LAUNCH DAY!!! The HOPE Project


2016-04-17 10.27.42

AVAILABLE TODAY ON AMAZON

http://smile.amazon.com/Rest-Relax-Restore-Jacqui-Brown/dp/1530890020/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1461687062&sr=8-1&keywords=REST%2C+RELAX%2C+RESTORE

 

The ‘HOPE’ Project’s goal is to inspire those who may be losing hope, losing themselves or losing the idea that life might never be different for them! This could be your mother, your father, your brother, your sister or your best friend. Or, it could be someone you cross paths with by chance.

It’s incredibly simple to participate. All you have to do is purchase a copy of
‘Rest, Relax, Restore’ An Inspirational Healing Coloring Book for yourself (Available on AMAZON) and an extra 1 that you can bundle with a pack of colored pencils and a pencil sharpener. Bag the coloring book, pencils and sharpener in a clear plastic freezer bag and throw it in your car or your purse so that the next time you see someone who seems down on their luck or out of sorts you can give them this gift! It will be paying your own good fortune forward!!! ( You might also include a gift card to a local eatery or your local grocery store so that you provide at least one meal for them if your choice is someone who may be homeless!)

Sometimes, all it takes is a kind gesture to brighten up someone’s day. To make them feel like someone cared for them, even if it was just for one moment. Sometimes that one moment can make a huge difference!

My deepest, heartfelt hope for this project is that WE CAN ALL HELP INSPIRE at least one person who crosses our path!

Compassion. Empathy. Mindfulness. Kindness.
That’s what should make the world go round!

THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING! Please note that a portion of the money raised from the book will be funding bundles of books to go to shelters, rehabs and food gift cards.

Jacqui Brown

NAMASTE!

BUY IT HERE:

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Wearing My Big Girl Pants…


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?

Tattoo’s…


…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.

Whatever!

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.

Great!

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!

Communication Is…


…key in every relationship!

It doesn’t matter whether you’re talking about a personal, social, or business relationship, because if you don’t carefully word what is about to squeeze out of your lips, you’re probably going to get screwed.

What you say…better mean exactly what you mean, because words can be misconstrued so easily these days.

If you really want your partner to listen to every word you say…talk in your sleep. Most men will wake to the slightest verbage coming from a woman’s lips once they’re under the covers.

I’ve had a few beneath the duvet, sweaty, roll-about, night-night conversations that have only served to confuse my husband.

“Run….RUN…” (could simply mean I’m about to let one rip, or, the dog has gotten himself into yet another predicament!)

“Touch it and pull back a bloody stub…” (could mean just what it says aka: ‘Hands Off’…or…it could be a prolific hint not to wake me up!)

“That’s on sale, fantastic!” (all men hope to hear this come from their woman’s lips!)

“Oh…..Yes…yes….yes!” (this will keep them paralyzed as they wait for the rest, hoping you’ll whisper their name somewhere in the rest of that phrase.)

On the other, men usually respond best to eye-to-brain, or more likely eye-to-groin sensory tactics.

If you want your man to listen to you, just wear a low-cut top. For many years women have always complained that their man stares at them and never listens to them.

Sure…there’ll be no eye contact, but they’ll be mesmerised long enough to hear every word you say. I know this for a fact.

After years of being a cops and crime reporter, I realized this was the quickest way to ascertain many of the fine details about a case I’d be reporting on. The detectives would be mesmerized, completely enamored with the girls, and would pour their hearts out, which often times led to a phone call later asking me to delete certain information that should not be public yet! Yes, the girls can work their magic just about anywhere and anytime.

Funny thing though, if I ever asked any of these (mostly) male detectives what color my eyes were, they’d often reply, ‘black… with a hint of lace!’

Truthfully, when it comes to communication sometimes you think you’re talking to the wall.

Why?

Because sometimes you are talking to the wall.

For instance, if I ask someone if  they’re done with their dinner plate, they assume I’m waiting to get up and take it to the kitchen for them.

What that really mean is, get off your lazy damn ass and put it in the kitchen yourself!

Better yet, rinse it and put it in the dishwasher. If I wanted to be a maid, I’d go get a job at some luxury hotel who’d pay me to take your Goddamned plate, and I’d have access to all the free bedtime pillow-top chocolates as an added benefit to the job.

When I say WHAT during an argument, it does not mean that you need to answer. It probably means…you should stop talking. Or at least respond with one of three things.

“Honey, would you like to go out to dinner tonight?”

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”

SAFEST BET:

“Honey, let me get you another glass of wine!”

Get it?

When I ask if you have laundry, ditto!

Oh communication is definitely the key to every relationship!

Women love to pontificate about daily happenings even if they’re about completely mundane topics. We like the warm and fuzzy feeling it gives us as we toss about useful and totally ridiculous information.

Men on the other hand keep a cool front. That’s why men are so quick to fall into bed with a woman, even on the first date, because it will usually bring about silence. This is also probably why men fall asleep immediately after sex. Once they’re placated all bets are off.

So don’t believe that bullshit that he won’t respect you if you have sex on the first date.

The worst thing a man can say in the heat of it is C.A.L.M. D.O.W.N!

Not only will this escalate the problem, it will likely be the catalyst for your sleeping on the couch for the next week or so.

Calm down in layman’s terms is the same as saying ‘Shut The Hell Up!’

I’d use this cautiously if I were you. But, if you have the balls to use it, be prepared for the consequences!

‘Chill Out’ is also another verbage that could land you in the dog house…literally!

Women who are told to ‘chill out’ usually do. Meaning, there ain’t no light at the end of the tunnel if you’re expecting a little sum-sum later on. It could lead to a long cold winter in the bedroom.

Oh yes! Words are a funny thing, and not necessarily in a good way!

Feng Shui-ing My Body…


… in order to have a better mental image of myself has been one bloody, difficult task.

Although no people or animals were hurt in the process of this time sensitive endeavor, several mirrors in my home were destroyed.

Three spontaneously combusted, the other two wouldn’t, so I had to take matters into my own hands.

When ‘FENG meets SHUI’ (this happens a lot if you walk too fast) you are in essence, supposed to be in tune with yourself.

Oh! Whatever!

Finding what that tune is when your mind is wandering through the abyss of menopause, is almost impossible!

For those of you who are tone deaf…

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU WON’T HAVE TO BOTHER WITH THIS BULLSHIT!

Tuning in means you’re supposedly supposed to be in a place where you’re in spiritual, emotional, and physical alignment, therefore, the need for reflection should only take place in one’s mind.

(Wish I’d realized this before I destroyed every reflective surface in my house! It’s rather hard to put your makeup on by memory.)

This tuning in crap, I mean-process, will likely put you in a bad mood because, what you’re about to discover is this.

Your brain has become this god-awful emotional dumping ground and you’re gonna have to buck up or shut up!

Spring cleaning is imminent and essential if you’re going to go down this road!

GREAT!

That’s one more chore! Just what we need, right?

In order to get the process going, you’re gonna need a vacuum with turbo power and a tiny hose attachment, organic spray cleaner, and a scrub brush to rid your mind of some of the more clingy shit.

If you’re still raising children, well, good luck with the clingy shit!

Worst case scenario-you’ll need a good mind altering medication prescribed from your, ahem,

‘medical marijuana doctor’.

So, that being said, let’s get down to the nitty gritty!

Many of us mid-lifers have acquired more Shui than Feng. You know what I mean. That’s when your ass has to catch up with the rest of your body whenever you’re moving. Wearing crystals on our body seems like an uncomfortable solution, but deep down, I feel like this could be the solution we’ve been looking for.

I’ve been searching the ends of the earth trying to find ‘said crystals’ that are flat and unobtrusive, because the last thing we need is more protrusions, right?

I’ve yet to be successful because so far, the ones I have found and tried to utilize, have these sharp little edges that make me itch. If you’re a Spanx lover, well, the annoying factor doubles.

That’s not the only problem either!

Because I’m more the fitted clothing kind of gal, these ‘said crystals’ also cause some pretty wacky protrusions that become very obvious under your clothing. If positioned incorrectly, you’ll have lumps and bumps (the exact opposite of what you’re trying to go for) in places that will make people give you odd glances.

I’ve tried putting them in obvious places in order to draw attention away from places I don’t want people gawking at, but this only irritated ‘thing one‘ and ‘thing two‘.

Maybe now that it’s winter, you know, sweater weather, this will finally work in my favor!

The Hubby’s a little freaked by this whole idea.

After running his hand down my back towards my butt the other day, he asked me why I was going to such extreme’s with this insanity?

“Honey, I’m trying to clean up my temple! I’m trying to draw good things to all parts of my body,” I say.

“I’ve got a good thing for your body right here in my pocket,” he says, hoping as always, that I’ll jump at the opportunity to allow him to help me in my quest for peace.

My idea of ‘having peace‘ is far different from his idea of ‘having a piece‘.

“Look. I need to figure out me Ba-Gua, my energy map,” I tell him. “I need to figure out how I can use my body to increase my income potential.”

Dead silence!

I look at him and he’s smiling.

“If you put all your energy into MY Ba-Gua for five minutes, I think I’ve got some cash in my wallet,” he says.

MEN!

At first, I was insulted by hiscash for gash’ comment, but the more I thought about it, I realized he might have a point.

The ‘law of feng shui’ says that to attract more prosperity into your life, you should include Wood and Water. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall one of my daughter’s old boyfriends who, when horny, used to tell her, I got wood! He’d see a cool car and he’d say, ‘man that gives me wood’.

I’d already done my research. I knew my personal element was fire.

Hmmmm….

Fire requires a lot of wood…

Interesting!

Maybe hubby’s not such a pig after all. Maybe he’s been doing his own research. Maybe he’s been looking through my notes. Maybe, just maybe, he’s about to get lucky. This could become one of those rare ‘win-win’ situations.

“Honey?” I say, looking him square in the eye.

“Yes?” he says.

I can still hear the tiniest amount of hope in his voice.

“Just how much cash do you have in your wallet?”

Dear Ms. Le. Bido…


…I know you’ve had a lot on your mind over the years but I wanted you to know that I miss you terribly.

O M F’ing G do I miss you!

Oh and yes, if you’re wondering, Mr. Dick Wad misses you as well!

I know that for a long time you’ve been down in the dumps and tossed around like a cheap salad because I’ve been so busy with my life, but I just don’t understand why you’re not responding to any of my e-mails or calls?

I don’t remember abusing you or misusing you in any way so I just don’t get it!

I’ve been searching for you non-stop these past few years.

I’ve looked under the couch hoping maybe you’d somehow accidentally slipped out that night I had one to many tequila’s and slept with my legs askew. That would have been an easy fix since I could have just slipped you back inside and no one would have been the wiser.

But no, you were nowhere to be found!

I’ve looked in the back of my closet and inside all my boots thinking maybe you felt you needed a break and quietly slid down my leg that day I had to stand in line at Costco.

I have a vague memory of a horrible itch that day. I seem to recall it was really hot and my panties were making me uncomfortable, but it would have been too embarrassing to scratch ‘down there’ in public. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable , so again I apologize if you felt neglected.

I’ve searched and searched endlessly!

Hell, I’ve even scoured my underwear drawer several times hoping that perhaps you just got stuck on one of my thongs but my search proved fruitless. You have simply vanished.

I recently put up posters hoping that someone would recognize you and bring you home safe and sound, but apparently posting pictures of our atrophied ‘Ms. Gina’ is against the law here.

I found this out the hard way after two uniformed officers showed up at my house informing me that in order for me to continue putting up these posters I would have to add a pair of underwear to the picture to cover Ms. Gina and I wasn’t sure, since you’ve been gone so long, which underwear you would recognize.

It’s been a tough road without you, and although it’s far more work these days to get my mojo on, I persevere.

I’m still holding out hope that one of these days we’ll cross paths again.

Until we meet again,

Mom

**********************************

Dear Mom,

Whaa, whaa, whaa!

Here’s the deal. You’re very needy. I had to make a stand. My biggest beef is that I felt over worked.

Sex, sex, and more sex! Whoo Hoo for you!

Jesus Christ!

You never gave me a break so I did what I had to do. I slipped out the back door during one of your, ahem, midnight silent killers.

I knew this would be the only way I could make a clean exit. Well actually, I guess it wasn’t exactly clean in that sense, but your hubby was so busy trying to get the pillow over his head I knew you wouldn’t even notice my abscence.

Just to let you know, I plan on coming back some day, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I NEED MORE TIME. You’ve worked me hard for the last 35 years or so, I think I deserve some time off for good behavior.

I know you’ve been trying to lure me back and I’m appalled at the depths to which you can sink.

That Horney Goat Weed shit was child’s play. You actually thought you could drug me into returning?

By the way I’m currently in rehab THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

You’re such a fool.

If you were serious about trying to get me back you might want to step on the treadmill once in a while. I hear exercise really helps.

And while we’re on the subject, perhaps you’ll consider one less shot of tequila at night. This fucks with your brain as well as mine.


These are not threats but, I want you to take me seriously!

I know what you said to Thing One and Two and you just don’t scare me anymore.  One and Two still speak to me and they agree with the exercise thing.

Your’s truly,

Ms. Le. Bido

*****************************

Dearest Bashing Bido,

You suck!

Please do not rush back for my sake…bitch!

You should know better than to bite the hand that feeds you!

You know who.

Notes To Self…


Dear Thing One and Thing Two,

Please accept my apologies for anything you may have overheard during that heated conversation I was having with myself the other day.

You know that I have these random ‘talks’ with myself so I don’t know why you were so shocked, and I don’t quite understand why you reacted so irrationally.  You should be used to that by now. I expected better of you!

I just wanted to remind you that it’s been a lot of fun hanging with you all these years. We have travelled, reveled, placated, and well, we’ve done a lot. I know at times it’s been tough and I know you hate those nasty exams but hey, it’s for your own good. I wish you wouldn’t complain so often because I’m only doing what I’m told to do to keep you healthy.

That being said, I have to say I was pretty mad at you for moving without telling me first, but I’m over that now. As a landlord I’ve never liked lease breakers but I’m willing to look the other way at least for the moment.

You’ve both been faithful friends throughout my life and I know you’ve had to bounce around a lot! My apologies! Had I known that this bothered you so much I may have found a way to be more uplifting. Even though your perkiness has slowly been diminishing over the past couple of years I can’t help thinking that you threw in the towel a little early in the game.

I will miss seeing you on a day to day basis.

Love,

Mom

***************************

Dear Mom,

Thanks for the note.

We always love to hear you blather about how much you love us.

We too were sorry we had to vacate the premises but it was becoming, without a doubt, very obvious that moving south was our only option.

We have, and will always regard your chest as our first and favorite home, but here’s the deal.

We’re tired of always having to act as your frontmen. Yes we were able to get you into certain places because of our good looks, and yes we could always help you win over strangers by pointing out just how lovely you are, but the reality is, you’ve squeezed out about all your going to get from us without some kind of compensation.

Unfortunately, we also felt incredibly let down on occasion so we felt we had to take it upon ourselves to relocate to a friendlier, less obtrusive location.

Below is our list of complaints:

* We were tired of being gawked at over the years and never listened to.

* We were on many occasions forced to hold our breath because our clothes were too small, too tight, or both. (there were a few close calls when we thought the damage would be permanent)

* We grew weary of catching crumbs during mealtimes.

(You have no idea how harsh a little piece of granola can be when it’s hot and humid)

* We resent the fact that your exercise routine did not include us as much as we needed to be included, thus, it’s your own fault we were forced to join a swingers club.

(We are shy creatures and this is not fun!)

Rest assured we are happy, warm, and feel very secure in our new home.

So as not to add injury to insult please make sure you do not put anything sharp in the front pockets of your pants so we do not suffer any undue injuries.

Thank you,

Thing One and Thing Two.

***************************

Dear T One and T Two,

I shall take into consideration all your stated grieviences however, since you no longer will be habitating the area between my face and my belly button, I have been forced to sign a new lease for your old location.

The new tenant, Ms Double Chin, will take up residence as soon as possible. This is a move that she has apparently been anticipating for some time now.

This will require some alterations that may affect you and should not add to your aggravation.

Think of her as a welcome guest.

To make Ms Chin feel safe and secure it will be necessary to add a third cup to all your currents togs. I will do my best to color coordinate all materials, keeping in mind that you love luxury.

See you around,

Mom

*********************

Dear Mom,

We object to this intrusion!

Two’s company…three’s a crowd.

Fuck You!!

Don’t you ever listen to your own advice?

Please stop writing to us as we can no longer respond to your demands! This is a direct quote from T One by the way, who says she no longer wants to speak to you.

Ms Chin, to whom we have always looked up to, only adds insult to injury, especially now that she’s homing in on our old stomping grounds. We will try not to hold a grudge.

Remember we still have one other location to consider and will not hesitate to go there. As much as we would prefer to stay where we are, Sockville is still an option. We can make your life extremely uncomfortable so please consider carefully any further decisions that would force our hand.

T One and T Two

*************************

To Whom It May Concern,

Do not threaten me!

Mom

PS: Do I have to remind you that it’s summer and I won’t be wearing socks very often.

If you don’t watch your step you could end up homeless!

How embarrassing that will be for you.

My Boobs Have Moved South…


…for the winter or so it seems.

I woke up early one morning recently because my boob was suffering from a mysterious chill.

I pulled the covers up but that didn’t help.

That’s when I realized I was sleeping on my back and my boob had fallen off the bed and was lying on the hardwood floor.

Crap!

I knew I should have put carpeting in the bedroom.

Accidents like this are bound to happen. I’m old enough to know better.

“What the hell girl,” I said in my most scolding tone as I reeled it back  on to the bed–back under the covers where it belonged.

Thing one and thing two are developing a mind of their own.

They have some secret agenda is what I think!

Could this be that ‘physical discontent’ they talk about–the one that comes every winter–the one that comes as each decade passes?

Are our bodies searching to redefine how it will appear to the general public right now? Is this what happens, in the way of consequences, as we slack off on our maintenance of it?

Or was thing one actually searching for something in the form of that warm ray of sunshine that was lurking just beyond the curtains as the sun began to rise?

WHAT?

Fuck that!

Both of those little buggers should be satisfied with the heat brought on by those gall-darned hot flashes that course through my aging body at a surprising rate of speed wherever and whenever they feel like showing up.

Or could it be I’ve reached the time in my life–once again–where a sleeping bra would make sense. I wore one during my pregnancy’s to keep the girls closer to home when all they wanted to do was play.

Oh yes! That was very interesting.

The word ‘undulation’ is what comes to mind when I think of how they used to misbehave then. Their favorite game was to imitate a yo-yo when I moved about.

Bada-Boing, Bada-Boing, Bada-Boing!

Up down, up down, and sometimes even, as an added treat, a loop de loop.

Yes, my boobs have a secret life of their own. They’re always looking for attention, good, bad, or indifferent!

I recall another occasion a few years back when I was rudely awakened in the wee hours of the morning because I couldn’t breathe.

What the hell, I thought to myself?


What on earth was happening?

The first thought that came to mind was that hubby had finally had enough of my crazy antics and was trying to off me. He sometimes has these little adventures in his sleep, which I think makes him far crazier than me.

Oops! Did I say that out loud…..sorry honey, but in my defense–you do have those wacky dreams that set you out on a mission of sorts.

My Bad!

When my eyes popped open–an auto-reflex due to lack of oxygen–I could see he was still sound asleep and facing in the other direction. He was off the hook.

I reached up towards my throat and that’s when I discovered that thing two had decided to sleep in the crook of my neck.

Little bastard! I take very good care of the girls so this kind of behavior is shocking!

Were my boobs screaming out for security once again?

Mmmmmmm…?

Or was it just a matter of weight distribution? Could it be the extra weight I’d recently acquired had chosen to settle in my boobs as it often does?

Anyone out there with large boobs knows that if you find a top to fit the girls the bottom always makes you look pregnant. If you find a top that fits the bottom, the boobs doth protest and will not allow buttoning, zipping, or snapping to happen.

Life’s a bitch sometimes!

Maybe this is yet another reason to keep duct tape in the drawer next to my bed.

Part 2…(Libido boosters)


…PLEASE REFER TO PART ONE  FIRST…


“Libido Steel…make you…” he finishes by gesturing with his groin moving in that humping motion.

Holy crap. This guy suddenly looks like he’s ready to go right then and there. I immediately scan his crotch in search of a spontaneous boner, my bad,  but it’s as flat as a pancake.

“You’re sure I’m gonna wanna…” I finish by gesturing the same humping motion because, at this point, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose here.

His eyebrows go up and down as though he’s trying to dislodge something from his forehead and he grins at me.  He sets the bottle into my sweaty palm and I wrap my fingers around it like it’s some kind of treasure.

But wait, out of the corner of my eye I see his other hand reaching towards my right breast.

WTF?

Did this mean I still had it? Did he get all worked up by my push, push, groin thrust? Was I hot to him? Were my girls turning him on?

OMG!

I instantly react with the speed of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. I intercept his approaching paw with my best jiu-jitsu move and my do-jo cry–Keyah. I give him the evil eye!

He steps back and rubs his wrist. As close as we’re standing I can see a red welt rise where I’d just smacked him.

He stands there in complete shock, complete disbelief! His eyes fill with fear.

He takes two more steps back from me then raises his shaking hand and points at my right breast.

I look down and see there is a rather large ball of white thread sticking to my black sweater. It probably came loose from the coat I’d been wearing earlier.

“You got shit on your shirt lady,” he says in his defense.

“OMG…I’m so sorry!” I say as I pull the straggler off and toss it to the ground.

“Maybe you need hormone too bitch…help brain relax,” he says making his move towards the cash register.

I’m thinking this guy must be fucking telepathic because I had run out of estrogen. I’d been out of it, and out of my mind, for nearly a week because I’d forgotten to order it.

I try to hand him my credit card.

“No lady, you set card on counter, I pick up myself.”

I try to gather what’s left of my brain and defend my action but the second I try to speak his shushes me.

“You pay me, get out,” he hisses at me.  “You no come back.”

He rips my card a new asshole through his machine and tosses it back on the counter, then sets the sales slip down so I can sign it. As I reach for the pen he steps back as though he knows what my arm span is.

“Can I have a bag?”

“No.”

“Okie dokey then.”

I hang my head in embarrassment and do as I’m told. As I head towards my car I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. I know he’s watching through the slats of the window blinds to make sure I’m really leaving and I’m pretty sure I hear the clank of a lock being engaged.

But then I thought to myself, who cares, I’m about to get my horny on. I’m about to get my mojo back. I’m going to be that sex machine I once was. The boner goddess. The MILF! I may actually find that spontaneous orgasm. Whehaw!!!!!

I get in my car and nearly have to pry my fingers off the bottle so I can read the label.

I look at the main ingredient and burst out laughing.

‘Horny Goat Weed.’

It’s then I realize I probably could have just as easily gone to the local feed store to get this shit.

No one’s home when I get there so I crack the bottle, tip it towards the light so I can inspect the pills inside.

WTF?

Was I supposed to swallow these things or were the suppositories? I have panic attacks when I have to take those little Advil tablets, how was I possibly going to manage these? I look at the label and read the instructions.

Take one daily for maintenance and up to four two hours before sexual activity. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my brow.

OMG! Now I was going to have to get anxiety medicine just to be able to swallow these suckers.

But I was on a mission. I’d just have to bite the bullet, literally, and down these horny goat weed suckers any way I could.

Flash forward one week.

I wasn’t feeling the sex thing yet but one thing I did notice immediately was that whenever I was driving, my attention kept wandering towards the long tall grass that runs parallel to the freeway. I’d start to feel hunger pangs followed shortly thereafter by the urge to pull over and graze.

I even started noticing barn yard animals in the most odd places. In Los Angeles proper it’s pretty rare to see anything other than a cat or dog.

I found myself wanting to visit a friend of mine’s ranch up in the Santa Monica mountains because I’d recently attended a woman’s horse retreat there and had a vague recollection of a very handsome billy goat wandering about.

I started answering questions and responding to statements in an odd way.

My son came bursting through the door after school one day so he could tell me a joke he’d heard that day. It was one of those really sick jokes if you know what I mean.

All I could say was “Eweeeeeeeeee,” followed shortly by a few “Bah, bah, bah’s” as his warped humor wrapped around my brain.

I’d catch myself late at night staring down at my front lawn from my bedroom balcony.

I ordered every version of “Grazin In The Grass Is A Gas” from iTunes.

One day my husband came home and I was laying face down in the tall cool green grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Mowing the lawn,” I said.

“Why is your hand down your pants?”

“I got an itch.” I respond.

What? Wait a minute!

Maybe it was starting to happen. Maybe it wasn’t just an itch. Maybe, just maybe, my vagina was finally getting the message.

BINGO!

I looked up at him staring down at me and cocked my eyebrow.

“Kids aren’t home yet. Would you like to step into my office?”

Oh yes, the world we live in, the world I live in, is a far better place when we can chemically alter it!

Part 1…Libido boosters…


…have become big business these days. So many people I know have had to resort to them in order to maintain any kind of sex life.

Where the hell have all the lost libido’s gone I wonder? Where was mine?  Was it lost in the same vacuum as all those missing socks I’ve failed to locate after dong laundry?

Did it fall out that day I wore granny panties instead of my thong? If that’s the case, I should have known better, I knew the elastic was loose.

Or did it escape when they ripped out my innards to protect me from the blob that had taken over my uterus back in my forties?

Could it have snuck out while I was sleeping one night when my legs spread haphazardly in the nine o’clock/three o’clock position hoping for one of those rare, did I say rare, I think I said rare, spontaneous orgasm.

There’s also a very good possibility that I lost it somewhere between packing lunches, running to the dry cleaners, washing, drying, and folding endless loads of laundry, dropping the kids off wherever then picking them up later, homeschooling my son, (kill me now) paying the bills, waxing the floors, dusting the furniture, washing the windows, dragging the garbage cans to the curb, negotiating with the plumber or electrician or the Roto Rooter man, cooking dinner, grocery shopping, bathing the dog, and whatever else needs to be tended to nearly every single day.

Mmmmmmm…………. Maybe it wasn’t just my libido I lost…maybe it was my entire mind that went AWOL.

Maybe, just maybe, when I find all my missing socks I’ll find my mojo again, but until that day arrives, I’ll be on the search for the magic bullet .

We women know very well that menopause does strange things to our bodies, and even stranger things to our minds. We look at ourselves in the mirror and are often surprised to see that erosion is no longer just a term reserved solely for soil. All those perky parts that used to be up there have gone south and are not expected to return home any time soon.

Your nipples, well, I have a vague memory of how proud they used to make me during the winter, you know, sweater weather. They could make a grown man stop dead in his tracks. Now…they sort of point towards the ground as though they’re weighted down with magnets and are constantly on the lookout for missing coins.

What used to be my neat little waistline, well…hell that thing now looks like a scrap yard filled with heaps of old worn out dented parts waiting to be crushed and hauled off. I never knew you could acutally grow cellulite on a belly but I was wrong. I was very wrong. My favorite trick with this newfound flesh is to squish together all the fat around my belly button to replicate the perfect bagel.

The lack of hormones, lack of energy, lack of time, lack of desire, all move us constantly towards that ‘not tonight honey I’ve got a headache’ syndrome. In some cases it’s even more drastic, it’s more like ‘touch me and pull back a bloody stub’. Worse yet, you can voice the words ‘touch me and die’ with a single glance at your partner.

Yeah, the lost libido syndrome echo’s across the nation like a sonic boom and you know who’s listening to these calls for help–the pharmaceutical companies—that’s who. They’re very aware of the need to put the zip back in your atrophying vagina before it closes shop permanantly. They know they’ve got you by the balls so to speak. So what do they do, they charge you a freaking arm and a leg for their products because they know that if mama ain’t happy, nobodies happy.

Yep, this craps expensive and because it doesn’t work like Erectile Dysfunction meds, which has an immediate impact, you have to take it long term.

I recently had coffee with my angel and his wife. We talked about all the normal things we usually talk about but then the conversation turned to his prostrate cancer. Now, this in itself is not funny at all, but his description on how his penis works now that his prostate has been removed cracked me up. Not only did he have to take Viagra to get a boner, he had to give himself a shot right in his wiener.

Holy crap!

When those words left his lips I felt my vagina shrivel up into a fetal position trying to protect itself.

Let’s put it this way, if somebody told me I had to stick a needle in my vagina to achieve an orgasm, I’d likely die an old non-orgasmic spinster.

Our conversation had to be diverted at that point so I asked his wife how her libido was. I figured she was a safe bet to ascertain a little info on this subject because she’s a little older than me. She told me that she had struggled with it over the years, having gone through menopause already, but she’d recently discovered a fantastic product that boosted her libido.

It was a combination of Chinese herbs that turned it around for her. She swore by them and told me I should get some for myself.  I hate trying new things, especially when it comes to pills of any kind, but I was desperate. I sucked back the rest of my coffee, excused myself, then rushed off to the herbalist’s store.

Now if I’d been looking for say, something for a cough, or something to make me sleep, I would not have hesitated to ask for help locating this particular product, but because it would be an admission of my inadequate sex drive I cruised up and down the aisles scanning bottle after bottle for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t find it.

Crap!

I slunk up to the counter, and of course it was some young Chinese boy standing there, and I had to ask him to point out the libido booster section.

“Oh yes…libido…” he said looking me up and down.

“Mmmmm…” was about the only confirmation I could respond with.

“Libido broke?” he said in a half-question, half-statement tone.

“No, no, I just lost it somewhere between my forties and fifties.”

…to be continued!