Ode To The Obama Dog - Not The Crazy Dog Lady

I absolutely love babies and animals but I do not have either.  And, I'm not complaining.  I knew early in life that I wasn't cut out for motherhood on any level and I've never regretted either decision for a moment.

But with all the "Obama Dog Drama" of late, I've been tempted to pick up a pooch or carry a cat home from my local shelter. They're just so darn cute!  It would be nice to have a furry friend curled up at my feet.  But no!  I must stand firm.  The older I get the more sure I am about my "no pet" policy.

You see, in my small Midwest hometown there was a lovely spinster librarian who lived on a big piece of land on the main drag of town.  Despite the property's size, it's location lent itself to the whole town always knowing her business.  One day, the locals noticed she had a few sheep roaming in the yard.  Then more sheep.  And more sheep.  And more sheep!  I'm talking about A LOT of sheep roaming outside and inside her house.  It was quite a sight and you can only imagine the smell.  Since she had no children, she immediately became known as the town's "Crazy Sheep Lady" who had sheep instead of kids.  It was such a stinky spectacle, and people talked about her so much, that she is why, even after all these years, I simply cannot have a pet of my own.

I have no doubt that, like the Crazy Sheep Lady, I too would not stop with just one fluff-ball to call my own.  A person always needs at least two pets so they can keep each other company. And of course I'd feed any stray cats my precious flea-bag might bring home.  Then, before you know it, I'd be the Crazy Cat Lady-- The nut case with too many cats instead of kids.  No thank you.

A dog would be even worse.  Do you ever notice that nobody makes fun of grown women-- with children-- who coo over their pampered pups?  You know the type.  They talk baby talk to their doggie-woggie and put bows and in their fur and booties on their paws.  But a woman without children dressing and carrying their pup in their Prada-- Well, the Crazy Dog Lady title is all but hers.

So no pets for this fifty-something non-mama.  I'll live vicariously through Malia and Sasha Obama and hope they love their new Portuguese Water Dog, named Bo, enough for all of us.

What's your take on pets?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Modern Technology And Other Airport Chatter

Not having to travel anymore with my laptop is my favorite perk of retirement. I hated schlepping that thing with me everywhere. Canceling my Blackberry email account and using a plain 'ole cellphone, is something I consider a life-changing bonus when I stopped working.  Ahhh to be disconnected.

But, during a recent cross-country trip, I was delayed for hours in an airport with absolutely nothing to do, so I decided to kill some time and "rent" a keyboard and Internet connection at one of those kiosks they have in airports now.  You might have seen them but refused to pay the hideous, per minute charge?  Well, I was that bored, and had already read three newspapers, all the tabloids, plus "The Economist" and  "More" magazine.  

I inserted my American Express card into the computer station and was connected surprisingly fast. Once I scraped the mystery stickiness off the Return key, I got to work and flew through my messages in about 15, very expensive, minutes.  After logging out, I gathered my belongings and found an empty seat next to a scruffy looking college student apparently on his way home for Spring Break. 

His name was Mark-- I could see it in big letters written in Magic Marker on his backpack.  He had the usual electronics that come with teenagers-- the latest iPod and the coolest Blackberry on the market.  Mark was texting a mile a minute as Bono rocked, at an ungodly decibel, in his ear.  I felt fairly cool having recognized it was U2 playing as I twiddled my thumbs praying for our delayed flight to get a move on it.

After another hour of sheer boredom, I dug through my carry-on and found a big bag of M&M candies.  I was starved but ate them slowly, one at a time, to make them last for the anticipated three more hours of flight delays. After my third bite, Mark, who had barely looked up from his keypad, suddenly found me incredibly interesting.

He struck up a conversation typical of a 19 year old-- This sucks, that's a drag, what a bummer-- you get the drift.  After a few minutes, I offered him some M&Ms. Now I was, apparently, riveting.

Mark munched away by the handful and the conversation eventually lead to my having "rented" the airport computer. He'd seen me on it and thought I must be "really rich to waste my money" on something like that. Ha!  If he only knew. Anyway, eventually he gave me the once-over from head to toe, then stared deeply into my eyes.  What's up with that, you ask?

His next words are ones I will not soon forget....

As if I was an ancient dinosaur he said, in the sweetest most condescending voice you ever heard, "It's really great that you know how to use a computer.  I mean, not every one your age can." 

Hello-- I'm 50 years, old not 115.  The putz.

Without mentioning I retired last year, I explained I was in the advertising business and actually knew a thing or two about computers and the great big World Wide Web.

He looked at me with amazement.... and scepticism.

Seriously, I said.  I've been in the Internet game since before most people had email addresses.  He thought I was full of crap as if, duhhh, email had, like, always been around.

I moved my M&Ms out of his reach.

Mark mocked the idea of people still relying on fax machines and others who couldn't program their DVR. There were numerous comments about his mother-- who I surmised, is actually younger than me-- and how she can't figure out the house alarm system let alone Google or Facebook.   Geezers and old-timers were laced through his conversation as he laughed at the "older generation".

Before I bitch slapped him, I changed the subject by asking what his major was in college. Believe it or not, it's Communications! I nearly choked on my candies-- At which point, he asked for the rest of my M&Ms.... Since I was choking and all.....

Yes, I was conversing with a future marketing maven of America-- The kind that wouldn't pay two cents for the over 35 demographic, let alone the graveyard category of over 50. Grrreeeaaat.  This is what we have to look forward to from the Class of 2011?  

After Mark held the bag of M&MS up to his mouth and poured the last few dozen down his throat, he had nothing else to say. We sat in silence as he laughed and chuckled over emails and texting with his college buddies.  When our flight was finally boarding oh those many hours later, dear Mark asked if I needed help carrying my (very small) bag.  Ah, no thanks Dude.  This granny can carry her own stuff, thank you very much.

Communications major, my ass.  

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Generation What?

Recently, I came across an article online from an April, 2000 issues of Esquire magazine, by Paul Begala, who summed Baby Boomers up as "The Worst Generation" of "self-absorbed" nasty "greed is good" jerks, full of guys who "once dropped acid and now do Viagra" and chicks who used to "do lipstick and now do liposuction".  Sounds kind of harsh!

I'll admit I've been known to refer to Baby Boomers as "they", "them" and "those people" who were former hippies and draft dodgers.  I was a Disco Queen and that was all so far from my universe growing up that "they" seemed like the "older generation" to me. 

So you can imagine my absolute shock and mortification when I realized that I, was in fact, a member of the Baby Boom Generation that's constantly getting trashed in the media. How could that be?  I'm only 50 years old.  

Technically, Baby Boomers are considered those born in 1946 through the end of 1963.  They are classified as having grown up with Howdy Duty, Woodstock and anti-Vietnam War protests.  I was born in 1958 and never did any of that.  Somebody check the dates!

Seriously, I thought I was part of the Pepsi Generation ('63)-- We were born after World War II in time for, us-- the "younger generation", to take the "Pepsi Challenge" ('75).  The Baby Boom started a full ten years before I was even born!  Who do I call to file a protest?  The Pepsi Generation just sounds so much nicer anyway.  Besides, I was only 5 years old by the time the Boomer Generation ended.  

"Officially" Boomers include folks like Donald Trump and George W. Bush ('46), OJ Simpson (47), Cat Stevens ('48), Richard Gere ('49), Arianna Huffington ('50), Rush Limbaugh ('51),  Mickey Rourke ('52), Ben Bernanke ('53), Howard Stern ('54), Steve Jobs ('55), Bill Maher ('56), Spike Lee ('57), Michael Jackson ('58), Marie Osmond('59), Bono ('60), Dee Dee Myers ('61), Tom Cruise ('62), and John's son, Julian Lennon ('63).

That means Michelle Obama, Tavis Smiley, Russell Crowe and Bobby Flay (all born in 1964) are too young and just missed the "Boomer" title.  I doubt they're upset.

If that doesn't surprise you, how about the folks that are too old to be Boomers-- Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler, Eric Clapton and Diane Sawyer, were all born in 1945.  George Lucas ('44), Geraldo Rivera ('43), Aretha Franklin ('42), Martha Stewart ('41) and John Lennon ('40) didn't make the cut either.  I wonder if they realize they're part of the "Silent Generation".  (1930-1945) Nice, huh?

There is a glimmer of light at the end of my tunnel.  Additional research revealed there's "technically" an in between generation that I'm a part of, even though I've never heard of it before. Does that still count?  Maybe I've lived a sheltered life, but has "Generation Jones" ever come up in your dinner conversation?  It hasn't in mine.

Those born between 1954-1965 fall into the "Jonesers" category as they apparently are known.  According to Wikipedia, we were the children raised in the "optimistic '60s before the realities of the pessimistic '70s hit".  We dealt with things like Watergate, the cold War and the oil embargo.  For many of us, Jimmy Carter was the first president we voted for.  (Um, sorry about that.) People like Oprah, Jerry Seinfeld and President Obama run in our crowd.  Madonna and Prince brought us MTV.

Where does "Jones" come from, you ask?  Think, as in, "keeping up with the Jones".  Not very flattering but we're a competitive bunch, or so they say. But I guess it's better than being lumped into the Generation X crowd (1966-1980).  They're a bunch of "slackers" according to society's standards.

So here I sit eating crow.  I admit, I have not had many nice things in the past to say about "my people"-- the Baby Boom Generation.  But I felt better learning that in 1967, when I was 9 years old, Time magazine named "Middle Americans-- The Baby Boom Generation, as their "Persons of the Year".  Although I do wonder how they feel about that today.

Pondering life as a "fifty-something" now also includes the "Baby Boomer Generation" name tag.  I'm still adjusting to both labels with trepidation.  I've long since switched from Pepsi to Coke... so I could "Teach The World To Sing In Perfect Harmony" (1971), but maybe I should reconsider and step out of denial and explore my "roots" a little deeper, this time not as judgemental in my old age.

Do you have a generational "label"?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

What To Expect When You're Menopausing

Researching menopausal symptoms seems to be my full-time job of late.  I have a variety of other chronic illness that have accumulated over the years-- nothing major, just mostly annoying ones, so I often feel the need to compare the chronic crap to the budding menopausal side-effects now targeting my increasingly freaky body.

I thought I had a fairly good understanding of what was in store for me during "the change" but quickly realized I needed a modern day "What To Expect When Your Menopausing" type of book.  

Seriously.  If you have a baby, you can read a step-by-step narrative on what's happening to your body, practically daily, for a full nine months.  Then there's a second book to tell you what to expect, moment-by-moment, for the first 12 months of your little tike's life. That's hugely helpful!  Why isn't there one for menopause?  A simple, week-by-week wrap-up on menopausal happenings, would be a best seller!  I know it would be a much bigger book because menopause is not wrapped up in nine or twelve little months, but I'd buy that book no matter how big it was, as long as it's not a book associated with a celebrity, product or service someone is trying to hock me.  That doesn't count.

I know, I know, every woman is different, so are the drugs to take for it.  It's not cookie-cutter, I get that, really I do.  But come on-- I just want a blow-by-blow on what to expect, when to expect it, and a few pointers on when the hell it will be over! Is that too much to ask? Apparently so, because I've yet to find "the source" for all things menopause.

In my quest for answers, I discovered something absolutely shocking.  Did you know there are as many as THIRTY-FIVE symptoms of menopause?  I sat straight up in my chair when I read that tidbit of horrifying news. Until that moment, I only knew about the "top eight". (Irregular periods, decreased fertility, hot flashes, sleep issues, mood swings, weight gain, hair loss, and dryness you know where.)

But THIRTY frigging FIVE symptoms????  Who the hell counted and why didn't they tell anybody-- Like my doctors-- who continuously dismiss my whining about these wacky symptoms, or my best gal pals?  I know some things are embarrassing and potentially pretty unattractive, but really, someone could have pulled me aside and whispered the other twenty-seven possibilities that lurk in the shadow of very hot, sleep deprived, menopausal women.

Okay, so only 5% get the "burning tongue" thing, but a heads up would have been nice.  Same goes for the ringing in the ears.  Or how about the "itchy skin" which usually turns up early in the change process?  I just read it's associated with the loss of collagen and makes you look older.  So that explains it!  

And like a late night infomercial-- Wait, there's more! Pass the tissues because some experts say menopause "increases allergies" which is not to be out-done by tingling extremities and the feeling of ants crawling all over your body.  Nice, huh?  Or the whole bleeding gum thing--  I can't even go there!

But my personal, mind-blowing, fave, has to be the peculiar "electric shock sensation"-- like a rubber band snapping on your muscles-- That's a red alert for an impending hot flash.  Did you know that?  Think of it as your body's very own early warning system of a flood about to rush from your head to your toes.  Not one single person mentioned that to me-- ever.  See what we have to look forward to?!?!

No wonder menopause is kicking my ass!  And according to my research, I'm just getting started.  Damn!  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

How are you doing?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Did That Guy Just Hit On Me?

It's been a very long time since a guy hit on me so I'm a little rusty at this stuff. But I swear, a nice looking, 60-ish guy made a pass at little old fifty-something me.

And it freaked me out.

Last week, I was on vacation in Palm Springs at a lovely resort, with my husband, I might add. It was early and I was on the hunt for the gift shop to buy some Diet Cokes for the room. I don't drink coffee and I needed my morning caffeine fix.

Basically, I had just rolled out of bed, put on my yoga pants-- even though I have never, ever, stepped foot into a yoga class in my life-- and threw on yesterday's wrinkled tee shirt. I pulled my too short hair into a scrawny ponytail, added a big sun visor and my wrap-around Fendi sunglasses. I was anonymous and incognito.

Or so I thought.

It's a big place and I got lost looking for the gift shop. Walking in circles, I passed the resort's coffee house-- twice. That's when I noticed this 60-ish guy, with a puzzled look on his face, staring at me. Did I still have toothpaste on my lip or was my outfit just not working for him? I ducked into the first open door I saw, which turned out to be the gift shop I'd been looking for! How I could have missed its big sign remains a mystery.

Before I even paid for the Cokes, I chugged an entire can-- Then I coughed up a hideous $13.00 for three 16 ounce cans of soda. But the burn of an ice cold Coke at 8AM was well worth it, so was the caffeine rush I was beginning to feel.

As I exited the store, there stood the 60-ish guy again, coffee in hand, with a sweet smile on his face. Did I mention he was cute too?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." He's touching my arm lightly. "It's just that my wife passed away three years ago..." I step back to remove his hand. He seems embarrassed. "And you look exactly like her. You stopped me in my tracks. It's unbelievable."

WTF?!?!?!?!

I'm speechless so he keeps talking. "Seriously, you could be identical twins. I can't believe there are two such beautiful women in the world." He seems genuinely sincere. Or am I just a sucker?

What does a girl say to that? I mumble a thank you for the compliment and something about being sorry for his loss. Then I made a hasty exit and ran (something I never do) back to my room.

So the question is-- Was that weird or am I just cynical?

I mean, could this guy be for real or was that the world's worst pick-up line ever? I teeter between being appalled, flattered, and feeling sorry for him.

Don't get me wrong, I am NOT interested in being picked-up by anyone other than my dear, sweet hubby. It's just that the possibility of using your dead wife as a come on is freaking me out. Seeing dead people that look like ME is even freakier. Maybe it's time for that makeover.

I never saw the 60-ish guy again that weekend. When I told my gal pals a few days later that I'd been hit on, they jumped up in unison, did a group high-five and chanted "you go girl!". Then I sheepishly told them the "but" part-- Why do these moments always have a "but"?-- His "dead wife" words were met with absolute silence and a lot of eye rolling. The girls sat back down and finished their lunch, never mentioning it again-- at least not to me. I can only imagine how the phone lines burned up after our gathering.

Note to self: Be nicer to husband when in an irritable menopausal mood. I would suck at being single.

When was the last time you were hit on?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor - Joanna

Blame It On The Kids

I did a bad, bad Oreo thing.

Consider, if you would, a box of Oreos.   Do you know how many Oreos there are in a row?  I'll tell you-- A shameful 15 Oreos are in a row-- That's how many!

It started innocently enough. Wide awake yet again, thanks to menopause insomnia, I roamed the house trying to exhaust myself into sleep.   Finally I decided on some Sudoku action at the kitchen table.  That usually has me snoring in no time.  

The next thing I knew I was in front of the open "snack drawer"-- The place where sweets and treats are kept for the younger generation.  It's filled with tons of confectionary crap I usually never eat myself but always delights the kids, making me a hero in their eyes.  You know what I'm talking about-- The junk foods their parents won't buy for them.  Well, I've got it, and they love me for it.

I just needed a little something.  Just a tiny taste.  And then it happened-- In 3 short minutes-- before I even realized it.  I downed an entire row of Oreo cookies from the package, along with a quart of milk.  Damn!

Yes, I actually gulped 440 calories per minute.  That's 1320 calories in less time than it takes me to tie my shoes.  Damn, I can't even remember what they tasted like. Guilt rushes in as I look down at the crumbs on my nightgown.  Now I'll never get to sleep.

You see, other than the hideous calorie overdose, Oreos are a fave of my young godson, Jacob, who, I might add, keeps count of the cookies in the package.  He's at our house two or three times a week and picked Oreos as his fave after-school snack for the drawer.   Jacob is somewhat territorial about his Oreos and is not inclined to share-- with anyone.

I know I will be totally busted when he arrives tomorrow.  I pace the house again, this time trying to find a reasonable explanation for pigging-out on his Oreos.  The sugar rush is increasing my headache as the sun starts to rise over the horizon.  

The way I see it, I have two choices.  I can blame the missing row of cookies on the "other kids", or I can buy a new box first thing in the morning and hide the evidence. In my sleepless sugar haze, those are the only two options I can come up with.

But wait, no one is looking.  I can eat the last row of Oreos tonight AND buy a new box in the morning.  Now there's an idea.....

What's your favorite sweet treat?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  - Joanna