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40+ and fabulous?…

25 Jul

40andFabulousI’m definitely fabulous.

I’m definitely 40+.

So why the question mark?

Yes, I get it people, I’m OVER FORTY… Middle aged. But I don’t feel old, except when I jump off the couch and get the ankle shots, or throw my back into spasms when I bend over to pick up some shoes from the floor. Then, I definitely feel my somewhat advanced age.

Is 40 the new 30? Since I’m now closer to 50, is 50 the new 30? Please tell me yes.

I was having a conversation yesterday with a 30-something and a 20-something about kids. The 20-something doesn’t have any and is not in a hurry to kick start her baby-making machine. The 30-something is adamant that if she’s gonna have another kid, it must happen NOW, before she turns 40. Because you know, HER EGGS ARE DYING. As a childless woman myself, I had very little to add to the conversation, but it got me scratching my head about how old I felt. Or rather, how young I felt.

Whatever you feel about your age, here’s a few things you should know about (some, maybe not all) the single women over 40:

  1. We love our high heels and designer handbags. Maybe the younger gals feel the same way, but we devote entire closets to our collections. Mine have commandeered the linen closet, relegating the towels and sheets to various outposts.
  2. We take vitamins and have a serious skin care routine. If it weren’t for the Ginkgo Biloba, we’d probably forget to take off our eyelash extensions at night.
  3. We are fine not knowing all the pesky little details about everything. This is partly because we’d need to find our reading glasses, and partly because we just won’t remember them.
  4. We wear cute fedora’s. Not only does it say what a young hipster we are, but it hides our gray roots.
  5. We do the botox. If you seem surprised by this, perhaps you should consider it as well. Just make that face in the mirror. You know, the one that makes your forehead resemble high winds on the river. That one.
  6. We like younger men. Nobody thinks erectile dysfunction is sexy. NOBODY. And besides, the guys our age are home in their barcaloungers drinking Bud Light and watching sports.
  7. We wear yoga pants. Sometimes, we even go to yoga. But mostly it’s because our weight is fluctuating in anticipation of menopause.
  8. We want to turn back the clock. Not too far, mind you, but far back enough to match the outside with how we feel inside. Kinda like matching the curtains to the carpet, if hard wood floors weren’t so popular today.

Right now, at 47, I have more confidence and courage in who I am and what I have to offer the world than I did when I was 20- or 30-something. So while my skin might be a little bit thinner in places, it’s a lot thicker in others.

Am I fabulous? Um, yes. As a professional, as a woman, as a friend, as a lover. No question about it.


The Five Stages of a Giraffe Stuck in Quicksand

17 Jul

Laughing hilariously here. Seriously.

Dharma Goddess: The Journey to Me

This makes me laugh like crazy!

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The show is over…

12 Jul

Folks, the snark and laughter is kinda gone. Like the theater on a Monday, whose stage is empty and devoid of actors, my curtain is down. At least for now.

Why you ask? For those of you who know me in real life, you probably already know. For those that don’t personally know me – I have my reasons for going dark.

I may or may not ever revive my Boldly Mocking ways but I do thank all of my subscribers and visitors for their support and comments and for sharing the laughter. For now, the show is closed.

That’s crap

12 Dec

For the last two and a half years, I’ve worked in the main corporate office building. In a high rise two floors away from the big boss (yep, the one who I failed to sit by on the plane last week.) The building is an icon in Oakland and filled with lots of VPs, lawyers, marketers and strategy hoo haw types.

So it was with much dismay that my department found themselves when we were summarily dismissed from the building. Denigrated to work out of the technology campus. Thirty miles away in a suburb. In a sign of solidarity with my peeps at work, I too railed against the MAN for demoralizing me. Sure, why not. I also flicked my teeth in a violent Italian gesture at being deported to the ‘burbs.

Secretly though, I was relieved. While I hated the hoo haws for their stuffy suited culture that scoffs at my brilliance, I hated working in the biggity biggity O. Freaking crazy shit happens there. Two words: MESERLE TRIAL. We were evacuated more often than a celebrity cleanse.

But I wasn’t quite expecting that the move to the new campus in the ‘burbs would be so shitty. And by shitty I mean full of crap. And by crap I really do mean shit. Clogging the toilets, overflowing them and giving me the willies.

This is now the second time I’ve had the misfortune of opening the door to stall #1 with horror. Apparently I work with some ladies who have serious gastrointestinal issues. Issues they bring with them to work. And I’m not convinced that someone didn’t just decide to toss their Rogan Josh into the toilet rather than suffer through it.

You decide - Rogan Josh before or after?

What I don’t understand is why my fellow lady office mates would pollute the sanctity of our communal poddy. We are quite a picky gender when it comes to bathroom behavior. We use our foot to open the stall door. We wouldn’t consider resting our precious backsides on the seat without first lining it with not one but two toilet doilies. We use the hottest water and antibacterial soaps to wash our hands. Followed by hand sanitizers and towels doubling as hot mitts to let us out of the bathroom.

So why why why would someone foul the bathroom and NOT FLUSH? Are they simply proud of their accomplishments and eager to share? Is there some spiritual belief that poo is magical and should be revered and gifted to the next follower? It just boggles the mind. Changes everything I thought about women’s bathroom behavior.

And makes me long for the corporate poddy in the biggity biggity O. At least there I never once encountered anything more offensive than the lingering smell of a mild egg…

Be warned technology campus women. If I find out who is leaving little presents in the toilet, I will not hesitate to remind you that we have a “no gifts” policy at work.

I like to ride my bicycle

31 Oct

Weekends are for getting caught up on chores, or getting caught up on sleep. For having fun – going places and seeing things. For walking, jogging, skating and biking on the various trails we have here in the beautiful East Bay.

But each activity is kinda meant to be done independent of the other. For example, I don’t jog while getting caught up on sleep. And I don’t take a nap during dinner.

And I never – and I mean this – ever ride my bike in the street. Too scary, plus I don’t want the bird flipped at me for riding too slow… But I’ve noticed a growing trend with the over-zealous touring bikers. You’ve seen this too, these are the guys who ride in a pack of 10 or so pals, all wearing nylon shirts and shorts emblazoned with logos and whatnot. Real serious types. They ride very fast – too fast on the trails zinging by me and scaring the crap out of my puppies – but not fast enough on the streets. Which leads me to my point.

If you want to take your touring bike for a long ride with a couple pals – enjoy! If you want to take your touring bike for a long ride on public streets and you’re riding in a pack of 10 or so, get a permit.

You see, your mob of cyclists tends to take over the street, blocking traffic, and infuriating drivers and pedestrians. It’s the ‘critical mass’ mentality we have here where I live that is just really getting out of control.

The collective attitude is “get out of my way, here I come” which is overly aggressive, arrogant, and annoying. Yeah, I get it – you ride your bike, not relying on gas, flipping off the ‘man’, and opposing the depletion of fossil fuels, but here’s the truth – it’s that attitude that encourages us to park our cars in your bike lane and honk when you ride slow and prevent us from making the light. So stop it already.

Yesterday, a she-male was riding on Main Street – no bike lane mind you – and we were about to back into a parking space. Drivers tend to do things like that – we put on the blinker, put the gears in reverse – looked over the shoulder – and saw the lone ranger mounted on her little filly charging upon us. So we waited.

But she was pissed. Flipped us off – told us we were in her way. We were aghast – WTF?

Here’s an idea: stop whining, get off your high horse and go around us. And if you don’t like the fact I’m driving a car and you’re not – get off the road. I have no choice but to drive my car on the road – you do however. So if we’re going to share the road with you, then you need to back off. Oh, and stop it with all the “I’m organic” crap while you’re at it.

Too much information?

9 Sep

For this inaugural post, I reflect on the need to share too much information.

I do it, you do it, the birds and bees do it.

Last night, the hubby and I are on our way out to meet some friends. I’m gonna hang out with  HER at some chi-chi boutique where the dress code “suggested” high heels ala Carrie Bradshaw…

The hubby would go hang out eating hot wings and drinking beers with HIM.

So I get all dolled up – barrel curled my hair, put on my True Religion jeans and my {gulp} 6″  dark red wedge heels. Yes 6″. They were totally cool.

We get in the car and I tell the hubby “your mom called…didn’t hear the message…”

He calls her when we pull out of the driveway. I hear “we’ll be right there.” Turns out, she’s feeling like she needs to go to the doctor – which if you knew us, you’d know this is serious.

We cancel our “chick party” and “beer fest” night. Boo.

Get to Kaiser and there’s no one there. I know there’s a recession but the ER is empty? With her chest pains, we go right in. They triage her asap and hook her up to gidgets and gadgets and IVs oh my. Now, before I get to the real story, shall I just say – she’s fine. She had something that felt scary, but she’s really okay today. I promise.

But here’s the TMI story.

First, and I love me my Kaiser – I don’t need to know what the hell is wrong with you sick people.  If you present wearing a full face mask and a protective sheet around your lap, let’s just say I’m on a need to know basis. And trust me, I don’t need to know…

Which is how I felt when the big guy was wheeled in.

Outside our curtain, nurse betty asks “have you been sick long” and he replies in a mumbled voice due to the bacteria resistant mask “yeah for a few weeks.” Then she asks:

“Have you been nauseous?” Reply “Yes”

“Vomiting?” Reply “Yes”

“Diarrhea?” Reply “Yes”

Seriously? I was just sitting on the toe-end of my 70 year old mother-in-law and this about put me over the edge… (Yes, I realize that statement puts me in hell.)

No better time to use the little girls room. Clickity click clicking down the hallway in my 6″ dark red wedge heels was oddly uncomfortable in the stark hallways at the hospital en route to the pee pee potty.

Now, I must admit I watch some medical drama TV so I could only imagine what the EFF was going on, and yes, the inner gossip girl in me wanted to know the salacious details with the patient next door, but the adult woman in me who respects your privacy didn’t want the added drama.

So I only listened with one ear out the curtain. The other one was watching Master Chef.

As Sharone was kicked off the island of misfit home chefs, the techs, nurses, and doctors continued to arrive next door only to pause, collect themselves, and put on their game faces  before entering the land of the lost.

Now, I’m not sure but I highly suspect based on my {unwanted?} observations of their conversations and actions and his appearance that he had … dut dut dut duh….. flesh eating bacteria….

Now is this fact? No – come on, I don’t have the balls to ask – but I can ask if it was simply happenstance that we were there, the answers were heard, the visuals were clear? Or was it merely a common case of too much information?

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