Saturday, February 23, 2019

Letter to Our Bodies...Uh Oh!

Dear Fence Post,

That’s what they used to call me because I’m skinny.  I was skinny.  I mean, I’m still holding steady on the slim side, but there are shifts that make my fence-post frame more malleable, a hair over my plumb weight but losing ground to bulges, wrinkles, additional layers, etc.  

Were I to write a letter to my body, it would go something like this:

Dear Body O’Mine,

You have served me well thus far, but really...WTF??

How dare you transform the skin on my hands into an onion-peel, thin, crepe-like covering that, when pinched and pulled away from the hand, stays there until I press it back into position. When did that happen?  Why have you knuckles doubled in size to the point where my rings no longer fit?  Since when did you decide to bulge my veins out?  And, why is that bone sticking out where my wrist meets my hands?  When did THAT happen, and why?  WHY?

And, you! torso, you.  Where have you gone?  You used to be long and lean and straight, but now you’re shrinking so that, before I know it, my chin will be resting on my hips.  And, speaking of my chin, I now have to refer to you in plural terms.  

I’m pretty fed up with you, neck!  You used to be one of my most beautiful features.  Everyone said so.  You’re still long, but now hold the kinds of vertical wrinklage that might be mistaken for deep crevasses found in Antarctica.   Turtlenecks don’t work in the summer, and even if worn, now reveal the jowls that are dripping off my face where a smooth jawline once resided.  

I’d tell people to kiss my ass, but it left a long time ago...following a path down the backs of my thighs until no curve exists at all where it used to, making sitting for long periods rather painful with no natural cushion on which to depend.

Last, but not least, DARE you create the kinds of love handles that a fully grown man-hand could grab, and like a frisbee, toss me around the room.  I no longer look at my body profile in a mirror, because the stomach sticks out further than any other part and mocks me.  It jiggles like a bowl full of Jello, laughing at all the sit-ups I do every week. I call it my food baby and that baby looks to be in at least the 8th month.

If I could trade you in for another body that was perfect and only 30 years old, I would.  No, I wouldn’t, yes I would, no I wouldn’t.  I’m learning to live with you just as you are, because we’ve been together for so many years.  We’re like a good marriage (not that I have much experience with that), but we’re stuck together and doing the best we can.  Stay with me.  Don’t break or grow malignant thingies or leave me before I’m ready.

I really do love you!
Dear My Body,

Gosh, long time no see.  But, that’s only because I don’t look in the mirror much lately.  I see your lips and hair in the mirror every morning, but everything else is a blur.  Once I get my hair jellied and combed and my lips properly colored and shiny…I must walk away.

Gee, Bod, you have done a great job for me for so many years.  When you were young you did what it took to make me a national champion swimmer, the second-best female surfer on Kauai, and the funnest drink-your-ass-under-the-table gal pal at Midland High School.  Man, you could hold your liquor.

College was a breeze for you.  You were able to consume huge amounts of LSD, Psilocybin, Mescaline, cocaine, weed, Pearl Beer, and ‘Dirty’s-Come-Back’ double cheeseburgers with hickory sauce. Impressive. And, all of that with no more exercise than the strength it took to pass a joint to the Viet Nam ‘conscientious objector’ sitting cross-legged on the carpet to your left. 

Ah, the twenties and thirties.  What can I say?  Santa Fe gave you the best chilis in the world, knock-your-dick-in-the-dirt Margaritas, and a ticket for casting on big movies with 16-hour days that turned you into a walking robot.  But on you went…dogged and unstoppable. Wearing you down so that in your sixties you would be worn out and ready to hand the casting crown over to the next girl anxious enough to prove herself to the world.  And ladies, you can have it.

Forties and fifties?  Richard Simmons/Sweatin’ To The Oldies, Yoga/The Five Rights/The Fountain Of Youth (ha!!), burnin’ it with Jane Fonda, lifting it with Jack LaLane, stretching it with Raquel Welch, and faking it with Angela Landsbury. Oh, come on, those stretching tapes of hers were lame.  And don’t forget cardio with Gilad.  We loved Gilad and his parrot…and his mother on the beach with her Jane Fonda outfit on, and the guy on the right in the back who couldn’t keep his eyes off of Gilad’s tight little package.  

I’m giving you a break now, Bod, and you deserve it.  Yoga every-other day is all that I ask of you. I give you what makes you feel good.  Souffles and Martinis.  No need to thank me and write when you get work…..


Sunday, February 10, 2019

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

Happy New Year...Jezebel!

Southern women start the new year off with, what peas...du'uh!  And what goes with those peas...JEZEBEL sauce...if you can just keep KK away from the process!!!!

Monday, December 24, 2018

For All You Caregivers Out There!!

There IS light at the end of the caregiving tunnel.  In the meantime, make those for whom you care...PLAY!!!  It's a 'short trip,' and you'll wind up with some HYSTERICAL video memories...

                                                   Take THIS as an example.....hehehehe.....

Saturday, November 10, 2018

Happy Turkleween Thnksmas!!!

You’ve probably bought your turkey for Thanksgiving by now, yes?  Good, because these holidays happen FAST!  Before you’ve even dismantled the blow-up pumpkin with Casper inside, it’s time to buy the rust-colored fake dry leaves to adorn the Thanksgiving table where the turkey will make its appearance...for about 3.5 minutes before it too will be ‘dismantled’ into our stomachs until there are only bones left.  I realize that was kind of a long sentence, but it’s like these holidays...they just go on and on, bleeding into each other until Jan 1...after the black-eyed peas have been presented and devoured for good luck.  Then, and only then can we really relax.

I advise everyone to just wear black during these holidays.  That way, you can adorn yourself with accessorized color depending on which holiday.  Black and orange for Halloween...given.  Save the orange and mix it with rust, dull green and chocolate brown and you’re good to go with your black outfit for T’Day.  And, the black will be the perfect backdrop for the ridiculous Christmas tree brooches, tree light necklaces and candy cane leggings.  We’ve all just gone too far, wouldn’t you agree???

It’s really difficult to explain holidays to cats.  They are stupefied by a pumpkin and insulted by the requisite scary black cat with its back arched around All Hallow’s Eve.  They wind up on the kitchen counter eating every scrap available as we’re at the Thanksgiving table doing the same thing, but with forks.  And, the only thing they like about Christmas are the empty gift boxes and the tissue strewn all over the room.  They just don’t understand why we don’t leave all that stuff out every day.  You can’t explain interior decoration to them either...goes right over their tiny heads.

So, if you haven’t started feeling overwhelmed by the dizzying holiday seasons, you’re behind!  Get stressed, pissed off, bah-humbugged before it’s too late!

Oh, I love the holidays too.  That’s partly because I love empty boxes (especially decorated ones), sneaking bites of the turkey left on the kitchen counter, and playing with new toys.  The cats and I are exactly alike.  If I could hide in a box or take a long nap in a shaft of sunlight, I would do that too.

I put a scary witch and some spiders on the door for Halloween.  KK told me I was really lame, but she doesn’t’ understand how much fun it is to scare little kids.  I wish we could scare little kids at Thanksgiving too, but I’ll just have to settle for a pumpkin by the front door.  Decorations are a must for all holidays, as Honoluluans needs to uphold their reputation for obsessive-holiday-compulsions, and all of her denizens must contribute to this tradition.  Any kind of yard-art or door-wreath plasticity is highly encouraged by the population of this city.  Televisions perched in trees are a mainstay for Christmas decorations and if yours actually turns on, you are considered a genius.

I look forward to Christmas and all of its good cheer and fake snow in the windows downtown.  Of course, people in Honolulu go all out to celebrate the birth of Jesus, and Santa Claus seems to embody this festivity more than nativity scenes on the lawns or even lit-up Queen Liliuokalani candles in the windows.  I hate Santa Claus…mainly because I sat in the lap of one when I was about three years old and his stale, smokey, bourbon breath almost knocked me into the fake bag of presents by the elf.  Even worse than that though was the fact that he had black stubble under his white beard, and then he handed me a scary doll that made me think of my best friend’s mother.  That was not good.  My best friend’s mother looked like Ed Sullivan.

But I digress.  I need to go into the decoration box and pull out the three-foot-tall papier mache monk holding the cornucopia overflowing with gourds and berries, and put the Christmas lights around him and put him by the door

so people can see how involved we are in the holiday spirit.  Then I ‘m going to go hide in a box and lick my cat’s head.


Saturday, October 6, 2018

Twick or Tweet!!!  BOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Let's Re-Visit...the CAR and How it Works!

KK and SalGal think that you ladies might need a brush up on car maintenance.  You've not come to the right place, but we're gonna tell you anyway!  So simple...