Tag Archives: Humor

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?
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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!”
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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!”
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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!

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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

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.

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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.

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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!

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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! 

The Haunted House of Hormone Hell!

Enter at your own

Enter at your own risk!

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

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

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

“The Stressed Breed Who Breast-Feed”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Betcha Can’t Read Just One! (Mmm, Mmm Good!)

Brand Allegiance!

Brand Allegiance!

I think I missed my calling to be in the Marketing field because I’m always thinking up slogans and jingles.  I also feel sorry for Generic store brands because they don’t have any colorful packaging or catchy tag lines.  They’re like the Ugly Ducklings of the supermarket shelves. But I can help these underdog products shine by giving them an edge with a few well placed words.  For instance, Let’s take a plain “No Name” brownie mix. Just slap a label on the package that says . . .

“Now with extra Batter!”  Your batch will bake up thicker . . .  even though you’re a licker!”

Okay so maybe not so much that particular example, (you knew I meant the spoon, right?) but give me a break – – I’ve not had any formal training in this field.

Lemme try another.  How about for a Cab Company.

“Our Drivers Are Always Nearby. We Don’t Condone Taxi Evasion!”

Yep, pure gold.  I think I’m ready to branch out into the actual world now with a little job portfolio:

Little Miss Menopause’s Advertising Promos For Real Life Situations

 

DOG TAG

“If you’re reading this, it means I’m lost.

Maybe there’s a street I shouldn’t have crossed.

But the worst is over ‘cuz now I’ve been found. . .

And you’ve saved me from ending up in the Pound.

So pick up the phone and give my owner a holler

And tell them you read about it here on my collar!”

Would a jingle fit on here?

Would a jingle fit on here?

 

What is this, some G Rated job?  I think I can have some sexier promotional campaigns than that!

 

MALE’S TEE-SHIRT IN BAR

Hey ladies, look my way so I’ll flash you a wink,

I can do so much more than buy you a drink.

I can talk to you and complement and flatter,

But lemme take you home and prove size really does matter!guy tee shirt

GYNECOLOGIST’S SPECULUM

I ‘m cold & metal but actually quite gentle,

Any pain you feel is purely accidental.

If I touch you “down there,” don’t give me a slap,

Just checking that you haven’t been given the Clap.

You might say I’m important and quite ‘instrumental,’

Your doctor owns me outright, I’m not just a rental.

I’ll never be replaced with a cellphone or an App…

Rest assured, I’m the only way to get your Yearly Pap!

I could not bring myself to show an actual speculum.

I could not bring myself to show an actual speculum.

 

So much for sexy.  I think I better go tame again.

 

OUR COUNTRY’S NEW LEADER

I’ll take an oath the day that I become President,

Swear to protect and serve and never be negligent.

You won’t find me surrounded by trauma or drama

Like the guy in the White House now, Barack Obama.

So pick me when you vote in our upcoming election.

P.S.  I could also promise to outlaw Ebola infection!

 

And finally a little advertising buzz to honor the reason we’re all here.

 

 

A WORDPRESS BLOG

Do you have some feelings you wanna express?

Or a bunch of friends you wanna impress?

Pick a theme and make your personal gravatar

Reach for the brass ring, or just grab a star.

You pick your domain name – – we’ll be your Free Host

Say what you wanna say and that’ll be your first post.

But if you ever run dry, don’t write these kinds of silly advertising campaigns

Do that to your followers and watch how quickly he or she complains!

And instead of ever becoming Freshly Pressed . . .

We’ll make sure you get Especially Suppressed!

billboard

That’s right, don’t worry . . I’m not giving up my day job any time soon.

Little Miss Menopause:  Don’t leave home without her.  Please Leave Her At Home!

Would love for you to visit my latest humor on the Huffington Post Comedy Section today.

Breaking Up With Your Accountant Doesn’t Have to be so Taxing!

photo-32Good help is hard to find.  But that doesn’t mean we must stay monogamous.  Here are some of the entries from a journal I kept to inadequate individuals I paid good money to.

THE ACCOUNTANT:   I mean c’mon, once in a while I’d like to see how someone else crunches my numbers.  Wesley my CPA,  is the only one who has ever seen the inside of my tax shelter and in 2014 when I reported my earnings, he winked and promised,

“Next year we’ll definitely ‘income’ simultaneously!”

Mmmmmm.  Still it’s not like we’re married or even engaged.  And I wouldn’t be cheating on my taxes either.  Just him.

THE HOUSEKEEPER:  It was awkward coming clean with Winifred (Wynn for short) but she’d been sponging off me too long.  I planned to wipe away her mirror streaking mediocrity in one fell swoop.  When she stated, “I don’t do laundry.”  I would simply retort, “I don’t do Wynndows!”  I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.  Wanting a clean slate,  I gave her $100 “good-luck” money — as she departed, I noticed Wynn tossed our dog $20.  “It’s only fair I wish my partner (and his tongue) good-luck as well,” she said.  “Every night, he’d wash the dishes while I’d dry.”  Ugh.  I should have just left her a “Dear John” letter on top of the toilet.

THE GARDENER:  Even though I love it when he talks dirt to me, I began to plant the idea in his head that I would soon be asking for my garage door-opener back. I didn’t want to soil his reputation because I knew if there was any mud-slinging, I would be the one losing ground. So this morning as I was pining away, staring at my neighbor’s lush lawn, I casually remarked that it was mowed using the newest “cutting hedge technology.”  He took offense and reminded me that “the grass is always greener.”  I felt great re-leaf when he didn’t try to get at the root of our problem and instead simply withered away — out of my life (and yard) forever.  I will miss his anti-coil hose with the pistol nozzle.

THE DOG-GROOMER:   Trickier because I needed to convince her my two-year-old Shih-Tzu (Breed Name itself causes embarrassment because it sounds like sneezing and swearing in Japanese!)  needed a change of pace.

Me:  Please don’t be blue.  It’s not You.  It’s my Shih-Tzu.

Groomer: (french accent)  What makes your dog  say “Adieu!” Why did things go askew and now it’s me he wants to eschew?

Me:  First of all, Gesundheit and Bless you!  Maybe he just wants something new?  Or maybe there’s such a hullabaloo, your shop is like a zoo?  Or maybe he doesn’t like your view?  Or perhaps for a male, you make him look too Fru-Fru?

Groomer:  Yeah?  Well Screw You!  AND your little dog the Shih Tzu, too!

I think she was auditioning for the witch from Oz.

THE HANDYMAN:   Phil was difficult to give the Ax. Two months ago, I Hammered home the idea there would be no more Screwing around in my household. I made a gut-Wrenching plea never to see Phillip’s Head around these parts again.  Yesterday I opened my door to see him on a ladder changing the porch light bulb, proudly brandishing his Tool.  “What part of ‘Fired!” don’t you understand?” I shouted.  He proceeded to fix my oven.  Feeling compassionate, I asked if he’d consider building me a maple desk.  “Oh boy, I wood.  I wood!”  He appeared quite Level-headed, so off we went to the lumber store and I think we’ve Repaired our relationship, too.

THE CHIROPRACTOR:  I didn’t want him to give me an attitude adjustment so I decided to just bend over back-wards and play it straight. Besides I’ve been in pain and didn’t want to cut off my nose to spine spite my face.  But last night I slipped up at the disk-otheque  and accidentally danced with a new chiropractor who promised he’d always be at my back and call.

THE MANICURIST:  She used reverse psychology on me.  Said I nibbled on my cuticles too nervously and she’d had enough! What biting sarcasm!  Then she claimed my nails were such a mess, she’d rather file her tax return.  – –  maybe I should fix her up with my Accountant!  (See #1 above.)  After calling me “Dishpan Hands” I couldn’t take her insults any longer so I mentioned hating the perfume she wore.  “You’re soaking in it,” she said slyly.  You gotta Hand it to that Madge!

 

Football & Fashion? — Black-Tie Touchdowns ?!

photo 1-13

“

 

 

 

Sack the Quarterback!!”

             or

“Sax Fifth Avenue!!!

 

“It’s the Cotton Bowl!”

             or

“It’s 100% Cotton!”

 

Can a relationship exist where both parties feel equally passionate about football AND fashion? Would it bring them closer??   I’m dying to find out!  With my two ex-husbands, I was constantly left alone on the sidelines during sports season, not to mention wandering solo through shopping malls because they could care less what I wore.

But I’m determined to ‘weave’ together football and fashion ‘seamlessly’ with the great new man in my life.

“You’d be amazed how much the two subjects have in common,” I gushed enthusiastically to my guy last night, as his eyes riveted to the screen during Monday Night Football. I sat conspicuously nearby, turning the pages of a recent fashion spread in Vogue.

“Oh no! Look how she  FUMBLED  with her purse, searching for lipstick!” I shouted, pointing to a statuesque blonde on page 28. “Betcha never saw color-BLOCKING  like that before! I wonder how much  YARDAGE  of silk that took?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, yawned, then promptly focused his attention back to the set.

 One more time, giving it that old college try. . .

ME:  Well, whadya know! Vera Wang is finally gonna  TACKLE  the issue of  HIKING  up hemlines during the  KICKOFF  of her new fall line.

HIM:  Shhhh, Stephanie – – I can’t even hear the announcer.”

 A new tact was definitely required. . .

ME: (cozying next to him and purring) Well hello there! Did you ever stop to wonder if their team jerseys are made of 100% pure Jersey Knit? Or do they sneak a little Lycra in there?

Six men smashed their bodies together and I winced.

HIM: (mindlessly munching Doritos)  Uh huh.

ME:  What daring trendsetters those brutes are – – bringing back the 80’s shoulder pads like that! I think the chinstrap could be a bit much though. A simple helmet would streamline their look, while still accessorizing those head concussions perfectly. And whoever does their make-up! Haven’t they heard of waterproof mascara? It’d prevent those under-eye black marks.

The Asymmetrical thing? There always has to be some avant-garde "Football Fashionista."

The Asymmetrical thing? There always has to be one avant-garde “Football Fashionista.”

Runny Mascara or a Turn-On for men?

Runny Mascara or a Turn-On for men?

 

HIM:  (looks at watch)  Isn’t there some fashion show luncheon thing at Nordstrom, starting right about now?”

ME: (coyly)  Why? Would you accompany me to it, Coach?

HIM:  Coach?? As in your Coach brand purse?? Look Steph, I know what you’re trying to . . .

ME:  Shhhh, I can’t even hear that official man in the black and white stripes, blowing his sterling silver whistle necklace. Didn’t anyone tell him pinstripes are so yesterday? And white pants after Labor Day! Seriously? That’s a makeover just waiting to happen.

I made lots of loud tsk-tsk sounds.

 

Just then a Levi Jeans commercial flashed on — my hopes immediately renewed. But to my surprise I didn’t have to utter one word to get him engrossed.

She's got the Runway Pose down pat.

She’s got the “Astroturf Runway” Pose down pat !

 

“Hey, I’d sure like to  HAND-OFF  to that  TIGHT-END!”  He nodded approvingly at the backside of a gorgeous model, clad in size 2 slim fit jeans. We’d  HUDDLE  together and talk about our next big  PLAY  – – then I’d make a smooth as satin (or should that be 100% silk?) PASS at her.  Mmm, those little stitched back-pockets would put me into  OVERTIME  for sure.”

 

“Uh Listen, I’ve been thinking.” I stammered, abruptly changing the channel. “Separate interests are actually super healthy for couples. It gives them a sense of independence and brings variety to their relationship. A nice balance, if you will. No sense in both people liking the same thing.”

 

“I thought you might see it that way,” he said with a knowing smirk. “So next time you’ll be more careful what you wish for?” Sheesh, this guy really gets into teaching someone a valuable lesson, doesn’t he?

Football + Fashion will always lead to this. "Fornography!" "Pornball?"

Football + Fashion will always lead to this.
“Fornography!”
or   “Pornball?”

 

Before I responded, I leaned over to grab my Kate Spade purse, which I then launched (with a perfect spiral!) across the living room, where it landed in the center of the coffee table.

 

“Uh, whaddya chuck your handbag for?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Just demonstrating I can throw a winning  “CLUTCHDOWN”  pass better than any San Diego Charger quarterback around,” I smiled smugly.

 

“Stick to writing humor blogs, Stephanie. I’ll be your biggest cheerleader!”

Then he slapped me hard on the behind as I complimented his Christian Dior-DiScore shirt, his Calvin (K)Line-backer pants, and his Bill Blass n’ Pass shoes.

And that was the end of Football versus Fashion week.  Tied Score.  We’ll see who goes to the Play-Offs.

Nope! This is just WRONG.

Nope! This is just WRONG.

 

Any comments are more than welcome!  Don’t know what to say?  Answer this – – have you ever taken up an interest/hobby just to please your significant other??

“We Interrupt This Sentence…”

photo 1-10Today  I  am excited.  I just want to share with someone.  Anyone.  But, maybe not.  Listen . . .

 

ME:  Guess what?  I’m in a Huff . . .

MY MOTHER:  Well dear, why should today be any different?  You’re always in a foul mood about something.  Go do some Yoga.

photo 2-11

ME:  Hi Honey.  Wanna hear my story about Huff. . . ?

SON:  No, Mommy.  I’m sick of the 3 Little Pigs and the big bad wolf who Huffed & Puffed and blew the house down.  I wanna hear Peter Pan.

A good advertisement for breath mints?

A good advertisement for breath mints?

 

ME:  Hi Grandma, I have something to announce – – today I’m in the Huff. . .

GRANDMOTHER:  Tsk, you young people today.  And your silly Nudist fads.  Well, have fun.

ME:  What???  No, Grandma,  I didn’t say “I’m in the Buff.”    Gram?  Grammy?  Hello?

 

 

photo 4

 

ME:  Hey, I wrote a humor post and you’ll never believe it, but Huff. . .

WRITER FRIEND:  No kidding!  We’re on the same page.  My poem today is about the same subject.  Listen.

Things are rough

Money ain’t enough,

Living off the cuff,

Much easier to bluff,

Or be a cream puff.

Until you send your stuff,

And get published on the HUFF…

ME:   Stop.  Get Out!  YOU got on the Huffington Post with THAT kind of writing?

WRITER FRIEND: (snort)  Yep, sure did.  Now let’s hear your news. . . Little Miss Menopause.

ME:  Never mind.

photo 5

(Pssssst.   I think it’s safe to tell you.  I AM A FEATURED BLOGGER ON HUFFINGTON POST TODAY.  I would be ever so honored if you’d take a minute to visit that link and leave me a comment at the bottom of my post over there.  Feeling extra generous?  Sharing the post with one of their Share buttons would make my day!  UPDATE:  Not sure how this happened but I was just notified that a SECOND POST OF MINE IS NOW BEING FEATURED ON HUFFINGTON POST COMEDY.  If you can find an extra moment to visit that one here, I would be thrilled.