Lessons I Learned From Playing the Board Game “CLUE!”

photo 2 (1)I spent many a childhood evening around the kitchen table eschewing Monopoly because my brother stole from the bank and pretended to flatten my Hat token with his Iron one.  That’s when Clue became my game of choice. And oh — the pertinent things it taught me!

SCARLET – – I learned that Miss Scarlet is either a southern Belle with a petulant personality (and an 18 inch waist!) who makes sure that men frankly DO give a damn or she’s a smoldering femme fatale character with a long cigarette holder who would be pronounced guilty if “looks could kill.” I realized that by choosing Miss Scarlet, I would ALWAYS be entitled to go first in the game. After all, it was written in the rules, which I would eagerly drag out to prove to anyone who mistakenly thought the highest roll on the dice determined order. But I would have picked Miss Scarlet anyhow, even if she was destined to go last (although I’m quite sure all men wanted to be behind her!) because aside from Veronica (in the Archies) I had very few raven-haired role models. From my eleven year-old perspective, she was both smart and sexy plus from her starting position, she could quickly sneak into “The Lounge” where everyone knew was the prime place to knock someone off.  Yes, I got into many a rowdy tussle with my female cousins who claimed Miss Scarlet before we even removed the lid to the box. Disclaimer: I never used a lead pipe on any of them. photo-436

WEAPONS — Having grown up with a father whose idea of fixing the plumbing was letting his fingers do the walking in the Yellow Pages, I learned from Clue that a Wrench was a murder weapon, not a tool. The first time my handy boyfriend came over, noticed my leaky sink and pulled a wrench from his car — I was already dialing 911 to report domestic abuse.

PALACE — I learned that when I grew up, I wanted an opulent house (like the Clue board) with its own  Billiard Room, Library and Conservatory. And since when is a “Hall” a special room in and of itself? In our home, a narrow hallway led to a dingy bathroom – sadly the hall was the only way we got from the kitchen to the washer/drier. There were no “secret passageways.” Deprivation.

COERCION — I learned that you can pressure your opponents into giving you information you need by moving your token into the Kitchen (when you already hold a card for the kitchen) and then asking to see either Mr. Green (when you already hold a card for him as well) and the Knife. Nowadays, I walk into our kitchen and upon seeing a knife (with some crumbs) I’m able to force a character named Mr. Son (who wears a green shirt) to admit guilt in eating the last piece of cheesecake.

ENTERTAINMENT — I learned that when you run out of things to write about, you can use board games to create a blog that breaks you into The Huffington Post like I did here. Or you can just create a movie like they did in 1985 when they turned Clue into a feature length film starring Leslie Ann Warren as my favorite, Miss Scarlet.  However, this was no “Whodunnit” plot but instead it was a “Howdunnit?”  How DID they keep her from falling out of that dress??photo 1 (3)

WINNING — I learned that whenever I beat my family at Clue, my “prize” was getting to put the game away.  Interestingly, when I lost — my penalty was also . . . yep, you guessed it!  Let’s just say I wasn’t the sharpest weapon in the arsenal.

FLIRTING — When I played Clue with a boy I had a crush on, I learned to wear a red dress, flutter my Miss Scarlet eyelashes at his Colonel Mustard’s hot-dog, and try to land in the Ballroom a lot to see if he would ever get the hint and ask me to a school dance. I then learned this never worked. Nowadays, I just beat the pants off men I like in Scrabble, while spelling out their favorite seven letter word, “Bedroom.”

Thank you Parker Brothers for all the valuable life lessons!

 

Taking Your Blog to Hollywood!

photo 1-5Want to have huge crowds eating popcorn and Whoppers as they’re enthralled by YOUR original words? Want a chance at an Oscar?  People talking about you at the water cooler?  Well, forget making your blog into a book.  Think BIG.  The film industry is running out of ideas (that’s why we’re seeing the Bible recycled as “Exodus: Gods & Kings”)  Just follow these easy tips to turn your blog into a movie. Or if you’re slightly more of a homebody, into a television series!

Making Your Blog into the Next Big BLOGBUSTER!

1.  ACTORS:  The most important thing is deciding who should play YOU.  Go hobnobbing (what does that word even mean?  And can you go hobbing without the nobbing part?)  in exclusive circles to generate buzz about your casting.  Say this:  “Cameron Diaz is begging to be ME, but I don’t know….it’s such a meaty role.  I think I’m more the Kathy Bates type.”

2.  LOCATION:  If you own a house or real estate, you know that Location is everything.  Well same idea with turning your blog into a feature length film.  Shooting on location will get you a big tax write-off so you may as well combine it with your next vacation.  Go rewrite your latest post taking place in the Bahamas.  I’ll wait.

3.  PRODUCERS & DIRECTORS:  Who will produce and direct your blog?  Aha…Look no further!  Did you make your children?  Did you make dinner last night?  Or at least a peanut butter sandwich?  Ever grow a tomato or a radish in a garden?  That’s produce!  Starting now, YOU are your own Production Company.  Do not let Steven Spielberg tell you otherwise. And as far as a Director? Well, who instructs people how to make beds, wear socks that match, brush teeth and who tells your husband which way to turn when you’re lost and late for a party because he won’t stop and ask someone?  That’s Giving Directions, baby!  You ARE both the Director and the Producer.  Now start acting important today. Hobnob with a limo driver.

4.  WRITER:  Yes!  You are already a superb writer.  You wouldn’t have a Blog if you weren’t.  However, writing your blog for the big screen is slightly different… but never fear — this paragraph will get you there!  Always open your posts with “Fade in:” And remember to end with “Fade to black.”  (Note: There’s lots of fading and dissolving going on in the movies so you might want to wash the clothes you’ll wear while filming in color-fast laundry detergent.) And always write a big conflict into your blog. Films thrive on friction and conflict.  If things are always cheeful and light and fluffy, what fun is that?  You may as well just name your blog script, “Happily Ever After.”  Think there will ever be a movie with that title?  Think again!  Fighting, Arguing, Yelling, Bad Occurrences, An Evil Omen, Dark Clouds, Nobody Ever Agreeing, Objects Shattering, People Suffering Nervous Breakdowns.  This is the stuff that Academy Award winners are made from.  Write it all in!  And that’s why you should film on location in a place called “Stephanie’s Home.”  You won’t need any special effects.  It’s all right here in San Diego.

5.  STUDIO:  You might think having a nice Blog Theme Appearance will qualify as a good studio set.  Maybe you picked your colors and laid out the entire website yourself, so naturally you think you’ll excel at Scenic Design as well.  But your actors will quickly become bored reading their lines, standing under your Header and your Tagline over long days of filming. And the WordPress logo and your stats page as a realistic backdrop?  Yawn. Nope. Trust me – – here is where you should never economize.  Spend about six weeks of your grocery budget on a good Set Designer.  You may be hungry but it will pay off – and with the profit margin, you can order in Chinese when the filming wraps.  (Clever tip. Don’t wrap the film in holiday paper because then it won’t open until next X-mas.)

6.  PROPS:  Get lotsa stuff.  Now’s your justification for shopping garage sales.  Do a quick scan of all your posts. Are they mostly about you and your family?  Then give the audience a glimpse of your home life looking thru a window. The actors can hold lots of spray bottles of Windex and rolls of paper towels. Do you write more about your profession?  Get props that are symbolic. i.e. Are you a waitress? Put a wineglass on a tray. But is it half full or half empty? (dramatic pause here!) Are you a fashion blogger? An untwisted clothes hanger will easily be your best prop. (Cue suspense music!) Did someone lock themselves out of their car?  Or are they simply using it to roast marshmallows?  See how props work?!  Do you blog about food? Well, sorry. They’ve already made “Chef” this past year.  And “Fried Green Tomatoes,” as well as “Eat, Pray, Love” have all been done before. So you’re kinda outa luck.  Eat food.  Don’t write about it.

7.  PROMOTION:  You’ll need to report your highest grossing weekend numbers. (Note:  You cannot count how many times you’re forced to shower in a day due to hot flashes, no matter how gross that really is)   But first go to a postal supply store and get lots of large cardboard marked, “This End Up” or “Fragile. Handle With Care.”  Get strong packing tape and assemble it into what you see below left. Set a bunch of these in front of professional places of work. Where attorneys, accountants, doctors, dentists, architects, and of course chiropractors hang out.  You’ve just created a Box Office!   Don’t try placing them in your own house even if you have a spare room you occasionally work from home in.  HBO (Home Box Office) will sue your ass.photo 2-3

photo 1 (2)photo 2-2

That’s it!  The next time you are in a theater and think to yourself, “I can make a better movie than this one, using my own blog.”  You’ll be right!  See you in Hollywood….

‘Tis The Season (Without Rhyme or Reason!)

photo-55T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE MENOPAUSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Stephanie

 

 

Hanukkabulary (New words to use this Hanukkah)

photo-54 *Spellukah — n. A democratic way to settle any dispute over how you should write the word Chanukah. “You spell Hanukah, I spell Chanuka, let’s call the whole thing off!”

GeltnGuiltnGlutton – n. One who buys a big supply of those little mesh bags of chocolate gold coins weeks ahead of time in preparation for Chanukah parties and adorning presents, only to stealthily gobble them all up – – which results in more shopping trips to replenish original stash. (Similar phenomenon as occurs with Halloween candy.)

PresentStation – n. Designated area of the house (cleared away of all furniture by grunting, complaining males) for displaying ever-accumulating wrapped gifts for all eight nights. Most effective space includes motion detectors and iPhone surveillance system. Oy!

DecembeRemember — v. A way to remind children who envy their non-Jewish friend’s Christmas celebrations to appreciate their own. i.e. “Every year I need to DecembeRemember my twin sons that we get eight nights (all in a row!) of fun, while little Johnny down the block only has one measly morning. Sure!!

Nebbishwebish – adj. A description of an online invitation to a Chanukah party used primarily to save postage. Who cares? It’s not like Barbra Streisand or Adam Sandler emailed it to you. If they had, we’d call that, “NebbishCelebish.”

ShooJewzoo – v. The act of insisting that guests (upon their initial arrival) stop loitering in the kitchen, schmoozing, and attacking food like a bunch of untamed animals with ferocious appetites. (The formal living room (which is never allowed to be used) has been beautifully prearranged for this purpose, for heaven’s sake!)

L.A.S.E.R. – Acronym. Stands for: “Latke Applesauce Sourcream Eating Recruiter” One who makes it their business to convert a purist (single topping) latke consumer over to the other side — combining both fruit and dairy into one neat bite.

Ignoramenorah – adj. A way to describe children who rush through the beautiful tradition of candlelighting so they can rip into their presents (and the adults who allow this). The flame of materialism!

Brisketfixedit – v. The cocky action of giving unsolicited advice to the young hostess of a Chanukah party (usually by a wise grandmother type) that results in a moister main course. Often involves adding warm water (a “secret” ingredient?) to the pan drippings for extra gravy.

MessiahJeremiah – prop n. Someone (usually named Jeremiah, but can be a Joseph or even a Zack) who has religious sightings in the fun waxy build-up on the menorah base. There’s one in every bunch. Note: shapes resembling Jesus will be met with raised brows.

Fryerliargoodbyers – pl. n. Those who fabricate reasons why they cannot help cook the latkes in a deep pan of oil, (spattering hot grease all over their blouse) then abruptly depart the kitchen.

Fryercomplier – n. That lone individual who remains near the stovetop after all other fryerliargoodbyers have exited because he/she couldn’t think fast enough.

Jiltguilt – n. Feeling of obligation to come back inside kitchen to help the overwhelmed ‘Fryercomplier,’ who was previously abandoned. This results in a “Mitzvah-Shvitza-Splitza.” (see below)

Mitzvah-Shvitza-Splitza – n. The unspoken agreement between the two people who end up frying all the latkes together. Their reward for perspiring over the burning stove? Getting to share as much potato pancakes as they want, (fresh from the pan while they’re still hot!) before carrying out the cold platter for the other lazy bums. Also known as “WarmaKarma.”

WinchellsmellJell – adj. Description of that telltale scent which is evidence that the hostess purchased her Sufganiyot (traditional jelly donuts) at an outside chain establishment, rather than deep-frying them up homemade. Can you really blame her? Enough of the oil already! We get the miracle…. it burned for 8 long days.

*(Spellukah!) Just for fun – Here’s how many online searches there were in 2014 for the different variations of the word.  Oy!  Jews can never agree.  Happy Holidays!

Hanukkah : 8,470,000 
Chanukah : 3,390,000 
Hanukah : 862,000 .
Hannukah : 677,000 
Chanuka : 335,000 
Chanukkah : 274,000 
Hanuka : 192,000 
Channukah : 128,000 
Chanukka : 116,000 
Hanukka : 86,300 
Hannuka : 51,400 
Hannukkah : 37,300 
Channuka : 33,600 
Xanuka : 992 
Hannukka : 686   
Channukkah : 508 Channukka : 489 
Chanuqa : 25

 

Please visit me at In The Powder Room, a funny brilliant website where I have had a 3-part humor series going on.

Your Holiday Buffet. . . Will it Include Warren Buffett?

pumpkin pieWhat is it about standing in line for food that brings out the DMV in people?  This holiday season, whether you’re (smart and) eating out at a restaurant, serving the hearty meal in your own home, or partaking in the holiday at someone else’s house, chances are the scene will not resemble a Norman Rockwell painting. People will be getting up from the main table to obtain food from what we call a “Buffet.”

We do know this is pronounced Buffay, correct?  It’s not spoken like a line from a famous nursery rhyme.  “Little Miss Muffet sat on a Tuffet to eat at a Buffet!”  Right?

Now that we’ve cleared up the French influence on our language, you’re in luck!  Little Miss Menopause has some tips and rules to offer about Buffets, along with giving her thanks for your readership!

But first a little lesson on the types of individuals you are likely to encounter at a Buffet:

A Buffeter Surveyer – – These are people who have read “helpful” articles with tips about losing weight during Thanksgiving and have come to view the offerings in their entirety prior to making their careful selections. They have been promised that if they have a calm, relaxed demeanor and a predetermined game plan approaching the Buffet, they will not gain five pounds. Most of these people will methodically walk the length of the buffet before diving in head first.  It’s best to back up and give them a running start.  Note:  If you’ve read the same articles, it’s far too late to remind them that using a salad size plate instead of entree size can fool the eye and trick the stomach.

A Buffeter Overstayer – – They think of the buffet as their home base. They will continuously loiter, integrating all kinds of tasks into the buffet. Talking, eating, wiping, consulting, organizing, refilling, and generally becoming a permanent fixture at a buffet. They are not compatible with the next type…

A Buffeter Get-out-of-my-Wayer! – – He means business.  Napkin tucked, first in line, and making appreciative sounds that make you wonder if a nearby barnyard has taken attendance recently.

A Buffeter Prayer Sayer – – A religious woman who’s extremely graceful.  Literally.  She makes sure Grace has been said in all languages, in all cultures, as she prays for starving people everywhere. Very thoughtful too – – if there are leftovers she will pack a doggy-bag for God.

A Buffeter Cabareter – – Usually a former preschool teacher who know lots of holiday songs and won’t hesitate to coerce people in line to join in with “Ten Little Indians” or “Pumpkin Pie in the Sky!” And you better at least lip synch when she divides you up into sections for her round of  “Gobble, Bobble, Wobble” or she’ll belt it all out on her own.

A Buffeter Delayer – – You know they want food, they know they want food, but they will stay seated until the last person gets up, not wanting to appear overeager.  Then they will talk until next year about how you didn’t prepare enough grub.

A Buffeter Weigher – – Such a killjoy.  They recite calorie counts for everything and whip out their little kitchen scales to do an official cranberry calibration.

A Buffeter Layerer – – This person is obsessed with rearranging the sumptuous spread and digging through layers of turkey or yams looking for who knows what.  Tongs are their favorite tool of choice but they can function just as well with a spatula too.

A Buffeter Sprayer – – It would be less offensive if this person was merely having an allergy attack. But that’s usually not the case. Need I say more? I needn’t.

A Buffeter Okayer – -You’ll not meet a more pleasant, jovial person in the line tomorrow. The answers to the following questions will always be “Okay!” 1. Can I go in front of you?  2. How’ve you been since last Thanksgiving?  3. Do you think I should goose cousin Cindy as she takes some goose? 

A Buffeter Trayer – – They frequent cruise ships and Las Vegas so they are professionals and bring their own tray.  It looks suspiciously like the one at Soup Plantation.  But it helps them with efficiency because balancing full plates is really not their thing.

A Buffeter Bouqueter – – These are gardening people and if the hostess has thoughtfully decorated with floral centerpieces, that’s all they will talk about.  You’d think they would prefer Roasted pale pink Roses or Fried Fuschia Freesia to light or dark turkey parts.

A Buffeter Betrayer – – Intimately acquainted with the hostess, they won’t hesitate to tell all they know. “That salad she claims is organic?  Nope.  And it’s a Costco pumpkin pie this year.  Skip the sweet potatoes, she doesn’t wash the skins.” Etc.

A Buffeter Clichér  – – Like the turkey, this guy’s vocabulary is stuffed full of stupid puns and double entendres. While staring at the carved bird, he’s bound to remark, “Looks scary….it’s a Goblin!” Or “I’m suddenly in a Fowl mood!”  Tell him you gave up laughing at stupid jokes ‘Cold Turkey’ and move along. 

A Buffeter Halfwayer – – They nearly get to the end of the food display when they realize they forgot to grab a ladle full of salad dressing some twelve platters ago. Now they’re gonna stand frozen and flummoxed in line, wondering how they can politely go backwards.  Say this: “Grandma, want me to get you some Ranch?” Problem solved.

A Buffeter FoulPlayer – – If it’s accidental, it can be forgiven – –  but younger buffet-goers will drop a cherry tomato into the gravy to see if it floats or sinks.  That’s just the beginning of the havoc they can wreak and I hesitate to offer more examples lest I give them other ideas.

A Buffeter OyVeyer – – Being Jewish, I’ve met more than my share. Starts with, “Oy Vey, my doctor says my triglycerides are sky high lately.”  Ask them what a triglyceride is and they’ll just sigh deeply and say, “Oy Vey, I really shouldn’t be eating that.” or worse, “Oy Vey, should YOU really be eating that??”

A Buffeter Essayer – – Someone who goes around observing and interviewing people in line at buffets in the hopes of writing a funny blog post because she has nothing better to put out on Thanksgiving. The nerve.

A Jimmy Buffetter Buffeter — Related to the Buffeter Cabareter (above) but you’ll truly be impressed with how much of the “Wasting Away in Margaritaville” lyrics they actually know. “Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt. Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own damn fault. . . ” is only the beginning!

That blonde in the lower left is about to get her fingers slammed in the chafing dish lid. Not just chaffed, SLAMMED!

That blonde in the lower left is about to get her fingers slammed in the chafing dish lid. Not just chaffed, SLAMMED!

And now for some quick rules.  Just a few though, because everyone knows the rule is “there’s no rules on Thanksgiving!”

Don’t Go Astray And Disobey the Array of the Display at the Buffet!   (The 10 Commandments)

1.  Thou Shalt Not Cut The Line – – I know, I know….you just want seconds on the lamb.  But isn’t that a different holiday food anyhow?

2.  Thou Shalt Not Switch Direction: Buffets go in one direction only. Don’t start making your way through the line from the opposite direction. A big hint — you will find yourself carrying food in your hands because the plates are on the other side.

3. Thou Shalt Watch Thy Children: Always escort young children, say 10 or younger, to the buffet. And give them second helpings of the creamed acorn squash in the hopes that one of the ingredients is Valium or Xanax.

4. Thou Shalt Keep Thy Fingers to Thyself: Kids aren’t the only offenders here. Adults are just as likely to get excited and grab something quickly because nobody is looking.  I see you.  I always see you.

5. Thou Shalt Not Move Tongs: Never, ever move the tongs from one platter or hot food station to another. What if the person behind you has allergies to shrimp and you’ve just moved the tongs from a shrimp dish to a turkey dish? What if that person is kosher or vegetarian?  Ever think of that you “Tong Trader” you?  Need a gentle reminder?  Hum the “It’s just Wrong to move a Tong” song.  Don’t know that one?  Make friends with the preschool teacher who sings in buffet lines mentioned above.

6. Thou Shalt Not Eat in Line:  It’s amazing how many people you run into who are suddenly extremely diabetic or hypoglycemic and must have their food right NOW at a buffet.

7. Thou Shalt Not Take More Than Thou Can Eat: Buffet dining, by its very nature, is gluttonous, but that doesn’t mean you have to be! “If you’re a glutton with the mutton, you’ll need to move your shirt button! La, la, la, la!”  Okay, so I dine with a certain preschool teacher quite often!  Similarly, don’t take the last baked potato because it’s rude to leave the people behind you with an empty serving tray.  If you do, stealthily stick up a little sign that says, “Kilroy was here” so they can at least laugh at their ill-fortune.

8. Thou Shalt Use a New Plate Each Time: If you go back for seconds, leave your original plate at the table and get a fresh one each time.  Why this is, I’ll never know . . .  but I get admonished for it all the time.  (Perhaps a hygiene specialist can elaborate on how this could cause cross-contamination in the comment section?)

9. Thou Shalt Wash Thy Hands: Sticking with the cleanliness theme, always wash your hands before getting in the buffet line. You might not be touching the food directly, but you will be handling the serving utensils.  And I actually GET this one, so no explaining in the comments section will be necessary,  you Germaphobes.)

10. Thou Shalt Not Make a Doggie Bag: Don’t even think to ask.  There are no doggie bags at buffets, NO exceptions. A napkin squirreled quickly away inside your purse will always suffice. Men without handbags are outa luck and will need to be super nice to their wives for leftovers back home.

It was not beyond me to do this at a Buffet. Yes, food was served inside wagons, dump-trucks, watering cans, pails and eaten with shovels. Rest easy, it was for a kid's party!

It was not beyond me to do this at a Buffet. Yes, food was served inside wagons, dump-trucks, watering cans, pails and eaten with shovels. Rest easy, it was for a kid’s party!

Is Profanity Legal in Scrabble?

couchEvery writer plays Scrabble at least once in their life, right?  Form a seven letter word, score 50 pts, use your Q without a U, challenge your opponents version of “EUOUAE” (a consonant-less word that’s legal? Yep!) clink teacups, and call it a fun night, right?

That’s all well and good when it’s a friendly game around your kitchen table with family.  But playing with a competitive stranger online from God know’s where, who also cheats? Well that’s quite another story!

It all started when my children coaxed me to download the App, “Words With Friends” on my cellphone.  What a neighborly sounding game it was! A few clicks and voilà! (I always wanted to work “voilà” into a post!) suddenly it was just as I remembered from my own childhood– except you could take all day to make one word and nobody minded.

That was rather nice – – mulling over the letters whilst mopping the dining room floor or leisurely contemplating a compound word as you auto-shuffled the letters “sexycat” around, searching for something better during a gynecologist appointment.

And you could even send gracious messages back-and-forth like “awesome word!” or “you got me there!” No rush, no muss, just clean, polite, old-fashioned fun.

Until none of my children would play with me anymore. Or my ex-husband, my cousins, my neighbor, my babysitter, my accountant, my Rabbi, my boyfriend, and not even my Tupperware Lady.  Right, like she was just soooooo busy – – when’s the last time you were invited to a party that featured burping plastic containers?
image
Poor sports and sour grapes, every last one of them, just because I clobbered them all! One by one, I went through my Facebook victims, err contacts, systematically challenging familiar names to a friendly game until they all dropped off in defeat.

Then it happened. The invitation from “1OldTortoise” appeared–I took one look at his innocuous name and eagerly clicked “Accept.” Easy pray.

But who was he?

His first word utilized all his letters — “ratines.” A noun meaning “heavy, loosely woven fabric,” my eye! Looking back, that’s when I shoulda smelled a rat.

But I gave him the benefit of the doubt and made a few of my own 7-letter words. First “coupons” followed by “toenails” playing off his ‘S.’ Ha! Let him dispute that toenails wasn’t all one word. Then a message came across in that cute little thought bubble–“I was just clipping mine.”

Okay, ewww! And seriously? I needed to know an Aging Reptile’s grooming habits? I don’t think so. Also I was immediately reminded of the Aesop’s fable, “The Tortoise and the Hare” because the sudden alacrity in which he sent his words across was astonishing. He beat me three times in a row just that one morning.

Gone were the relaxing days allowing me to pause and brainstorm for an hour. If I hesitated to respond in twenty minutes, a message would appear with an impatient ding, prompting, “1OldTortoise is waiting. Make your move!”
image
Really? Well he can just pull his wrinkly head back inside that cracked shell of his and sit tight. What business did he have rushing me like that? It’s just a form of recreation, after all. Besides it’s humiliating getting beaten in a game of wits and skill by someone like this. He was quickly turning “Words With Friends” into “Language With Enemies!”

And worse yet, I had the distinct impression that he was using a dictionary. His words were just too obscure. Nobody has a vocabulary like that. And once I lost by 200 points because my 8-year old “borrowed” my cell phone for twenty minutes. Still, it was infuriating.

And if he wasn’t using a dictionary, then he had some other devious way of drawing all the best letters for his own rack while leaving me with nothing but “ffhzxns.” Whatever that was, I so yearned to pluralize it!

Then one day it happened. I actually beat him! But as I rejoiced, a thought bubble popped up all aglow. “Congratulations,” it proclaimed. “You managed to beat my young grandson who happened to be playing with my phone!”

Oh that was rich, really rich. What was this? He’s trying to diminish my joy. Make me feel foolish because I celebrated out-spelling a small child. One who probably called himself, “1Tinyturtle.”

The guy was so slippery, he may as well have been a snake. And persistent as all hell. Hell in a tortoise shell! The moment he won, like lightning, another invitation flashed across the screen–“Accept a new game with 1OldTortoise?”  I had no choice. If I clicked “decline,” I knew on his end it looked as if I resigned. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I played with a 102 degree fever, in the middle of movies, while studying for an exam, and even as I wept because our cockatiel died.

Finally I developed that “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” attitude. I downloaded another app called scrabblecheat.com. I am not proud of this behavior. But the tortoise was going down… I was determined.

Now I couldn’t sleep because of my obsession with winning. When I did manage to grab a little shut eye, I dreamt of glass enclosures at the zoo, housing 200 year-old (did they live that long?) terrapins. (Small edible turtles!) Or I would awaken shouting out, “QWERTY!”
image

The whole situation became truly absurd — he was cheating, I was cheating–it was as if there were two computers playing against each other. A tech war.

One night my mother came over for dinner and as we prepared the brisket and mashed potatoes together, I showed her the current “Words With Friends” game board in-progress on my cellphone.

“Ma,” I implored. “You were a high school English teacher, what intelligent word can you make with these letters?” She fished out her reading glasses and furrowed her brows. “Oh you’ve got a worthy opponent here,” she said. “But use your Y and make “gravy.”

Bingo! With her help, I felt confident I would finally make turtle wax outa him. And that’s when I heard it. The familiar ding, and then the thought bubble with a message inside.

“Gravy! Clever word you made. Now make some for your brisket. It’s always dry.”

As I peeked into the living room, I saw my mom typing into her own cellphone, beaming while nudging her glasses back up on her nose… Her old tortoise shell glasses.

“1TinyTurtle” was probably my own 8-year old little boy that she occasionally babysits. And my mom actually clips her coupons (not her toenails!) while playing me in “Word With Friends.” Good to know!

IMG_6372-3.JPG

This is my 100th post since Jan 1st 2014! I’d be thrilled if you’d leave me a comment to celebrate as well as introduce yourself–if you haven’t already?  And please visit me on The Huffington Post to laugh some more…. Click HERE

I Hate Annie and Her Stupid Song!

sunshineYeah, yeah, I guess it’s a given that “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow!”  And then there’s all those Beatles hits . . .  “Here Comes The Sun!” or  “Good Day Sunshine!”  or “I’ll Follow The Sun!” But quite honestly, I am just burnt out!  At this point, I don’t even like Sonny (from Sonny and Cher!)

Apologies to the rest of you who live in climates where you would give anything to sunbathe, but in Southern California, we have had non-stop temps in the 80’s and 90’s since May (when we had the Firestorm wild-fires).  And here it is almost Thanksgiving, so by rights I should be able to choose whether I’d like to roast a turkey in an oven, slow cook it in a crockpot, deep fry it in a pan, or just grill it on the BBQ.  But no!  I can simply barricade a live bird in my backyard, tell guests to bring their own stuffing . . . and Ding! By dinner time, it will be seared enough to gobble down. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but I daresay not by much!

Please don’t leave comments convincing me how great the sun and the heat is because that just confirms why we got a divorce (sorry, that was an aside to my ex-husband who I know lurks here and is a certified sun-worshipper)  The rest of my lovely sun-kissed readers, let me try to explain — I think I have the opposite of SAD (or a summer version of it) where people NEED exposure to sunlight.  I need exposure to clouds.  I equate sun with skin cancer and wrinkles (it also depletes my energy, drains my creativity, not to mention melts my makeup!) and so on Friday, I ran off to Seattle for some much needed “gloom” and rain. Everybody knows that’s the place to escape the sun, right? And since I’ve been here, do you think I have even once sat in front of a fire with a nice cup of cocoa belting out, “Singing In the Rain?”  or  “Gray Skies Are Gonna Clear Up?”  Absolutely not!  It’s been SUN, SUN, SUN  in Washington as well.

But I did develop a nice winter cold and between that and traveling back home, I’m not sure when I will be back to post. I miss all the wonderful blogs I normally visit and I promise to return soon when I’m feeling better and not so sun-damaged.  Meanwhile, please visit an interview that was done with me recently.  Interview With Little Miss Menopause  And on Thursday, I had the wonderful honor of visiting the gifted Vikki Claflin at Laugh-Lines when she invited me to guest post.  Please indulge in her hilarious brand of comedy after reading my short post about email right here:  Female Email.  Lastly, I was thrilled to be nominated for a “Best Comedy Blog Post” by The Public Blogger Awards.  Just click HERE and scroll down to the 6th clown! Winner announced 12:01 am on  New Year’s Eve.  Guess I won’t be kissing anyone for too long at midnight!

And again please forgive me for not “Walking on Sunshine” today, even though I admit it’s a catchy tune — but instead I’m off to write my version of that famous children’s book, “Goodnight Sun!”

You Rock!

photo-426Myself: 17%
Together: 25%
I gave guidelines:  11%
I gave direct hints: 13%
He surprised me: 34%

What are these statistics for? These are the results of a survey given by The BAA (Bridal Association of America) to recently married females.  The question:  “Who picked out your engagement ring?”

I am focusing on the bottom 34%.  This is NOT directed at couples who decide together to get engaged and then opt to go together to get the woman a ring.  Nope.  I am thinking about that hopeful guy who has gathered up all his courage after a thoughtful shopping trip and then goes the extra mile to propose marriage inside a fortune cookie or on a Jumbotron at a basketball game.

This is also the result of a conversation I overheard today (Warning:  Yes, I AM on the loose in public places, eavesdropping for ideas to write about!) in a Starbucks.  Shall we listen in?

Bride-To-Be:  Just look at this pathetic ring.

Friend:  I can’t. I left my magnifying glass at home.

Bride-To-Be:  OMG — How can I ever put this on Facebook?  Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to spend at least three months of his salary?

Friend:  Maybe he thought that was after taxes?

Bride-To-Be:  Can I say “yes” to his proposal of marriage, but ‘no’ to this ring?

I cannot ignore this poor Bride-To-Be  (and others like her) in her time of need.  But first a guide to preventing this in the first place.

photo-428

Who remembers this episode? “Only a real diamond will cut a glass window!”

HOW TO GET THE RING YOU DESERVE AND STILL BE SURPRISED

Drop hints with food:  1.  When you order fish in a restaurant, bypass the shrimp on the menu by looking coy (not Koi!)  and exclaiming, “I think size really does matter, don’t you?” (Expect this to carry over into the bedroom that night)  2.  Consistently munch on two or three whole carrots whenever you’re in his presence. 3.  Keep digging through boxes of Crackerjacks, remarking that you can’t wait for the ‘prize.’

The Letter C:  Tell him how important you think the 4 C’s are  (and not Caviar, Cars, Children, and Chutney!)

Marilyn:  Dye your hair platinum and sing verses like, “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental!  A kiss may be grand but it won’t pay the rental.”

Names:  Tell him your parents almost named you Tiffany. And that he looks like a Harry Winston.

Movies, Television & Music:  1.  Keep renting the James Bond film,  “Diamonds Are Forever.”  2.  Rewind the Cave of Wonders scene in Aladdin where Jafar calls him a “Diamond in the rough.” 3.  Cheer and applaud every time Charlie Brown mutters, “I got a rock.” 4.  Sing anything by Neil Diamond (except “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore” which will cause him to pull roses from a neighbor’s garden.

Symbolic:  Explain that you believe the size and quality of a diamond represents the depth and strength of your committment, not to mention that it will be interpreted as a measure of his success in other people’s eyes. Does he really think it’s a coincidence that “ring” rhymes with “bling?”

Fidelity:  The larger the diamond, the more visual a “Stay away” sign sent to other men.  And the larger a reminder for you not to flirt — Otherwise you might forget and he wouldn’t want that.

Aging:  Don’t hesitate to add that if it’s too small, you will be forever squinting to see it — and that will cause wrinkles.

Telephone:  Instead of telling him to call you later, ask him to “give you a ring.”

Cubic Zirconia:  Tell him how romantic it would be for him to propose with a “placeholder” ring. And then once you say “yes” you can go shop together for the real diamond ring.  Awwww.

Sports:  Take a sudden interest in baseball Diamonds and boxing Rings.

If None of This Works and He Proposes With a Ring You Don’t Like:

Get a pink satin jacket, bob your hair, and wear the ring on a chain around your neck, claiming you’re a product of the 1950’s.

Tell him you’re highly allergic and break out in a rash with any diamond under a full two carats.

Explain that the ring didn’t fit but when you took it in to be resized, the jeweler dropped it down into a floor heater grate.

First make sure he’s not an I Love Lucy fan.  Next, tell him the ring slipped off and fell into a bucket of mortar.  Now it’s somewhere inside a brick BBQ that you were building with your friend Ethel.

Tell him you are superstitious and if a woman permits another woman to try on her engagement ring, the other woman will steal the heart of her betrothed.  Whom did you let try on your ring?  Your mother.

You take your Beatles very seriously and while listening to “Lucy in the Sky w/ Diamonds, your ring flew away, attached to a kite.

Or just do him a huge favor and try the honest approach. Say this:  “I want a large diamond to compensate for the fact that I have a very small heart. If you can’t understand why this issue would be so important, maybe you should find a girl that doesn’t care about such things.”

He will get down on one bended knee to thank you.

photo-427

Lucy didn’t care about her the size of her ring – – she just wanted the original one back for sentimental reasons.

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

photo-413

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

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

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

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

“Hello! I’m Esther Jen!” her hostess’ badge proclaims. I later find that customers too, don these cute name tags, saving us from resorting to clever word-association tricks to recall our table mate’s names.  Like this one:  “Okay, she chatters like a Magpie bird, so remember her name is Maggie. Wait, maybe it’s Robin? Or Raven? How about Sapsucker?”

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

THOUGHTFUL TOUCHES INCLUDE:

• Napkins folded/creased like makeshift fans.

• Medicine droppers and syringes in place of silverware.

• Placemats have guided meditations printed on them.

• Plates perched on pillows for unexpected naps.

• Water glasses refilled constantly with Icy Stares from servers.

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

Esther places the menu before me with a conspicuous placard stating it will be left during the entire meal for use as a fan. I notice it also has a magnifying glass attached by a ribbon for reading.

SPECIAL OF THE DAY:

Wilted Insomnia on a bed of Lettuce (lettuce sleep please!) tossed (and turned) with Mean Goddess dressing.

Black Cohash Succatash Squash gently sautéed in Evening Primrose Oil.

Chicken Tender Breasts battered with Lose Your Temper Tempura

Hot (Flash) Sundae.

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

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

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

I-SCREAM FLAVORS: Rocky Road, Cookies & Cramps, Schitzopolitan
Whine List: Chabliss, Chagrin, Chabloat, Crabbyday SaveYourYawn, and a White Sinfandel or Merlobido that will make you Blush.

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

 

 

Meet Your New Slangologist!

photo-41Why does the X & Y generation get to have all the new, fun slanguage?  They get to say “Totes” and “Probs” and “Adorbs.” But how original is that? Because of their lazy tongues, they shorten or abbreviate a word and then it hits it big time and catches on with the masses.  I can do better than that.  Here, I present some new Words For US and OUR time.  We know who we are!  Please help “spread the word!”

Little Miss Menopause’s Shabang Slang for The Older Gang!

Bodyostasis – – n.  Those rare, fleeting moments when nothing hurts or feels out of whack.

Mattressable – – adj.  A term used for a woman who is easy to sleep with. Not that kind of sleep. Actual shut-eye.  “Cynthia didn’t throw the covers off and on according to her body temperature fluctuation, nor admonish him for breathing, blinking, snoring and she even let him cuddle with her once, therefore Steve deemed her highly Mattressable.”

Menopausability – – n.  You skipped your period! Could a 50 year old be pregnant?  It’s a distinct “menopauseability” since you occasionally still ovulate, but more than likely you’re just starting the change of life.  Relax!  You’ll soon be pushing a walker, not a stroller.

Menobump – – n. Related to above.  Friends will look at your midsection and wonder, “Is she or isn’t she?”  But woe to the man who actually ventures forward and says, “Congratulations!”

Babyboomerbitterbutterbetter — adj.  A feeling of betrayal during all those years you switched to margarine and thought you were eating healthier, only to find out it was actually harming you. Damn the partially hydrogenated process.

Eggoangst — n. Similar sensation to above.  When you hear that eggs have been given a bad rap for years, you mourn the missed omelette opportunities in your 20-30’s.

Cancermonopoly — n. The final conclusion that it doesn’t matter what you eat, there will always be an article saying it’s bad for you. People who fit in this category are fond of saying, “You only live once and I’d rather die young and happy.”

Afeeliate — v. The strong desire to affiliate with other women who feel the same symptoms of aging that you do.  Closely tied to illfeeliate  “Linda wants to illfeeliate herself with other women who feel like shit because misery loves company.”

Repeat-o-mind — n. A brain that fools you into thinking you can still do something just like you used to.  “Rebecca suffered a repeat-o-mind which caused her to go horseback riding with her young adult children.” Ps. Rebecca’s uterus will never forgive her.

Wondertainment — n. When a title of a movie sounds so familiar that you wonder if you’ve seen it before??  “45 minutes into the movie, Trudy realized Titanic was wondertainment.”  Not to be confused with . . .

Onertainment!— n.  An enviable state for people who want to simplify life.  The ability to own just one book, one DVD or CD because each time you hear, read, or watch it, it’s like the first time, brand new and enthralling!

Candleaccountability – – adj.  The crucial earlier moment in the kitchen, when the Cakewalker (one who walks the sheet cake into a crowd while leading off the “Happy Birthday” song) decided that each single candle can represent an entire decade.

This cake simply has no Acandleability!

This cake simply has no Acandleability!

Flipoverbreath — v.  When you insist your husband turn over and face away from you in bed because his exhalations are hotter than a dragon’s.  Calling him “Lava breath” will never earn you the title of “Mattressable” either.

Roomrecall — n.  That magical moment when you remember why you walked into the den in the first place.

Haditallalong — adj.   The realization you get after you ask someone if they’ve seen your glasses and you’re already wearing them or your cell phone which you’re currently talking on.

Namegameblameshame — n.  A syndrome during which you call your adult child by all their sibling’s names first, and even a few names you almost gave them when you were pregnant. Their actual name does come to mind however, by the time they humiliate you by saying, “Hi! I’m Mitchell, your firstborn.  Nice to meet you.”

Agexaggerate — v. Purposely telling someone you’re ten years older than you actually are so you can hear back, “Wow, you look great for 64!”

Doctorson — n.  A physician so young, you could be his mother.

DaughterDr — n.  Girl version of above.

Battersneaker – – n.  One who engages in the act of promising a child they can lick the bowl, but then pretends they forgot and accidentally washed it.

ItemOrigination — n.  Going into a grocery store and buying everything except what you came for in the first place.

Actnesia – – n.  The loss of a skill you were particularly proud of in which you could watch a movie and identify all co-stars by first and last name, cite who they are related to, and give at least two other examples of films your partner has seen them in before.  “Bill keeps very quiet on movie date nights since his recent bout with Actnesia.”

Glutendisputin — prop n.  One who maintains the entire gluten-free industry was thought up by a guy who hated that his mother put whole wheat sandwiches in his lunchbox when other kids got Wonder loaf bread.

Inventionintention n. — Knowing you thought of a clever new product first but were too lazy to do anything about it.  Claims can date back to electricity.

Holipressure — v.  The influence other neighbors can exert on someone who is too old or fatigued to put up X-mas lights or other exterior decorations.  Closely connected to a Reluctoweener — someone who really doesn’t want to dress up for a Halloween party so they just carry a trivial prop. i.e. “Dave asserted he was wearing a Plumber costume because he carried a toilet plunger.”  (In reality though, Dave just had a fear of clogging public toilets.)

Trendependafriend — prop. n. — someone you’ve known for years who makes it her business to ensure you stay up-to-date with the latest fads.  She’s the one who shamed you onto Instagram.  Or she will forward you this list!

Slangshorterm — v.  The tendency to forget all these new and clever slang words the moment you read the next post, thereby reducing the chance they will ever catch on to an older generation who desperately needs new terminology to describe that which there are simply no words for!

If you like this kind of murky, quirky, smirky humor, please check me out (most grateful if you would leave me a comment there!) on Huffington Post today!