here it comes again. it seems like i have just gotten over the holidays and then BAM! every single year – it’s my birthday. so this year, i’m having one of those milestone birthdays. i’ve actually already had some milestone birthdays and most of them i’d like to forget. there was the one that my ex-boyfriend threw. he held a surprise party for me, complete with “you’re old now” gag gifts and black balloons. and i was only 30. needless to say, i did not end up with him…actually he hasn’t ended up with anybody. coincidence?

when i was younger, i loved having my birthday. i loved having a party, and getting presents and being the center of attention if only for one day. i guess in theory, i still enjoy people wanting to make my day special…just don’t ask me how many days it’s been. it’s funny how just a few years can make such a difference.

take boobs for example. until only recently i had what some might consider a fairly spectacular rack. gravity and two pregnancies have conspired against me, however, i can still incite envy in some of my girlfriends and still manage to turn heads at the hardware store, so it’s not completely hopeless. they say the best offense is a good defense. and in my case, i’d say the best defense is a good brassiere. so between me and victoria’s secret, we’re managing to perpetuate the illusion of youth and perkiness with relative success.

so maybe that’s what’s bothering me. in spite of my best efforts, and strategically engineered underwear, i still can’t stop what’s happening to me. i’m middle-aged…and there’s nothing i can do about it. but there are some things i can do. i will defy expectations and preconceived notions and live my life the way i want to.

• i will have long hair and it will be blond. forever. 
• i will sport cleavage until people begin to snicker and point.
• the words “age appropriate clothing” do not exist in my vocabulary. i will continue to shop at forever XXI and abercombie & fitch, because i can. the only people who say older women shouldn’t shop there are the haters that can’t fit into the clothes.
• i will flirt with the slacker counter boys working at starbucks near my office.
• i will wear tank tops and shorts during the summer and have tan legs.
• i will wear a bikini to the beach.
• i will revel in the fact that older women have more character, humor, intelligence, and sexiness that any 20-year-old girl could possible hope for.
• i will love myself and my wrinkles – at least until my regular botox injections begin.

so, i’m going to accept what’s happening, but i’m not going to take it lying down. i’m going to fight it every step of the way. and i’m going to win. and when i walk down the street, and hear “wow! there goes a great-looking older woman!” i’ll accept the compliment graciously and with pride.

blogging is something i’ve only recently discovered and i do it mostly to amuse myself.  however, i luv it when people find and read my blog, so i am just beside myself because of this!

someone over at the wall street journal wrote an interesting article titled “putting privilege into perspective” which discusses how many children today are given so much, so early that it perpetuates a fake rich lifestyle. and at the very bottom of the page was this:

and what’s so amazing is that i only wrote it yesterday and this was up by last night. how does that work?

i’m not sure to be flattered or insulted (maybe i’m a perpetuator) but this is awesome!! apparently someone wants to read me, besides me.

we spent christmas at disneyworld, as i had promised. i know when i was a kid, this would have been the penultimate holiday experience. the magic kingdom is exquisitely decorated and there are parades and light shows that will rival any griswalding that takes place in my neighborhood. so you think my kids would be ecstatic about being there, right? my daughter was having a great time, but apparently i was just bothering and irritating my son in an attempt to make a magical christmas for him (except for the gratuitous ordering of room service), and to show his displeasure he made every attempt to sabotage any commemorative photos of our HAPPY trip. 

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“gee. now that a professional photographer is taking our picture, this looks like a good time to pick my nose.” 

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“i hate all of you.”

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“i’ll ride on this, but i don’t have to like it.” 

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seriously, i was about ready to strangle him. but instead, i just did this:

problem solved!

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i did however, manage to get a fake smile out of him for this one.

 

santa seemed a little peeved to be recognized and a little jet lagged after his busy night, but he did graciously pose with the kids.

on new year’s eve, my husband and i elected to stay in and drink some wine that we have been storing in our wine refrigerator. my husband is an occasional wine connoisseur and has amassed a fairly impressive collection over the years.

my husband has connections to football royalty. his best friend is a guy we affectionately call “mr. peter.” mr. peter is the nephew of the owner of a major-league southern football team and various car dealerships located across the southwest united states.  i don’t want to completely give it away, but this team’s fan’s were once reduced to wearing paper bags over their heads to conceal their identities during their lean years. you figure it out.

mr. peter and my husband became friends during high school and their friendship has continued to this day, much to my dismay. they were each other’s best man (twice apiece). mr. peter is a middle-aged peter pan who grew up with everything handed to him on a silver platter and could probably have any woman he wants, but he continues to prefer the company of woman with really big boobs and strippers. this should tell you something.

when i married my husband, mr. peter came as a package deal. don’t get me wrong, i like mr. peter OK and he has been a very good friend to my spouse, but he himself, is a terrible husband. but he is generous, amusing, and generally has some pretty interesting stories to share.

so as we uncorked and drank our grape juice, my hubby asked if i’d like to hear an amusing story about the wine we were drinking.

one time mr. peter and my husband had gone to chicago with his uncle for an out-of-town game. the pregame dinner was located at a prestigious restaurant where many fine wines were served.

the owner of the restaurant approached mr. peter’s uncle as they were seated. the owner began chatting and said that recently, one of football team’s players, rickey jackson, had visited their fine establishment. the player said he wanted to order some of their finest wine.

after perusing the wine list and not finding anything to his liking, he called for the sommelier and stated, “yeah, do you guys have the wine with the two dudes?”

apparently there was some confusion on the part of the staff who were probably convinced he was talking about ernest and julio gallo, until someone brought this to the table:

 “yeah, that’s it! the two dudes!” he exclaimed.

i guess ponying up a couple hundred dollars for a bottle opus one is easy when you forego your child support payments for say, 11 years.

well, it’s that time of year again. it’s december and the tornado that is hannukahmas has begun at my house. the dates of hanukkah are actually determined by the hebrew calendar, so this puppy moves all over the place, and it can fall anywhere between late november to late december.

hanukkah came early this year, which is actually good, because when hanukkah and christmas coincide i pretty much suffer from chest pains for the entire month of december. there is only so much decorating and shopping and candle lighting and praying and cooking and fun STRESS that i can handle at one time.

many people assume hanukkah is the “jewish christmas” but in fact, it is not. hanukkah is not really a major jewish holiday, but a minor one which celebrates a miracle in which god made one day’s worth of oil burn for 8 nights (he should do the same for my electronic bill).

somewhere along the way, the jews must have felt sorry for the little jewish kids who didn’t get a visit from santa claus and wanted to do something, but wanted to offer them an alternative which still preserved their “jewishness.” not to be outdone by the christians, they decided that instead of one big day, the jews would take hanukkah and turn it into christmas times 8.

i hear my neighbor’s kids asking my children, “wow! you get presents for eight nights? no way?! lucky! what a gyp!” so yes, we’ve managed to take our little holiday and make all the other neighborhood kids jealous. nicely played. every kid wants to be jewish during hanukkah.

anyway, the crazy thing is that because i was raised with santa coming to my house, i haven’t actually been able to go cold turkey… so it looks like hanukkah threw up all over christmas at my house. the place is a mish-mash of menorahs, dreidls, candles, gelt, mistletoe, wreaths, garland, stockings and miniature christmas trees all swathed in blue and silver tinsel, and twinkling blue and white lights in our front yard, accompanied by a giant 20-foot tall, blow-up figure, which features the holy trinity – santa, frosty and rudolph. and yes, my kids get gifts on christmas as well. so sue me.

personally, i have no inner conflict with celebrating both. show me where santa shows up bearing gifts along with the magi and i’ll gladly pull down that plastic yard art.

there’s just a warm fuzzy feeling i get each year as the holiday approaches that has to do with my childhood memories and that’s something i want to give my children, even if it’s only better behavior through guilt. as a child, i distinctly remember worrying about whether or not i had been good enough for santa’s annual visit. and the closer it got to christmas, the more my mom would play the santa card. apparently, the effects have lingered. i still worry.

i haven’t been a perfect girl this year, and i’ve even broken a few minor commandments (mostly of the coveting and taking the lord’s name in vain type). but overall, i think i’ve been pretty good and i’m hoping santa has something for me. and truthfully, the kid in me doesn’t really want to stop believing in the magic of the fat man in the red suit.

and if he decides i don’t deserve a stop, there’s always next year.

my boyfriend has a new movie coming out. i will watch anything that this man is in. and here’s why:

i don’t really think any explanation is necessary, apart from the obvious.

however, before anyone accuses me of being involved with jason (mr. statham if you’re nasty) strictly because of his ASSets, there are many other things about him that you should know, which make him extremely interesting.

it could be the english accent, and the fact that before he became an actor he was a true bad boy, a london street corner con man, hustling stolen jewelry to tourists. his big break came when guy ritchie cast him in lock, stock and two smoking barrels, after he convinced ritchie during an audition to buy some worthless fake gold jewelry.

it could also be the fact that he was an olympic diver, and a model, and that he trains in mixed martial arts, and is an accomplished kick-boxer, and does most of his own stunts. or it could just be the abs…yes… very definitely the abs… sorry, where was i?

anyway, in most of his movies he plays some type of cynical anti-hero, from the transporter movies, which were so silly that they were really good (thank you tivo so i can replay the shirtless motor oil fight scene over, and over and over…) to crank which was so silly… it was actually just pretty silly.

nobody does bald bad-ass better than my jason (except maybe bruce willis but he’s about played-out that die hard franchise)

plus the man can drive. and being somewhat of an auto aficionado myself, i appreciate a man who knows how to work a stick.

smoldering, hot and sexy. sigh…a girl can dream.

i’m feeling kind of sad. kevin dubrow has died. if you don’t know who that is, you will once i describe him. he’s that receding-hairlined, fro-haired singer from quiet riot. i actually loved this band because i found that whole glam metal band thing exceedingly fascinating (i’m intrigued by men who would want to use hairspray) and they had that awesomely titled song “cum on feel the noize.” so when i heard he had passed it was kind of a shock because i didn’t think he was that old.

i love the 80s and one of the things that amuses me most about the decade was the whole hard-rock, hair band phenomenon, and quiet riot was pretty much one of the first. these guys had a number one album that went platinum in 1983, which was a first for a heavy metal band.

the problem was they really only had about 3 hits and two of them were remakes of original slade songs. the other problem was this guy’s hair. check the video.

this guy was already sporting some serious forehead real estate back in 1983.

 

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so i was stunned to see this picture in which he resembles an aging slash of guns and roses.

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and then apparently, something went really wrong here, and it’s not just the hair.

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i’m hoping it wasn’t drugs, but this last picture may prove me wrong.

r.i.p. kevin.

they say there are three types of women…and i think i may be the worst kind.  they fall into three categories: low maintenance, high maintenance, and those that are really high maintenance but think they are low maintenance.

don’t get me wrong. i do like to look good, but i never thought i was one of “those” women. but for the last few weeks i have been in the process of getting my teeth redone. i had some veneers done a while back and i wasn’t happy with the results. think gary busey. subtle, they were not.

since veneers are permanent (for at least 20 years or so) removing them required basically blasting them off my teeth. i spent four hours in a dentist chair while my natural teeth were shaved down until i resembled some sort of cannibalistic tooth-filing african tribe member.

anyway, like i said, typically i don’t stress about my appearance but for the last few weeks i have found myself purposely avoiding any type of social situation which would require me to open my mouth…and if you know me, getting me to shut up is nothing short of a miracle.

so yesterday, i finally got my new teeth. and all i can say is, the peace and quiet is over.

i also found out something about myself. i am, sadly, more concerned about my looks than i would like to admit.  and i think i may have discovered my new hobby: cosmetic improvements.

i am now officially one of “those” women.

i recently enjoyed reading this awesome panty-wetting post. 

yes, the 70s were a groovy decade, but unfortunately, my experience with the 70s was more brady bunch than saturday night fever, so i feel a little gypped. but these great photos got me thinking, if style in the 70s could be reduced to an homage to white pantsuits, terry cloth, and chest hair, would history be kind to the 80s?

i began searching the internet for 80s fashion and realized that most people, like myself, are hiding their skeletons. so i decided the best place to go look was in my own closet.

i spent several hours trying to find where i had hidden the old photo albums and yearbooks, and after i found them, i remember why. despite my hopes of finding footloose, flashdancing girls that just wanted to have fun, i discovered what was really fashionable in the 80s was looking like your grandparents.

to say we looked ridiculous is a modest understatement. but we were just buying into a lifestyle that the clothes represented. similar to how white suburban kids are deluding themselves into thinking that running around with their pants hanging off their asses and calling each other bee-yotch makes them gangsta.

anyway, after looking at these pictures, i have decided that what the 80s were all about (MTV videos to the contrary) is clothes as birth control. there is nothing overtly sexy about any of this and frankly, it’s a wonder there was any sex going on at all. which may actually explain the massive consumption of alcohol which generally preceded any physical contact.

so, i wanted to share these pictures with you. keep this in mind while you’re looking at them. i live in texas. it’s freaking hot here… all the time. 

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these pictures were in a section labeled “yep, they’re yups.” there are a lot of things that amuse me about this whole era, including the fact that in lieu of actually being a yuppie, you could just wear the clothes and pretend to be one. but what’s most amusing is that the word yuppie (initially coined as a demographic term which stood for young urban professional) later came to be used almost exclusively with the word *fucking* preceding it. 

                           

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these girls are covered from head to toe, except for the tramp on the left who has exposed her knees.

click for larger photo

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the only thing that saved this poor girl from a britney spears moment is about 8 inches of fabric.

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nothing says “hot” like peter pan collars, poofy sleeves and high-waisted pleated pants. no matter. this guy is just happy because this is the closest he’s ever getting to these girl’s clams. 

click for larger photo 

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and because black and white just does not do it justice… 

if the clothes said virginal, then the makeup told an entirely different story. these girls did not believe in subtlety…or using a mirror.

 

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sailor suits were really in…and not just for 6 year olds.

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nope, this is not an 80s party. this is vintage 80s college partying. wearing shorts instead of a skirt at a kegger allowed much more freedom and ensured that you were comfortable. plus if you drank too much beer and passed out on the patio furniture, no one could see your underpants.

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i realized a certain amount of self outing was going to be necessary to allow for a full appreciation of this phenomenon. anyone who knows me knows that i never pass up a good opportunity to show off my rack, but back then, i had my priorities all screwed up.

do not ask me what the eff is up with my hair. i have no freaking idea.

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aviators were the coolest.

 

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i seem to recall that this type of pant was called a “go to hell” pant. which basically meant, “i’m going to wear these pants, and if you don’t like them, you can go to hell!” the more obnoxious the better. the guy wearing the “go to hell” pants (and the pornstache) was a four sticker (meaning he had a IV after his last name) and is now a gynecologist in the greater houston area, which i unexpectedly found out after picking a specialty physician from my healthcare provider. awk-ward.

click for larger photo 

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 sessie and dr. laura. sorry guys. love you.

 

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wearing long skirts is completely impractical because they seriously inhibit your mobility and you can fall flat on your face. which makes them perfect preppy attire when you’re going to someone’s ranch to drink a lot of liquor and shoot off firearms.

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• white turtleneck sweater with shoulder pads? check.
• pearl necklace? check.
• alligator belt? check.
• long tweed skirt past my knees? check.
• gold coin ring and tank watch with alligator strap? check.
• porsche carrera sunglasses? double check.

nothing says road trip quite like white opaque hosery.

 

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and finally, it’s completely apparent from the look on his face that my date was not amused that i wore clothes under my toga. i never saw him again.

#100!