Taking It Off

by Tonia

“Never trust an anti-aging cream with an expiration date.” - unknown

As I face 60, I’m facing my face. Old age is accosting me like an unwelcome intruder breaking down my damn door. So I’m trying to get some inspiration. Recently I looked at some celebrities turning 60 (their lives are just like mine, right?). I found an article about Christy Brinkley’s secrets to looking young. Her advice? Much like her marital advice: Exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate.

Exfoliation is not a new concept. Ancient Egyptians made exfoliation products out of alabaster, honey and sour milk. Sour milk?? OMG, if I put SOUR milk on my face my brain would go into high alert, signaling for evasive actions – like puking. No thanks, Cleopatra.

The Egyptians also used finely ground sand to rub off dead skin. Is that the original sandsoap? It gives a whole new meaning to having a sandy complexion (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Under normal (i.e. younger) circumstances about 30,000 skin cells fall off our bodies every hour – but, as we age, this process slows down. And guess where those dead skin cells go - they turn into dust and settle all over the house. Bits of our former selves everywhere – kind of like ‘Mini-Me’s. But,hey, if this process is slowing down, shouldn’t my house be less dusty? 

Now days there are so many choices for exfoliation, most designed to sell a product rather than actually do anything. But, in case you were wondering, exfoliation falls into two (2) categories: mechanical and chemical. One involves scrubbing and one involves, well, chemicals. It’s important to know your skin so that you use the right products. Otherwise you’ll end up looking like Samantha from Sex in the City after her chemical peel (see the scene on YouTube HERE).

So, for your next girlfriends’ get together, bring out the scrubs, the alpha hydroxyl acids and the moisturizers and give each other facials. Serve apple martinis. Apples are good for you, right??? 

Bad Boudoir Babe

By Tonia

A few weeks ago I received a Groupon for a boudoir photo shoot. Always ready to try something new, I thought, “What the f*^k, I’ll do it!” Prior to my shoot, I sat in front of the mirror trying to figure out how to look sexy without looking like I was trying to look sexy. I mostly looked like an idiot with slobbery, quivering horse lips.  

Then I ran across an article that said I should walk around naked for a few days prior to the shoot - you know, to get comfortable. While my peeping-tom neighbors would have loved that, it’s currently the dead of winter, we’re having record low temperatures and I doubt that hypothermia makes my boobs look any perkier. Plus, when I walk around naked I stick to my leather chairs and can’t fry bacon.

On the day of the shoot the photographer offered me a glass of Champagne to help me loosen up. I asked for the whole bottle but that wasn’t included with my Groupon. Guess that comes with a more expensive package.

I chose a bed as my “setting” and let the photographer have her way with me. And, let me tell you, I have a new appreciation for models and porn stars. Those sexy little poses are thigh-burning, back-breaking, arm-crippling contortions from the pits of seduction hell. Only my Brazilian wax and childbirth were more painful.

In addition to all the damn body contortions, in order to look sexy, I also had to…..

   …..Inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth - I kept waiting for the stethoscope to appear.

   …..Open and close my eyes over and over – Like a night of insomnia on fast-forward

   …..Twist/play in the sheets – Result of which was getting trapped in a knotted, tangled mass of bedding that took the photographer AND her assistant to get me loose from.

   …..Rub my hair with both my hands, turning my head ever so slightly – but, let me tell you, when I looked at those proofs, it just looked like I was covering my ears from some kind of hideous noise.

Sexpot fail.

But I DID have fun and there were a few shots that actually did make me look pretty good. I would certainly recommend it as a girlfriends’ get together and outing!

So now the big question is: what am I going to do with these damn photos? I thought about making them into a coffee table book but I’m pretty sure my daughter would never let the grandkids come over again. I guess I’ll simply put them away with my 

important documents so my kids will find them when I’m gone…..

I Need a Fender Bender Mender

By Tonia

“Accidents are not accidents but precise arrivals at the wrong right time.”― Dejan Stojanovic

I recently had a car accident. No one was hurt, thank God, but I’m still wondering: how did that slow-moving vehicle bounce off my car? Did it have anything to do with me swerving into its lane? Surely not!

This is not my first auto accident. My dysfunctional relationship with driving began at 16 when I failed my first driving test and drove over a wall. That little incident made the newspaper. After I survived the adolescent humiliation of it, I collected several moving violations. I remember my mother telling me that I really needed to start a different kind of collection. (Everyone thinks they're a comedian.) There were also dismantled side mirrors. And hopped curbs. And the 3 totaled out cars.

I try to be a good person but traffic rules can be so tedious. I like a bit more creativity in my automotive adventures....I mean, travel. Using turn signals Every. Single. Time. Just seems unnecessary. And those “No U-turn” signs really just mean look out for cops before turning around. And tailgating. Gets you where you want to go a little bit faster and helps you get up close and personal to make new friends. Or maybe find a date.....

I once saw a definition of PEDESTRIAN that I thought was pretty accurate: “Annoying obstacle infringing upon your right to drive at the speed you feel most comfortable.” H.E.L.L.O. So true!

Despite my own poor driving record, I don’t recommend a car wreck for your next girlfriends’ get together. Instead, try this retro drink called the Golden Cadillac. It’s yummy.

GOLDEN CADILLAC

1 ½  oz. Galliano

1 oz. heavy cream

1  oz. crème de cacao

Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice. Add ingredients. Shake and pour into cocktail glass.

Whose Kids are These?

by Rachel

"Kids are like farts, you only like your own." - Unknown

One of our toilets was constantly running so I decided to avoid a plumbing bill and pull a DIY. But when I took inventory of my husband’s tools, I discovered that our 5 year old had a better set than he did. So I decided to take the kids to the hardware store to pick up a few things. The hubby is good at many things but fixing things is not on that list. Examples: when he changed the car oil a few years back, he forgot to latch the hood when he was finished. As he drove off the hood flew up and completely smashed the windshield. And then there was the time he was chasing squirrels out of the attic and fell through the ceiling. No, this man is not allowed to do repairs as long as I'm living in the house!

But back to my story. On the way to the hardware store, I discovered that the kids had just raided and consumed all their Christmas stocking candy. How did I know this? Oh, you know, those tell-tale signs: seat belts twisted and knotted in “designs”, shoes worn on ears instead of feet, inane jokes about stinky feet and farts, noise levels rivaling the launch of the space shuttle…… I threatened to buy rope to tether them to me in the store but I was afraid that their sugar highs would give them the strength of grizzly bears and they would fly through the store dragging my flailing body behind them.

While I was looking at plumbing items, my little sugar-crazed children discovered a malfunctioning drinking fountain that squirted a 4 foot water stream against the wall. My 5 year old thought this was the most hysterical thing he had ever seen! I walked over to get on to him and slipped on the water on the floor and took out the end cap of filters.

I came home and locked myself in the bathroom where I could have a moment of peace with broken toilet. Changed the fill valve, overflow pipe, flapper, and handle while the kids crashed from their sugar high. Success!

A great idea for a girlfriends' get together would be to have a tool swapping party along with stories (and directions) of successful DIY projects. Use candy molds to make chocolate "tools" as part of your refreshments.

Pissed About Peeing

By Tonia

“I cough, therefore I pee….” – Pink Tomato

I recently had the flu while visiting Rachel and the grandmunchkins in Texas. I know. I know. Didn’t get the flu shot. My bad. So shoot me.

But it wasn’t just being sick that was miserable. Or being sick away from home. It was the damn coughing and peeing! Even after my last TP swipe, if I coughed, there was another squirt (and I don’t mean the sexy kind). After changing pants several times in a single hour, I stuffed toilet paper in my underwear to catch any other surprise urine deluges. Not sure what folks thought of the bulge in my crotch but, hey, it beat soggy britches!

If I felt a really long cough attack coming I’d race to sit on the toilet so I could hack away with complete abandon. Awwwwww …. no need to grab my crotch; no need turn my lower body into a pretzel. Just pee and cough to make my bladder gladder. Most of these emergency runs, however, didn’t include closing the bathroom door. No time! So let me take this opportunity to apologize to my son-in-law for all the times he walked down the hall and caught a glimpse of my bare ass. Yes, Gary, I’ll pay for your therapy. Hope the nightmares go away soon.

And, no, this post is not about golden showers (minds out of the gutter – er, toilet, please!). It’s about a fairly common problem in women (yet another thing men don’t have to deal with!) known as stress incontinence. Whoopi Goldberg calls it “the sprits” and has a funny video about it (click HERE ). Here is my commentary on non-invasive solutions for stress incontinence:

Kegel exercises: You know the ones – those pelvic floor exercises – the ones where you're supposed to stop urination midstream. Right. If I could DO that I wouldn’t be in this mess, would I?

Timed voiding: Record the times you urinate and/or leak. This lets you know your "patterns" so you can go to the bathroom at those times. Seriously? I’m going to plan my whole friggin’ life around my pee pee???

A pessary: This is a ring that a physician inserts into your vagina to put pressure on the urethra. Frankly, I can think of LOTS of other more interesting things that I would rather have inserted into my vagina!  

Injections: Bulking agents such as collagen can be injected into the lining of the urethra to increase its size and resist the flow of urine. Collagen? Did someone say collagen? Could the doctor do my face while he’s doing my crotch? I LOVE this remedy!

So, our suggestion for your next girlfriends’ get together is a Pissing Match! Divide your guests up into teams and, within a designated period of time, see which teams can come up with the greatest number of peeing expressions (i.e powdering my nose, going number one, etc). Great for baby showers and/or menopause celebrations!  

60 is NOT the New 30

by Tonia

“I'm sixty years of age. That's 16 Celsius.” - George Carlin

I’m going to be 59.5 in a few days. The IRS says that at 59.5 I can withdraw money from my IRAs without the 10% penalty. Big whoopty-do. All I can think about is that I’m going to be …. wait for it …. <gulp> 60 next summer. Since I’ve been 55 for several years it’s going to be a big jump from 55 to 60. Fortunately I’m in good company: Kim Basinger, Mary Steenburger, Cyndi Lauper, Oprah Winfrey, Christie Brinkley all have recently turned or are going to turn 60 this next year. They don’t look too bad. Of course, they have bigger budgets than I do for "getting some work done" but a little Botox is doable for me.

I’ve decided that by 60 years of age most of us have accumulated evidence of our longevity, as evidenced by:

(1) Either a bathing suit or a pair of shorts that should no longer be seen in public (Rachel and Anna remind me that I have BOTH)

(2) Enough styles of Spanx to cover any body part in crisis mode

(3) A cabinet full of unsuccessful creams, scrubs, lotions and ointments for wrinkles, dark puffy circles, and cellulite

(4) Another cabinet full of supplements for thinning hair, hormone replacement, and memory loss

(5) Broken capillaries from rigorous, over-the-top, bring-back-my-youth-NOW exfoliation

(6) Abundant gray hairs from all the toddler tantrums, adolescent arguments, and grown children’s bad decisions

(7) Voluminous tubs of Christmas decorations (which, by the way, procreate during summer months) 

(8) A Bucket List (although I’m starting to create am Anti-Bucket List - things I DON’T have to do before I die – i.e. video taping myself having sex and swimming the English Channel)

(9) Some kind of information / directions for after death (i.e. who the children’s REAL father is, who NOT to invite to the funeral, etc)

What kind of party is the Queen of Parties going to have for her 60^th birthday? Stay tuned. TBA. In the meanwhile, for your next girlfriends’ get together, serve martinis and create an ANTI-Bucket List – what I DON’T have to do before I die!