Wednesday, June 26, 2013

What To Do When I Retire

I recently read an article that listed 8 part-time jobs a person might consider after retirement.  Suggestions included tour guide, retail salesperson, bookkeeper, home health care provider, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I guess for the average person, these might be of interest.  But to me, the not so average person….this list sucks.

So, here is my updated list that I am offering in case anyone needs my unique skills.

#1:          Professional crier:  I am available for weddings, funerals, job firings, surprise parties, divorce proceedings, births, or any emotional event.  I can produce tears in a matter of seconds awake or asleep.    Kleenex not included.

#2:          Expert Party Pooper:  Give me a party, I can be miserable and ruin it for others as well.  My special skills include moping, pouting, finger drumming, whining and vomiting. 

#3:          Gum chewer:  Have braces, dentures or partials?  Can’t chew gum on your own?  I am available to chew it for you.  I prefer peppermint, but would consider other flavors.  I charge in 15 minute increments and will return the fully chewed piece upon request.

#4:          Sunburn peeler:  My children can attest to the fact that I have always loved peeling their little sunburned bodies.  The dermatology police have yet to catch me in the act, so my record is clean.  I am also available for grape and peach peeling if that rings your chimes.

#5:          Back scratcher:  This service is an interactive activity.  You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours is a requirement.  A true give and take service.   I give you 15 minutes and I take 20 in return.  Additional services include arm, head and feet.  No toes.  Don’t ask.

#6:          Gossip monger:  Got a secret you want to disseminate?  I’m your gal.  You can call, text or email me.  No twitter.  My tweeter is broken at this time.  I can share your innermost thoughts, fears, joys, and more with a whole host of friends, strangers, and yet to be determined relatives all for the low, low price of….oh, that’s a secret.

#7:          Gas passer:  It seems the current trend in gas exploration is fracking.  Well, it doesn’t take a lot of water and pressure to get natural gas from this source.  So think of me the next time you need to fill your tank.  My resources are always available at a moment’s notice.  A little cheese please and I am ready, willing and more than able.

#8:          Back seat driver:  Actually I prefer to sit in the front seat on the passenger side where I can get my hands on the air bag (see #7) and you can hear me better.  I can critique, scream, hyperventilate, vomit (see #2), attempt to take the wheel away from you, throw myself from the car (moving or not), display any number of fingers in any number of sequences at passing cars, guffaw at speed limit signs, and other requests made in writing 10 days in advance.   However, I will not throw trash out the window.  I do have my limits.

I can also bundle my services (hey, Progressive Insurance can do it and so can I).  Perhaps you are going to drive (#8) to a boring divorce (#1) beach (#4) party (#2) where they hand out gum (#3) that you are allergic to that causes you to itch (#5).  Bundling available with a 10% discount.

As I am turning 65 in a few months, I am taking orders now.   And if you sign up in the next 15 minutes, you will also get my 2014 Maxine Does Davenport Calendar.  So don’t delay.



Thursday, March 21, 2013

Tattoos versus Taboos

Last week I picked up my new contact lenses and I find I am not seeing as well as I should. So when I received an email yesterday regarding today’s 10 most common office tattoos, I was very excited. How disappointed I was to find it described office taboos, not tattoos.  Even though NONE of these relate to me, I thought YOU might be interested.
Poor Hygiene. To keep from smelling, shower and don’t floss, clip your nails, brush your hair or apply makeup at your desk.
  • Poor Health Habits. Wash your hands often, and cough in your elbow.
  • Wear Appropriate Clothing.
  • Gossip. Don't be the source or instigator of office gossip.
  • Email Etiquette. Please, please do not hit "Reply All" unless you really think it is critical
  • Pets. Don't assume that you can bring Fido in without asking first
  • Cooking. It is probably not a good idea to cook fish, broccoli or even microwave popcorn.
  • Perfumes and Colognes. More than just a drop is probably too much.
  • Cell Phones. For some reason when people answer a call on their cell phone their voices automatically go up several decibels. And, yes, you may have a hilarious ring tone, but after the fourth or fifth time it's just not that funny.
  • Undergarments. Undergarments are meant to be "under". 
  • Mistakes and Goofs. We all make mistakes at work. It is not necessary to point out your co-workers' goofs to all the other employees.
  • Sex Life. Your sexual exploits should be private
  • Cursing. Yelling, cursing, screaming should be directed to your favorite politician, not to your co-workers.
So today after I came to the office and shared with my co-workers , my evening of passionate love making,  I shoved my boobs back into my blouse and read the email with the list of office taboos which I simply couldn’t relate to.  I then went into the bathroom and sat in the sink and bathed.  Forgetting my cologne, I just used air freshener to give myself a fresh scent.  I cleaned the toothpaste residue off my desk along with my clipped nail remains and wisps of hair that fell out due to my advancing age.  I wiped my diseased hands on the last tax return I processed before putting on my lipstick which fell into the shredder.  Then I sent an email to everyone I know to tell them about my new pet dog that I named "Schmoozer" who pooped on my foot and then attacked my boss.  But I was able to release his grasp as I had just cooked cabbage and the smell made him faint (the dog, not my boss).  As the day progressed, I made damn sure I pointed out all the mistakes everyone had made.  Now I’m off to get a tattoo.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

It's Just a Lot of Hot Air

I have been blessed in so many ways in my life.  Great husband.  Great kids.  Great siblings.  Great friends.  But the greatest blessing of all has been my Tinnitus.  You know Tinnitus!   No, it’s not my dog.  It’s the constant ringing in my ears that I have had for over 10 years.  It provides that lovely ambient noise in the middle of my brain that keeps me awake, which wouldn’t be a problem except it does so all night long.

But heh, we have learned to live together without much conflict until yesterday when I went for a hearing test.  It turns out Tinnitus has an effect on my being able to hear high pitched sounds.  I needed to know in no uncertain terms exactly what sounds I have been missing for 10 years.  I asked the doctor to be truthful, hold no punches as I could take whatever he had to tell me.  With tears in his eyes and shaking his head back and forth, he explained that I have lost the ability to hear……..whistling.  OMG!!!!!!!

Now it all makes sense.  Ten years ago I heard guys whistling at me all the time!  But as I look back, I haven’t heard such jaw dropping adoration since the 90s.  I changed my hair, I bought push up bras, I covered up the spider veins on the back of my legs and yet, I heard no whistling.  Over time, I had seen men pucker up and when I heard no sound, I thought they were just blowing hot air.  To them, I apologize for not acknowledging their well deserved appreciation of my efforts to improve myself.  Then I thought perhaps Congress had passed a bill banning whistling, but now I know the truth.  And the truth hurts.

Now the question is, how to move forward?  What is a life without being able to hear whistling?  I will have to check to see if there is a support group for this. Now, no more trips to the annual International Whistling Competition for me.  No more whistling while I work.  All I’m left with are cat calls.  But, life is a compromise, so say our Congress people.  And if they can do it, so can I.  


Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Been There, Coughed Up That


I came out from under my bed today and what did I see?
Lots of people coughing all over me.

Sharing is lovely and I’m not one to complain

But what benefit are your germs, you have to explain.
Being old and being sick is nothing at which to sneeze

So, much as I like you,  keep your “strip do caucus” away from me … please.
I’d like to see 65 in happiness and health

And if the market goes my way, with a little, just a little wealth.
No touching, no kissing, no elbows, no knees

So I’m kinky, I get it, just please heed my pleas.
It’s back under the bed where I’m safe and I’m sound

You can text, you can call, till spring comes around.
Stay well, that’s your job and do it you must

That’s my ruling from Judge Maxie and my rulings are just.

Monday, October 29, 2012

If You Need Me Just Look Under My Bed

So, I’ve been thinking of where I want to retire.  Go East Old Wrinkly woman, go east?  Or venture West back to the  Balboa Rockies, or was it Rocky Balboa?  I could go South because I love hush puppies, but then you have to take them out for a walk multiple times a day.  And finally there is True North, but you need a compass for that and I don’t like pointy things.

No, I have decided that the best place for me to reside is simply under my bed.  I have Panaphobia you see.  This is a fear of everything, and in particular natural disasters.  Just a few weeks ago I spoke to my oldest daughter, Rachel, who explained that when she got to work, there was a bomb squad on the premises.  But "not to worry."  Who says that to a mother?  Then I called my youngest daughter, Ali,  who explained she couldn’t talk to me because they were having a terror attack drill and she had to walk down 18 flights of stairs.  But "not to worry."  The snipers that guard her workplace would protect her.  Who says THAT to a mother who worries about everything from adult acne to Food Network chefs who don’t know what to do with the ingredients in their mystery basket?

So if you need me, you can check under my bed.  I welcome company, but just one at a time.  Bring your own flashlight, pillow and munchies.  I promise to come out for joyous occasions like reruns of “I Love Lucy,”  and an occasional bathroom run.   Like now, except I think I am stuck.  Call 911 or TemPurpedic.   I told you I have a fear of natural disasters and the worst disaster of all is a full bladder!

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


The internet has brought us Angry Birds that are slung through the air at a structure in order to demolish it (this explanation is brought to you by the last person on earth that doesn’t have this app on her phone – namely, me!)

Recently though, I have been contacted by a number of angry persons and inanimate objects (which shall be named later…actually they’re named in the next paragraph, so keep on reading) that would also like to sling some things at their targets.  So here are my suggestions for some new Angry apps:

The Angry Politicians app:  where empty words are flung at each other in an attempt to destroy their opponent’s credibility.  There needs to be a pill to make this app go away.  I guess it is called a remote.

The Angry Fliers app:  where customers fling their suitcases at the CEOs of the various airlines (except Southwest where fliers fling kisses). And then they are made to sit in coach for 6 hours next to a crying, vomiting baby.

The Angry Toilets app:  where commodes fling all the items that aren’t supposed to be flushed at the people who don’t comply with the signs asking them not to flush anything except toilet paper.

The Angry Feet app: where tootsies fling the ridiculously high heeled shoes at the designers who created this trend.  Perhaps, just perhaps, my anger on this point is more jealousy because if I tried to walk in them I would end up on the sidewalk on my ass?  No, I think it is just about the pain.

The Angry Drivers app:  where drivers who don’t text while driving fling their phones, fingers, liter etc. at those who do. 

And finally

The Angry App Developer app:  where my loyal followers fling money at me for spending a good portion of today coming up with ideas for apps that someone hasn’t already thought of while I’m sitting on the toilet in my high heel shoes watching political ads before I have to get in my car dodging text-maniac drivers who are on their way to the airport.  Now where is my remote?

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

63 Shades of Maxine


So I hear people talking about this series of books called “50 Shades of Gray” and immediately I figure they are talking about the latest hair color choices produced by Clairol or L’Oreal.  And like, I’m excited because there NEEDS to be at least 50 Shades of Gray for folks in their 60’s and older.  But like so many of the political ads these days, it is all a big lie.  However, I am still intrigued.  So, I ask a friend to lend me her latest selection of fine reading material which shall henceforth be called “ooh la la” and I begin my journey into the dark place.

Now for those of you who have not ventured into the “ooh la la” dark place, I shall summarize.  This is a story about “subs” and “doms”.  And if you are like me (and who wouldn’t want to be except for the granny panties), your favorite  “subs” include tuna, deli and that old favorite, meatball.  And of course my favorite Dom was of the DeLouise brand.  But nothing prepared me for the “sub” and “dom” activities in this trilogy.  Hey, I’m all for a playroom, but I like to use a cue when knocking balls around on a pool table.  And don’t get me started on the proper use of clothes pins. 

As I read and said to myself how silly this “ooh la la” stuff was,  I thought for sure my hot flashes were making a comeback as the sweat was dripping from my face and my panting had to be from allergies.   Dom DeLouise never got that kind of a reaction from me for sure!

And there is no question that these two young people were ingesting some kind of energy drink because no one can be that “active” that many times in one day.  I know.  I tried….years ago of course before the granny panties faze of my life.  Now I’m just 63 shades of Maxine and with the help of my sponsors, Clairol and L’Oreal, it ain’t Gray!