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.”