by admin on January 9, 2012
(CLICK ON TITLE TO READ FULL POST!) I was never one of those women who turned 30 and became a heat seeking missile of Motherhood. And, it’s not like I was hitting the snooze button on the oh-so-tired biological clock cliché. I wasn’t even sure I had one. I was married a couple of years by age 30 and knew I wanted kids, but I also knew it was too soon–for me. I was still young (in my generation’s estimations) and was having too much fun being a carefree grown up, enjoying my career and content that I had plenty of time. Well, that and a nagging cramp in my uterus warning me that my now “Huz-Was” was mating elsewhere. And, it turned out, he was… with two of my best friends, who just happen to be sisters. (Feel free to take a break to wash your hands, shower, or at least get a breath mint. I’ll wait.) To say that I dodged a sperm bullet is an understatement.
by admin on December 4, 2011
I am the only woman in the history of divorce who didn’t keep the house. Instead, I took my equity and hired a therapist. She bought a house. My first marriage, “The Episode,” was a typical starter marriage– like in the 60’s when my parents bought a “starter” home. They fell in love with a sweet little house, but in five years outgrew it and moved on to bigger and better things. My first marriage started off sweet, but in five years my husband outgrew it and moved on to younger and blonder things. They now live in our starter home.
by admin on September 9, 2011
(for full post click on title!) When I tell people how old I am they often say, “Really?” with a slight gasp and an eyebrow raised in suspicion. When I affirm the number, they quickly try to recover by saying, “You look great…” their voices trailing off with a tell-tale dot, dot, dot at the end the sentence, leaving off what I know they’re really thinking, “You look great…for your age.” They seem slightly incredulous that someone “my age” isn’t lying inert on the deck of a three week Nordic Canal Cruise recalling the revolutionary impact of control top pantyhose all while eating a 7 course meal– through a straw. So perhaps hearing “You look great…” (dot, dot, dot) should be considered a compliment. I’d raise an eyebrow in suspicion of that theory but I’ve had so much Botox I can’t move anything above my knees. By the way, I’m 50. There. I said it. And there you are, with your facile forehead, saying, “You look great…” (dot, dot, dot.) Thanks. I think. An embroidered pillow on my bed reads “Aging Gracefully Is Overrated” and I tend to believe that’s true. But, I also believe I need to get over [...]
(For full post click on title!) It’s 3:43 a.m. and I am awake. No, I’m not a doctor on call with a patient in labor or a farmer with cows to milk and I don’t have a paper route. Nope. None of the above. I am awake because of an accurate diagnosis by my Ivy League educated therapist, who is a board certified psychiatrist, a distinguished university professor, the Chief of Staff at a major psych hospital and a published expert on everything from bad moods to Double-blind Drug Crossover and Withdrawal of Neuroleptics in Remitted, Recent-onset Schizophrenics. I am awake because this guy, Dr. Crazy Smart, says that I am, and I quote, “a shitty sleeper.” I’m pretty sure this all started when I was about ten. My bedroom was right above the living room where my big brothers would stay up late watching “Combat” and “Hogan’s Heroes”. The screams of soldiers being gunned down in battle would alternate with the screams of “Schhuuullttzz!!” being bellowed by Colonel Klink– the din rattling the floor beneath my tiny twin bed and sending me racing to the top of the stairs. That’s where, in my best future-theater-major delivery, I’d implore Mike [...]
by admin on March 24, 2011
(for full post click on story title) Marianne & Her Amazing Technicolor Task Board (Yes, another Recession Story) Apparently the key to increasing productivity in my burgeoning writing career is a dry erase board. My teenage stepson has one in his room to help organize his school tasks. Yet, based on the manic swirls of obscenities scribbled all over it, it appears he’s just practicing his freeway tagging penmanship. I take it down, wipe it off and assume he won’t even know it’s gone. I’ve set the board up by my desk where it’s new job is to help me organize my “get work” tasks. Now I just have to figure out what those tasks are. I’m pretty sure checking the pantry to see if I’m low on Wheat Thins, weighing myself to make sure I don’t eat anymore Wheat Thins and throwing out anything in the frig that might be smeared on Wheat Thins doesn’t count. Plus, I don’t need a dry erase board to find time to do any of that. I do, however, need one to schedule time to write little stories like this one if I’m ever going to get published. [...]
by admin on March 9, 2011
(For full post click on story title) I’ve been avoiding my annual “Well Woman” gyno exam. Like most women I don’t like the exam (only a perverted exhibitionist would) but I don’t mind it. It’s quick, painless and protects my health. More importantly, they have candy at the desk when you check out. Plus, I really like my doctor. He’s gentle and kind. He listens to my whining, or pretends to, and I can usually make him laugh. These guys love hormone jokes. What I don’t like is getting weighed which is the very first thing they do. So I keep rescheduling, buying time to drop a few pounds. This all started a few visits ago when I was on the plump side–for me, and knew that stepping on the doctor’s scale was not going to be good news. I don’t have a scale at home for exactly this reason. I’m perfectly capable of perpetuating my low self esteem by trying on a pair of old jeans. I don’t need the added humiliation of knowing how much I actually weigh. I was rescheduling for the third time when I was told I couldn’t refill my Ambien prescription without a checkup. [...]
by admin on February 7, 2011
**This story is a ”Don’t Miss” in More Magazine Online retitled“Bitter Moi? A Recession Humor Rant”** In times of woe I’ve often found comfort from Mick Jagger crooning, “You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.” Yeah. That’s it. Thanks, Mick! You are so right, man. Everything’s gonna be just fine. The Rolling Stones words would comfort me when an audition for a job I really wanted didn’t come through. I would trust the next audition would– and it would be for an even better job with the bigger paycheck I really needed. “You can’t always get what you want” I’d quietly hum to myself as I scoured every rack at DSW (that’s Designer Shoe Warehouse for any gentlemen reading this) only to find nothing I wanted in my size. Because of that song, my pulse would steady and I’d leave content with a few pair of much needed socks instead. In my single days Mick’s words often talked me off the breakup ledge. So the guy who just dumped me and whom I so desperately wanted was someone I apparently didn’t need. I’d move on reassured, “Yeah, adios sucker. And, by the way, Mick thinks [...]
by admin on January 9, 2011
Normally I only have a problem opening a door because I’m pushing when the sign clearly reads “pull” or vice versa. As embarrassing as that is, and it is embarrassing every time, it’s still not a big deal–when you’re in a 7-11. But today I couldn’t open the front door to my house. From the inside. I pushed, I pulled, I yanked, I kicked, I screamed but nothing worked. I couldn’t get out of my house. Okay, yes, I could use the side door, the patio door or the doggy door, but one should be able to come and go through their own front door. That’s what it’s there for after all. The door has always been an occasional “sticker” on those oh, say two rainy February days here in Los Angeles when the humidity swells the wood. But today it’s 98 very dry degrees, in October, and my door is stuck. My door is stuck and the UPS man is ringing the bell to deliver what I hope is my order of “Hylastra Retin C Under Eye Serum & Recovery Complex.” “Just a minute!” I yell over the ear splitting racket of my now spastic Labrador Retrievers who know [...]
