Sibling Terror

By Rachel

“Teddy said it was a hat, So I put it on. Now dad is saying, "where the heck's the toilet plunger gone?” – Shel Silverstein

My daughter had a performance at her school a few days ago. OMG. Almost on cue, the moment the curtain rose, parents rose - with cameras, cell phones, video recorders, etc. I don’t think as many people get to their feet for the national anthem.

My daughter was on stage trying to hide behind the other kids. I whispered to my husband that I could tell she hadn’t practiced as she didn’t know the words to the songs. I had to repeat this 3 times as he was too busy playing on his new iPhone5. (Who are the kids here??) Well, my 5 year old overheard me and yelled so everyone could hear, “Sis, Mom said you didn’t practice. Why didn’t you practice?” My daughter was horrified. I saw her crouch down and try to hide. Siblings: the only people who pick on you for their own entertainment and beat up anyone else who tries.

Supposedly sibling relationships are where we learn sharing and cooperation. Really? Not sure how THAT happens! My own memories of sibling drama include my brother telling the neighborhood boys that I had boobs, and my sister tackling me one New Years’ Eve because she had had too much to drink.

My aunt tells a story of how my mother took HER Chatty Cathy for a bicycle ride – not her OWN doll, mind you, her SISTER’s doll. Of course she dropped the doll so instead of talking like a sweet girlie doll, she sounded like Darth Vader. I don’t think my aunt has ever recovered.

So, if your kids are driving you crazy with their arguing and competition for attention, leave them with their father (or anyone else you can find) and get together with your girlfriends. Have a couple of our Estro-tinis. I know I'm going to!

Estro-tini

  

2 oz. Pineapple juice

1 oz. Vanilla flavored Vodka      

1 tbsp of Grenadine syrup

Garnish: Cherry

Pour liquid ingredients into a martini shaker full of ice. Shake well and pour into a martini glass. Garnish with a cherry. No need to add estrogen!

Sticky Teeth Syndrome

By Tonia

I didn't get old on purpose, it just happened. If you're lucky, it could happen to you. ~ Andy Ronney

Recently I’ve noticed that food is sticking to my teeth more. Yep, remnants of meals past. I'm calling it Sticky Teeth Syndrom (STS) - a condition where teeth become magnetized for pieces of food like lettuce, corn, blueberries, and pieces of meat. It is the rare food product that can escape its power. My smile ends up looking like a post-it note of dinner – or like I’m auditioning for a sequel of Deliverance. Ugh.

Much like when a friend gets cancer, my girlfriends respond quite differently to my affliction. When we’re eating out some of them ignore it, some subtly point to their own teeth behind a napkin, some just reach over and pick it out. But my very best friends typically offer me more salad to go with my meal tidbits.

I found out that Sticky Teeth Syndrome is really dry mouth. So I guess my mouth has gone the way of my skin, my eyes and my vagina. Dry, drier, and driest. My body has become a human Sahara Desert. Even my brain is drying out (yep, our brains lose moisture and shrink with age). Instead of "shit for brains," I'll have "sand for brains." Great!

So I want to know, does this new arid state of being mean that someone left me high and dry - or just hung me out to dry? Will it enhance my dry sense of humor? Is STS like arthritis where I’ll be able to predict weather changes when I have something stuck in my teeth? God, I hope something good comes from it. This aging thing is not for the faint-hearted.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together host a Five Wishes Party. See their website and party suggestions HERE. Not a laughing matter, and very important, Five Wishes is the US’s most popular living will - an easy to use legal document that lets folks plan how they want to be cared for in case they become seriously ill. Pass copies around and discuss; fill them out and witness one another’s documents. Fun party ideas include:

(1) Put blow pops in a bowl with a sign, “Aging Sucks.”

(2) Serve trays of seedless grapes without stems with a sign, "Loose Marbles."

(3) Wedge a slab of colored cream cheese (resembling denture cream) in a set of plastic teeth and surround it with crackers.

(4) Read or pass around Dr. Suess’s book, You’re Only Old Once.

(5) Make an adult diaper cake as a centerpiece. Put products in it like a can prunes, some Exlax, Pepto-Bismol and Beano.

(6) Hang a poster for guests to sign that has the title “Advantages of Growing Older.” Be the first to sign it with “I can laugh, cough, sneeze and pee all at the same time.”

Let us know how it goes! MUAH!

Driving Ditz

by Tonia 

“You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen; it said 'Parking Fine.'" - Tommy Cooper

I hate driving. Mostly because I’m a bad driver. Josh (son) told me he was nominating me for the Bad Drivers Hall of Fame. Rachel (daughter) asked if my car had life insurance. Ugh. Remind me again - WHY did I have children?

I don’t MEAN to be a bad driver. It’s just that I like to multi-task. Changing clothes and redoing my make-up while driving saves me time. And aren’t red lights for responding to texts and checking Facebook? Hellloooo! What else are you supposed to do while waiting?

And it doesn’t help that my city streets are full of pot holes and road construction. I now make sudden psychotic swerves like some kind of friggin’ crack-using slalom driver. My dog needs a seat belt.

And, while I’m complaining, I HATE it when I’m ready to run a yellow light and the damn person in front of me chickens out. Grrrrrr….

My family loves to tell the story about when my mother and I were driving cross-country many years ago. I was at the wheel and she had been sleeping. She woke up, looked around and asked why the signs were all facing backwards. Not only was I driving on the wrong side of the interstate, it was a closed road. Holy shit. That lost us several hours.

My most recent driving incident involved a STOP sign. A friend informed me that the word stop doesn't mean (S)tate (T)rooper (O)ut (P)eeing. It actually means four tires must stop rolling without the use of the sign itself. OOPS!

I’ve also had my share of speeding tickets. I LOVE it when hot uniformed troopers with handcuffs pull me over. But, unfortunately, too many of them have the personalities of bricks (though that isn't fair to bricks). They just keep giving me their autographs and nothing more up close and personal.

But at least I haven’t ended up in parade like one of my girlfriends. She ignored a divert traffic sign and found herself between two floats. All she could do was stay in line and wave. Wish I had a picture!

For your next girlfriends’ get together consider brainstorming a list of great excuses to use when/if you ever get pulled over. Make copies for everyone to keep in their glove compartments - fun AND useful!

Fire in the Hole!

By Anna

"You know you're a redneck if you take your car keys and dig your ear wax out ya ears." – some Redneck somewhere

I'm only 32 years old but I’m pretty sure I have the hearing of an 82 year old. I noticed the funky ear problems in my 20s. First the ringing of the ears, then the ongoing battle with swimmers ear, then a diagnosis of "ear eczema" – otherwise known as Dry Flaky Itchy Ear Syndrome.

And then the small problem that I just CAN’T FUCKING HEAR! While the upside is that I no longer hear people talking behind my back and can stay in hotels on major airport flight paths, the downside is that I have to compensate. About 2% of the time I tell people I can't hear them; 3% of the time I try to move closer; and 95% of the time I just laugh and hope to God the person didn't ask a question.

I try to take good care of my ears. I clean them gently, I avoid getting my drums wet and I even use my prescription. But I also have too much ear wax. Turns out my body manufactures all kinds of things I don’t need – zits, farts, fat, ear wax…..

I’ve always wondered about ear candles. Do they work? Does it hurt? Do I need fire insurance? If I try them, will my mother be reading about my demise in the newspaper the next day: YOUNG WOMAN KILLED IN EAR BLAZE?

So I questioned one of my girlfriends about them and she booked me an appointment on her couch the very next day. She supplied the candles and I brought the tacos (NOTE TO SELF: in the future do ear cleaning BETWEEN meals). If you’ve never heard of this technique, an ear candle is put into the ear and lit with a match by a second person. The flame creates a vacuum that pulls the wax out of your ear.

So like the good patient I am, I nestled myself on her couch, head on pillow, fire extinguisher in hand. I squirmed and whimpered softly while she positioned the fire in my hole. About 10 minutes later we rushed to the kitchen sink to inspect our findings. Oh yeah, really gross but SUPER cool stuff – especially for those of us who love all things disgusting….

But no - no hearing improvement, just clean ears.

I'll be making my next ear appointment with Clear Tone. Thanks anyway, Beth!

Invite 4 of your besties over on a hot summer day & throw an earwax party.
And serve these:

Frozen Earwax

1/4 (12fl oz) can frozen lemonade concentrate
1/4 (6oz) can frozen OJ concentrate
1/2 cup strong brewed black tea
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup whiskey
1 3/4 cup water
1/4 liter chilled ginger ale soda
1/2 lemon cut into wedges

In a large container combine lemonade, OJ, tea, sugar, whisky & water. Mix well & freeze for 24 hrs.

Scoop into a tall glass, 3/4 full, & pour chilled ginger ale to fill glass. Stir & garnish with lemon wedge.

Serves 5

The Mysteries of a Woman's Purse

by Tonia

"What are the three words guaranteed to humiliate men everywhere? 'Hold my purse.'" - Francois Merency

I recently saw Love, Loss and What I Wore written by Nora and Delia Ephron. It was a delightful show; I highly recommend it. And it got me thinking about purses….

My mother always changed purses to match her shoes. I can barely FIND my purse when its time to leave. My daughters spend mega-bucks to get designer bags. I get pissed off when I have to buy one and it costs more than $25. Guess this purse thing is above my sophistication level.

Someone once suggested that a woman's choice of purses and what she carries in it reveals her personality. Uh oh. If that’s true, I’m a disheveled, disgusting, scatter-brained sugar-addicted cheapskate hoarder in need of a serious intervention. The last time I cleaned out my purse I found enough receipts to build back an entire tree and a perfume sample that smelled like Chanel Number 5 in 1985 but now smells like an dirty diapers.

My purse is a mysterious place - a place that defies the laws of physics. It can carry MUCH more than its size suggests. Yet, once I put something in it, I may not find it again for days. I’m starting to believe that it is actually another door to Narnia and that my keys, cell phone and lipstick go on adventures as kings and queens to fight evil. They come back occasionally – but at their own will.

I was fishing around my purse for glasses at work the other day while talking to my Director and I plunged my hand into an opened jar of homemade lotion. I felt the cold, wet goo squish between my fingers. I couldn’t decide whether to pull my hand out and horrify my boss - or keep it safely hidden in my purse the rest of the meeting and look like a moron. My fears about other disasters befalling my hand if I left it in there overpowered my concerns for making a good impression, so I pulled it out and asked for a Kleenex. (There was probably one in my purse but hell if I was going to go looking for it! It was probably in Narnia anyway.)

I asked a male friend of mine what he thought of women’s purses. After his look of terror subsided, he said that even the most accomplished, most organized women have purses that look like an ADHD kid on Red Bull and sugar. He thought they should have warning labels on them and was convinced that Jimmy Hoffa’s remains were probably at the bottom of some woman’s purse somewhere. Probably so. Probably so.

We’ve suggested purse scavenger hunts for girlfriends’ get-togethers before (which is stilla great idea!) but a purse swap is also a useful and fun idea. Have your girlfriends bring over all the purses they don't carry any more (hopefully, clean) and lay them out so that they can be recycled among friends! And bake and decorate sugar cookies in the shape of purses. Have fun!!

My Recovery from Mom Jeans

by Tonia

"The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this." - Mark Twain

I have no fashion sense. While I probably dress better than a typical Walmart shopper, after 50-something years, I still have no idea what looks good on me. I know this is true because my daughters tell me on a weekly basis:

-- “Please say that you are just working in the garden today!”

-- “Mom, that dress looks like bad wallpaper with a zipper.”

-- “If you wear that, you’re riding alone because I’m going in my own car.”

I admit that on a recent ski trip I wore Rachel’s sweater from middle school. I thought it was a very cute, ski-like outfit. Guess not. When I came downstairs for breakfast, she and Anna burst into hysterical laughter and moved to another table. Brats.

They once advised me to buy some really cute boots. OK. I get it. Get people to look at my feet instead of my aging face and body. I wore them to work and thought I was going to have to call for a wheelchair to get to my office. I stayed seated the entire rest of the day and stayed late so that, after all my colleagues left, I could rip those fuckers off my feet and go back to my car barefooted.

One time Anna went shopping with me. Word to the wise: NEVER take your child with you to buy jeans. Guess I’ve been wearing the dreaded, long-butt “Mom” jeans. Every pair she wanted me to try on felt like I was one bend-over from a plumbers’ look. She insisted that I find some where the pockets ended below the bottom of my ass. Supposedly it makes the butt look better. Honey, if that’s the case, I need pockets in more strategic                                                               places than just my gluteus maximus!

Here are Anna’s “rules” for avoiding the long-butt, “Mom” jean look (now programmed into my phone):

   (1) Stay away from jeans that come in small, 
medium and large sizes – code for “Mom” jean.

   (2) Shun jeans without back pockets or where you can’t tell the front from the back. Your rear-end will look like a gravity-inflicted watermelon was shoved into the back of your pants.

   (3) Avoid jeans where your socks show while standing. Not the “Mom” jean look – just dorky.

   (4) Look for jeans with a definitive break where your butt ends and your legs begin. Otherwise, your butt ends up with the infinity effect….

   (5) Finally, keep away from a completely elastic waist. Now you’ve gone way beyond “Mom” jeans. You’ve gone to jean hell.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a Progressive Fashion Consulting Hor d’oeuvres Party. Each friend whose home is used lays out her main wardrobe pieces that she doesn’t know quite what to do with. As she asks her girlfriends questions and/or tries on things for advice, everyone is able to nibble on goodies. Time limit should be 30 min. at each house. Here is a fun recipe to match the theme! 

The Party Dress Veggie Pizzas

Roll out refrigerated crescent roll dough and cut with a dress cookie cutter. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Mix one 8 oz package of cream cheese with half a package of Hidden Valley Fiesta Ranch Dip Mix. Once the “dresses” have cooled, spread the cream cheese mixture on each dress. Design your Vera Wang gown with items such as:  red bell pepper, pimento, sliced American cheese, chopped black olives, grated carrot, cherry tomato, spinach leaves, broccoli, cucumber strips, etc. 

Tell us your fashion faux pas!!