Tonight on Aging Nymphs

OMG, Lori and Russ' anniversary surprise came off perfectly last night! Details in tomorrow's post, but first...

Trying to get your life together? Maybe you know where you want to go, but can't seem to get there, or maybe you're still wondering what you want to be when you grow up. Our guest, life coach Deborah Bailey, spills the beans on how a life coach can help you attain your goals and get you where you want to be. Deborah also has a hilarious blog, The Peach Tart--check her out!

To listen or join the conversation tonight, simply go to our Blog Talk Radio website at 7:00 Pacific/10:00 Eastern and click on the show’s title. Call the number on the screen to join the conversation, or you can listen to the show archives anytime by clicking a link on the right sidebar of this site.

This is going to be a fun show. God knows I'm a friggin' mess--is a life coach enough, I wonder, or do I need a whole psychiatric team? Hope you can join us!

A fun Las Vegas weekend

I’ve been having a blast since my sister Lori and her husband, Russ, arrived last Thursday. As it turns out, old boyfriend Tim was also in town last week, and so Friday after work the four of us headed over to one of my favorite cheap-o hot spots, Ellis Island. This place is a favorite for both locals and tourists in the know and you can’t beat their $1.50 big-ass brew pub stouts and $6.95 steak special. Yum! I wrote a Living-Las-Vegas article about it a while ago; give it a read if you want to kill some time at work today.

We had a great time at Ellis Island, and not just because of the beer. You know how some people are entertaining as hell, but they have no clue that they’re entertaining because they’re just being themselves? That’s my old boyfriend Tim. He’s a tough-as-hell fightin’ Irish carpenter with 101 stories to tell; usually they involve pressing his thumbs into somebody’s Adam’s apple. Suffice to say, his tales don’t end with, “and they lived happily ever after.” It's more like “and the last time I saw him, he was coughing up blood.”

Friday night Tim told us all how he misfired a nail gun and drove a nail into his wrist, yanked it out, worked for 8 hours doing carpenter stuff, and then went to the ER, where he told the nurse there’s no friggin’ way they’re giving him a tetanus shot because he’s afraid of needles. Yep, he’s a tough mo-fo, alright. And very entertaining.

Saturday Lori, Russ, and I got in some pool time at my place. What a gorgeous day! Hey, doesn’t it look like Lori’s skinny dipping? Where's your bathing suit, Lor? Ha!


I'm no Helen Mirren, that's for sure.


Saturday night we saw Jackson Browne poolside at the Red Rock casino out on the west end of town. OMG, that is definitely one of my favorite venues! I saw Peter Frampton there last year—here’s a review in another Living-Las-Vegas article, if you really want to waste the day. Anyway, Little Kathy, one of my dearest friends from college (SUNY Plattsburgh), was passing through town from Colorado Springs last weekend, and she’s also a huge Jackson Browne fan, so she came with us. Little Kathy is another one of those entertaining as hell people; I’ll save the details for another post, but take my word for it, she’s a trip and a half.

Jackson Browne put on a fabulous show! Of course, there’s a part of me that wished he’d play nothing later than 1980, but his latest album (?) (CD?) is actually very good; it’s just that the old stuff brings back all the wonderful memories. He did play a few of my favorites, like “For a Dancer,” “The Pretender,” and “Fountain of Sorrow.” Aaaaah… I still love him and don’t even feel the slightest bit queer for naming my son Christopher Jackson.

The nice thing about Red Rock is that you can get as close to the stage as you want. Lori and I snuck our cameras in—pretty cool, huh?




Sunday we did a little of everything—some more pool time, breakfast at the Pancake House in Green Valley Ranch (and some playing the Saratoga ponies in the race and sports book), and then we headed out to the Mountain Springs Saloon, one of my favorite biker bars.

After a couple of beers and some great people watching, we went back to town and met my buddy Hurricane Mikey at the M resort and casino. I had a nice dark beer and Mikey had some kind of gay-as-hell girly martini, then we all went back to Green Valley and had a big-ass meal at Lucille’s in the District.

OMG, I ate like a pig! The only downside to having Lori and Russ and Tim and Little Kathy all in town is there was a lot of eatin’ and drinkin’ going on. And the party’s not over yet—today is Lori and Russ’ 20th anniversary and I have a little surprise planned for them later. Shhhh…


Aren't they cute? Happy Anniversary, you guys!

I know you're wondering... where was beloved boyfriend during all this excitement? Well, we’re “taking a break.” Stay tuned. (Don't worry, there'll be no Bastard Boyfriend sequel.) (Yeah, I get that a lot.)

Guest blogger: my sister Lori Biker

I have a treat for you today--a guest blogger, my Harley-ridin' sister Lori. As I've mentioned, Lori is a freakin' blast to hang out with and is the funniest person I know. I always tell my friends who haven't met her yet that if they think I'm so funny and outgoing, wait till they meet her. Hey, here she is with Steve Martin--how funny is that???


And so, I give you... Lori Biker!

"I Don’t Retain Anything But Water"

I am in Las Vegas right now with my husband Russ, celebrating our 20th anniversary. We, of course, are staying with my sister. Wouldn’t we want to be alone at this special time? No! Who would want to be alone when they could be with Linda Lou?

Russ tells me the last time we stayed here, just the two of us without the kids, was when we flew here, stayed a night, and then drove Linda to Palm Springs for a comedy conference. Russ was her driver and I was her assistant. It was a blast. Linda told me what year that was, but I forget. Whenever I think of that trip, I immediately remember the reception they had one night for all the comics and their guests. We all stood around talking and at one point Russ turned to throw his cup away. In his peripheral vision he saw what he thought was a trash can but then he realized he was about to throw his cup away on a midget! There he was, cup-to-face with a midget, dwarf, little person--I don’t recall which term is the politically correct one. My point is, we did and saw so many things that trip, and this is the first thing I think of?

It’s funny the stories you remember from things you do. There are so many things that don’t get room in your memory bank at all. There is no way you could remember everything you saw, did or said. Some memories are in the back somewhere and can be pulled up with some work and others are right there up front. There are parts of my screwed-up life that I would like to kick out of my memory to make room for those times when I say, “I hope I never forget this!”

Remember in school, right after the test, all material is forgotten? I still do it as an adult. I have taken CPR at work many times. Each time I learn it, practice it, get tested on it and feel confident. Then I walk out of the room and it is like I walk through a mind eraser. How many blows? How many thrusts? I get a card that says I am certified in CPR but, man, I hope I am with somebody like Russ if anyone ever needs it. He remembers everything!

I wonder why some people remember so much and others don’t? My niece Courtney claims to have memories from when she was almost a baby! It seems they are true memories too, not just memories she has created from hearing stories. There are times when I am not sure if I was really somewhere or if I just heard the story and now I think I was there. Is it really a memory of mine or do I just remember the story?

Sometimes people remember the same things differently than others. Really though, if two people experience the same event or interaction, chances are they will walk away with two stories of what happened. I guess that is interpretation rather than memory. They have done episodes about this on The Brady Bunch, The Odd Couple and other sitcoms.

I hate when people ask me to tell someone a story because I tell stories so well, then as I tell it as I remember it, they correct me the whole way. We were in Las Vegas, no it was in New Orleans, and our bags didn’t make it out of Charlotte, no it was Philly… I guess I don’t tell the story so well! Really, I don’t remember the story in detail, just the gist of it. I went somewhere and my bags didn’t.

Yes, I do remember many wonderful things, like spending time with people I love, especially those who are no longer with me, getting married 20 years ago, and watching my kids grow up. But here is a story that just happened today. Russ and I went to the Fiesta casino to play the slots. I play the penny slots, sometimes the nickels, if I am winning. I almost lost a bunch of money, all relative, and then I won a big bonus and won it all back! I was so psyched. I walked right from that machine over to Russ and told him my exciting story. He asked me what machine I was playing… I sat at that machine for over 30 minutes and felt an intimate connection with it. I pleaded with it, caressed it and thanked it. But I had no clue of anything about it now. I told Russ I couldn’t remember. He just gave me “that look.” He’s been married to me for 20 years now, he knows how I am. I don’t retain anything but water!

Excuse while I vent (again)

I’m cranky as hell lately, so thank God my sister Lori and my brother-in-law Russ are coming to town this afternoon. Lori is the most fun person on earth and Russ is the best brother-in-law ever. We’re going to see Jackson Browne at Red Rock Casino on Saturday night, and next Tuesday is their 20th wedding anniversary. I have something planned for them, but they don’t know it yet. It’s going to be awesome. Lori and Russ are perfect houseguests and their visit is just what I need right now.

I have been so freakin’ out of sorts these past few weeks I can’t even stand myself—do you ever get like that? It’s mainly because of two things: my book seems like it’s never going to be ready for the printer and I’m absolutely miserable in my job. Miserable. My alarm goes off at 5:30 and the second my eyes open, they roll back into my head and I let out a resignation-laden “fuuuhck.”

I’ll spare you the details, especially since I know many of you are out of work and I should be happy to have a job at all, much less one that pays halfway decently. Nonetheless, the place is breaking my spirit. I’ve used up all my coping mechanisms and I’m just marking time like a prisoner.

Since I got out of grad school in 1991, I’ve worked as a technical writer or corporate trainer, with instructional design work in there, too. Almost all was on a consulting or contract basis, meaning I got to travel and I also knew that sooner or later the gig would end. For some reason, I find that comforting; I don't like being "owned" by a company as an employee. I’ve been an employee now for almost three years and I hate it. And there’s no end in sight.

Right now I’m doing technical writing. I don’t mind it—there’s actually a cool sense of satisfaction in creating a beautiful user guide—but I don't create user guides anymore and that's part of the problem. I don't like the stuff I'm creating eight hours a day sitting in a gray cubicle and I’m totally burned out.

I’d really like to get back into corporate training. I love training! I love helping people learn so they can feel more confident about doing their jobs. I love helping people get from A to B. And I am fun. as. hell. in the classroom.

So I am sending that energy out to the universe. I am willing myself a nice training gig—right this minute! When I lived back east I had an awesome training gig. I taught newly hired bank customer service people sales techniques and how to open accounts and use the software. Loved it. I worked 15 days a month and was paid a nice per diem rate. Yeah, that’s what I want.

Manifesting now…

“Formerly” hot? Why not FOREVER hot?

Lately I’ve been reading this Formerly Hot blog, and I even have it linked at left on my Blogging Buddies list. The woman behind it, Stephanie Dolgoff, has fabulous—and I mean fabulous—writing credentials, but there’s something about this site that’s been getting under my skin. And when something gets under your skin, there’s no better time to make your feelings known than when you’re halfway through your second Young’s Chocolate Stout, right? Yeah, the other night I did the 2009 equivalent of the old “drink and dial” and left this comment on her post entitled “Still acceptably young.”

I hate the whole “formerly hot” concept. Why are you no longer hot? Why can’t you get better every year? I’m sick of the whole, “Weh… I’m 40.” Or 50. Or 60. Let’s quit overanalyzing age and start living! All that frettin’ is terribly unattractive. Definitely not hot.

Well, I got an email from Steph and we had quite a dialogue yesterday. I told her I know what she means about the universally accepted definition of hot as that “first-glance” type of attractiveness, as superficial as that is. But the “formerly hot” concept bugs me. If a woman turned heads and was considered hot when she was 20 and 30, I don’t understand why she wouldn’t continue to turn heads and continue to be hot at 40, 50, 60, and even 70. The only difference would be the age of the heads she’s turning; she’d still be hot to her own demographic*, right?

(*I’m not counting those woeful 50-year-olds who need a trophy chick three decades younger on their arm to make them feel virile or, God help us, the men who think Thailand is paradise because they have their choice of subservient, poverty-stricken young girls who would blow anything for a flicker of American hope. Let's leave them out of the picture.)

Steph and I agree that women shouldn’t feel like they have to be hot in the first place. I have friends who don’t wear a bit of makeup and they look perfectly fine; they care about their looks, they just don't have the vanity gene that some of us do. Women like me opt into “The Hot Game” and not all women care to play. That’s cool.

But I think if you choose to play The Hot Game when you’re over 40, you do have to keep yourself up. If a woman who used to be hot no longer attracts attention, she’s probably let herself go—she’s gained weight, walks around in sweats, doesn’t bother with lipstick or even a comb, or has a “Weh, I'm formerly hot” attitude that comes across in the way she carries herself.

However, Steph thinks that the cultural definition of hot encompasses just a sliver of the population, and that’s where we don't agree. Think of all the marvelous role models we have these days--Helen Mirren (remember this pic from last summer???), Susan Sarandon, Goldie Hawn--they're all in their 60s. Need I mention Sophia Loren (almost 75) and Raquel Welch (70 next year)? I think we no longer live in an era where 50 is considered over the hill, and I'm afraid that, however well-intentioned, a website that talks about "girlstashes" and asks women to send in their “formerly hot” stories only serves to perpetuate the ageist culture that as a society, we've finally begun to shed. Maybe she's targeting the "Menopause: The Musical" crowd, but I never saw the appeal of that shit, either.

Personally, I would never dream of calling myself "formerly hot." Hell, no--I plan on being smokin' when I'm 90! Don't think I'm kidding. Being hot has nothing to do with age; it's all about attitude. And the first steps toward staying "forever hot" are (say it with me, kids):

1. Stand up straight.
2. Smile.

What do you think? Would you ever refer to yourself as "formerly hot"? Or are you more the "FOREVER hot" type?

P.S. If you get a chance, check out this Living-Las-Vegas article I wrote last December. It's one of the most popular articles they've had on the site. “Are Middle-Aged Women Invisible? Not in Las Vegas.”

I'm still a bratty looking kid

I’m on a “get rid of the crap in my life” kick, a clutter cleanse. Some people have trouble throwing stuff out—not me. I find de-junking liberating, not that I have that much left anyway. I got rid of/gave away a lot of things before the ex and I moved cross-country to Wyoming in 2001. More stuff got tossed when we moved to Utah in 2002, and by the time we unloaded the truck in Las Vegas in 2003, I was down to the bare essentials.

The other night I tackled the closet in my spare bedroom. I told myself I’d go through it for just an hour because when you set a time limit on chores like that, they don’t seem as overwhelming. Sixty minutes later I took three garbage bags to the dumpster. Aaah!

I came across a few remnants of my Kiwi ex—a couple of his cigarette lighters, a calendar with photos of New Zealand, and I stopped for a moment to consider his handwriting in a notebook I found. I hadn’t seen his handwriting in years.

Tossed.

I also came across a few treasures, some I don’t recall seeing before. Speaking of handwriting, check this out.


This is what it says on the back.


Just barely three years old and already writing like that! Brilliant.

There was no date on this, a poem I wrote in a Mother’s Day card.


”And you'll be very gay.” Imagine how much that will go for on eBay once I become a famous author?

Here’s a picture of my great-grandmother, my grandmother, Mom, and me. No date on the back, but judging from the size of me, I’d guess it was taken sometime in 1958. My grandmother, holding me, was about 46 years old. That’s what 46 looked like back then.


This picture cracked me up. Do I look like a brat or what? You can see there was no hope for my hair even back then.



Look at me and my sister Lori. I remember these dresses.


I also came across a bunch of old report cards. My kindergarten teacher wrote, “She expresses her ideas very well. She is mature for her age.” See? I was expressing myself well even back in 1962. Too bad I probably haven’t matured much since then.

It was kind of weird to come across these things. I was like, holy shit, I used to be a freakin’ baby! I used to be a bratty lookin’ kid! I mean, I know I wasn’t always this size, but for some reason, the reality of the passing of time kind of freaked me out.

Life is amazing, don’t you think?

Mom, I'm taking a job in Korea...

Yes, of course I’m happy the two female journalists were released from North Korea. Let’s make that clear—we’re all relieved. But for God’s sake, I don't venture into North Las Vegas without thinking twice. Why anyone would go within a time zone of the most evil and dangerous country on earth is beyond the scope of my imagination.

I’ll tell you, this never would have happened if those girls had my mother…

Me: "Mom, guess what? I just got a journalism assignment in Korea. Isn’t that great?"
Mom: "Korea? Jesus Christ, are you out of your goddamn mind? What the hell is wrong with you? No, you’re not going to goddamn Korea."

If I had half a brain, I’d stop there. Or I could press the issue.

Me: "But my friend’s mother is letting her go."
Mom: "I don’t give a good goddamn about your friend’s mother. If she let your friend jump off the goddamn bridge, would you do that too?"

And then if I really pushed, I'd get her favorite "this conversation is over" line:

“Fine. Do what you want, you will anyway.”

I swear, I’d rather do the 12 years of hard labor in a North Korean prison than face her wrath upon release. While my friend’s mother would welcome her home with hugs and flowers, the photos of my reunion at the airport would be of Mom pulling me by the collar with one hand and swatting my head with the other.

“Don’t you think [slap] Bill Clinton has better things to do than bail your ass out of prison? Jesus Christ, [slap] do you know how much goddamn money you cost the taxpayers of this country? [slap] Huh?”

She may have a point--those two journalists chose to take that gig, no doubt to further their careers. We're not talking about soldiers serving our country. How much did their capture cost U.S. taxpayers?

And I guess Hillary’s been working to free three American hikers who were snatched after they strayed from Iraq into Iran. Are you kidding me? I mean, Jesus Christ, have they already hiked every goddamn trail in America, and in every other country in the free world, they now have to hike in Iraq???

Excuse me, I think I just turned into my mother.

Tonight on Aging Nymphs: How Dirty Are You?

Get your mind out of the freakin’ gutter; I’m talkin’ germ-dirt, not smut-dirt.

When I was in college, a really, really nice male friend told me that any guy who says he doesn’t pee in the shower is a goddamn liar. I never actually believed him, but now a recent poll of 1000 women showed that 75 percent of them admitted to doing just that. Seriously???

This is the kind of crap my sister Lori Biker and I will be talking about tonight on our Internet radio show, Aging Nymphs. Our guest will be nurse practitioner Peggy Greenwood, who will tell us what will happen to the 24 percent of women who don’t wash up after using the restroom. Eew!

To listen or join the conversation, simply go to our Blog Talk Radio website at 7:00 Pacific/10:00 Eastern and click on the show’s title. Call the number on the screen to join the conversation, or you can listen to the show archives anytime by clicking a link on the right sidebar of this site.

I’m a bit germ phobic; I’d live in a bubble if I could… how about you?

Your turn to speak out: what makes a GREAT blog?

But first, thanks so much to all of you who voted on the Bastard Husband: A Love Story book cover. As you can see, the black cover won by a margin of more than 2 to 1. I heard some valid points to build the case for the red cover, especially the fact that the title is dark enough and the black only makes it, well… what’s darker than black? I tried a compromise, putting the funky heart with the arrow on a red background, but it didn’t work.

So the black cover it is. Today the manuscript and cover files are being sent to a local printer who’ll make up a prototype (an extra step, but the boyfriend has connections), and then if it looks good, I’ll send the files to PrintMedia and Lightning Source. This is becoming a reality!

So...

Last week I started a discussion thread on the blog writers' forum on www.shewrites.com. I’m surprised the questions I threw out didn’t spark a little more activity because I think they’re pretty fundamental to blogging. Now I’m thinking that maybe blog readers are the ones I really want to hear from, so I’ll pose my questions to you as well.

With the millions of blogs out there in the blogosphere, we all face the challenge of making sure our own stands above the crowd. Readers have only so much time--we have to make it worth the effort to keep coming back. So I’m wondering…

1. What are the characteristics of the blogs you find yourself going back to again and again? What types of bloggers make you eagerly await their next posts?

2. And on the other hand, what are the characteristics of the blogs you land on once and know you’ll never return to?

Please take a moment to comment on this. Your input will be very helpful to those of us who really want to create a positive reading experience. And I love, love, LOVE hearing from long-time lurkers who’ve come out of the shadows! (You know who you are.) If you’re too shy to comment, you can make your thoughts known by sending me an email to the address on the comment page.

I haven’t forgotten that I have two more awards to accept and pass on. Right now, however, I’m running late and I must hit the shower and make my way to the gray cubicle. I’ll be back later to take care of the awards, but in the meantime, I look forward to getting your input.

Lay it on me, readers!

8:45 p.m.

Okay, I’m back. I’m so digging your perspective on what makes a great blog—keep the comments coming!

I have two awards I’d like to acknowledge and pass on to other (more) deserving bloggers. Crazy-ass Peach Tart in Georgia (where else?) recently sent me a MAJOR award, which is for anyone who likes to laugh and who spreads humor throughout the blogging world we all travel in. Thank you, Peach Tart, you sick, twisted Southern belle, you! I’m going to pass this on to someone even more sick and twisted, FERTILE. Not a mommy blog. No, people; I said sick and twisted. I love this demented New Yorker because she’s too freakin’ cool to care about a goddamn award.

And the Best Blog award recently bestowed on me by my newfound friend and fellow nut job Slacker Chick recently gave me a Best Blog award, which I’m going to pass on to Suzanne Palmerie, who writes an absolutely beautiful blog called Tales of Extraordinary Ordinariness. Suzanne is an incredibly talented writer who’s currently seeking representation. Her blog isn’t just for writers, though. I know a blog is good when I find myself slowing down to savor every word. Congrats, Suzanne, and thank you, Slacker Chick!

Awards & the Photo of the Week from Linda Land

I’m so honored! I’ve received not one, not two, but three blog awards this week. You know my delusions of grandeur… this is just the preliminaries for when I win the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Bastard Husband: A Love Story. And God forbid I lose, because I swear, I will scowl and fold my arms in front of my chest and 4 billion people worldwide will see me mouth, “F*CK!” No polite fake smiles from this one. Hell, no!

I’ll be sitting with Anne Heche, who will no doubt win Best Actress for her role as moi in BHALS. Perfect casting—I like her because she proves that you can still be famous even if you have crappy hair. And I think she’s a nut in real life. I’m actually rather well balanced compared to her. Of course, Philip Seymour Hoffman is a shoo-in for his portrayal of BH, my Kiwi ex. Aaahhh…

Now back to reality. My new blogging buddy/fellow smart ass Slacker Chick has given me “The Honest Scrap” and “Best Blog” awards, and whacky as hell Peach Tart has honored me a MAJOR award. (I “met” Slacker Chick over at www.shewrites.com, an excellent site I told you about last week.) I think I’ll do one award today and save the others for next time.

To accept the Honest Scrap award, I’m supposed to tell you 10 things about myself that no one else knows. Seriously? I’m an open book—literally—you people already know everything. Too much, I’m sure! So instead I’m going to break the rules and post the Photo of the Week from Linda Land. I know, I’m not remotely meeting the criterion, but it’s my blog (ha!).

So as if I’m not already in a piss-poor mood on any given weekday morning, I guess I must have left my car door unlocked one night last week because this is what greeted me as I was leaving for work.


Yep, somebody took the opportunity to rifle through my glove box and dump its contents onto my passenger seat. Yep, somebody actually figured there had to be something extremely valuable in a dusty 13-year-old Saturn with the dent in the roof.

Hmm… I can see why they wouldn’t want the hermetically sealed ketchup packet that was so old the ketchup inside actually evaporated. And they probably had no use for the cassette deck cleaner or plastic film container from the pre-digital camera era. But wait… can we get a close-up?


Can you believe they didn’t want my “How to Experience More Love” tape?

Oh, they probably already have their own. Duh.

I did notice two things missing: my remote gate opener and my work badge, which no doubt will end up on eBay once I become a famous author. To steal a line from my soul sister in Missouri, I’m shakin’ my head.

Anyway, I’m going to pass the coveted “Honest Scrap” award on to the most honest blogger I know: Julie of 47 and Starting Over. Did you see her post about her Incredible Hulk meltdown that ended with her ripping her blouse to shreds? God bless her, it doesn’t get any more honest than that!

Congratulations, Julie, and thanks to Slacker Chick and Peach Tart. More awards next time!

Have a great weekend, and be sure to lock your car, even if it's a friggin' 1974 Gremlin.