Sunday, September 30, 2007

Technology II

More about technology for the middle-aged:

I want to meet the electronic woman who talks to me when I dial directory assistance. I think I would like her. She's so polite even when I get impatient. She always says, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand you." That's a problem that I have with real human beings. Many, many years ago, directory assistance used to be called, Information...just information, so that's the way I used it. When I wanted "information," I called those skilled at giving me the answers. SalGal and I were in our twenties (way before Google gave us all the information...way before home computers), and we got the munchies after smoking pot, so we decided we wanted some gingerbread. We HAD to have gingerbread. We had all the ingredients except for molasses. Knowing that we were too stoned to drive, we decided to substitute the Karo syrup that we had in the pantry. Then we got paranoid about how it would turn out, so I called "Information."

Back in the day, the operators actually identified themselves. I got Rebecca. She asked me what number I would like, and I said that I had a different problem. I explained our situation..."Rebecca, can we substitute Karo syrup for molasses in a gingerbread recipe?" She replied, "Absolutely NOT. You have to use molasses or it doesn't get nice and brown like real gingerbread. I know this because gingerbread happens to be one of my specialties." We had a fifteen minute conversation about it...well, she's the one who talked for fifteen minutes about the gingerbread houses that she makes for Christmas. Because I was so stoned, it was the most fascinating conversation I'd ever had. At the end of it, I said, "Rebecca, are you bored with your job?" To which she replied, "KK, I am so glad for calls like this. Can you imagine looking up telephone numbers for strangers all day long, never knowing who the other person is on the line?"

I then said, "Okay then, I have another question to help you pass the time. SalGal and I have been playing Gin Rummy, and we differ on how to score the game. Would you know anything about that?" Rebecca's reply, "Hold on just a minute." I then was privy, as she conferenced in a call to her husband. "Honey, I have a gal on the line who has a question about scoring Gin Rummy. Can you help her?" Rebecca said to me, "KK, my hubbie just happens to be a Gin master and judge at Gin Rummy tournaments." SalGal and I were given the rules on scoring Gin Rummy by Rebecca's husband, Rick...more rules than we ever wanted to know.

After an hour and a half on the phone with "Information," Rick and Rebecca were our new best friends. When we finally hung up after declaring our stoned-out endearing love and gratitude for eternity to our new pals, SalGal and I realized that humanity comes in some pretty weird shapes, sizes and voices. We spent the rest of the evening playing kick-ass games of Gin while eating our delicious gingerbread!

So, the next time you get the electronic woman, say the word, "operator," and when you get a human being, I dare you to ask them something that will catch them off guard, something that they might want to talk about. See how long you can engage another human on the phone with a question like, "What's your dream? Do you have children? What do they like to do? Where do you live and how's the weather where you are? ANYthing...oh, but, smoking a doobie beforehand will help you if they decide to play the game.

Dial on!

PS- let us know your stories via email to hehehe.


Boy, those were the good old days when you got actual people on the phone right off the bat and they actually talked to you. Speaking of technology, the seventies were primitive. If the phone rang you had to go to where it was and answer it. You were always trying to uncoil the cord that went from the ear part to the body of the telephone. I remember later than that when somebody told me that there was a machine that would send a document from your telephone line to another machine hooked up to another telephone line across town and it would only take 20 minutes. That blew everybody's mind and now people don't even FAX that much anymore because you can email everything anyway.

That's why we babyboomers are so technically challenged. All of this stuff was science fiction and now it's true and developing even faster than anybody could imagine. I think Bill Gates is an alien who came to Earth to bring us up to the knowledge of the mother planet. The next thing you know he will be making personal home worm holes so we can travel in nanoseconds to the mother planet.
Did you ever see that 'Twilight Zone' episode where the aliens came to earth and made it an Eden of plenty while using a book that nobody could translate? People were travelling to the mother planet in droves while this guy was finally translating the title of the alien book which was called, 'To Serve Mankind'. Very altruistic you might think. So the guy's girlfriend decided to see what the fuss was about the beautiful mother planet that nobody ever came back from because it was so perfect and such a happy planet. Just as she was entering the spaceship her boyfriend came running up to the ship, waving the book and screaming, 'It's a COOKBOOK! IT'S A COOKBOOK!' But it was too late. The door closed and she was gone. Nyuck,nyuck.

I think Bill Gates is an alien and developing us for some ulterior motive of his planet and the book he is using is called, 'Making the World Fun', but it is actually a 'how-to' manual from his planet to turn all humans into blobs so we can be invaded and used as intelligent toys for their planet's children. Sort of like smart Teddy Bears.
So get off your ass and go talk to plants in the garden or run the marathon or something. Don't let Bill Gates win!!!

Friday, September 28, 2007


How midlife gardening differs (for me):

I'ts probably safe to say that most midlife gals are great gardeners. They probably get out there and water those flowers and plants on a regular basis and prune and pluck and do all that is neccessary to produce beautiful gardens. I know SalGal does, and that's great.

I do not, although, I do love 'manicured nature.' That's why I love to watch golf on TV because wherever they play, the grounds are mowed, the flowers are tended to, the trees are gigantic and taken care of and there are boundaries between the manicured nature and the nature beyond the foul line, which is wild, overgrown and obviously ignored. Of course, after a golf tournament, the grounds are ruined from spectators pounding the grass from a lush green to a dead brown and the divets produced by the golfers after they swing look very much like very tiny moon craters. But, the grounds keeperrs have a year to put everything back to normal before the golfers come back and do it again.

If it needs light, water or food, I'm not interested. That's why I like ivys. Those fools will grow anywhere. The cats can eat them, they don't give a shit about light really and they will continue to live even as their withered leaves beg for a drink. See, my problem is that I OVERwater. Whenever I'm thirsty, I figure they must be too. I'm too protective of them. I don't give them enough credit, I guess.

A friend of mine once asked me to take care of all of her outdoor plants and flowers while she went away (for way too long, if you ask me). I warned her. I told her that I'm not good at plant care, but she pleaded, so, okay, I said. In my zeal to be faithful and disciplined in her plants' care, I went over every single day to water them. At first they seemed to like it, so I figured that if you like something, you should have more of it, right? Wrong. When she returned, she called me over to see the damage I had done. She showed me a large barrel of what had once been happy flowers with soil to nurture them, but I had to agree with her that if you can't see the soil for the water floating on top, that's probably a situation of overkill.

SalGal actually speaks to her garden. All of her plants have names like, Steve, Elvira, Spook, Fern, Wonder Woman and the like. When I see her talking to the flowers, I worry about her. I fear for her sanity, but I pretend not to notice. If she ever goes out of town, I'm fucked because she might ask me to tend to them. She uses sprinklers, which seems like a fine idea to me, so I like to leave the sprinklers on all night long. It's just easier and I don't have to worry about moving the sprinkler like she does. There are too many mosqueetos and bugs out there and they like the water too, especially standing water, which I tend to create...ponds of standing water.

I'll probably never be asked to write for a gardeners magazine, huh?


See, KK just doesn't understand that plants and pets like to be appreciated. Plants' vibrations are even slower than animals so they don't think much about anything but they can feel the vibrations going on in the garden and they can feel if they are appreciated. Then they give you beautiful flowers. It's easy. KK is afraid of them so they stick her and shrink in her presence. They're like horses, they can feel your fear and then they freak out and die.
Plants like it when you breath on them. It's a scientific fact that the air from your breath gives them some sort of nitrogen or hydrogen or something and they feel good about themselves. Attentiion makes them flourish so I talk to them and encourage them to produce flowers for me as I water them.
Elanor creates tiny white flowers that smell like heaven but the birds keep eating her top leaves off. So I put a St. Francis statue next to her and asked him to love the birds and ask them to stop munching on Elanor. Daisy was growing out all over the place until the racoons decided to plop down in the middle of her and now she is like an old lady whose boobs and appendages are spread out all over the place. There are often problems in the garden.
The ancient one (our mother) saw only grass from her bedroom window so I created a secret garden out her window. It's mostly in the shade but some things like it away from the sun. I planted a Bouganvilla in the corner and named him 'Boogeyman'. I put a pink flowering plant named 'Elvira' next to a hybiscus that produces giant red blossoms six inches in radius named 'Fantasia'. The I planted a two foot high elephant ear plant in the middle of everything to fill in because they get huge.
Here's the secret with elephant ears, they like it when you talk dirty to them. This works because my elephant ears are now seven feet tall and becoming giant. I just go out there and talk dirty to 'Spook', that's his name, and the next day he has a two foot long hard-on poking straight up from the middle and the next day it turns into a three foot long leaf. Try it, 'Come on now, Spook, you know you like it when I breathe on your strong, protruding stem...etc.'

So go out there and talk to your garden and don't worry if people think you are crazy. They are missing out on a whole, beautiful world of lovely smells, incredible blossoms and down and dirty sex.

Stop and smell the roses,
Sal Gal

Wednesday, September 26, 2007


How midlife listmaking differs:

Here is my midlife list for today:

1. Check daily horoscope and proceed thusly
2. Eat the last chocolate cupcake with vanilla buttercream icing for breakfast
3. Remember to take Ginko Baloba for memory enhancement
4. Try not to strangle The Ancient One
5. Write a blog posting (check!)
6. Organize logistics for errand-running:

a) don't honk or shoot the finger at fellow drivers
b) fill tank w/gas and ask attendant in sweet, Texas voice, to scrape off bird poop on roof
c) buy lottery tickets and scratch-offs for future fortune
d) have double cheeseburger with hickory sauce at Sonic
e) pick up Valium prescription

7. Tape Dancing With The Stars
8. Do yoga
9. Think about quitting smoking (nah.)
10. Buy carton of Winstons

As you can see, I have a very busy day. I'd better get to it!


Once again ditto on the above list except I wouldn't write it down because I don't have time to make lists. And I will be taping 'SAW' on HBO instead of Dancing With The Stars. I start to make a list of the garden tools I need but then I see that the buganvilla needs to be trimmed so that list has to wait. And then I was making a list of stuff I need to make vichisoise (sp?) but I saw we had the stuff to make a cheese souffle so I made that instead. Then I wanted to make a list of people I need to call for producing my documentary but Dr. Phil was on and then they all called me later anyway. So I guess I do have a list but it is a list of the lists I need to make. And that's about as far as it gets before KK throws it away because it was askew on the the table and she doesn't like messy table tops. I should go now and make a list of things I'm not going to do so I'll remember not to do them.
Put reading our blog every day on your list,

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


How midlife writing differs:

Here's my advice to all you youngsters who want to write (I'm including anyone 40 or younger in this category)...write it all down! Write what happens to you in your life, because at my age, it's hard as hell to remember what happened. However, this produces the umbrella effect of "artistic license" which holds so much promise for me. I can just make the shit up. My life history does speak volumes about bizarre choices I've made which makes for good stories that are true. Then I can just "elaborate.'

I'm writing my first novel, "A Texan Goes to Nirvana." It's a comic mystery based 'loosely' on a very strange, month-long experience I had at an ashram to acquire a yoga teaching certificate. I'm having to change all names and locations to protect the 'guilty,' and both artistic license and memory loss are my excuses for embellishment and 'the creative process.' Those ashramites were ODD, so I don't have to change much about those descriptions, and since I've discovered the very same ashram that I went to on a website called,, I feel fully justified in all the personal cynicism I held while at the place.

Since I'm single, I have had fun with the male protagonist in my novel. But, because I'm single, haven't had sex with anyone but myself for over a year and I'm a writer, I've created a character with whom I have fallen deeply in love. I made him just the way I wanted him, and when writers talk about how their characters come to life, I'm having a ball with my new 'boyfriend!' You'll love him too. He's witty, tall, handsome, in law enforcement, and he's mad for me too!

I don't want any male HUMAN readers of my blog to be intimidated by my imaginary beau, however. Just know that he's a hard act to follow.

Next I'll write about a perfect life with lots of money and friends and a big-ass mansion and first-class travel and fame and fortune. Apparently, my imagination is strong enough to fulfill expectations in all those areas, so I can't complain!

PS-Speaking of writing, you can now view my essay on 'Shoes' on the International Museum of Women's website at;=0&id;=1402⟨=1&g;=0
Just click on my photo (Kelly Jackson/United States) in the right-hand column. Enjoy...or re-enjoy! They did edit my profanity and changed "fuck-me pumps" to "sex-me pumps" which loses a bit in translation, but I get their 'international' point.


Well, that might be a little too much information about you having sex with yourself in a post about writing and I'm sure all the youngsters really wanted to hear about that. I haven't had sex with anybody in so long I don't think I would know how anymore but maybe it's like riding a bicycle and I would remember if I should get another chance at it. But back to writing....I think I'm having a writer's block right now. Maybe the key to writer's block is writing about having writer's block. Yeah, that's it. Let's see...writer's block, writer's block...

Saturday, September 22, 2007


How midlife redecorating differs:

If someone says to me, "Let's move my couch 3 inches to the left," I will have their entire living room completely redecorated in half an hour. The Ancient One was an artist, as was our Daddy, so we got the design genes, the placement DNA and the control issues...well, we've already covered that in another blog, but redecorating lends itself well to seeking control of one's environment...or someone else's environment.

I'm all about the CHI (now that I know what it is), and ya gotta keep the chi moving, clear things out, move them around, or your physical atmosphere will leave you stuck like glue to the sameness of it all. I move my furniture around about every six months when I've had one glass of wine too many of an evening. It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys to me...and when I'm done, I've got immediate, physical feedback of my handiwork that makes me feel pretty dern good about myself. Of course, when my friends come over, sometimes they forget that the chair is no longer in its usual spot and wind up parked on the floor by accident. They're befuddled by my move-abouts but always seem to love it.

So, last night, The Ancient One suggested that we move her couch about 3 inches to the right, and VOILA! This morning, the entire living room is completely different down to the paintings on the walls and all the objet d'art. SalGal always knows that I can't be stopped when the redecorating bugs climb on me, so she's totally game to help me move the chi! And, her sense of design far outshines mine, because she doesn't need to have the right angles I do. She can make a corner look like a page from House and Garden in a matter of minutes.

So, GET UP from your computer!...look around...move just two pieces of heavy furniture, and you'll end up with an entirely new room. Give shit to Good Will and hang your paintings LOW because when people come to your house they always sit down. Move that CHI!

Tomorrow, SalGal and I will tackle our closets after we have our nightly wine buzz going, so you'll probably hear about that too!


PS-Some of my blog essays have been accepted as a featured story by a groovy online magazine called, The Daily Confection, and when they're posted, I'll let you know. I will also have some musings on another great website called, The International Museum of Women. I'll spread the word when that happens, but check them out at


It was fun moving the whole house around the other night but now I have a crick in my neck and I can't even move my head around to see what we did. KK likes my decorating because I make corners and table tops into little stages. Being an actor and having my roots in the theatre, I make vignettes out of stuff and make sure they are perfectly lit. I might put a glass of flowers from the garden next to a book with a picture of Tony Bennett on it(the ancient one's favorite book) on the desk and then light it with a forties type reading lamp. Voila! You have the 'I Left My Heart in San Francisco' corner on the desk. I think I'll do a 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' corner on the kitchen counter. I could get the hatchet from the garage and that dead bird I saw in the yard and the chicken in the fridge and some ketchup and....hahahahah!!! That would freak KK out! OMG I'm laughing so hard right now I have to stop...I can see the look on KK's face right now...hahahaha....

Friday, September 21, 2007

TV Premiere Week!

How midlife TV viewing differs:

I'll just go ahead and confess up front that I'm a TV slut. It had me at hello back in the fifties when there were three channels and David Brinkley was saying Goodnight, not hello to Chet Huntley. So, I'm excited about all the new shows starting this week and my old standards coming back.

Because I can't see my readers' faces, it's easier to say that Survivor is my favorite program. No apologies. And, they're in CHINA this year. SalGal and I have watched this program since the naked, tax dodging Richard Hatch won the first competition. It's shameful, I know. Here is an insight into just how sick I am about the new programs bursting forth:

Cable rules! I watch Curb Your Enthusiasm, Weeds, Entourage (except it's over for now), Top Chef, Iron Chef (any kind of chef, actually) and Paula Dean is just about the most adorable chef on the tube. Saving Grace is a great show that I just stumbled upon. That little bitty Holly Hunter has more spunk and irreverence than a woman half her age and twice her size.

On the major networks, I watch, Brothers and Sisters, House, Ellen DeGeneres, Good Morning America, Oprah (because, mark my words, I'm going to BE on Oprah someday), All My Children (I've been involved with the gang in Pine Valley since the day it started), ER, Sunday Morning, Face the Nation and Meet The Press. Here's the most embarrassing thing I could ever admit...I can't wait for Dancing With the Stars. I got sucked in last year and can't wait to see Wayne Newton dancing around in my living room!

Since SalGal rags on me all the time in this blog, I'm turning the tables today. The woman will watch ANYthing on TV. I came around the corner the other night to see a gastric bypass surgery program she was watching...with the blood and the fat and the surgeons and everything. She excuses herself by saying, "But, it's on the History Channel." Intervention is one of her favorite programs when she's not watching Court TV, Judge Judy or Dr. Phil. I have boundaries, but SalGal is a trash-viewing sponge, especially if Dateline is showing a murder mystery or child predators at the end of the day. She'll respond to this essay, so, don't listen to any of her lame excuses. She is worse than I am, and that's a fact.

Oh, I almost forgot. Major golf tournaments are my most exciting sports programs. I LIVE for the Masters and the Ryder Cup. I get a lot of shit for this one from my lady friends who compare it to watching paint dry. They scoff as I describe it as the most ZEN program on television.

There you have it. If I am what I eat and I am what I watch on television, I'm in deep trouble, wouldn't you say? Except for the ones who totally agree with my viewing choices. In that case, my 'tribe has spoken!'


Okay, I'll admit it, I love the flashy trash. I look forward to Psychic Detective, Hauntings, Mega Disasters and The Next Food Network Star. I Want To Be A Soap Star rocks. I am a film acting coach so that one is hilarious. I also go to an acting class every Saturday. In the last three months I've had the priveledge of playing and old Indian woman, an out of control, pissed off wife caught in a tree while being surrounded by fifteen foot long Monitor lizards, a witch and Amy on the West Wing. My teacher loves to 'stretch' my acting muscles as he calls it and I'm game. Acting is like a drug. It's not a choice we make to do this thing, it's a compulsion. It's like food... or sex... or lying down nekked on the tomatoes at the Randall's produce section. We can't help it.

So anyway I like the shows that are stories with actors the most. I had a great audition last week for a huge movie and I did really well. I will let you know when I get a callback and give you the info on the movie as we go along.


Wednesday, September 19, 2007


How midlife beauty differs:

Sal Gal and I have decided to be 35 and 37. She's 37, and I'm 35. It just sounds better and feels better too. Until, of course, we have to put our mascara on in one of those magnifying mirrors that makes you look like your face is one BIG eye. My eyelids have creeped down to produce their own double chins, so I have to really open my eyes wide and lift my eyebrows in order to put eye shadow on. And, speaking of eyebrows, mine are going bald so I have to use a pencil to 'fill in.' I'm thinking of tattooing eyebrows on so I can eliminate one more step in my beauty regimen, but then I'd have to glue individual hairs on top of that so I wouldn't look like Marlene Dietrich!

Any TV commercial promising that their product will do three things in one for you, like eliminate crow's feet, plump the undereye area and lighten it is just LYING. It's like they think we are complete idiots who believe that crap. I know they are lying because I've bought every product that makes these promises. Granted, they got me to purchase it, but only once! My eyes have 'character.' They look back at me in the mirror and say, "KK, you've earned every one of these crow's feet. Considering how you've abused our skin and forgotten to moisterize at the end of the day, we look pretty dern good.

SalGal puts baby oil on her face every OIL! If I did that, my face would be just one big zit at all times. And, that lipstick that promises to stay on all day long...pish posh! That's bullshit unless you apply the clear plastic coating on top of it every 30 minutes...and what man would want to kiss that plastic coating, I mean, really?!

I used to like facials too, but now I look forward to them like I look forward to a mammogram. They scrape, tweeze and squeeze those blackheads, white heads and red heads until my face is cratered like the moon. And, because they want you to come back, they then fill the craters with HEAVY cream so that you'll have to come back. At the end of a facial, they give me a neck massage with the same heavy cream, making every hair on the back of my head stick straight out in the back. Because they wrap the top of my forehead to keep the cream off my bangs, they end up plastered to the top of my head so that I look very much like Bozo the Clown with bed head. Don't ever plan an evening out after a facial the same day. And, here's the worst...because a facialist has a bird's eye, close-up view of my nostrils, I try to give my nose a good blow before I go in. At one facial appointment I recently had, the gal said to me, " have a 'bat at the cave entrance'...let's just PLUCK that right out." The pain was worse than a bikini wax, forcing an involuntary, giant SNEEZE right in her face. I'm too embarrassed to ever go back to HER again.

So much for being 35...


I wish I had your problem with the whole eyebrow thing. My problem is just the opposite. If I don't keep them plucked and shaped 3 times a week they will grow together over my nose and form a widow's peak that points down to my mouth. I would look like Bella Lagosi in drag.
I take my eye makeup off every night with baby oil and then rub what's left all over my face because I heard 30 years ago that Cleopatra and the Egyptian women had beautiful skin because they put oil all over themselves every day. They used olive oil though and I didn't want to treat my face like an Italian entree. Seeing as how people always think KK and I are twins and constantly ask us who is the older sister, my baby oil regimin seems to be workin just fine. Oh, this really irks KK to the point where now whenever we introduce ourselves to people she immediately says, 'She's older!' Thanks a lot, KK. One of these days I'm going to bitchslap her in front of everybody. She says, 'Put yourself in my shoes about this why don't you!' Well I have and every time I do my feet hurt.
Here's the thing; I should be the one who is jealous because KK is the prettiest woman you've ever seen. When we go out together people always think she's Jamie Lee Curtis (the Mother in Freaky Friday). They really do and they approach her. I, on the other hand, am a handsome woman and sometimes mistaken for Lyle Lovitt. Oh, well, what can you do.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and if you're walking at night downtown so is your wallet.
So...look pretty but keep those Revlon Robin's Egg Blue shadowed eyes open and have a nice day1

Monday, September 17, 2007


How midlife organization differs:

I like right angles. I love neat piles. I do have piles, but they're tidy and orderly. I also like compartments. The Container Store is my Neiman Marcus. If left to my own devices, I would purchase everything in the store including those all-important organizational impulse items at the check-out counter. I would have containers for the containers to go in. OK, I do have containers for the containers to go in, and all of my keys are color-coded.

Compartments are essential at this age because of midlife memory. If I put something in one of my 120 compartments, I always know where to find it. I need a power nap after looking through the 60th compartment for a lost item, but I know it's in one of them.

When I travel, I make notebooks with, hotels, mappage, things to do, contact list information and miscellaneous. I have to have a bigger purse, but that's organized too. I love purses with zipper pouch inside a purse is just not enough. If I were a geek, I would wear one of those plastic thingys on the front pocket of a blouse for all of my pens. I just think you need more than one pen wherever you go.

I have been chided by my friends, who think I fall into the anal-retentive category, which is the one that comes after the organizational group. That's okay, because they can't find things and I can.

Sometimes I realize that organization can go a bit too far so I do things on purpose to try to balance it all out. If I see an area rug whose angles are not in correct angular position to the layout of the room, I will try as hard as I can to just leave it that way for a day or two. I can never go longer than a day or two at most because that's all I see when I enter the room, I dream about it being askew at night and I know that it's off angle even though I'm in another room and I can't see it. The same holds true for paintings that are out of alignment. You can be sure I straighten paintings at other people's homes, hotels and doctor's office waiting rooms. I can't help it. And, there is always someone who says, "I am so glad you did that, because I wanted to do that." 'Then, DO it,' I think.

This is not all my fault. I had a husband once who organized the trash...not separating things out for recycling but organizing the actual trash in the trash can. He thought it looked too messy. I had to draw the line somewhere, so I got rid of the husband and kept the propensity for neatness.

Let's get organized!


Once again sorry for the late additional post but I am really working hard on producing my documentary, full length film. More on this later.

I must say my life has become much more organized since KK moved in. I live my life as KK calls it, 'organically' and I know she wishes I was in a compartment too but I would escape and she knows that. Besides, what would she file me under? Chaos?? Three dimensional expression of awareness?? Organic and hazardous material? Ah, that's it.

It doesn't bother me if the batteries are in my lingerie drawer (in fact that makes sense if you think about it), if the miscellaneous drawer in the kitchen looks like the set-dressers from a scary movie did it or if the stack of magazines to read on the coffee tabel is one foot tall (this really makes her crazy). Sometimes I do things on purpose to disrupt her world, just for fun. Like once I put the tall glasses in the short glass compartment in the dishwasher. This rattled her no end. And then I put all the pens point side up in the cup on our desk and I thought she was going to stab me with one of them. Sometimes I like to move things around on her computer desk and then watch as she tries to figure out what she had done. This makes me laugh so hard I have to run into the bathroom and bury my head in a towel so she won't hear me. Her memory is so bad she thinks she caused the disarray. Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.

I have compartments and containers too but they are in the garage and I forget what's in them. I think my highschool prom dress is in one of them and I know I have a box of containers somewhere. But that box is probably in another box where I keep alphabetical, organizer tabs and labels in case I ever need them.

Contain yourselves,

Saturday, September 15, 2007


How midlifers view doctors:

Here's the deal. I'm a woman and I go to a woman doctor. I have always been suspicious of male doctors who choose the field of gynecology as their 'area of expertise.' How many female proctologists do you suppose there are? I want someone who has the same parts that I do. And, why would a woman marry a male gynecologist? I mean, would you think he would want to have anything to do with your 'secret garden' after looking at some pretty skanky, overgrown, diseased, weedy types all day long?? Forget it if he's attractive too. That's just the worst!

Then you have your breast exam, and if he is cute, it's the most humiliating feel up a woman can have. I know I'm getting some 'Amens' out there, right ladies? The whole experience is icky through and through.

I had a female, jewish Italian gynecologist in New York who once told me that I had one of the most beautiful uterus's (or would that be uteri?) that she'd ever seen. I stopped going to her too.

When we go to doctors at this age, we just want them to say that we're the picture of health...that we should keep smoking, don't worry about how many cocktails we have a week and eat whatever the hell we want to eat...cholesterol be damned. We want them to say that our spider veins will disappear, that our moles will all get smaller, that middle-age makes small boobs grow larger, not longer and that our sagging butts will lift all by themselves. That's the kind of doctor I'm still looking for, and it would only cost me $10.

I'm open to any referrals you might have.


Well, I'm sorry it took me so long to add my part of this category but it brought up some bad memories and I am very busy producing my documentary. More on that later.
I dated a gynocologist in Santa Fe in the 80's and he was the tallest, most gorgeous man you ever saw but he was a cad. I knew he was a man-about-town but I was flattered when he zeroed in on me. And I wanted to know why he never stuck with one woman. Unfortunately, I found out that it was the other way around. No woman wanted to stick with him. He started getting a little kinky on me and I didn't like that. I don't like to be slapped or come at from the back. I like fun sex where you laugh and connect with someone. He also kept complaining about how women always come to their appointments with baby powder all over their vajayjays and he had gotten to the point where he just couldn't stand any women who used baby powder in any way. I have to say though, he new more about my body than I did and that made for some good fun. For awhile.

If sex isn't fun don't do it that's what I say,

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Self Help

How midlife self help differs:

We need it, we crave it and we're looking for God in a pin-striped suit with a microphone ear piece stalking the stage to tell us all the answers, aren't we? Be honest. Jesus in Ferragamos, Buddha with a flow chart of answers.

Well, I just wish God didn't put those seminars on in a cheap guest suites hotel in a small room where the ceilings are too low. I would believe him more if it had taken place at a Four Seasons in the ball room or even in the living room of someone's mansion in front of a roaring fireplace for background effect.

The one we went to see was enormously helpful for about 30 minutes of the two hours, and because we wanted all the answers, we sat for most of his presentation until..........he got the bottle of snake oil out. He glanced quickly at his watch to make sure that he had enough time at the end to make the sales pitch, and that's when he lost us. We kept trying to get past the fact that his smile was forced, that his schpiel was rehearsed and that we were much more enlightened than the rest of the seekers in the audience. When he got out the white board to write down the savings that we would all enjoy by signing up for his two-day seminar coming up and how little it would cost just to add the home study CDs, we lost it. His voice kept rising while asking for vocal support from the seekers, trying to whip us all into a frenzy over the opportunity to give him only $2,356 instead of the regular weekend price of $5000! Wrong. SalGal and I looked at each other and said quietly, "Martinis at the bar?"

I know that these people have to make money, but couldn't they do it more elegantly? Couldn't they just softly say at the end, "If you want more, come to my two-day seminar if you can and I'll help you, thanks for coming."

I'm still listening to self help CDs and reading all the answers and believing that I can change, and who knows? If you send us $1000, I can guarantee you that our lives would change. We'll put on a two-day seminar and you can bet that martinis would be on the bill, with spa treatments, meditation in the form of walks on a groovy beach and fantastic food to fill our bellys. Of course, that would all be extra!



Well, all I can say is thank God there was a bar in that hotel. That guy was shameless. And he is one of the masters of The Secret! Luckily, we are studying all of the masters of the Secret and practicing the core of what they all teach. They certainly all sell masses of CDs and send us all kinds of free pamphlets and good books and stuff. But I was disappointed in the final carnival style hawking this guy reverted to in the end.

In spite of all of the aforementioned complaints, we had a really fun, girl ROAD TRIP!! We high-fived each other and took off in The Bullet for another adventure. For a two and a half hour drive we loaded up KK's HollyGoLightlly blue suitcase with the white piping, my duffle bag, the hanging clothes (a girl's gotta have options), a six pack of bud, a bag of Fritos and a doobie. We listened to Lyle Lovitt sing about how lucky he is, George Strait sing about how broken hearted he is and Bonnie Rait sing about strong women.

Here's the secret; Have control over how you see the world, choose that the world will do you good, love that you love the one you're with and use the bountiful drugs of the earth to keep you mellow.


Monday, September 10, 2007


How midlifers view technology:

Agent Laguna of the Geek Squad came to our house last night. SalGal needed help transferring data from her crappy Dell PC to a MacBook, and we hadn't a clue as to the machinations involved therein. Agent Laguna was actually dressed in the Geek uniform of short-sleeved, white polyester shirt, black clip-on tie, white socks and some truly geeky black shoes. He even had a badge clipped onto his belt. I had a husband once who dressed just like that.

Techno-geeks sit at your desk and instead of letting you do things on the computer so you can learn, which wouldn't benefit the tech support industry, they dothis/pressthat/movethis/dragthat, and voila...DONE! Then they leave and you haven't any idea what they did, why they did it or how to reproduce it in any way.

We had a few other tech issues that needed tending to, so before Agent Laguna left, we asked him to help us figure out how to work the DVD remote control, re-wire our printer for wireless and fix our ice maker in the freezer. He was great, as we asked our tech questions like, "Well, where does this thingy go?" and, "How does this gizmo work?" or, "What does this thing-a-majig do?"

Obviously my computer worked this morning or you wouldn't be privy to today's blog. We were able to watch our Netflix on DVD last night and our ice-maker overfloweth with chunks of frozen water.

We just still have the problem of not knowing how to get the "allow comments from any schmuck" to appear in order to get your feedback on our blog. That involves html script apparently, and not only do I not know what that even means, I dont' want to know. I have to draw the line somewhere. I've been able to maintain my position on the information superhighway's feeder road, but can't seem to get on the actual freeway itself.

Now, it's like my pepper spray canister...I'm terrified of pressing the button!


PS- SalGal and I are off to a self-help seminar out of town, so the blog will reappear near the end of this week. Will we ever have a few words to say on THAT topic when we get back! Tata.


I'm always learning about computers. When I got my first one and went online I found chat rooms. I found psychics on line and tried out a few of them. I waited for 30 minutes in the que to talk to Miss Sara Clara Rainbow who was telling everybody before me, 'Don't worry, true love is just around the corner.' When I finally got to her I said, 'Listen, Miss Sara Clara Rainbow, I don't want to hear about that shit. What I want to know is...what's the point spread on the next Longhorn game, is a tornado going to hit Austin and who the hell stold my purse at the Barry Manilow concert?!"

Now I'm more intelligent and I use my puter to do documents, answer emails and play poker for money.

Sunday, September 9, 2007


How midlife shoes differ:

I have approximately 85 pairs of shoes and not a one of them has a heel higher than 1/2 inch. At 5'11", there's no need. I wore heels in my younger years, and I still don't understand them. I always felt like I was tipping forward and might land on my face with each step. They made my calfs hurt, they forced an un-natural movement and talk about aching feet. Humans were not meant to walk on their tippy toes. For Gawd's sake, we had thumbs on our feet for thousands of years, so what evolutionary devil decided to eliminate the thumbs and stuff our feet into mechanisms of torture?

Being southern, I fell into pace with the notion that "beauty knows no pain." Now, I don't give a shit. My feet want OUT at this age, they want soft coverings. They scream for the comfort of chenille bedroom slippers. I've learned how to attract the male species with my head not my feet. And, I'm befuddled when I see twenty-somethings at WORK in a pair of stilettos...eight hours of tippy-toeing around the office. Of course, I've also seen the twenty-something males agog at a pair of fuck-me pumps. Evidently, it's the males who dictate female beauty, and they want'em in heels...preferably with nothing else on.

My next sweetheart is going to have to love my black suede sneakers, lust after my retro penny loafers and plead for me to wear nothing but my brown, flat roper cowboy boots in the bedroom. Luckily, I've also learned how to divert their foot fetishes toward the parts of my body that will produce results for them...and for me!

These (stiletto) boots were NOT made for walking...

I have four pairs of shoes and you gave me all of them. I have those black, rubber cloggy things for gardening and watering the yard. I have the white, Allstars for pants and a white cotton shirt that you showed me was a nice look. I have brown, sandal shoes for hot days and my gold, ballet slippers and that's pretty much it.
It's terrible having bad feet. Mine are permanantly in the shape of the high heels I wore in the sixties. Since my second toe is longer than my big toe, my feet always look like they're pointing and I wear a size 9 instead of 81/2 just because of that longer toe. I have bones that stick out on the sides of my big toes that make my feet look like they are facing out when they really aren't and the whole affect is pretty fucking knarly looking. Shoes are good. They hide a myriad of foot defects and keep you from getting stickers.
I wish I could wear those Manolo Blahnik shoes with the jewels on them or the ones the stars wear to the Oscars. I covet them. I go to shoe stores and act like I'm shopping for gorgeous Prada, open-toed shoes but of course I can't wear them cause my long toe sticks out and looks like some kind of deformed little fat finger trying to get out. It's disgusting.
ALL Texas women have red toenails because it's too hot not to wear sandals or flipflops. I think it's genetic and I bet Texan nuns have red toenails too. They probably have pretty shoes hidden under the bed in their nun's cells because it's a girl thing and they are still females. Sort of. They are all married to Jesus and I don't think he would begrudge his wives a little group dance in the rectory to the Gregorian Chants while wearing a pair of silver, diamond-studded, six-inch heels. They would go really well with basic black anyway.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Self Defense

How midlife, alcohol and self defense differ:

Last evening started out innocently enough. SalGal and I met our friends, Kathy, John and Pam for sunset cocktails at a local patio bar. In my own meager defense, I'll just say, watch out when you mix champagne and passion fruit juice, okay? After about 3 hours of enjoying the company, people watching in the crowd numbering around fifty and ordering my fifth cocktail, the subject of self defense came up. Kathy is a big fan of the midlife gals and remembered that in my list of purse contents blog, I had both the whistle and a small canister of pepper spray just in case.

I whipped out the pepper spray to show the table that I was prepared in case we were accosted by some pervert at the bar, and Pam asked how it worked. I pointed it at a cactus behind our table and said, "Well, I think you push this little button forward and.....................

("Pepper spray (also known as OC spray (from "Oleoresin Capsicum"), OC gas, capsicum spray, or oleoresin capsicum) is a lachrymatory agent (a chemical compound that irritates the eyes to cause tears, pain, and even temporary blindness) that is used in riot control, crowd control and personal self-defense, including defense against dogs and bears.")

Oops! a brownish-colored spritz escaped the canister causing all of us to explode in shock and giggles. I had no idea that the wind direction would change at that very moment until we saw the table of ten next to us start to cough, cover their mouths as best they could and evacuate the area. As the fumes continued to travel, four more tables of shocked people jumped up and rushed toward the inside of the bar leaving only our table of ne'er-do-wells there in the corner. No one knew what was happening except us, and after realizing that things had gotten just a bit out of hand, I raised my hands and pointed to myself, because if anyone will accept blame for a minor gaffe, it is myself.

The waiter came out to our table with a look of complete horror as I explained the silly mistake I had just made. He was all atwitter and twitchy which caused more giggles of embarrassment from our group. I felt proud of SalGal, John and Kathy for not completely abandoning me at that point even though Pam had jumped ship at the get go and was standing with the shocked, coughing, sputtering crowd at the door as if she had never known us and was not a member of our group of middle-aged misfits. Once the pepper spray had fully dissipated, people began to return to their tables, and we thought the bru-ha-ha had blown over (pardon the pun).

After about ten minutes, our waiter walked to the table with our check. With as much dramatic flare as he could muster, he announced that the staff was very upset, that some people had left, walking their checks, that the police had been called...that they had come and gone which was a total lie, because I would have been in the back seat of a cruiser if that were true...and that they would appreciate it if we left and never, ever came back. A bit of an over reaction, wouldn't you say?

After we gathered our belongings, paid the check with a hefty tip and were walking out, I stopped at a few tables and told them that we had been kicked out. They were outraged at the staff, because they too had had a few too many cocktails by that time. They told me they loved me. They told me to keep the faith. I've never felt such support as they shouted their farewells with comments like..."You rock," and, "Fuck'em."

As we got to the sidewalk, John suggested that we walk across the street to a small club. I said that I could get us a table right in front if they were game.

Rock on!

Well, well aren't we the master of understatement. I love the way you call what you did a 'minor gaffe' when what you really did was cause an entire patio of 50 patrons to run screaming and coughing in horror, believing that a terrorist attack had occurred. They evacuated the premises for God's sake!
And let's see....who was sitting right next to the perpetrator? You guessed it, moi. Oh, yeah, KK that was hilarious. I would have laughed harder if I hadn't had a fucking cocktail napkin PLASTERED OVER MY MOUTH AND NOSE so I could breathe. And that little dickhead, pansyass waiter didn't deserve the tip we so generously gave him. I know he lied when he said people left and stiffed the waiters on their tables because everybody was back at their tables when we were so graciously THROWN OUT OF THE RESTAURANT! And who was the good Samaritan who suggested that you buy everyone in the bar a drink? I believe that was the coward Pam who ditched us like a bad boyfriend. JT and Kathy hung in there like the players that they are and stuck it out with humor and a fair amount of sarcasm even as Pam went running and hopping amoungst the crowd like a damn chicken with its head cut off.
So, downplay it as much as you want to. 'Oops!' Oops!? Are you kidding me? We should all be glad we didn't end up nekked at Ahbu Grabe prison camp with guard dogs licking the tears off our faces.
And I am never going back to that tacky place again. That'l show 'em.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007


Midlife Memory Test:

If any of you middle-agers have ever experienced any of the following, please raise your gnarly, brown-spotted arms...if you can remember:

*this one's a given...forget that your glasses are on your head...du'uh.
*forget that you've taken your 8 daily pills, including the Ginko Baloba which you take for memory resulting in a double dose.
*if you smoke, forget that you don't have the actual cigarette in your mouth and light it, singeing the nostril hairs that you should have clipped that morning.
*forget your train of thought in mid-sentence, "Then she said................" If you are surrounded by other middle-agers, the game of come back begins as everyone retraces the conversation back to that point. If the little man in your brain has had time to take that thought back to the way-back file in your mind, you can forget finding the train of thought and have to move on.
*forget your list of groceries causing the purchase of just about everything except what you had on your list which rests comfortably on the table next to dhe door so you wouldn't forget it.
*forget where you're going, causing an overwhelming desire for a cheeseburger at the nearest Sonic instead which will eventually help you remember where to go next.
*forget to put mascara on the left eye as well as the right eye.
*forget to write in your check register the last 23 debit receipts. No worries here because the bank will help you remember when they send you the overdraught notice.
*"What was I talking about?
*oh yeah, forget that the oven is not the refrigerator and discover the head of lettuce you put in there a week before. The odor is the only thing that reminds you as it petrifies into a hard, green/brown boulder.
*forget that you have the camera facing you instead of the subject to be photographed. The flash going off 1/2 inch from your face will remind you, but you'll be blind for a week.
*and finally, forget that you're married when you bring that one night stand to your front door after 3 martinis too many at the bar.

Now, if you are not middle-aged and can answer yes to any of the above, dial 911 immediately.

I have a hard time remembering where I put my cell phone. I have to pick up the land line and call myself at least three times a week so it will ring and I can find where I put it so I woudn't forget where it was.
Sometimes I forget a simple word and come to a complete standstill, 'KK, could you get me my Red Bull? I left it in know, the room with the sink and stuff'. KK understands, 'You mean the kitchen?' Yeah, yeah, thanks.
The short term memory goes right out the window with menopause. You can't remember where you put your roach clip last night but you never forget your secret password to ''.
I have a hard time remembering where I put my cell phone. I have to pick up the land line and call myself at least three times a...oh.
Remember the Alamo!

Tuesday, September 4, 2007


How midlife eating differs:

I like cupcakes with lard icing, ok? I can't help it. My cholesterol bounced all over the place from the age of 50 to 55, and now I'm settled in with taking another pill. Pills are good (as referenced from my Drug blog}. In my early fifties, my bad cholesterol was up and the good was also good. I thought...I'll show those doctors, so I went to an herbalist. She gave me some chinesey herbs and said that they would bring those cholesterol levels in balance. That probably did happen for a couple of days as the bad cholesterol passed by the balance of the good and brought it down as the bad shot up through the roof.

The doctor told me to change my diet. There went the cupcakes. I lost weight, which I don't need to do, and was bored to tears with salads and vegetables. I thought, Fuck it, I want meat, shrimp, butter and cheese. So, the diet thingy didn't work either. The fact that modern medicine can bring anything into balance is a Godsend for the middle-aged, and now I'm totally on board with that.

I had a cupcake with lard icing for breakfast today, and i'll probably have a cheeseburger for lunch. I love Lipitor!

Bitch. I have been on a diet for 40 years and I'm still working on it. Finally, the powers that be have maintained that dieting makes you fat. They say stop it and eat small amounts 5 times a day. See, then your body doesn't think you are starving so it doesn't hold on to the fat. If you starve yourself, the body holds on to fat for your protection. But you can't eat a lot and you have to be somewhat careful.
I heard about this diet and it is wonderful. It says, 'Eat all you want but here is the key, only eat half of what you normally would'. Well, I can do that. That's easy. So, today I've had a half a stalk of celery, a half a turkey sandwich and a half a pig.
I think it's workin'!
Here's to 'Artz Rib House!'

Saturday, September 1, 2007


How midlife eyesight differs:

I used to laugh at the old fogies with glasses, and I assumed that the need for eyewear would never bedevil me. Then, in my forties, I actually wanted glasses, but only as a fashion accessory. Then, presbyopia struck...the over-forties-eye-disease, and I found myself in a glasses store having to pick out my own new fashion accessory.

I like 'unique' frames. The ones that require a double take to fully appreciate. I want color and shape and rims...none of the ones that force a double take just to figure out if the person is even wearing glasses. Look, they're going to wind up on your face, so why not give the crowd something to look at, for criminy's sake.

Because my over-forty-eye-disease has morphed into an over-fifty-eye disease, I now need tri-focals. I need to see the speedometer in the car, the distance between me and the cars ahead in the road and the signs coming at me from a distance. Unfortunately, there are times when I'm conversing with someone and they fall into that in-betweeen category. I find myself doing the tri-focal head bob. That's where I have to lean my head back to see if I can get them in focus that way, which also requires a weaving procedure up and down to place them in the proper focal level. Only people with glasses can appreciate these head movements and not mistake them for some form of Tourette's syndrome.

When I want to look prettier and younger at a social gathering, I don't wear my glasses at all. The head bob is overtly exaggerated under these circumstances, but I feel pretty until someone hands me something and says, "Read this." My response is, "Why don't you just tell me what you think it says." I have lots of excuses for bumping into people at these gatherings. When it's time to go home...if I live close enough to the event, I can use large landmarks as guideposts for the journey...or I can reach for one of the 5 sets of glasses in my glove compartment.

So, look for me at the next party. If I'm wearing my glasses, I'll know who you are. If I'm glassless, you can have fun pretending to be someone else, because I won't know the difference.


When I was in Junior High my teacher called my mother and told her I was squinting at the blackboard. She advised that I might need glasses and my mother took me to get them. This was a big mistake. I ended up with white, cat-eye glasses with little, tiny diamonds out at the wing tips. I didn't know any better. I liked them. I sashayed around San Jacinto Junior High thinking I was the cat's meow. Luckily, KK saw me with them on one day while I was trying to watch 'The Arthur Godfrey Show' from the couch and she made me take them off forever. 'God', she said, ' You are such a nerd.' I said, 'What. I like the 'Arthur Godrey Show'. 'Not that', KK said, 'although that is dorky enough. Those glasses have got to go. They make you look like Ethel Mertz from 'I Love Lucy'. I was mortified.
I got some acceptable glasses with KK's guidance while mother went for a cocktail and thus began a long succession of eye wear that reflected my true nature and allowed me to check out the football team from the third tier with no problem.
When I was in High School KK got a little nutty and made me buy huge, perfectly round, tortoise shell glasses that made me look like a big bug. Things were getting 'Mod' and she allowed as how I was in style and those glasses went with everything. Sheesh. No wonder I had the same boyfriend for four years.
When I went to college I became a wild hippie and got the requisite granny glasses to go with my peasant blouses and embroidered, bellbottomed jeans. Believe it or not, you can see your LSD hallucinations better with your glasses on. You wouldn't think that is true but it is.
I started working in the movie business and there were years of wearing normal glasses but now I'm in my fifties and living with KK. Needless to say, she got a little nutty again and I always do what she tells me to so now I am sporting perfectly round, silver dollar sized, tortoise shell glasses that are what the sales girl in the store jokingly referred to as 'quirky'. 'Good', said KK, 'She'll take them'. I don't know where she got the idea that I am quirky but what the hell, they seem to suit me fine, especially when I'm checking out the football team from the third tier. Damn, those Longhorns are hot.
Hook 'em horns!!
Sal Gal