every family’s got one…

Most families have one. The Crazy Aunt who can instill terror in the hearts grown-ups and delight in the hearts of  kids. She’s the odd-ball who always shows up for the family gatherings with some sort of ‘inappropriate’ garb. Jingle bells on her gold genie shoes.  Purple and red paisley velvet pajamas she hand-made just for the occasion. Battery-operated antlers that also shoot water out of their tips, when she wants them to. Weird looking talismans and various vials on large chains, in which (she tells the children) there are magick potions and fairy dust. The children are charmed, the grown-ups horrified. She always brings a case of wine or a batch of brownies which may or not be laced with some magickal herb, or maybe she brings both. She’s the first one to crank up the stereo and start dancing around the living room with wild abandon, singing at the top of her lungs, all the while holding her champagne high in the air, toasting the various gods who may be at the party (but no one else can see). She’s that crazy old hoot that you either adore or loathe… all the way to your toes. {Depending, of course, on who you are and what ‘kind’ of person you happen to be.}

This Crazy Aunt is a fixture in most families, even though many family members try (in vain) to avoid inviting her to the gatherings. Even when they don’t invite her, she always manages to find out and shows up anyway. She doesn’t ever mention the fact that she was left off the guest list, mostly because she has no desire to embarrass the hostess who did (leave her off the list). It’s just not her style to humiliate anyone on purpose.  She simply doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.  The moment she arrives, the hushed little cliques gather in some corner or other, all of them asking the other, “how’d she find out? did YOU tell her?”.  More often than not, it was one of the kids, usually a teenager who thinks the crazy aunt is the funnest person in the family. Otherwise, it might be one of the little ones who, without knowing it’s a ’secret’, tells the crazy aunt about a party that everyone is going to next Sunday. Regardless of how it happens, the she always shows up, ready to rock the joint.

One of the best things about her is that she has the ability to make everyone enjoy themselves, even if they don’t want to. She doesn’t pay any mind to the whispered digs or the evil eyes. She gives all of them hugs and her most sincere love, even if they’re mean as a rattle snake to her. She just refuses to dance their dance, always listening only to the music of her own soul, always more than willing to share the love . She is the consummate Party Animal. Full of joy, devoid of judgment. The kids love her, the grown-ups fear her.

The Crazy Aunt knows about the fear. And she knows it’s usually just a matter of time before they’ll come around. She also knows that even if they never do, she ain’t about to let them rain on her parade.

Just the nature of the Crazy Aunt. Aren’t you glad she came?

dear santa

One of the best things about my ex-husband was his love of shopping. Dude LOVED to shop…for me. Very cool indeed. And, he was really good at it too. Always found the perfect gifts, regardless of what the ‘reason’ for the gift was. It was one of those things that always amazed me. Truth be told, he was better at buying clothes for me than I was. Which was an AWESOME talent, cuz I hate clothes shopping. Yep. Kept him around a bit longer than I knew I shoulda, just cuz he was so good at it. (terrible, huh?)

One year, however, he was stumped. It was probably somewhere around October and he’d apparently been struggling with his shopping. So one day, quite by accident (I swear! I was NOT eavesdropping!), I overheard him talking to a girlfriend of mine, asking if she had a clue. Not sure what her response was, but I got this light-bulb over my head thing…and decided I was going to write a letter to Santa.

Later that night, when he was out with some friends, I got out my best stationary and did just that. As if I was 6 years old…same tone, same kind of language, same way I’d have done it at that age. I told him why I thought I should be on the ‘nice’ list and all the things I’d done that year, and even confessed a few ‘naughty’ things too. No point lying to Santa, ya know? Then, I proceeded to list all the things I’d love to have. At the end of the letter, I told Santa that I didn’t expect to get them all, I was just giving him options. (not sure if a 6 year old would’ve used that word, but, oh well.)

Then, I signed it, put some sparkly confetti in the envelope and mailed it. It was addressed:

Santa Claus

c/0 Elf Kenny

and then our address.

I never saw him get the letter, but I know he did. Because that year, every single thing on that list was under the tree.

Why am I telling you this? Because, ladies, there are lots of men who have no idea. It frustrates them. It makes them buy things you don’t want. And it can make for some very unpleasant moments. So…help ‘em out! Write Santa a letter. Do it your way. But help ‘em out. If you make them guess, and you get some kinda goofy-assed present like a vacuum cleaner or a new food processor, it’s not his fault. It’s YOURS.

As my Daddy always said:

Don’t ask. Don’t get.

Ho Ho Ho.

So you think you’re too old?

If I hear one more person say “I’m too old for that” I think I’m going to have to shoot them.

What the hell is that anyway?

Too old for snowball fights?

Too old for kickin’ up leaves?

Too old for rollin’ around on the floor with a puppy?

Are you freakin’ kidding me?

It blows me away when I hear those words. Especially when they’re coming out of the mouth of a 40-something year old. It’s so freakin’ sad. And a giant waste of space. I mean, if you think you’re OLD at 40-something, what the hell are you gonna do when you’re 60? Or 70? Or….(GASP!) 80????

Oh. Wait. You probably won’t live that long anyway. So, no point in considering those questions. May as well just go git yourself a gun and shoot yourself now. Get it over with. Then you won’t have to deal with more wrinkles, more gray hair, more sagging, lagging, aching, and making excuses for being so pitiful. For Pete’s sake, what the hell is that crap?

Listen…this whole linear time thing is a bunch of baloney. I know, I know. You’re saying to yourself, “who the hell is this rude-assed woman? And who the hell is she to tell ME that I’m full of baloney?”

Well, I’m figurin’ that you’re here now because you were looking for something to float your boat or tweak your attitude just a bit. Otherwise, what you call “an accident” is what I call Cosmic Cool. You’re here…and you were looking for something, otherwise you wouldn’t be (here). So…who the hell am I?

I’m that little imp who likes to poke people just enough to get them off their butts. I’m that pain-in-the-ass who likes to push folks to the edge of what they know so they can see for themselves just how much fun it is to jump. There’s this terrific saying (that also happens to be a ‘mantra’ of mine):

“When you come to the edge of all you know, you must believe in one of two things: there will be ground on which to stand, or you will be given wings.”

So I’m pokin’ at you today, so you’ll get off your pity pot and stop making excuses. You’re not too old for ANYTHING. Time is an illusion. An illusion that we’re fed over and over, every day, by millions of other people who are too scared to live. Time has nothing to do with living. Time is an excuse for not grabbing life by the balls and WOOOOHOOO-ing your way through your days. Time is a waste of time.

{huh?}

Okay. Maybe I got a little carried away there. But it just makes me NUTS when I hear people using that excuse. Because, in the end, it goes like this:

You’re born. You live. You die.

The end.

So what the hell are you waitin’ for?

merrrrrrrrrrrry whatever ~

So I’m out and about this morning, wearing my Santa hat and assorted other festive adornments, all to amuse myself and the little ones I might run into along the way. I get such a kick out of them…their eyes get all big and they tug on Mama’s sleeve, excitedly asking, “Mama, is that Mrs. Claus? Mama, LOOK! I think that’s Mrs. Claus!!!”

Cracks me up every time.

The other thing that cracks me up is the reactions of some ‘grown-ups’. Now, I gotta say, in all fairness, most of them smile and some even wave. But then there are those freakin’ cranky pants. You know the ones. They get this scowl on their face…and they give you the evil eye, like they’d shoot you if they could, but they can’t, so they give you the evil eye instead. I can almost hear what they’re thinking. And yea. It cracks me up.

When I encounter the Cranky Pants, I ALWAYS give ‘em an extra big grin and say “MERRRRRY CHRISTMAS!”. I sing it out. Really loud. And I don’t give a rip if it’s not politically correct to say “Merry Christmas”. Frankly, I’m wayyyyy  tired of hearing all that crap. Say whatever the hell you wanna say. It’s about the season, for Pete’s sake! Not about who’s gonna be offended cuz they’re Jewish or Pagan or whateverthehelltheyare. Get over it already. Merry Christmas, whether you freakin’ like it or not.

How’s that for holiday spirit?

the massage fiasco ~

Some people just weren’t cut out for the whole massage experience. It happens. It’s one of those mysteries that can either make you laugh your ass off…or NOT. I ran into one such person recently, a very sweet and lovely woman, who had her first massage. It was actually a gift. She was pretty darned excited about it before she went.

Not so much afterwards.

While she was sharing her experience with me, I had all kinds of hilarious images running through my head. I could see the whole scenario, like the ol’ proverbial fly on the wall. Of course, I was crackin’ up the whole while this little movie went through my head. It went something like this:

Beautiful woman walks into massage room, and is asked to remove her clothes and lie on the table. There’s a sheet with which to cover herself. The masseuse leaves the room. Beautiful woman stands in center of room, not quite sure if she really wants to take all her clothes off. Nobody (besides her husband and maybe her doctor) has seen her naked before. She’s feelin’ kinda vulnerable. She keeps hearing this little voice in her head saying “Oh boy! What have you gotten yourself into now? You didn’t think this one out, did ya?”

Five minutes pass. Masseuse returns to the room to find beautiful woman still standing in the center of the room, fully clothed. Masseuse asks if there’s a problem. Woman stutters something about not feeling comfortable getting naked. Masseuse uses her soft voice, gently explaining that it’s really okay. No one will see her. And the massage will be quite a bit more pleasant if she is naked. Masseuse leaves the room for a second time.

Beautiful woman is still not moving. Nor is she removing her clothes. She wants to run out of the room, jump in her car, and pretend it never happened.

Three more minutes pass and beautiful woman finally gets irritated with herself, removes all her clothes and hurriedly slips the sheet around her beautiful naked body. Masseuse re-enters the room to find her client on the table, unable to look at her. Masseuse understands and does her best to put beautiful woman at ease.

Scented candles are lit. Soothing music is playing softly. Lights are dimmed.

Beautiful woman thinks she’s going to die of embarrassment.

She does not.

Masseuse begins to work on beautiful woman, starting at the top of her head and working her way down the neck, to the back and then….

WHUT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING????

When masseuse’ hands reach beautiful woman’s ass, she is about to come unglued. She had not realized that masseuse would be touching her ‘privates’, even though she never really considered her ass ‘private’ until this moment. I mean, it’s just her ass, right? Beautiful woman is not happy about any of this. Masseuse continues her work, trying to keep beautiful woman from freakin’ the hell out.

At long last, massage is over. Time’s up. Masseuse tells beautiful woman she may now get dressed. Beautiful woman has her clothes on faster than that first time she had sex (and heard her parents’ car pull in the driveway!). She’s outta there so fast, the masseuse doesn’t even catch a glimpse of her ass as she flies through the door.

Never again, she tells herself. That was just too freakin’ weird. Gift or not gift, NEVER AGAIN!

Wonder what her husband had to say.

next up…all the parties!

So did you torture yourself and actually get on a scale after all that food? Sure hope not. Scales are not only inaccurate, they’re also discouraging. Don’t believe me? Get on the scale first thing in the morning, then mid-day, then right before bed. Your weight will be different every time. All in the span of maybe 16 hours. Scales. Total illusion.

Don’t do it. Back when I was a Personal Trainer, the first thing I’d tell my clients (especially the ladies..who seemed to be completely obsessed with this weight thing) was THROW IT OUT! Or give it to the Goodwill. Just get it out of your house. You don’t need it, it won’t help you, and it’s essential for you to see your training from a different perspective.

Did they? Not all of them. But I can tell ya this: the ones who did always had better results in a much shorter time. Why? Because they got it. Not at first. But eventually. Here’s the deal:

It’s not about your weight. It’s about size…and how you FEEL. Point in fact: if you were to train with me (or any other good trainer) and begin to build muscle mass, you’d actually WEIGH MORE. Oh yes  you would. Cuz muscle weighs more than fat (in terms of size). What I mean is, if you took a chunk of fat the size of a grapefruit, and a chunk of muscle of the same size, the muscle ‘grapefruit’ is going to weigh more than the fat one. So, weighing yourself when you’re trying to lose weight is totally self-defeating. Anyway…kinda got off subject here…

What I was about to say was that I hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving festivities and didn’t get all bound up in that guilt crap. Like I said earlier…forget the calories. Now we’ve got several weeks before all the Christmas and New Year’s Day festivities begin…more parties, more food, more drink. More (gulp!) calories. So how are you going to move through all this without gettin’ yourself all in a tizzy?

Here’s a little suggestion: Every day, from now until the parties are over, start eating more frequently in smaller portions. If you’re one of those who eats 3 times a day, start eating 6 times a day. More frequently…SMALLER PORTIONS. Here’s what’ll happen: your body is going to crank up its metabolism. It’s going to start burning more efficiently. It’s going to process the food you eat faster than when you’re only eating 3 times a day. Because…it can only process so much at one time anyway. Did you know that? If you eat, say, 1000 calories in one sitting, your body is likely to actually USE about 600 of those calories (depending on your body, and how much you move your butt during the day). So where do the rest of those calories go? You guessed it. They get STORED. Stored = fat. Unless, of course, you happen to be into hard-core resistance training, in which case some of it will be turned into muscle. But let’s not get off track again..

Eat more often in smaller quanities and drink more water. (you’ll be amazed how much better your body runs when you do). Stay off the scale. And for Pete’s sake…quit worrying about what’s coming. This is not the time of year to be doing a major make-over…nor is it the time to add even more stress to an already stress-filled ’season’. Stress also messes with your metabolism (bet ya didn’t know that either). The more stressed you are, the harder it is for your body to process the food you’re eating. Cuz it’s too busy tryin’ not to have a freakin’ heart attack. So then….to recap:

Eat more frequently.

Eat smaller portions.

Drink more water.

Quit stressin’.

ENJOY YOURSELF!

End of lecture.

 

STOP with all the calorie crap!

Okay….listen up here, my lovely fellow Beings. There’s some stuff that needs to be shouted from the rooftops, and I’m just the gal to do it. (Oh. Big surprise there, huh?) It’s gotta be said…for the sake of your own enJOYment. So here ya go:

For the past week I’ve been hearing this all over the place and it’s drivin’ me nuts. Happens every year about this time, and every time it does I want to call up every DJ on every radio station and read ‘em their rights. I dunno. Maybe they’re just too immersed in the fear-driven bullshit to see what they’re doing. Or else, they’ve just got some issues about their own guilt-ridden habits. Whatever the case, I think it’s high time to speak out….

Everywhere you turn you’re likely to hear someone going on about all the calories ‘we’ will consume on Thanksgiving day. Stuff about us consuming more calories on that one day that we would ‘normally’ consume in 3 or 4. Then they go on about how you’re supposed to push yourself away from the table before you’re full, or wear clothes that are a bit snug so you can’t over-eat, or maybe forgo the pie. They use words like ‘moderation’ and ’self-control’ and ‘gluttony’. They fill your head with nasty images of clogged arteries and a laboring heart.

PUHHH-LEEEEZ!

Here’s the deal: Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, most of us are going to attend gatherings, eat stuff we usually don’t eat, drink more alcohol, indulge in sweets, etc., etc., etc. The fact that these indulgences occur over a relatively short period of time (weeks, as opposed to months and months), leads most folks to believe that it’s a BAD thing to give in to said indulgences. But you know what? It’s really a bunch of baloney.

If you’re carrying a few extra pounds before the holidays, you’re certainly not going to lose them during the holidays. And even if you are one of those who consumes the ’standard’ 6000 calories on Thanksgiving day, those 6000 calories are NOT going to gain you 10 lbs. I don’t care what the ‘experts’ say. It’s bullshit. Not to mention the fact that just thinking about all that will give you heartburn, an upset stomach, a headache, and serious ‘oggeda’ (it’s an Italian word, which I’ve probably spelled incorrectly…that is a combination of all of the above).

The bottom line is this: ENJOY YOURSELF. If you think what you’re eating is ‘bad’ for you, it IS. If you think it’s a celebration (as in ‘good’ for you), it IS. Carrying fear and guilt and dread while you eat is NOT good for you. It keeps your body from digesting properly, adds to your overall stress, and basically puts your body in ‘alert mode’. And when that happens, all manner of stuff changes (physiologically speaking), none of which is good for you. So, here’s my little ’snack’ for the season:

DON’T FREAKIN’ WORRY ABOUT IT! Enjoy yourself. Take a few extra walks around the block. Be grateful for all your blessings. Dance. Laugh. Hug. Love. All those things burn calories too! Most of all, just remember to HONOR YOURSELF and the food you’re consuming. When the holidays are over, you’ll have enjoyed them AND probably not gained more than a couple of pounds (if any at all). Should that happen, give a big, loud thanks for that too. And then…get off the couch and MOVE.

A very happy, delicious, joy-filled Thanksgiving to YOU.

for the hair-down-there????

This is gonna crack you up. Or maybe have you dashin’ out the door to git yours. Or maybe…never return to this blog again because the author has lost her mind and you’re not gonna take it anymore. Whatever the case, it’s all in good fun…so whatever floats your boat, ya know?

Anyway, not long ago I came upon a posting by my crazy friend Michele (her blog is called “BodaciousBoomer” and it is a HOOT!} who wrote about this product called ‘BettyBeauty‘. I was howling the entire time I read. It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe someone had actually come up with such a product, it was the way in which Michele shared her perspective. Truth be told, I always figured it was just a matter of time before someone came up with such a product.

The fact that the product comes (originally) from Italy makes it even more hilarious to me. Leave it to those crazy Italian women to want to “match” their hair-down-there. They’re so stylish, those gorgeous Italianas.

And honestly,  it’s not like it should be a surprise. There was even an episode on Sex and the City where Samantha had attempted to color hers, (and I think she either burned it off or it turned out a horrible color. Can’t recall now. I just remember that it had me in stitches.) When your hair on your head starts to fade, it only makes sense that your hair-down-there will too. Or worse! Sometimes it doesn’t so much fade as it does turn stark-raving white. It’s quite the shock! And don’t even think about pullin’ that sucker out. OUCH. OUCH. OUCH. Not a good idea.

So anyhooo00….this woman discovers this little secret while she’s in Rome, goes back to New York, and decides she’s going to develop her own to market in the states. Well, of course she is. There is no such product available (in the U.S.) at this point, and she can see the potential for a gazillion dollar market. Not rocket science to figure that one out, ya know?

And so that’s what she did. She did the research, got a bunch of other folks on board (gee. ya think that was a struggle? NOT!) and began her mission to spread the word that we can all have our hair-down-there match the hair on our pretty little heads. But that’s not all. If you’re feelin’ a bit on the wild side, you can even get ‘wild’ colors…pink, green, lilac…(wowza! can you imagine?!). AND…oh no…she didn’t stop there. She even came up with some specifically for men. Now, I gotta tell ya, while it isn’t hard for me to imagine women wanting to do such a thing, I do find it a bit staggering to think about men doing it. Call me sexist…but I just have a hard time picturing this. But then…I’m into cowboys, so it just seems a bit inconceivable to me. A cowboy with color-coordinated hair? Don’t think so.

When I first heard about this, I posted a little blurb on my FaceBook page about it. The first person to respond was, of all people, my brother. He wrote, “what if you don’t HAVE ANY hair-down-there?” HUH? The immediate visual I had in my head was NOT a pretty picture. COME ON, BRO! Did ya really have to go there????

{I wrote him back and told him to get a henna tattoo of an uzi. He’s all into that Mafia Wars stuff. Figured it’d be a perfect fit. I got no response back. Go figure.}

So now I’m really curious. I wonder how many women do this? I wonder if anyone notices when they do. I wonder if the woman who came up with the product is a gazillionaire yet. But mostly I wonder…

WHY????

I will if I want to…

It’s kinda gettin’ on my nerves. This whole thing about what is “age appropriate” when it comes to fashion, hair styles, etc. I keep hearing all this stuff about how you “shouldn’t” wear this or that if you’re over 40, or that older women “should” wear their hair shorter, or certain colors just “should not” be worn after a certain age.

WHUT THE….???

First of all, who in the hell are these people anyway? And what makes them think that they have the inside track on who can wear what at this age or that? I’d like to see what they wear when they’re not on camera. I’d like to know how they figure that just because I’m 50-something I can’t pull off a slinky dress and stillettos with my long, flowing hair and fish net stockings. HA! On my worst day I can pull it off…and do it better than most 35 year olds.

Vain? Nope. Just sayin’. What you wear or how you wear it is all about ATTITUDE. If I feel like wearing Wranglers and cowboy boots with my Stetson, I’m gonna wear them and wear them proud. Just cuz I’m over 50 doesn’t mean my butt doesn’t look good in Wranglers. (just ask the boys. They’ll tell ya.) AND…this whole thing about hair length…

Why is it that women think they’re supposed to chop it all off at a certain age? What IS that? I get this all the time. People tellin’ me…”ya know, you’d look so much  younger if you wore your hair short.” Or, “It’ll take years off your face.” Or, (my personal fave) “You looked so much better when you had it pixie short.”

Gee. Thanks for your unsolicited opinion. And for telling me that I look old. Cuz that IS what you’re sayin’, right? You’re sayin’ that IF I wore my hair short I’d look younger, which is implying that I look “old”. Nice.

I say wear what the hell you wanna wear. If you want to grow your hair to your butt, grow it. If you want to color it purple, do it. Nobody gets to tell you how or what to wear…unless, of course, they’re living in YOUR skin. Otherwise, ain’t none of their damn business.

So there.

road block ahead?

Okay. So I’m in a bit of a conundrum (doncha just LOVE that word??)…and so I’m going to put it out there and see what comes back.

When I first began this little Chin Hairs adventure, it was my intention to offer up some humorous perspectives on the “aging” process. Because, let’s face it…most women are pretty uncomfortable with this so-called process. For all the many who feel the need to nip, tuck, suck, prick, botox, puff-up, lipo, augment, etc., etc., ad nauseam…it certainly does seem to be a cultural obsession to “look young”. I’m not quite sure why it matters so much, but apparently it does. Anyway, so I started this whole thing to help people lighten up about it. To stop taking it all so freakin’ seriously. To enjoy the ride rather than kick and scream about how unfair it is.

What’s unfair about it? You were “young” before you got here…and those little chiquitas who get on your nerves are gonna get where you are one day too (if they’re lucky). So what’s so unfair about aging? It’s part of the Big Picture, ya know? I mean if you think about it…if nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.

Who wants that?

But back to the conundrum. Here’s the thing: there are only so many things a gal can find on any given day that are actually funny about aging. The chin hairs…they’re funny. But how many times can ya write about chin hairs? Or wrinkles (although, now that I think about it, I haven’t actually written about wrinkles…but maybe it’s cuz I don’t have any. Or else, I don’t see them. Whatever.) Point is, I seem to have hit a wall here. And I’m tryin’ to figure out if I outta just ditch the whole idea and move on OR let it rest for a day or five until something else pops up.

I’ve made some pretty awesome friends via this blog. And I’ve been immensely inspired by some too. All in all it’s been a pretty fun thing, but I loathe the idea of having just another unread blog that isn’t doing anybody any good. In short, what’s the point if it isn’t being read?

So there you have it. I know I have my devoted fans who will likely comment here…and I thank you in advance. I really do appreciate your readership and your participation. Honest! Maybe you trusted, loyal fans could tell ALLLLLL your friends so they’ll come on over too? Or maybe it’s time for me to move on to something a bit more…meaningful? I dunno. All I DO know is that it’s time for a change…and I’m not the least bit averse to change.

I happen to love butterflies.