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!