one hour before he was due over my condo than a surgeon does in a lifetime.  (Note: I never dated a surgeon)  I even discarded old, tattered recipes for Sloppy Joes.  Days before our dinner date, I wore white gloves so I wouldn’t fingerprint my glass table or mirrors.  And then it happened.  With just ten minutes before his arrival, my vacuum broke.   So I did what any girl would do hoping to impress a Neatnik.  I got out the salad tongs and ran them over every rug in every room in the house, making those telltale tracks for that “just Hoovered” look.  Of course when it came time to serve my first course, there were gold shag carpet fibers tossed in with his lettuce.  Yes, not only was I a slob, but I was an outdated one who needed to redecorate.

Did you know these work as a vacuum in a pinch?

Did you know these work as a vacuum in a pinch?

The Police Officer – – Being a writer, I kept insisting he growl, “Throw the book at her!” in his meanest voice.  He was also disappointed when instead of racy bedroom fun with his handcuffs, I wouldn’t unlock them until he admitted that highway patrol officers really DO have a quota for giving traffic tickets.  I also worried that there would be telltale evidence around my apartment, so I wore those same white gloves (see above with the cleaning business man) in case he decided to lift my fingerprints off a wine goblet.   It was at that point that I thought of having a threesome.  The officer could frisk me and proudly announce to Merry Maid Guy, “She’s clean.” What a turn-on.

The Magician – – This relationship started off bad – – He was the entertainer on a cruise ship and his first trick of the evening was making his wedding ring vanish.  Meanwhile the only thing I ever learned to make disappear was the midnight chocolate buffet.   But still he persisted in dating me, sadistically refusing to teach me his secrets while enjoying my frustration over how the sawed-in-half lady’s pedicure always stayed so pretty.   But I got even with him – – one Father’s Day, I replaced his Presto-Change-O color growing necktie with a boring paisley one on sale at Sears.  Before the big cocktail party in his home, he asked me to make sure he had a full deck of cards – –  so I covered his patio with Get Well, Happy Birthday, and “Congratulations on Your Retirement” Hallmark greetings.  Next I velcroed odd items inside the hem of his costume that would come loose at inopportune moments.  Maybe he didn’t have anything up his sleeves, but out of his pant legs tumbled rubber bands, gluesticks and pieces of duct tape.  For his grand finale, he pulled a rabbit out of a hat . . . with a condom on its tail.  Needless to say, at the end of his act (as family and friends clapped half-heartedly) he bowed out of our relationship in a puff of smoke.

That would be the last time he pulled out a coin from underneath my dress.

That would be the last time he pulled out a coin from underneath my dress.

Barney Rubble – – Before he was married to Betty, I went out with him a few times until his laugh drove me berserk.  Okay,  so I was just seeing if you were paying attention my Dear Reader!  And also if you believe I’m old enough to have lived in the Stone Age.  But I’m not in that generation;  it was really his son, Bam-Bam I went steady with.  And I was literally quite broken-up when he broke up with me using that club of his.

The Accountant – –  This guy put an ad on Match.com saying he was looking for his female counterpart – – the perfect Bookkeeper.  I dragged my entire series of hardbound Nancy Drew’s out of the garage and lined them up alphabetically against a handsome shelf on my living room wall.  He wasn’t impressed.  When I learned foreplay would consist of balancing my checkbook for hours on end, I knew we were finished.

The Chiropractor:  His best pick-up line – – “Don’t worry baby, I got your back.”  But when he found out I was too scared to let him adjust any part of my body, he told me I needed an attitude adjustment and walked (perfectly straight) out the door.

The Attorney/Professional Chef:  If that isn’t a winning combo, I don’t know what is.  He thought I was cute when I asked him if “that was a docket in his pocket or he was just happy to see me?”  But eventually the burden of proof was on me to show him I could cook.  Exhibit A was charred beyond recognition, and my kitchen smelled so bad, he had to ask, “May I approach the stench?”  But when I couldn’t even make a decent cup of coffee, that caused a latte of problems and was grounds for a break-up.

Orthodontist – – An unful”filling” relationship because he never appreciated my biting sense of humor.  There were just far too many puns to be made in this relationship, so I braced myself for getting on his nerves.  But as it turns out, many romantic moments were ruined as he gazed into my eyes and inquired if I ever thought of doing a little something with my endearing overbite?  Ignoring what I blatantly told him I thought of doing at the moment, he instead suggested a retainer.  A retainer??!  That’s when I fantasized about another perfect threesome with the Lawyer!   He could sue the orthodontist for incisor trading and as a witness, I could solemnly swear to tell the tooth and nothing but the tooth.

Owner of Kraft Inc. – – It should be quite obvious after reading this blog, my perfect match is with a man who appreciates cheesy writing. It seems I have become a bit obsessed with puns lately.

 

What’s your profession and which ones have you found you are quite incompatible with?

 

And Now We Take A Pregnant Pause!

photo-274In the last month there seems to have been quite a few bewildered females “out there,” walking around in a 9 month state of conception confusion.   It appears some women are under the impression they have a stomach virus, when in fact, they are really about to give birth. Just like this link will explain . . .   Woman’s Tummy Ache is Really a Nine lb. Baby Boy!  (And wouldn’t that be a nifty commercial slogan for Tums or Alka-Seltzer??!)

But conversely, (though admittedly a tad less common) there are many gals who fancy the notion they are carrying up to Four Babies, when in actuality they are simply wearing a pair of ill-fitting Spanx.  (Woman tricks boyfriend and entire town into believing she is having Quadruplets!)    And no, this was not Alan Funt’s grandson from Candid Camera who was “tricked.”

But never fear – – Little Miss Menopause (who has six children and can empathize with how subtly mysterious the last few days leading up to Labor and Delivery can be) has decided to come to the rescue of these poor baffled Mothers-To-Be and Mothers-NOT-To-Be (as the case may be!) with a handy, clever checklist that will help them tell the difference between just a simple “Jelly Belly” and a “Baby Belly.”  It’s tricky, but she thinks she can lend a helping hand.

She also recommends this same list to give some clarity to all the male companions of these mixed-up women so they can avoid things like having to sheepishly return a truckload of diapers and infant clothing, (donated on Facebook by well-meaning community members) or being interviewed on the 11:00 evening news and saying things like, “It was the darndest thing – –  first I assembled four cribs from Ikea while swearing like a sailor, then we thought up four different first and middle name combinations that went perfectly with our last name “Goofenblogger,” and then I rushed into the hospital room in time to see the doctor yank our four cute little floral chintz living-room throw pillows out from underneath her blouse.

So Without Further Ado, Little Miss Menopause Presents . . .

How To Definitively Decipher If You’re Really “With Child.”

 

1.  If you still think about sex, you are most definitely, absolutely, completely NOT pregnant.  Period!!  (or even if you stop your period!)

2.  If a well-meaning male co-worker remarks they thought all “Ladies-in-Waiting” were supposed to have a healthy glow or look radiantly happy,” and the police haven’t referred to you as “a Person of Interest” in their murder case, then there’s no baby.

3.  If you can still find a basket of saltine crackers in a restaurant even remotely appealing, you’re not Prego.

You may not be This.  But you can still pour this over pasta.

You may not be “This.” But you can still pour “This” over pasta without vomiting your guts out.

4.  If you don’t mutter things like, “Breasts just slightly more sensitive than usual, my ass!” aloud to the author of the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book, you are simply not Expecting.

5.  If you prepare older Siblings-To-Be by saying things like, “Do you know what mommy has in her tummy?” and they instantly respond with, “yes, the cushion that matches our dining room drapes,” you’re a Big, Fat Faker.

6.  If a girlfriend asks you to go shoe shopping and you don’t immediately think it’s “Naturalizers or Nothing,” then you’re experiencing a Phantom Pregnancy.

7.  When your husband asks you what the baby’s kicking feels like, and you don’t have a sudden, increased desire to demonstrate by kicking HIM in the beer-gut the very next time he’s happily snoring away . . . don’t even bother signing up for diaper delivery service.

8.   If you haven’t changed the title of Beyonce’s song, from  “All the Single Ladies!” to “All the Double Ladies!” and chanted the chorus as, “If you liked that last piece of cake, then you shoulda put a (napkin) ring on it!” rest assured that you don’t have a bun in the oven.

9.  If it’s one day after your official due date, and you don’t answer your incessantly ringing telephone by growling, “Yes, I AM still here.  Go get a life!”  then you are so NOT Knocked-Up.

10.  If you still think it’s worth it to be pregnant because you get to pull your car into all the good parking spots at the mall – –  plus you’re entitled to gobble two boxes of Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies without feeling guilty because you’re “eating for two” now – –  someone (like me!)  needs to tell you that pregnant women actually only need an extra 200-400 extra calories a day.  There!!  We’ll see if you don’t come to your senses this very minute and go ride all the forbidden rollercoasters at Disneyland , followed by drinking two glasses of wine.

11.  If you are shopping for a bathing suit to impress your new guy because you just lost 12 pounds, and the salesgirl asks you when your baby is due?  You have my permission to give her a dirty look and inform her that you are definitely not pregnant.  But why doesn’t she try having four C-sections in 7 years?!?

12.  HOWEVER – – if you’ve lasted 38 weeks in a condition that would rival a beached whale, keep dreaming you’re giving birth to a dancing red-haired Hamster – – you hate everyone, everything, everywhere, every sound they make, every touch they take, every smell they bake, every minute you’re awake, every body part will ache, every emotion you fake — and if someone says, “You think you’re tired now?  Just wait till the baby comes!” one more time, you’ll slap them quicker than you can say “Give me my Epidural, NOW!” then you need to start your deep-breathing technique, pack your bags and head to the nearest hospital – – because you’re definitely going to be a mother.  And life as you know it will never be the same again.

 

I Am Finally A “Cut Above The Rest!”

photo-232I am every husband’s dream.  I don’t go to salons.  I don’t get pedicures, facials, hand massages, or highlights.  The latter term, at least I know has to do with hair. But I thought Lowlights were desk lamps with dim bulbs.

However, for my upcoming 50th birthday, I recently ventured out to get my hair cut.  It wasn’t just “Snip, Snip, Snap, that’ll be $19 please.”  It was An Event.  That’s because I went to a salon (called “Pellegrino’s” with the little fancy French upside-down accent mark shaped like a hat over the “o”) which I could never afford to patronize, if I hadn’t won a gift-card in a raffle drawing.

Even though I had already Killed My Mean Girl (read here if you don’t know!) and gained new confidence, I was still feeling terribly nervous on the day of my appointment, so I dressed in my most trendy attire.   I even washed/styled my hair and painted my nails with my 11 year old’s polish. A frumpy, over-the-hill housewife would be laughed out the door, so that meant I couldn’t show up as myself.   Believe me when I tell you I went to the salon looking as if I just came from the salon!

(But I also always clean my house before the house-cleaner comes!)

A well-coiffed man with a nametag that read, “Culligan Perrier” opened the door for me.  “Right this way, Miss.” Holy cow, was this a Maitre de or the Water Boy??  “I’d like you to make the acquaintance of Mr. Pellegrino,” he announced.

There was an awkward pause and I felt the need to say it, so I did.  “You mean Thee Pellegrino?” I drawled, “As in Pellegrino’s hair salon with that cute little accent mark over the ‘o’   ?!!” I pointed excitedly to their sign.

A hushed silence followed, as heads nodded solemnly.  He must’ve stopped by the salon on the way to his own wedding, so grooms-like was his tuxedo.  I resisted the urge to ask where he was headed on his honeymoon and let him take me by my arm instead.

“Let me start by showing you our Manicurial Engineering Department in the front. And here we have the Colorist Technicians (oh pleeeease, they just dye hair!) and on your right, you’ll notice our own Custom line of quality hair products.  Make-up artists have their own studio back here.  Artists, Engineers and Technicians stay separate. They never fraternize.  On your left are the skin care analytic machines.  Ladies and Gentlemen facilities in the rear and our linens get laundered over there.”

What the hell?  Was I receiving a haircut or a new employee guided tour?

“Any questions?” Mr. Pellegrino asked.

“Just one.  Should I begin with sweeping the floors or answering the phones?” I watched his lips purse into a straight “you are so very humorless” line.  Some people are just so touchy.

“Let me take you over to Brita who will be handling all your hair needs today.”  Hmmm, Brita was my water filter system back home.  My hair didn’t need handling, it needed cutting.

Brita: (hair stare) Hello.  I didn’t realize it was so terribly windy out there today.  How dreadful.

Me: Huh?  Outside?  Oh, it’s as calm as my ten year old when I double dose him with Benadryl.

Brita: (harder hair stare) Like I said. . .  How dreadful.

Brita then placed me in a waiting chair while she finished blowing her client, (I swear she said this exact wording to me) but first she brought me some water.  Someone must have chopped salad fixings near the water pitcher, because my glass had several cucumbers in it.  She handed me a People Magazine.

This is what I saw.  I swear. Again.

photo-226

Then a girl who looked like she jumped off a modeling runway came around and offered me a facial while I waited.  Certainly a salon of this caliber didn’t use kitty litter. I looked around but didn’t see any eager Siamese cats (or Bengal Tigers!) waiting to pounce on my face to scratch wrinkles off.  Still, I wisely declined.  She talked me into a massage instead. As she kneaded, pushed and pulled my skin into a different shape, I realized it’d been forever since I baked bread.

Back in the waiting chair, People Magazine was shoved in my hands again.  I saw this subject title. photo-225

It dawned on me that all this time I thought celebrity women wanted for nothing.  Certainly not for lavish meals at big events. Imagine my surprise when I read these quotes and realized the abuse going on here.

photo-224photo-223

These poor dear women are being deprived of food.  And in this next case, deprived of oxygen too.

photo-222Or perhaps Busy Phillips was too darn Busy to breathe.  In any case, I made a mental note to start a charity and call it,  “Let’s get our celebrity female role models FED!”

Since it was such a long wait, I figured I would quickly pop into the ladies room and make sure my hair didn’t look like it was in too much need of “handling.” Wow, what a shiny bathroom! However I didn’t realize the sinks were motion activated, but I was able to rescue my purse when it was only half-way submerged.  I glanced at the soggy tampons and drenched makeup brush – – Oh well, this was a “water” themed salon so my purse would fit right in.  Besides, what else would a “fish out of water” carry on her arm?

At long last, the young, flawless Brita came over and purred, “I’m ready for you now.”  Then she stared at my purse so I said, “Oh!  Am I the first one you’ve seen with the new wet patent leather look?”

I walked over to her station with a graceful flourish, noting with satisfaction that I was garnering a lot of attention. No doubt some real “Lock Envy” going on as the other women got a gander at my “strategically windblown, Rat’s Nest, 80’s hairstyle, which looked not quite as classy as the photo below.  Almost, but not quite.

All the women in the salon are thinking, "Who does HER hair?  And wow, why is she even here?!"

All the women in the salon are thinking, “Who does HER hair? And Wow, why is she even here?!”

Brita draped a long, black cloth over my clothes and I could sense she was very sorry to have to obscure my Flashdance glittered, one-shouldered sweatshirt.  We exchanged tips on haircare and Brita seemed fascinated that I used a proprietary product from the Dollar Store simply named, “Hair Shampoo.” I think the elegance of its minimalism impressed her.  That kinda thing is really so very in these days, you know.  I was excited to see her reaction when I told her I was also chic enough to use a little special something called, “Hair Conditioner” before leaving the laundry room sink.

They played lots of modern music while Brita “handled” my hair.  I didn’t recognize any of the songs, but as soon as “Staying Alive” from Saturday Night Fever came on, the receptionist went to change the station.  Probably because she didn’t know how to do the finger pointing hand movement to the disco dance that traditionally accompanied it.  So I showed her.

Next, I happened to overhear the woman sitting in the chair next to me, (whispering to her own stylist named Evian?) if this was still an exclusive salon?

I must say that the entire employee staff was extraordinarily considerate about my busy schedule.  (See “Busy Stephanie” is just as frazzled as Busy Phillips above!) When I first made my appointment, I mentioned to the receptionist that I needed to pick up my son from school directly afterwards.  During my haircut, no less than six people approached me with a reminder, “Shouldn’t you be going now?”  So thoughtful.

On my way out, they handed me a referral card for my next haircut. But it was all written in French.  I waved, smiling shyly to my new dance partner friend and her assistant (maybe named Sparkletts and Aquafina?) behind the counter,  who suddenly both also only spoke French.  Strange.  “Au revoir!  Au revoir!” they happily repeated.

I drove home singing “Frère Jacques,” but quickly realized I had left my Swatch Watch and Leg-Warmers back in the salon when I had my massage.  I called them up from my cell phone,  but upon hearing my name, the gentleman told me in perfect English that Pellegrino’s had moved and left no forwarding address.  Well, that’s okay.  Brita would be thrilled to keep those items since I had forgotten to tip her.

Oh yeah – – so here’s the new hairstyle with some heart-shaped Designer sunglasses the Dollar Store just got in! But do you think I’ll be able to incorporate a Jane Fonda type headband into this new look next time I wanna impress a group of women?photo-231

NOTE:  Only two more days left to win one of two prizes by entering the VERY easy contest inside this post! Click here.  Deadline Friday!

7 Things Guys Don’t Notice, But Should. Now with some extra (older!) female input!

Disclaimer:  I simply could not resist co-blogging with this man! He probably doesn’t even know I exist, let alone that I impulsively joined forces with him, adding my own tongue-in-cheek commentary to his profound, serious advice.  I think we’re a good blog team, no? So here’s a very good-natured post from Mr. James Michael Sama, (a highly intuitive, renowned writer on dating, relationships, motivation and success) and here I am – – adding my (older)  female point-of-view.  Original post here.   If you don’t already do so, Please follow his blog.  His original text is in black  font below, while my older (see how wrinkled and exhausted my words are!?)  womanly input appears in red.

Take it away, Mr. Sama . . .

I know, man, you’re not really into the whole “prim and proper” thing. Your girlfriend enjoys fashion and dresses nicely but all you think the red bottoms on her shoes mean is that she walked through some wet paint.  Actually more like we walked through some wet blood, (yours?) after you inferred it was just some red paint on our $1500 Louboutin shoes!

Not every guy has an appreciation for style or fashion, but what they should have, is an appreciation for their woman, her interests, and the efforts she puts forth. No truer words! If you pay just a little more attention, it will show her that you care enough to notice the small things.  But what’s important is WHY you are paying us the attention.  If you have to be instructed to do it by some smart, hot hunk named James Micahel Sama, (who writes great blogs!) well – – we’re gonna wish that we could pay HIM some attention.  It always comes down to the motivation, guys.

Given that fashion and style are the primary topics of this article, here are 7 details to get you started. Image

Her makeup probably matches something. Her makeup matches her mood when she woke up that morning and put it on. Do you see the “I’m ready to take on the world,” mascara?  No? Neither do I.  How about the “It’s Too Damn Early for Rosy Cheeks” shade of blush?  There ya go!

 However, if the sun is about to set and she’s reapplied some makeup (gentlemen, don’t expect both this AND dinner too!) then all that goop will now match the emotions she’s hoping to elicit from you during your night together.  Is she looking sweet and innocent? (soft, muted pastel tones)  Probably not the night to try tying each other to the bedposts.  Stick to hugging, cuddling and baking cookies.  (Let her lick the bowl with those childlike eyes.  Well, give her a spoon, actually.)   Look closely (not too closely!) – – is there a bold lip-color or well-defined brow going on?  She means business and wants to be taken seriously.   Let her sell you some real estate or stocks and bonds.  Make-up smeared, with haphazard application of smoky shadows?  She wants you thinking about just HOW she got that disheveled look…tumbling luxuriously between the sheets like a vixen, no doubt. Or could it be thanklessly toiling over the toilets, scrubbing floors only to have them thoughtlessly re-footprinted by the people that make her life a living H$%*. . . oops, wrong blog!

If you guys are going out to dinner and she’s wearing, say, gold accessories – it’s likely that her eyeshadow or tint of her makeup will be some version of gold(ish) as well. Or this could be your very first tip-off that she’s a Gold Digger and you’re about to become her King Midas.  Careful with the “Golden” themed girls, Men. There will probably be some correlation between the color(s) she chooses and the rest of her outfit. Which will be especially interesting for you in public if she’s wearing polka dots, stripes or animal prints that particular night. 

Since she is clearly putting effort into this, it’s a nice thing to notice and compliment her on to let her know you’re paying attention. Actually most of her effort in putting on makeup is so you will NOT notice it at all. Especially the “older woman trying to age gracefully.”  Please don’t remark that she did an awesome job covering those crows feet and furrows. Or, “Ya know something? You don’t look nearly as haggard tonight. Send my regards to Maybelline!”  Only point out the sheer, radiant beauty of HER essence shining through.  I know, I know – – Could anything make less sense?  We women enjoy diligently putting something on our faces (and taking our sweet time doing it) so that it will disappear, like we aren’t wearing a stitch of makeup at all.  Just sayin’ – – complimenting her actual makeup could go over just as well as remarking, “Stunning Girdle you’re stuffed into tonight, Babe.”

Bonus: Her eye makeup is probably applied in order to bring out her eyes and make them pop. Notice.  Yes, try saying this to her  – – “Love how much your eyes pop tonight, Gorgeous.  Kinda makes me crave Rice Krispy cereal – – snap, crackle . . . POP!”  Utter these few words and she’ll be all over you in minutes.  Emphasis on “all over.”

She got a new purse (and it matches her shoes).

Her purse, or clutch, will always match her shoes. Sometimes her purse will match your wallet. This is a subtle, subliminal suggestion on her part that your finances should become “One.”  What’s yours is hers and what’s hers is also still hers.  Nifty, huh?  Now, match doesn’t always mean blue and blue, it could mean they correlate somehow or share a certain print, pattern, or the like. Use your visual memory and at least ask if something is new if you don’t think you’ve seen it before (make sure though, because if you have seen it, she’ll know you didn’t notice). Ah, ah, ah – – tread lightly here!  If you ask her if something is new and not only have you forgotten that you’ve seen it before, but you are also the one who picked it out for last year’s anniversary present – – you won’t stand a chance.  Another caution:  If we’re asked if something is new, our guard automatically goes up because we sense the next question will be, “How much did it cost?”  Therefore, everything we wear will be, (without fail) some old hand-me down rag from our sister.  Even if we don’t have a sister.

Keeping in mind that the purse will go with the shoes, it’s usually a safe bet for a compliment when she’s dressed up.  But watch for those tricky girls who carry a purse that’s shaped like a shoe.  They’re just waiting to “trip you up” in the compliment game.   You might try saying something like, “Wow – – looks you have three left feet tonight, doncha Honeybunch?” Put your own running shoes on right before you say that.

Image

She got a haircut. 

Sometimes a girl will just need an inch off the bottom or a trim to clean up her hair, it might not be too noticeable but usually it’s not too difficult to tell if a woman is fresh out of the salon.  Sobbing over how the stylist didn’t listen to her is usually a big tip-off.  I’d actually steer clear from this topic. Similar category as make-up.  Just tell her she is beautiful and be done with it.  Note the wording in that sentence.  She doesn’t “look” beautiful. She IS beautiful.  Keep stressing that it’s her inside loveliness you are drawn to.  You don’t have to be able to pinpoint the exact change, but asking if she changed her hair leads you into one of two situations:

1, no I didn’t. Your response: Oh, well, it looks really nice today/tonight.  Hopefully you can say, “it looks really nice this morning,” because you’ve been with her overnight?

2: yes I did. Your response: Mental victory dance.  Followed by, “And how much did THAT cost?” if she was foolish enough to admit to anything more than going to a Supercuts chain store.

Her mood is off.

Man, this one isn’t so small, is it?!   This one is sooooo NOT small that it probably should have been listed first.  Actually it should have been his title.  That’s it, men!  Write a post called, “Her Mood is Off” (Subtitle:  And Now MY World Has Gone to Hell in a Hand Basket!)  The majority of communication is not verbal, and while this goes for all aspects of life it’s especially true when you’re in a relationship. The adage “it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it” (or how she growls it) comes to mind, and guys should pay attention more to how a woman is acting rather than what she’s saying.  That is correct.  You must become highly proficient at the game known as “Charades.”  Although, chances are she won’t give you overt clues like holding her finger up for the 1st  word, (well maybe just one certain finger!) and announcing to you the # of syllables in her emotions.  Nor will she pantomime the universal sign for, “It’s a Movie Title, Stupid.”  But if it WERE a movie title, it would be, “It’s Complicated!”  You’re just supposed to automatically know that she was earlier insulted by a catty female coworker, her stocking has a run in it, and if you touch her anywhere near her mid-section after she thinks she ate too many mashed potatoes (don’t you see that yellow police Caution tape “Crime Scene:  Do Not Cross!” strategically placed above her knees and below her chin??) the entire night will be romantically shot and killed. And you, Kind Sir — YOU will be the alleged culprit.

Often times she’s not going to tell you something is wrong or that she wants to be comforted – but you should pay enough attention to be able to tell.  You can’t really ever go wrong with “comforting” her.  Study the many forms this can take!  Consider putting See’s Candy or Godiva Chocolates on autodial.  You never truly know a woman until you understand the things she’s not saying to you. Ah, the underlying theme, premise and moral of this entire post!  Presumably if you’re on this blog, you’re an avid reader?  Well just look upon your woman as a favorite and most cherished book – – (and hopefully a Best Seller) knowing that there’s much more to her than meets the eye, and you MUST learn to read between the lines in order to stay on the same page.

She got her nails did.  (Well now, that’s pretty darn cute what he just did there with the wordplay.  Females, (especially female writers) adore wordplay!  Try it out.  He pretty much just “nailed it” for me with that one right there. I could care less what he says about my polish now. But let’s just see, shall we? – –

This one is easy. Were her nails chipping last week but now they’re fresh, smooth, and a different color? Notice – and say something about it.  (Don’t search for matchiness here!  It’s really whatever the manicurist flaunted as the latest and the greatest. Women do their nails for other women’s entertainment. ) She spent time and money (and it wasn’t Your money.  It was Ours. Remember?) freshening herself up (I’m loving the “freshening up” verb here.  Be careful with it.  It implies she was quite stale prior.  Rotting, even.)   and it should be recognized and appreciated.  Recognition and appreciation runs both ways.  She should know this already.  If she doesn’t, don’t hesitate to get yourself another gal, no matter how well matched her accessories are – –  Her heart needs to match her brain.

Image

She’s wearing a different perfume.  (I am not sure how the above graphic depicts wearing a specific fragrance, but perhaps soon the internet will feature “Scratch n’ Smell” photos and you can take a real life whiff of the lovely female pictured above, clad in her achingly too short dress.  Still thinking of perfume, guys?  I doubt it.)

Studies show that smell is actually one of the most retained things in our memories.  This is true. It can probably go back to pre-birth, but rarely should you tell a woman she smells like amniotic fluid.  Anyone who catches a whiff of a certain scent and is instantly reminded of an ex boyfriend or girlfriend is aware of this. If you “sense” something is new, mention it to her.   Make sure she hasn’t just been cleaning or cooking. (we’re in a never-ending state of either activity – after all, right?  Of course right!) but if it’s the latter, you have just found your next gem of a compliment.  Actually, nevermind.  “Being this close to you and inhaling deeply, I just know the roast chicken with dumplings will be delicious,” is something that will flatter no woman, Ever.

She looks beautiful when she wakes up. If this is a new relationship, you would do best to feign sleep (soundly) for two extra hours, giving her the chance to hit the gym, shower, shampoo, (rinse and repeat) blow-dry, curl lashes, reapply negligee and climb seductively back between the sheets with that “just awakened” look; as you greet her with “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” of course. That’s the way to get “a little early morning somethin’-somethin’.”

Sometimes, early on in a relationship, a woman won’t even let a man see her without makeup for fear of (for lack of a better term) “ruining the illusion.” Written on your woman’s mirror  (in lipstick) is the proverb, “He who shatters the illusion, will pick up the pieces Forever!”  No it’s not, but wouldn’t that be a good fortune cookie from Confucious?  The truth is, women often look beautiful when they wake up, even when they don’t think so themselves.  Again, This is one GREAT guy writing this blog! There is a serene, angelic innocence to those first few moments of the day and the fact that she’s not wearing any makeup has nothing to do with it. Oy!  Just learn from this man, ok? He melts me.

Make sure the woman you wake up next to knows that rolling over and seeing her face, puts a smile on yours.  I have nothing to add to these genius words. 

The small things that you do and notice in a relationship are often the things that matter most, because they show you’re willing to put effort in and pay attention, just because. There is no expected reason or special occasion, but just because you care.   Who cares if this came from Hallmark originally? (but I’m sure it didn’t.)  Let this sink into your core.

And coming up – – the perfect way for him to end his blog.  I won’t mar it with any of my comments and/or playful sarcasm (or scarcasm!) afterwards.  I want James Michael Sama’s wise words to be the last we read.  But more than anything, I want to retain this profundity in my memory banks, forever.  After all, it’s vastly more important than how my perfume smells.

Notice the small things, because someday you will look back and realize that they were the big things. 

Overheard Conversations With NON-Bloggers

photo-149Any of this sound familiar?

Neighbor:  I don’t read blogs.  Why don’t you just Turn Your Blog Into A Real Book or something?

Me:  What’s wrong with reading a blog?  It’s free.  It’s entertaining. It’s easy and it’s short and sweet.

Neighbor:  Oh you know.  Well, you know.  So what do you hope to get out of this little obsession of yours, anyhow?

Me:  It’s gratifying to express myself, the humor is cathartic for me.  Oh, and I’m bringing peace in the middle East.

Neighbor:  Why don’t you actually go out in the real world and do the things you waste your time blogging about?

Me:  Excuse me, can you turn down the volume of your “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” – – I couldn’t quite catch that last question.

Neighbor:  Right.  Well you know what they say – –  “Those that can – – do.  And those that can’t . . . Blog.”  To each his own.  But how can someone possibly make any money doing this Blah Blah Blah-gging stuff?

Me:  Several ways.  If you get enough people reading, then advertisers will want to be on your blog.  Also if you want to publish a book then…

Neighbor:  Fantastic.   So when are you gonna Co-Star on someone else’s website.  Like going on the Oprah or Ellen show!

Me:  You mean Guest Blog?

Neighbor: Oh, you’re probably not good enough for that.  I heard you could get sued or in big trouble with blogging if you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  Or you put your foot in your mouth? Couldn’t you?

Me:  Yep,  “YOU”  sure could.

Mother Knows Best (About Blobs & Such)

Mother:  We sent you to college for THIS?

Me:  Got my B.B. degree (Bachelor’s in Blogging)

Mother:   Isn’t Blogging just a fad, like Hula Hoops, Mood Rings, and Sex?photo-197

Me:  Yeah, that’s right.  Just like that silly old Sex trend,  Ma.  Lots of Hits = Multiple Blogasms.

Mother:  (Blushing) Well last night I tried to read some of your recent Pillars and Poles – –  and I just didn’t get what they were about.

Me:  Pillars and Poles?  Oh my Posts.  Well, thank you for reading.  Maybe you could even leave a comment.

Mother:  Me?  Oh,  I wouldn’t have anything to say.  That’s Your thing, Dear.  Well, I guess I could leave a little remark about how you hardly spit-up, walked at 10 months,  and by 2 years old  had a vocabulary of 1,850 words.  We knew right then you’d grow up to be a great, big, successful Blabber.

Me:  Blogger, Ma. Blogger.  And you’re not filling out my Baby Book.  Just leave a simple comment that you like my writing.

Mother:  Oh….I see.  You want me to lie.

The Not So Sweet Sixteen

Daughter:  Who gave you the idea that you could have a humor blog?  You’re not ever funny around the house.  Well, only when you trip over things and that one time you shrunk the living room carpet down to a bath mat.

Me:  Yeah, that was hilarious. And now when anyone takes a shower, I have to tell them not to drip water on my good oriental rug.

Daughter:  Why don’t you blog about recipes or crafts like other normal mothers?

Me:  Because I can’t cook or glue things.

Daughter:  True.  But it’s major awkward that you blog about all the disrespectful stuff I say and the bad grades I get.

Me:  You could just be polite and study.

Daughter:  See?  You’re sooo not funny.  And I’m 16.  When are you going to teach me how to drive already?

Me:  The next time I get Writer’s Block and need some new material.

Daughter:  It’s always about you, isn’t it?   You’re like some kind of Attention Hogger Bragger Blogger.

Me:  You know something, young Lady?  I poured my whole life into you children and…

Daughter:  I know, I know – – there’s a law firm crying at this very moment over their grave loss in court because you gave birth instead.

Me:  So smug.  I COULD have become a lawyer.  But I wasn’t going to say that.  I was going to say that in order to be a better mother to all of you, I have to help myself be happy first.

Daughter:  You get so much mileage out of that “Airplane Oxygen Mask” thing, don’t you?

And The Male Non-Bloggers Are The Most Fun!

Husband:  So daily blogging is the one New Year’s resolution you’re finally able to keep?

Me:  Shhhh, can I just format this last paragraph and add a title and then I’ll listen to you.

Husband:  When can you stop typing and make dinner?

Me:  Don’t you have other thoughts besides food?

Husband:  When can you stop typing and make love?

Me:  Didn’t you hear that Sex went out with Pokemon?photo-198

Husband:  Can’t you at least blog about Victoria’s Secret and review lace push-up bras or something?

Me:  This blog is not about things of the flesh.  I have better things to write about than breasts.

Husband:  Right.  And you didn’t just recently dedicate a whole entire post to your own set of boobs.  ???

Me:  That was different.  But Aha!  So you have been reading my blog?

Husband:  Who do you think left the comment asking what the record for largest cup size is?

Me:  Okay, okay, I’ll come to bed if you let me blog about what’s about to take place there first.  You can check it for accuracy and errors, I promise.

Husbad:  I think I actually just found a typo.  To the left here, in the blue font – –  you accidentally spelled Husband  with the word “bad” on the end.  Unless that’s some sort of commentary on my bedroom skills?

Me:  Yeah, that was intentional.  But let’s have some more of your spell-checking, Honey.  Keep it up.  Let’s see how long you can go for.

Husbad:  Man, talk about  your “Proofreading Anxiety!  Never mind – – WordPress can have you for the night!! (looks down sheepishly)  I’ve already got “Correctile Dysfunction.”

Does anyone in your life really, truly “Get” your Blog??  Who is the least understanding of your blogging world?   Leave me your comments below.

The Quests For Smaller Breasts

photo-185Disclaimer: Contains a lot of silly wordplay concerning breasts while I attempt to make light of a subject that has been truly anguishing.  To read a serious and profoundly potent post on the same subject, please go to this amazing writer’s blog right here.

“Well, HELLO DOLLY!” (You know the tune?)

When I was 15, a boy inquired about going to the junior prom, never once taking his eyes off my enormous bosoms.  I told him, “Oh yes, they’d be delighted to go.” His baby blues widened as I continued, “They’ll be ready by 7 pm, but you need to return them safely back home and attached firmly to my torso by midnight.”  His eyes grew bigger than any saucers my breasts could ever fit into. “Or else….” I hesitated for dramatic effect, “they’ll turn into pumpkins!” I couldn’t resist.  His eyes exploded.

After that incident, boys continued to never look into my eyes while speaking to me, (but rather preferred to fix their stare a good 10 inches below) which prompted me to think about gluing those craft store Googly Eyes onto my blouse in strategic spots.

Hey listen . . . . . . .

“Where’s your wheelbarrow?”

“Your cup runneth over!”

“Are melons in season?”

“Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder!”

There isn’t a boob joke or cat-call I haven’t heard before.  In the past few months, this humor blog has helped me lighten up with heavier issues than my breasts, so I’m going to give it a shot today – –  being that I’ve had a breasted vested interest in the subject matter.

When you’re just 13 years-old and already making Dolly Parton look inadequate, you quickly learn that intelligent people who say, “Your bra size doesn’t matter, only brain size matters,” are just plain . . .  Stupid.  First of all, if you’re big busted, you WILL be perceived as a bimbo, regardless of your IQ.  Don’t believe me?  Try these 10 easy steps:

1.  Fill two plastic bags with granulated sugar, each weighing 5.5 lbs and place them in your shirt  (Yes, that was EACH.  Check it out here .)

2.  Go out tonight.

3.  Oh, but first go bra shopping.

4.  Bypass all the sweet, delicate, lacy little bralettes you see in the front of the store.

5.  March up to a saleswoman and tell her you would like to (use the term “like to” loosely) try on a steel reinforced Chest of Armour in a size 38 Double . . . and then whisper the cup size.

6.  Watch other women in the store turn to “envy” you.  Slap forehead and say, “Darn!  I just knew I shoulda ordered them in a smaller size when I was in that uterus.”

7.  Then try explaining to these other women about a) backaches b) shoulder pain c) not being able to sleep comfortably d) or exercise, e) combating extreme male crudeness f) your fear that someone will set a vase of flowers on your boobs, mistaking them for a fireplace mantle shelf. And g) well, “G” is your cup size.

8.   Be prepared for these other women to shake their heads at your complete ungratefulness and proceed to bemoan the horrors of being a size A cup.

9.   Nod politely and agree that yes, the grass is always greener. Or the bras are always better, on the other chest.

10.  Go home and cry  – – while fantasizing about carving pumpkins.

During high school, while girls on the Itty Bitty Titty Committee (remember that?) were saving up to buy a new set of wheels or a graduation trip to Hawaii, (in an “itty bitty, teeny weeny, yellow polka dot” you know what)  I was squirreling away my allowance for breast reduction surgery.  But it wasn’t looking good.  My very protective father had already declared that, “No doctor was taking a scalpel to his small, little girl.”  Bless his heart with his choice of adjectives.

So I did what any typical female would do when something was “too large” on her body.  I dieted to reduce their size.  And I did lose weight, even though I didn’t really need to.  You can get quite disciplined when your only option of a swimsuit for the beach looks like something your grandmother would have worn.  Circa 1929.

Figure 38 H

Figure 38 H

You can see just how well Weight Watchers worked out for me (with addressing this issue) by referring to Figure 38 H to the left (yes, that’s “H” now!)  Only add more of a frowny face to this diagram.

Now it was time to try the opposite tact.  This time I ate a lot more food to attempt to camouflage them in excess weight.  But they only inflated.  While I was toying with the idea of trying a sharp pinprick,  (would I zoom crazily airborne around the house like a balloon? )  I happened to meet a nice boy.  By this time I was exhausted from trying to change mother nature, (but you know what they always say, “No breast for the weary”) and decided acceptance was my only answer.

Luckily, this boy was soft-spoken and at age 17, helped me cultivate somewhat of a sense of humor about them.  He called me his “Little Treasure Chest.”  Compared to the names I heard walking by a construction site, this was definitely a breast of fresh air!  One afternoon he leaned back comfortably against me, his head cradled between – – well you know – – singing along to that hit Police song, “Every breast you take….every move you make,”  when suddenly he announced that if he installed a couple of stereo speakers in them, he’d have himself a boob tube with Dolby Surround Sound headphones.  That was it.

“You know what?” I asked.  He waited with baited breast breath.  “Give it a breast  rest already!  You and I are done.”  What a jerk, thinking he could just lie back and breast on his laurels.  Ha – – he wasn’t the only one with good breast puns.

My version of a "Spaghetti Strap" dress!  But I couldn't have worn this pretty "Pasta Prom" dress either!  No Siree, Bob!  (ps.  His name wasn't Bob!)

My version of a “Spaghetti Strap” dress! But I couldn’t have worn this pretty “Pasta Prom” dress either! No Siree, Bob! (ps. His name wasn’t Bob!)

Besides, I couldn’t have gone with him to my Senior Prom even if I wanted to. Why?  Because Spaghetti Strap dresses were all the department stores sold.  Could I wear that style ??  Fat chance!  Not even with a dozen spaghetti strands. (as pictured at left!)

Fast forward to age 18 and it was time to implement Plan B (and B was the exact letter I was going for with reduction surgery, by the way!)  so I scheduled the operation. When the fateful morning arrived, I went to the hospital with just a bit of trepidation.   In the operating room, the young, handsome, curly haired Doctor came in and spoke to me, holding my hand while gazing deeply into my eyes, (a preview of what would be when I was finally smaller?)  as he explained the exact procedure.  I suppose he wanted to keep me abreast of everything that would occur.

He then exited out the door and I was alone with my itty bitty thoughts.  When the door opened next, a man walked in wearing surgical scrubs.  I grew suspicious as he opened the front of my hospital gown and took out a black Sharpie pen.

Me:  Wait a sec. Who are YOU?

Surgeon: (drawing circles on my skin)  I’m the same guy who was here before.  Only with a cap and mask. Why, who do you think I am?

Me:  Oh I don’t know.  I thought maybe they were selling tickets out there for strange men to come inside and doodle on my breasts with magic markers.

Surgeon:  Very funny.  Have you considered Nursing in the future?

Me:  Well, I get a little squeamish around blood.  Why?  Do you need an assistant?”

Surgeon:   Breastfeeding.  (pause) And you may not be able to. (brightly)  So how do you feel about C’s?

Me:  I pride myself on being a straight A student, but I’ll settle for a couple of  B’s.

Surgeon:  A or B?  But you’d be completely flat!?

Me:  That’s the idea.  I wanna give people a craving for blueberry Pancakes.

When I woke up on that recovery table, (even though I was in excruciating pain) – – the first thing I did was reach down to feel the results.  Straight through the bandages.  And in that moment,  I knew . . .  I would finally be able to say to my body,  “Breast in Peace.”  Forever.

Footnote:  Somehow I always thought as I approached menopause, the reverse of puberty would occur.  I would lose my cycles and of course my breasts would un-grow.  Okay! Now, would someone PLEASE hand over the “Change Of Life Manual??”  Because my body didn’t seem to get that memo.  “They’re Baaaaaaaaack!”  And no, that’s not a preview for the movie, Poltergeist.

Leave me a comment  – – maybe you have some big boob remark that I’ve never heard before.  But you can breast rest assured, I probably have!

The Twilight Crone

photo-175This week – – a rare glimpse into the Diary of a Mad, Maniacal, Menopausal Maiden, AKA . . . Me! Before you delve into today’s confidential entry, let me set the proper mood(swing) for you.

“You’re traveling to another dimension, a dimension not only of brain-fog and confusion, but also of mindless minutia and memory loss, a journey into a Midlife Meltdown whose boundaries exceed the imagination. At the signpost up ahead, your next stop – – ‘The Hormone Zone!’” (Cue irritating eerie music and Rod Serling’s voice getting on my last nerve!)

Dear Diary – – Today was averagely efficient. I loaded dirty laundry into the dishwasher, stepped on the gas-pedal thinking it was the brake while driving to McDonald’s where I paid at the cashier window, zoomed right on through the pick-up window without any food (much two my kid’s chagrin) then went home to find the Windex in the freezer where I was looking for some ice-cream, (as a consolation to my kids for their french-fryless existence) which was finally located in the refrigerator doing the perfect impression of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Soup!

But then Dear Diary, something miraculous occurred! I was given a sign from above that at age 49; I’m to become a mother again. On the kitchen table was a stick from one of those test kits with a little pink holy cross in the results window (somewhat odd for a Jewish girl) but some call this a “plus sign,” meaning a positive pregnancy test! photo-177Never mind not recalling ever taking this test – -it wouldn’t be the first time my memory fails me. But the point is . . . I am with child! I searched online for statistics of women my age who have buns in ovens, and instantly craved Cinnabon. That’s when our home phone rang.

“I’m busy gurgling something important on the Internet,” I informed my eldest daughter.

“It’s Googling, Mother,” she sighed.

“Right! Guess what? I’m pregnant. I found a stick I must’ve peed on and it’s positive.” Patient silence.

“Firstly, You did not pee on a stick. You spit in a tube. Last night, remember? Secondly, you’re not going to have a baby. You have high cholesterol.”

After my disappointment waned (not over losing diapers and breastfeeding; losing eggs and red-meat!) we had our usual conversation.

“Why won’t you save money and get rid of this landline that we’re talking on? After all, you do own a cellphone,” she reminded me.

“Because I need this home phone to call my cellphone. When I misplace it.”

She hung up exasperated.  I immediately called my cell phone.  Eight different times.

In my defense, the ringer was off, making it inaudible. On the ninth time, I found it in the kitchen garbage (more a commentary on my age than the quality of my Android!) but I was thrilled to see eight new voice-mails had come in!

My literary agent? Publisher’s Clearinghouse? My high school boyfriend saying his life has never been the same since dumping me? My kids planning me a surprise 50th?

But all eight recordings were from myself, saying the same thing, “Will you children be quiet while I call my cell? I’m trying to hear it vibrate!” Oh yes, there WAS a ninth caller – – my own mother, (whom I must’ve forgotten phoning earlier with my wondrous news) congratulating me on my pregnancy, but fervently refusing to babysit one more grandchild. Naturally.

Sigh, goodnight Diary.

Submitted for your approval: One Little Miss Menopause – – A very tired, confused, brain-fogged woman destined to keep wandering (for lost items) and wondering (is she pregnant?  Or? )  does she just have high cholesterol? But consider this for a moment in time – – Was there really a home test? Or a daughter? Or a cell phone? Or a McDonalds, a diary, or even a blog that you read at all? Maybe she’s just a mannequin in a store window?photo-176 Or a doll come to life?

We’ve got answers to all your pressing questions in tonight’s very small exercise in Menopausal Mania, whenever you dwell in the “”Once Upon Your Prime” Blog Zone!”

The Real Truth Behind “What Women Wish Men Knew!”

photo-15

Don’t you know when it’s time to stop “just listening to me” and start FIXING IT?!

We’ve all seen those lists, “10 Things Women Wish Men Knew.” Number one is always, “We don’t want guys to problem solve or find solutions – – we just want them to listen to us.” Yeah, right.

“Hey Handsome! The washing machine overflowed today. But Please don’t fix it, just let me ramble on while you show your compassion to the soon-to-be moldy carpet,” said No Woman Ever!

Actually I think my brother-in-law Norman, is the one responsible for thinking up that little gem; it got him out of doing my sister-in-law’s “Honey Do” list.

Someone has been giving men rotten advice lately, particularly about “Older” women. Now stay with me here – – it may be far-fetched, but I’m certain it’s actually a MALE writing all these articles about what women “our age” really want, what we wish for, and how to “help us” through these difficult years. This same man now writes for the show, “Cougar Town.” Let’s break down his latest list, shall we?

What Women Really Want!

by Randy

(Oh! See how clever he is? Randy can be a girl OR a guy’s name!)

My occasional comments on this list are bold. Like me.

1. When intercourse is painful, don’t give up on us….just be creative and add variety!  Yup. Because we soooo want to try a new position called, “Football Hiker’s Dream” while fixing you a BLT sandwich and arm-wrestling.

2.  When we get cranky, just keep your own spirits high.  Your happiness is our happiness.  Nothing’s worse than TWO irritable partners, so please continue to go on vacations and to parties alone. We need our rest after all. 

3.  Help us make that major mid-life decision by charting and graphing the pros/cons of keeping our ovaries.  Make a spreadsheet. Transfer it to Quicken. Convert it to a PDF and then to a binary file.   Bake at 350 until golden brown!

4.  Menopause is like a rebirth, so help us reinvent ourselves.  Take us hunting, fishing and golfing.  Why not teach us to homebrew beer, throw darts and sign us up for pole dancing lessons while you’re at it?

5.  We’re terribly lonely now that the kids have left.  Help us fill our time and feel needed again. Yes, it would be oh so helpful if you brought the gang over for weekly poker nights to let us practice our new pole-dancing moves. (see #4)

6.  Empathize with our symptoms.  Say, “I know exactly how you feel.”  Please do just that when we’re kicking off the blankets, drowning in our own sweat, and feeling like someone struck a match on our neck. Remind us about the time you had a fever of 99.4 and couldn’t leave bed for a week.

7.  Bring us gifts that emphasize our sexuality and our talents,  it will raise our self-esteem.  Yes, that skimpy, flimsy red Frederick’s of Hollywood nightie with the push-up bra is just what the doctor ordered to help with the above mentioned night sweats and to camouflage weight gain. Oh, and buy us an iron. Yes, it’s true! Menopausal women find the act of smoothing out wrinkled suit shirts quite soothing.

8.   Keep us positive.  Remind us of the silver linings and to always be grateful.  That’s right! We’re not going to get periods anymore so now we can swim with the sharks without being fish bait. Yay! Getting only three hours of sleep a night gives us more waking hours to accomplish laundry and housecleaning. When having a hot flash, we can simultaneously thaw the lamb chops for dinner. Goodie! (Bonus points if you tell us which body part to use.)

9.  Give us subtle Memory Cues to help with our forgetfulness, but allows us to save face.  If we forget our Social Security # or your cell phone number,  just tell us us it’s the same digits as our measurements pre-childbirth. If we forget our own name, remind us we’re now called, “VSD46B2” – – we’ll be thrilled to discover we also have a matching personalized license plate! (To see if your own recall is really as bad as all that, take my easy Memory Quiz right here

10.  Be a Fitness Buddy.   It’s very helpful when you help us track our weight, calories and exercise. Especially in public — a little term of endearment like, “You don’t really need that carrot cake tonight, do you, Piglet?” will go a long way.

And finally, To Randy:  here’s a little tip from a genuine REAL “older woman.”  What do we actually want?   To watch men experience all that we go through for just one day!  

* Big Thanks to “Sir Sid” for helping me link another post far more smoothly.

5 Reasons You Should Make a Dating Profile for Your Ex-Spouse (With an Example!)

This doesn't mean your ex is "mousy."

This doesn’t mean your ex is “mousy.”

Disclaimer:  I am in no way “pro-divorce.” But once it occurs, I think both parties should make the best of it.

 

  Creating a Dating Profile For Your Ex Is An Idea Whose Time Has Come and Here is Why!

1. You’re divorced and have moved on in a healthy manner, but your Ex hasn’t quite made the transition.  He or she is  “mopey” (in that same way that made you want to give them a haircut in their sleep when you were married to them because THEN they’d really have something to mope about!) or he/she simply hasn’t developed that “confident single attitude” yet. However, the two of you have stayed civil and you’d like to help this person (whom you supposedly cared enough about to take vows with)  get “out there” with a friendly little (okay, big) Shove.

2. It’s been quite some time now after your split and “somehow” you got signed up to pay spousal support for (a) the rest of the duration of your Ex’s natural life OR  (b) until he/she remarries. How to shorten this outcome?  (Hint: I’m talking about option (b) – – that’s the moral/ethical one!) Writing a dating profile on their behalf to get them married off will abbreviate this route significantly!

3. You’re doing a great service for society. Nobody knows your Ex like you do, right?  Therefore, writing a personal ad for them will actually lessen the future divorce rate in our country by helping his/her dates have reasonable expectations. Your personal ad will reflect accurate reality and allow the new potential Suitor (or Suitess in the case of your ex-husband) to do their due diligence completely online!  But you must be fair and honest in your description and respond to all follow-up questions courteously and without intent to sabotage.

4. You have kids and you would very much like to steer your Ex toward a quality individual so that you can sleep at night knowing your Ex won’t bring Charlie Manson or Kim Kardashian to your children’s Back to School Night.  In other words – – You are a Control Freak.

5. Your Ex is still very much obsessed with the past and drives you crazy trying to go back in time and rewrite history with statements that begin with, “If only we would have ____________, we would still be married today.”  They may fill in the blank with some of the following…

If only we would have . . .

  • Dated longer before tying the knot
    Had better communication
    Had More sex
    Had Less sex
    Put a lock on the refrigerator
    Had double sinks
    Had His and Her Bank Accounts
    Had a slight inkling that cheating would be destructive
    Gagged your mother
    Worn coordinating Halloween costumes like Romeo & Juliet
    or John & Lorena Bobbitt

You get the idea.  They dwell forever and have an unrealistic idea about reconciling. They need a real life distraction with a new relationship!  Yep, yep they surely do!

Here is the profile I wrote for my ex-husband and examples of follow-up correspondence.

Nice Enough Guy, Still Looks Pretty Good Thru Lots of Marital Stress!

Versatile Aged Man who could pass for 42 (if you don’t keep up with your optometrist appointments) or could also sneak by as 65 (and often will try this to get a Senior Discount at the movies) Seeks Loving Female who gets that “he works hard all day and when he comes home would just like a little peace and quiet, some good food and lots of sex.  Is that too much to ask for?” The preceding was a direct quote that I can replay for you on my cellphone (which I recorded without his knowledge) if you call me on my landline after 10 am.  I can’t stomach hearing it any earlier than that because the volume/tone of his voice is quite irritating when I first wake up. You’ll understand six months in.

He’ll be your biggest fan and best friend in every way you can think of….except will  NOT go shopping, compliment your appearance, help around the house, make you a surprise party, or hold your hair back during morning sickness, which everyone knows is really All Day sickness  – – but pleeease be beyond that stage of your life!  Makes a mean pot of chili for Super Bowl Sunday and bucks up when he gets a cold.  No acting like a big baby on the sofa with a  99.5 temperature for this dude.  Nuh uh.

Treats your family nice when they’re over, but afterwards might make a few off color jokes about the low-cut dress your sister wore.  But hey, at least he notices fashion!  Note:  He WILL always tell you your ass looks great in those jeans (regardless of how much of a bubble butt you have) because he’s learned this gets him a little somethin’/somethin’ later that night, so definitely do NOT go by him when you’re getting dressed for an evening out.

Great with cars, (driving, washing and repairing) and will even stop to ask directions (only after you’ve been cruising around, lost for at least 10 minutes) but overreacts terribly if you drive over a curb, back into a pole, or happen to smash into a parking attendant booth, causing your car to get banned from the movie theatre forever. Supportive of your career if it’s math or science related but if you’re a writer, have a ready-made list completely memorized so you can easily rattle of the answer to  “what exactly did you do all fucking day long?” (Again, phone me after 10 am for voice inflection example.)

TEN ADJECTIVES TO DESCRIBE WHAT HE’S LOOKING FOR IN THE NEW WOMAN:  Flexible, (physically and emotionally) Gullible, Sweet, Able to be Well-Kempt on a Budget,  Possess a Patient Sense of Humor (ability to laugh enthusiastically at the same joke over and over again as if you are a Virgin Audience) and must have a Positive Nature (the washing machine isn’t old and broken, it’s quaint and charming!)

HIS  IDEA OF A  REALLY  GOOD  FIRST  DATE:  Not to spoil any fun or surprises for you, but do dress in something you won’t care gets ruined. And eat lots of protein beforehand. (Oh, and bring a single sharp knitting needle, some super-glue, and some feathers)

More Questions?  Contact me at    EveryoneDeservesASecondChanceJustNotWithMe@gmail.com

Hi there – – Everything sounds pretty typical here with the no shopping and no compliments, but can you tell me if he would ever be open to  breakfast in bed ?

Signed,

Wondering Stella

Dear W.S.

Yes, he’ll be on the receiving end any weekend morning.  Oh, silly me.  Did you mean will he ever serve YOU  brunch in bed?  On Mother’s day and sometimes Valentine’s day, but you have to be okay with runny eggs because he once overcooked them and I made the mistake of complaining so now he overcompensates. (or else he’s just vindictive)

Little Miss Menopause

Hi and Thank you for telling it like it is.  What about talking? Will he just listen without always trying to solve or fix everything?

Signed,

Just Need A Sounding Board

Dear J.N.A.S.B.

Yes, he will stay very quiet and let you talk, but you should occasionally check to make sure he hasn’t completely tuned you out.  I sometimes interrupt my own monologue about going to the pediatrician’s office by seductively saying, “… and the next thing I knew, he pushed me back on his desk and he was an incredible lover — I climaxed over twenty times!” Then I strategically pause just to see if he jolts forward and says, “Huh??”

With regards to trying to solve your problems or fix everything.  Do not worry your pretty little head.  He’ll fix absolutely nothing.  Especially  if it’s in desperate need of repair.

Little Miss Menopause

To Whom it May Concern:  Good idea to write your Ex’s profile but you don’t mention money very much. Did you get jewelry?  Taken out for meals?  What about vacations, live-in maids and weekly massages?

Signed,

Just Appreciate Pleasure

Dear J.A.P.

This may NOT concern me anymore since I removed the cubic-zirconia from my left hand, but You REALLY need to move along to a different profile. You’ve got the wrong guy.

Little Miss Menopause

Hey! So what exactly does he look like?  On a scale of 1-10, what did your friends think about him?  I really can’t be with a guy who is losing his hair, or is shorter than I am, or has that little stomach paunch thing going on.

Signed,

Some Have A Little Less Of Worth

Dear  S.H.A.L.L.O.W.

You must be gorgeous.  Life must be Perfect. Your manicure never chipped.  And you’re still looking for your Significant Other because……???

Little Miss Menopause

Well there you have it!  A totally new concept in “Dating After Divorce!”  I will be starting my own website where you too, can make a profile exactly like the one above for your own Ex, so stay tuned for your chance to submit something at “MySpouseWasn’tACompleteLouse.Dot Com.” Please leave an indication in the comment section below whether I should hold space for a Text Profile  (with endless scrolling for your vivid descriptions) or a Visual Profile because you can get the job done with a single photo and a short video clip of your Ex in the shower.
Happy Life After Divorce!

UNUSUAL BOOKS FOR THE NOOKS (And Crannies in Your Life)

Bonus if you know why this image correlates with the title of this post!

Bonus if you know why this image correlates with the title of this post!

Disclaimer: This topic has no author turning over in his grave. It’s all in fun.

Let’s turn “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” into “If You Give Your Spouse Some Nookie.” I think books should grow with us as we age. I don’t want to keep packing up my beloved classic children’s literature into cardboard boxes to be rummaged through by sticky hands at garage sales for a quarter. Any writer expecting to have their children’s book become a Classic AND sustain a permanent place on our bookshelves needs to offer an intriguing 2nd Half-Of-Life version. We are no longer wearing footie pajamas and reading in our bean-bag chairs. Now we’re donning housecoats (what IS that type of apparel for, anyhow?) and reclining in our Barcalounger chairs.

In that spirit, here are some new “Grown-Up” Title modifications and a few of my recommendation notes to the Author.

SELF-HELP SECTION

Goodnight Prune (Good Night Moon)

Are You My Udder? (Are You My Mother?) This one should be carefully illustrated so as not to offend certain body types.

Withering Nights (Wuthering Heights)

Les Menopausals – Hey Vic – – You were so close with the whining women, the depressing outlook, and the frumpy dresses.…just kill off that pretty little Cozette.

Are You There Bod? It’s Me, Menopause (Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret) – – Self-explanatory content but I suggest the Dust Jacket have a fun-house mirror on it.

Poky Little Progesterone (Poky Little Puppy) – – Hurry back home, sex drive!

Mopey Chick (Moby Dick) – – On Depression

The Legend of Weepy Wallow – – On Grief and Sadness

Scratch Her In The Eye! (Catcher In the Rye) – – Yup. When the Depression Fades, There’s Rage!

STILL MORE  SELF-HELP SECTION! (And we need it…Oy!)

Shred Bag to Discourage (Red Badge of Courage) New Tips For old Shopaholics

Calm Lawyer (Tom Sawyer) A list of Divorce Attorneys who don’t yell.

Struck Thin (Huck Finn) The latest “Lose 10 pounds overnight” diet book.

All of Her Lists (Oliver Twist) Household Organization book

All of Her Cysts (Oliver Twist) Medical Diagnostic Manual

PURE FICTION

Kvetcher and the Rye – – An older Jewish woman visits a Deli

The Middle Spouse I’ll Remarry Series (The Little House on the Prairie Series) – – Includes Titles:  The Middle Spouse on the Contrary, Middle Spouse is Scary & Middle Spouse is on Dairy – – about a Lactose Intolerant Hubby who falls off the wagon with ice-cream.

Games the Defiant Teach (James and the Giant Peach)  – – Spy/Espionage novel about rebellious grown children who give aging parents wrong directions on how to play Words With Friends and Candy Crush.

Sale of Two Pretties (Tale of Two Cities) – – A couple of well-preserved, middle aged women become Call Girls

Pat The Money! (Pat The Bunny) – -Latest Wall Street Thriller…comes with a velveteen dollar bill.

Nancy Drew a Most Wanted Photo, to Help Police Find Her Deadbeat Ex-Husband – Enough said? Mystery solved!

Bi-Curious Georgia Series – – Includes Titles:  Injurious Georgia, Spurious Georgia and Luxurious Georgia (after the divorce settlement)

Court or Oy! (Corduroy) Yes, Lots of lawsuit books coming out.

Ramona the Best Chest is Never A Pest!

Henry Huggins & Henrietta Kissings – A match made in Beverly Cleary heaven.

Wilma Wantsa (Dark) Chocolate (Satis)factory (Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory)

PURELY ADULT SECTION

(For those of us who haven’t thrown in the sheets just yet.)

Where the Wild Flings Are! (Where? Where??)

Charlotte’s Web of Sexual Deceit!

Pat the (Playboy) Bunny!

Rebecca Of Little Blackbook Charm

The Sketcher and the Thigh (That J.D. Salinger, gosh he sure is prolific!) – – Here I’m envisioning a coffee table artistic book of classy nudes.

Hop On Cop – – Dr. Seuss meets strippers in uniform!

Lean Legs & Gam (Green Eggs & Ham) – – yeah, I could have gone for an exercise book here, but Fetish seems more fun.

Challenge: In a comment below, Think of your own fave child/teen book and try to “Adultersize” a new title. Or leave one for me (to try!) to do.

Forget Aesop’s Fables, I’ve Got ‘Aesop’s Fails!’

Note: There is a far different outcome in the fable pictured here when the subject is female. See below.

There’s been some astounding news in literary history!  It has just been discovered that there was an entire second set of Aesop’s Fables written for his poor, feeble wife, who was battling chronic middle age.  Let’s take a quick peek, shall we?

The Crow(’s Feet) and the Pitcher (of Moisturizer)

A 48-year-old woman, (noticing crow’s feet and other crevices that were certainly not present yesterday) reflected in her looking glass as she came upon a pitcher of Oil of Olay.  Alas, its creamy contents were so low, that she could not reach down far enough to get at it with her chipped nail-polished finger.  Try as she might, she finally gave up in grave despair. Then a thought came to her and she searched for a pebble.  Making due with her cholesterol lowering capsules instead, she took one and dropped it into the pitcher.  She dropped still another and another, until one by one, she finished up the entire prescription.  At which point she promptly switched to her Xanax tablets. With each dropping of the panic attack medication, the contents of the pitcher rose a little higher until at long last she was able to scoop up the overpriced mineral oil to quench her overly dry skin so she could attend her 30th high school reunion.

Moral:  “Little by Little Does the Trick.”  And A little Anxiety goes a long way toward “Moisturization Motivation.”

The Stairclimber, The Elliptical, and The Ass

The Stairclimber and the Elliptical conspired together to make weary and sore the Ass of new gym member, Minny Paz. Presently they began to feel a tad cocky, although to be certain, no cock was in the vicinity of this particular weight room. (Indeed, the Cock hangs out with the Lion and the Sly Fox at 24 Hour Fitness around the corner, but that’s another fable for another blog) Nevertheless the two pieces of equipment were laughing merrily as the poor Ass grew exhausted and flabbier by the moment. When her so called friend, (a former beauty queen who shall remain unnamed) came thru the entrance, she ridiculed the poor ass, which felt so depressed it sunk lower and lower with the help of gravity, to the ground. The washed-up, has-been beauty queen elegantly climbed onto the Stairclimber with finesse and a flourish, when to her dismay, her long golden tresses caught in the mechanism as the Elliptical looked on and laughed uproariously.  Two staff members came and put “Out of Order” signs on both machines and offered Minny Paz a job as the front receptionist where she could sit on her beloved ass all day long while her “friend” (who now conveniently referred to herself as Rapunzel) went to buy new conditioner.

Moral: “Inconsiderate and ill-matched alliances generally end in ruin; and the woman who compasses the destruction of her neighbor is often caught in her own snare. Or her hair, as the case may be.   In other words: Avoid the gym at all costs.

A Woman On a Sweet Mission

A woman blocked the doorway of a See’s candy store, refusing all would-be customers from entering for their free sample. She had just come from a Weight Watcher meeting and was feeling quite slighted by the scale. “What a selfish old lady,” uttered a Jennifer Aniston lookalike.  “She cannot eat the candy herself, yet she refuses to allow those who can an indulgent moment.”

Moral: “We should not deprive others of blessings because we cannot enjoy them ourselves.” (Unless some new research suddenly portrays milk-chocolate caramel blessings to be unusually healthy, then it’s a free-for-all-binge for every deprived soul in the land. Good luck.)

Wine, Women, & Whine

An older divorced woman went on a girl’s night out where there was a lot of male bashing taking place. As the handsome waiter served their final round of wine, the woman fluttered her eyelashes in his direction.  The chagrined waiter immediately picked up his cell phone, snapped a pic of the woman and posted it on Facebook, tagging her as “Chlamydia Lydia.”  He then placed the bill for the entire night on her plate.

Moral:  A woman is known by the company she keeps. And it will cost her dearly.  Instead, invite your bitter friends to see Eat, Pray, Love on DVD at your own house.

The Milkmaid And Her Mask

Still another poor, down-trodden maiden going thru a mid-life crisis proceeded to have one cosmetic surgery procedure after another. Cheek implants, brow lifts, frown lines, laugh lines, nasolabial folds, marionette lines, double chin, and an upper eyelid blepharoplasty (say that three times fast) were all on the menu for improvement. When all was said and done, she met the man of her dreams (A local wealthy Miller?) who proposed marriage to her on bended knee if she could answer but one tricky question. “Can you go to Yugoslavia?” The woman’s smooth skinned and unlined face turned into an anguished grimace as she hesitatingly sung, “You go Slavia and I go Sleevia…Let’s call the whole thing off!” then she asked if she could use a lifeline and phone a friend? The man swiftly took her gal pal’s cell number and went on his way.

Moral: A Fair Face is Of Little Use Without Good Sense. Also don’t confuse “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” with “Who Wants to MARRY A Millionaire?” with “The Voice” and with “The Swan” if you’re empty-headed and need help paying your cosmetic surgery bills.

 The Sly as a Fox Woman and the Grapes

There once was a rare sale in the produce section of Whole Paycheck Foods Grocery Store. In particular stood out the shiniest, firmest, juiciest looking red globe grapes ever to be beholden.  When the stock ran low, a newly menopausal woman (prone to shopping related mood swings) reached for the display, but presently a quicker and calmer young woman swept the last of the bunch into her cart. “Who wants those grapes anyhow?” the first woman said, nose upturned, “They’re from Chile and on the Dirty Dozen list. It’s only organic grapes for these lips. They’re also high on the Glycemic Index, so good luck with that diabetes. Nanny nanny boo boo!”

Moral: There are many who pretend to despise and belittle that which is beyond their reach.  Also Whole Foods charges an arm and a leg and the produce is just as good at Trader Joes.

The Little Woman Who Lived In a Shoe But Cried “Backache!”

In a size 7.5 very narrow, high heeled shoe, (with just 1.5 bathrooms) lived a little old woman who didn’t know what to do. (Bear with Mr. Aesop here for a moment; research shows he had sympathy brain-fog for his menopausal wife and often mixed nursery rhymes up with his fables.) She had so many children and so much lacework and Velcro tugging, she didn’t know what to do. Plus her cooking tasted like old shoe leather. Every night, upon tucking the kids in (and blessing their soles) she would blow loudly on her shoehorn for neighbors to come help with her next day’s chores.  Complaining of lower back issues, one evening, t’was summoned the Village Chiropractor who attempted to set her straight. “You live in cramped quarters. There’s nothing wrong with your back that a size 8, extra wide shoe with an orthotic insert wouldn’t cure.” And nobody ever helped her again.

Moral: A Liar might get a free adjustment once, but Hypochondria and Vanity require going up a shoe size.  And there’s seldom a wolf involved unless the chiropractor has just come from a Halloween costume party.

The North Wind and the Sun (Oh Yeah, and the Fan)

One day the wind and the sun were arguing over who was more powerful and so they held a contest to see which one could get the 49 year-old (and holding!) pitiful woman traveling on a winding road to remove her fake fur wrap. Over and over again as the Sun and Wind did their thing, they watched in surprise and horror as the woman unwrapped and wrapped herself up repeatedly within a ten-minute time span, regardless of how hard or soft the wind blew or how brightly the sun shone. “WTF?!” (This popular online  acronym occurred to them centuries before it was a fad) as they watched the woman withdraw a pocket fan from her purse and smile victoriously as she took fate into her own wrinkled hands.

Moral: Gentle persuasion or brute force can be interchangeable.  But a woman with a battery operated portable device can laugh in the face of all elements.