Who would have believed just a few short years ago that your best friend would now be your tweezers? Or that you're constantly learning new ways that Kleenex is indispensable? Instead of bumping into you at your old haunt the fashion mall, you're more likely to be seen at Walgreen's -- where you make at least 200 trips a week.
And worst of all, where more playful things used to be discreetly tucked in the bedside drawer, How About Those Earplugs?
But now they're on your husband's side.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
What Makes Us So Angry
Forget the insanities of the world - our own government, terrorism,the environment. There's enough going on out there to make everyone angry all the time. But there are things happening to us as Women Of A Certain Age, unnoticed by the world at large, that are so profoundly stunning to us, locked in our bodies as we are, that make us want to scream loud and long.
And. Never. Stop.
The little stuff, taken one by one, doesn't mean much. But then you start to detect a pattern...
My dentist was always quick to jump on all the newest ideas in dentistry. I have had teeth bonded to get the perfect color match and line. But he no longer suggests any cosmetic dentistry extras, and shrugs it off absentmindedly when I point out areas that could use improvement...as if my time for Keeping Up Appearances is past, and there's no need to waste his time and materials on my aging ivories.
I have a friend in her early 50's who is divorced. She's tiny, cute, smart, funny, and in great shape. She decided to try Speed Dating, where you meet a lot of possibles in one night by spending just a few minutes with each one. A little chaotic, but fun for adventurous types. She was shocked, angry, and more than a little stung to find out that the age limit for these evenings of frivolity is 55.
What, at 55 they have Speed Shuffleboard?
Our bodies are betraying us. Whether we took the best care or no care at all, time is doing things to our casings that no one ever prepared us for. That's because of The Things That No Woman Discusses. I've read The Magazines since I was able to turn the pages, and I know all the hints and tricks, whether I choose to use them or not. And there are things that happen to a woman as she ages that are Not In Any Book. They involve...well, I'm not even going to go there.
Okay, here's one: Both your nose and your ears continue to grow. Forever. Other parts of our bodies are also making macabre and horrific changes. But that's as much as I'm willing to commit to type.
Anyway, it's all so unkind and inevitable. And yes, it makes us angry.
I would like for this to be a place where we can share the things that happen to us that make us angry as we age. When you find yourself enraged at the insensitivity of the world or the relentlessness of the clock, write a Comment (just double click on the word below) that I can share with others who are trudging the same path. We feel better when we know we're not alone.
SHARING VENTS OUR RAGE, EASES OUR PAIN AND GIVES US STRENGTH!
And, you know, when girls get together,there's generally a laugh or two in the process!
.
And. Never. Stop.
The little stuff, taken one by one, doesn't mean much. But then you start to detect a pattern...
My dentist was always quick to jump on all the newest ideas in dentistry. I have had teeth bonded to get the perfect color match and line. But he no longer suggests any cosmetic dentistry extras, and shrugs it off absentmindedly when I point out areas that could use improvement...as if my time for Keeping Up Appearances is past, and there's no need to waste his time and materials on my aging ivories.
I have a friend in her early 50's who is divorced. She's tiny, cute, smart, funny, and in great shape. She decided to try Speed Dating, where you meet a lot of possibles in one night by spending just a few minutes with each one. A little chaotic, but fun for adventurous types. She was shocked, angry, and more than a little stung to find out that the age limit for these evenings of frivolity is 55.
What, at 55 they have Speed Shuffleboard?
Our bodies are betraying us. Whether we took the best care or no care at all, time is doing things to our casings that no one ever prepared us for. That's because of The Things That No Woman Discusses. I've read The Magazines since I was able to turn the pages, and I know all the hints and tricks, whether I choose to use them or not. And there are things that happen to a woman as she ages that are Not In Any Book. They involve...well, I'm not even going to go there.
Okay, here's one: Both your nose and your ears continue to grow. Forever. Other parts of our bodies are also making macabre and horrific changes. But that's as much as I'm willing to commit to type.
Anyway, it's all so unkind and inevitable. And yes, it makes us angry.
I would like for this to be a place where we can share the things that happen to us that make us angry as we age. When you find yourself enraged at the insensitivity of the world or the relentlessness of the clock, write a Comment (just double click on the word below) that I can share with others who are trudging the same path. We feel better when we know we're not alone.
SHARING VENTS OUR RAGE, EASES OUR PAIN AND GIVES US STRENGTH!
And, you know, when girls get together,there's generally a laugh or two in the process!
.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Move On Down The Couch, Frey -- Make Room For That Penguin!
So I joined some friends the other night and finally saw "March of the Penguins" on DVD. A lovely evening's entertainment.
After watching the goofy yet noble male creatures waddle and belly-flop their way across the frozen expanse, we see the ecstatic reunion of males and females. The courting begins. And then comes what must be known as The Love Scene, in which a particularly hot and photogenic couple are featured mating in a slow, soft porn-esque sequence; their languid caresses accompanied by romantic music.
All of us watching in the room were silent, save for some heavy breathing, until the end of the scene when one awed voice murmurred, "Now that's love."
Damned if that didn't break my reverie and bring out the cynic in me,
Now, really, I sez to myself, so as not to ruin the movie for those who are still in thrall. Do you really not know that they've slowed down the film about 5000% and those hairy birds are really just flopping like the animals they are?
And I thought, now what is a documentary, really? Isn't it supposed to be a true depiction of some real thing? I mean, I didn't go to the dictionary, but I thought, What was my expectation when I came into this film? Am I going to be totally disillusioned and bereft if I should find out that the filmmakers did indeed slow down the film and that in Real Life the birds really don't act like they're auditioning for an Emmanuelle movie?
And I thought, Gosh, if I had read Jim Frey's book "A Million Little Pieces" and hadn't first read the definition of "memoir", and no one had told me that I was supposed to expect a memoir to be exact in every precise detail, would I have just gone on with my life and have enjoyed the book and not second-guessed whether those "lies" made the story great or a sham? Or me as a reader an enriched person or a sucker?
I think if you believe that about Jim Frey and his book, and you were one of the ones who saw "March of the Penguins" and felt "Now that's love" when the penguins were doing it in slo-mo, then the documentarians deserve the hot seat on Oprah's couch, too.
And, if they do win an Academy Award, they have to spend mating season with the penguins in the million below zero temperatures, with their tongues all stuck to their Oscar.
After watching the goofy yet noble male creatures waddle and belly-flop their way across the frozen expanse, we see the ecstatic reunion of males and females. The courting begins. And then comes what must be known as The Love Scene, in which a particularly hot and photogenic couple are featured mating in a slow, soft porn-esque sequence; their languid caresses accompanied by romantic music.
All of us watching in the room were silent, save for some heavy breathing, until the end of the scene when one awed voice murmurred, "Now that's love."
Damned if that didn't break my reverie and bring out the cynic in me,
Now, really, I sez to myself, so as not to ruin the movie for those who are still in thrall. Do you really not know that they've slowed down the film about 5000% and those hairy birds are really just flopping like the animals they are?
And I thought, now what is a documentary, really? Isn't it supposed to be a true depiction of some real thing? I mean, I didn't go to the dictionary, but I thought, What was my expectation when I came into this film? Am I going to be totally disillusioned and bereft if I should find out that the filmmakers did indeed slow down the film and that in Real Life the birds really don't act like they're auditioning for an Emmanuelle movie?
And I thought, Gosh, if I had read Jim Frey's book "A Million Little Pieces" and hadn't first read the definition of "memoir", and no one had told me that I was supposed to expect a memoir to be exact in every precise detail, would I have just gone on with my life and have enjoyed the book and not second-guessed whether those "lies" made the story great or a sham? Or me as a reader an enriched person or a sucker?
I think if you believe that about Jim Frey and his book, and you were one of the ones who saw "March of the Penguins" and felt "Now that's love" when the penguins were doing it in slo-mo, then the documentarians deserve the hot seat on Oprah's couch, too.
And, if they do win an Academy Award, they have to spend mating season with the penguins in the million below zero temperatures, with their tongues all stuck to their Oscar.
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