Remember the old Art Linkletter bit – “Kids Say the Darndest Things?” Well, recently a young friend of mine had the darndest conversation with me about – in his estimation – my seemingly impending death!
And it all came about because of that old adage, “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” Read more
OK. It’s true confession time. And it’s one to take the cake.
Everybody has an addiction, a guilty pleasure. Mine? Cake porn. Yes, I’m a cake … and cookie … and cupcake … and pie-aholic. I’m indiscriminate and undiscerning. If it’s baked, I’m in. I cannot get my fill of the stuff.
Some people say it’s a good idea to eat dessert first, but they’re all talk. I don’t just talk about it. I regularly dessert first, dine second.
Some people like cold pizza for breakfast, but if you ask me, nothing beats leftover chocolate birthday cake.
My obsession with cake extends way beyond ingesting the stuff, I’m a voyeur as well. Read more
It’s not too late, fitness lovers. Still, want to make good on that New Year’s resolution to get in shape in 2018, but hate the chic club scene, where all the cool girls and guys promenade, point, and flex their muscles and the latest fab workout clothes?
Well, for those of you wanting to shake up their exercise routine and scene, I’ve got a recommendation. Here’s the skinny … and yes, I do mean the skinny. There’s a gym offering workouts without clothes. Yes, disrobed, in the raw, bare-assed naked. Read more
I’ve separated and sorted, trashed and stashed, and donated with the best of them. I’ve consolidated, re-arranged and shelved. But I’ve still got Possession Obsession and I need help. I need storage solutions. Yes, that’s it. I need stuff for my stuff. Salvation! Read more
I have a confession to make: Like many women of a certain age, I suffer from possession obsession. I have too much “stuff” and don’t know what to do about it. You know what I mean – I have an overabundance of material objects that I don’t want or need, but somehow cannot bear to shed. Read more
My dear Middle-aged Muddlers, last week as you recall, I “documented” my struggle to combat the shame of a droopy mouth and thin lips.
In my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I used excessive amounts of lip liner, lipstick and lip gloss to compensate. I also awkwardly smiled a lot to mask the droop.
In my 50s, I “graduated” to injectable fillers. They were costly. They hurt, but they helped.
Then one day my dermatologist told me that fillers were no longer the solution. Age, genes, and gravity were winning. If I wanted a perky pout, I needed stronger medicine. I needed plastic surgery.
Specifically, I needed a corner lip lift, a tricky procedure involving incisions on each side of the mouth with no place to hide the scars. Done poorly, the procedure leaves the patient resembling Batman’s nemesis, The Joker. Having seen pictures of botched procedures, I assure you, that is no joke.
My dermatologist referred me to a plastic surgeon, one of the “pioneers” of the corner lip lift procedure. I made an appointment, canceled it and called to re-schedule. I repeated this cycle of hope and fear three more times before I ultimately met the doctor. It was time to meet my re-maker. Read more
The amazing screenwriter, journalist, and author Nora Ephron hated her sagging neck.
I hate my lips.
Nora lamented the pitfalls of maturing – aka aging –in her best-selling book, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman. As the title suggests, she especially bemoaned her saggy, baggy neckline and her middle-aged need to camouflage the offending body part with scarves.
Well, my nemesis is my lips. However, unlike Nora, my problem isn’t solely the result of aging. It’s a lifelong curse. And unlike Nora’s scarf solution, I cannot cloak my offending feature. For decades, I have suffered in silence, but no more. Today I share my shame. Read more
Do you suffer from inheritance guilt? It’s a problem many of us middle-aged baby boomers face. Your parents pass on and you inherit all their “stuff.” Are you grateful or do you buckle under the weight of unwanted material overload and guilt?
Nowadays, more and more of us fall into the suffering and lamenting category. One friend of mine cannot wait to dispose of her mother’s mink coat. Another hates her mother’s bright orange, fish-patterned ceramic platter. For me, the cause of distress – fine china.
And while it’s all well and good to lament, on a practical basis, what do you do when you have too much of a good thing or even too much of a bad, but deeply sentimental object? Read more
Pick up a fashion magazine, any fashion magazine, any day of the week, and you’ll find all sorts of tips on how to keep your skin youthful looking, your body from aging, and your hair shiny and healthy. Sadly, however, there is one aging dilemma yet to receive widespread media attention, and that is the problem of droopy earlobes.
That’s right – droopy earlobes. It is one of those dirty little tricks Mom Nature plays on you. As you get older, your earlobes droop, and all those precious dainty button earrings you have, suddenly don’t look so cute on your now dangling, bobbing, overly-spacious lobes.
What’s a middle-aged fashionista supposed to do?
“I think, therefore I am,” Descartes said. Yet, as people age, many switch to a different, less inspiring paradigm, namely ‘I ache, therefore I am.”
I have, for instance, a cousin who spends entire telephone conversations reciting litanies of medical ills, without offering even one hosanna for the medical miracles that keep him alive and kicking and well enough to bitch and moan the whole time on the phone.
For my part, I have always vowed to age gracefully and suffer silently whatever slings and arrows come my way.
Well, that pledge has been put to the test lately and I confess, I have to give myself barely passing grades in the dignity and grace department.