In San Diego today

Can you believe I didn't post yesterday? I never miss a scheduled day!

I'm writing this from my phone, so please excuse any typos. Right now my sister and I are in San Diego, at Lori's sister-in-law and her husband's house. I have lots to tell you, but it's a pain to peck away at this i-Phone, so I'll wait till I get back home.

In the meantime, enjoy your weekend! I'll post again soon.

Video blog: Poolside at Linda Land

My sister Lori flew in last night--yay!  Here's a video we took on my lunch hour today. There's some background noise from the waterfall, but you can still hear it fine. That's Lori at the beginning--those aren't my boobs!

Remember I told you about my gay as hell one-piece bathing suit?  I wasn't kidding.

Feeling low? Check out the quote of the day

"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."  -- W. Gibson

I have no idea who Mr. or Ms. Gibson is, but I suspect this person is a direct descendant of Benjamin Franklin.

Is the importance of good nutrition just a wee bit overrated?

Hold on, now. I'm not saying you should live on nothing but McDonald's; Morgan Spurlock in his movie Super Size Me proved just how dangerous that is. These fast food facts from the Super Size Me website are enough to scare the crap out of anyone.  So we agree it's just nutty to eat fast food more than just occasionally, right?

Knock on wood, I'm a pretty healthy gal who doesn't look all that bad for her age (53).  Lucky me, I've been slender all my life and have been able to eat pretty much whatever I wanted.  I gotta tell you, though, I've never wanted fruits and vegetables.  With the exception of watermelon and blueberries, fruit just doesn't do it for me.  Oh, I can force down an orange or cantaloupe as long as long as I dip it in chocolate syrup. 

As far as vegetables go, I don't mind spinach and broccoli (smothered in butter, of course).  A nutritionist I met at a blues festival a couple of years ago told me that because I have hypothyroidism, I shouldn't eat broccoli.  I was like, Jesus H, that's one of the few healthy foods I actually enjoy and you're telling me that broccoli is bad for me?  I give up.

I don't particularly care for beef, but I do eat a lot of chicken and fish.  I freakin' love pasta, and thankfully, I'm not a snacker.  I don't go for potato chips or cookies or candy.  Ice cream, hell yeah, but I've substituted 60-calorie sorbet and it does the trick just fine.  I gave up soda years ago--unsweetened iced tea is what I drink instead.

So I guess I don't have a horrible diet, and I do have exercise going for me, but as I've told you before, the only things I buy at Whole Foods are hair dye and Young's Chocolate Stout beer.  Speaking of Whole Foods, have you ever seen a health food nut who inspired you to eat better?  I've met people who were totally into vegan diets and raw foods and all that shit, and to tell you the truth, I never thought they looked any better than the rest of the general population.

I will say I've met people who look so radiant and amazingly young for their age that I begged them to spill the beans and share their secret. I don't recall anyone attributing their good looks to a healthy diet or a special vitamin concoction or even drinking a ton of water.  But you know what?  I think having a positive attitude is the best thing you can do for your looks and probably your health, too.  I've got that going for me, too.

And thank God I never smoked.  That, I am convinced, is the single worst thing you can do to yourself.  On so many levels. 

Anyway, I guess what I'm getting at is, are fruits and vegetables all they're cracked up to be?  How healthy does one really have to eat to live a decent life?  Have you ever felt better by changing your diet?  What's your take on this?

If I could, I would kiss every one of you on the lips. Maybe even tongue.

Forgive me for that, but I am one grateful blogger.  First, thanks to those of you who contributed to Courtney's MS walkathon. Someone very dear to us is facing that disease and we're all so appreciative of your help.

And to all the lurkers who decided to come forward on Wednesday--it was great that so many of you commented on Wednesday's Lurkers Come Out of the Closet Day post!  I have yet to hear from Mr. or Ms. Reader in St. Francisville, Louisiana, though. I swear, I will freakin' come to your town and knock on every single door (how many can there be?) until I find you!

July 17 was my three-year blogiversary. I am pretty proud of myself for keeping it up, and on a regular schedule.  I have to--my mother would kill me if I stopped and even though I'm fifty-goddamn-three years old, I still don't want to piss her off.  And if there's a typo or grammatical error, trust me, I will here about it.  (I did that on purpose just to get her riled up.) (Three, two, one... phone call from Mom.)

I started blogging because I'd been told I should build a platform, or a following, for when my book came out.  That was a good strategy all right, but even more important is that my blog has turned out to be a documentation of my life; if I ever forget what I've been doing over the past three years, it's all right here, complete with pictures. Cool.  

The best part about blogging?  The friends I've made--by far.  Two years ago last Memorial Day, Julie of 47 and Starting Over fame booked almost a week in Las Vegas to stay at my apartment with me sight unseen.  Can you imagine?  We knew each other only through the bloggy world!  Dar of the now defunct Travel Girl blog stayed just for an overnight and we had a ball.

 We all got along perfectly.  You really can know people through their blogs and I bet 99.9% of the time they're exactly the people you'd expect them to be.  No surprises.

Since then I've had the pleasure of meeting several Las Vegas bloggers--including my good friends "Mystical Journeys" Donna, former blogger and "Private Guy"  Vegas Flea, and our man Hurricane Mikey--as well as readers who've come to town for a Vegas getaway.  I've met Linda from Wisconsin, Mandy from Arizona, Tricia from Michigan, fellow writers Debbie Write on Target in Pennsylvania (Jesus H, what a hot body on that one) and Suzanne Palmieri in Connecticut, and my utterly incorrigible adopted daughter, Tara, a.k.a. I Can't Help It, I'm Just Me.  God love her, she's not even my blood kid and she's giving me gray hairs. 

A couple of weeks ago I got to meet "Sous Chef" from Minnesota.  We'd corresponded for quite some time via email and I absolutely adored her, but I have to admit, I was a little nervous about meeting her in person. She's a fabulous writer and smart as hell, and I was thinking, "Shit, she's gonna be so disappointed when she meets me."  But then when we talked on the phone, she sounded so fun and I could tell she had great energy and sure enough, when I met her I positively loved her.  You can read her account of our meeting on her blog, where she refers to me as, yes, a "red hot granny."  The only thing she left out is that I'm actually way better looking in real life. (ha!) It was great meeting her and her friend Mary and though I never thought I'd say this, I can't wait to go to Minnesota next winter (!) for the annual re-enactment of The Band's "The Last Waltz."  I even have a place to stay.

Off the top of my head, there are a few other bloggers I'd love to meet.  I've emailed back and forth with Barbara of Layla's Classic Rock quite a bit and she's a sweet and kind person, I just know it.  Someday we're gonna have at least two bottles of wine together.  She's had some struggles with her son and I have actually lost sleep thinking about her.  The I Hate to Weight blogger in New Jersey is another one who's close to my heart.  I think about her a lot, too, but I believe in my heart that for the most part her challenges are behind her and she is about to bloom like crazy. 

I'd love to meet Simone of Chocolate Covered Daydreams but I kind of think she's one of those super-nice people who is definitely going to heaven for all her sweetness and clean living. I'm probably too much of a foul-mouthed lush for her taste, but nonetheless, it would be good for me to hang around someone like her.  At least once in a while.

On the other end of the spectrum, I'm dying to meet that freakin' whack job Debbie of From Venting to Viggio.  Seriously, if there's anyone who can make me feel like a perfectly normal person with no mental problems whatsoever, it's that one.  For some reason I envision a night out with her ending up with both of us shitfaced in Tijuana. Possibly in jail.

And then there's Krissyface.  She's gotten away from blogging; every once in a while she still posts on FERTILE.  Krissyface is a New York City girl who now lives in Baton Rouge. She's so hip and talented and has such a warped sense of humor that I hope I never meet her because I am simply not cool enough.  Like I'm sure I'm a total dork next to her.  Yeah, I said dork.

R. Jacob Post blog is thoughtful and entertaining.  If anyone believes that good men are hard to find, I suggest you head over there.  I've had the pleasure of talking with Ray on the phone; he's a super nice guy.

There are so many other bloggers and readers I'd love to see in the flesh.  All in due time.  I plan to continue to blog for quite a while.  Mom has at least another 20 or 30 years in her, so let's just hope I can keep coming up with interesting content.  In the meantime, I continue to encourage lurkers to come out, come out wherever you are.  I so dig hearing from you.

And you in St. Francisville?  Don't make me put a bounty on your head.

Have a great weekend, everyone, and if you can, please send a buck or two over to Courtney's MS site.  Thank you, thank you, thanks a million!

Readers, can you spare one dollar for a worthy cause?

If you're a long-time reader, you no doubt have taken delight in the many stories about my daughter, Courtney.  The classic, of course, is her remark on the eve of Martin Luther King Day; it's a miracle I haven't yet integrated that little gem into my comedy act.  There are a million Courtney stories--everyone who knows her has one--and if you're new to this blog, click this link and your productivity for the day will be shot to hell.

My freakin' clone

Court's a blast (the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree) and she's truly beautiful inside and out. Last fall one of her closest friends, and someone I consider to be a member of our family, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  I understand there have been some significant advancements thanks to ongoing research, but it still sucks.  It's a terrible disease.

Well, Courtney and three of her friends, the "Albany Angels," are trying to raise $6000 between so they can participate in a 3-day, 50-mile walkathon that will be held on Cape Cod in September.  In her own words, here's why she decided to take this challenge:

A few months back, a friend of mine told me that she had been diagnosed with MS. My heart immediately sank. To be totally honest, I didn't know much about the disease at all. I knew it was out there, I knew it was no good, but I never put to much thought into it because I never knew anyone with MS. But that has changed! Now, I will do ANYTHING to make this disease go away for ever!

Courtney didn't hit me up for this, but I'm taking it upon myself to ask you all for a wee bit of help as she supports a worthy cause. If you can make a small donation to Court's MS Walk with Purpose web page, both of us would be SO appreciative.  Even one dollar would help--if every one of my readers donated just a dollar, the girls would be well on their way to achieving their goal.

Thank you in advance.  For everything.

Lurkers: do you know what today is?

Today is officially "Lurkers Come Out of the Closet Day."  Not that you're in that closet!  (Not that there's anything wrong with it...)

No, I just decided that today I'd like to ask my beloved lurkers to, um, expose yourselves.  I know I have some super dedicated and loyal readers who have never, ever commented and quite frankly, you're making me crazy.  I so want to know something about you.  Anything!

That means YOU in St. Francisville, Louisiana. (You're my Grand Poo-bah.)  Yep, as we drove through Louisiana on my last cross-country road trip I swear I was ready to stand in your town square a la What About Bob? and yell for you to make yourself known.  Who the heck are you in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin?  Godley, Texas?  Beverly Hills, California, and Beverly Hills, Florida?  I also have a bunch of readers in exotic places in Canada like Sarnia, Ontario, and Richmond, British Columbia, who evidently prefer to keep to themselves. And don't even get me started on the whole state of Minnesota. 

Come on, you guys know everything about me.  Can't you share just a little tidbit of info about yourself?  If you've never commented before, why not do so today?  Pleeeeeeease!

Yep, I'm "out there" all right!

Last Tuesday night I got together with a friend I met in the bloggy world for a couple of Guinnesses.  He's a really cool local guy who used to blog, but gave it up a while back.  (It's a lot of work, folks.)  I won't say his name because he's a private kind of person, which kind of leads me to the topic of this post. 

Private Guy mentioned how different we are and remarked that I've put my life totally "out there" for all to see.  He wasn't making a value judgment or anything, just an observation, but he got me thinking about how I got to be like this. 

It's weird because as a young child, I was very shy and quiet.  I never wanted to call attention to myself and was positively a wreck anytime I had to get in front of the class to speak.  I loved school, though, and in fourth grade I was placed on an academically talented track.  I was a perfect little student.

In junior high I became best friends with a funny, ballsy Jewish girl who'd do crazy things I would only dream of.  We were like Blossom from the TV show and her little friend.  We skipped classes all the time and whenever we got in trouble, the teachers, hall monitors, or administrators would direct their admonishments to Joan, figuring she was the brains behind the misdeeds and I just went along for the ride.  Which was pretty much the truth.

By high school, I'd become much more outgoing.  I was a cheerleader (captain) and was voted vice president of my senior class.  I wasn't clique-y or anything and years later, in my forties, I ran into a guy from Albany High who told me I was always the nicest girl.  That meant a lot.  I still wasn't particularly "out there," though, and I've had several people from the old days tell me how surprised they are that I'm doing comedy. 

"No offense," one friend said, "but I never thought you were that funny." 

No offense taken; I completely understood.  No one could have ever predicted I'd end up writing a memoir about rebuilding my life in Las Vegas (of all friggin' places) after my second divorce (!) and doing stand-up comedy. Talk about being out there.

I think the turning point in my transformation occurred in the 1990s when I started doing corporate training.  During those years I taught job search skills to displaced workers through a major corporate outplacement firm.  Talk about a tough audience, but I was able to win them over with my humor and technical writing skills; I was fun to be with and they knew they'd get a kick-ass resume at the end of the two- or three-day workshop.  I also taught business and technical writing through a local community college's Business and Industry Center.  Then in 2000, I trained newly hired bank personnel in sales and customer service skills.  I loved doing classroom training, and that's where I honed my presentation skills.   Had it not been for my training experience, I don't think I'd ever have had the nerve to try stand-up at all.

So it's been gradual transformation and now, as my friend pointed out over our Guinnesses, my life is truly--and literally--an open book.  I figure, why the hell not?  If someone can learn from my mistakes, be inspired by my experiences, or laugh at my general assholey-ness, that's just fantastic. 

I think I told you before that I truly believe my purpose in life is to "help other access, acknowledge, and accept their God-given talents and encourage them to share them with the rest of the world."  That came to me several years ago while I was meditating and it is one of my fundamental truths. 

So maybe the best way to fulfill that purpose is by sharing my own life.  Sometimes I still can't believe that anyone's actually interested, but as I write this 576th blog post and celebrate my 3-year blog anniversary, I sure am grateful that you seem to be. 

Thank you to all!

"I'm Problematic, You're Problematic"

The other day one of my best friends (who doesn't read this blog) emailed me and asked if I was back with Mike yet.  "You don't have a good history of ridding yourself of problematic men," she wrote.  "As a matter of observation, I would say you are magnetized to them."

Um, just how am I supposed to react to that? 

I suppose I could start by asking, who the fuck isn't problematic?  By the time we're 50, most of us have a shitload of baggage and personal idiosyncrasies that would drive anyone up the wall.  It's not like when we were in college and were pretty much a lump of clay yet to be molded. 

We all sit somewhere on the "problematic" scale and granted, some of us weigh in a lot more heavily than others.  Bastard Husband was/still is a drinker and that was definitely a problem in our marriage.  In comparison, Mike's a lightweight.  He's a certifiable genius, but that brilliance can be a freakin' curse when it comes to day-to-day life skills.  Add young children into the mix, plus the fact that I'm a self-diagnosed "Highly Sensitive Person" (a.k.a. "Pain in the Fucking Ass") and we have a perfect storm.

Those of us in our 40s, 50s, and beyond have decades of experiences under our belts that form the basis of who we are and how we look at life. As a result, the older we get, the more we're set in our ways. We know what works for us and what doesn't.  In effect, and especially for a picky-ass person like me, the window of relationship opportunity is open just a crack.  It gets harder to find someone who has the winning combination of personal characteristics, professional accomplishments, logistics (such as availability and geographic location), and chemistry that we look for in a partner. 

So when I find someone I really dig and fall in love with, yes, I will leave no stone unturned to see if somehow we can make this work.  If you read my book you know I would have done anything to save my marriage to B.H.; I call it a love story for a reason.  And I can't tell you how many times I've hit the wall of frustration with Mike only to go back with him, believing there has to be some way to keep this together. 

I don't often get defensive, mostly because I don't give a crap what people think, but I find my friend's remarks insulting.  I continue to be amazed at what people, I'm gonna say married people, will say to us single folks.  I swear, someday my eyeballs will need to be surgically removed from my cerebellum. 

So single folks, tell me about the crazy shit you hear. And for those of you living in wedded bliss, here's the link to a post I wrote a while back on what you should never say to single people.  Please, I beg of you, read this! 

And for the record, Bastard Husband is a professor with a Ph.D. and Mike's a computer wiz and successful businessman who was able to retire at 38. That's the caliber of men I'm magnetized to.

A guest blogger with "good vibrations"

Every once in a while, we bloggers have something to say to the world but for one reason or another, we can't put it up on our own blog.  About a year and a half ago, I posted something about an ex-boss (company CEO) over on my BFF Julie's 47 and Starting Over blog because I didn't want people at work to see it on my blog.  Now since I no longer work there (and the company has since been flushed down the toilet), I don't give a shit (no pun intended) but it was a great outlet at the time.

Well, one of my dear blogging buddies needs to get a story off her chest, but not on her own blog.  When I heard what she wanted to write about, I jumped at the chance to offer her space here.  So here you go... a guest post by "Anonymous."

My curiosity has gotten the best of me and I finally gave in to a temptation that I’ve long harbored. I bought myself a (lower your reading voice to a whisper here) vibrator. Ever since watching the Rabbit episode of Sex in the City, I’ve wanted to replace my faux vibrator (it’s really a back massager) with the real thing – one that promises to fill in during the dry periods in my quarter-century-old marriage.


Why not? I am from the era when women learned to embrace our sexuality, actively participating in our own orgasmic satisfaction and proudly claiming the right to fulfill our needs.

Then why am I so ashamed of my recent purchase?

Let me tell you how it all unfolded. This is pretty funny and if I weren’t so worried my secret would embarrass the Hell out of me and spur the disdain of my family, I wouldn’t be writing this post anonymously and asking a fellow blogger to publish it on her site, keeping my identity, like my new vibrator, hidden in the closet.

Every time Glamour or More magazine had an article about “Sex Toys for Women” I would go online to shop for something to spice up the lovemaking that is sometimesroutine and boring. But, I could not bring myself to make a purchase. My husband is open to exploration, but he wouldn’t take me to one of the local Adult Store prevalent in our town. “What if someone saw my car parked outside?” he worried. “What if I bumped into to someone that knows me in the store?” I’ve broached the idea with a couple of girlfriends who said they are more than happy to accompany me to the Adult Superstore but the truth is, I just know I’d never be able to go through with it, much-less make a purchase in their presence.

So I deny the urge (pun intended) and feel frustrated.

Then Vibrant Nation, an online blogging community which I write for, was the catalyst I needed to stop worrying and buy a damn vibrator. I read one of many articles and one provided a link to, of all places, Amazon.com where there are several vibrators for women available.

This time I didn’t hesitate and sent the one I was familiar with, based on that Sex and the City episode, to the checkout. I bought it and sat back in my chair wiping the sweat from my brow. I waited for its arrival, confident that since I amthe only one who gets the mail at home, my husband, nor my visiting daughter, would ever know.

My package arrived from U.P.S. There was a knock on the door that my husband, normally gone for hours every day working or golfing, just happened to answer. As he handed me the package, I broke into another sweat; my nosy daughter was sure to ask me what I’d bought and I am no good at producing a quick lie. Thankfully, neither she nor my husband seemed interested. I casually headed to my bedroom and stuffed the contraband under my bed.

Later that day when all in the house were otherwise occupied, I took the box into the bathroom and opened it. Oh, my God. This was no back massager. This was a real, size-proportioned, pink penis with a protrusion at the base that did, in fact, resemble a rabbit. It was packaged in a Fort Knox sealed plastic that conformed perfectly. After getting the Rabbit out, I went about cutting the plastic up into little-bitty pieces so no one would know what came in it.

Next, I realized with horror that I would have to store the thing somewhere in my bedroom where no one would find it.

“Why not show your husband,” you might ask? After all, I did say he was open.

There was no way I was going to reveal this monstrosity to him; it was huge, it was a dildo, for God’s sake, and it was just too embarrassing for me to let on that I’d wanted, needed, and purchased it. (See attached picture)

So, into a bag it went, placed upon the top shelf of the closet where no one but me ever goes, and put my mind at ease.

That is, until that evening when all sorts of thoughts entered my head.

What if I die in a car accident tomorrow?

What will my family think of me when they go through my effects, readying them for Goodwill?

All I could think of is all of their loving memories of me would be erased by the discovery of my dirty, little (actually enormous) secret. So I devised a plan to hide it more securely.

I tried removing all the pages of my copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, knowing no one in my family would crack it open and like one of those jailbreak movies, my “gun” would be safely hidden. I couldn’t cut the pages out, it was much too hard.

Maybe I could buy a lockbox, but wouldn’t that be a greater temptation to open? Thinking I’d been hoarding away stashes of money, I can just see imagine my family faceswhen they break the lock and instead of a monetary inheritance, they’d see a huge rubber dick and lose their lunch.

What to do? What to do?

Well, it’s still in the bag in my closet. I haven’t figured it out yet what I’m going to do with it. I’m not tossing it. No way. I paid thirty bucks for that thing and in this economy every penny counts. Besides – it works. Despite my overwhelming fear of discovery, I, of course, tried it out and I swear within 30seconds I had a great, heh hem... reaction. Yeah, that puppy (I mean bunny) isn’t going anywhere. There may be future dry spells in my marriage that I want to be ready for.

So the only thing I can do now is drive really, really carefully and watch out for the other guy.

Thanks, Linda Lou, for giving me the forum to share my story. Maybe someday I will come out of the closet brandishing my “pet” and not caring what the world, or my family, thinks!

Yeah... I thought you would like that.