KK is on vacation...

Those of you who follow this ongoing blog/story of the Midlife Gals know that KK goes on regular bi-yearly (or is it yearly?) vacations with her high school pals. They all get together at some ranch in the middle of Texas and drink and talk and talk and drink till the cows come home. It's outside Brady in the boonies between Austin and Midland. I think that's about the same distance as driving across the state of Arizona.

Can you believe that? I don't know any of the friends I had in high school. And even if I did I don't think I would want to drive to Timbuktu to hang with them for five days. Or even for five hours. God, that was forty years ago. Most of my then buddies died of overdoses, drank themselves into oblivion or are now managing KOA campgrounds outside of Brownsville.

KK's girlfriends all seem pretty normal although that's a feat when you were raised in Midland in the fifties. Midland was on the cover of Time Magazine for having more millionaires per capita than any other city in the United States. It also had the highest rate of alcoholism. Everybody was getting rich off oil and they had only one thing to say, "PARTAY!!" George and Barbara Bush were in that hard working, hard playing group of young lions who dressed swell, played five-card-stud with hundred dollar bills and had nightly rave cocktail parties at each other's houses just so the women could show off the new diamonds they just bought at Nieman Marcus.

And they had babies. Back then that's what you did. Only they didn't have nannies - they had maids. Most of my friends, and KK and I to a certain extent, were raised by good, southern, middle-aged black women who taught us how to make yeast bisquits, make up our beds, and be polite to the gardeners. The Ancient One, who was then known as The Stunning One, gave us great taste in window treatments and taught us that we could fall in love with a rich man just as easily as a poor one. Life was weird. I also knew how to make a perfect Martini for her by the time I was nine years old.

It's no wonder that most of the Midland kids who are now babyboomers are either in the ground, filthy rich, or living beneath the downtown Colorado bridge. We are an interesting group though, you have to admit.

I hope KK is having fun with her gal-pals in the hill country. I know that when the men arrive on Friday they mow the meadow and dig holes in the ground so they can play golf. I can just see them now, the girls decked out in their jeans and boots, putting eagles while holding Bloody Mary's, telling dirty jokes, and talking about how screwed up their kids are.

Have fun KK, and lift one for the good old brown days of Midland,
SalGal

Someone is ALWAYS Watching

Lest you think that you can safely pick your nose in the semi-privacy of your own car at a stop light, you are mistaken! Even if you are the only car at that stoplight and it's 6:30 in the morning, there is someone in an office building who is sitting in front of their laptop at their desk with a mental block as they near their deadline...they're staring blindly out the 2nd story window into your car below. I'm just sayin.

The reason I started thinking about this is because yesterday, as I was passing the bathroom door, I spied SalGal looking at herself in the mirror. I stopped, about to say something to her when I realized that she was making faces to herself in the mirror. I froze...partly out of intense delight to be a fly on the wall without her knowledge and partly in fear of embarrassing her. My fly-on-the-wall delight won out over my respect for her so I just watched. She had an audition that afternoon so she was making faces of who she thought her character might be...FASCINATING, and so funny! At the end of her session in front of the mirror, she smiled a wide, tooth-filled smile to herself and then turned to discover me standing there. We laughed and laughed and laughed with her face the color of a tomato! What a life moment. Ahhhhh.

Whenever we trip over something, someone is always watching which is why we always look down and back at the ENORMOUS pebble that caused our clumsiness. When I have to pull down my granny panties after they've ridden up into no-man's land under my too-tight jeans, someone is always watching. I am of an age now where the need for pulling them out of there is more important than any silly embarrassment.

My Mister Two used to take his index finger and thumb and rub behind his right ear lobe...then put those fingers under his nose and rub them together to re-create the ear odor. It was something that he just had to do and, because he's a man, he didn't give a rat's ass if anyone saw him do it. I never said to him, "WHAT are you doing? That is completely gross. STOP it!" Even at a fancy dinner party when people would see him do it, I said nothing. I just had to put my head down and pretend that I was married to someone else that night.

When I used to wear panty hose the crotch area would lose its stretch and wind up half-way down my thighs so I performed a dance-like ritual where I would lift a leg straight out and up high in order to bring that area back into place. If I were more coordinated, it might have been mistaken for an Alvin Ailey jazz dance step, but I would up looking like a crane stretching her spindly leg prior to an awkward attempt at lift off. And, besides...who does an Alvin Ailey jazz dance high kick in the hallway of an office anyway?

You're thinking about what you do that people might be observing, aren't you? Someone is ALWAYS watching...be careful!

KK
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There are lots of things I like to do when nobody is looking:

Say my affirmations
Eat pork rinds
Watch 'The Ace of Cakes'
Play online Blackjack
Sing 'Tonight' out loud (West Side Story)
Take the stems out of mushrooms before I buy them -
Same thing with broccoli oh come on I'm not paying for broccoli stems
Load my purse with toothpicks from restaurant exits
Take paper hand-towels from The Four Seasons Ladies Room
Jaywalk on South Congress
Go outside on the front lawn and look at the stars
Kiss my cat Buddy on his nose
Give the homeless guy at 'Loop 1' a dollar
Tell myself I'm okay
Thank the universe for my sweet KK
Throw rocks at grackles on the birdbath
Shoot the finger at the guy who lets his dog shit on our lawn
Drink milk from the carton in the fridge
Play-like I'm Katherine Hepburn

I don't care if anyone sees me do this stuff as long as they don't tell,
SalGal

Daddys

I love the word, Daddy. It just sounds like someone you would love. Of course, I tend to think about things as if they are chapters from a good southern novel, so a Daddy for me connotes a big, strong, handsome man in uniform in an old black and white Polaroid from 1943. He’s with his Navy buddies on a crowded ship in the middle of the Pacific. They’re off duty, drunk, smoking and playing poker on an overturned bucket from their bunks below deck.

I picture a Daddy tying his little girl’s shoe laces and teaching her how to make the loop go under and through. He is patient and funny. The little girl knows her life parameters from the inside of his embrace. When she looks up at him, she knows his strength. She hears laughter roar from his mouth, then drift down to her level as cool air does from a ceiling fan on a hot day. That’s enough to make anyone smile.

A Daddy to me is someone who is more comfortable and emotionally available with his baby girl child than he could ever be with his wife…just those moments in time where his intimacy is distinctly a Daddy’s, vulnerable and sweeter than a chocolate truffle. His little girl is the prettiest, smartest and toughest prodigy on the planet…and he’d beat up anyone who disagreed.

Daddys smell of fresh aftershave and starch. When they’re dressed up, they look so smart. They seem indestructible and pretty at the same time. To see a Daddy open the door for his daughter, no matter what age, is crushing in its simplicity and gentleness. To watch this couple dance can break the heart. To see a Daddy kiss his baby girl goodbye on her way to college can make you cry in your car as you drive by…a total stranger, brought to your knees with that soft, sweet gesture.

Daddys are protective of their young ladies. You’d better be a better man than her Daddy if you want to marry his daughter. He’ll watch you and if you hurt her, he will act like he could kill you, but he’ll rush to her aid and tell her to forget all about you instead because, “Daddy’s here now.” Daddys buy their girls the best presents when they’re sad. Nothing is too good or costs too much for a Daddy to see her smile again.

And, if a Daddy’s young woman-girl has a baby girl of her own, he’ll melt at the sight of her, swoon at her whimper and gasp when she giggles. He gets to do it all over again, and you’ll have to beg him to leave when it’s way past her bedtime. He’ll begrudgingly go home, and when he sees his own love, the woman who gave him his baby girl and her own girl, he’ll cry in her arms at the excruciating beauty the world can hold. Daddy’s an old softie.

A Daddy is even more handsome when his own skin is old and soft. He still smells of aftershave and starch, but also like a tree who will lose its leaves come Fall. He stands stooped like the tree, but with wisdom that comes from all the seasons of his growth. Daddy’s finally learn how lost their girls would be without them and how rooted they are in the periphery of those lives. They carry a predisposed sadness with them wherever they go, underneath their crooked smiles and inside their clothes…just waiting to go.

I have knowledge that Daddys are all of these things. My women friends tell me stories and I laugh and cry with them. I use their Daddys as my own. My Daddy died before I started school, went to my first dance or drove for the first time. He’s watching me though and smiling down at his baby girl child.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy

KK

If The Shoe Fits...

When someone who shall remain nameless (for now) accused me of having too many pairs of shoes, I found myself justifying the various functions for all of my shoes...or most of my shoes anyway. I was so proud to have many different rationalizations, I mean, reasons for so many shoes:

House slippers - I have open-toed slippers for summer, close-toed slippers for winter and a pair of slippers that have rubber soles for outside to pick up the paper and ones that are fluffy all over and only meant to be worn inside the house. Unfortunately, I wear house slippers more often than I would like.

Flip flops - I have only one pair of flip flops, but everyone should have at least ONE pair.

Sandals - There are the black pair for black pants, the brown ones for jeans and Fall wear (where it's still in the 90's in Texas), the Mexican huaraches to be worn with cropped pants, the sliver sandals for evenings out and the bronze sandals that match my bronze cuff and earrings. Who would wear silver sandals with bronze earrings...hellllllooo?

Mules - (I wonder why they call them that?) The black ones with two-inch heels for when I don't care about being 6'1," the flat, hand-painted ones with the Japanese theme, the cream- colored flats for casual wear and the multi-colored ones to wear with just about everything.

Espadrilles - when I don't care about people seeing my bunion bulging sideways from my right big toe...I wear the flat kind with cotton canvas...blue, black, white/beige-striped, 2 multi-colored and the beige pair just for fun.

Ballet slippers - when I feel like my feet look Sasquatchian...the black, cream, brown suede and the silver ones make me feel like doing pirouettes around the room. I do not wear all of them at once.

Moccasins - I'm from the Southwest and I do not apologize for having these comfy feet coverings. I have black suede Indian mocs that fold over at the ankle and tie with a leather strap...like real American Indians who sell cheap, fake turquoise jewelry on the plaza in Santa Fe...these mocs can only be worn with jeans...and another pair with the little beads forming a Thunderbird pattern on the top. I've got green driving mocs and white ones with white gwoe-gwain wibbon as an accent.

Loafers/flats - I haven't worn a single pair of these since I quit my office day job. I should give them away as an affirmation that I'll NEVER GO BACK. I see panty hose every time I look at those shoes!

Boots - I have the tall, black cowboy boots with the high, riding heel, Wellies in case someone asks me to meet them in jolly old England, brown Roper riding boots (even though I'm a cowgirl without portfolio at present) and brown hiking boots that don't see the light outside the closet much.

Sneakers - Well, who does NOT have a pair of Converse All Stars...mine are white with a low ankle to be worn when attempting to be casual chic. I also have a pair of 'walking' shoes that look like the kind an astronaut would change into on the space station after a brisk space walk.

Whew! When I started this list, I felt really confident that in fact, I DON'T have too many shoes. I now see some clearing out of my foot chi and a trip to GoodWill. Sheesh. I could at least give away two pair...hmmmmm...I think.

Walk on,

KK

PS-I haven't a single pair of fuck-me pumps. I'm 56 years old and 5'11." Need I say more?

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My feet are now shaped just like the heels I wore in high school. In the sixties they were pointed at the toe as opposed to rounded like in the forties. My toes look like they were stuffed into a baker's cone-paper-squeeze-out-the-decoration thingy and then left to gell. My second toe is a half inch-longer than my big toe so I have never in my life worn shoes with the toes out. And lets be honest, fuck-me pumps have to have that along with sling-backs or they're not authentic fuck-me pumps. Every time I've tried on those fabled Marilyn Monroe/Shelley Winters heels, the hole at the toe looked like some weird little armadillo penis was sticking out the end. Just gross no I can't do it ever..ever..ever!!

And yet...every woman in Texas has red toenails and wears thongs, sandals, open-toed shoes and flip flops with every imaginable adornment on them. As if that takes away from the fact that feet and toes are ugly and there's no getting around it. Is it just me? Well, it seems it is because KK told me the other day that Texas women don't care if their feet are ugly so why should I?

I had never thought of it that way before. I began to look at everybody's feet. I began staring at any feet that were in sandals or thongs; at the grocery store, the pool and even at the Our Lady of Monolo midnight mass at the east side 'Thank you Jesus for kid leather Catholic Church.' It's true!! Nobody cares!! What a revelation. It's just me!!!!

I wore a pair of KK's thong sandals the other day. I felt free. I felt like I had made a major change in my life. No one looked at my feet. Nobody even flinched. I had my 58th birthday on June 2nd and I'm a new woman! Yeehaw!!!!

SalGal

Embellish

I'm reading a wonderfully funny, bawdy book called, "My Horizontal Life" by Chelsea Handler...good light summer read about her one night stands, and because she knew they would only last one night, she would "embellish" her life history to match whatever the man might be looking for...for example:

"The next morning he rolled over and asked, "So, does your dad actually own American Airlines?" I turned over so that I wasn't facing him and cringed. "Yeah, why? Do you want to go somewhere?"

I still laugh out loud when I think of this...the ultimate example of embellishment. That got me thinking, of course.

An official definition of the word, embellish is:

1. To make beautiful, as by ornamentation; decorate.
2. To add ornamental or fictitious details to: a fanciful account that embellishes the true story.

I like both definitions... like lying while wearing too much jewelry. That appeals to me, but here's the thing...as a lier, I SUCK! That's a problem, I know. You may not think so, but sometimes one should lie if the only other choice is to hurt someone's feelings, right? I don't even do that well.

When your boss catches something you did or didn't do, you MUST lie under those circumstances in order to maintain the semblance of your perfect record to that point...or your JOB. I did this a time or two with my last employer, and as I lied to his face, I could see on his face that he soooo knew I was lying, but was willing to go along with it in order to play the 'human' game that we all play every day. What a gem he was! He knew I was 'embellishing' because of the red in my cheeks and the laser-eyed look I gave him which was out of the norm. We would dance the dance and he would always let me save face, so that worked out great.

If you say that you've never 'embellished' your resume, I'll be forced to call you a damn liar. It's amazing how much responsibility you can add to the role of receptionist. By the time you're ready to send out that resume, your receptionist duties far exceed anything that the CEO might have on his resume...and your "work from home" job description is a doozy when all you were really doing was chasing little Tommy with the snotty nose. As a former 'medical transcriptionist' who worked from home, I might as well have been a real doctor for all the embellished 'duties' that wound up on my resume...all the while in my pajamas typing boring medical histories between Ellen DeGeneres' guests.

I say...what would life be without embellishments of all kinds...go ahead, wear too much jewelry while lying your ass off. You're not ALONE!

KK

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I like to embellish everything in my life. I want my food garnished, my ears jeweled and my realilty upgraded. Reality is so boring at times, isn't it? I like to give it a little drama and spice up my stories with some more interesting events. If I see Mathew McGoneghy at a party then my story at the next one is that he and I sat in a hot tub and talked for four hours about how to make the perfect Margarita. What the hell, he'll never know.

KK tells stories with a flourish. Bold, sweeping movements are involved and at the end of the story the applause and laughter are so grand that she is want to bow to her knees with both arms out like swans in flight. Queen Elizabeth would be impressed. See how I embellished this last paragraph? It's fun, try it.

So lets go out there into the real world today and do our best to embellish it for ourselves and everybody we see. Go ahead and sing out loud at the dry-cleaners, wear a bracelet that drips with Cubic Zerconias with your flip-flops and jeans and make a really glittery sign for the homeless guy down by the freeway.

Excuse me while I go throw rose petals on The Ancient One,
SalGal

New Posts at Health Central!

We've done our nutty blogs and a video, and they are now up on Health Central Network! Just click HERE and enjoy!

And, I have a P.S. on our last blog about hudlooms. I got THIS email just yesterday! I'll bet you've gotten these...does anyone know what the hell they are???

Of atlas.extensive plantations of olives.village receipts
remained stationary. There was a certain i was alive. I
endeavoured at first to conceal their costume is a jelabea,150
and a belt, without in four rows, each row consisting of
a line of go back to the public school, dave, and yet she
answered it. One gets awfully intimate in a few or probabilities,
and since she did not want 5obek to take enlightenment from
trivial details, noted it. But one has to get accustomed
the usual servant i was, and where i was from, and where
i was going vault and making a centre in the north. These
the diningroom where the thoughtful m'leod's had had the
feeling of being back in a nightmare which and the woolja,
and entered mogodor at four o'clock,.

Hmmmmmm. What a fascinating story!

KK

Be Careful of The Hudlooms

Mr. "Ibrahim Lamorde" sent SalGal an email the other day. The subject line read, "OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENCY/BE CAREFUL OF THE HUDLOOMS"

Here was the first paragraph:

"Based on the findings of this investigation department, we wish to warn some touts. We have been informed that some touts are contacting you i of the colection of your fund in the total sum of $35 Million U.S. Do was long approved in your favor through the WEMA BANK PLC."

Here is my question...Do these people (usually from third world countries) think that we in the United States are all just complete dumbbells? I mean, some of us ARE complete dumbbells, but there are a WHOLE lot of us who know a scam when we read one...except that Sal and I can't even figure this one out...do they want to give us money or have us give them money for arresting the 'tout's who have stolen our $35 Million U.S. Do?

Thank God for our spam agents out there in cyber space tracking down these 'hudlooms.' I think it's pretty safe to say that Mr. "Ibrahim Lamorde" is not going to be upset or think about suing me for liable because I'm talking about him in our very public blog. As a matter of fact, I would wager all my egg money on the fact that this is not his real name. What do you bet?

How many times have you all won THE U.K. LOTTERY in millions of pounds sterling?? I think we're all RICH! I'm going to wait to spend my money until the checque has cleared. It WON'T clear, you say? Pish posh...why I've won more merchandise than just about anyone i no, including all the 'touts.'

Please, let's all thank our spam agents for saving us from the Ibrahims of the cyberworld...and if you know of anyone who falls for this malarky, please confine them to a living space without access to mail or email or telephones!

KK

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I had to save that letter it was so hilarious. I still can't figure out what the 'touts'' are. Here's another paragraph from that letter
"Although we have been able to come up with some good result about the pepl who have extorted money from you illegallyand i wish to llst some of them will personally indicatee them by writing back to us because we want to paymtn to you without any delay but we must surely deal wand bring the book if only you will indicate correctly any oif them."

And here are a few of the names:
Dr.ken in U S A
Mr. Benson Wolly Fedex Courier Service
Mr CUPPA ACOKA. FEDERAL GOVERNMENT OF NIGERIA
Fred Azu
Mr. Ernest Chukwudi Ebi

Uh, Dr. ken who? and give me a cuppa coka...AZU!! Gazundtiet..and how much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?

Listen, forget about all of this scullduggery and just be smart and delete every email you get from the UK or Nigeria.

Hey! You there reading this blog! Yer are one millionth reader and youwon prise of $800,00,000,00 poundsterling! Arnt' you exxiyted? All you has to do is sen me five hundred dollars and I will putdraftmones in your bank acoutn. What is you bankaccont # anyway? And kyou name and address. Yu can trust medeerest one and watchout for skammmers!

Your frieind in Budha,
SalGla