Category Archives: Female Humor

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.

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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.

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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!”

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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    [email protected]

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!