Fake Parts

When I first got mine I felt so different! How could such phoniness make a woman feel so sexy, so noticeable, so empowered?  I just loved to show them off and was very dramatic in my fashion choices to make them more noticeable. Sure, it was a big expense, but the results were fascinating!  People stared and some folks even commented about them. I loved the attention! Unfortunately, after several years they became a burden, my aging did not help - they pointed in different directions. I eventually had them removed and in doing so I felt a little less feminine and, at first, going out in public made me very self conscious about the lack of flamboyance they had previously inspired in me.

When my sister got hers they were not as flashy as mine, nor as big. When Mom (MOM!) had hers done I was kind of surprised, but like my sister, she went with a smaller, less noticeable, set.

I have been considering doing it again. Not as ‘out there’ as before, but just as a subtle lift to my self esteem.

It is really quite amazing how fake fingernails can change the way a woman feels about herself.

Naked Saturday

My favorite day of the week is Saturday.  On Saturday mornings I begin a ritual of a day of nakedness that I have lovingly named Naked Saturday. It is a wonderful day of freedom from the ‘bindings’ of the work week.  Here are a few rules and tips:

• Socks are allowed in cooler weather – but only on your feet.
• If you order a pizza for delivery you will need to provide a HUGE tip.
• No ironing! Nipple burns do NOT heal quickly.
• Kittens are forbidden pets.
• Do not fry bacon (same reason as in no ironing).
• In the winter time, folding clothes fresh from the dryer may create ...uh…warm feelings.
• Stay away from mirrors!
• If someone asks you to do something on a Saturday that you do not want to do you can honestly reply, “I’m sorry, I have plans on Saturday.”
• No drinking of alcoholic beverages because it is highly possible that you may take the trash out without thinking about it… or move a water sprinkler…or lock yourself out of the house.
• And most importantly; if visitors should unexpectedly arrive you must be prepared to never see them again.

 Easy rules and great tips! Try it out! Let me know how it works for you.

I just LOVE Naked Saturday!

60 is the New 50 - Only MUCH Worse!

·           If a mustache on a woman is a joy of aging I guess the fact that my age and my hips being the same number should make me exuberant!

·           The joy of aging defines an ‘afternoon delight’ as a nap.

·           The joy of aging keeps me from driving after dark, or on the freeway, or with my left blinker being on.

·           It’s a good thing I am a natural blonde or the joy of my aging would make me look like the missing link.

·           With the joy of aging ‘doing it '3 times last night’ now refers to peeing.

·           With the joy of aging you do not have to count sheep to fall asleep… you can count the Presidents that have been elected in your lifetime.

·           The joy of aging is discovering you can’t dye the gray hair ‘there’ because it burns!

·           The joy of aging means understanding the value of titanium.

·           The joy of being happy when you get older requires only a minor adjustment to your medication.

·           You actually start looking like the Troll dolls you used to collect.

·           The joy of aging can keep you busy for hours trying to figure out the meaning of the abbreviations the youngsters use in their Facebook posts.

·           With the joy of aging I can read a best selling novel four of five times a year because I cannot remember how it ends… or that I ever read it.

·           The joy of aging is first believing in Santa Claus and then having his figure...and maybe a few of his chin hairs.

·           The joy of aging makes looking for your car in the Wal-Mart parking lot the old folk's version of Looking for Waldo....Looking For Volvo.

·           With the joy of aging you get to remember when your belly button was not in the middle of your cleavage.

·           The ‘Golden Years’ is a crock. It’s more like the ‘Stiff, Leaky and Smells Funny Years’.

·           To me, my joy of aging is not just saying what the hell I want and getting away with it.  It is not remembering that I said it and getting to say it again.

·           To me, my joy of aging is not just saying what the hell I want and getting away with it. It is not remembering that I said it and getting to say it again.

Clothes Shopping As An Adorable Large Old Lady

I was once told to broaden my horizons. I misunderstood and bought an eight pack of Hershey Bars. My horizons are so broad now that I no longer like to shop for clothing.

While wandering through stores over the past few months (in search of a stylish tent) I really became aware of the clothing and layout of the stores selling fashions. Have you seen the stuff they are selling young women, teenagers, now? OMG! The department signs should be changed from Juniors to Tarts.  The stuff they sell in Misses, for the 20-30 somethings, should be called Wannabes or Tarts Plus. You do not see much in selection for Maternity wear since wearing clothing too small and stretching the Tartwear so tight you know the sex of the unborn child is popular. Then there is Womens clothing. This department is for the woman that cannot be a Tart or even a Wannabe.  Plus Sizes (heavy sigh) is for fat girls that will settle for anything that fits. I think young, skinny, women (or straight men) walk though fashion warehouses and pick out the ugliest stuff there and order it to sell to overweight women. Since there is nothing fashionable out there for us we wear the ugly stuff and get a bad rap for having no fashion sense. Just because we like Hershey Bars is no reason to punish us with ugly clothing! We are doing our part to keep people making candy and candy wrappers working! It’s a better jobs plan than we’ve seen over the past decade! I’ve said before that the signs saying Plus Size is demeaning – might as well say Wide Load. I had a friend (keyword here is ‘had’) that told me the brand name of the jeans of fat girls should be Gravy Boat Jeans. He went on to mention a back up beeper should be installed in a rear pocket. Since he is now an old guy, and probably wears jeans with a ‘scootch’ more room in the crotch, I suggest his jeans should be called Limp Dick Jeans, or possibly All Balls No Action Jeans.  (Sorry, I got side tracked for a minute there.)  But speaking of the ‘scootch’ more room jeans…the older ladies could use a little help with a ‘scootch’ more bra strap length. When we were younger it was a pain to keep adjusting the straps to keep the girls lined up properly. As we get older the good news is that the straps are let out all the way and need no adjusting. The bad news is that if we raise our arms we ooze out the bottom of the bra! I do understand that an extra yard of bra straps could be difficult for the younger set. We need our own age related garment. Bali brands should make bras for the gravity pull on older women and call them Baliho. The possibilities are endless…just as the bra straps should be.

The fashion industry is behind the times We keep hearing on television that this is the fattest generation of Americans, ever.  Large ladies pants have the waist size of a thirteen year old anorexic. Large ladies do not need front pockets in their slacks…the slack settles in the pockets. Why do they put Disney characters, or Tweety Bird, on t-shirts for older women?  We do not need breast darts in our blouses for where our boobs used to be – they need to point down now. There should be a Federal law against size 10 thong panties. We know we are large – there is no reason to add an ‘X’ to our clothing sizes. An ‘O’ would be more of an incentive to lose weight ... as in “Oh, crap I’m bigger” instead of the nasty X which usually indicates multiplying - we do not like doing math while shopping! Give us some flattering styles without the stupid ribbon under the former boob location. Quit pushing sleeveless tops on us, we have upside down muscles! 

Great. I have pissed myself off.  I now vow, in writing, to quit shopping at Wal-Mart. They obviously do not hire gay men fashion buyers that adore large, older ladies.  

Static Cling & Chubby Girls

Well ladies, the weather is getting cooler and that can only mean one thing: static cling!  This seasonal horror is twice as nasty for chubby girls; big girls just seem to produce more static than skinny girls. We must carry the economy size Static Guard in our purses to battle this demon.

Chubby girls do not like to show their curves and static cling enhances the bumps and rolls that we try so hard to hide. There is nothing more embarrassing than getting out of your car and walking into a building with your skirt clinging above your granny panties, especially if you only shave to just above the knees.  The damned skirt will not pull down because the static lifts it again with each move of the arms and legs. This phenomenon only occurs in crowds, which leads me to believe that skinny women throw off some sort of static energy that attaches itself to the largest warm female in a room.

Static turns a nice hair cut into zombie mode. Large girls usually have nice hair because it is easier to manage than losing weight. I like to rub my hair with a lavender scented dryer sheet before styling. I believe there is just something more loveable about a chubby girl with nice hair and the sweet aroma of lavender!

Although it can produce moments of personal pleasure, it is not planned for the thighs of a large woman to throw sparks as she walks across a room.

I recently read an article of helpful hints that said that a safety pin in the hem of clothing will keep static cling away. This is soooo bogus!  You will never find a hefty gal without half a dozen safety pins on her, somewhere, holding elastic together or giving an extra inch where the button and the button hole refuse to meet. These gals still have the static cling problems! I bet a skinny woman wrote that helpless hint. 

To sum it up…the scourge of the season is upon us. Static Guard will sell well because the big girls of the world have budgeted for the extra weekly expense. What a shame it does not come in a nice lavender scent.

The Highways of My Life

When I was a kid it took forever to make a trip from Fort Worth to my maternal Grandmother’s house in Garland.  I guess I was about eight years old when the Dallas / Fort Worth Turnpike, now Highway 30, opened and the trip was much easier. There was not much traffic. On one of our first trips we had a flat and a courtesy truck quickly arrived to help us out. I have not seen a courtesy truck in years.

I was also very young when Highway 35 North opened. It made the trip to Gainesville, to my Granny Lemons house, much quicker. There was no traffic and the scenery was basically trees and pastures between north Fort Worth and Gainesville. On the way back I watched the horizon for the Saginaw feed mills; it was an indicator that I was almost home.

When I was still in elementary school Loop 820 opened. There was not much traffic. The loop around Fort Worth was a great idea until too much was squeezed inside the loop.

When I was in high school the Airport Freeway began to open. It was still under construction as they built the DFW Airport, and yet, there was not much traffic.  Highway 183 changed to Highway 10, in places, and Airport Freeway. I am still confused.

At the end of my senior high school year Highway 635 opened. So many lanes and no traffic!

All of these highways are like my life. There were many new roads with a flat or two along the way, but the new roads made life travel more quickly. Traffic began to build as the years passed. I developed some potholes, could use a little resurfacing, and my shoulders slope a little bit.  Every now and then I suddenly dip when I do not expect it and I need some bridge work.  Detours taken have gotten me lost and I’ve had to turn around and start over several times. I am reluctant to enter the on ramps and often miss the off ramps. Too much is squeezed inside my loop. I still look for the Saginaw feed mills to know that I am almost home. My median is wider and new lanes have been added.  I pass with caution.

Time, like a highway, changes, stalls, backs up, detours, stops, speeds up, and then slows down again. When…Oh, crap! I just noticed that I have had my turn signal on for the past ten years! Damn.

The Scary Blind Date

Have you ever been on a blind date? No, not the kind with a seeing eye dog, but a date that a friend (who usually ends up as a former friend) has set up for you because they think they have found the perfect mate for you? (Pam, if you are reading this it is not about the many that you set me up with. Those were not dates. I consider them practical jokes.)

This is a true story without embellishment – does not need any.  The names were not changed to protect the innocent. I do not remember who set up this date. It is said that when you have a traumatic experience you tend to forget much of it.  All I remember about the name of the date is that his last name was Lynn. He was a former neighbor and I vaguely remember his younger sister who was a few years ahead of me in school. Our planned date was for dinner out and a Casa Manana play.

He arrived about half an hour late and looked frazzled. He said he had lost his car keys and was driving his old farm truck. I told him I knew about farm trucks and did not mind riding in one.  I was wrong.

The year of this date was somewhere around 1975. The truck was about 25 years old at that time, white in places, and had demolition derby characteristics. Not so bad, huh? Oh…but wait! The passenger side door panel had been removed in order for a rope to be looped through part of the door frame. The other end of the rope was tied to the steering wheel. This rigging was to hold the door closed, and I assumed, attached to the rest of the truck. I reluctantly climbed in the driver side door. Dinner was involved. I was hungry.  Farm Truck Lynn instructed me to hold the rope, tightly, as he removed one end of it from the steering wheel, so that he could drive. I asked him what he did when he was driving alone and he said he tied it to his seat belt. At this point I should have just said, “Let’s do this some other time,” but I did not, I was determined to enjoy dinner and a play. I was optimistic, or just stupid.

Do you remember the Bonanza Steak Houses? They were the blue collar cafeteria style steak houses that catered mainly to the lunch crowds, older folks, young families, and were inexpensive. Farm Truck Lynn had a 2-for-1 coupon. 

At Casa Manana we were informed there was a delay due to a stage malfunction. The stage at Casa Manana was rotund and rotated during plays.  I do not remember the play we were there to see (trauma forgetfulness). The delay was long enough that I had to go pee twice, so it must have been about an hour wait.  The play started and about forty-five minutes into it the stage blew a fuse, or a hundred thousand, and the show was cancelled.  Farm Truck Lynn was disappointed but I was not; the theme from the TV show Bonanza had begun galloping through my stomach and I was ready to go home. 

It was about eleven o’clock when we pulled into my apartment parking lot and the rope burn on my right hand was beginning to sting. Farm Truck Lynn turned off the truck engine, placed both hands on the steering wheel, bowed his head and said, “Lord, please forgive me for what I am about to do.”

This was probably the first time, maybe the only time, that I was not a typical dumb blonde.  I dropped the rope, kicked open the door and ran for the hills. I did not look back to see if the truck door stayed attached. I made it inside my apartment and bolted the door. He banged on my door for awhile and said he just needed a drink. I hollered to go home to get it. After a few minutes the elderly man living next door opened his door and said, “Son, I think it’s time you go on home. Now.”  Farm Truck Lynn left.  I never heard from him again but always kept a close watch out for his truck while I lived in that apartment.

I had one more blind date that was a bad one where I was not able to get home as quickly as I wanted. (Pam, this one was the last one of your practical jokes.)  To this day, I will meet a first time date at our destination so that I know I have safe transportation home when I am ready to go home. I do not worry about them following me home because I cannot see to drive at night and I get lost a lot. A twenty minute drive can take two hours to complete. It is also probably why I very seldom have a second date. Damn.