An Ode To Tupperware

Leftovers, Leftovers, wherefore art thou?

I guess Saran Wrap is no longer highbrow.

Whoever invented this silly plastic container,

Certainly amassed a fortune with his no-brainer.

But then he created a lid that would burp,

Poor Reynolds Wrap, it would easily usurp.

Tupperware, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways…

Distracting my sex life at night and darkening my days.

You discolor, you warp, you melt, and you crack

Then you lose yourself in the pantry, hiding in the back!

Or you tease me by playing shuffleboard inside my fridge,

Holding hostage a yummy pound cake baked by Pepperidge.

Your tops and bottoms never properly latch or attach,

Must I use a dating site to find your perfect match?

You always have the same size square body, with two different lips

What? You don’t think I can pack crackers in baggies with chip clips??

Or take Zip-Locks — they do their job silently. I guess that shouldn’t matter?

Try telling me that when I open my cupboard and to the floor you all scatter.

Once I was taunted into buying glass canisters with covers that hinged,

“We won’t get separated,” they promised, so I bought dozens. Oy, I binged!

All it took was one traditional Passover dinner when guests begged to take home

My brisket and matzo ball soup  (Cuz Jews won’t settle for ‘to-go’ styrofoam!)

Alas my new storage efforts had all been in vain — and I was feeling bereft,

What to do? File a lawsuit? Report to the cops this weird kinda theft?

And that’s when I heard your loud mocking — it was a clatter quite hearty,

And lo and behold, my friend decided to throw herself a Tupperware Party.

Ugh, are those still around? So I went and ate and laughed and invested,

And just like being overrun with ants, my kitchen was once again infested.

But never again will your evil dampen my well-intentioned food-saving morale,

Cuz you’re staying organized and sorted in this brand new Container Corral.

I like to think of it as my Personal Household Sanity Evolution

But don’t think I’m ever going to use any of you, that’s NOT my solution.

This is just the best way to torture you — make you squirm and wail

It’s my version of hell, your well-deserved punishment, your personal jail.

And when I sell my property and nosy neighbors come to open house to snoop

I’ll look like Martha Stewart, perfectly organized — hell yeah, that’s how low I’ll stoop!

 

How an Innocent Entertainment App On Your Phone Can Impact Your Relationship

Because I live in a large metropolitan area, there is an Entertainment App available for purchase called “The Seat Junky.” The premise/philosophy behind it is quite simple — basically events at local live venues (this does NOT work for movie theaters however) will take place regardless of how many tickets are sold, so they may as well have a full house (lots more applause, and hopefully more people to write positive reviews afterwards, right?) by giving away (yep, completely free!) tickets at the last minute once they project how many extra seats they will have.

The show MUST go on, right? (Side-Note: I sure wish cruise ships, airlines, and hotels also shared this perspective when they aren’t sold-out!!)

Now utilizing this app (to the fullest extent possible) requires a person to have major flexibility in their schedule, an open-mindedness to trying new things, and in my case… a full-blown case of OCD. The latter is because when things suddenly pop-up on this app (and that can happen any time of the day or night btw!) because there are no fees, they go LIKE THAT! Quicker than you just read my last sentence. I learned this the hard way by only logging on once a day and seeing “Sorry, Unavailable!” tags across all of the recent show listings.  And we’re talking wonderful broadway style musicals, stand-up comics, major concerts, symphonies, and anything else you can think of that someone might turn into a live theatrical experience.

If I didn’t know about the acronym FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) before, I certainly do now, thanks to this App! Like clockwork first thing each morning, I would immediately log in to see if something new and exciting had come on. But then it “dawned” on me…normal people were literally logging in at “dawn!” In other words, my “first thing in the morning” wasn’t exactly what most people would deem “morning” due to my horrible insomnia. In fact my “first thing in the morning” (10 am) would be most people’s first “coffee break” at the office. And that’s why I was still finding those irritating “Sorry, Unavailable!” tags on all the offerings.

This would never do. Darn those Early Birds and their respective worms! So now during all hours of the night, I inexplicably startle awake with an uncontrollable obsession to check the app.

Last night at 3 a.m., I nabbed two tickets (the app always allows you to bring a guest!) to a play called “The Humans” (Now mind you, I’ve never in my entire theater-going life even heard of this show before, but the description said it was equally uproariously funny AND deeply chilling and there was no way I was letting those two simultaneous emotions pass me by!) and so after snatching them up (and gleefully witnessing that “Sorry, Unavailable!” tag appearing afterwards, (effectively taunting the rest of the app subscribers!) I felt totally victorious and triumphant. “Nah nah nah… They’re all Mine!”

Forgetting the late hour, I enthusiastically dialed my boyfriend.

Me: Hi. Oh! Did I wake you? Really?? Well, I’m sorry. But it’s important. I just wanna make sure you’re available to see “The Humans?” with me this Friday?

Him: (groggy) Which humans? Your kids? Because I’d say that’s a bit of a stretch if we’re talking about your teenage son.

Me: No no, not my family.

Him: Oh I get it. Is this another one of your ploys to get me to the animal shelter again to adopt a dog that you insist has a human soul, which you claim is evident by looking into his large expressive eyes.

Me: No, don’t be silly. It’s a show on our app.

Him: (Groaning) Not that app again, Stephanie. You can’t just keep willy nilly snapping up every new listing that comes on there just because it has unsold tickets.

Me: Did you just say “Willy Nilly?”

Him: Never mind that. Did it ever occur to you that there must be a good reason there are so many empty seats?

Me: Please? If I didn’t grab them, someone else would have.

Him: Is that so? Over Christmas you impulsively claimed two seats for a Sunday morning church service.

The preacher had let us bring our menorah and some latkes, but I guess that wasn’t the point. Perhaps it was getting out of hand? I was becoming (becoming??) competitive, compulsive, calculating, and basically dragging us to every show in town, including a lonely old man who managed to make a listing for bowling so he could have a few fans cheer him on in the ally. It had sounded like fun to me because he’d titled it, “That’s Just the Way I Roll — A One Man Show.”

After we hung up, I reluctantly released my seats for “The Humans” and was about to log out of the entertainment app (possibly for good?) when I suddenly noticed a description pop-up for a brand new show called, “The Addiction!” Synopsis: A pathetic woman becomes so addicted to an app for live theater events that she ruins her own relationship.” I was proud of myself, (and my boyfriend would be as well!) because I did NOT grab two tickets…

Instead, I wrote to the director and told him I was the perfect Understudy in case the star ever got ill.

Note: Post NOT sponsored by Seat Junky. Just my doing some penance for getting so crazy.

 

 

Favorite Fairytale Follow-ups!

Let’s play “Where Are They Today?” with a special focus on our Career Edition!

Snow White: This fair maiden no longer has skin as white as snow since she overcooked herself in a tanning salon to prepare herself for the huntsmen, (the Queen’s hunky assistant who saved Snow White’s life by hiding her in a forest, instead of killing her) on their wedding day. Ms. White now works in the field of sleep disorders (actually many Fairytale characters find the subject of sleep to be the bane of their existence!) and runs a clinic specializing in insomnia, oversleeping, nightmares, and F.F.F. (FatalFlawFruit) which is a common syndrome rendering victims helpless if they should fall into a deadly slumber after biting a Red Delicious apple. The handsome prince, (whom Snow divorced after trying to make her marriage work for 2.5 years) is currently a member of a 12-Step group for people compelled to kiss the lips of individuals impersonating corpses in glass coffins. It’s called “Dead End Relationships Anonymous.” (As of yet, there are no specific 12-Step groups to address the addictions of the individuals inside those glass coffins.) Meanwhile the seven dwarf miners saved up all their sick and vacation days and so it’s — Off to Bali they go!

Cinderella: Cindy has designed an entire line of shatterproof acrylic shoes, after getting a shard of glass deeply embedded in her heel from those fateful slippers. Her unique tagline is, “From flip-flops to stilettos, one thing is perfectly clear . . . someone with a foot-fetish will need to be transparent about it from the very start!” Her two wicked step-sisters briefly dabbled as adult film stars, but eventually settled into a housecleaning business called “The Merry (Scary!) Maids” and they have a sideline company throwing fancy balls and inviting everyone with the exception of Cinderella. So far they’ve dribbled lacy basketballs, rolled sequined bowling balls, hit velvet tennis balls, and kicked pearlized footballs in front of appreciative audiences whilst Cinderella remained banished from every court. Instead Cindy contents herself staying home watching her handsome prince bake pumpkin pies whilst trying to control their rodent problem with humane traps.

Sleeping Beauty: This ambitious early-riser (who only answers to Aurora now) finally cured her narcolepsy at Snow White’s Sleeping Disorder clinic, and has a lot more on her mind these days than just pricking fingers. She sews elaborate baby christening gowns and shows up at the events to monitor the blessings that guests bestow on the innocent little tykes. The gift of Song, the gift of Beauty, the gift of Charm, the gift of Huggies diapers are all permitted, but lest someone try to utter “the gift of a Spindle on a Spinning Wheel,” and you haven’t seen real revenge until you’ve seen this slumbering beauty wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty also divorced her prince of a husband because she couldn’t get past his dragon breath which he unfortunately picked up whilst slaying one in her honor. Meanwhile Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather have taken their bumbling stand-up comedy on cruise ships, billing themselves as the “The Three Stooges Wearing Rouges” going extra heavy with blush on their cheeks. It’s really quite humorous how they make-up this work! Evil Maleficent never responded to the official “What are you up to these days?” survey, but she is thought to have gotten involved in the movie sequel industry.

Rapunzel: Rest a-sheared, today we find Rapunzel straightening out her life and towering over the other princesses on Amazon simply by marketing a reformulated ladder she calls “Hairway To Heaven” and you can guess what it’s made out of! Handymen the world over are loving this new shiny, full of body, replenishing way to climb up on rooftops, change ceiling lightbulbs, and hang Christmas decorations under any condition(ers). See you on QVC Rapunzel!

Rumplestiltskin: This conniving shyster went from spinning straw to gold to writing legit Baby Naming books which consistently rank in the top three on the New York Times Bestseller List. His secret? He takes three common words and strings them together (Rumple/Stilt/Skin) until they sound so exotic and mysterious that even a Queen might not guess the name. Rip/Van/Winkle was a big fan until he fell into such a lengthy sleep that a good samaritan brought him to . . . (wait for it!) Snow White’s Sleep Disorder clinic. . . where he met up with The Princess and the Pea (who was there successfully curing her inability to get a good night’s rest on green produce!) and the rest they say, is Happily-Ever-After History!

Always Snoozing! These former lazy princesses have awakened to bigger and better things!

That Time God Left Me a Voicemail

It all began when my cellular device accidentally went through the washing machine for an entire 60-minute cycle. I couldn’t believe what I had done when I spied its bright pink case as I transferred the rest of the bedsheets into the dryer. Nooooo! I disliked Siri, but tumble-drying her seemed a bit harsh, so I plucked out my smartphone and immediately submerged it into a bag of rice, remembering reading that was the recipe to resuscitate it after drowning.

As luck (my luck at least!) would have it, a grain of rice wedged itself into the speaker’s tiny crevice and thus began my intricate surgery with tweezers, needles, safety pins, and the sharp metal teeth of a lice comb….yes ewww! With zero success, I resigned myself to having a working phone but without any sound, while my wisecracking teenager suggested I run it through the washing machine to dislodge the rice.

For days I learned to make do. I changed my outgoing message so it advised people to please text or email me instead. For the stubborn few that refused to do that, I relied heavily on the transcription my cellphone would type out for me as it played back someone’s totally garbled, muffled voicemail. Yesterday came this surprising and miraculous interpretation:

Yes, this is God calling on Wednesday afternoon. I understand you’re dissatisfied with the service you’ve been receiving. I’ll try you again soon to discuss.

Seriously? Oh my God! How did he get my number? (And I hope my number isn’t up!) I wouldn’t say I was ‘dissatisfied’ with his service, but a few more of my prayers could’ve easily been answered. And when I said “God bless you” to my kids after they sneezed, he might’ve done a little something extra for them, I mean it’s not like they’re adults wanting a new car or a job — they’d be totally thrilled with a silly party favor or discovering an extra cookie on their life path.

I looked at my incoming log to see about getting back to him (how can you ignore God’s calling??) fully expecting it to be listed as “Blocked” or “Unknown Caller” but there was an actual 1-800 number. Just like God to arrange to be reachable to the masses toll-free! But then I realized with the rice jamming my speaker, there still wouldn’t be clear audio, and I’d hate to keep saying “Pardon?” and wasting God’s time in case he wasn’t enrolled in the unlimited minutes plan.

I re-recorded my outgoing message, this time with a emphatic plea. “Hi this is Stephanie, but Good Lord please PLEASE text me because my speaker is broken!” I then excitedly entered God’s phone number into my contacts with his name in all capital letters followed by three exclamation points. (Three seemed like an appropriate number because of all that trinity stuff, even though I’m Jewish.) I also decided to give God his own ring-tone as well — The William Tell Overture.

And sure enough this time he followed directions and my screen lit up with a text from “GOD!!!”  Here is an exact replication of our text chat.

“GOD!!!” — Hi. When is a good time to pop on over?

(Good heavens! I needed time to clean up my house and maybe cook something spectacular to serve. Wow just think ….soon I’ll be serving God.)

Me: Gosh, um well about how long do you think you’ll stay?

GOD!!! — With any luck at all, it won’t take long.

Me: Oh I don’t think you’ll need luck. I have total faith in you.

GOD!!! — How refreshing. A month ago you cursed me out.

Me: If I EVER did that, I want to humbly apologize. I beg of you.

GOD!!! — You’re forgiven. That’s just the way I roll. But with a few quick adjustments, you’ll be good to go watching Life Time in a flash!

Me: Oh no! I don’t want to watch my Life flash before my eyes. I know what that means.

GOD!!! — No worries! But if there’s a man, he’ll be glad I’m stopping over before the big fight tonight.

Me: (bashfully) Oh God, there IS a special guy in my life right now. All thanks to you. And I appreciate your heads up that there will be a fight. We never argue, but I’ll bake some brownies to appease him just in case.

GOD!!! — Sure, whatever.

(Wait till my kids hear that they’re in such good company saying, “whatever!” and “No worries!”)

As I nervously awaited God’s visit, my mother called. I answered on the first ring and told her I was tied up writing an article I was about to submit to Redbook magazine. As an atheist, I knew she’d never believe I would be busy entertaining God. My cell rang again and I let it go into voicemail but quickly glanced at the transcript to make sure it wasn’t God calling to say he was caught in traffic.

“Hi, it’s your Dom. I’m wondering if you’re still tied up? I want to discuss your submission.”

What kind of a kinky message was this?  Wait. A. Second. It was becoming clear to me now. My cell’s transcribing app had mistakenly typed the word “Dom” instead of “Mom.”

And that’s why just three minutes later, after the door knocked loudly three (of course three!) times, I was completely prepared to see standing on my doorstep not God (in the flesh!) but instead …. Rod, (acting a little fresh!) that obnoxious millennial worker from my local cable company here to fix my poor television reception.

 

Creating a Fight to Make Sure You Argue Effectively!

Well, well well …. you knew one day it would come to this, right? In my defense, the problem is that I read too much. If only my eyes hadn’t landed on the glaring headline, “All Couples Fight, but Here’s How Successful Couples Do It!”

ALL couples?? Gulp. I grew immediately panic-stricken when I realized there hadn’t been any arguments in the new relationship I was in. Not. A. Single. One. What was wrong with us? How would we ever know if we were a successful couple? We have been putting all this time and energy into having a stress-free relationship and now that was going to be counterproductive.

We’d never even had a slight disagreement about something as innocuous as our food preferences. One of us will say, “Mushrooms are a fungus and I can’t stand them or anyone who eats them.” And the other will nod empathetically and say, “The world will not be safe until mushrooms are eradicated!” and then we’ll order a plain cheese pizza to seal our bond over the common enemy.

At first I tried to calm down by reminding myself this article was just click-bait or an urban legend. But Snopes confirmed it to be true. In fact, there were links to other supporting evidence like, “Couples Who Argue Together, Stay Together, Research Finds.”  OMG! You cannot state, “Research Finds” blatantly in your title if research does not actually find it! My new boyfriend and I were doomed.

Unless I acted prudently and propelled us quickly and effectively down the road of quarreling. But how? And over what? It should happen organically and naturally, I thought. Fortunately that’s exactly the point when this surfaced in my newsfeed. “4 Fights Every Couple Must Get Through Because They’ll Actually Bring You Closer.”

Aha…a roadmap! We could make up for lost time by closely following the steps to these four recommended fights all in one day. I quickly committed the article to memory and dialed my boyfriend’s number. “Play it cool, Stephanie” I chastised myself. “Ease into it.”

Me: Hi. How are you? I don’t want to have any children. I think the world isn’t a good place to bring kids into.

Him: But what will you do with the six you already have? Also you’re 55 years old.

Me: (flustered) I am not.

Him: Are so.

Me: Am not.

Him: Are so.

Things were going along swimmingly like this for several hours until he finally conceded that I looked more like I was in my mid-forties and so obviously my Match profile must’ve had a typo — then he gallantly apologized. He hung up after saying he adored me. Well that qualified as completing our first official fight, but there still were three more arguments to get through. I dialed him back.

Me: I’m not feeling heard by you.

Him: Shouldn’t you say something first so I can hear it?

Me: That’s not how I mean the word ‘heard.’

Him: Oh! Herd? Where would you like me to herd you? We could go to dinner or a movie with a very large group of people? We could visit sheep? We could…

Me: (exasperated) I mean that you don’t listen to me.

Him: (Silence)

Me: Hello? Are you there?

Him: Yes. I’m listening.

Me: Our communication styles are totally different.

Him: Still listening.

Me: See? You never participate by volunteering your point of view. You just sit there quietly, only focused on listening to me.

This argument got completed and checked off the list in record time! He told me I wasn’t making any sense and then we were off to the races with things really escalating and it ended with him suggesting we see a therapist. Yes! We should go immediately and as luck would have it, tonight there was an opening. Because at this point, I was more than grateful to have a counselor guide us through the other two disagreements more professionally.

Me: I’m dissatisfied with the frequency we have intimate relations.

Him: Completely the first time I’m hearing this from her.

Therapist: Stephanie, would you like to have intimate relations more or less than you’re currently having them?

Me: (Damn my menopausal memory. Quickly trying to google that last article to find the answer) Uh, um….well… Give me just a second to decide.

Therapist: While she’s thinking it over, are there any other issues you’re having?

Him: None. Prior to today, we had zero trouble.

Therapist: Interesting. Stephanie would you agree that you haven’t had any problems until just now?

Me: Shoot. Don’t you get internet up here on the eighth floor? What’s your wi-fi password?

Therapist: Would you like to answer that last question, Stephanie?

Me: Well just going from sheer memory, there was one final 4th argument. Let me see….oh yes…one of us inherited a ton of money from the recent death of a parent and now we’re disagreeing on whether that money should go in our joint bank account.

Therapist: I’m very sorry for your loss. And that’s a super common argument for married couples to have.

Him: We’re not married.

Me: Are so.

Him: Are not.

Me: Are so.

Him: Are so.

Me: Are not . . .

Again, I was extraordinarily pleased with the expediency of our getting through all four of the recommended arguments in less than 24 hours, when suddenly the therapist intervened.

Therapist: I’m afraid you’ll have to continue this super UNcommon argument on your own time. Our session is over and I’m meeting my own husband for a delicious mushroom pizza!

In that instant my boyfriend and I both made equally intense expressions of disgust and revulsion. We linked our arms together and shot daggers with both sets of our extremely compatible eyes toward our mutual enemy, as we went home to partake in extremely satisfying intimate relations at just the right frequency.

READERS: What’s your opinion? Does every couple argue? And is how well you argue predictive of the future quality of your relationship? And most importantly, are you a mushroom lover?

Confusion! Is This a Public Blog or My Personal Diary?

The best (and worst!) gift I ever received was on my twelve birthday when my mother gave me a rainbow unicorn sequined covered diary with a tiny padlock and key and told me it was to record all my private thoughts. Looking back, perhaps she never uttered the word “private?” That would make sense and would explain why on the inside first page I had scrawled, “If found, please return to Stephanie at the following address:______. Under no circumstances should this diary be opened because it contains all my best secrets!”

On the back inside cover I’d painstakingly written, “Like what you’ve read? Are you an editor, publisher or producer? If so, we should talk!” And then printed my phone number with instructions to call collect. Obviously I thought my future huge royalties would cover any long distance charges. Hey, I was nobody’s fool! I’d heard of Go Ask Alice whose druggie days detailed in her entries were made public after she overdosed, and of course The Diary of Anne Frank which was immortalized in libraries forever. I just planned on having fame happen to me without the death part.

During the next five years, I used my diary for composing awful poetry, true confessions, angry tirades, fantasy crushes, and to trick nosy people like my brother (who I was certain was reading it while I was out on dates) into believing that our mother was planning to take him to Disneyland if he treated me a lot nicer. (Yes I stole that idea from a Brady Bunch episode.)

My mother also confiscated my diary during some particularly angsty teenage turbulence and took it to a psychiatrist, using it as evidence to obtain a prescription for Prozac for me.

This little journal of mine was also the impetus which had me wondering what other diarists were writing behind their own locks and keys? And that was the start of my digging into the dresser drawers of my cousins during family gatherings, my friends’ closets when I was invited to their home after school — often turning up paragraphs that were about me, saying some not so nice things. One or two diary authors even had the nerve to write, “That Stephanie sure has become a prying busybody!” Hmmph, can you imagine?  So that’s what people really thought, but wouldn’t say so to my face!

My snooping addiction continued on for decades and I suppose I must now formally apologize to all the mothers/wives of the children I supervised and whose lingerie chests I rummaged through after I tucked their kids into bed and found their treasure trove of R-rated paraphernalia, amongst a few diaries, which contained absolutely nothing about me — and wouldn’t it have been awfully strange if they HAD written about their awkward babysitter? So please forgive me, ladies!

I soon graduated from ‘Diary Invading’ to ‘Eavesdropping’ and I accomplished that by quietly listening in on extensions of landline telephones, putting my ear to the walls of closed doors, and even playing messages left on other people’s answering machines by obtaining their 3-digit remote codes which were stamped underneath. But who could blame me? By that time I had learned that you never knew what anyone truly thought of you unless you investigated thoroughly. You can read about my spying sprees  HERE and  HERE.

Fast forward to present day and this blog. I sometimes find myself elaborately filtering my content (just as I strategically planned out what I’d put in my diary all those years ago) by calculating who exactly my readers will be. Many times I’ll edit and delete confidential truths that would make me feel extremely vulnerable and exposed if ex-husbands, old boyfriends, relatives, girlfriends, or my own children perused my posts. And they definitely do! Other times I get extremely brave and throw caution to the wind like THIS ONE.

In fact, the reactions of followers who know me in real life never ceases to amaze me no matter how careful I am. Some are furious when something they’ve said gets incorporated into an article, yet there’s nothing attributing the cleverness of the remark to them. (I’ve started accommodating them with footnotes and bibliographies.) Then there’s my 1st ex-husband who doesn’t waste his “valuable” time reading here, but will often send me cease and desist letters because a mutual friend has told him, “Uh oh. Stephanie’s at it again, saying negative things about your engineering personality being as much fun as getting a cavity filled after getting your appendix removed.” I’ll manage to convince him that the insult was really aimed toward dentists and surgeons, because how could anyone ever disparage his “sparkling” disposition?? He’ll agree wholeheartedly and we’ll hang up wishing each other well.

Here are other typical responses from people I’m connected to:

My Mom — I don’t do those controlling things you say I do in your blog. I hope your readers know what a wild imagination you have! By the way, a little Prozac would help you settle down.

My 2nd Ex-Husband — Remember…our divorce decree specifically states on page 7, paragraph 12 that from this date forward, I am to be hereby referenced solely as “1st-ex-husband, The Engineer” in all of your publications.

Boyfriend — You’re taking notes in your head about our date tonight, aren’t you? Here, let me open the car door for you. Let me get the check. I didn’t realize you were allergic to daffodils. Next time, roses for sure. My name is spelled with a G not a J for Yelp review purposes.

Daughter — Thanks a lot, Mom. I just failed my Department of Motor Vehicles exam because the test driver who took me out is a follower of your blog and read this POST!

Son — My seventh grade teacher reads your blog regularly but still marked me as an unexcused absence yesterday for Rosh Hashanah. Can you write one of your really long and boring,  um… humorous posts about Judaism and make sure it spells out that I was dutifully sitting next to you in synagogue yesterday? Thanks and Shalom, Mom!

God — Hello down there, Stephanie D. Lewis! What in God’s My Name do you think you’re doing? You’ve reduced me to a mere online presence just to get published  HERE in The Huffington Post? You don’t think I’m a subject matter worthy of at least something people hold tangibly in their hands and often find in hotels? Like People Magazine??!

Writers: Do you ever modify your blog posts based on who you think could be out there reading? Or do you just write whatever you want, no holds barred? Readers: Do you get annoyed when you show up in someone’s writing?

What Happens After The Honeymoon is Over?

         Going, going . . . GONE!

 

They say it’s inevitable and happens to all relationships. Who are “They??” I hate them! The initial magic starts to fade, the rush of learning new things as a “couple” subsides, the novel unpredictability and the exciting challenge starts to feel like a sure thing and a walk in the park with your eyes closed. And yes you can get mugged when you walk in the park with your eyes closed, but that’s not the novel unpredictability you want. Boredom sets in. Then the fact that you’re bored sends you into questioning the relationship and soon you’re googling, “How to Regain that Spark” and finding over 1.6 million of these kind of titles right HERE.

My First Husband told me we would never have to worry about this problem because he had the perfect solution — after the wedding, we would simply not embark on a traditional honeymoon trip. If it never began, it could never end. Logic like this is only one of the hundreds of reasons he will continue to be justifiably referred to as “My First Husband.”

My Second Husband and I had a whirlwind courtship and married rather quickly so our honeymoon phase was quickly interrupted by extreme morning sickness, baby preparations, and worries about Down Syndrome when test results came back highly elevated. Luckily our daughter was born perfectly healthy, but our romantic life was no longer “highly elevated.” Sadly, that elevator never went above the bargain basement floor after all the newfound responsibilities of parenting kicked our butts.

After my second divorce, my obsession with keeping the Honeymoon Stage alive kicked into high gear and truly began in earnest. We’re talking a full-time job, (I wasn’t just moonlighting in Honeymooning!) and I was determined to think outside the (Victoria’s Secret shipping) box.

Here are the tactics, tips, tricks, and techniques I tried, but to no avail:

FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT: Notice that is NOT a typo. The phrase doesn’t read, “Familiarity Breeds Content.” Therefore I decided if part of the problem was we eventually knew each other inside and out, I would be intentionally mysterious and hard to pin down. Here was how that looked . . .

HIM: So what’s your favorite color?

ME: Why do you ask?

HIM: I’d like to buy you something.

ME: I feel it’s too soon to release that information, so I’ll just say Rainbow. My favorite color is rainbow.

HIM: Yeah, my choices are yellow, red, or pink. Roses don’t come rainbow. Never mind that. What’s your favorite ice-cream flavor, I’ll pick some up.

ME: It’s not Rocky Road. It’s not Cookies N’ Cream. It’s not Salted Caramel, it’s not Mint Chip, it’s not ….

HIM: Oh my god, woman. What IS it then?

ME: If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.

ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER: I really thought I had it right with this one! I intentionally put physical distance between us as often as I could, encouraging him to go on lengthy business trips, scheduling back to back writer’s conferences, and going out with girlfriends instead of more frequent dates with him. Surely I would miss him, crave him, pine for him, and then our eventual reunion would be off the charts Electric! Uh…apparently there’s this whole other conflicting adage that goes like this – “Out of sight, out of mind!” And sadly, that’s the one that ruled my heart. I soon forgot what exactly attracted me to him in the first place, and if I was doing so fine and dandy alone, what was even the point of reconvening??

THIS WON’T HAPPEN TO US: This is the tact you take when you think that you and your new lover are different from the rest of the population and can beat the system if you approach it preventatively. Clear out your bookshelves, add more storage space on your cellphone, and make room on your calendar, because you will buy so many enrichment books, download so many relationship podcasts, and attend so many Couple’s Workshops that you could power the sunrise on a cloudy day with all your romantic insights. Except the sun WILL eventually set on the honeymoon stage for you two as well. And so you should now resort to . . .

DAZZLING, DARING, DOPAMINE: Supposedly this is the neurotransmitter that makes it all so incredible!  If you can maintain high levels of this compound in your brain, you’ve got it made in the shade. But don’t stay in the shade! Get out into the sunshine and go parasailing, sky-diving, windsurfing, skiing, river-rafting, and rollercoaster riding! But as you’ll soon find out, you should break up with your mate and start dating the owner of Groupon. Do you know how expensive all of this adventurous stuff is to do? Not to mention the cost of landing in the ER with a broken rib or a sprained ankle. There has to be a better way?

THE BETTER WAY: Many of my Couple Friends state this, “Stephanie, you’ll actually be grateful when the Honeymoon Stage wears off. Because that’s when the real deep and truly satisfying intimacy begins and you go to a whole new level that there’s just no way to articulate. Believe us when we say there’s nothing like the intuitive knowledge of finishing your partner’s sentences for them and then falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of their snores.” Essentially they are saying, “Forget dopamine. Serotonin is where it’s at!” These are the same people who become diabetic and can never eat sugar again but will try to convince you, “I never realized just how sweet broccoli tastes. It’s indescribable.” These are highly suspect individuals for sure!

Readers: If you’ve found a surefire way to keep the Honeymoon Stage everlasting, please put it in the comments section. Alternatively, if you know the reason why it’s totally unimportant to do so, please also chime in the comments section — I beg of you! For now, I’m sticking to the conclusion that when you’re with the absolute right person, it doesn’t take hard work, contrived behaviors, or gimmicks — it all just unfolds the way it’s supposed to. Stay tuned for an update on my fairytale hypothesis!

Science says THIS has an expiration date. Noooooooo!

Improvements I’m Making In the World of Romance & Love

Why should finding a job be the only thing we have Resumes for?

Why should restaurants, hotels, and spas/salons be the only thing we have Yelp reviews for?

Why should computers, cellphones, cars, or boardgames be the only stuff that comes with a User Guide or an Instruction Manual?

 

Introducing The Romance Resume (using myself as an example)

 

 Stephanie D. Lewis

1964 You’ve Met Your Match Rd. — Soulmateville, ME

icleanupnice@gmail.com

 

SUMMARY

A wide range of endeavors with previously committed, conflicted partners has enabled me to overlook most people’s personality flaws while still suggesting 11-mile beach walks. Romantic scenarios and awkward intimate situations handled with aplomb.

EXPERIENCE

HOT MESS IN SAN DIEGO (Marriage — 10 Years)

  • 15% Hot, 85% Mess
  • Performed wifely duties even when nobody was watching
  • Great vocabulary, frequently used the word “aplomb” with great aplomb
  • Laughed at his jokes as if hearing them for the very first time
  • Packed him interesting lunches with a high trade-in value at the office
  • Apologized easily using “I” messages to own up to mistakes: “I’m sorry I married a humorless engineer such as yourself!”
  • Hung up phone expediently during conversations, often when he was mid-sentence
  • Gracefully accepted hair growing into Farrah Fawcett style, (thus saving on salon visits!) even though trend ended four decades ago.
  • Spearheaded meetings with interpersonal discussions that started with, “If your mother and I were on a sinking boat that didn’t have enough life vests, who would you jump in and save first?

SLEEPLESS, SPOTLESS, SCENTLESS, SCHEDULE-LESS, SCALE-LESS,  IN SEATTLE (Marriage — 9 + Years)

  • High-functioning spouse even with severe insomnia, losing dog named Spot, zero perfume or candles, never writing down important appointments, or weighing herself
  • Exuberant in non-stop rainy weather
  • Skilled in TV remote delegation
  • No special preference for a side of the bed
  • Met all sexual deadlines
  • Exceeded all dust-mite quotas

DEFINITELY DESTINY FOR STEPHANIE (Girlfriend/Fiancé — 6 Years)

  • Intentionally left off the accent mark in correspondence when using the word ‘fiancé’ so it looked like I was an expert in finance instead of being engaged
  • Attended all necessary office socialization events with him, nodding appropriately to his co-workers and saying, “Yes, I can verify that!” each time he spoke
  • Instinctively changed name to Bethany (which rhymed with Stephanie) when reputation as Stephanie became tarnished, damaging those associated with her
  • Carved baked potatoes into subliminally seductive shapes, then wrapped them in tinfoil to set the evening mood
  • Painted red-flags pink

AWARDS/ACHIEVEMENTS/AFFLICTIONS

Knows all lyrics to The Winner Takes it All by Abba and lapses into them at opportune moments

Voted Most Likely to Look Okay From Far Away With Your Glasses Off in high school

Listens to friends’ troubles and problems, offering sound advice I would never think to follow myself

Went the entire year without eating so much of a sliver from the top layer of our frozen wedding cake which was meant to be thawed out and shared together on our first anniversary according to Bridal Magazine. Smashed entire thing into his face when he called it “a stupid and pointless tradition,” thus efficiently making up for not doing this cute little feeding ritual at our actual wedding reception.

Consistently phoned a happily married pair of friends every day for a month on their landline, sat silently until they each accused the other one of having an affair — then expediently provided them with the business card of our Couples’ Therapist so she wouldn’t have an empty appointment slot in the middle of her schedule after my boyfriend and I broke up and cancelled our ongoing sessions.

EDUCATION

Studied Ginger Grant’s walk on Gilligan’s Island

Mentored by Lucy Ricardo

Graduated Charm School w/ Post Alpha Bitta Cereal honors

 

Introducing The Love Yelp Review (Example written by 2nd husband)

***** 8/02/19

Stephanie D. Lewis was my first and last foray into Liouve. That is not a typo as she puts the “I Owe You” into Love. When I first met Stephanie, her customer service was wonderful, her product was unique, and she was a great value for the time and energy I spent on her. As years went by, the Stephanie D. Lewis no longer had a laid back atmosphere and she became a bit dry and underseasoned, although the humor she provided still had a real kick to it. Parking is limited around her exterior and if you stay overnight you can expect to be towed at your own expense. All in all, I would say you won’t Yelp too much during your relationship, but you should still expect lingering pain. Oh! Bring an umbrella as she hates the sun, and beware of the subtle yet shapely baked potatoes, which she serves with great aplomb.

Introducing a Personal Direction Sheet (written example by Hasbro)

The object of ‘Stephanie Perfection’ is to see which of the two partners stay sanest at the game’s conclusion. Play commences in one shared home as your opponent utters something extremely agitating, immediately followed by “Sorry!” and the slam of a door. Do not pass the kitchen, do not collect a home-cooked meal. Soon you’ll find yourself in a little room racing the timer to fit all the yellow shapes into a vibrating pop-up tray before it buzzes and rudely jolts you into an adrenaline rush. But tell me does she kiss like I used to kiss you? Does it feel the same when she calls your name? Somewhere deep inside, you must know I miss you. But what can I say, rules you must obey. So the winner takes it all. And the loser has to fall. The winner takes it all, the loser standing small. Besides her victory, that’s her destiny. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOlEsQxmKGc

 

 

 

 

 

Readers: Which one do you think could be a viable future tool for daters? A Romance Resume, a Love Yelp Review, or a Personal User’s Guide?

Do You Have a Personal Conspiracy Theory?

Forget the chef who spits in your food (if you send back your pasta) or that we’re all just characters in an advanced civilization’s video game. What other sinister things are happening that we haven’t even thought about? Here are some of my best educated guesses. . . .

NOBODY REALLY LIKES SUSHI

It’s all a ruse for restauranteurs to open swanky eating establishments without having to invest in ovens. And then it becomes a predictable real life “Emperor’s New Clothes” formula. In other words, everyone pretends to think sushi is a delicious uncooked delicacy because nobody wants to be the courageous (and honest!) one to raise their hand and loudly shout, “But this fish is completely raw!” Which is the equivalent of “But he’s totally naked!”

WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR . . . THE OPPOSITE OCCURS

This also applies to the bestselling book, “The Secret” which is based on “The Law of Attraction.” So whenever you put your fondest dreams out there into the world to be fulfilled, there’s some sort of mirror reversal going on and it gets turned into “The Law of Subtraction.” Essentially whatever you’re truly desiring will now become the most out of reach for you. That’s why I’m very sneaky nowadays and trick the universe by praying for the opposite — a failed writing career, large debt, an abusive man, and the inability to be unable to digest all the chocolate I’ll never have. But that last one I think I basically only fooled myself by using too many double negatives.

THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YAMS AND SWEET POTATOES

This is a major fraud being perpetrated on us by those benevolent looking produce guys in supermarkets. They meet yearly in secret to discuss it. “Let’s put identical root vegetables in separate bins right next to one another but stick adjectives like ‘Red Garnet’ or ‘Wild Purple Japanese’ on the signs in front of the words “Yam” and “Sweet Potato” AND then label them with differing prices. Won’t that be fun?”

LESS IS REALLY MORE

Huh?? Whichever manufacturer made up this sham of a quote simply wanted to save on material costs. Think about it — in what math class did you sit at your desk and watch the teacher write an equation on the blackboard professing that a minus sign (-) is actually greater than a plus sign (+) ?? Yet women have worn blouses with the shoulder area missing for five years now because “Less is More” = Fashionable. In reality it’s just quicker to sew and uses less fabric. Same thing with bagels. Remove the centers and charge the same because “Less is More” = Delicious. If you believe that, I’ve got a dozen glazed donut holes to sell you.

THE PEST CONTROL COMPANIES ARE THE REAL PESTS

Every time Terminex or Orkin knocks on my front door with their monthly specials to spray the perimeter of my home for the prevention of pestilence, I say, “Fortunately I have no need for your service, so No Thanks!” But as they leave my property they uncork a jar or a tube of some pregnant creepy crawlies and mutter under their breath, “That’s what you think, Ma’am.” It never fails — a week after these individuals leave my premises, I am inundated with ants, spiders, fleas, carpet beetles, or lice. They must pass my daughter riding her bike on the sidewalk and pat her on the head to accomplish that last one. But I believe if you decline their services, they just transfer these creatures from one home to the next with their clever “Catch and Release” program.

THERE IS JUST ONE SINGLE GUY ON MATCH.COM

He’s a prolific writer and spends all his time coming up with different adjectives to describe himself in intriguing ways so hundreds of thousands of women will answer all his profiles. When he finally chooses his future wife, he can say, “Gosh Dollface, you’re one in a million!” and really mean it. If any other men try to register or create an account, he tells the competition, “This is mine! Go start your own dating site.” And that’s how Plenty of Fish, OK Cupid, eHarmony, Bumble, and Tinder came to be. So ladies, when you think, “Wow, I’ve finally met The One!” Remember … that’s all there ever was to choose from in the first place . . . Just. One.

LOVE IS A MANY SPLENDORED THING UNTIL . . .

After reading all the books that help you conduct your lifelong search for Mr. or Mrs. Right, you finally find someone who is exactly on the same page as you. Both of you finish each other’s sentences, communicate with secret funny hand signals from across the room at parties, text each other at the exact same time, and your inhales and exhales even sync up while you sleep together. This is it. This is the Soulmate status you’ve been hearing so much about. Not only do you walk down the aisle to tie the knot, you even loop it into a fancy little bow. And then you spot it. How could you miss it? It’s on the front page of Yahoo news and it’s getting posted on everyone’s Facebook as well. “Take this Quiz to see if You are Real Soulmates or just Codependents!” Marriage therapists immediately get forwarded your tallied results because they have hefty student loans to repay. Face it — you’re not really starry-eyed romantics, you’re actually Cross-Eyed Crazies — and you’re going to pay every last penny to a Couple’s Counselor who will say things like “You can’t possibly love anyone else until you love yourself.” So either file for divorce or send a big bouquet of red roses to your place of work and sign the card adoringly.

THERE ARE NOT FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY

Forget walking into Sherwin Williams paint store and buying “Silver Satin” or “Steel Wool” or “Charcoal” or “Pewter” or “Cloudy Morning” or “Whispering Thunder” or “Elephant’s Breath.” You (and your wallet) are being taken for a ride on a runaway gray train. Or is that grey?  Aghghghghw, don’t get me started on the difference between spelling it with an “a” or an “e.” Just read your sadomasochistic novel by the same title and hush up, because there is only one single shade of gray and it consists of black and white mixed together. That. Is. It. Take a hike “Seagull Buff!”

THERE MAY BE LIGHTS AND CAMERA, BUT THERE WILL BE NO ACTION

And that’s because the manufacturers of video cameras are plotting so that each and every time we pay good money to convert our precious family home movies to the latest and greatest playback system, from super 8 reel to reel film to VHS cassettes to Betamax, to the Sony Camcorder to DVD to Blu-Rey discs to MP3’s to cellphone videos, the technology will improve some more and your childhood memories will become obsolete once again — until you transfer them all over to whatever format is invented next. By the time you get to heaven, you can forget having your entire life flash before your eyes, because God won’t have the most recent digital device to play back your highlight reel on. Expect huge delays at the Pearly Gates.

THERE WAS ACTUALLY A THIRD TWIN!

Okay, I guess technically that means triplets. This last conspiracy theory only applies to Yours Truly. I believe back when I gave birth to my twins (and was totally out of it because of drugs and the epidural) some well-meaning but sly nurse whispered to the delivery doctor, “Oh look! There are actually three babies. It’s obvious this woman can’t handle that, so let’s start her with two and I’ll raise the third as my own. If she proves herself a fit mother and doesn’t go around calling herself “Little Miss Menopause,” espousing nonsense on her blog, I’ll break the news to her after he’s 21 and the hardest part is over. That would also explain my excess pregnancy weight gain and the fact that “Three’s Company” was always my favorite TV show.

And there you have it. Ten conspiracy theories you probably never thought of. Oh! And don’t worry about chefs spitting in your food if you complain … the server actually does that. Note: If you don’t get to read this blog it’s because WordPress has an evil system that prevents my stuff from getting delivered to you.

Readers: Do you have a favorite conspiracy theory that’s “out there” or that you just made up? 

It May Be YOUR Pillow, but It’s MY Insomnia!

Dear Mike Lindell,

So you invented “My Pillow” and your worth is now over 300 million dollars (and counting!) and none of us can turn on our televisions without being taunted by (you actually issue a money-back guarantee!) getting a wonderful night’s sleep. You and your perfectly precious palpable pillowable promises. I hate you.

But let’s start with the profound way you supposedly thought up “My Pillow.” You’ve made documentaries on this very subject and it states on Wikipedia — In 2004, you had a dream that came from God, a dream about a miracle pillow which would bring millions of insomniac and sleep apnea sufferers comfort. (In truth your boring infomercial is the only real remedy you offer for insomnia!) But nevertheless, am I getting this right? You had a dream you invented an extraordinary pillow? Well Mr. Lindell, in order to have any dream… first you have to finally fall asleep. You big show-off!

In the dream you saw the product name clearly written as “My Pillow.” Genius. Utterly brilliant. And God told you to call it that? Perhaps, my Pillow Prince, perhaps. Or isn’t it just possible that the night before some stranger simply uttered your own name (“Mike Lindell”) super fast and slightly mispronounced? Try it. It sounds very similar to “My Pillow” now, doesn’t it? (Especially on cocaine.) Isn’t it plausible then that your product’s true name is really just a slight variation of a fast-talking telemarketer phoning you up to sell a life insurance policy (which you might still need after the pillow-fight I intend to have with you — just sayin’) and you decided to incorporate his social faux pau into a creative dream because that makes for a more interesting autobiography?

And before you became “The Prince of Pillows” you claim to have been “The Insomnia King.” Let me tell you something Mike, (after hours spent researching your hard night’s sleep teen turmoils) “flipping the pillow over a few times looking for the cooler side” hardly qualifies you. Talk to me when you’ve tossed so much, your name could replace Caesar’s on a salad menu.

And your little pillow project wasn’t enough for you, was it? You went for sheets, duvets, mattresses, bedspreads, and then pet beds. Dog and cat sleeping quarters? That’s really random, isn’t it? What’s next — parakeet pouffes stuffed with their own feathers?

But I’m a reasonable woman, Mr. Lindell you sexy entrepreneur you. And I have an idea. It literally just came to me from God during a nightmare. Let’s go over the facts first. You’re the divorced Pillow Prince and I’m the divorced Princess and the Pea (remember how elusive a good night’s sleep was for her from your bedtime stories? Stay with me on this… cuz I need you Michael, I really do.) Plus you have four kids, and I have six — together we can merge our families, have built-in employees, and start a new company called “My Pill-Oh!” (Organic over-the-counter sleep medication that puts even melatonin to shame!) I’ll finally stop counting sheep and start counting $$.

I may not be a former crack-head dreamer like you, (let’s just say my head is stuffed with the same 100% polyurethane foam you use in your pillows, so it holds its shape remarkably well) but I believe we could put something together here that might just rock both our worlds….to sleep.

Are you “down” for that?  We could even work “undercovers.” It’s a “comforter” thought, isn’t it? When you’re ready to take “mattress” into your own hands, call me and let’s “slip” into bed together for some playful, passionate, productive, placid “Pillow” talk. I’ll “rest” a whole lot easier when I know I can trust my pillow isn’t just “lying” behind my back! Please believe me when I say this letter isn’t full of “sheet,” Mike … but it’s definitely a “blanket” statement.

Stephanie AKA Little Miss Menopause

PS. All is forgiven. Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite. Zzzzzzzz