Category: Life

Thirty-eight Years of Living Dangerously

On Wednesday Studly and I will celebrate our 38th wedding anniversary. Not bad considering some guests at our wedding ceremony were placing bets on our marriage not lasting more than a year. We were just kids, after all, not even out of our teens.

Like every other couple who have managed to stay together for any length of time we have experienced tremendous ups and treacherous downs, and everything in between. And yet we’ve managed to survive with relatively minor scars.

I asked Studly to tell me what he believes to be the secret to sustaining a long marriage, and after much thought (2.5 seconds) he came up with two key elements:

1. Don’t die,

2. Don’t divorce

He was serious.

I’d like to add my own thoughts, but I’m busy banging my head against a wall right now.

Peace, People!

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

I got two hours of sleep last night. Maybe two and a quarter. My husband, Studly Doright, who by the way doesn’t have sleep apnea (we had him tested) snored all night long. And when I say he snored I mean he:

Snorted
Roared
Snuffled
Gurgled
Rattled
Plorked
And mmmphhed
Loudly

All night long.

There was never any pattern to the cacophony. He usually maintains some sort of almost hypnotic, metronomic rhythm that allows me to slip into sleep. But not last night. Just as a tango was established he’d switch to a rumba, then to a cha cha. There might have been a salsa thrown in, too. I would have loved a minuet, but that never happened.

I moved to another bedroom around 3:40 a.m. The cats found that amusing and wanted to play. I must have fallen asleep at some point, only to have Studly wake me up to kiss me goodbye when he left for work at 6. How very considerate of him. Thank you sir, may I have another?

Normally I’d have had the luxury of snuggling under my covers after Studly left for work, but I’d promised to meet an acquaintance at a fitness center for an early morning aerobics class. I went, and held on through most of the class, but I might have fallen asleep during the cool down. There was a trickle of drool on my yoga mat. I just hope I didn’t snore.

Peace, People

Goose, You Big Stud

There are a handful of films that I can watch again and again, coming in at any point in the narrative and getting right down to the business of rooting for the good guys and booing the bad guys.

“Top Gun” is one such movie. I know, it’s an over the top macho fest (aka pissing contest), but it also shows the vulnerabilities of the characters, Maverick and Goose, as well as those of other characters. My favorite scene is the one in which Meg Ryan’s character, who has something odd stuck on her eyelash–I’ve never been able to figure out what it is, declares, “Goose, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever!” Dang! If that isn’t one of the best lines in moviedom, I don’t know what is.

Another movie I can pick up at any point is “Pretty Woman.” Yes, the main character is a good girl gone bad gone good again, and I get that the movie glamorizes a less than glamorous profession, but how can you not love the scene where Julia Roberts’ character, newly made over, dressed to the nines, and carrying shopping bags from a high-end store, strides into the upscale Rodeo Drive establishment that had previously snubbed her and says, “Big mistake. BIG mistake.” I don’t know about you, but I’ve been given the cold shoulder in one of those boutique-y type stores, and I’m not, nor have I ever been, a hooker. Julia’s win is a win for all of us. Plus, she gets Richard Gere.

Probably my favorite movie to watch, watch, and watch again, is “Star Wars Episode 5: The Empire Strikes Back.” I can almost quote the entire movie, not verbatim, but close enough to drive my family nuts. This is the movie that cemented my love for Han Solo, that caused me to daydream endlessly about sharing one of those uncomfortable looking cement cots on Cloud City with the infamous scoundrel. When Princess Leia tells Han that she’d rather kiss a Wookie than plant one on him, and he responds, “I can arrange that,” I pretty much swoon. I’m right here Han! I’ll kiss you! No Wookie kisses for me!

There are other films I could add: “The Princess Bride” (“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,”) “Dumb and Dumber” (“So…you’re telling me there’s a chance,”) and “Raiders of the Lost Ark” (“Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?”) are a few of the more memorable.

I’m not a film snob. Obviously. I mean, the “Dumb and Dumber” reference should have been a clue. What are your go to films, favorite quotes, insane movie fixations? Share if you’d like. Just remember, “Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son.” (Animal House)

Peace, People.

High Five

I saw this post on Facebook yesterday and it made me think. Just what are my cardinal rules for life? Do I even have one cardinal rule?

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So here’s what I think. See if you agree.

1) Love. Everyone. Period.

2) Be kind, even if it’s the last thing you feel like being.

3) Forgive. Yourself, others, the world.

4) Do what needs to be done. It might be hard. It might be distasteful, but do it anyway.

5) Experience life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Okay. It’s your turn. What are your cardinal rules for life? You don’t have to have five, but that happens to be my favorite number.

Peace, People.

I Mustache You a Question

My name is Nana Noyz and I have a mustache. There, I’ve said it. Let the 12 Step Program commence. While I have come to terms with my crinkly wrinkles, my saggy breasts, my droopy eyelids, and my jiggly arms, I cannot embrace my facial hair, nor have I been able to admit that I am powerless to stop it.

I remember gazing in amazement at the sparkling white hairs on my Grandma’s chin and upper lip. They were fascinating to 5-year-old me, and I might have made the mistake of wishing for some of my own. If so, I rescind the wish! I do, I do, I do!

Fifty years ago I don’t think women of a certain age worried as much about random hair sprouting from their chins and cheeks. Those were the days, my friends. But in the 21st century we are almost obsessed with keeping a smooth visage until death removes all such vain concerns.

Heaven knows I try to keep ahead of the hair growth, but sensitive skin keeps me from going the depilatory cream and/or wax routes. Instead I look in a magnifying mirror every morning searching for offending follicles and then ruthlessly pluck the fruit, er, hair. There are two trouble spots.

The first is a place on my chin just left of dead center that can always be counted on to yield a pluck-able strand. It amazes me just how quickly a hair grows in this spot and I’m thinking of willing this particular follicle to science. Not only is there always a hair there, but it is consistently two shades darker and three times coarser than the hair growing on any other part of my body. Truly it is a worthy topic for Unsolved Mysteries or Ancient Aliens.

The second place is just above my upper lip. I’ve named it, The Fringe. The Fringe isn’t dark, and it isn’t coarse. In fact, it is so fine that I almost cannot see it even with the 20x magnifying mirror, but I can FEEL it. Sadly, plucking on a daily basis yields almost no results, so I end up waiting until individual hairs grow to an obscene length. You know, like when the small child sitting next to you on the park bench tries to get your attention by tugging on one.

My only consolation is that my husband, Studly Doright, cannot see anything up close without his reading glasses. This is the reason why women should always marry men near their own age. He thinks I look just like I did when we married 38 years ago. Poor guy. He got a raw deal in the “for better or worse” department; he just doesn’t know it.

I’m Nana Noyz, and I have a mustache that my husband can’t see. There. I’ve accepted it.

Peace, People.

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A Thigh Slapping Good Time

Whoever said that endorphins released during exercise can give you a high must’ve been smoking something. All I get from exercising is tired.

I’ve put on a number of pounds over the years. At least 10 for each of our many moves. Granted, I go through periods of weight loss, otherwise I’d have added 170 lbs. over the last 38 years of wedded bliss.

After our most recent move to Tallahassee, I weigh more than I ever have. It’s a loneliness thing. I know no one, therefore, I eat. Great excuse, eh? Unfortunately my clothes are not fitting anymore and no one wants to see me naked. Trust me. Even my cats have expressed their disgust. Where others might see hair balls, I see only revulsion.

It was time for a lifestyle change. So, in addition to trying to eat healthier foods–lots of fresh vegetables, fruits, salmon, etc., I decided to get more active. But that means exercise. Damn. My eldest sister-in-law, we’ll call her “The Pretty One” or TPO, for short, suggested a water aerobics class.

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I searched the websites in Tallahassee and found that several city parks offered water aerobics. On Wednesday I made my first visit. I knew I was in trouble when the instructor, Madame de Sade, told me, “First time? Don’t worry, it’s a work at your own pace kind of class.”

What she meant was, “I’m going to run, run, run in the water and you are going to wear a blister in your left big toe trying to keep up with me.” All we did was run. Forward, backward, sideways, we ran with her screaming, “Run, ladies! Run like your lives depend on it!”

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I didn’t want to go back, but I figured Wednesdays must be leg days, so I returned on Thursday. Same. Damn. Thing. Now the blister on my big toe is bigger than my big toe. It’s formed an alliance with my ankle and they both scream for relief every time I take a step.

I looked at the lady on my right. “I’m blowing this joint tomorrow.”

She nods. “I’m in,” she says.

So today, we went to a different park. There was music playing when we arrived. The instructor gave us a smile and a hug and welcomed us to the group. We only ran once before launching into a series of routines that left me panting and smiling and, well, high! My endorphins and I can’t wait to return to class on Monday.

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Peace, People!

Praying for Eyebrowz: Begin the Beguine

Here I am, feeling just like a kid on my first day of school. Fresh spiral notebook atop a desk etched with generations of meaningless graffiti, brand spanking new pen or sharply pointed pencil at the ready, and me, believing that my whole school year balanced on the first symbol I placed on that virgin surface. What I wouldn’t have given for the cleanliness of a delete button!

So, here I go again, thinking that the future of my blog depends on these first symbols. It would be lovely if the thoughts that swirl through my brain for hours every single menopausal night would magically appear on my screen. Those thoughts are, in part, what motivate me to start this endeavor. If I can get them down here, maybe they’ll leave my brain alone and let me sleep.

There are no lofty goals for my writing. Some days I’ll amuse, other days reflect, still others I’ll write to understand. I’m a big fan of pretending, so expect to see that, as well. And, I’ll almost always let my readers know if I’m leading them on.

I was once told by a well-meaning, earth mother esthetician that my eyebrows were too sparse. “Well,” I asked. “What would you have me do about that?”

Without blinking an eye, she replied, “Do you believe in a higher power?”

When I answered in the affirmative, she continued, “Then pray!”

So, I considered doing just that. After praying for world peace, an end to hunger, and the well-being of my family and friends I decided that praying for eyebrows was just a little bit on the vain side. But what a great name for a rock and roll band! Change the spelling a bit to make it edgy. Let me know if you want to lend your talents to Praying for Eyebrowz, but I get dibs on lead singer.

Peace, People.