Road Trip to La Quinta, CA

People in cold parts of the country hate it when people in warm parts of the country complain about the weather being cold. But to me, 50 degrees is COLD!  So my hubby and I decided to make a fast trip to Palm Springs to warm up!  It's only a two hour drive away and a great escape.

La Quinta Resort & Spa is a fave place for us.  The mountains are so close you can practically touch them and the stars can actually be seen at night, which rarely happens in Los Angeles. The rooms are pretty nice too, and no, I don't work for the resort or the Chamber of Commerce, I just like it here.

But it's the Spa that draws me to La Quinta.  For the record, I am not a high maintenance kind of girl.  In fact, I've been known to turn down a massage on occasion, but not this weekend.  You see, I had knots in my shoulders and neck the size of the Grand Canyon.  I needed a massage bad.

My masseuse, Kim, met me with a knuckle-cracking handshake that was my first sign this was going to be gooooood.  I gave her a quick once-over.  She was tall, with strong arms and legs. Perfect.

I explained my massage rules-- The dos and don't of touching me.  I've done this enough times to know not to beat around the bush and just lay them out on the table so I can promptly find my massage zen.

Don't:

-Heat the table (Hot flashes are enough heat.)

-Touch my arthritic hands (Ouch!)

-Massage my face (With all that greasy oil.)

-Pull my ears (What is that about?)

Do:

-Spend lots of time on the knots (The more the better!)

-Use lots of pressure (Seriously, it won't hurt me!)

-Massage my head (Ahhhhh.)

But whatever you do, DO NOT touch my feet.  I am extremely ticklish and touching my feet will blow the whole zen thing to smithereens.

Once we understood each other, Kim got straight to work, in blissful silence.  Don't you just hate a Chatty Cathy masseuse? Anyway, she worked her elbow, with her full body weight, into my aching shoulders and neck. Oh my gawd, it hurt sooooo good!  I could feel the knots starting to dissolve.

After 40 full minutes of silence and really hard work-- she was huffing and puffing, Kim said-- with shock and dismay registering in her voice-- "What do you DO? Your shoulders are a mess!"

"Um, I, ah, well, I sit at a computer all day."

"Honey, you need to give it a rest!"

After another 20 minutes of more intense kneading and pressure, Kim finally moved on to other body parts for the last 30 minutes of the massage.  I think she must have been exhausted because I could barely feel her touch.  Or maybe I fell asleep.

It's been a long time since my neck and shoulders felt this good-- this relaxed-- this stress free.  It was worth every penny plus a big tip.

Kim's parting words were, as you might have expected-- "Stay off the computer for the rest of the weekend."

I took her advice-- for about 90 minutes-- and here I sit, in front of the computer again.  Oh well.  There's still time for another massage before we return to Los Angeles.

How do you find your zen?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Think About It Thursday: Quotes #6

Things to think about from Academy Award Winning Actresses

"You grow up the day you have your first real laugh at yourself."

Ethel Barrymore (1879-1959)

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."

Ingred Bergman (1915-1982)

"You can't get spoiled if you do your own ironing."

Meryl Streep

What are your words to live by?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

The F-Word At A Birthday Party

There is only one reason, and one reason alone, that I would travel from sunny Southern California to freezing Cleveland in the dead of winter and that would be for a loved one.  

I lived in cold weather country for half my life and I am done-- finished-- not interested in-- boots, slush, shoveling snow, ice scraping or freezing my ass off again for as long as I live.  Yes, that's a problem for my mother and family who all still live there, but I make up for it and visit plenty of times when the weather is hot and humid, and the Ohio mosquitoes are the size of New York City cockroaches.  I think that makes up for it. Nevertheless, I was going to Cleveland for a party in the winter, which is like saying "when hell freezes over" and well, in Cleveland, it kinda does.  But I digress.

My oldest friend and gal pal extraordinaire, Kay, was celebrating her 50th birthday.  Again.  In Cleveland.  But Kay is like a sister to me and I would not think of missing it.  Guys may become "blood brothers" but Kay and I are true sisters who made a vow, as we crossed our hearts and our push-up bras when we turned thirty, that we would never, ever, mention the F-word in public. That's "F" as in Forty and Fifty.  We were going to stay thirty-something Forever.

Last year, for Kay's 50th, she was laid up in the hospital going through a nasty spell the likes of which would have sent me to the pharmacy for industrial strength Prozac. Since then, the past 12 months, and the C-R-A-P she has endured (medical and otherwise) is mind-boggling to the point that if I told you, the list would be as long as your arm, and you'd think I indulged in one too many martinis at lunch.  It's been a relentless, bazaar, and seemingly never ending year of wild roller-coaster riding.  Let's just say, the afternoon of the spectacular Hudson River plane crash landing, I literally called to make sure Kay wasn't flying that day.  With all that had happened in 2008, it would not have surprised me one bit, that early January, 2009 day, if she'd been standing out on the wings flagging down a tub boat.   Anyway, I digress again.  Back to Cleveland.

Kay's beloved husband, Vince, and their two beautiful, college age daughters, decided to throw a surprise birthday for her 51st to make up for the big plans they had to cancel for her 50th. Pulling off a surprise for Kay was a very tall order.  She's one of those babes who is everywhere and knows everyone and everything.  And I mean that in a good way.  We thought for sure, out of the 75 invited guests, someone would spill the beans. But, nope!  She was 100% blown-away-surprised.

For her poor husband, keeping the secret was tough.  A sell-professed "bad liar", he found himself spending much longer than usual shoveling snow from the driveway, walking the dog, and pretending to prepare their taxes just so he wouldn't slip-up in front of her.  It got to the point that he was so stressed trying to make excuses for his undercover actions to Kay, that one day, after filing the dog's dish with water, he put it in the refrigerator instead of on the floor for their pooch.  The poor guy was ragged by party night.

But daughters, Ella and Melanie, had it the roughest. They were doing the bulk of the planning via email from college, each in different states.  Arriving in Cleveland, three days before the party to prepare, meant sneaking in and out of the hotel their parents are living in so their Mom didn't see them or their cars. No small feat. (Remember all the crap I mentioned in the last year? One had to do with their house burning down and now living in a hotel for 6 months while it's rebuilt!  I wasn't kidding. Someone needs to call Ripley's.) 

Kay's daughters were troopers and had obviously learned a lot over the years watching their multi-tasking, super-mom plan parties on the spur of the moment for the masses.  They pulled it together, delegated when necessary, and had arranged for more than enough food and libations.  Entertainment included every "oldies" song from our generation along with a hilarious slide show, complete with Kay smoking a bong in college and other embarrassing bad hair photos from the past half century.

By the end of the night, as the party wound down, Kay had mascara tear-stained cheeks and was absolutely joyful.  Despite an entire room of people cheering her on for her Fifty-first, I never once saw her cringe at the mention of the F-word.  She was Fifty-one, madly in love with her husband, beyond proud of her daughters and happy to have her Fifth year behind her.

How do you celebrate birthdays?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Fifty-something Dating: Chapter Two

Single, fifty-something guys... 

One dynamite woman, Marilyn (53), spent $1700 on a dating service that sets you up on "pre-screened" dates to "do lunch".  She thought her initial interview with the matchmaker went well and that she had articulated her "wish list" in a man.  

Or, maybe not.

Her first lunch was with a guy (52) who'd been divorced for more than 20 years.  He was attractive, employed, and didn't eat with is feet.  Good start, she thought-- until he mentioned that, since getting divorced, he hadn't been in a relationship for more than two years-- And he'd been in several relationships!  Yep, the guy was a hit and run dater-- The ultimate 24 month revolving door of love connections. Check please....

The second date was equally unimpressive.  Mr. Man (56) rode up on his very loud, Harley Davidson-- dressed head to toe in leather. His bike was decked out in chrome, so were his front teeth.  She shamelessly hide in the bathroom until he gave up and rode off into the sunset.

Third date was a Mama's Boy (52) who brought his poodle, Gigi, with him.  The dog ate off his plate-- and hers.  Marilyn speed dialed the matchmaker from the parking lot to share the pain. What part of a "normal, healthy male, looking for a long-term relationship" didn't Miss Matchmaker understand? 

Two weeks passed before Marilyn ventured out to "do lunch" again.  This time, Mr. Right (55) appeared at her table with flowers in hand.  Now we're talking!  Lunch was fabulous; they had so much in common and they laughed and laughed.  It ended with a sweet peck on the cheek and the promise of another date.  She never heard from him again.  

Up next, Mr. Sweet (51), and that was the problem.  He was "sweet" which ranked him right up there in the "nice personality" department.

By now, lunch was taking up too much time so Marilyn decided to cut-to-the-chase and switched to coffee.  Cup, after cup, after cup-- of coffee.  Date, after date, after date.  Nothing.  No one. After twelve dates, not a single interesting guy with potential in sight.

As of this writing, Marilyn is anticipating her 35th class reunion and the possibility of her also single, high school sweetheart (54) sweeping her off her feet-- again.  Not likely, but a trip down memory lane might be interesting. After that, she's taking a break from dating and going with the old line "what's meant to be will be".

I'll keep you posted.

Have you made a fifty-something love connection?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  - Joanna

To Spanx Or Not To Spanx

How a little-ish piece of spandex changed my life.

My grandma wore a girdle.  A serious girdle.  I have no idea how she wiggled into it but she wore one, every day of her adult life.  I swore I never would.

Well times have changed baby!  Hallelujah for Spanx and all things stomach sucking, gut pulling, and waist minimizing!  No more pooch for this grandma.

I have Spanx in every size, shape and color.  And, I often wear them all at the same time.  Yes, I layer my Spanx for maximum body shaping results.  Call me delusional but by the seventh pair I'm sure I actually have a waist.

It cracks me up when I hear some young thing like Eva Longoria, for example, say she swears by Spanx for her Red Carpet looks. Heck, I swear by them everywhere!  Especially when I'm in the bathroom and have to peel them all off.  In the middle of a hot flash that counts as a workout.

Some days, when I wear my industrial strength Spanx, I can actually cheat the "sizing chart" in a clothing store's fitting room and shave off a full size.  Add in "vanity sizing" by designers and voila! another size instantly disappears.

Now, at fifty-something, as my butt runneth over and my love handles merge into muffin tops, I can honestly say-- completely sober by the way--  that Spanx are the greatest invention of my lifetime.

Ahhhh, who knew in every package of Spanx came a pound of denial.

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor -  Joanna

Adventures At The Orthodonist

It's a little weird having an Orthodontist when you're in your fifties.

It started as a 45th birthday present-- to myself.  I "gave" me braces, on my teeth-- a full set of metal for my pearly whites.  I always hated my crooked front teeth and decided it was high time I did something about it.  

It's the best thing I ever did for myself; I only wish I'd done it years earlier.

My Orthodontist, Doctor Jay, has a beautiful Beverly Hills office with lots of frosted glass and attractive dental assistants for his adult patients.  But every now and then, things get backed up and I find myself in the "boys room" surrounded by enough sports memorabilia to fill a school gymnasium.  Every inch of the walls are covered with shirts, jerseys, hockey sticks, basketballs, baseballs, posters and pendants-- literally all the sports bells and whistles you can imagine.

I'm out of my element in the "boys room".  Sports is not my thing, neither are adolescent and teenage boys with metal-mouths who look at me like I'm the old dog on the porch.

I much prefer the "girls room" when the office is over booked. It's filled with about 200 hot pink and purple lava lamps.  For the morning appointments, the lamps are just warming up and move as slow as I do-- but by the afternoon appointments the lava is like flowing, like totally awesome, and like way cool for sure.  In the girls' room I don't have to worry about being the old dog-- Teenage girls don't even notice me or my braces.

Regardless of which room I'm in at the dentist, there is not a snowball's chance in hell I would have been brave enough to wear braces as a teenager-- if they'd been an option for me.  The teen years were tough!  The teen years with a full mouth of metal-- like back in my day-- NEVER.  I'd have run away from home first.  But as a forty-something, my confidence was, in fact, strong enough to handle to jokes and wise cracks that accompanied all my metal.  At 50, check ups with my retainer are a walk in the park.

Like I said, it's the best thing I ever did.  Now if only a facelift was as simple.

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna