Yes …self indulgent perhaps… but you are going to love this little book! It will be available April 16 because we will all need some relief after Tax day! Besides that…I need the money!!! LOL (Paperback & Kindle)
I’ve done so many kagels this week I’m now sporting a beard!
So, after reading how young ‘steaming your vagina’ makes you feel (according to Gwyneth Paltrow latest health kick), I decided to give it a shot.
Ladies, it’s all true!
My vagina feels at least twenty years younger, however, my back feel 80 years old.
Trying to squat over the kettle between the stove and the vent hood is not as easy as it fucking sounds!
Been married to the hubby for 35 years!
So, last night I crawl into bed.
Hubby says: “I think I’m in an oral phase right now!”
Well, if that doesn’t get a woman’s nipples hard, right?
I got all giddy, rolled over towards him, adjusted my ‘pajamas’, looked him straight in the eye and said: OH MY GOD…me too! So…………what do you want to talk about?
As I’ve aged, I’ve discovered one thing to be perfectly true about myself. My mind has a tendency to wander. Have you seen that new kitchen gadget that’s supposed to make your life that much easier? Umm…actually, wander is probably too gentle a description to describe how my self-deprecating, and still un-medicated brain cells work. Racing is probably the right word. Yep, that bitch races like she’s part of an AARP NASCAR event on steroids. No control, and most certainly…NO filters!
But I don’t worry too much about it. First off, I’m too old to care what people think, and secondly, I know people now, and my new best friend just happens to be a bail bondsman, so I pretty much say or do whatever I feel like saying or doing now! If you’re menopausal, you will completely understand why you should have people like this on the same page as you.
Anyway, the other day I was busy plucking one of those stray eyebrows that seems to always pop up in several places on my chin, and on my other chin, when all of a sudden, out of the blue, my mind took a turn and raced backwards to that time in my life where this kind of grooming was for old broads unheard of.
I was remembering when I was that ‘skinny, perfect, glamo-rama’ girl. Holy crap! That was the greatest time of my life!
Back then, in my almost famous era, I never, ever considered leaving the house unless I was camera ready, just in case the paparazzi got wind that I was out and about! Those days were spectacular!
I was in my twenties then. I had the world by the balls, and let me tell you…those balls were enormous. I could juggle them and never miss a beat. My boobs were perky and there was only one level to my chin and my butt. I wore crop tops, short shorts, mini skirts and, O.M.G. fuck me high-high-heels! Of course, this last item may very well be the reason I can longer tippy-toe around today!
Back in that day…
…my thigh’s never rubbed together.
…my underarms never jiggled.
…my ass never undulated.
…my stomach was as flat as a washboard.
…my skin was taut and sprung back like a rubber band.
…and my neck, well, it’s something I usually prefer not to talk about, but back in the day…oh, it was flawless.
I had no skin crevices yet, no barnacles springing up, no wrinkles, no age spots, and no cellulite…nada! I was perfect in every way. (Of course, this is what I tell myself now as I look back on the journey to where I am today.)
I never once feared reflective surfaces during those early years. As a matter of fact, I was actually drawn to them, relentlessly, because back then, that was my job. You know, being beautiful, being on television, being photographed on a daily basis. I spent every waking moment working diligently towards keeping myself in my ‘perfection’ mode! How I looked back then was my moneymaker. I was a model/actress and eventually, after my daughter hit middle school, I had proudly moved into M.I.L.F mode! (If you don’t know what that is, I suggest you Google it!)
But here I am today. All of a sudden, thirty years have flown by. Lot’s of things have changed, relocated or…umm…nope, every thing has pretty much relocated. It’s then I realize that, when I see someone staring at me now, my inner ego springs to attention and I find my hand automatically going to my chin first (to check for gangly strays) and then to my upper lip because I may have left my humble domicile without shaving that small mustache that’s taken up residence between my nose and upper lip. And if that’s all okay, I then check to make sure that the girls are safe and sound in my bra because I’ve caught them trying to sneak out the side of it every so often because I’m so damned cheap now. I still try to wear my old bra’s that contain not one stinking thread of spandex in it, so I completely understand why the girls doth protest on occasion. It keeps life interesting, that’s for sure.
These days, working in and through the fucking fantastic menopause phase, everything has changed about me, including my demeanor. I can clear a room in less than five seconds if my hormone level has taken a dive. My wrinkles laugh lines have become deeper, and I can now actually, truthfully, answer that age-old question of ‘do your boob’s hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow’? And the answer to that my friends is…YES, YES, YES, YES…they do…and I can!
I have also discovered that my body had lost all of its moisture producing abilities, which sometimes proves embarrassing. The other day I had lunch with a friend. When I arrived at the table she reached out to touch my pants and asked me if they were corduroy. I had to admit to her that, NO, they were not, it’s just the sound my vagina makes now when I walk because I sometimes forget to use a vaginal moisturizer. Bitch please! She’s the same age as me. She should know better than to assume the noises my body makes now are not due to costume malfunctions.
As for the elasticity of my skin, well, that’s also gone to hell in a hand basket. Here’s a perfect example of how bad it is. Last week I got out of bed, walked down the hall to the bathroom and when I got there, I realized only one of the girls had come with me. I guess that my husband, at some point during the night, had rolled over on top of the other one, so yeah, the bitch was still snuggled up underneath him somewhere. I had to sit there on the toilet, bracing myself with both hands on the wall just in case he happened to roll over and free her before I peed and got back into bed.
Oh yeah! Menopause is grand. Wearing my big girl pants is mostly fun!
All in all, when my estrogen patch has been safely installed somewhere on my groin, life is pretty damned good. My kids are still alive (only because I discovered my hormone deficiency early on)! My husband still loves me warts and all, and my dog? Well, bless his heart. He still nose butt’s me in the ass after I’ve been gone all day, even though my gastro problems have grown exponentially during this sacred phase of my life!
Yep, I’m a big girl now. Attitude is everything, right?
…got it going on.
I see a lot of my friends on Facebook posting things like, ‘just had the most romantic evening laying about naked in front of the fireplace, drinking wine, having sexual relations with the hubby. So nice having the house to ourselves now’!
We tried that once, but after the kids complained for the umpteenth time that they were tired of stepping over us on the way to the kitchen, we had to put a kabosh on that one.
Another friend posted this one. ‘I can’t believe how much I can get done in a day now that the kids are out on their own’!
Bite me! If I had the house to myself I could probably write a book a day! But no, I spend most of my time chasing after them to get things done, do homework, clean your room, blah, blah, blah!
I’ve tried everything to reach this point but I guess I’ve still got a few more years to go.
Last week I got so tired of the kids just hanging out at home doing nothing, where I work, clean, cook, pick up shit and answer constantly to my African spiritual name ‘MumCumHere’, I started making calls to see how I could get them out of the house sooner than later.
Good Morning, Rapid Pest Control
Me: Hello. I need to get rid of some pests.
Pest Control Operator: Okay, we’ll be there in an hour. Is anyone still in the house?
Me: No…..just the children!
Pest Control Operator: Well Ma’am, they’ll have to get out of the house.
Me: Why? There’d be no reason for you to come out then!
So that didn’t work, but I’m a woman of stamina. So long as I’ve got my tramp stamp in place (as in my estrogen patch) I can go at this for a long spell of time in order to reach my goal. I got out the yellow pages and started flipping through it until another number caught my eye.
Good Morning, LA Adoption Services. How can I direct your call?
Me: Are you looking for kids up for adoption?
Operator: Um…yes ma’am, that’s what we do.
Me: I have two that are available. I’m done with them now so they need a new place to stay so you can have them for free.
Operator: Ma’am, are you alright?
Me: I will be once you take the children.
Me: Look, I’ve already had a consult with an interior decorator. I need the oldest one’s bedroom. I’m converting it into an office for myself. Would you at least consider taking one at a time?
Operator: Ma’am…exactly how old are your children?
Me: 25 and 18.
There were a few more calls made but seems like there are no takers out there.
Guess the only way they’re going to get out is going to happen the old fashioned way–over time!
…are such a trendy thing these days. Doesn’t matter whether you’re old or young, fat or skinny, rich or poor (although you can get a pretty bitchin’ tat if you’re loaded), male or female, the ink is flowing freely.
I’ve seen them on ankles, on elbows, on calves, on thighs, on arms, on fingers, on faces, on backs and on just about every body part there is.
Hubby has always been fond of the lower back tattoo. The Tramp Stamp as it’s more familiarly called. I’ve seen big ones, small ones, colorful ones and really, really stupid ones. Some have messages, some have pictures.
All in all I think the fact that you can’t see what the tattoo artist is doing while they are doing it is not so good. Sometimes what you ask for is not necessarily what you’ll end up with. Say you ask for a beautiful angel. Do you really want to walk around with a picture of Angeli Jolli hovering above your ass?
I have discovered though that after ingesting multiple glasses of alcohol, red wine in particular, one should not pick this moment to get a tattoo.
I decided to try one on, but not a permanent one. I’m a chicken shit and my experience with needles has always left me a little gun shy. I went for the henna tat, one that would eventually leave my body without any costly removal fees and pain.
“I’d like something different. I’m Canadian so maybe do something that would represent my country, make it something everyone loves,” I offer in the way of suggestion.
“Mmm…” That was his big response.
An hour later he stands back and admires his work. I can’t help but notice the shit-faced grin he’s sporting.
Another half-hour passes before I’m allowed to get up so the ink will be dry. He knots my t-shirt up around the middle of my back so it won’t brush on the tattoo.
I get up and walk over to the mirror to inspect his work.
“Very funny asshole!”
“Hey, you said Canadian and well loved. It don’t get any more like that than that!”
There staring back at me in the mirror was a tattoo of the most perfect piece of bacon, Canadian bacon.
Since I couldn’t put my t-shirt down for at least another hour, I was forced to walk around with my normal back fat hanging out (ie: my muffin top previously hidden by my t-shirt) and now this semi-permanent bacon fat.
Again, I must reiterate.
NEVER GET A TATTOO AFTER DRINKING!
…are what separate the wild and wonderful from the pack.
Women today are a power to be reckoned with. We can rule the nest as well as we can wreak havoc on the world.
A new study recently released states that there’s ‘three new kind of women’ out there. Only three? Really?
Anyway, first up is the mid-twenties to mid-thirties INDEPENDENT women. She’s doing it her way. Her mantra is get out of my way, fuck with me and I’ll take you out, brainstorming, designer clothes wearing, stiletto capable, thong goddess, single, or single in a relationship kind of gal whose yet to plunge into motherhood.
You know her. She’s your best friend. Nothing’s off-limits. She’s taking the world by storm. She’s not your mom’s mom. She talks about everything from Tampax to Stocks and Bonds.
She is ‘Occupy The World Via Vagina!’
She’s driven by passion like no other. She’s not afraid of the big bad wolf because she is the big bad wolf. HER bite is far superior to her bark, she’s brainy enough and far more likely to utilize her womanly ways when needed to skirt, pounce, instigate, take by surprise, or render useless any one trying to stand in her way.
She can stop time simply by wearing an unpadded bra under her T-shirt on a cold day.
She’s gonna make it or break it so you’d better get out-of-the-way or she’s likely to plow right through you. She’s put off child-bearing in order to make her mark in the world. She’s curious and furious. She’s just as at home in the kitchen as she is in the corporate world. She can flip flapjacks as easily as she can flip you off should you try to become a roadblock. She’s that ‘don’t fuck with me, and no I don’t have a headache, I’m just busy’ kinda gal!
Love her, but stay the hell out of her way while she’s blazing the trail, because if you don’t, you’re likely to get left in the wake of her voracious appetite for life and all things wonderful.
Her flame will never be doused! This is her time to herd the cattle so to speak! She’s going to rock it until her maternal clock kicks in and says, okay, time to put a bun in the oven. But don’t think that that alone will stop her, make her dead in the water, because women like this cannot be turned off of their life by their birth canal! She’ll likely be finalizing a big business deal right up until that last push and then…….voila, she’s mom now! This doesn’t stop her, it just changes the game plan.
Second up is the mid-thirites to mid-forties Over Achieving Mom. Now, she too can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. The difference is, she’s still able to pay for the bacon herself. She’s still proving that she’s got life under control and can do it all.
She’s still in pretty good shape and has become furiously adept at disguising any remaining baby bulges that have lingered, because altering the worlds perception of her is NOT. AN. OPTION! She’s the “Thanks Spanx” generation woman. She’s old enough to be comfortable letting it all hang out, but she’s competitive enough still to say ‘watch out world, I’m still here, still rocking it, don’t fuck with me, because even though she may be home flipping pancakes or frying eggs, she can still muster up enough strength to wrap the spatula around your bloody neck without missing a beat.
She’s likely the one to take this challenge for what it is. She’ll take advantage of her Mom-ness and market that just as easily as she’d market a new product. She’s still got it, and trying to fuck with that could lead to repercussions no man should or would want to suffer under. She’ll love you as easily as she could kill you. She’s mamma bear now, leader of the pack. Large and in charge. Having a vaginal birth put’s her at the front of the pack because she’d discovered that she can endure anything. She’s a train heading down the track, horn blaring, light’s flashing, and still has the ability to plow through anything that gets stuck on the track. She may slow down here and there, take a breath, enjoy the view, nap in the middle of the day, but when she’s on it……she’s ON IT!
She’s got it all. She’s achieved Goddess Level. She’s an Alpha Lover. She’s still got the bull by the horns and she’s not afraid to use them. She doesn’t care what you think. She’s survived work, children, and aging. No one’s opinion holds water to her. She’s as tech savvy as the younger generation, but is far ahead of the crowd because her insomnia allows her so much more computer time while the rest of the world is resting. She’s into the finer things of life yet has no problem dumpster diving for hidden treasures. She’s softened enough, sometimes literally, yet her will holds steadfast in that she can shine, stand out, flourish under any circumstance. She still does it her way no matter what.
She’s earned the badge of mid-life and devours it.
She’s already developing her second act. Her new self emerges with ease. She can take a day off when she wants because her train rolls steadily along. After all, she built the tracks herself.
She doesn’t have to push as hard as her earlier years. She’s set herself up in such a way that pressure is only something that a doctor checks. She’s got it all now. Work, family, love, money, friends. She’s become the Matriarch of her expanded world. She’s back at the helm and running her life smoother, slower, but with the same passion as always. She hasn’t forgotten either that she can still stop time with that unpadded bra and T-shirt. The T-shirt may have to be slightly longer to accommodate things that have moved south but she okay with that. She’s gonna rock it till there ain’t nothin left.
…are always tricky.
Just ask the hubby. He tries. He really does. Bless his heart for putting up with my quirky, wacky way of being.
At this time of year, men and women are scrambling for ‘just the right thing’ to give their significant other.
If it were up to me, because I’m the handyman of the estate, I’d settle on a gift card from Home Depot. They’ve got something for everyone as far as I’m concerned. I love tools!
But because the hubby has this wonderful romantic side, he’s tried just about everything out there to pull me out of the dirt and back into the bedroom. And yes, there are specific tools for the bedroom as well, but that’s a story for another time.
So, I thought I’d compile a list of some of the BEEN THERE–DONE THAT items that have come and gone over the many years we’ve celebrated VALENTINES DAY!
One year he bought me a lovely “RUB ME BAR”!
Are you horny yet? You should be…
The RUB ME BAR is a little round disc of sensual pleasure for your skin. It smells amazing and sounds pretty sexy, right? Oh yeah. Hubby went all out. He made sure the kids were out of the house. He lit the candles in the bathroom. Ran a lovely hot bath. Put the good towels out and everything. We got naked, (do you feel the sexual tension building?), tested the water with our toes, mine painted passion red, his, well, they’re man toes. If I saw polish on them, it’s likely I wouldn’t be crawling into the tub with him. So things are starting off well!
But because I’m such a giver, I decide that once we’re in the bath, I’d use it on him first just in case it had some kind of irritant in it. I have uber-sensitive skin you see, so, if something was going to irritate anything it would show up on him first saving me from scratching all night. Turns out there was nothing in it but pleasure. Oh yeah! He laid back like a dog does when you rub it’s belly. He looked happy and I could see the steam building.
Unfortunately, by the time I was done with him, the entire little disc had turned into WHAT?
GONE–FINITO–DISINTEGRATED! As in, AIN’T NOTHIN LEFT FOR YOU BEATCH!
So guess who wasn’t getting their fair share of the sexy Rub Me Bar. Okay, to be fair, hubby did get a boner, and his skin did look silky and smooth next to my dried out sorry ass, but as far as I’m concerned, this gift was self-indulgent. My rating of the RUB ME BAR turned immediately from one of pleasure to one of “HONEY, THAT RUBBED ME THE WRONG WAY!”
Next up were the game cards. And I’m not talking about playing Gin in bed either, although a bottle of this in the nightstand might come in handy at some point. Whether or not it’s to drink as a mood enhancer, or to pour on a wound after a contortionist act gone wrong, a bottle of anything containing alcohol is always handy to have around.
No, these game cards are more like a POKER deck if you get my drift. I mean literally!
They’re neatly wrapped in these cute little envelopes. Each note has a daring little trick written on it. Something sexy. Something naughty. Some odd position. Some EAT THIS NOT THAT instruction. But, if you’ve read a few previous stories here, you’ll remember that the PARAMEDIC’S WILL NOT RESPOND if your emergency is because you’ve gotten yourself tangled up like a pretzel during sex. They do not consider this an emergency!
If this happens, all you can hope for is that you can reach that bottle of gin so you can drink enough to allow your body to relax enough to eventually untangle itself!
GAME CARDS MY ASS!
Hell. If I can drop my housecoat, and stand there, naked, in front of him–WITH THE FUCKING LIGHTS ON–at this age, I feel like I’ve crossed from the reality zone into the twilight zone anyway. Shouldn’t this be enough?
Games in the bedroom? I don’t know.
I think hubby should be satisfied with the King sized Twister sheets I just bought for our bed. You want games? I’ll give you games. I’ll even let you spin first!
Another gift that turned out to be a bust is what many call the ‘Best Valentine’s Gift Ever’ to give someone.
Oh Yeah. The ‘Great Escape’! Just thinking about it makes me want to rub my nipples! Oh yeah BABY!
A mini-vacation, a get-a-way from it all, a-dream-come-true-time-to-yourself-all-by-yourself-all inclusive-don’t have to do/say/make anything kind of gift! Go on, admit it. If you’re a wife and mother, this is sending a chill down your spine right now. You’re salivating! You’re already mentally packing your bags! I’ve got your number!
When you’re slopping through your chores, schlepping the children to and fro, bathing the dog, fixing a dinner, mending a broken pipe, changing an electrical outlet, doing the 20th load of laundry……Oh Hell, I could go on and on. You know…your daily routine, this gift sounds like God Head!
My hands were shaking when I tore the envelope open. I think I had a tear in my eye, so I didn’t see the details immediately.
The thought of having only to decide what I wanted for room service, morning, noon, and night, had set my mind on fire. The idea of someone serving me…..food…..drinks…..and then maybe even a splash in the spa pool–ALONE–WITH NO NOISE–WITH NO CHORES–WITH NO CHILDREN BUGGING ME–WITH NO………WELL, YOU GET THE PICTURE!
Instead, I threw my arms around the hubby’s neck in thanks. I’m thinking ‘there is a God’!
As I stood there, I once again looked at the gift certificate. My focus was returning. Wait! Why am I seeing the word GOLF? I bring it closer to my face and see that the getaway is for two!
SON OF A BITCH!
I hug him harder as I read the rest of the details. Then I hug him harder still. I can feel him trying to peel my arms away from his neckas the air is depleting slowly but surely from his lungs, but I’m going to smother him with love. I am going to fight fire with fire. Asshole!
Yes, another self-indulgent gift! Check that one off your list bitches! It’s a trick!
……….STAY TUNED FOR PART 2 OF MY VALENTINE’S GIFT LIST!