Confessions of an addict

I have to admit, and very hesitatingly so, that I have an addiction. It’s not as bad as some others, but I’ve been afflicted ever since I was a little girl. I AM a TV-holic.  Yes, that’s right, I watch so much TV that I have dreams I am characters in some shows.  Last night, I was helping the “Psych” detectives solve their crime.   

Now don’t judge me. I have never watched one episode of the Bachelorette or any Housewives series. Whew…I feel better already. But I do like reality TV. I watch only the intellectual programs though…i.e. Survivor, The Apprentice (and not only the Celebrity ones, but the “Real” people ones, too), Amazing Race. You know…the ones you can only gain knowledge from. 

I used to be addicted to Wheel and Jeopardy, but once Vanna and Alex started aging, they were too hard to watch. Made me think of my own mortality, and TV watching is supposed to be enjoyable, so who needed that reminder?

I remember when I was little, I would love to get sick so I could stay home from school and sit in front of the black and white TV all day long. My mom would spoil me with Skippy peanut butter and grape jelly on top of Ritz crackers, on a TV tray, with a big, tall glass of whole milk.  I would watch the game show, “Concentration”, which was highly educational, testing my memory skills. Therefore, missing school wasn’t a huge waste. In fact, I was better off.

Bozo the clown was another favorite, until a little kid from down the street started calling me Bozo because I had such frizzy hair. That really turned me off to Bozo. Screw Bozo. Stupid clown.

I realized I was an addict when I would start organizing my social life around my TV shows.  Friday nights were spent with JR and Bobby and Wednesdays (?) were with the Carrington’s.  Once VCR’s were invented, my social life was salvaged.  But if the tape ever got eaten, I would be in a bad mood for days.

I love DVR’s.  In fact, I’m debating whether to get a second one so I can record 4 shows at once and not just two.  There are days that I have 3-4 programs airing at the same time and I have such a dilemma.  I have kept my old VCR for those emergencies. I don’t really remember how to use it, so it’s a good thing I don’t really have a social life so I can be home to watch one show, while the others are recording.

I don’t ONLY watch mindless TV. I do get my current events from Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al. Good thing they come in 5 minute segments or I would be tuning them out pretty quickly. That’s why I don’t read the newspaper too often.  “Concentration” didn’t help me THAT much.

And thanks to my bad memory, watching Friends and Seinfeld every night, to this day, is like watching a new episode each time. Chandler and Kramer still crack me up.

I attribute my career to my addiction. I live in the advertising world. Had I not been a TV junkie, who knows where I would be today.  So I give a huge THANK YOU to Maxwell Smart, the Brady’s, Samantha and Darrin, (who taught me all about advertising), Captain Stubing and Gopher, Gilligan, Flipper, and of course,  Oprah. Because without Oprah, really, who would any of us actually be. No one could exist without the wisdom of the great one. Isn’t she the Divine one? The Chosen one?  At least, isn’t that what she has made us believe?

Ahhhh…the power of Television.

Today I am a student. Tomorrow I am.....

Remember when graduation was upon you and you realized “Oh my god I am going to be a real adult…like now!?”  No more mommy and daddy taking care of me.  No more waking up, rolling out of bed and going to classes looking like I just rolled out of bed. No more partying during the weekdays.  This is it. I am going out into the real world and I am responsible for me. 

I’m so glad that’s not me now.  But it is my daughter. She graduates this week. Her very last class for the rest of her life. She said to me the other day…”I’m sad. I love going to school and to class.” WHO SAYS THAT?  I sure didn’t.  I couldn’t wait until that last day of school…even though I was scared to death.  I hated school. Oh…I loved the college life, but I hated school. I hated going to classes. I couldn’t focus. I was good for the first 5 minutes, then that was that. Off my mind went into the chasm of my tiny little brain. My brain can only hold so much, and science and other subjects just didn’t earn a spot there. Boys did. Partying did. But education? Not so much.

I was responsible though. I did do my homework. I did study for the tests. I did end up graduating. I’m not sure I learned anything, but I did earn my degree and that’s all that mattered to me at the time. It got me where I wanted to go and I have been there ever since.

My daughter, however, has a brain. A very large brain. It holds so much more than mine does. And her brain functions really well.  It also causes her to ask tons of questions. Which is probably why she is so smart.  Annoying, but smart. (kidding)…She remembers the answers to the questions. Unlike me. I ask a question.  I never listen to the answer. I wonder why I ask the questions if I don’t listen to the answers. I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I think my intentions are good, but my tiny little brain doesn’t have room for those answers either.  It’s very selective. I look like I’m listening to people answering my questions, but I’m already on to the other questions I’m going to ask and not listen to.

I’m kind of surprised I’ve made it in the business world. Or in any world, for that matter. I don’t remember anything.  I guess that’s why I write.  I can document my life in words.  My daughter will also thrive in the business world, because she retains everything and has that really big brain.  No matter what she sets out to do, she will be a huge success…even though she changes her mind every week on what career path she is taking. I have faith that as soon as she is done with finals on Friday…she will know exactly where she is headed by Saturday.

Me, on the other hand……..if I could only remember what’s next.

The "How To's" of Self Grooming

In these times of economic hardships, we have to take necessary steps to make ends meet. What that means is cutting back on some of the luxuries that we’ve grown accustomed to.  Of course what one luxury is to one person can be completely different than what it is to another, but that’s beside the point. Let’s talk about MY luxuries (or lack of) since I’m the one blogging.  

Upon becoming single once again, I had to give up a few of my indulgences, although to most, these are normal weekly or monthly events.  Have you ever tried to dye and cut your own hair?  It’s a major feat! You can twist and contort your body in ways you never imagined just to get to certain strands of hair. Try looking at the back of your hair in a mirror and figure out exactly what needs to be cut. Mine’s probably a little easier than most since it’s all one length and down to my waist…but still…it’s a little mind boggling to look in the mirror and think you are cutting one side when you’re really cutting the other. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out mirror reflections. Like when I’m at the gym and looking in the mirrors at men. I try to figure out if the ring on their finger is on the married hand or the right hand, and I invariably never get it correct. If you’re standing facing the mirror…why doesn’t the left hand go on the left side when I’m looking at someone else, and when you’re sideways…wow…that really screws up my rationale.  So I just assume they’re all married and make myself believe they’re probably all jerks anyway!  (Sorry…I tend to digress).

Ok…Back to cutting hair. There is no way you can take the scissors and reach behind your back and just cut. Tried it…failed. It only took me 10 nano-seconds to figure that one out once I cut up instead of straight across. So what I tried was grabbing all my hair into a pony tail, bending over, bringing it over the top of my head and cutting the ends. Then I flipped my hair back, took the hand mirror, and checked out the back of my hair. But what you don’t realize is that if you use one arm to hold the mirror, it doesn’t balance the way you are seeing your hair. One side is higher than the other. I tried it with the other hand, and amazingly, the same thing! If you use both hands, you really can’t maneuver the mirror the way you need to. So you guesstimate. I found out I’m not very good at guesstimating…so I convinced myself the new style is zig-zag hair.

The walls of my bathroom are also in vogue now.  The new décor is to have black splotches in miscellaneous, albeit, strategically placed areas. And the sporadic marks on the vanity counters eventually fade, but I still try scrubbing them with nail polish remover.  I haven’t seemed to master the art of dying and getting the dye ONLY on the hair. Soon after I wash out the dye, I am now a person with the ugliest looking tattoos on my forehead, cheeks, neck, shoulders, arms and chest. No matter how hard I try, and how much baby oil I lather myself in to be able to just wipe the dye off any body part, I’m tattooed for two days. Therefore I can’t go to the gym because I can’t put my hair up in a pony tail because my whole face and neck area are covered in what looks like some foreign disease. Good thing I work from home.

And of course, I have to love French manicures. I couldn’t just be happy with one color polish…nope…gotta have that white tip that you have to get just right to look professionally done. Ever tried polishing your nails with the hand you don’t write with. You have got to have the patience of Mother Teresa. I go thru a 10 oz. bottle of polish remover every week. I actually just keep a case in the house, since I have to use it on the counters for the hair dye also. What keeps happening is the white tip just keeps getting thicker and thicker as I continue to polish. Maybe I should just paint my nails all white.

So there you have it.  How to save yourself a few bucks in these times of trouble. And along the way you learn some new home décor tips and how to temporarily adorn your body. And my girls always know the best present for mom…a day at the salon.

have YOU grown up yet?

Do you ever think back to the stupid things you did as a teenager? Or maybe you didn’t do stupid things (yeah, right). I know I sure did! I look at my daughters now and think, “Have they pulled the wool over my eyes as many times as I did to my parents?” They should only know the stuff I did, although they, too, have done some pretty stupid things themselves. The angst I must’ve given my parents.

Let me tell you how frickin’ stupid I was! Take it from me…stupidity was my middle name in my teen/early 20 years. My sexual escapades alone could make for a great book, but I’ll use discretion in my tales of teenage horniness. My mom had no clue that my high school boyfriend and I were “doing it”… let alone doing it right on the couch in the den only 10 feet from where she was in the kitchen. Really?  How unbelievably stupid were we? Pants pulled down right in my own house with my mother home. Then we would get up and go in the kitchen for our after sex snack, like no orgasms had just taken place. And she had no clue! Helllloooo MOM!

We also used to go park and fool around in the back seat of his dad’s Lincoln. We went to other neighborhoods so no one would know who we were. We didn’t think that since no one knew who we were, that the people in the house we were parked in front of, would call the cops. So there we were, pants pulled down <again>, when an incredibly bright light came shining through the rear window on our naked bodies. We looked up with our innocent eyes to the cop staring in the car. “Wanna step out of the car please?”  “Uh…can we pull up our pants first officer?” He let us go with a warning and a little snicker as he walked off.

I was the last of my friends in high school to smoke pot, but I made up for it once I got started. And I would always drive stoned. Very smart! In 1972, I had this 1962 black and white striped Chevy Nova with primer paint on the back fender, corvette bucket seats, some odd stick shift thingie, (even though it was an automatic), and an ignition that didn’t even need the key to start the engine. The “skunk” was the biggest piece of junk that any stoner could hope for because I didn’t care if I hit parking meters and curbs, which I did on a regular basis.  Every day after school, I would round up the group, we’d go to someone’s house, smoke a little, listen to Pink Floyd, then drive the skunk to Baskin Robbins for a huge ice cream sundae. And since my friend worked there, we would get all the ice cream we wanted for free. Kinda stupid on his part….but hey, it wasn’t my job on the line.

In my 20’s, my friend and I were going to a really upscale restaurant in Beverly Hills.  At the time, my car (not by choice, believe me!), was a gold Plymouth Duster. U-G-L-Y and quite embarrassing to drive up to the valet at this very exclusive restaurant. So I went to my parent’s house to ask my dad if I could borrow his Mercedes. His first reaction was…”Are you kidding me? Of course you can’t borrow my Mercedes.” “Why not Dad?” No answer was actually needed…pretty much a rhetorical question on my part. But I gave my mom my sad little eyes and she convinced my dad to let me take it just for a few hours. “I swear dad, nothing will happen. I will be so careful. You’ll see.”  So he hesitatingly handed me the keys to his precious Mercedes and out the door my friend and I went.

We walked down an incline to where his car was parked inside a car port. We got into the car and I adjusted the seat and all the mirrors, put on my lap belt (no harness seat belts back then) and put the key in the ignition. I put the car in reverse and before I knew it the car was exploding out of the car port right smack into a pole. Holy SHIT! I hadn’t even made it out of the driveway! I probably don’t need to tell you what happened next. They heard the crash, came running out and my dad would’ve pulled his hair out had he had any. He was screaming on top of his lungs and I was just standing there shaking in my pants.

“So dad, can I still take the car?”

I’m sure you can guess what his answer was…but you’re probably WRONG!

He said, “Take the f**king car…you can’t do any more damage than you already did!” And off we went.

It took me 2 years to pay off the $1000 damage I did INSIDE their own garage!

Ya gotta love kids!

I'm dying to tell you...

I don’t think there’s anything creepier than planning for your own funeral. I was visiting my mom last week and there was a package sitting on the floor from a company called the Neptune Society. I asked her what was in it and she said “my urn”. I was like……. “WHAT? What do you mean your urn?”   She said, “Well, I think it’s my urn, but the box is too heavy for me to pick up”. Heavy?  It’s empty…what could possibly be heavy in an urn that is not holding a body. And she ordered her own urn? Seriously? Ewwww!!!!!! Really, really creepy!

I lifted the 28 lb. box trying to figure out what could make an empty urn so heavy. I opened the package and saw the most beautiful wooden box inside made of mahogany. It was larger than I expected and definitely not in the shape I imagined an urn to be. It was a BOX. Our bodies are going to be ashes in a BOX. A beautiful box, nevertheless, but a box.  And it was causing me to go to places in my head I was hoping to never go to…like how big a pile would human’s ashes make?  And how heavy would they be? And what happens to our teeth? We need a BOX this big? I don’t know if it will fit on my mantle. Do I want to have conversations with a BOX on my mantle?  I mean, who wants to go there? I sure didn’t…but it was kind of hard not to.

I opened the box and inside were more beautiful boxes, a candle, a beautiful wooden square block for god only knows what, and note cards. HUH? Should my mom write the cards prior to the memorial, thanking everyone for coming? Could you imagine being the recipient of a thank you note from someone who just passed away? And who of her friends would still be alive by the time her time came? So many questions I don’t know the answers to. And honestly…I’m kinda glad I don’t know the answers. But I can’t imagine what my mom was going through planning all this.

And what were all those other boxes for? There must be some ritual we are not aware of that those are used for. Sprinkle a little in each to hand out as souvenirs at the memorial? As everyone is leaving you hand them a little box, “Thank you for coming. Here’s your parting gift”. 

Why are we going to that place no one really wants to go to until we have to? We will have enough time to think about that once she kicks the bucket. Again…did not want to know the answers at this point in my life, or my mother’s life. She is still living, for god’s sake. And where will we put her. She’s not really any help either…her answer is…  “I don’t really give a shit…I’ll be dead”. Well if you don’t give a shit, why’d you order such a beautiful, expensive box. I guess that’s why my dad is still sitting in my sister’s garage, in another box within his box. Really?  She couldn’t give him the guest room? At least make his box more comfortable than in the cold, damp garage. I, personally, would rather sprinkle him on the golf or tennis course. Those were his passions. But noooooo…he’s hanging out with the luxury cars in my sister’s garage. At least he’s in good company. Although cars weren’t his thing. I’m sure he’d rather be in the closet with the sports equipment. Or maybe at my mom’s house waiting for her box to be by his box. I think for my mom’s box…I’m going to have a picture of her head pop out on a spring every time I open it.

                                                         
                                   
                      At least that will make me smile.

What's YOUR career path?

Choosing a career path is one of the most monumental decisions you will ever make in your life. There are some of us who know where we are headed right from childhood. We role play as kids and end up exactly where we planned, i.e. teachers, entertainers, etc. There are others who follow the lineage of the family, i.e. miners, lawyers, retail merchants. And then there are those who make you say, "Really? What were they thinking?"

Last night at Thanksgiving dinner, as always amongst 50+ somethings, the conversation goes back to bowel movements. Don't ask why. It's still a phenomenon to me. But I assume as we get older...our bowels just aren't as regular as they once were as kids, so we look forward to discussing it with our peers. Why you ask? I'm not sure but that brings me back to the original thought process I started with. Why would anyone CHOOSE to be a proctologist? I mean, what satisfaction could you possibly gain from looking up someone's asshole? I've thought about this quite a bit. Again, don't ask why. It has nothing to do with age because I've questioned this choice since I was in my 20's when I first had the unwilling pleasure of visiting one.

Have you ever gone to a proctologist? You know how doctors hang pictures in their offices of your digestive system, your bones, your heart, lungs, brain. Guess what proctologists have pictures of? That's right...that long and winding road through the colon to the rectum ending in the anus factimus (not a real word...I just liked the sound of it). Knowing that the rectum is the storage facility for feces, a mini silo if you will...please tell me what goes thru a human's mind to have this passion for exploring that map to the little hole within the tushy! What is the fascination you could possibly experience every day by checking out the rectal walls of another human? Could it be satisfying for them to see the humiliation we all, as patients, experience from putting our butts right up into their face. And I mean...RIGHT IN THEIR FACE. Take it from me...I've had that pleasure, and you can't imagine the bonding that you share with your physician. You also can't imagine what goes thru your head as you're prepping for the office visit.

Omitting my embarrassing reasons for my visit, I would like to share the thought process that I have to think all proctology patients have in common prior to entering that hell hole known as the proctologist's office.

·                     The shower. Let us scrub the area as thoroughly as we can and make sure we do not have to use the restroom immediately prior to the visit, so that there are no little pieces of Charmin hanging on for dear life in the general area.

·                     The timing of our pooping. Let us eat at an hour where the digestive system has time to move that food quickly thru our bodies and enter the porcelain potty prior to our visit.

·                     The type of foods we eat. Do NOT eat broccoli, cauliflower, beans or any Mexican food prior to our visit. The exploding gas compounds that may emanate from our anal canal would be sure to knock the doctor clear across the room since s(he) will be in such close proximity to our anal erectus (again...not a real word).

·                     The doctor's examining table position. Are we on all fours with our asses in the air so the doctor can be at a standing position with his face directly at eye level with the hole? Are we on our sides, in the fetal position, which brings us back to childhood and our vulnerability? Do we stand up, touch our toes and he leans into the butt?

·                     The accomplice. Who will his/her assistant be? Please don't let it be anyone we could possibly know.

·                     The waiting room. Again...please don't let ANY of the patients be someone I have ever encountered anywhere in the history of my existence.

Which brings me to my visit when I was in my 20's and not in that same frame of mind I am now, which is the "I don't give a shit" mode (no pun intended). Back then, embarrassment came much more readily. So this was not something I was easily embarking on.  I made it thru the waiting room experience. Whew...no one I recognized. Thank you very much. On to the examining room. Off came my clothes from the waist down with the sheet draping over the bottom part of my body, my feet dangling with my socks still on. Such a great look but ok..not so bad yet. The MALE doctor enters the room, introduces himself and asks why I am there. I explain my reasons and he tells me to lie down and lean over on my right side and draw my legs up to my chest. I am so thankful that I don't have to look him in the face during this procedure. I also tried to ignore the 20 inch needle he had put on his instrument table before telling me what position to assume. So there I am, facing the wall, butt exposed, beet red in the face, and I hear him open the door and tell his assistant, "Gloria, Please tell the 5 students it's ok to come in now to observe."

The rest is just a blur.

A day in the life...from my dog's perspective

I love testing my human on a daily basis. She seems to give in to every whim I have as long as I look cute with my puppy dog eyes. Once I lay my little head down on my paws and look up at her with my sad eyes, she melts. I get whatever I want. It’s the greatest con game, and 9 out of 10 times, it works.  She  also falls for the standing up on my hind legs and dancing around bit. That’s a huge hit.

But I digress…Let’s start at the beginning of the day.

My human gets up when it’s still dark. Not liking that too much! But what do I know…I can’t really tell time anyway…so if she’s up…I guess it’s time. I do like to lounge a little while she makes the bed around me, because as probably most dogs do, I sleep in bed with her and make sure I move around thru the entire night to let her know who’s king of the king size. Sometimes in the morning I like to go up to her pillow and flop myself down right on top of her head. It’s so funny that if I could laugh…I’d be chuckling up a storm. But instead, I just start licking her face until she wakes up. I love sticking my tongue up her nose holes.

While she goes downstairs to get coffee, I sneak in a little more nap time until she comes back upstairs with some yummy gooey stuff on her finger that I lick off til her hand is filled with my slop. I think I heard her call it something like veetamin or veggamin, or, oh wait…vitamin. That’s it. Whatever that is? I guess it’s good for me because I don’t think she’d give me anything that wasn’t. Then she goes into her office to sip her coffee and start tapping on that thing on the desk. She spends her whole day on that thing. Pictures change on it and it has pretty colors that I can’t see because I only see in black and white, but I can imagine it must be pretty or why would she be on it most of her life.

I like going in there and licking her feet. I think my human really likes that because she’s always yelling to me…”feet…come get mommy’s feet”. I guess my human’s name is mommy because the two other people that stay in this house call her that…but other people that come here to play with me call her Jaime. So I’m not really sure what my human calls herself. I do know that she calls me lots of different things…brutus, brutie, puppy…so I’m a little confused. I just don’t answer to ANYTHING. I ignore her and make her come to me. I like it like that. I have her trained so well! Even when we play fetch, I run and get the toy, but wait there til she comes to get it and throw it again. I like to make sure she gets her exercise.

After an hour of being awake I realize my bladder is about to burst…so I scratch everything possible to get her attention to take me outside. Sometimes I just like peeing in the house on the stair landing cause it’s fun. I like watching the puddle spread out to see how far it will spill. I don’t do it very often…but sometimes I also like pooping in the middle of the pee to see if it will make a bigger mess. I get bored, what can I say. And then I get to watch her grumble as she cleans it up. Breaks up the boredom.

Walking my human……..soooo much fun. I love stopping at every bush and tree and taking my time smelling it all. I squat at every lawn and pretend I’m peeing just to make the walk take longer because I love the smell of outdoors, and it’s my walk, so it’s my right. I like watching her get more and more impatient but I don’t really like the tugging on the thing wrapped around my body. Sometimes I just want to run but she holds me back from running out in front of the cars. I don’t get it…why can’t I play? But my favorite thing…when we get back from my walking her…I get a treat! The treats have gotten smaller lately though…and I think it’s because I’m fat. At least that’s what everyone has been whispering. I did notice the harness on the leash was a little tighter, but I just assumed my human made it smaller.

I then get another treat as an appetizer before my meals. Maybe that’s why I’m so fat. I have convinced her I need an hors d’oeurves before I start my meals. And she bought into it. I’m good. Really, really good!

I’m not sure how I feel about bath time. I love the massage she gives me, but the water in my eyes…that doesn’t work for me so I decide to shake violently to show her. I love getting her whole face soaking wet. It’s funny! And after the bath…I run through the house as fast as I can and get up on all the couches to dry myself off on them. I roll over and over and over to make sure each and every couch and chair is soaking wet! And then guess what? I get ANOTHER treat!

So that’s pretty much how my day goes. I have to say my human is so lovable. She hugs me and tickles my tummy and lets me sit on her desk while she works. She protects me when I’m scared…like when the smoke alarm goes off, or on July 4^th. Those noises scare me to death and she holds me while I’m violently shaking. She knows how to calm me down.

I never leave her side. I follow her around wherever she goes and she lets me. Sometimes she will say “stay” and that is the only word I ever listen to. I figure I should give her just a little pleasure for all that she does for me. I love my human so much.  She’s a dog’s best friend.

berlfein birthday blog

So many of us, as parents, like to talk about our experiences we've gone thru with our kids over the years. To us, our experiences are funnier and more unique than everyone else's, but truth be told, we all go thru the same things, with a few variations. And we can bore the shit out of everyone else with our stories we share.

EXCEPT ME! My kid’s stories definitely out rank any of yours out there. Ok, not really…but I’ll tell you some anyway since this is my oldest daughter’s birthday today. This will be about her...Casie Rebecca...although I have to say...she's not the one who gave me all the angst. But let's focus on her anyway. Short and sweet!

I'm not really sure how this happened, and usually it happens as the parents get on in age… where we revert to childhood and our kids assume the parental role, but Casie assumed the role of parent when she was 3....in the bathtub! Taking care of her sister. I just sat there in disbelief, thinking how did I let this happen? How is my 3 year old taking care of my 9 month old in the bathtub...calling her sweetie pie and washing her back, asking if she was ok. (and I have proof on my “ super 8 videocam”) and she only became more and more parental towards both Taylor and me as she grew.

Except for one thing…she has me on spider alert 24 hours a day. No one can turn the itsy bitsy spider into a man eating arachnid like Casie can. I have found her standing on counters screaming to me to come kill the largest spider she’s ever seen that’s the size of a pinhead. I have never seen someone go streamlining naked out of the shower because “Charlotte” was crawling up the curtain and Casie would not enter the bathroom until her personal exterminator eradicated the monster.

And talk about interrogation…no one, and I mean not the greatest attorneys around, can ask more questions than Casie can. If you ever want to spill your entire life story, engage in a conversation with my own personal Gloria Allred.

I don’t know if the lawyer/negotiator/manipulator is inherent in all first borns…but I have to say…I had no control over my decisions when it came to negotiating with Casie. And everything was a negotiation.  
Me to Casie…  “please take the trash out”  Casie… “ I will if you give me a dollar”
Me to Casie… “please put your clothes away” Casie…“I will if you take me shopping after”
Me to Casie…”please take Taylor to her friends house” … “ I will if you give me money for In ‘n Out”
Casie to Me… “I’ll tickle your back if you let me stay up late”

She now has me trained that if I’m going to ask her to do something…I have to give her something in return. How the hell did I let THAT happen?  SHE’S GOOD! REALLY, REALLY GOOD!

But I realized…it’s only with me. With others, she’s there doing whatever it takes:  supporting, helping, offering, being there without complaining.  How does that happen?  What the hell did I teach her? Be good to all man/woman kind EXCEPT your mother ? What am I? An Idiot? And if I am an idiot in letting this happen…so be it. At some point…she will pay for being so Great! And I couldn’t be prouder!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASIE! I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW and YOU LOVE ME MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER REALIZE!
                                        

I'm just not that into you

Has the definition of “no, thank you” been revised by Webster and I’m just not aware of it? I’m finding that people are a little denser than I was giving them credit for. Well…I might just be referring to men only.  And maybe just not the phrase “no, thank you”, but the whole blow off thing in general.

Are men really that unaware of the excuses women tell them to get out of dates or commitments they made with them? I always thought that the number one excuse women gave was that their old boyfriend had resurfaced and they were going to give it another try. Men actually buy that shit? Really?  I guess I’m better at lying than I thought I was.

I always pride myself on being so honest, but the only time I can’t be is when I have to tell a man that I’m “just not that into him”.  It’s so hard for me to fess up to someone what’s wrong with him. How do you tactfully say you are just downright ugly? Your nose is too big, your eyes are too close together and have you ever heard of 1-800-dentist? There really is no nice way to say that. Or how do you tell him that you aren’t interested in someone who can’t see his feet that are at the bottom of his calves beneath his oversized, gigantic belly?  Or that you can’t communicate with someone who will only listen to the sound of his own voice…and anytime you try to chime in…he has no clue that someone else is actually speaking besides himself and thinks we don’t have any right to.

I’m trying to figure out how I tend to choose men that have some major thing NOT going for them. They are either cheap…like the one guy who whispered in my ear at dinner, “I’ll pick up the tab THIS time”…are you kidding me? Seriously? Or the guy that decided my ass was up for grabs an hour into our date, while we were shooting pool. I was leaning over the table and all of a sudden he gooses me! Really?  Did my butt just cry out “free for all” so come and get it? Then I was having a drink with Mr. Woody Allen personality who started yelling at me when I compared him to Annie Hall’s boyfriend. PSYCHO! And I couldn’t understand a thing he was talking about. I’m not sure if he was too intellectual for me or really was so dumb, I couldn’t follow his gibberish.

There have been those who are so boring…I actually would be snoozing with my eyes open. Did he not notice the glassy look in my eyes and my dream state? Or he thought I was so enamored with him that I was starry eyed? Again…seriously? How do you not know you are boring the shit out of someone?

One of my favorites…the one who readily admitted up front at dinner, that he had an STD. If you’re going to share something that intimate, couldn’t you have done it on the phone so I could have not wasted my time and gas money meeting you in person. And then telling me he likes the dark better and doesn’t really like going out in the daytime. His pasty skin when I first laid eyes on him should have been the tell-tail sign, but I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt. The fangs…that was the dead giveaway.  And I’m serious…his eye teeth were definitely hanging lower than most. I quickly left that one before I was drained of my blood, which may have been a little too late after he divulged the STD info. Yeah…I wanted HIM badly!

                                                                     

So how DO you tell him that you are just not that into him without completely hurting his feelings? I did write a standard Dear John email to send (because I’m too chicken to do it in person), and I have used it with some success, saying I just didn’t feel the chemistry. And as I’ve said before, it’s all about the chemistry…

But I must say…I’m done with the test tube phase. Time to discover the almost-perfect mate.

taking control and driving in the fast lane

It recently dawned on me that my initial reaction to someone of the opposite sex has ONLY to do with chemistry. I am either going to be physically attracted to someone, or not...and I don't have any choice in the matter, because it is all about my body chemistry. My body is the one telling me how I am going to react to someone physically. It's so absurd but that's just the way it is. I have no option. It's not all about the physicality or the emotion. That comes secondary. It's totally about the chemistry. How bizarre is that?
So I have to say...when they say people are sex addicts...I do believe that may just be true. We have a chemical reaction to things that we just can't control. And maybe that urge to jump someone's bones all the time is part of the uncontrollable chemistry. 
I always thought I had a "type" that I was attracted to, but over the years...I have been attracted to some guys, who, had I not known myself better, looking from the outside in...I would have thought I was just a hooker out for a good time. But in reality...I was attracted to these guys. Just their touch on my skin would literally send chills through my body. How do you explain that? To look at the person...you would say..."who would be attracted to him"....and there I was...totally turned on. So when they say there is no accounting for taste...there is. It's called chemistry. And you know what...that's a great thing! If everyone only had the attraction based on good looks...do you realize how many people would be lonely? But chemistry is out of our control...and maybe we are so much better off for it. (And to think…I was the worst student in chemistry…maybe that’s why I’m being punished post 50!)
I guess this dawned on me because of menopause. I know I just did a blog on this...but it made me realize that who I was 15 years ago...is not who I am now...sexually. So what that tells me is, since the only thing that has changed is my body chemistry, then sexual attraction is ALL ABOUT the chemistry. Which, again, I have no control over. Well...that's not entirely true. I do have control with HRT. But there are so many women out there who think life is over as we know it. I know I did. But I have taken control, I think...and am hoping that what I am doing...will change that. So here I am blogging about my venture of my sexual prowess. Total vulnerability...but why not trace the map of post menopause. At this point...I have nothing to lose. But so, so much to gain! Like I said last time...I want that sex drive back...and I've taken over the wheel and am driving in the fast lane. I'll keep you posted.

                                                        

shit or get off the pot

There are certain requirements once we reach that 50+ demo that, as kids, we swore we would never indulge in. I found that out as a young girl when I would overhear my mom and my nana talking on the phone. It was mandatory that you discuss your bowel movements. I'm not sure why that was a necessity, but it seemed to really be an important matter to them both. There was never a conversation without discussing their daily bowel habits. I figured that once I became 50 or older...I would have to discuss my potty dealings with all my adult counterparts. It was just part of the evolution of aging.

There are also certain tests that are required once you cross over that 50 age limit. Two of my favorites...the mammogram and the colonoscopy. I can't tell you how much I have looked forward to these all my life. Who would have ever thought I would actually reach that age where I had to partake in these wonderful assessments of my breasts and my asshole (ok, my colon...but still...my asshole IS involved!). But here I am to tell you exactly how I feel about these two exams.

Mammo's...as we women so endearingly refer to them. Please tell me why the "thing" has to squish your breast til it wants to explode. And why can't they make that plate warm? Is there something written in the American Journal of Medicine that says make it as cold as you can so as to freeze the frickin' breast til it cracks? Maybe we can see ice cubes shoot out of her nipples? I also believe the technician runs her hands under cold water before she handles your ta-ta's. Then she discusses it with the other technicians about how we flinched and almost smacked her in the face until she pressed our tits so hard we couldn't catch our breath. And let's not take just a couple of pictures...let's take 4-8 pictures...so we can squish it so many times to see her tolerance. And if you have breast implants...we wanna see if we can pop those suckers! Then let's make her wait to see if they came out ok...but let's tell her..."oh...sorry...this one isn't clear. We need to do your left breast all over again". Uh huh...yeah...THAT's gonna happen.''  Just let me leave and you won't lose your life.

Colonoscopies...have you ever had a colonoscopy? Because if you haven't...you will never understand the "scope" of what I'm going to describe! The procedure itself...piece of cake. The preparation...you have got to be kidding me. I never knew so much shit could come out of one little body, that came out of mine. In my wildest dreams...my poor little butt has never seen the toilet that often in my 56 years, as it did in these 4 or 6 or 8 or whatever frickin' hours of prep it took for my wonderful colonoscopy. Let me say that word again...COLON-FUCKING-OSCOPY.

OK...I'm good.

Jello...if I never see another bite of jello in my entire life...it will be too soon. I hated it before my prep...and I hate it even more now. I ate an entire VAT of jello...the size of Jupiter, because that's pretty much all I could eat. And it couldn't be red...it had to be some other color that I can't stand. So I ate orange. If I never see the color orange again...it will be too soon. Are you getting the picture? Oh yeah...I was allowed BROTH. I could VOMIT. Broth? So I got this broth and put it in a cup and microwaved the shit out of it and held my nose as I sipped cup after cup of BROTH! What the fuck is broth anyway? Does it have a purpose other than being part of the diet of a colonoscopy patient? Not being a cook, I'm not familiar with broth...but after tasting it...I don't understand why it's even a product that someone may purchase. It's absolutely disgustingly vile.

So...jello and broth will never be a part of my existence until my next colonoscopy. Can't wait for THAT day!

The laxatives...oh my g-d..seriously!!!! I wish it was an out of body experience but it couldn't be any more IN body than it was. My poor little tushy! The laxatives and drink combined are supposed to "irrigate" my body. And the preparation is supposed to "prepare" you for what's going to happen. Well...let me tell you...there was no preparation for this shit but there definitely was irrigation! When it hit....it hit...and I bee lined for the toilet. I was like an offensive tackle. You get in my way...I'm gunning you down. The toilet was my best friend for the next 8 hours. Who ever knew that a body could hold this much shit without turning brown. I felt like I was shitting out every organ of my body. I'm surprised there are still body parts left within me. I kept looking in the toilet to see if I could identify which organ decided to streamline it's way out of my ass hole. The body is a strong vehicle. Because if every single thing doesn't come pouring out of you during this period...you have conquered the colonoscopy. I have permanent half moon imprints in both my cheeks. And I take pride...I HAVE conquered the colonoscopy!

And I don't need one for another for 10 years...how lucky am I!

But the great thing is...as much as I hated these exams...I am so thankful for them. And don't ever let anyone ever dissuade you from them. They suck...but they are life saving and you couldn't ask for anything more. And just think...you, too, could have a great experience to share! asshole to asshole!

X-RATED (only because i have kids!)...read at your own risk...SEXUAL CONTENT, FOUL LANGUAGE

Don't you think it's a little bit ironic that what a woman goes thru in her later years of life incorporates the word "MEN" into her hormonal progression? Men - o - pause! Are they stopping our lives....are they holding us back from the sexuality that we would have? That really makes no sense. That's not what it is. Men would never hold us back from our sexual drive! Men are not the problem, they are the innocent victims. Then what is it? Because I am certainly not going to man bash....I love men. I love them as husbands....I love them as friends...I love them in any capacity as long as they are good to me and allow me to be good to them...so what is it that makes me as a 50+ year old woman not want to jump all over that? It’s not for their lack of trying! It’s……………………………………….

MEN-O FUCKING-PAUSE

Our wonderfully predetermined hormonal imbalance that decides who we are going to become over the age of 50, whether we like it or not. Who we will become whether it has anything to do with where we came from, or if we have a choice. Seriously? Who is this sexually dormant woman within this previously sexually active body? Hello?????? Are you in there??? Yoo hoo….come out!

WTF! I want my old persona back. I want that person from 10+ years ago that wanted to jump on every guy who walked past me. He didn’t have to be great looking, he didn’t have to be an athlete, he didn’t have to be wealthy, he didn’t have to have a brain…he just had to have a penis! A functioning penis. That’s all I wanted. And now…who gives a shit. Vibrators are working for me just fine…and even those…are feeling a little slighted sitting in my drawer.

Ahhhh….a penis…how I long for those days! But I digress…

Hair has become an integral part of my every day life. I believe they are called whiskers. Whiskers were what would rub against MY face after a day’s hair growth from my boyfriend/husband. Whiskers was the name of my neighbor’s cat. Whiskers are now part of my monthly hair removal regimen. Thank you menopause. The ever sprouting goatee is looking just fine.

Dry as a desert. Since there are men and women reading this (and possibly my kids)…I won’t go into detail. But what actually happened to becoming wet? The deluge also stopped with the demon called menopause. And those hormonal crèmes…yeah…love the globs secreting during the next 24 hours of injection. Very sexually romantic to have wet patches in your undies. And now I know why someone invented mini pads! Which will eventually grow and develop into Depends.  Can’t wait for THAT transition.

Sleep…I seem to remember that there is something called a good night’s sleep. I believe it had to do with getting a certain amount of hours in ONE nite. HUH? That really doesn’t ring a bell to me. Suffice it to say…5 hours on and off…is one of the best nights I could ask for. Oh…and for the night sweats…changing my sheets on a daily basis…and my sleep wear…has become very profitable for Victoria Secret and Bed, Bath and Beyond.

So what have I left out?  Oh yeah…that lack of elasticity left in the skin…the droopy, saggy cheeks that are now just baggage left from earlier years. Jowls…I could pack an entire suitcase into those cheeks. That’s a whole other story on plastic surgery…to be continued.

Let’s get back to sex…

I want my sexuality back. Or should I say my sexual drive back. My sexuality has always been there.  I don’t give a shit about anything else…just give me that. I’ll live with the moustache and beard, I’ll live with the night sweats, I’ll live with the whatever else…but give me back the desire to jump the next guy that crosses my path and absolutely love not caring who he is…I just want to love it! I miss it. I want it. And for those women who say “now that it’s gone” they don’t miss it…I say BULL FUCKING SHIT!

The Art of Patience

I'm a relatively patient person...for the most part...but I have to say...there are just some things I absolutely can NOT hold my tongue from lashing out and showing my frustration. Or at least...I don't want to hold it. It's definitely a test of endurance. There are just some scenarios that warrant a whip lashing to those who are so frickin' oblivious it's absolutely ridiculous...

Seriously...I was in the bank today and this elderly woman...and these days I can't really say elderly with such emphasis since I'm almost at that age as it is...but she came into the bank...put a piece of gum in her mouth (on her obnoxiously painted red lips)...and smacked it so hard I thought her lips would peel off from her skin. There is no way that her hearing could stand the volume that resounded in her head. I actually had to look around to see what the noise was that was echoing thru the bank. I looked around and saw all the bank employees snickering with disbelief that this woman could actually function with that noise going thru her head. Are you f**king kidding me? How could she not realize that her lip smacking was the biggest attraction in BofA! Or in the 93012 area code at that moment! I believe that any dog alive…was covering their ears because of the decibel of that lip smacking! How her dentures didn’t fall out of her mouth to the floor was beyond me. I want to know the name of her dentist for future dental procedures.

Ok…on to more obnoxious things that bug me to death…men whistling in the super market. What makes food shopping a forum for practicing whistlers. Shut the f**k up! I do NOT want to hear that whistling while I’m shopping…I don’t even know what to name it…it’s just down right annoying…so stop it!

Along the same lines…stop playing with the change in your pockets! Don’t you know that you can now go to a machine and turn that change in to cash! GO DO IT! I don’t want to hear it in your pockets anymore!!! SHOW ME THE CASH!

Do you know that popcorn does not have to have the lip smacking sound that they portray in the movies. You can actually take a bite without others hearing it. Try it some time…it really does work! And keeping your mouth closed while you’re chewing…a bonus…extra points for that one. Taking one kernel at a time…makes for much quieter, subdued moments where you can actually HEAR what’s going on in the movie…and focus.

And now to the freeways…should I even start? Who gives out licenses these days?  I believe I’ve touched on this subject before…so for now…I’m going to leave you with this…

If we have a relationship of any manner…and you think you may have any of these characteristics portrayed above…please do me a favor…if you can’t stop the behaviors prior to seeing me...Warn me…give me the opportunity to flee! Because I can tell you right now…no matter how gorgeous you may be, no matter how intelligent you may be,  no matter how wealthy you may be….it ain’t gonna be…the art of patience can just go so far. And unless you ARE all three…gorgeous, intelligent, wealthy…but you still smack your lips and jiggle your change but do NOT recognize it…you’re not on my A list.

what would YOU do?

is it possible that you can take too many road trips? i think i may be proving that's a fact. there are way too many things i think about now, that i didn't think about before i started traveling the many miles of the california freeways that i've driven over the past few years.

i started thinking about what i would do on my many travels if i saw a body on the side of the road. would i stop to investigate. would i stop to help. would i want to get involved. would you stop? think about it. could YOU drive by a body...possibly alive, and just keep going. could you live with that? i don't think i could. but then you think...if i stop...i could be implicated in some unforeseen involvement that was totally innocent. do i want to take that chance of being a suspect in something that i am nowhere near involved in? but what if i can help. what if i can really make a difference in a murder mystery. what choice do i really have. and if the person is alive...i could possibly save this person's life and make a difference. 

do you think i may watch too much TV? do ya think?

but really...saving someone!  how cool would that be? not only would you save that person, but you would be saving their family from so much pain! AND possibly helping catch some asshole who is going around doing whatever they are doing to destroy people's lives. so....the down side is??  i don't know if i can come up with a downside...except fear!

sometimes i almost want to see something that will cause me to make that 'on the spot' decision, to see where i would go with it...because you never really know until it actually happens. when people tell you "oh...you should have done this, or you should have done that"...unless you have actually been in that exact situation...don't tell me what i SHOULD do...because you have no idea! and i, personally, would never know until i am right there, on site, dealing with it. in ANY situation.

so don't ever let people tell you what you SHOULD do in any situation. until they have lived it themselves...they are no experts. and even then, no one can ever have the same experience you have in your own body and mind at the time you have it. it's yours alone...and yours to cherish!

and the moral of the story is...look straight ahead and keep your eyes on the road...because if you deviate...you may encounter unsuspecting circumstances that could change your life forever. but then again...those life changing events...could be the most life shaping events you will ever experience.

Secrets: the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

You don't ever think a secret could impact another person in a life changing way, but the truth is, it can reshape the history of your existence. It can redefine who you are in the pecking order of life and define who you are today. It can have exponential repercussions on your existence without you ever realizing it.

The Good...The small, left out details that could be beneficial to a relationship, so as not to hurt the partner/the spouse/the child. Sometimes you just don't need to know history that could damage what you now have. It’s history, let the past be the past, as long as it's not negatively affecting the present.

The Bad...The details you think are better off left out, then discovered...having to do with the present. Not so good! Most likely...those secrets shouldn't be secrets. Actually, they probably shouldn't be actions that have ended up as secrets. BAD SECRETS! Divulge right away!

The Ugly...MAJOR details left completely out and years of hiding them. Then the guilt overtakes the soul...overtakes the body...overtakes your complete being and you have to let it all out. Devastation to those you divulge those secrets to. Secrets that no one in their present state of mind could ever imagine would be a part of their life. Those are other people's lives...real people don't have those kinds of secrets.

Those are the doozies! The Peyton Place secrets of  life. Who would have ever thought I would be the recipient of one of those secrets that would be life changing. But I was. And I'm still in shock. And it has changed my life completely. It has changed who I am, who I thought I was, who my family is, and why my family is who they are today. It has changed how I look at members of my family. And now it makes us all recognize why our personalities are who we are today. It now all makes sense. Why we have chosen the paths we have taken. Why we have treated each other the way we have. Why we have withdrawn, why we have suppressed, why we have denied, why we are who we are.

It has caused us to look at members of our family in a whole new light. It has given depth to personalities I once thought shallow. It has given me answers to questions I didn't even realize I was asking all my life.

Secrets...the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sometimes...they are shouting out to you...and you just don't hear them.

who's your favorite?

I remember sitting around with a few friends talking about our childhood and our pecking order and how that affects us in life. I was the youngest of three girls and obviously the favorite. So I thought. That didn't last too long! There definitely is a psychological affect on which level you are in that pecking order.

The oldest takes on the authoritative role...the "boss"...and only because we allow it. But we look up to them as having knowledge none of us will ever get because we weren't born as early as they were. And of course they know everything...so much more than any of us.

The middle sibling is the discombobulated one! Not sure where they belong...so they just feel they should take care of everyone...from parent to sibling to anybody who will let them. They forego their own life to take on the responsibilities of everyone else around them. And they are so caring and unselfish...how do you repay them and let them know how important they really are in so many lives.

The youngest....I think the youngest has it the best, for the most part...except for the hand-me-down clothes part. And the part where the two oldest screwed it up for the youngest by doing things they shouldn't have done and then the youngest suffers for it because now they can't do those things that their older siblings did without getting into trouble.

But aside from that...the youngest is kind of pampered as the "baby" of the family. The youngest is the last to leave...so there is so much agony over the empty nest that everything is done to keep that one home.

Not in MY family...but so I hear! I was pretty much pushed out the door. "Love ya...enjoy life...come visit!"

That's where I am in that pecking order of life.  The youngest. Thinking I'm the baby of the family...how adorable am I? So one day I decided I was going to bring up favoritism with my parents. I knew I was my mom's favorite...or I deluded myself into thinking that. But I wasn't sure about my dads, although I thought I did. So we were sitting around the house one day, just my dad and I, and I said  "SISTER #1" (don't wanna use real names because if my family reads this, I don't want them to have a clue who I'm referring to) is your favorite, right dad? And he says "No, SISTER #2 is" and I said "oh...Thanks dad! Good to know I wasn't in the running!"

And there you have it!

do you feel at home in your own home?

Do you ever not feel at home in your own home...or for that matter...in your own mind? There are so many times I just want to speak my mind...speak how I am really feeling. I have things I want to say, feelings I want to express that are just bursting to get out...but because of sociological etiquette (or political correctness...I guess I should say), I'm actually afraid to express myself. I have no biases, no prejudices, no social snobbery...yet I'm afraid if I say the wrong thing...it will be interpreted as such. We never know what others will "hear" when we speak, and how they will interpret what we are saying. We have to be so careful as to not hurt anyone's feelings or inadequacies, or social stratification, that even if we have absolutely no biases whatsoever...we can come off as appearing that way.

I feel that I have to censor myself in every day life. How ridiculous is that? The many roles I play are varied. I am a mother, I am a career woman, a friend, a lover (well...not in the last few years...in case anyone was curious...and available!) an ex-wife, a confidante, and other assorted roles. How can I assume those roles if I can't be the totally honest person that I am?

Of course we play the game in our careers...that's just how it's been forever, to survive. But I will tell you this...I will NOT play the kiss ass role. I do draw the line at that. If they don't like me for my assets...then they can kiss my assets good-bye.

The friend and confidante role...that's not really playing...that's a role that I love...but every so often, you still have to watch what you say...because you just never know if you cross a line. If true friendship is there...no worries whatsoever...but there is always that 1% deviation and the unknown...and well...it weighs on your conscience.

The mom role! What could be any greater than the mom role. It's not a role...it's what comes naturally. There is nothing more real than being a mom...the love that emanates from me is so natural and pure, that there is no defining the feeling. but what I have come out of my mouth...that's a whole other thing! I have to absolutely edit the words and feelings. Not the feelings of love and respect and admiration for my kids, because those come pouring out without thinking. But the everyday goings on and the past that I've had....that's a whole different ball game. They don't need to know what my past is.  But they do need glimpses in there...so how do you edit what's right or wrong to divulge? What I do is mentally put myself back at that age to see and feel what I was thinking so I can relate. But I still have to censor myself! I need to dig so deep within to make sure I only tell what will positively affect them. But I still have to worry about saying the right things on a day to day basis…because that affects their whole life. A parent’s role is so monumental…that there is no going back once the impression is made.

How is that being totally honest? Can we ever be totally honest? It's so frustrating. And that's only with our kids. How about with our parents and siblings? What about our other halves? Our partners/husbands/wives? Do we have to censor things with them, too? Of course we do, because in this day and age, people don’t seem willing to work on relationships as hard as they should and seem to walk out more easily then they used to. I believe people are more out in the open with their feelings, but then there are always consequences. So which is better…back in our parents day when you just didn’t talk about relationships…and just stayed together no matter what, or open up and take the chance of changing the dynamics. I’ll still go for the latter, but will we ever get to a point where we can be our total, honest, uncensored, 100% selves?

Will we ever be totally at home in our own home. Will we ever be totally at home in our own mind? Will we? Will I ever not have to ask the question…can I just tell you how I really feel?

Free Falling

College years...who wasn't a little crazy? We were indestructible, weren't we? So skydiving wasn't that outrageous a thought. We were in the middle of Appalachia, one of the poorest parts of the country, with very little to do for entertainment. I always said skydiving was something I was going to do before I died and if I died doing it...at least I was happy on the way out.

I rounded up 8 friends and convinced them to skydive with me...although it didn't take too much convincing. Nine bored college kids doing something adventurous and dangerous.  We were immortal, weren’t we?

Kentucky had the only skydiving school in the tri-state area…Kentucky? You mean there’s more to that state then just the derby? Skydiving and the Kentucky derby…that’s probably about it. Seriously…have you ever heard of Kentucky besides geography class in grade school?  

We arrived bright and early, eager to put our lives into the hands of jump masters that we didn't know at all. We had to literally sign our lives away…I mean literally…”if I die…the school is not held responsible for my death”...an hour of paperwork...then ready for training for the next 6 hours.

Ok…we were there, ready to go, “give us your training facilities…we’re ready!”  Nine doe-eyed  novices waiting to be trained by 20 somethings who also had no clue what they were doing, but yet we put our lives in their hands with no second thoughts. Why??? Seriously…WHY?  

We looked around for a sophisticated training center only to see what looked like someone’s backyard. So there we were, jumping off picnic tables to learn how to fall. Really? Two feet high picnic tables were going to prepare me for the 10,000 foot drop when I had to land with my parachute? I was going to learn how to roll on my ankles so as not to break my legs, or anything else for that matter…from a picnic table…getting me ready to have this G-force experience…and not die!?

Ok then…let’s do it!

After learning about packing our chutes and pulling the chord at the right time after 3 counts, and various other information that we would never use…we got into our very stylish jumpsuits and helmets. We followed the jump master to a plane that we assumed was for simulation purposes since the control panel was a magazine cut out. They explained where to position ourselves when getting ready to jump, one foot out on the strut and hands holding onto a bar on the wing. It was so exciting! He asked if we were ready and all nine of us couldn’t contain ourselves. We got into groups of three and decided who would be the first group to go. I volunteered because I couldn’t wait any longer and I also didn’t want to have any opportunity to chicken out.

“Where’s the plane?”  “You’re on it!” WHAT?? This is it? You have got to be kidding me! “There’s no instrument panel.” “We have a key to turn it on…and a steering wheel…that’s all we need”   OK…that makes sense…let’s go!

I went in a group with Ian and Mori. Ian was first, I was going second, Mori third. My heart was pounding out of my chest as we took off.  I was astonished this thing actually could leave the ground. It looked like something from WWII. But there we were, flying high. Ian was getting ready to put his foot out on the strut…holding on to the wing…and then he froze. The jump master was yelling at him to let go and fall and he was not moving. Finally, the jump master and I both pushed him out and there he went…free falling. It was my turn next. I was out and gone within seconds because it was scarier to me to stand on the strut and look down than to let go and free fall for the whole 3 seconds before the chute opened. I had completely forgotten to even pull the ripcord…but luckily we were on a static line and everything was done for us. Had it not…I’d be a bug splat on the ground.

The wind in my ears…flying high above the corn fields…sitting in the harness…flying…there was nothing like it. It seemed like forever but it was only about 3 minutes…but those three minutes could never be compared to any other feeling in my life. Free falling…what an experience. Not a care in the world. Heaven.

Until I landed in a bull pen with a bright, red parachute and noticed a bull coming toward me. I did roll on my ankles correctly, thankfully, because it gave me my legs to run and get the hell out of there. I looked behind me…there was the bull coming at me and I hopped over some barbed wire, tearing the chute, while trying to get out of the harness and running for my life. Again, my heart was pounding out of my chest, but that time, was not because I was excited.

Luckily the people from the school saw where I landed and picked me up in a truck. I had landed about a mile off target…obviously not where I was supposed to land.

That was the last and only time I skydived. But I did achieve one of my goals in this lifetime, and an experience that can never be matched.

what's in a name

am i crazy or have names changed drastically in the last couple of decades? or maybe just the last decade. i remember as a kid, there was not one other person named jaime. when peer pressure is rampant, i was so embarrassed to tell people my name. i wasn't a susan, or jane, or linda...i was a jaime. on top of that, i would get mailers asking MR. Jaime Perlov "do YOU want to join the army now?" and when i went to summer camp, they always put me in the boys cabins. (thinking back...that wasn't such a bad thing!) but then...i was so humiliated!

granted...it was the 60's....but although it was the 60's, i was only a 10 year old girl who was already embarrassed enough by my name. now i was being mistaken as a boy? how can i ever live!!

then i think back to my grandfather. his name was irving. irving...really??? so his parents looked at him when he was born...gushing all over their baby boy...thinking he is the most adorable creature on earth...and said..."YOU LOOK LIKE AN IRVING"??? you have got to be kidding! i don't care what era we are in...IRVING?

and now the names of the present. most(?) names are pretty normal and nice and everyone likes them. but then you have the outrageous. and these kids have to live with these names for the rest of their lives. who am i to say that in 10 years or so...their names won't be the susan, jane and linda's of their era. but i have to think...in 2020...susan, jane and linda....will come full circle...and it will be back to Dick and Jane and Spot. and won't times be ever so simple and happy again.