I TURNED FIFTY - NOW WHAT?

Well, I'm happy to report I survived the Big Day. I am now 50 years old. Friends, family and coworkers are all telling me that turning 50 is no big deal. And to them I want to say, Shut the f**k up! It IS a big deal, and I AM getting old. There's no need to whitewash it. We Americans live in a youth-obsessed culture, and I am no longer youthful. Sure, there are times when I feel youthful, but that feeling only lasts until my tennis elbow acts up,  or I catch a glimpse of my butt in the mirror and see new dimples forming on top of my cellulite. I try to cheer myself up by reminding myself that along with age comes wisdom. However, this only works until I realize I don't know what today's date is.  I must admit I'm looking forward to a few things that will happen as I navigate my fifth century of life, one of them being that I will no longer have to buy or use tampons. That will be superb! I'm also looking forward to inheriting some money from my father when he passes away. That sounds awful, I know. I do not, repeat, DO NOT want my father to die any time soon, nor do I think he owes me any money when he does die. But if he wants to leave me a few bucks, I'd have to respect his last wishes, now, wouldn't I?  I definitely wouldn't spend it all at once. That would be very un-wise of me to do...
...but let me get back to the present. I'm adjusting to this new number that is my age as best as I can. I am grateful for friends, family and good health. I have a great husband and I live in a nice home. I wouldn't trade any of these things for another shot at youth. No, the only "shot" at youth I'm considering at 50 is a shot of Botox in between my eyebrows. Stay tuned...

FIfty is Nifty - NOT!

This is not an easy post to write. Not only am I reluctant to admit that I am about to turn f-f-f-fifty soon, but it's literally hard to write this because my fingers and hands are achy with what I can only assume is arthritis, the bane of those of us entering or in the half-century club. In a few weeks, I'll be fifty years old. Officially. I've been telling people I'm almost fifty for the past several months because I thought that would help to cushion the blow when the dreaded date actually arrived. But even so, I am still not loving the thought of very soon becoming a has-been to advertisers and employers. Fifty is NOT nifty. Not in my book. I'd gladly give up my AARP discount at the Holiday Inn in exchange for better eyesight, healthy joints, and naturally blonde hair. I know there's no way to stop the clock from ticking, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. When I'm struggling to keep this aging thing in perspective as the Big Day gets imminent,  I try to remember something my father in his infinite and blunt wisdom told me. He said,  "You think 50 is bad? Just wait til you're 75!" Thinking about him saying that to me always lifts my mood a bit. If only it would lift my sagging face, too. Oh, well. I suppose that boost will have to be left to a plastic surgeon to accomplish.

Happiness is for Suckers Like Me

Philosophers, pundits, preachers -- all of them have tried to tell us how to be happy in our mortal coils. While I greatly appreciate their thoughts on the matter, I have come to my own conclusions about the big H, and today I am going to share it with you, even though you didn't ask me to:  Happiness can be bought for five bucks at 7-Eleven.  I was truly, deeply happy for a few moments the other day when I had in my possession a fresh pack of Marlboro Lights and a cup of hot coffee that i had just acquired at said 7-Eleven store. With these items in my hands, I knew that the next few minutes of my life would be filled with pure sensory pleasure. I would get to feel cigarette smoke slide silkily into my lungs, and then chase that great feeling with another one, a sip of hot lightly creamed coffee slipping over my tongue and down my throat. Bliss! But, wouldn't you know it, right after this happy thought entered my brain and released a mega-dose of endorphins into my bloodstream, I was faced with the maddening reality of a match that wouldn't light after repeated strikes and a broken cigarette lighter. Shit! I wasn't going get to ingest that winning combination of smoke and coffee after all. Happiness, that fleeting moment of everything being just the way it should be, was jerked away from me, leaving me alone with an opened pack of cancer sticks and a rapidly cooling cup of weak, convenience store java. 
But have no fear and only limited pity for me, reader. Being the pleasure-seeker that I am and always have been, my search for happiness continues, and while I'm not sure where I'll find it, I'm gonna start patronizing convenience stores more often. Because, as it turns out, money can buy happiness, especially at 7-Eleven.

Earthquake Shake

Earthquake you are
Not my friend
I don't like you
I won't pretend
Your destructive nature
Is beyond my ken

Earthquake you really
Dealt me a blow
Shook my foundation
Then you had to go
You didn't even give me
A chance to say no

Earthquake you shook me
To the core
Rattled my windows and
Shook my floor
Don't come back here
Any more

How Do You Know You're Middle-Aged?

Let me count the ways...

1. You have stopped telling the cashier at Kohl's the elastic-waist pants you're buying are for your mother.

2. Your most exciting decision of the day is whether to eat Rocky Road or Cherry Vanilla ice cream.

3. You get pissed off when kids DON'T call you ma'am.

4. Your pets won't outlive you, but they can easily outrun you.

5. You listen intently to the ads for cholesterol and arthritis medications that run during the evening network newscasts.

6. You visit your old elementary school, only to find out that the teachers that taught you are either retired or dead.

7. Your favorite radio station uses the word "oldies" in its ads.

8. You go to a rock concert and someone asks you if one of your kids is in the band. (This one really happened to me!)

Happy Birthday, Mr. President

He was honored with a Nobel Prize. He oversaw the killing of Osama bin Laden. And he was the first African American to be elected President of the United States of America. But these accomplishments pale in comparison to President Obama's latest achievement -- turning 50. As of yesterday, Obama's youth, like Elvis, officially left the building. Huh???? Celebrities aren't supposed to age, at least not quite as publicly as our President does. Not that he has any choice about the world knowing his age; when you're the leader of the free world, you don't get to keep many secrets. And his hair has gotten significantly more gray since he took office, so his aging has not been a clandestine process. But I did hear that he's going to Camp David to "celebrate" his fiftieth birthday  this weekend. I'm thinking he's going there to have some privacy so he can shed a few tears over the fading away of his much-touted youthfulness.
And who could blame him? When I turn 50 on an undisclosed day next month, I think I'm gonna be a bit sad myself. I've spent a lifetime trying to stay youthful and cute, as if my stubborn refusal to mature and age gracefully would make me immune to the aging process.  But when I look in the mirror now and see wrinkles and fat where there used to be neither, I have to admit I'm getting older. Besides, I really wasn't that cute in the first place, so losing my looks shouldn't be as big a deal for me as it might be for someone REALLY cute, like, say,  Goldie Hawn or Demi Moore. When I turn 50, my family and a few close friends will be on hand to gleefully remind me that I am eligible for AARP membership, and I will obligingly groan about how I suddenly feel old. But, if I put on enough make-up and color my hair blonde enough that day, hopefully the rest of the world will be fooled into thinking I'm still a forty-something. As long as they don't call me "ma'am", it's all good.

TV Stinks! (or it will soon)

DVR, instant movies, internet streaming -- just three of the countless wonderful reasons to spend even more of your precious time watching TV in the 21st century. And now there's another enhancement to television viewing on the horizon that will make it even more irresistible. You may have heard the term "smell-o-vision" before, as it has been used jokingly to describe the concept of simultaneously watching and smelling TV programs. It's been speculated and dreamed about for many years now, and it looks like it might actually become a reality in the near future. I am so freaking excited about this new invention,  I just HAD to blog about it today. An article I saw online recently on Gizmodo said that scientists at UCSD, in conjunction with Samsung, are hard at work perfecting a device that will attach to your tv and will dispense aromas that reflect the subject matter of the program you're watching.  According to this article, "the technology works by using a 100x100 matrix of thin metal wires that heats any one of 10,000 smell-forming aqueous solutions, allowing for 10,000 different smells. The researchers tested two different perfumes, and found that the smells were perceptible up to 30cm away." How cool! I can't wait to watch the Food Network with one of these gizmos attached to my TV. And shows set on the beach will be so much better when they make my living room smell like tanning lotion and boardwalk french fried potatoes. But I'm hoping the gizmo will come with an "off" switch, 'cause I'm thinking there are some types of programming that would definitely NOT be enhanced by smell-o-vision (Post-game locker room interviews and cat food commercials are two that come quickly to mind.). Please,  Samsung, rush this product (with an on-off switch) through research and development so those of us who want one can pick one up at Target on our next trip to buy paper products and toiletries. I can't wait for the day when I can watch reruns of Charlie's Angels and I can enjoy the mingled scents of hair spray, cheap cologne, and easy money. I'm staying tuned...