Saturday, April 27, 2019


I recently read that a survey showed that Netflix is negatively affecting the sex life of its viewers.  It seems that men and women prefer streaming to sex.

I learned about sex in the Fifties from Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.  Sex happens in separate twin beds.  Thus, why it took me so long to find a husband that could fit into my mine.  Once that was accomplished, things went along pretty well for 32 years.  The beds got larger and we streamed 2 daughters. Then 8 years ago I found myself alone and left to my own devices.  I took that to mean electronic devices.  My mix master was too dangerous, my electric knife was a no go, my Keurig was a possibility, and my belt sander was a bit too rough.  So I did what any normal single woman would do…I tried using the vibrating feature on my cell phone…without much success.

Thankfully, someone understood my dilemma and created Netflix.  Now, not only is Netflix NOT ruining my sex life, it is actually my “go to” source for my sex life, along with HBO, The Comedy Channel and National Geographic.  So let me say thank you to all those streaming stations that allow me to feel like a vital woman again.  (And don’t get me started on the “streaming” feature.  My bladder streams all night long).

Forget John Boy.  Give me John Snow!  Bye, bye Lucy.  Hello “Sex Education”  (a UK based Netflix series starring Gillian Anderson).  I still love my twin bed and until something changes, me and my remote control are  sublimely happy together.

Wednesday, July 25, 2018


As I face my upcoming significant birthday, I look back on the many things I have had to say goodbye to.  Here is a short list:

1.       Thick hair (on legs, arms, head, and well, you know where)
2.       My waist (we gave it a good run)
3.       High heels (I’m afraid of heights)
4.       Loud music and concerts (I can’t hear you now)
5.       Patience  (I’m sure I had some at one time)
6.       Bikinis (I’ve been asked not to show up wearing one…again)
7.       Toenails that don’t look like they belong to an elephant
8.       My arches (and we’re not talking about McDonalds)
9.       My desire to clean toilets or bathtubs (I can’t even get out of a bathtub, let alone clean one)

I have faced the facts of growing older and have coped well, I believe.  Things happen, things change, things drop, droop, slide, squish and plop.  But today I read an article on elder sexuality that shook me to my core (it’s somewhere where my waist used to be that is now missing).  The one thing that I thought would stay with me through thick glasses and thinning hair I am now told is dying.  I am bereft to learn that at my age, one’s vaginal nerve endings are dying.  I’m sure there is a special prayer for dying vaginal nerve endings, but I am too upset to find it.  Who knew that one’s VNE would one day turn on me like my lactose tolerance did.  Is Russia behind this?  If I knew my VNE were going to abandon me, I would have enjoyed them more when I was using them.  

But now I only have regret and a bald spot on the back of my head.  So here I sit, in my bikini, in my bathtub, with my arches (I’m eating a McDonald’s burger), playing loud music, observing my silky no-hair arms, legs and you know what, while I patiently attempt to bend over my gut to cut my elephant toenails that are peaking out of my never worn high heels.  Now can someone call 911 cause I can’t get up!

Saturday, April 7, 2018

What is Your Identity Worth?


I just read that you can insure your identity through your homeowner’s or renter’s policy for as little as $25.  So of course I signed up, because there shouldn’t be an insurance policy in existence that I don’t have! 

But the questions that arose after I aroused myself from my slumber, sleep walking, sleep peeing, snoring and thrashing were these.  What is my identity, i.e., WHO AM I?  WHY AM I HERE?  WHERE AM I? WHAT AM I? And most importantly, WHO CARES?  Well, obviously the insurance company cares because they want my $25.  But is my identity worth more than that?

A pickleball friend recently downgraded my nickname from MaxiMillion to MaxiDollar. Was this because he saw my stock market portfolio or was he acutely aware of the true value of my identity?  So I needed to investigate this further by answering the questions that I had to write down so I could remember them to answer them.

First identity question:  WHO AM I?  I look in the mirror, but all I see is my mother’s face looking back at me.  And she looks really, really old…grey hair (thinning), wrinkles (deepening), teeth (losing).  Is this me or a mere reflection of what is to come (or is already here)? 

Next identity question:  WHY AM I HERE?  Well, obviously if I am looking in the mirror, then I am in the bathroom and if I am in the bathroom, then I am here to pee.  And that has great value!

Question #3:  WHERE AM I?  This is a question that is asked every morning when I arouse myself.  And then asked again multiple times during the day.  The problem is I don’t have the correct answer as many times as I ask the questions.  I’m trying to use the Hansel and Gretel method of bread crumbs (or leftover matzo crumbs) but find that I eat more than I drop.

Question #4:  WHAT AM I?  Old lives matter.  That’s what I am and I value what it took to get me here (where am I?  No, problem, I have some bread crumbs leading me back to the bathroom).   I have value and as soon as the stock market rebounds, I will have more value.  Hopefully enough to pay for an Uber to get me home.

Last Question:  WHO CARES?  Answered already which is why my State Farm agent is now my bestie.

Saturday, November 4, 2017


I just booked a flight to Florida to get away for a few days and was pleased and surprised to see the many fares from which I could choose (I was a journalism major so I know not to end with a proposition…or is it preposition?)  Here were my choices from most expensive to least expensive:

VIP SEATING (otherwise known as Tax Reform Bill beneficiaries):  You will be warmly welcomed by the airline staff.  Free libations, snacks, blankets, reclining seats, pillows, foot massage, paraffin treatment for your hands, liposuction and early boarding. A limo awaits your arrival.

YOU THINK YOU ARE RICH, BUT YOU’RE NOT SEATING:  (otherwise known as Tax Reform Bill wanna be beneficiaries): Airline staff wave at you upon boarding.  Your seat reclines almost all the way back, but not quite.  Only one foot gets massaged, and one hand gets a paraffin treatment.  No liposuction, but a meat baster is available. A pillow, but BYOB (bring your own blankie). Directions to the cab stand are provided.

UPPER MIDDLE CLASS SEATING: (otherwise known as possible Tax Reform Bill beneficiaries depending on how many children and how many houses you own):  Airline staff smile upon boarding.  Your seat reclines and then pops back up in a secure and upright position.  Anything you want, you can have.  You just have to fork over your 401K to pay for it.  You are allowed to look at your hands and feet but not your ass.  Find your way home.

MIDDLE CLASS SEATING: (otherwise known as thought you were benefiting from the Tax Reform Bill, but you were wrong): Airline staff laugh at you when boarding. You are lucky to have a seat so stop bitching. You get to see pictures of what everyone in the forward cabins are eating and drinking that are not available to you. You can look at your hands, but not your feet and certainly not your ass.  Home?

YOU CALL THIS A SEAT SEATING?  (otherwise known as you get what you pay for):  Airline staff pretend not to notice you.  Your luggage is your seat.  No food, no drinks, no pictures, no windows!  Blinders are available so you don’t have to see others enjoying their flying experience (at a cost). One free potty trip.  You are not allowed to see your hands or your feet, but since your ass is hanging off the back of your luggage seat, they can’t stop you from looking at it.  There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.

Obviously, I could not afford the first 3 seating classes.  So, I’m checking out my backside as much as possible before my trip so I don’t forget what it looks like.  My campaign slogan for 2018 is Make Airlines Great Again!!

Friday, June 30, 2017

Kids Might Say the Darndest Things, but Look Out for Granny!

                                              Image result for kids say the darndest things                                                           

Children say the “darndest” things.  Well, I’m here to tell you I have been known to say the “damndest” things as I have aged.  Here are a few:

·        Forgive me for I would love to sin again
·        Tell me, does this fat make my butt look big?
·        I’m taking a 12 week online course.  When finished, I should be able to change the channel on my television.
·        Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is …  that looking back at me?
·        When you are young, farting is funny.  When you are old, it’s just a fact of life.
·        I love to play with my 2 year old grandson because I usually win every game.  But not always.
·        Now where did I leave my G Spot?
·        They say “It’s only money”. They say that because they have some.
·        When in Rome, do as the “Roamings” do.  And when you are roaming and can’t find your way home, do as I do… call Uber.
·        I just saw the musical “Anything Goes”.   It made me laugh.  So I went.  Damn that bladder.
·        Rudyard Kipling wrote “never the twain shall meet”.  Well, I met a twain in Cleveland and took it to Denver.  So I don’t know what he was talking about.
·         As a Virgo, I am shy and don’t like being the center of attention.  Huh? 
·        I was recently stopped by a local policeman for a “California Roll” (it’s a traffic violation). Since he mentioned it, I asked if he wanted to go out for sushi.  I was hoping he would frisk me (see the first entry on this list).   I am hoping to be paroled soon.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

My Memory Foam Mattress Has Dementia

I am saddened to announce that my Memory Foam Mattress is showing signs of early dementia.  It’s been coming on slowly, but last night when I expected my mattress (I call him Matt) to couch me in sublime comfort, instead Matt seemed confused.  Where I typically sink into the softness, Matt pushed back, dipping where I billow and billowing where I dip. And what’s worse, I count on Matt to be my backup memory on so many things (when you pay big bucks for a memory foam mattress you expect more than just a good night’s sleep).  Like how many times did I get up at night?  How many times did I sweat through my nightie? When did I last wash my sheets?  Did I pee while I was sleeping? How many times did I call out a man’s name, and what was the name of the man...please remember what was the name of the man?

Matt and I have seen some good times….times I don’t remember but expected Matt to remember for me.  But things have changed.  Now I spend my time with Matt doing Fit Brain and other memory-enhancing apps.   I show Matt pictures of when he was just a little bunch of chemicals and when he grew into spongy foam, trying to bring back memories from his inception.   I don’t know if any of my efforts will work, so I’ve had to come up with Plan O.

Plan O stands for my little grandson, Ori.  He, too, is spongy and I love when he sinks into my loving arms.  I am counting on him to remember the sweetest moments we share together, remembering my laughter, my tears of joy, my total and complete love for him.  I can’t wait until he is old enough to spend the night at my house. And hey, if he can remember the names of any of the men I call out at night...any of them at all...then who needs a memory foam anyway?

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

My Latest Love/Hate Relationship

When was the last time you had one of these?  Well, honestly, I don’t care because this is about me and my latest one.  It’s not about a man or a woman or a child.  It’s not about food or politics or religion.  It’s about something important-- something that is vital to my life (LOVE) but depressing each time it happens (HATE).  Yes, you guessed it.  I have a love/hate relationship with my yoga/pilates class. 

It’s a short story that I will make longer if you don’t mind because I have to fill up the page.  It all started with my breast cancer (HATE).  My daughter who LOVES yoga was here for the surgery (HATE) and I decided I would take her to a yoga/pilates class at my gym.  Being the wonderful mother I am (LOVE), I took the class as well.  I actually really liked the class and realized how good it was for my health (LOVE).  But during these classes, depression sets in.  I could use medication to feel better, but I would rather gripe to you and just list what I HATE.

1)      There are mirrors.  Fine for those who look good but not so good for me who looks like Sponge Bob’s mother.

2)      The Warrior I position reminds me that I haven’t shaved my underarms for a week or more.  You’d think I would take care of that before the next class but you would be wrong because so many of the positions cause the blood to rush to my head and make me dizzy.

3)      The Warrior II position should be called the Chicken as my waddling underarms swing to and fro as I point forwards and backwards throwing me off balance.  Thus why when I put my mat down, no one wants to be near me for fear of a collision or two or three or more.

4)      The Warrior III position….well, I can hardly even talk about this one.  Standing on one foot with your arms out and your leg extended backwards.  I’m sure I saw this position in a Kama Sutra book.  I might have even tried it in my younger days.

5)      The pigeon position is a bunch of poop in my opinion.  You are supposed to bend your knee at an angle that is unnatural and then rest your torso on it.   Once in position, I have to call 911 to get me out of it.  It takes a village.

6)      The fold position is not difficult, just depressing.  You stand with your feel together and then bend forward.  In this position, I am seeing all kinds of things I prefer not to see….sagging knees, ugly veins, misshapen toes, hairy legs (see item #2 for explanation why this continues to be the case) to name a few.

7)      Any position that needs a sense of balance.  The only thing I can balance these days is my checkbook and that only happens occasionally.  And then when you have to balance and then lift one or more appendages off the ground, the thud you hear and occasional cursing is always coming from the very back corner where I am hiding.

8)      The Pilates Bridge position. This is where you lie on your back, bend your knees and hike yourself up onto your shoulders so you can have a perfect view of your breasts falling to each side of your chest.  Yea, can't have enough of that!

9)      The Pilates Happy Baby Pose is where you lie on your back, bend your knees in the air and grab your big toes.  This pose should be called the Happy Husband pose and for sure it is the Kama Sutra Book.

10)  I LOVE All Pilates poses where you have to sit on the floor with your feet in front of you and then ease yourself backwards until you are flat on the floor.  What I HATE is trying to raise yourself up.  That kind of grunting and groaning should be saved for the bathroom.

What I LOVE about yoga/pilates.

1)      Child’s pose.  Easy to get into and out of and you don’t see anything in between.

2)      Final relaxation pose.  I get to close my eyes and not be afraid of toppling over.

3)      Rolling up my mat.

Sadly, this Love/Hate relationship is doomed to continue because the result is better flexibility (LOVE) but the process is depressing (HATE…see above 1-10).  And so it goes.