Category Archives: humor

HaPpY BiRtHdAy!!!

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HaPpY BiRtHdAy!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve written about Rob and Laura, my spunky nonagenarian clients. Last week Rob turned 95 and I gave him these socks –

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The birthday card I selected had two Shih Tzus on the cover (featured photo). The inside read – If it were anyone else’s birthday I wouldn’t give two Shih Tzu. I had a twinge of concern that this card might be too racy but I gambled and won. I stopped by the afternoon of Rob’s birthday to drop off his gift and say hello in person. One of his daughters was there with her husband, they all approved. The socks were such a hit that Rob decided to wear them to his birthday dinner, truly an honor.

Last week I asked Rob if he only wore the white diabetic socks that I see him in. He confided that on Sundays he wears brown socks to attend meeting. Meeting is the Quaker version of a worship service. It is a quiet gathering unless a member has a desire to share something. I’ll be honest I don’t know much about it, they seem like a very chill group.

If you watch the show Catastrophe, the main character, Rob (coincidence?), becomes a Quaker for about 3 minutes and the portrayal seems fairly accurate to me. Rob & Laura have mentioned the firm wooden pews at meeting and how they are likely designed to discourage people from getting too long winded. They noted that all of the meetings they have attended feature firm uncomfortable seating except for England where they had fancy upholstered chairs. By the way Catastrophe is an excellent show if you’re in the market for viewing something with razor edge humor which embraces the messier aspects of modern parenting and couple-hood.

Happy Birthday Rob – 95 looks great on you!

 

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Napkin Mom (Over It)

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Napkin Mom (Over It)

I started out so strong when they were little. When my son was colicky and didn’t sleep through the night I would hold him, offer him a bottle, sing a little song I made up. I was a good mom. When my daughter came along 19 months later, I was still good. Grateful that this one liked to sleep more…I promised her the moon. I was so filled with gratitude for an easy baby.

When they got to preschool I was all in. I knew every kid/mom/dad/teacher/assistant, I could tell you the names of the baby chicks that came in the spring. I dressed like an adult for the Mother’s Day Tea. Hell, I put on lipstick AND mascara. For Halloween I dressed up as Cat in the Hat, my kids were Thing 1 & Thing 2. I was happy to be there in those moments, soaking it in.

My reign of good momness continued into elementary school. I volunteered for everything. I was a lunch mom, I assisted the littles with their Capri Sun straws, opened cracker packages, kept the peace at recess. I was the Class Mom for both my kids some years….do you have any idea how hard it is to pull that off? People fight for that here, I was golden. There were years when I had each School Board Member and the District Superintendent in my phone contact list. I never called them but they probably would have answered if I had (alright, most probably would have answered…..some….perhaps, two of the 10 wouldn’t block me).

At one point I was consistently attending school board meetings and I had opinions about things. Then I realized that I didn’t need to have an opinion about EVERYthing, so I shifted my focus. I started volunteering for a non-profit that provided grant money to the district. This was the big time of good momness, I was raising money (say it with me) “FOR THE CHILDREN.” And honestly it was a lot of fun for the first year or two, until it wasn’t.

When my kids were both in middle school I hit the wall. I was burnt out and it happened to coincide with some family issues and a teeny bit of social drama. I wouldn’t say I went out in flames, it wasn’t that dramatic. I just kind of walked away, fire licking at my toes and I didn’t look back.

It’s been a year now since I deserted my volunteer post and I have definitely turned a corner. My daughter has a school event coming up in a couple of weeks. As is the norm these days, a Sign Up Genius went out requesting parents to bring party goods – food, decorations, etc. I responded immediately, I wanted to get on there before anyone else so I could make my claim. It was close, I edged out 4 other moms to beat them to the coveted spot and I’m happy to report that I won. I used to be the makes-homemade-chicken-parm and brings several trays to feed a hundred people mom. Now I’m “Napkin Mom” and that’s just fine.

 

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Johnnie Walker Red

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Johnnie Walker Red

There was a mouse in the house and no Johnnie Walker Red. I may need to back up a bit for this to make sense. Today featured an outing with Rob and Laura, my nonagenarian clients. We hit the usual spots including the grocery store where we were supposed to get three things and left with six.

The official list included bread, milk and peanut butter. The unofficial additions added frozen peas, cheddar cheese and white wine. The dairy aisle is approximately 2,789 miles from the packaged goods area (wine & beer). During our trek from one end of the store to the other, we passed a gentlemen wearing this shirt –

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We decided that was a sign from the Universe. Since I thought the Universe might be listening I quickly asked for world peace and anyone but Trump in 2020

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Laura waited by the register while Rob and I went to fetch her wine. When we were checking out the cashier was interacting with Rob and I, Laura always provides the laugh track.

Cashier: OK, almost done you just need to respond to the questions….(jokes) your mother’s maiden name, blood type, name of your first kid.

Rob: OK, Wilbur (that is NOT the name of his oldest child)

Me: The name of the street you lived on when you were five.

Cashier: The fake name of your first dog.

Me: My first pet had an unusual name. When I was seven we had a cat named Johnnie Walker Red. Mom always told us it was because that was the box the cat picked out but I had my suspicions…

We all chuckled and went on our way. Rob interacts with everyone and we had a conversation about Marty, the useless robot that is usually summoned to produce when we frequent the store. Then we speculated about what Marty did on his/her/their time off.

Me: Rob, I didn’t hear an announcement for Marty to clean up in Produce today.

Rob: Me either, I wonder if Marty has the day off.

Me: What do you think Marty does on his day off? Perhaps the beach, a museum visit, the movies…

Rob: I don’t know maybe Marty likes to hang out around garbage, always cleaning something up. I see you have assigned a male gender to Marty. I think of Marty as female because there was a cute girl named Marty in one of my classes…

Laura: Clears throat.

After a few more errands we went back to the house. I went into the basement to get birdseed so I could fill the feeders. They use large old pretzel tins as bird seed containers. The tops are difficult to get off and I struggle with them. I noticed that one of the tins was running low so I lugged the large container toward the old refrigerator which is now dedicated to housing excess bird seed.

As I was getting ready to pour seed into the tin something caught my eye. At first I thought it was just a clump of gray seeds, perhaps black oil sunflower seeds, shifting.  When the gray “seeds” moved, I knew it was a mouse of some sort.

I quickly came up with a plan for capture which, involved a scoop funnel (with the funnel end closed) and a coffee tin. Several attempts were made with me jumping in unison with my new furry friend in a staccato rhythm. My plan was catch and release to the great outdoors. Perhaps I should have explained this to the mouse before attempting the catch end of it. The mouse managed to escape to corners of the 60 year old unfinished basement that I was not willing to attempt. Mouse: 1 Me: 0

I thought about suggesting that they get a cat and then I realized I would likely get stuck changing the litter box so I kept that idea to myself. I told my mouse tale to Rob and Laura when I got upstairs. They found it amusing and were not alarmed in any way. Rob explained that they worked out a deal with the rodents. They are welcome to stay as long as they confine their activities to the basement. His house, his rules. I filled the bird feeders and wished them a good afternoon.

 

Coming Soon, the TP1CGAF

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Coming Soon, the TP1CGAF

I’m at a food store at least six times a week. Two of those times are for the elderly clients that I take out for errands, the rest are for my family. I have to amuse myself at the grocery store because I’m there so much. I also spend more time than is needed in the parking lot.  It’s my escape when I need some urgent “me time” and yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds, thank you for noticing. I also sneak in a few rounds of Word Stacks in case you weren’t already judging me too harshly.

One of the things that I find funny lately is the advertising for toilet paper. The commercials for TP are awful – especially the one’s that boast about how clean your ass will be if you use their product. There’s also significant shelf space dedicated to adult wipes because apparently we’ve forgotten how to do that properly.

The thing that got me today though was the number of rolls that the manufacturer claims to represent in a package. A package of 6 rolls will now replace prior packs of 1,272 rolls (OK 12, close enough). Made me envision the next iteration of TP manufacturing when they try to get a year’s worth of toilet paper on a commercial grade spool. It may not fit in your bathroom but it will last the average family of four 12 months (Manufacturer disclaimer: unless your family comes down with a stomach bug then maybe 11 months and 17 days).

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Bob at Charmin is currently working on the latest innovation within the toilet paper industry. The TP1CGAF. it lasts one year for a family of four. We can’t cure cancer or the common cold but dagnamit we won’t rest until no one has to change the TP roll for at least a year. Amazon may gripe about delivering this through Prime.

I’m waiting for AI to take over this task, in a few short years, Rosie the Robot will fetch your next roll of TP and place it on the holder facing toward the user as G*d intended.

 

Bonus points if anyone wants to guess what TP1CGAF stands for in the comments.

Shut Up and Eat Mulch

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Shut Up and Eat Mulch

Here’s a short list of the things that have annoyed me or occupied too much brain space this week. This is not an all inclusive list. I can’t write about the real sh*t that’s going on because I’m an adult with kids and bills and stuff. Also, those life things are boring and this is my alternate universe…

Vegan Leather – WTELF is this? I saw a vegan leather tag attached to a bag I recently purchased, I had to Google the term because I have a curious mind and left to my own devices I will make sh*t up. For example — in my version, vegan leather is the hide of a cow which previously practiced Vinyasa Yoga and sipped on the finest Tallgrass Kombucha whilst listening to chanting monks. Turns out that isn’t entirely accurate. Vegan leather is marketing code for fake wannabe leather….and worse yet, it is often accused of “greenwashing” (something else I had to Google FFS). Greenwashing is when a company pretends to be environmentally conscious but they aren’t. A lot of vegan leather is made from carbon-intensive toxins that botch the environment even more than the 4 legged burger makers so buyer beware.

Bullsh*t Ads – Ladies you know what I mean…the face creams that will erase every whiff of a wrinkle you ever had. The cellulite melting machine (10 minutes a day to melt that fat away!), the slimming tank tops that will help you shed 20 pounds around your belly and eliminate “rolls”, the undergarments that will give you the butt that Gawd denied you. Keep scrolling honey, it’s all lies. Guys get a d*ck -centric version of ads. They can age as long as everything works downtown. Words like – vitality, energy, strength & endurance litter their screens. The world is one big dumpster fire but it doesn’t stop us from wanting to look pretty or get laid (exhales).

Useless phone apps – My latest time suck is a game called Word Stacks. I should be embarrassed to admit this but I’m obsessed with this game. Every weekend they have tournaments that last 48 hours and I finish in the top 3 on the regular. Basically it’s word searches except you don’t know what words you are searching. You get a theme and look for words based on that. You also collect points for real words that aren’t in the search. I think I have been playing too much because while I was driving today I saw – TACOMA – on the back of a truck and my brain dissected it as follows: TAC, CAT, COM, MOC, COMA & AMO (pssst….I’m currently in first place with 7 hours and 28 minutes left).

Extreme diets – Sure you can eat 42 eggs a week and wash it down with 7 pounds of bacon, what could possibly go wrong? As long as you never get within 5 feet of a slice of bread, a glass of milk or Satan’s nectar (sugar),you’ll be fine. Gluten free, dairy free, flavor free, low carb, no carb, high protein, medium protein, macro/micro, kelp, keto, caveman, pescatarian, vegan, lacto/ovo vegetarians, straight up vegetarians, carnivores, herbivores, overbores, underbores (I made up those last two in case it got confusing) and fill-in-the-blank diet du jour. Just shut up and eat mulch.

I have to go now Master Word Stacks is calling me…Nonnie and GmaBoss are trying to catch up. A mere 500 points separates me (currently the leader) from second place, I can not let that happen and these words aren’t going to find themselves.

 

 

 

The featured image is from a book cover for Cow Yoga by Willow Creek Press. You can find it here Cow Yoga – I do not have an affiliation, it just seems right to include a link since it isn’t my art.

 

I Left My Heart…

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I Left My Heart…

We just returned from the land of Tesla, Sweaty Betty & Rothy’s, aka, San Francisco. The hubs had a business meeting and the kids had spring break so we turned it into a family vacation. In my former life, I went to Cali on the regular for work, mostly Irvine and Oakland so I squeezed in plenty of LA and SF weekends and Geezus that was like 17 years ago already. (Takes a moment to shake the cobwebs from her mind and contemplate the time space continuum, that was an intense 3 seconds.)

I must confess that I’ve gotten really lazy about planning trips. I used to create schedules, print out maps and have a list of recommended restaurants on the ready. Now I’m like F-it, Google will tell me whatever I need to know in the moment. So maybe Google is making me more zen or maybe it’s just the lazy or her step sister, tired. (insert yawn it feels like 5 am to me, what time zone am I in again?)

The trip starts out in the usual way, complete chaos with undertones of panic, dread and excitement. The timing of the trip meant that we would get in late Saturday evening and host Easter dinner twelve hours after getting home. That meant cooking and cleaning ahead of time (chaos). The panic and dread come from flying alone with my kids (the hubs went out ahead of us). This isn’t new, I’ve been traveling with my kids alone since they were 1 1/2 and 3. They are teenagers now, some things are easier. They can amuse themselves with inflight entertainment on their phones and I don’t need to walk them to the toilet or “assist”. The days of sticker books, toddler snacks and Max & Ruby videos on a continuous loop are long behind us.

I still sit in the center seat to preempt fights over the arm rest and “accidental” elbows to the ribs. Our seats were in row 39 (of 40) for both flights with a round trip dose of screaming babies in row 40. Of course at some point during the flight I envision all three of us dying is a fiery plane crash….or worse, the scenario where I get sucked out through the disgusting excuse of an airline toilet, plummeting to my untimely death with my pants around my ankles, kids watching in horror from an airplane window as they shove at each other to get a better view…..part of me is at peace as I speed to the permanent sleep, knowing I won’t have to referee anymore of those fights.

All kinds of awful scenarios go through my mind, I suddenly have the imagination of Stephen King. I glance at the horrors of my own making, then I  crumple them up and toss them into a mental trashcan until the next flight when I’ll pluck them out and unfurl them again…like some dreadful relative that stalks the periphery of your life. Wow, that went dark for a hot second, moving on.

We stayed at a really cool place, the Inn at the Presidio built in 1903, it has been repurposed from it’s original use as housing for unmarried officers. We were fortunate to get one of only 22 suites in the main building. The amenities included continental breakfast and daily happy hour with wine and cheese (& OMFG good chocolate chip cookies). The inn is located within a park, truly an oasis within San Francisco. Once you’re tucked in for the night, you forget that there is a bustling city within a 10 minute walk. We would have forgotten we were in SF all together if not for the distant fog horn gently reminding us throughout the night. It was glorious.

Since I’m married to a nerd, he scheduled a tour of the Tesla factory. Knowing my daughter would roll her eyes so hard that they would actually exit her body during the tour, we opted out. So the boys went to Fremont and the girls walked over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Sausalito.

We had a beautiful sunny day which is not a given in SF. Parts of the walk were daunting….OK, scary as hell. The bridge was fine, loud but safe, the descent into Sausalito, not so much. When you get over the bridge, you shadow the freeway traffic until the exit for Alexander Avenue. Once you get on that road, walkers are on a narrow shoulder getting buzzed by a swarm of bicyclists with varying degrees of skill (or lack thereof).

I find it amazing that a city will rent out so many bicycles to people who clearly have no idea WTF they are doing. The bike shops give them a map, a pat on the head and wish them well in one of the most heavily trafficked areas in the USA which by the way, has a tendency to be shrouded in fog. What could possibly go wrong? We were thrilled and grateful when we made it to the sidewalk in Sausalito which posed signs forbidding bicycles. No bicycles on the sidewalks, thank you!

Sausalito is gorgeous. It is a quaint town overlooking Richardson Bay and the Golden Strait which, fun fact, is why that famous International Orange colored bridge is called the Golden Gate Bridge. Back to Sausalito, it’s expensive as hell. The median house price hovers around $1.4m which honestly seems low for the area. That calculation includes a cluster of houseboats which are interesting on their own.

My daughter and I got lunch – I ordered an $18. cheeseburger and she ordered from the kid’s menu (under duress) and we switched meals. Let me tell you the kid’s fillet of sole was delicious (I sounded like a cannibal when I read that out loud). After lunch we went out in search of socks because my daughter wasn’t wearing any with her Converse and at about mile 7 that was getting annoying. She picked out a pair that featured the GGB and screamed tourist with flair. A couple of hours in we were ready to take the ferry back to San Francisco.

While waiting for the ferry I decided to sit on a bench next to a heavily bearded man and his little dog too (I really hope you read that last bit like the Wicked Witch of West). At first he just seemed like an eccentric street performer. He started teasing his dog who was having a cookie and wasn’t willing to share. Then he picked the dog up and they had a full on shouting match. After a few minutes he started saying disparaging things about his ex-wife and her parents which prompted us to leave and get in the ferry line half an hour early.

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My daughter and I found seats on the ferry and I left to get us water and a snack. My parting words were “save me a seat honey”. I got back 10 minutes later and all three seats were taken. I asked my daughter what happened, assuming she just forgot about me, she had a slightly panicked look on her face. I hovered close by. When the person in the aisle seat moved I took that seat leaving one person between my daughter and I, we will refer to her as Typhoid Mary. Actually she probably had the flu or a bad cold, there was a lot of coughing and nose blowing. TM did not appear to speak or understand English so a seat exchange wasn’t in the making. After several persistent coughs followed up with some serious nasal discharge, I decided to move. I got up and aired myself out. My daughter stayed in her seat and amused herself with her phone seemingly unaware of the cootie circus happening within her orbit.

When the ferry was getting ready to dock I came back to check on my daughter and encourage her to exit so we could get ahead of the 80 bicyclists that would also disembark. I got more panicked looks with some rapid hand movement and overly expressive eyebrows….not a lot was said. She’s half Italian so she’s pretty good with the hand signals. I got the gist of it, she wasn’t leaving early.

Eventually Typhoid Mary got up and exited the row. That’s when I saw my daughter’s beloved Panic at the Disco beanie sitting in the sit that TM just exited. She sacrificed the beanie to save me a seat. The interesting bit is that the beanie had a small glass bottle filled with erasers in it which, didn’t seem to bother our recently departed friend. Also, my daughter mentioned that she plucked a bug off her own eye in transit letting out a muffled scream that I missed. I was either in the beverage line or gazing at Alcatraz as we went by.

So we left the ferry with all of our items and a bag of unopened pretzels that were no longer wanted. San Francisco has a big homeless population so I suggested that we give the pretzels away to someone who might be hungry. The first homeless person we encountered resembled the giant from the Game of Thrones during the Battle of the Bastards.

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Seriously the dude was maybe 4 inches shorter than the giant and vomited into a garbage can in front of us. We decided to keep the pretzels a little longer.

A few minutes later we passed by a bench that had a shopping cart next to it filled with blankets and random items. I suggested we see if that person wanted the pretzels. I approached with my daughter next to me. He was a big guy (smaller than the giant) with the largest nose ring I have ever seen. I asked him if he wanted the pretzels and he snatched them out of my hand with a grunt. We didn’t stick around for idle chatter or philosophical conversations.

At this point we were making our way to Pier 39 at Fisherman’s Wharf aka, the biggest tourist trap in San Francisco. I didn’t mind my girl wanted to visit the sea lions. At this point my cell phone was under 20% so I turned it off to conserve energy. The plan was to take an Uber back to the inn once we finished at the pier. We were about 11.5 miles into our day at this point.

While we were walking on the pier my daughter mentioned that she would like to get some more sassy socks and *poof* behold a sock store appeared. We got lost in there for half an hour and left with two pairs of socks and an idea of where the sea lions hang out. Ten minutes later, satiated with our sea lion viewing, we were ready to go back.

As I was opening the Uber app, my phone died. Totally dead, barely a warning just snapping a photo of a sea lion one minute and fade to black the next. Fortunately there were taxi cabs at curbside so we pretended it was 2008 (before Uber ruled the roadways) and went back to our room. It was a fun day and I hope my daughter will reflect on it with the same fondness I will….so maybe, I left a wee bit of my heart there…in San Francisco.

I Did Not Blend In

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I Did Not Blend In

So this weekend was kind of interesting…I went to a bridal shower for the first time in about 15 years. Wow have things gotten out of hand.  The party had a “World Travel” theme complete with props, a DJ, trivia games about the couple and a sea of Spanx laden ladies. There were confetti airplanes, flowers made of maps, luggage tag favors and a custom hashtag for the couple, they went all in.

I’m casual by nature and practical in my approach to clothing. Sure I want to look good,  comfort goes a long way though. I knew that flats would be out of the question with this bunch so I stepped up my game with some neutral 3 inch heeled ankle boots. I probably got them at Marshalls for $29.99, that’s my way. They’re cute and they dress up jeans with the right top. I drove my sister in-law and we agreed on our style prior to the event. We were seriously under dressed. Not what you want to do when you prefer to blend into the scenery.

The venue was in Staten Island and it was gorgeous inside. Chandeliers, a water view, beautiful window treatments, it was stunning. We knew we were in trouble as soon as we walked in. The guests looked like they were at a formal wedding. These ladies brought their A game – sequins, ruffles, prints, red-soled shoes, high end all the way. Meanwhile, I’m rocking my new mom jeans which advertise their ability to “cover muffin top” (I wish I was kidding). I wanted to die but I was hungry and this place is known for good authentic Italian food. I decided I could die after I ate, I stand by that decision.

It was a buffet so naturally there was a line. As I was standing there in the most casual outfit within a three mile radius, I noticed the line of asses at the buffet. It was mesmerizing. All kinds of asses – big, little, wide, flat, pancakes and bubbles on display in all their glory. I respected their confidence, I veer too far in the other direction. I’d wear a mu-mu if it was socially acceptable. I’d alternate with gym clothes, easy peasy. *Sighs* imagines life in a mu-mu. 80ba22001c642d83f830130a50199dbe--simpsons-art-simpsons-funny.jpg

It wasn’t just asses on display, boobs were everywhere. It was 2pm and I saw side boob, is that the new norm because I thought side boob was reserved for after 8pm? The DJ kept encouraging people to dance, while bright sunlight streamed in. Maybe I’m old (OK old and under dressed) but I like to get my boogey on at night with an appropriate amount of darkness. I also prefer to dance with the hubs and this was a ladies only event. I’ll just say it now – “Get off my lawn!” Ahhh, that feels better.

To add insult to injury, I was having a sh*t hair day. I got it cut a week ago and I’m still adjusting to it, not good. These gals had all kinds of stuff going on with their hair, professionally coifed, extensions or a damn impressive ability to use appliances that have always eluded me mainly the curling iron. I wanted to spruce things up, I even borrowed a curling iron from my friend. Sadly I did not have time to practice because something came up with my kid during the time I had allotted for that trial run.

So to recap, sh*tty hair & mom jeans, I did not blend in. I was having an off day and I was surrounded by women that could be extras in a Sopranos reboot or a new variation of the Housewives enterprise. My SIL and I decided that we really need to take things up about 1,000 notches for the wedding. Some of the outfits at the bridal shower cost more than the book value of my 2010 Honda. I can’t even imagine what they will wear to the wedding. Have you ever found yourself over or under dressed?

Invest in Yourself!

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Invest in Yourself!

Last night I posted the featured photo on my Facebook page to see if people could guess what it was. My friends did not disappoint and some of their guesses were quite fascinating. Here’s what they suggested:

Back massager, sleeve iron, sweater shaver, head trimmer (for the bald), can opener for old people, vibrator, hair diffuser, electro laser face treatment (sounds fancy), steamer, sex toy (specifically designed by aliens), toilet bowl (hand held?), portable bidet (again, hand held??), kale tenderizer (is that even a thing????), hand mixer, clothes steamer, portable branding iron (for those inclined to body modification and/or ranchers on the go), a vagina warmer/steamer (ouch), and other assorted guesses for an ionic thingamajig.

Now we did have fun with those guesses. I may have over indulged in “No” GIFS.

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If you’ve been keeping up with my blog lately (Thank You & God Bless) you may have noticed that I have been curious about making some aesthetic improvements. I don’t mind being 50, the only problem is my brain which thinks I should look 35 (spoiler: I don’t). I suspect that the Google Gawds of Algorithm (GGA) and AARP (together they makeup GGAAARP and doesn’t that just roll of your tongue) have joined forces to send every ad for modern day snake oil my way.

Women over 40 know what I’m talking about, the ads are relentless. I still go on Facebook and my demographic gets the same ads on a constant loop. Now some of these products are probably good, in fact I can vouch for Rothy’s Shoes.

I happen to own three pairs and they are fabulous and slightly addictive. Now this is more than I typically spend on shoes and I don’t care, I like them that much. Super comfy and they are made from recycled bottles AND they’re cute as hell. I finally got myself a pair of leopard flats – I have wanted leopard flats for 10 years!

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Other products have me more skeptical. Those jeans that come in three size ranges, are you kidding me? If I lined up 10 of my closest female friends there would be at least seven different size categories – short/tall, thick/thin and every combination in between, I laugh at your three sizes.

The magic eye cream that promises to shrink your under eye bags. First of all, f*ck off. Seriously f*ck all the way off with your lies. I haven’t clicked on that infomercial yet because this is a particular sore spot for me. I suspect the jars go for about $3billion each because eye of newt and unicorn blood is really flippan’ expensive. Hard pass, full stop.

Which brings us back to the mystery featured photo. Big reveal (insert drum roll……..still drumming……….little more drumming……damn my imaginary drumming arms are tired). I present to you the –

Ultrasonic Cavitat RF Fat & Cellulite Remover

Yes friends for the mere cost of $99.99 which is a never been seen before fabulous discounted price to end all discounts, the mother of ALL discounts. For under $100. you can “invest in yourself” and rid your self of fat and cellulite (& $99.99). It also cleans your house, picks up your dog’s poop and if you’re single, it’ll find your soul mate. Your SOUL MATE! The only thing it can NOT do is make middle school car line more manageable because that mess is unfixable. Oh and it won’t cook dinner either so basically, useless.

 

Cheese for the Win!

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Cheese for the Win!

I had to take Blanche to the vet today. For those that don’t know, Blanche is the made up name of my real dog. Things are top secret here at my blog and one can’t be too careful. Getting Blanche to go to the vet is a bit of an ordeal. The problems start when I try to get her in my car. Usually a couple of treats do the trick.

Me (Attempting fake enthusiasm, comes off like a Kindergarten teacher with a massive hangover): Come on Blanche you can do it!

Blanche: Nope

Me: Come on girl, there are two treats in here (holds up a treat, then pats the back of the SUV).

Blanche (yawns, turns head in opposite direction)

Me: Get in here!

Blanche (walks away)

Me (Mutters “bitch”, goes inside. Announces to the hubs that we are at DEFCON Level 3)

Hubs: Want me to get her in there? I can do it, want me to show you?

(For the record, my husband thinks he can do EVERYTHING better than me or anyone else. Most of the time he can, I’m just not interested in his 30 minute tutorial on the perfect inflection to coax the dog into my vehicle. We also have 12 minutes to get to an appointment which is 10 minutes away. So visualize your favorite meme for “Ain’t nobody got time for that!)

Me: No. I know how you do it and I can’t muster up the fake enthusiastic voice. I’m going in for cheese.

Blanche: Did someone say cheese?

Me: (Tosses cheese in the back of the SUV) Get your ass in the car.

Blanche: Alright

It should be noted that Blanche is a 90 pound mutt who turns into a kangaroo dog as soon as we pass the threshold at the vet’s office. I don’t mean one of those cute docile kangaroos that you can actually pet in Australia…no she turns into big red, the roo that will knock your teeth out and put you in a coma. She has a smile on her face the entire time and I’m just blocking the blows like I’m in the ring with Tyson circa 1986. I don’t come out of these visits unscathed, I’m scratched up and broke by the time we leave.

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This is Big Red’s Tinder profile pic.

Fortunately there were no other animals in the waiting area when we arrived. I try to speak to the receptionist while my kangaroo-gorilla-dog bounces up and down like Tigger on cocaine. My eyes convey a cry for help and they usher us to the scale. I find this amusing because 1) It’s my least favorite part of going to the doctor myself. Does anyone like getting weighed in a public space? 2) Getting Blanche to stay still on the scale is worse than trying to get her in the car. It’s like threading a needle with overcooked spaghetti. After several attempts we agree on a number and get directed to an examination room.

Blanche proceeds to lose her ever loving mind in the room when it’s just the two of us. I can only image what the office staff thinks is happening in here. Furniture is being moved, the scraping sound of dog nails on the linoleum…I may have said calm your tits a little too loud. After an infinity a vet and a technician came in to administer her shots and do the exam.

My dog, crazy as she is, becomes surprisingly compliant during the exam. She doesn’t bark, growl or show any indication of her big red ways when there are witnesses. Leaving the staff to think I must enjoy rearranging office furniture while speaking curtly to my dog when no one else is in the room. She got her shots, threw some punches (at me) and we got out of there for the mere cost of a car payment.

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Blanche showing off her lady beard. She resembles a Dr. Seuss creation.

It Burns!

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It Burns!

Midlife has a way of saying f*ck you on a daily basis. Today I woke up and the right side of my neck hurts, bad. Don’t know why, perhaps I slept on it wrong, angered the midlife Gawds, total mystery. I recently gave up sugar for Lent and I’m pretty sure I’ve gained weight (dafuq?). I’m not trying to stop the age train, I would like to slow it down.

If you’re like me, you still have kids at home and at least one elderly relative to check in on. Midlife is a balancing act on all fronts. Drifting away from our younger years and aware that things will likely deteriorate at some point. There’s a constant stream of advertising that comes your way via mail, telemarketing calls and those damn pop up ads that have a direct connection to my thoughts (Minority Report anyone?). The general message is you’re getting old, no need to look that way, we can fix it!

The messaging isn’t subtle. The day you turn 50 I guarantee AARP will send you something to acknowledge it and say “join us, we’re going to age gracefully with vigor like some Stepford midlifer”, it’s implied. Step off AARP, I’m not interested. In my brain I think I look 35, the mirror on the other hand, tells a different story. Today I went for another consultation to see about minimizing the bags that have taken up residency under my eyes. If you follow my blog (and thank you if you do), you may remember another recent consultation Work it (or Not)

I arrived at Les Crap of Zee Bull (not the actual name, it was equally French and fancy) eager to see what non surgical options could fix this mess. I was whisked upstairs to the waiting salon by a 20 something staff member. She did the obligatory model hand wave toward the refreshment table and promptly got me a questionnaire to fill out. I may have lied about my weight on the form, that is classified and it’s going to the grave with me. I filled out the form and waited.

While I was waiting I noticed a client who was sitting across the room with an ice pack on her face, she may have been writhing in pain or perhaps she had to pee. There was a water wall in front of me which made me think there was no way I could afford this place. I texted my friend Kristy about the water wall and she suggested that it was there to muffle the screams. She attended a prestigious university and studied science so maybe she’s on to something.

After a few minutes of listening to the melodious splash I had an urge to go. On the way to the bathroom I walked past a ginormous advertisement which proudly displayed several large photos of before and after ass pictures. In that moment I was grateful that I didn’t have an issue with my backside because the idea of having my before and after ass on display was a little too much to bare (intentional typo calm down grammar nerds).

Things didn’t improve in the bathroom. Everything was fine until I went to wash my hands. I got some soap and waved my hand under the faucet, nothing happened. I did the magic wand wave a few more times, approaching from different angles, adjusting the speed in the hopes that water would be released, nope. I looked at the faucet for clues, nothing emerged, it just stared back at me with a steely gaze, unyielding. There were no handles, no sensors, nothing obvious. After approximately 90 seconds of me waving hands frantically and muttering  “Oh for f*ck sake!” repeatedly, I figured it out. The cube at the top of the faucet pushed up to release water. I did have to chant (thanks for that tip Paul) and wiggle my ears while simultaneously applying enormous pressure in an upward motion to get it to work. Nevertheless, I emerged with an empty bladder and clean hands.

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Sure it looks simple enough. Trust me without the chanting, ear wiggling and upward motion, total desert.

A few minutes after that ridiculousness, I was ushered into an exam room by a pleasant middle aged woman with a stylish hair cut and cute glasses. Did I mention that I came from the gym so I was sweaty, potentially smelly, not even a hint of make up and my hair was dripping with sweat? My new friend put down a cloth barrier on the chair that I was later guided to sit on. I’d like to think they do that for all the clients….in retrospect, I’m not so sure. I was also told to remove my hat which was providing shelter for my sweaty pony tail so you know, sexy as hell.

She asked me why I was there and I told her. A few minutes later a nurse practitioner came in the room and asked the same questions I just answered. She gave me a hand held mirror to hold while she pressed on various parts of my face to demonstrate how fillers could possibly help. The lighting in there wasn’t doing me any favors, I felt like a vampire seeing the sun for the first time, it burns! Let’s just say the nurse was honest, brutally honest. The take away was “Honey, we can’t fix that. Go back to the surgeon or else you’ll waste gobs of money and be miserable.” So, that went well at least it was a free consultation – free of dignity, confidence, pride, ego, totally free. I may just get a stylish hair cut and some cute glasses.