It’s Double-stuffed Oreo time for me!

For those of you who watch what you eat, here’s the final word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies!  Although I’m not so sure my hubby, Mr. Fit Forever, would agree with me…

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

Do-overs

In my last post I told you how much I missed my kids.  Nothing’s changed, but I wanted to share a few tips with you so that you wouldn’t have to experience 1,500 miles of distance between you and your children like I have to.

First of all, I always told my kids that they could go anywhere.  I told them not to limit their college selections based on close proximity to home but rather to use that time to go out and see the world.

What was I thinking?

When Stephen was a senior in high school we took him to Los Angeles and it was during that trip that he decided he wanted to live on the beach and go to college at UCLA.  Courtney’s junior year we took a trip to New York and that’s all it took to convince her that she was destined to attend New York University.  What were we thinking?

The summer of 2006 was horrible.  Courtney graduated from high school and was headed to NYU and Stephen, after 2 years at the University of Oklahoma, had been accepted at UCLA.  In August, we rented a U-Haul and drove Stephen’s belongings to California, then boarded a plane to New York to get Courtney situated in the Big Apple.

In a one week time frame, my kids were bi-coastal.

I cried the ugly cry all the way home from New York.  Then I spent several months drowning my sorrows with double stuffed Oreos.

It was awful. I gained 30 pounds and slept with my cell phone in case they called.

I thought that raising my kids to think for themselves was the right thing to do.  I figured that the worst that could happen would be that they would vote for a Democrat.  Boy was I wrong.

Now Stephen is working and living in Houston, and in a few months he will be transferring to Denver.  Courtney has decided that pursuing a career in screenwriting will mean that she will move to Canada after she graduates.

If you don’t want to end up like me, with an empty nest, here are my suggestions:

1.  Never take your kids to vacation spots that are also college towns.

2.  Aside from the geography that they study in 8th grade, don’t tell them that life exists outside a 50 mile radius.

3.  When they question the existence of  cities like New York City or Los Angeles, LIE.  Tell them those aren’t real places, just Hollywood fantasy.

4.  Most importantly, lay on the guilt.  Tell them how sad you will be if they move away. And,

5.  If all else fails, bribe them.  Or lock them in their rooms, whichever comes easier.

I am proud of my kids.  I live my life vicariously through them.  Stephen spends every third or fourth weekend in Mexico or Italy vacationing.  Courtney is being mentored by the best writers and moguls in the media world.  Stephen makes more money than his dad does and Courtney is becoming a very sought-after entertainment graphic designer.

I don’t know whether to be jealous of them or excited that when they put us out to pasture, they’ll be able to afford designer Mu Mu’s for me and a room with a view for their dad.

Oxy Moron

As far as I know, I haven’t been invited to a homecoming dance and I don’t have a biology test in the morning.  But my face seems to think otherwise.

I have zits.  Plural.  ZitSSSSS.

My chin looks like a small cluster of stalactites have started growing in the southern hemisphere and just northeast of there, I have what appears to be a small mountain range forming next to my nose. I’ve been avoiding them all week.  I thought if I ignored them, they would go away.  Until today.  I was applying makeup when I noticed that I kept turning my head to the right and making sure my chin was in the downward position so I could focus on my good side.  Stupid 15X magnification mirror!

Adult acne.

Two words that should not be in the same sentence.  Puberty occurred 35 years ago and it appears that someone forgot to send an invitation to ACNE, so after stalking me all these years it finally caught up to me.  Now it knows I’m post menopausal and I won’t have a clue how to get rid of it.

Fortunately, thanks to the divine virtual world I’ve uncovered a cure…or at least what I hope is a cure.

Apple cider vinegar.

Last month I had ring worm.  After Tom took away the hair brush I was using to scratch myself, I consulted the various medical discussion boards and found out that bleach will take away the itch.  To my relief it worked.  I spent 6 weeks smelling like a hospital, and in spite of the layers of skin I lost and the extensive plastic surgery I’m going to need, I got rid of it.

Now I’m emitting the aroma of salad dressing.

Yep.  My husband is one LUCKY man.

Uninvited guest.  Initial conclusion.  Going nowhere.  Civil war.  Great Depression. Bad luck.  Same difference.  Strangely familiar.  Silent scream.  Perfect idiot.  Problem solved.

Dumb blonde.  Almost exactly.

Ironing out the Wrinkles

Considering that in a few months I’ll be closer to 50 than I am to 45, I decided that I needed to bear some of the responsibility of growing old gracefully, share a few pointers, and reveal the TRUTH ABOUT AGING.

If you’re a young mother or a woman considering having a baby – no, your stomach will never be the same. Flat abs, forget it. My stomach looks like a road map, not to mention that if I squeeze the layers of skin and fat together, I can make my tummy appear to be birthing a baby through my belly button bottom up. Attractive.

The lean, sexy legs are replaced by puckering cellulite, or hail damage as I like to call it, and spiders. Spider veins that is. One of my nieces approached me a few years ago while I was sitting by the pool. It was a rare occasion for me to be unclothed and in swimwear. I try to spare my family the possibility of being ruined for life by exposing them to middle-age flabulosity. When she saw my legs, she remarked, “Nanee! You got tattoos!” I could almost see the wheels spinning in her 4 year old brain. Poor girl will never be the same.

And the worst thing about aging? Wrinkles. Not just your face – I actually like to see wrinkled faces because it speaks to maturity and life experiences – but wrinkles on your knees? Your elbows? Not so cute.

Tip #1 – When you step out of the shower or the tub, dry off in an upward, not downward, motion. Gravity is already doing it’s job, you have to counter it with something.

Tip #2 – There is no tip #2 because tip #1 hasn’t helped me at all.

Maybe it’s better summed up by someone else. Laugh if you can relate, laugh if you think it’ll never happen to you, just laugh. Make those wrinkles do the jiggly dance.

Chick-fil-A but not today

Because the mileage on our 2003 Honda was at the ‘I’ve been with you guys long enough, it’s just not fun anymore, I’d rather be driven by a wrinkle-free college student!’ phase and we’re saving money to buy the upcoming mid-life crisis sports car, in the meantime – we’re sharing my car. Or rather, Tom is hogging it and I’m without wheels. Unless you count the bicycle he bought me but it doesn’t have air conditioning, which means that I would perspirea lot. And since I don’t like to SWEAT, I’m not going anywhere until hell freezes over – literally.

Not that I went out much before – my 2008 Honda only has 18,000 miles on it. Last week we drove to Houston which meant that the odometer rolled to *gulp* 19,000 miles. Tom thinks I’m crazy but I’ve been saving those miles.

Go ahead and laugh. Tom blames it on my obsessive compulsion of not liking to have trash in the trash can. But bragging rights to whose car has the lowest number showing on the dashboard runs in my family.  It’s genetic.

Not having a car means no quick trips to the grocery store or a drive-thru when I’m craving something. Last week was my first experience of being transportation-less. I ate a ham sandwich every day for lunch – AND breakfast. I wouldn’t be surprised if I started oinking from an overload of pork consumption.

Usually when Tom comes home from work I ask him about his day and then I talk about the cats. Typical chit-chat for the empty-nester/cat people we’ve sadly become. But not last week! No, no, no! All I cared about was what he ate for lunch.

Everything was fine until Friday. Up until then, his lunch had consisted of salad and water, but on Friday I could smell it on his breath…HE WENT TO CHICK-FIL-A!

I LOVE CHICK-FIL-A. And now, I was jealous.

‘Oh, so that’s how it is – I get a dry sandwich every day and you get WAFFLE FRIES!’

After a few minutes of letting me pout he apologized to me. That’s right, he apologized. Mr. Fit Forever is Mr. Sensitive too.

And yes people, this is what life looks like when your kids fly the coop. We have nothing better to do than argue about Chick-fil-A nuggets and play dress up with the cats.

I posted this video a couple of months ago, but thought it appropriate to play again. And because I want you to really feel my pain, I thought it fitting to post it today, Sunday.

Cravings will have to wait until tomorrow, pouting may now commence…