Who You Calling Fugly?

I miss my girls now that we don’t live together. Well...I miss certain things about them. What I don’t miss: the empty bank account, the dishes left in the sink, the clothes strewn in places I didn’t know existed, not knowing where they are in the middle of the night if they forget to call, that ‘time of the month’ when I wasn't sure exactly which personality I was dealing with…theirs or Satan. You get my drift. So wait…then why do I miss them? Oh yeah…

I miss seeing their faces every day and knowing what's going on in their lives on a minute by minute basis; which I’m sure they just loved anyway. I miss knowing how they feel at all times. I miss being their mommy. I’m still their mom...but I’m not their mommy anymore. They don't 'need' me to fix a boo-boo or feed them, or all those other things mommies do. I never in a million years thought I would want that role. I had sworn I was never having kids. I hate kids. Maybe hate is too strong a word. I really don't hate anything. Except lima beans. I hate lima beans. I could throw up every time I see a lima bean. You may as well give me a spoonful of vomit. But I digress. I extremely dislike other people's kids. I love my own kids, but not others. Unless they just kind of ignore me. Then I’m ok with them and can tolerate them. But don't let those little rug rats whine, or scream, or talk to me. Ick. I wonder how I’ll feel when I have grandchildren. I sure hope I feel differently about them than I do about those non-blood related kids.

When I was little I never said or thought, 'Oh...when I grow up I want to be a mommy.' Never. I was going to be a singer or dancer...although I could do neither. I just assumed I would be great at both when I became an adult. I’m not sure why I thought that…the innocence of youth I guess; but boy was I wrong. I mean...I have rhythm and can carry a tune...but that doesn't qualify me to star in my own one-woman show. [Although……maybe....] Oops…off track again. But wanting to be a mom? No way. Even when I was little, I didn't like littler kids. They were annoying. I don't think I was annoying as a little kid although my family may feel otherwise. Nah...I doubt it. I was pretty frickin' adorable. [click on video below]

             

I did figure I would get married when I grew up, but that was never a must either. So I decided to try it twice to be sure it wasn't for me. It wasn't.

However, when I met my first husband and saw him around other children, I thought he would make a great dad. He told me he wanted kids, and I loved him, so I wanted to give him a child or two. And since I loved him, I thought maybe I would want to be a mother to his children. And if I didn't like it...at least I knew they would have one parent who loved them and enjoyed being their parent, and he could do all the work. [Ha!] There was a lot of rationalizing before becoming pregnant. But maternal instinct? Cinderella’s stepmother was more suited than I was.

After 2 years of marriage we decided to try to get pregnant. I don't know if I should even use the word 'try' because when I decided I wanted to, I did on the first attempt. Both times. I knew my body so well that as soon as I knew I was ovulating it was like, "Ok...bedroom...NOW!" (I think I said that way more times during the month other than when I was ovulating...but he's a man...so naturally he happily went along with the obvious charade.) When we 'did it' on the actual ovulating day, I laid [lay?] on my back afterwards, for about 10 more minutes, with my legs up on the wall, so all his active, little spermies would swim on down to meet my eagerly awaiting eggs and boom! A production was in the making, and I was pregnant.

I was an emotional mess during the pregnancy, worrying that I wasn't going to love my baby. It was the easiest pregnancy, too...except for the 28 f**king hours of labor I endured...but the nine months leading up to those 28 f**king hours of labor were a breeze as far as pregnancies go. I was a little nauseated during the first trimester, but never threw up or had any problems. [Good thing no one put lima beans in front of me.] Of course, saltines were my best friend and I only gained 21 pounds, so I should have been thrilled about the whole journey. But what if I hated my child? I mean I hated kids. Oops...I mean I extremely disliked kids. What if I didn't love my child? It would make sense that since I didn't like kids I wouldn't like my own. How horrible would that be? So for nine months I was in panic mode that I was going to be the worst example of a mother ever. I was going to be written up in some magazine as number one on the top 10 list of not famous, worst moms. [Unless I ended up having that one-woman show…then I would be on the top 10 list of famous, worst moms.] 

But when that peanut of a child erupted from my body to make her grand entrance into the world [after 28 f**king hours]...that was it. I was in love. There was no doubt in my mind that this girl had me in her clutches. That should have been my first indication as to what the rest of my life would be with her. She manipulated me from the minute she was born. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Well...maybe a little bit other way. But she was the best baby…never cried, happy, and absolutely beautiful. 

My second pregnancy was totally the opposite. Thank god I didn't go through that one first or I never would have had a second. But I knew I wanted this child having known how much in love I was with my first. The pregnancy was the worst....I threw up for the entire nine months every single day. It was awful. And not at any particular time of day...it wasn't morning sickness with her, it was 24 hour sickness without one god damn day of reprieve. The only decent thing was I gained very little weight with her, too. Probably because I was too sick to eat much. No cravings with this one like my Italian craving during the first. I had a calzone every day for lunch and some other Italian dish for dinner. You would have thought my baby would come out singing the score to La Traviata. 

The only craving I had with my second was to feel good. That’s all I wanted, but I think I had a better relationship with the Ty-D-Bol man than I did with my husband. In spite of that, I knew once she came out I would feel better and be totally in love for a second time.

My labor was only 6 hours, so although the first nine months were a nightmare, she was making labor much easier this time around. Don’t get me wrong...6 hours is like an eternity in labor hours...but compared to the 28 f**king hours with the first...six hours was a walk in the park. Well...not really. I still wanted to tear the f**king head off my husband, rip out his heart, and shove this baby up his ass. But all in all, it was much easier than my first one. I couldn't wait to see her.

And then..........holy shit. I almost passed out. Was that MY baby? No way...she was frickin' ugly. I had an ugly baby. I was devastated. How can I have an ugly baby? Impossible. 

They must have switched it while I wasn't looking. [Obviously she took after her dad’s side.] I can't bond with a freakishly ugly baby. I thought all parents were blinded by their love and thought their baby was cute even though they could have a Shrek baby. Why wasn't I one of those parents who was in denial about how ugly their baby was?

How could this happen? I thought she would grow on me but she screamed her head off from the minute she was born for the next two years; mostly at night when I wanted to sleep, but still...for two straight years she got me up 3 times a night for two hours at a time. And I was a single mom because we divorced when she was nine months old. I probably should have rethought that one and waited until she stopped having screaming fits before filing for divorce.

For the first 6 months I had a hard time bonding with her. Probably from her crying and being sorta ugly. She was getting less ugly month by month but not less enough to make up for the temper that only a crotchety old man should have. She was the female version of a baby Walter Matthau. 

But then she hit that 6 month mark when her adorable personality kicked in and she charmed me with her dimpled smile, and I was smitten. I fell in love for the 2nd time with a child. Who knew?

So aside from giving birth to Rosemary’s baby, motherhood is everything I never knew it could be. Do I miss those glory days of their youth? Absolutely. Would I want to go back and relive their childhood years? You have got to be f**king kidding me. I’m happy just the way we are. Except for that part about missing them...that will never change. Although, on second thought...I could just move in with them......... 

Vagina Dialogues

Over the course of one’s lifetime, we end up going to many kinds of doctors. I know I have seen pretty much every specialist out there. We women seem to have it much worse than the men. I know…I know, guys...you get your prostate checked and yada yada yada...and I’m sure getting your balls squeezed for 3 nano-seconds while coughing is ten times worse than giving birth. We feel very sorry for you. But let me tell you...going to the gynecologist is not only humiliating [not quite as humiliating as the proctologist, mind you, but humiliating nonetheless], but it is also the gateway to so many other kinds of exams and more. 

Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to have my six month checkup with my gyno. I happen to love my gyno...she's thorough, knowledgeable, young and chatty. Quite chatty. I tend to wonder if she's paying attention to what she's doing while her hands are halfway up my hoohoo and she's chatting away inside my vagina.

But before I even get to see her, I have to get on the exam table while her nurse takes my vitals. I always wondered why blood pressure and temperature are the two standard measurements they take in every office no matter what kind of doctor you're visiting. If I'm visiting the orthopedist, what's he going to do if I have a fever? Put me in a neck brace? I think I'll have to check that one out on Google. Or I guess I could just ask my daughter since she's a medical assistant and in nursing school. It's the simple, logical things that I tend not to think of right away. I frighten myself sometimes.

"Take off all your clothes and put the top on, open to the front please, and drape the other across your lap. You can leave your socks on if you'd like." It's a look we all want to have at some point. Naked, wearing athletic socks.

I don't know about you, but I unknowingly get nervous in the doctor's office and the longer I sit there, the more I start sweating, and when my bare bottom is sitting on that examining table paper, my tushy starts to stick to it.  I try to lean to one side and then the other, to lift up off the paper, but little pieces break off on each cheek and by the time the doctor comes in, I have an entire paper roll stuck to my butt. 

Sometimes I wait so long for the doctor to come in, I start to check things out: test my reflexes with the little knee knocker thingie; take a few gloves and shove them in my purse, [for reasons unbeknownst even to me]; search the drawers for anything of interest; take my own blood pressure, [just because I feel grown up using the stethoscope]; and read all the back, knee, neck, organ and shoulder diagrams. Sometimes I go to the doctor just to catch up on my medical reading; although many of the diagrams are way out of my league and totally baffle me.

Finally the doctor comes in and after she's done picking the paper out of my nether region, she comes at me with the Jaws of Life. "You're going to feel a little pinch." A LITTLE pinch? You may as well attach a lobster claw down there. That clench would be less of a pinch then the instrument she's using. How wide do you need it? I'm not delivering twins here. When she spoke I could hear an echo. 

"Now you'll feel a little scraping." You peeling paint in there? What the hell are you doing? I'd like to keep just a small part of my uterus, or cervix or whatever the hell you're excavating, if you don't mind. Is there a construction site in there?

It's not like I haven't had this done 50 times before, but each time seems just a tad worse than the last. I guess as you get older, and as you see less and less activity...anything shoved up there is a little shocking to the system. 

We commenced with the small talk. She began..."So, how have you been? Anything new going on?" Since her head is staring right into my vaginal cavity I assume she's asking the question regarding my vaginal activity. Since those lips don't really speak for themselves I thought I would answer for them. "Can't say there's been too much action going on." (But thank you so much for reminding me.) "Yes, I can see that...that's not exactly what I was asking." You can see that? What the hell else can you see in there? China? Are my car keys in there...they've been missing? "I was asking about your health...how have you been feeling...you ok? Anything bothering you?"

Oh...you mean aside from the fact that I've been celibate for the last two years, can't remember what a penis looks like and once tried to pick up a cross dresser? (Not really....I made that last one up.) I'm good...if you want to call newly formed jowls, saggy skin, creaky bones, shoulder pain, neck pain, back pain, blurred vision and memory loss, good.  Then I'm great! Couldn't be any better. 

"It's that time of year for your mammogram and bone density tests." Oh, yippee. I always look so forward to being reminded of all the testing that only the aging have to do. Should we throw in another colonoscopy while we're at it?  That's always one of the small pleasures for the over 50 bunch. “Would you like to have them at the same time?” No, thanks, I think one test at a time is plenty. I don’t want to glow from the radiation when I walk out.

“I see you have your gym clothes with you…are you going to work out after?” If I can get my legs closed after you get that crowbar out of me, yes, it’s a good possibility. Of course, I’m now 8 inches wider down there, so let’s hope nothing falls out. I’ll try not to push or exert too much.

“Well…everything looks good. I’ll call you when we get the results back and please remember to set up your tests. You don’t want to put those off.” I don't? Yes I do. "You can get dressed now and I'll see you in 6 months. Good seeing you." 

I got dressed, walked out to the reception area, paid my co-pay, got a few samples from the doctor and left. On my way out to the parking lot, I passed by a few people, nodded hello, just happy I was done with that visit, and took off in my car to the gym. When I got there, I had to pee so badly, I barely made it to the bathroom...and the gym was packed. I was hoping the bathrooms weren't all taken. I walked into the locker room and as I passed by the mirror...there it was...examining table paper hanging out of my gym shorts. And no one at the doctor's office thought it was worth mentioning? I now belong to a new gym.





 

And the Search Begins

I think I’m over being single. Not that I would want to be married again. No thank you. Not that I mind having the choice to do whatever I want whenever I want.  The only person who has to agree with me is me. And not that I mind never worrying about upsetting someone and getting into an argument. I’m not confrontational so it’s nice not to have to confront; especially when it’s over the most insignificant, ridiculous topics and half the time you are arguing just because you somehow ended up there and can’t find your way out. I don’t mind not being accountable to anyone as to where I am going or what I am doing. Being single can be quite liberating.

With that said…what I do mind…is being frickin’ bored.  Living in the middle of suburbia where the median age is 38 and 95% of the males even close to my age are married, and the other 5% are not married for very obvious reasons, makes for a difficult social life. The few single friends I have live in other states; some on the other coast, but those that live in California, may as well live in other states since they are too far to commute to anyway.

I’m not the type to go exploring by myself, for various reasons. One…I get lost in my own house. Two…it’s more fun with someone else. Three…I get lost. And four…I get lost. I tend to have slight panic attacks when I get lost. Yes…even with my talking GPS. I will go to the movies by myself, as long as I know how to get to the theater. Luckily there are a few close by so at least I can be current on my films. I’m not one to join clubs and organizations by myself. I’m basically pretty shy. I know…hard to believe…but I am. So when I have to go to a function where I don’t know anyone, those panic attacks tend to rear up again.  So where does one go when one is shy and living in some god forsaken-out of the city lights-Stepford wives community?

MATCH.COM baby! Here I come. [Again.] I was on Match about 3 or 4 years ago and unfortunately, so were many of the men I am seeing on there now. There is a small, new crop, but the ripe ones are few and far between. Needless to say, I happened upon many who made me stop and say… “Are you f**king kidding me?” Who would write this shit? And some of the pictures…’YOU think that this is your BEST picture you could post?’ If that’s their best, I can only imagine what they look like in person. And why would someone post as his profile picture, one of himself with his head in a fake shark’s mouth with the stupidest looking expression he could make? That’s the first impression he wants to make?

I would love to put their pictures on here so you could see exactly what I’m talking about…but you never know who knows who and I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. At least not to their face. I would rather just talk about them anonymously and write about them hoping it’s no one who reads this. And if it is…maybe this will be a helpful guide to a good match.com profile.

I love when they post one not-so-great pic of themselves and 8 different shots of their pet. Wow…that’s one good looking dog…I think I’ll send him a ‘Wink’. I sure hope he brings his owner with him on our date.

Then there are those who post landscapes. Why? I don’t need to see where you’ve been on vacation and where I probably won’t go if we start dating since you’ve already been there. How is that going to impress me?  Now…10 pictures of your cars and motorcycles? THAT impresses me. I need to know just what options I will have for transportation once we start dating. And if there’s a bike amongst them that I don’t like…well…that’s a deal breaker. I mean…a Honda, not a Harley? Forget you. And there better be tattoos to go along with that bike.

One of my favorites is always the one who poses with his shirt off in the majority of his pictures. A little impressed with yourself, are ya? Well...that is the one thing that does NOT impress me. I will move right along because most likely they look in the mirror way too much for my liking. I don’t care how great a body you have…keep it dressed for the Match site, wouldya? There is a guy I know at my gym who has gained quite a bit of weight but his profile pic is from when he was buff. I would hate to be the date who finds out exactly what he now looks like. Keep the pics current. I wouldn’t want some guy to think he was meeting me the way I looked ten years ago. I may not have gained any weight, but I sure had gravity make its mark. I think the look of disappointment would be worse than him passing me by on the website. I don’t get why guys do that. We are going to notice that there’s a 60 pound surplus once we see you in person guys!  

There was a man who was posing in a Speedo. A 60 something guy, and he wasn’t European. Granted, for his age…he looked good. But who would go out with someone who wears a Speedo if he isn’t swimming for an Olympic Gold Medal.  

Another turn off for me is when I see guys my age who are ‘seeking’ women 25-40. Twenty-five? Are you f**king kidding me? What could you possibly have in common with a 25 year old besides the fact that she may be friends with your daughter? What will you talk about…what she has planned now that she graduated college? And do you think she will be into your sagging you know what, or do you think it may be your inflated bank account? I don’t know…what do you think? I’m sure it will be the hanging skin that turns her on.

One guy wrote in his profile ‘You must have great legs and wear short dresses. That is a requirement.’ WHAT? Do you think he may be a little shallow and a tad hypercritical if your body isn’t perfect? And if someone in her 50’s is wearing a mini-skirt…I don’t care how great her body is…she should have a ‘Glamour NO’ tattooed on her back. There are just some things certain people shouldn’t do. But hey…there is someone for everyone. It’s what makes us all individuals…good taste or not. And what woman would actually read that and say…”That guy is for me”?

I got an email from a not-so-great-looking guy yesterday. The subject line said “Would love to start a conversation with you.” I thought…good opening line. Then I saw his picture. That blew it for me because he was just not my type. The Larry Fine hairdo (of Moe, Larry, and Curly fame) and Andy Rooney eyebrows just didn’t cut it for me. But if that wasn’t enough on its own (not to sound shallow myself, but there does have to be some chemistry)…the body of the email said, “You MUST call me. I don’t do email” and he gave me his number. Really? I MUST call you? Oh, sure I will, Master. You just sit by that phone and wait for my call. I’ll be right on that.  

I don’t mind when they say that if you do or don’t believe in something, or want something they don’t have, move on to the next person. When you say it in a nice way…it’s letting someone know not to waste either person’s time. I happen to appreciate that. What I don’t appreciate is when it’s someone that I would love to meet, but there’s that one stipulation that prohibits it. Ya know…like being a good Catholic girl. Well…I can’t fake that. Or being 5’9” or taller. Can’t fake that either.  Or having no children. Nope…can't fake that. Or being sexual. Now THAT I can fake.

You Are Getting Sleepy....................

During the daytime, I have trouble staying awake. (zzzzzzzzzzzzz…oh sorry…I dozed off there for a second.) Years ago I had mono and ever since then, a couple of times each year, (zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…oops). So, as I was saying…a couple of times a year, I go through a two week period where I am tired all the time. But this last time, that two week period turned into a 10 month period. And the one time a day I would need a nap has turned into about 4 times a day. I think that’s kinda not normal. For the last few years I can’t concentrate on anything. And I mean nothing. I thought maybe I was just hanging around some extremely uninteresting people recently who couldn’t hold my attention, but they are the same people I’ve been hanging around with for many years, so I ruled that out. Unless, of course, they’ve always been boring and I just never noticed, and just maybe, as I’m getting older and wiser, I’m realizing I have some pretty f**king brain dead friends. But we can diagnose that at a later date.

I decided it was time to talk to the doctor to see what he thinks [not about my friends; about my sleepiness.] I had various prognoses in my mind as to what it could be. What I didn’t consider was something a petite, somewhat health conscious, exercise fanatic of the female persuasion would ever have. Sleep apnea. Doesn’t that belong to overweight, fast-food eating, non-exercising people of the hairy XY gender?

My doctor wants me to do a sleep study because he thinks I’m tired from not sleeping well [Ya think? Brilliant deduction on his part, I must say] and to determine if it is, in fact, sleep apnea. I told him sometimes I wake myself up because I stop breathing. I have a feeling that’s not really a good thing. And as he pointed out, very indicative of sleep apnea.   

Here’s the thing though…I just can’t see myself going to some lab, in an 8’x10’ room, with monitors hooked up all over me; crawling into a strange bed, dressed in…I don’t know what? My PJ’s? And have 5 or more strangers staring at me for 8 hours? I don’t think so. If I couldn’t sleep soundly before, I definitely wouldn’t drop my lids in that situation. They would have to heavily drug me and I would think that may just throw off the whole study. If I have a problem sleeping under normal circumstances, how could they possibly think I could snooze with an audience?

And when do you arrive there? (To wherever ‘there’ is.) At like10AM? At 10PM? If you go early, do you get to eat meals and watch TV? Read? Party with the lab techs? What do you do the whole time you are waiting to go to sleep? Do they make you go to bed at a certain hour like a 5 year old? “Get into bed NOW.”  Or is it at my own leisure? I mean, I can’t go to sleep on command. And then if I wake up in the middle of the night, what if I can’t fall back asleep? Can I get up? How do I go to the bathroom if I’m hooked up to major machinery? Will the wires that I’m dragging with me fall into the toilet? So many questions. Don’t stop me now…I’m on a roll.

I’ve seen those contraptions sleep apnea people wear at night…you know…the ones that look like you’re protected enough to walk into a nuclear power plant because nothing will penetrate that face mask? THAT helps you sleep better? That cumbersome 20 pound mask heavily situated on your face enables you to sleep more soundly? You may as well ask an elephant to sit on my face…that’s about as comfortable as that looks. And forget turning in any direction other than facing up towards the ceiling. You’d take your nose off if you turned on your side. And do you wake up with indentations all over your face from the weight of the harness your head is locked into?

So say I did decide to go to a sleep lab. There’s no way they are going to witness what I look like when I get into my own bed. No make-up on, my pajama bottoms pulled up to my waist with the top tucked in and the bottoms tucked into my socks. I’m a real looker. A sort of Urkel type. (And I wonder why I don’t have a man lying next to me…aside from the fact that I snore like a truck driver.)

And what if they find I do have sleep apnea? I’m going to hook myself up to that mask and nuclear testing safety gear and attach myself to some tank every night? Yeah…sure I am. Well…if I don’t have a man now, I’m sure as hell never going to have one EVER. “Hey honey…kiss me good-night before I plaster Chernobyl to my face.” He would probably be happy to not have my very feminine snore-a-thon in his ear anymore, but not so sure he would love the pumping sound that would come from the air shooting into my nasal cavity. I think it may just interfere with some romantic spontaneity.

So, I’m in a quandary. To get tested or to not get tested. I’m just not so sure I actually want to know because I’m not even close to wanting to wear that shit on my face. I think drugs are the way to go. Hey…I’m a child of the 60’s and 70’s…of course drugs are the way to go. Duh. Drugs to help me sleep through the night and drugs to help keep me awake during the day. And if I do have sleep apnea and stop breathing in my sleep…what better way to go than that? Isn't that everyone's dream?

Skype Anyone?

I have realized that if you don't really care about sex and physical intimacy...you never have to see anyone in person anymore to have a relationship. If you don't mind that tactile void in your life, our technology has taken care of our everyday needs and companionships.

I was skyping with my daughter the other day, and seeing her on camera, as opposed to just speaking on the phone, gave me such pleasure...as it always does. I love seeing her face and looking into her eyes because it feels like we are right there with each other...except for the fact that she can't just stretch out her hand for a twenty. Works for me. And my house stays so much cleaner. And my food bill is lower and there’s no sisterly fighting…oops…sorry. Got off track a little. But what really made me realize that you can be miles away from someone and still have a close relationship, was right after I disconnected with my daughter, an old high school friend skyped me. We had never skyped before. We haven't seen each other in almost 40 years. In fact, we weren't even really friends until facebook. But through the miracle of social networking, we have become pretty close. It's just so odd. There's so much about social networking that's odd [in a positive light] and that's what made me think about being in the same place at the same time with people. It's really not necessary. Don't get me wrong...I LOVE being in physical proximity to people because I'm a hugger and a toucher and I just love that touchy feely kind of thing. (Hence...why I have a dog...she doesn't put restrictions on my hugs.)

But since I live relatively far from so many of the people I care for the most, I think social networking has rescued, or has the potential to rescue, many lonely people. And it does give you that feeling of immediacy and being in the now with each other.

I mean, who needs a real date? If you don't give two shits about ever having sex again for the rest of your life; never having that man touch you like no one else ever has, with long, deep kisses, his muscular arms wrapped tightly...oh sorry...got off track once again...then you can just skype with someone at any time and call it a relationship. You can communicate as if you’re right there next to him. And look at how much cheaper it is [well, for him maybe]. It’s amazing. You could go to the movies, hold your phone up to the screen, and have him watch with you, without ever purchasing a second ticket.

You have a built in date! You can eat your popcorn, drink your diet coke, pig out on milk duds and raisinets, maybe a few nachos, and no one is the wiser. Then after, once you wipe the evidence off your face, and try to pick up your bloated body out of your seat, you can discuss and critique the film when it’s over. And he's not aware of how you just pigged out and ate yourself into oblivion. [Although I'm not quite sure how you can manage holding the phone and eating all that with only one hand, without spilling something all over you.] But I digress again.

Then, if you’re not really into him, you don’t have to make excuses about wanting to go home and not wanting to go out for coffee or dessert after; (God forbid going for dessert, after what you just ate in the theater, you porker), or going back to your place for a little hanky panky (although who could have sex after all that crap you just inhaled.) You just say, "Ok, I’ve gotta go now. Can't drive and skype.” And that saves you the embarrassment of not wanting to kiss good night, if in fact, you don’t want to. It’s almost too perfect. And if you really do like the person, then it just builds up the excitement for when you actually are physically together, but still giving you more time with each other while apart. 

If you just decide to sit home at night...you can talk to any person you want for companionship because someone else is always at home on a Saturday night, too. (Aren't they?) You really never have to be alone. Then when someone asks, "What did you do this weekend?" You just say..."Oh, I had a date with 'fill in the blank.'"

If only the elderly would be more open to learning all the technology we have at our fingertips. Think of all the ways they could keep their brains stimulated and keep active. If their families couldn't visit them too often because of their busy schedules, or because they're too f**king selfish to think of their parents there all alone in the assisted living places, [where they're actually probably more active then three quarters of the people half their age]...they could take 5 minutes to skype and say hi. And look how much grandma would have to look forward to without nagging at her family to come see her, or instilling that guilt that so many parents try to do to their kids without actually thinking that's what they're doing. Well, maybe 'thinking' isn't the right word. Trying to 'mask' it behind something else, I would say is more the case. But whatever...it's a win-win for everyone. The grandkids don't have to sit there bored out of their minds, for God only knows how long...they can just pop their little dirty faces in the camera and yell, "hi gramma" and the adults can talk for a few. How much easier and better can it be? The grandparents don't have to worry about leaving early to avoid all the traffic, because as we all know...no matter what time they leave, they will for sure hit traffic. And then if they are stuck in traffic...oh my god...what if they have to pee? Or run out of gas so they need to get gas first but what if there's no gas station close by that may be 3 cents less than they can get at home, so they travel 20 miles out of their way to save 30 cents, although they just spent $5 traveling to find the cheaper gas station. So this way...everyone is where they want to be and no one can f**king complain about it. Geez. (Wow...I just got worked up more than I realized. I'm exhausted, and I didn't even have to visit anyone yet.)

Of course, there are always a few downfalls to skyping that sometimes get in the way; especially when you haven't seen someone in a very long time and plan to "meet" on camera. There's always that lovely camera angle that makes you look like you're eating your nose. Your nose could be the size of a peanut, but yet...there it is...making an anchor like shape on your face in conjunction with your mouth. It looks like a fat carrot hanging down covering half your top lip, if your head is the least bit tilted downward or the camera is up too high. If the camera angle is too low...you end up with the chin that looks like the length of California. Always attractive. And if you keep your head down...you get that rolly polly neck thing going with the rippling effect.  So basically...you look like this:

And you probably would never hear back from that 'friend' you haven't seen in 20 years.

And if you are hanging out in your pajamas or other comfy, clown looking clothes, no make-up on, hair piled on top of your head in some big lumpy moppy thing, or hanging down all stringy, hoping no one, and I mean no one, would ever see you...

...then you hear that distinctive skype ring and think...oh shit. It's someone you really want to speak to. Do you pick up? I've sat debating long enough where it finally stopped ringing. So I ran into my bathroom, quickly dabbed on a little make-up, changed my shirt, [because no one can really see you below the shoulders if the camera is set up right], brushed my hair, and called back that person. "Oh...I see you just called. I didn't hear it...isn't that strange? I must've been downstairs."

Then there is the fib. Well, another fib. You tell the grandparents that their grandchildren aren't home at the time of the skyping, because you know the kids would rather not talk, so you help them out. But you didn't make them aware that you were saying that, so they walk in, in the middle of your conversation. "I thought the kids weren't there?" [Said with that sarcastic let's instill the guilt tone]. "They must've just walked in."  Oops.

But the advantages far, far outweigh the disadvantages. It’s been unbelievably exciting to reconnect with so many friends after all these years and not only audibly, but visually. Although I have to say, sometimes maybe we are better off just leaving the visuals to our imagination. If you notice, you have that choice on skype…Answer with audio only. Answer with audio and video. Those skype inventors…they knew what they were doing when they came up with that option…they must’ve had some dog ass ugly friends and family. Oh sorry…did I say that out loud?

Boo

I never understood what fear was as a kid. We were invincible until we hit our late 20’s, early 30’s…or until we had our own kids. Right? Then fear was all encompassing. I cannot believe what a fraidy-cat I became once my kids were born, and how annoyingly overprotective I could be.

As a child, I was willing to do anything and try everything. Nothing seemed to faze me because I didn’t know any better. But with experience, we know what’s ahead of us and what the possibilities are. Ignorance IS bliss.

In grammar school, I would always want to be the lead in our school plays. I had no problem getting up in front of an audience and acting out a role. I couldn’t wait to be in the limelight. (I don’t know how I was able to memorize lines back then. Nowadays, I have to look up someone’s 7 digit phone number 8 times before I can finally finish dialing it.)

I didn’t mind giving oral reports in high school. Piece of cake. But for some reason, once I hit my college years, fear set in and froze me from deep within. Getting up in front of a class of my peers tormented me for days prior to the big speech. I kept writing it and rewriting it hoping it wouldn’t sound stupid and hoping no one would ask any questions. It was like those dreams where we are standing naked on stage for all the world to see. And although my body may not have been naked, my soul was. And I didn’t like it one bit. Communications was probably not the best major for a person who feared public speaking. [Ya think?] I would try to speak on subjects I knew first hand thinking it would give me more confidence.  I would stand at the podium and do all I could to not have my legs give out from under me and keel over.  I tried to keep the thought of projectile vomiting out of my mind. But my voice would crack and I would shake so badly, that one time my grip on the podium was so tight, it started tipping over, and the guy sitting directly in front of me jumped out of his seat to push it back upright. Thank god for him or I would have face planted in his lap. I’m sure he was also saving himself from a little nut crushing. Talk about humiliation. Fortunately, I was concurrently showing a short film to complement that speech, distracting them from what just happened to me. On the positive side…I didn’t pee in my pants. And to my surprise…I aced the assignment.

I have turned down certain jobs just so I wouldn’t have to do presentations. I remember sitting in the conference room at my office one day, and I had recently accepted a management position. Each week we would have phone meetings with our clients. I said to my supervisor, “If you make me speak in this meeting, I will quit. I swear”. Luckily she knew me and liked me (and didn’t fire me), and all she did was have me introduce myself. That, alone, made me break out in huge red blotches all over my chest to match the colorful flush of my bright red face. And it was only a phone meeting. Could you imagine if it was in person? I’d most likely be passed out cold, sprawled out on the conference room table. I decided I wasn't cut out for management.

People have suggested taking a public speaking course. Seriously? Do you NOT have to get up in front of people to learn to publicly speak? What about fear of speaking in public do they not get? So why would I want to take a public speaking course if you have to speak in public to learn to speak in public? Geez….

I am claustrophobic. Claustrophobia is horrible. It pops up in places you wouldn’t think it could. For instance…during various sexual positions. [On the bottom, for example.] That tends to ruin the mood…don’t you think? Trust me…it does. Obviously, elevators are a huge problem. I’ve only been stuck in one once…but it was the most crowded elevator I had ever been in. It was at my daughter’s college on moving-in day and I have to believe every student attending her school was packed into that particular elevator. I’m sure the weight limit was far exceeded, as was my composure. I looked over at my daughter, [as if there was anything she could possibly do], and said, “If you don’t get me out of here, I will pull every piece of hair out of your head, in chunks. If you don’t get me out of here I will cut you off from every single dollar I was ever going to give you. [Like that was a big threat with all my millions]. If you don't get me out of here, I will....” She looked at me and said so serenely and quietly and so melodically…[that I wanted to shove my fist down her throat…] “Mom, calm down. Everything will be fine. Nothing is going to happen. MOM….BREATHE” as I was starting to lose consciousness.  When I came to, I was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall in her room. I lived! I was no longer a sardine. I made it out. I have no clue how but I did. Needless to say, I get many a great workout climbing stairs now. I only need resuscitation from too much aerobic exercise, instead of from hyperventilation.

I never understood how people are able to walk into a room full of strangers and immediately assimilate. I walk in, pivot around, and walk right back out, not knowing what to do with myself. I was never able to just go up to a group, or even just one person that I didn’t know and say, “Hi, I’m Jaime”, (in one of those annoyingly perky little voices,) for fear that they would look at me with a “who the f**k cares” attitude. And then what? Then what do you say? I have no problem talking to a person in line at the market…you can always talk about the food you’re buying and what you’re pigging out on or complain how slow the line is moving…but at a gathering, where there may not be a commonality, how do you begin a conversation? “So…what’s your sign?”, “You come here often?” “You want to get in my pants as much as I want to get in yours?” So I basically either hang out hugging the wall or avoid those situations altogether.

Heights make my stomach churn. If I have some protective wall or railing I’m usually ok, but there are times I look down over the banister in my house and get nauseated, worrying I’m going to fall over. I walk down the middle of the hallway just so one of my hallucinatory ghosts doesn’t push me over the side.

There was a time I couldn’t wait to learn to ride horses. I thought since I would have reins and a saddle to hold on to, I should be ok with the whole height thing. Who was I kidding? But I decided I was going to take riding lessons because I always loved horses and riding seemed so beautiful and liberating. A couple of friends and I went to Pepperdine University, where they were giving lessons, and where the terrain was spectacular. I asked for the smallest horse so they gave me one slightly larger than a pony. Probably smaller than a merry-go-round horse. But whoa…that was still quite a ways off the ground with no pole to hold on to. My first conquest…I got on the horse. Yay! That was a huge accomplishment. Then…I got off the horse. Then I told myself ‘suck it up and it will be fine…get back on the horse, you big wuss.’  [great pep talk] So I did. The instructor (who was a retired army drill sergeant) told us to give the horse a kick to get it going. Well…not on your life bub. I ain’t kicking no animal. So I sat in the saddle and rocked my body back and forth hoping the horse would understand what I was telling her to do. As she sat there, not budging an inch, the instructor kept yelling at me to give her a kick. “NO, I won’t kick her.” He then marched over on his horse and hit me on the head with his crop. “Now kick the god damned horse.” Just short of shitting in my pants, I gave her a little, teeny nudge and off we went. He must have been one helluva drill sergeant .

I was quite pleased with myself that I was actually on a horse, riding. Well…I wouldn’t exactly call it riding. We couldn’t have gone any slower unless we were at a complete standstill, but that was good enough for me. We were walking on the trails and they kept getting narrower and narrower and my heart kept beating faster and faster. You have got to be kidding me. These were beginner trails? Ants couldn’t stay on these trails they were so narrow, and they wanted our horses to? It wasn’t long before my heart sank down to the pit of my stomach on its way out my ass. My horse’s back leg kept slipping off the trail and I was losing my balance. I proceeded into panic mode, but I gave it a couple of more feet before jumping off and running for my life. I was outta there. But before I left the grounds, I grabbed the crop out of Satan’s hand and broke it in half over my knee. I’ll teach you Mr. Svengali, drill sergeant, horse kicker guy.

After that experience…I decided to play it safe in the horse arena.

I won’t go into the other phobias I have or I may as well just make this into a book. But to sum it all up, here’s my list. I was amazed at all the classifications of fears:

Glossophobia speaking in public

Topophobia stage fright

Acrophobia  heights

Hydrophobia  water

Claustrophobia  confined spaces

And we all know I have this…I believe I’ve mentioned it just a few times…

Mageirocophobia  FEAR OF COOKING (LOVE this one!)

Good thing I don’t have this:

Logophobia  fear of words (or you probably wouldn't be reading this right now)

But this is my favorite…even though I’m not afflicted:

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia  fear of long words…I’m still trying to pronounce it.