Pa-Diddle

Attending a wonderful benefit as a guest of the platinum sponsor. Seats right at the foot of the runway (kind of like Paris Hilton at Fashion Week!). Champagne flowing like water. Air kissing my new BFF's at the Valet station. Beamers, Lexus, etc, etc. Dear God, don't let that car with the burned out left headlight be mine. You can take the girl out of Collinwood, but you so can't take Collinwood out of the girl!! Sure enough -- that's my car.

A 50 year old woman is not much different than a 22 year old girl

Okay, we all know that is a big, fat lie -- a 50 year old woman is supposed to be far different from her 22 year old self. However, in my case, I seem to have been passed over by the maturity gene. I found myself just the other night sitting on my bed in the near dark because I ran out of replacement light bulbs, and the light next to my bed was dark. And I needed light because I was using my manicure scissors to pull the teeney, tiny black thread stitches out of the also black lining of my black sheath dress that fits almost perfectly except across my butt, my hips and my gut.

Some might say - "don't wear it to work tomorrow." Others might add "or go sit somewhere that has more light to pull out the stitches." HA! Both those solutions are for amateurs! I managed to do what I needed to, while at the same time marveling at how hot Andy Garcia still is as I watched a PBS special on Cuban music.

So, to skip to the end of the story -- I squeezed myself into the sheath not unlike a sausage into its casing, and wore it with a chunky pearl necklace, a black ruffled cardigan and black pointy-toe sling backs the next day -- couldn't decide if I was totally stylin' or looked like an Italian widow.

The point of my story? This is pretty much a typical night for me. Sadly, I never have the proverbial light bulb when I need the light. I wonder if it is because I am single? That I wing it basically all the time because I can? Or would I be the same way even with a bossy husband and a bunch of kids? Probably.

Midlife Crisis

What a cliche, I always thought. A midlife crisis. Spare me. Doesn't it suck how so many things we always tossed off as ridiculous come back later to bite us in the ass?

Okay, so it isn't easy when you wake up one day and realize you are among the oldest in your work environment. When you realize the cute guy you instinctively check out is young enough to be your son. But I digress....

The real issue isn't in the looking forward. No, the issue is trying to keep yourself from looking back. The 'what ifs?" The road not taken. I am not a particularly retrospective person, but lately, I find I am a bit obsessed with decades past. It is indeed a slipperly slope and probably not a healthy one. Is it inevitable that this nostalgia head trip happens, or can it be avoided? Just for the record, The Big Chill is not as great a movie as I remembered it to be. I imagine that is the same for our memories. If we could go back, it would probably not change anything. Our choices, for better or for worse, are the ones that are right for that time. But I guess I will still pay the $$ to see what I anticipate will be the next Big Chill, for our time. Hot Tub Time Machine, here I come. A fine film!

A Requiem for Michael Jackson -- or -- The College Reunion Weekend

What is it about that Thomas Wolfe guy? You can't go home again? Of course you can! There is a weird phenomenon that occurs when two or more college friends reunite after many years -- if that isn't going "home" again, I don't know what is.

Instead of going to a shrink, I think middle-aged people like us just need to reconnect with the people who helped shape the person we ended up becoming. People you don't see very often anymore, but people that when you do see them - -end up making you feel better about yourself, about them, and about the world in general.

This weekend, we got together after way too many years. It happened as a fluke. If we had really worked to plan it, inevitably it would not have been what it was. And what it was, was a Laugh Fest, a Bitch Session, and perhaps most importantly -- a Requiem for the Gloved One. Yes, just as they did in The Big Chill, we had a soundtrack for the weekend -- The Essential Michael Jackson three disc set. ($15 at Target - -but sold out now. Too bad!! Shouldn't have waited, Cindy. A lesson for all of us).

Now, say what you will about Michael, but he also helped raise and shape us. We are the same age, after all, and many formative moments occurred to his voice over the last four decades. Some of us can imitate his moves (great moonwalk Brab!) and I tried to imitate his voice (just the little weird sounds, I'm not quite there, but still practicing, in case anyone was wondering), and many of us have the same memory of dancing to "Rock With You" so it was fitting that the weekend revolved as much around him as it did around us.

And thanks to Durn and her magic "polarized" hands, we all came away feeling less stressed. (Thanks for the neck massage, babes. I think you have a great future in holistic medicine and everything that goes into it. Let's just keep it between us that, of course, I was certainly the most stressed. The rest of them are just whiners).

Now everyone is back from whence they came -- Nashville by way of Lancaster, Michigan (a good buckeye hates to even type those letters), Columbus, etc....but thanks to the magic of social media and the inevitable Michael Jackson breaking news (right now CNN is reporting that Latoya says Michael was murdered. I thought Latoya was Michael!), we are still bound together. Love you guys. Love you, gloved one. Here's to us!

The Break Up

Okay, I now understand how it feels to be stalked. I am being stalked by Curves - -a workout circuit for women. Maybe I was not blessed with the commitment gene, but the way I look at it, this is a business transaction. They have my credit card number and I have the opportunity to get to their workout site in the LIMITED hours they are open. I knew the hours of operation before I joined, and I accepted the fact that if work got busy or my life got busy, the hours of the day might be filled with those things and I might miss Curves time. I was okay with this "open" relationship.



Well, evidently, Curves is not. First came the post card, asking where I was and if everything was okay. Excuse me? I only missed one week! And have only belonged three weeks. If you saved on printing and postage, you might be able to keep the damn place open more hours and I could get there after a long day at work. Or on a Saturday after noon. Or, on a Sunday.



Today the phone calls started. It is kind of pitiful. I never went into this intending to make a huge commitment. I was happy with the relationship as I viewed it -- enjoyable here and there, no ties, no binds. I mean, they have my financial commitment, right? But right away, within three weeks, the whining , the post cards, the phone calls.....what next? A private investigator?



I am an adult. I feel comfortable with my choices and if these choices include trips to Curves, or not, I think I can handle the consequences. I don't need "exercise friends" or "support calls" or anything other than the business transaction I entered into. We'll see how it goes. I may have to break up with Curves and forge a more relaxed relationship with the YMCA - -it is right down the street, about the same price, and has better hours for "lose the booty" calls.

Post Election Let Down, Except Palin Won't Go Away

So what is it about politics, anyway? Remember the good old days of 2008, when the election was still in full swing? Remember when McCain was a maverick, Joe was still a plumber and Sarah Palin was only annoying Wasilla? Remember Tim Russert?

Quite frankly, it hasn't been that fun since the Recession began. I mean, I try to do my part. I obsess over the Dow, watch its every move, I lost 40% of my 401k, just like we were supposed to, and when I couldn't take it anymore, I went out and bought a Coach purse to help jumpstart the economy. Now I'm just bored with it all and ready to move on....

So my theory is that the recent election season that lasted something like two hundred years and cost more than Mel Gibson's projected alimony thrust us all in a major let down -- so much so that Lehman Brothers failed and the banks and car manufacturers had to vie for attention by threatening to. Now that the ennui has ended, John Madden has announced his retirement and I actually re-potted the plant that lives on my desk in my office (the one that thrives under florescent lights and daily f-bombs) is this Armeggedon (and is this how you spell Armeggedon???). Probably not.

Thankfully, there exists a light at the end of the dark tunnel. Keith Olbermann is back on the air and I have discovered solonjoe.com. Like so many forgotten memories, reading solonjoe is like a flashback to the '80's.

Light Lunch

Since I was not dining with the work girls today, I figured I'd eat a nice light lunch with my friend who works down the street. Suffice it to say, we went to Slyman's. I have no words. I am going to end up on Dr. Phil and Nancy Grace as one of those 10,000 lb women who can't leave their house because their legs won't hold them up and if they do leave to do the Dr. Phil Show, they have to book 3 seats on the airplane to accommodate their lard a_ _.
Just a sad, sad tale from someone who regularly receives helpful tips from Weight Watchers.com.