Suburbanly Incorrect

If You see something, become unhinged and embarrass your family

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If you see something, say something. Do we not hear this every day? Is this not the mantra the Federal Government has been cramming down our throats since September 11? So when it’s time to say something, what would you do? Do you say something and risk being labeled a racist, a bigot or even worse an unhinged housewife? Or do you sit there and do nothing even though in your heart you know you should and in your deranged mind you know if you don’t no one is safe from your unbridled anxiety that is about to be unleashed.

My family went on vacation in December. We were going to an island in the Caribbean. I was a nervous wreck about the flight, and I am evolved enough to realize I am not always rational. I was trying to be calm and pretend that I was fine but my family saw right through that. That is probably why my husband did not blink an eye when I spent more than $85 on bad magazines and gum in the airport newsstand.

Once we were on the plane I felt more at ease and started to calm down. That was a momentary blip. My family was  seated across the aisle from each other, two and two. Aisle middle, aisle middle.  This was a great set up,until a morbidly obese man came down the aisle looking to squeeze into the window seat next to my daughter in my husband’s row. The man  started yelling at his wife about wrong seat assignments and panic set in. I could see his discomfort and embarrassment. There was nowhere for this man to go, let alone squeeze himself behind a row of seats and fold his body into the window seat. He politely asked my husband to switch seats.  Adam could sit by the window and this man could have the aisle. Since the option of purchasing another seat was off the table(the flight was full) this was the best way to go. I watched in absolute horror as Adam replied “I would rather not.” I repeat, to the morbidly obese man who could not squeeze into his seat and would most definitely have a heart attack if he tried my husband replied “I would rather not.”

To help save face, I would take one for the team. This is what marriage is about right? So, I gave Adam my aisle seat, the man took the other aisle and I sat in the middle with my daughter at the window seat. Of course the whole time I am thinking,” If the plane goes down will they be able to identify me because I am not sitting in the correct seat” like I said, not rational.  Meanwhile, “I would rather not” has become the running joke of my house since this episode.

All was good, I did a mitzvah, we were going to be ok. Until a young fella looking like the unibomber came down the aisle.

This is when the adage started running through my head. If you see something, say something. Was this something? A middle eastern man, young, twenty something with a beard and mustache who was  wearing a hoodie (with the hood up btw)  looking very shifty walked to the back of the plane and went immediately into the bathroom. Ok. I was going to remain calm. I was over reacting maybe he didn’t go into the bathroom. Nope.  He was in the bathroom.

I tried giving Adam the stink eye, motioning my head in the direction of the bathroom. No dice. He thought I was trying to tell him to stare at the poor guy squeezed into the seat next to me. I kept checking, the kid still was not out of the bathroom. I finally had to text him to tell him what I was thinking. So Adam looks at me and mouths “what do you want me to do” then went back to reading the NY Post. Are you freaking kidding me? Clearly I was on my own here.  That kid was in the bathroom for a good 10 minutes and I know because I timed him. When he came out of the bathroom he took his seat, in the LAST SEAT IN THE PLANE!! OMG this is like terrorism 101. What more proof did I need?? I could not take it. I was in a full sweat. Again I am repeating the mantra in my head. “If you see something, say something” but what am I seeing? What am I going to say? I felt like unless you actually see someone planting a bomb or stabbing someone you don’t say something.

Screw it, I got up. I made the poor man next me shimmy out of his seat so I could go scope out the situation in the back of the plane. Nancy Drew I’m not but I have watched enough episodes of Law and Order to be able to figure something out. As I walked by his row I tried to glance over to him without making eye contact, I didn’t want to give anything away but I noticed he did not have a carry on bag. Really dude no carry on? This was getting worse by the minute as was my creeping anxiety attack.  I approached the Flight Attendant and gingerly tried to say I am having a small issue I ned to talk to her about. I was talking low and she could not hear me so I had to raise my voice to say “There is a passenger on this plane making me uncomfortable” that was pretty politically correct right?  That was too vague I had to be more specific. More specific?  Okay, there is a guy who looks like one of the 9/11 bombers on this plane and he locked himself in the bathroom for 10 minutes and now he is sitting in the last row, probably waiting to meet his virgins, is that specific enough for you?

At this point I may or may not have started to cry a little. I am not proud but hey, it’s 6:30 in the morning I just got out of a seat that is basically a sardine can and there may or may not be a potential terrorist on the plane, there is no reasoning with me.

The flight attendant tried to explain to me it’s very hard to get a bomb on the plane, that they really catch everything while going through security. She then went on to tell me he was probably just  masturbating in the bathroom because that is what many people do before the flight takes off.  I’m sorry what? This theory actually made me speechless. This is what many people do before a flight? Was this some new relaxation technique I have not heard about? Is this like the dark web? Go to the bathroom and jerk off before the flight and you will be calm? This seemed like a far fetched theory but I was pretty desperate so I smiled and said “Yeah, ok” she looked at me sympathetically and said “are you going to be ok? You are having a thing right?” Yes I am having a thing, Im a middle aged woman scared shitless of flying and you just told me the potential terrorist was probably jerking off into his hoodie in the bathroom. I feel much calmer now, thanks.

So I did what any reasonable person who was having a full blown meltdown would do. I went into that bathroom and tore the fucker apart looking for a bomb. I spent another 10 minutes in there taking things off the walls, looking under the sink and the toilet. I left no space unturned. When I walked out of there I felt reassured that had my masturbating bomber left something in that bathroom I would have found it. I also felt like I needed a shower and a valium but thats another story.

When I got back to my seat my daughter suspiciously looked at me and asked me where I went. She knew I was up to something. Maybe I gave it away when I said “ok we are all good I swept the bathroom there is nothing there.” She just looked at me and shook here head.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. Needless to say I am fine and our plane was fine. The masturbator got off the plane and we all survived. I am not embarrassed my little meltdown and I’m not embarrassed that I tore a bathroom apart looking for a bomb. I am embarrassed that my husband would not switch seats with someone who needed it more than he did.  Even though I know my husband hates flying as much as I do and it was his own fear that prevented him from doing so.

I never claimed to have it all together. I actually claim the opposite, I know I was unhinged and irrational that day. I am almost 50 years old, I have earned every anxiety attack that I have. No-one was injured, no ones feelings were hurt, the only person who knew I was losing my crap was my family and the lovely flight attendant. I do have to say that felt a little bad ass tearing things off the walls of that tin can of a bathroom. I know I did my civic duty that day. I saw something, I said something. Even if my saying something was in the form of a housewife who had gone off the rails.

Amy vs. the Treadmill

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I am the type of person that looks to the universe for signs.  I believe in ghosts and believe there is a reason for everything, almost everything.  Maybe there are some things I don’t understand, for instance 9/11, but when it comes to romance, relationships, and certain events in my own life I believe the universe is talking.

When I walked into the gym this morning I had not had a conversation yet with the universe so I was feeling optimistic.  I put out to the world (and to all 10 people who actually read this) that I am planning to run a half marathon, and soon.  This requires training, which means running. Considering that it is 31 degrees outside my training is relegated to a treadmill.  Not a problem, I joined a new gym in December so I am ready.  My gym is cool, so cool that they host a fundraiser every February called Cycle For Survival.  They close down the entire gym for the day  and teams come in and spin throughout the day to raise money for cancer.  The gym moves the equipment out and puts spin bikes in the entire gym.  It’s like Soul-Cycle came in and threw up everywhere.

So Monday morning everything should be back to normal, should be being the operative words.  I am a creature of habit so I run on the same treadmill every time.  This is not that weird. Ask any runner about their habits and you will see they are extremely ritualistic.  Since I have been using the same treadmill, I have noticed the same people using the same treadmills all around me.  There is the extraordinarily thin girl who must use the same treadmill every day while watching Fox News or the older woman who actually battles the same girl for the treadmill, that’s always entertaining.  This morning as I walked to my treadmill I was pleasantly surprised to see out of the 3 treadmills I use only one was in use, the middle one.  Behind the first one on the floor was a maintenance guy doing who knows what but he was on the floor and I had to walk around him to get to the third and final treadmill.  Had the treadmills been in their normal spots this would not have been a difficult task.  However, when the treadmills went back to their spots after Cycle for Survival, the gym did not leave enough room between the treadmill and the wall.  There was not enough room for me to actually walk through to my treadmill, but, I did not know this until it was too late.  As I walked past the treadmill that was in use, my leg brushed against it. I then proceeded to fall onto the treadmill as the person was running, I scraped my shins, flipped over, twisted myself like a pretzel, and landed on my back.  That not being enough, I then proceed to fly off the treadmill toward the window, hitting a garbage can and promptly landing with the garbage can on top of me as I lay crumpled in front of the window.  My back and pride all hurting at the same time.  Did I mention the runner on the treadmill in an attempt to save her own life lost her shoes? I could not make this up. 

I really did not know what to do.  As I was laying on the floor I decided to get my big ass up and try to act like everything was normal.  If normal includes the whole club stopping what they’re doing to run over to the middle aged hag laying in a heap at the end of a treadmill with a garbage can on top of her.  After I got up I was promptly offered an ambulance ride to the nearest ER.  After I declined that I sat there with ice on my back while the trainers repaired my mangled legs.  I spent the next 45 minutes trying to figure out if I was ok.  Was I ok? I have no idea.  I didn’t hit my head so there is that comfort.

So do I need to look deeper into what the universe is telling me? Should I read into this that I should not be running this race and I should find a different goal? I say no.  I say the universe is telling me to plow ahead.  I think the universe is testing me to see how far I can be pushed and I am not giving in.  I put it out there and I am doing.  So, although I am in extreme pain and can barely walk, I am going to take this as a sign that I need to finish my goal.  This was a test and even though I may have to run as a handicap athlete I am going to do it.  It’s my official F you to the universe.  You can knock me down, suck out my estrogen, and continuously humiliate me but I am not backing down.

So, next week when I feel better (and I better feel better) I’m going to take my bruised ego and ass back to the gym, get on that treadmill and pray that the universe is too busy screwing with the world to bother screwing with me.

                                                                  (how I felt after the “incident”)

Turning 50

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The idea for this blog was born out of the notion that I am reaching a milestone birthday and have not actually done all the things I had hoped to do.  One of the things that I have yet to do is blog on a regular basis.  Or on any basis. In my mind, I have written a bunch of blog posts but in reality, none have materialized, sort of like the fake weight on my driver’s license.  After reading many self-help books and books on procrastination, ok and some smutty books I have come to the realization that I have no reason other than fear. Fear of failure, fear of criticism, fear of fear, fear, fear, fear.  Fear can be crippling.  I have a friend who used to never drive on highways or even take an elevator all because of her fear.  I lived in my apartment in NYC for 12 years and she would not come up because I lived on the 18th floor. She is now medicated, happy as a clam and driving all over the place while aimlessly taking the elevator.  I never realized my fear was stopping me until I realized I was watching reruns of Catfish and Dr. Phil.  That was a pretty low point.  Especially when I decided that I could actually do the job Neve was doing and I figured out who the catfishers were before Neve did.

When I was younger and single I was pretty fearless.  I was definitely someone who took chances and didn’t think much of it.  Clearly looking at past fashion choices you don’t have to be blind to see I was a risk taker.  So in honor of turning 50, I am really going to start taking risks until the big day.  I am not necessarily going to be jumping out of a plane (although I may) it will be baby steps.  When I had the idea for this blog, I originally thought it would be funny and snarky (pretty much like me) but life has taken some unexpected turns.  I don’t always feel so funny or snarky, ok I always feel snarky. Maybe it’s the things I have experienced this year, maybe it’s turning 50, maybe it’s having my first born get ready to leave for college, maybe it’s all of the above, but I am not feeling funny.  I am feeling old and nostalgic.  Truthfully, I think I have watched too many episodes of This is Us because I have Cat Stevens running through my brain and I am now watching old episodes of The Magic Garden, trying to remember my childhood without sobbing.

I have 6 months until the big FIVE O and I am really going to try to make this blog part of the countdown to 50.  I will really try to engage and just write, make some memories and live in the moment like all the FB posts on positivity say to do.  I am starting to compile a list of things I would like to accomplish before that day.  A mini bucket list.

For my first leap, I signed up to run a half marathon in March.  I have run countless races in the past but that’s exactly when I was in shape for them, in the past.  I have been sidelined with hip issues for the last 2 years so I am totally out of shape.  Add some extra pounds and my impending entry into old age and a half marathon seems pretty like a lofty goal.  I will try to  chronicle my training so I have to be accountable but my ability to evade accountability is like my teenagers. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or proud.

After that I am open to suggestions. I am way too comfortable in my life right now,  but I am also very neurotic so anything that could possibly end in my death may not be a great suggestion.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Anniversary

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Today is my anniversary. 19 years married, 21 together.img_7559 I should be posting on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or any other form of social media. Talking about how much I love my husband and how he is my best friend blah blah blah. I am not one for PDA or too much emotion. I tend to keep things close to the vest, going for the laugh rather than the emotional aspect of a situation. But since I started this blog and committed to start writing and putting it all out there I am going to have to suck it up and write a post in honor of my anniversary. And I am pretty sure it should be nice. Damn.

I love my husband. I really do. I got very lucky 21 years ago when my friend introduced me to him in a crowded Hamptons bar. Most days I am nagging him, reminding him how lucky he is to have found me. But for today, one day, I will put it out there that I am actually the lucky one.

The last 21 years have been a roller coaster of experiences. Spending them with him has made the ride so much better than I ever could have thought possible. We have definitely had our ups and downs as all marriages do but at the end of the day, he is always the person I want to go to sleep looking at and the person I want to wake up with.

So I want to thank him publicly. Or at least to the 7 people who actually read this. Thank you for the last 21 years of being there for me and then the kids. Thank you for always giving me advice, even when unsolicited, for actually caring enough to give that unsolicited advice. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader even when you did not agree with what I was doing. Thank you for listening to me talk about the same things over and over and over. Thank you for never being scared to tell me when I have crossed over to that “dark side” of being a mother and when to dial it back.

Thank you for being a great father to our girls, never turning down an opportunity to be involved in anything they were doing.  Thank you for allowing us to make fun of you almost daily with your color coordinated outfits and strange choice of footwear. Thank you for allowing us to take photos of you while you were sleeping yet never getting upset when the pictures were less than flattering.

img_6260You are a genuinely good person with a heart of gold and there is no one I would rather be spending my life with, even if you are starting to dress like a character from Goodfellas.

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So today, on our anniversary I will just say thank you for being you. Being married is not easy but being with you is.img_6572

                                                                                     I love you. xoxo

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Procrastination..and other excuses to avoid life

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                                                          (newly organized drawer)

“Procrastination is defined as the act of delaying or postponing something. A procrastinator is a person who delays or puts things off- like work, chores or other actions that should be done in a timely manner.”

I started this blog a year ago. Well, I started the idea of this blog a year ago. My best friend and I were discussing the latest mom blog circulating on facebook. We were laughing mostly about the nothingness of the blog and how out of touch with reality the author was. After a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc,  she suggested to me “why don’t you start a blog, you are funny, well read and you have plenty to say. Someone might actually listen or care and if they don’t, it’s the internet..who will know.” After a few more drinks and some useless suggestions from our husband’s lo and behold the blog had a name.

I had no idea what I was doing, I really was flying by the seat of my pants and had no net. There were  plenty of things to write about but there was always a reason why I could not start writing. So here I sit a year later and I have nothing doing. Until today. Until right now.

I turned 49 in July, which means I am turning 50 in 10 months. 50. That number is looming over my head and in front of me. It’s like the feeling of remembering what you actually did the night after consuming 4 Long Island Iced Teas and your last memory is an acapella rendition of Born to Run while standing on the bar swinging your bra around. (This was not me in 1986 I swear…)

Turning 49 was a wake-up call. I have been ruminating about this blog since the idea was born over that bottle of Sauvignon Blanc but I could never bring myself to never fully commit. I had 1,001 other things to do BEFORE I could start this. Yet, as September rolled around and I found myself watching Manzo’d With Children at 11:30 in the morning, I realized I had sunk to a new low. No offense to Manzo’d With Children and as fascinating as their lives are (and I really hope Al gets married and Lauren can get pregnant) I just really feel this was my wake up call to start working on the blog and start achieving some of the goals I hope to achieve before I turn 50.

img_7509                                                          (have to play with the dog)

Again I found myself sitting in front of the computer staring at a blank screen, paralyzed. I have spent countless hours thinking about this blog and what I was going to write and in my mind, I have written countless posts yet when it comes to actually sitting and writing nothing happens. However, all of that is changing as of now.

I have read countless blogs. Blogs about blogs, weight blogs, dog blogs. I am fairly certain there is not a blog out there that has not passed before my eyes. I would tell my husband I was working on my blog and spend hours looking at blogs while watching reruns of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Needless to say, my productivity level was off the charts. If you count falling asleep at 1:30 in the afternoon productive.

But today is the day. I am starting my list of things I am going to achieve before I am 50 and doing this blog is at the top. 267 days from now procrastination will be a thing of the past. I will be known as the girl who does too much, the annoying blogger who is busy all the time. I will actually be as fulfilled as my facebook feed makes my life  seem.

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(1000 piece puzzle I started right when I started the blog: procrastination at a whole new level )

So with this in mind, I am going to start blogging. Just like I swore I was going to do when I was pumped with the Sauvignon Blanc. Check this off the bucket list. Procrastination will be a thing of the past. Just to be clear, this blog was started this afternoon. It’s now almost 12 hours later and here we are. Baby steps!
Update:  I wrote this blog a week ago, left it in drafts and swore to return to it. It is a week later and here I sit. As soon as I finish cleaning my closet and walking the dog and showering and cleaning the refrigerator and looking at all my emails and checking facebook. I will hit the publish button.

My Husbands Birthday

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Today is my husbands birthday.  In my house this is equivalent to a minor national holiday.  We will spend the day doing the thing my husband loves to do the most. Laying on the beach and relaxing.  Relaxing is a very big part of my husbands vocabulary.  I was not going to write a whole post extolling the virtues of my husband, I was going to keep this short and sweet.  But now the meta gods are telling me that my post about his birthday  is too short so I am now forced to wax poetic about my husband, my apologies in advance.

Happy Birthday to the man I love.  In spite of your unusual (80’s style) taste in clothes and undying love for sports memorabilia, I love you more and more every day.  Your uncanny ability to find my unsolicited advice and opinions entertaining is refreshing.  You have a real “glass half full” outlook on life and  on all things Jets and Mets related.  While at times it can be exhausting, I secretly find it hopeful and optimistic.  Thank you for being my best friend and my biggest advocate, my foil when need be and my partner in the truest sense of the word.  You are a great husband, father and friend.  Although you are usually the butt of jokes in our house you never fail to be a good sport when it comes at your expense.  You are selfless, smart, funny and loyal.  I would be remiss if I did not mention your full head of hair.  There is no one in this world I could imagine going through life with other than you.

I hope your birthday is everything you want it to be.  Sun, sand, relaxation and no unsolicited opinions or advice from me for most of the day!

But most of all I would like to see you wear this bathing suit this weekend.

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Weigh In

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It has been 4 days since my initial weigh in.  This sucks.  I am not going to lie.  Seeing those numbers on the scale was like waking up with a pimple on my wedding day.  I had not seen numbers that high since my post baby check up at the doctor for my now 15 year old.  How did I end up here and how am I going to get myself out of this.

If this were 20 years ago this would be easy…A pack of Virginia Slims light,  Diet coke and a bag of pretzels and it would all be of in 2 weeks.  But this is not 1996 and I cannot nicotine/caffeine the pounds away. I am going to have to work my old menopausal ass off and truthfully I don’t know if I have the emotional/physical stamina to do this.
I said I would blog about this so I will but I can see how some days are going to be harder than others. For example today… I have been dieting for 4 days and I have not lost an ounce. I think I may have even gained a pound actually.
On the day of the weigh in my husband came with me to the gym.  In hindsight this was probably not the smartest move given my emotional state.  The line to get on the scale was extended to the steps. Which was about 30 people deep. Wait a freakin minute. I thought this was going to be private.  I did not realize I would be getting on a scale in front of trainers and members of the gym. WHAT???  After waiting on that line for what felt like an eternity I got on the scale.  I wanted to cry when the numbers reached up to those of a small circus animal.  How did this happen? I mean I sort of know how this happened .  Too many nights of an extra glass of wine, bread basket, cappuccinos, eating off my kids plates, a bite of this a bites of that, an emergency box of candy hidden in my glove compartment.  The list is endless.  Now here I am standing on a scale in a room full of strangers vulnerable and exposed.  You know that dream where you go to school naked?  This is it but I am wearing spandex, which by the way is much too tight.
So after this humbling experience they usher you over to a table to meet with your “coach”.  Which happens to be a trainer armed with all the training tools the military uses to knock you down and drag you backup.  They give you all these fabulous offers and discounts on private training,  supplements, tests,  classes,   a meeting with a nutritionist… the list was endless. I think they may have thrown in a small child but I am not sure because after the fourth or fifth item I was already plotting my escape.
Needless to say I left the gym and my head was spinning.  How am I going to get this weight of? How did I get this fat?  How am I going to motivate myself to get here?  How can I keep my one  glass of wine per week? What the fuck am I going to eat?  Do I really look as bad as I feel?  Who killed Jr?  Is Elvis really dead?  What ever happened to my cabbage patch doll?
Well friends here I am.  Four days later and I am still a hot mess only now I get emails from Danielle, my perky 22 year old coach.  Reminding me that she is here for me and asking what I am doing to change old habits.  Other than purging my glove compartment of a stale box of Hot Tamales I am not sure how I have changed.   I am pretty sure when I said to Danielle “I am entering menopause and  and don’t know how I am going to do this” she was thinking the same thing.  As well as “how did I get this old bag on my team.”
I vowed to blog about this so I am.  I am determined to figure something out and take this weight off. I am not sure how but I will.  I have to weigh in again next Monday.  I have six days to pull it together and figure something out.  There is no way I am getting on that scale Monday and seeing those numbers again.  Somehow someway the scale has to start moving in the other direction. Until the next weigh in….happy eating!

90 Day Challenge

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Sooo….

I am a perpetual dieter.  I have dieted my entire life. I am not exaggerating.  My first diet was in 5th grade.  And yet here I am about to enter into my 49th year of life and I still can’t get it right.

I saw this sign at my gym and ignored it like everyone else does.  I continued to ignore it until a trainer I had met with along my fitness expedition accosted me on the stair master..

“Still doing your wok out from 1987?” she said to me. I knew her scare tactic. I wasn’t budging.  I was sticking with that stair master for one hour. Although I am now officially the fattest I have been since I had kids I was sticking with this workout. Yes, I looked like a stuffed sausage and my work out pants were uncomfortably tight…I was sticking with this.

“I cannot afford you” I told her.  Although I would love to spend another $130.00 an hour on myself and yes deserved it, blah blah blah unless I had money for a divorce attorney as well I wasn’t hiring her.

“Do the 90 day Challenge, its $30.00 to sign up you get a health coach, free classes on Tuesdays and they weight you in. she also suggested I do her group fitness class 3 days a week for $199.00 a month this way I am getting in 4 workouts with a trainer for a fraction of the price of hiring her privately.

I had a momentary lapse in judgement and agreed to all of it.  Its like I had some weird out of body experience thinking I would do all this.  I envisioned myself on that billboard as a success story, Yay me…then reality set in.

Oh good God why am I agreeing to this?  I really cannot answer to someone else at this point. Another person to be committed to?  So now I am sitting here.  Dreading this freaking weigh in.  I have an hour and a half until I have to get on that damn scale. I am planning on getting on backward so I don’t have to really face the music.  Unfortunately I am so seasoned even backward I will know by the click on the scale which way it is headed.

So with all that being said I figured maybe by writing about this on here I will have some accountability. Although the only people who read this may be my mother and my friend Jodi, on the off chance someone else gets a hold of it maybe I can inspire them.

So here it is my official start of my 90 Day Challenge. I will be blogging about what is involved and my progress or regress…Stay tuned!

Break ups in the new millenium

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My daughter and her boyfriend broke up today. They’re 16. At 16 a break up is pretty dramatic and life altering, like when the Wifi goes out or your contacts get deleted from your phone. I tried to help out as much as I could but I found myself relying on her best friend more than my own experiences. I am 48 and 16 was a long time ago. When I was 16 and heartbroken I would put  Air Supply on my record player, blast it as loud as I could and cry on my bed. Come to think of it when my boyfriend dumped me at 27 I did the same thing. Things are so different today. My daughter was on social media immediately and was seemingly fine. Which got me thinking…how things have changed since we were dumped or doing the dumping in the 80’s.
1.SOCIAL MEDIA
Considering there was no social media the closest I can compare it to is writing a note about your ex. Gone are the days of passing notes or even doodling. They changed the notebooks so you can’t even doodle your name dreamily in class as Mrs. whoever. The notebooks are plastic, they don’t even bend. Right after my daughter and her boyfriend broke up she was face timing and getting snap chats. There were a few tears but trust me when I tell you she had all bases covered. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat they were all updated immediately. Luckily her status never changed on FB while they were together because changing that back from “in a relationship” to “single” would have caused a code red security level.
2. MUSIC
Music was the backbone of my existence growing up. I could not wait until the latest album came out. Most of my childhood experiences can be defined by a song. I would sit on my bedroom floor and memorize all  the words to my favorite songs, if I was luckily enough to have an album with the words included on the sleeve. Nursing a breakup (I’m embarrassed to admit this) I cannot tell you how many times I listened to Wilson Philips in the fall of 1991. I put it in my walkman and would listen to it for hours. I don’t even know if my daughter listened to music. I think she may have googled something on youtube and listened for 30 seconds.. moving on. I just have to reiterate. I would lay on my bed..with a hairbrush and belt out through my tears singing Barry Manilow and Barbra Streisand. Again, 2016 a minute of a youtube video and thats that.
3.FOOD
Lets be honest, Junk food in the 80’s is not junk food of today. In fact junk food is the Al Qaeda of food. I am tired of looking at FB posts of Health coaches, healthy snacks and healthy exercise. Sometimes you need some Twizzlers just to get you through. I spent many a break up sitting with a container of Haagen Dazs ice cream, Doritos and Tasty-cakes. There is no problem that a Devil Dog or Coffee Cake Jr cannot solve. So naturally yesterday after the break up I suggested we eat the most Fattening thing I could muster up in snowstorm of the century. I had cookie mix, nachos, french fries, bagels.. all ready at the helm.She asked for a low fat brownie mix and some cantaloupe. WHAAT?? No wonder she is depressed…It is not her lack of boyfriend,it is the fact that she cannot even allow herself to eat some comfort food. Who could ever get over a break up eating cantaloupe? There is no way this is my daughter. I somehow convinced her to eat some blue corn tortilla chips, I think I heard a small sigh come out of her as she was dipping them in the guacamole, mission accomplished.
4. STALKING
Let me clarify. This was before Stalking was listed as a medical diagnosis or a defense in a court of law. Stalking back in my day was not true stalking. A drive by was not considered stalking, a drive by was a right of passage . How else could you know if your ex was nursing his wounds or partying his ass off. I spent many a Saturday night with friends driving around looking for ex boyfriends. We would drive to neighboring towns, down the shore…no place was out of reach. There was no caller ID so we would have friends call the house just to see if they were home, going as far as hanging up when they got on the phone. I do believe all these nights led to my uncanny ability to navigate google like Sergei Brin himself. I am pretty sure had the government hired a bunch of middle aged mothers, Bin Laden could have been found within hours. Unfortunately my kids will not have the same experience. Because of social media within seconds of the breakup they are still seeing each other and know where the other is at every waking moment. Part of the beauty of a break up is that you actually don’t have to see the person if you don’t want to. The idea of possibly running into each other at a party or club made the notion of actually going to those events more enticing. The not knowing and the possibility made it more exciting. Now because of social media there is no mystery. Chances are she would know where he is at any given time and vice versa.  My daughter needed to NOT see what her ex was doing she needed at least 24 hours to disconnect and not hear from him. However if my daughter wanted to see what her ex was doing all she needed to do was look at her phone. What fun is that? How will she be able to look back on a break up in 10-15 years and laugh about it when it will consist of looking at her phone?

 

I know times change, I am trying to change with them but at the same time I am trying to make sure my daughter does not miss out.  All my breakups made me stronger and I laugh when I think back to them. As heartbreaking as they were…and they were…trust me. I literally spent my summer at 27 years old laying on the lounge chair at my mother’s pool openly crying while listening to my walkman.There were many senior citizens very worried that the young woman at the pool was having some kind of break down and I was bringing them down. I can look back and laugh at my behavior and know it helped me to find my husband, so I would never have to go through that again. I can only go on my own experiences and hope she applies what I have taught her to get through each milestone. Maybe she and her friends are better off not wallowing in self pity like we did. Even as I write that last sentence I know it’s not true. Each heartache made me a stronger and more empathetic person. Not that my daughter and her friends are not strong or empathetic, I would like to believe they are.  I truly believe when my daughter’s friend’s phones die, she feels for them! In the meantime in honor of my daughter’s break up, I am going to put on some Barry Manilow and show her how empowering singing into a hairbrush can be.

What I’ve Learned On The Other Side Of 45

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1. My metabolism is not only dead it’s now my mortal enemy.
I’ve dieted my whole life. I know every trick In the book. Once you cross that number  all bets are off. There are no tricks unless they involve anesthesia and  an overnight stay in the hospital.
2. My neck is MIA.
 My neck is  gone. And I think it took my chin with it as well. Where I used to have definition between my chin and neck I now have one long blob. I can only see distinction between the two when my hormones really kick in and I get a giant pubescent pimple with a welcome sign on my long lost chin.
3. Changing of hair
  This could be the most disturbing. I have been blessed with long thick hair my entire life. Last month when I was getting my hair cut my hairdresser asked me if I had a thyroid problem because my hair had “changed “. Needless to say I spent the better part of the month undergoing extensive blood tests only to determine I’m getting old and my hair is changing. I have to remember to tip her for that little trip down anxiety lane.
4. My loss of patience
Never a strongpoint even on a good day. However, With my hormones in a total state of chaos I’m perpetually annoyed by people. How more murders aren’t committed by hormonal women is really remarkable. The president may want to consider putting together a small army of menopausal women, pretty sure we would have ISIS on their heels.
5. My ability to cry
I cry at everything. Commercials, graduations, soccer tryouts, driver permit tests. You name it and I’m a sobbing mess. Last week my husband said something nice and I hid and cried. He already thinks I’m one arm away from a straight jacket why add fuel to the fire.
6. My appetite
 I’m hungry … All the time … And I don’t mean” oh let’s have an apple ” hungry I’m sour cream and onion dip with ruffles hungry. And thinking about that makes me want to cry because I realize I don’t  think my kids have ever had onion dip.  Which I think is a right of passage into adulthood that I’ve withheld from them.
7. Everyone is old
 I know the alternative is worse so I get it. It’s just so damn depressing to realize if we are getting older then where does that leave my old crushes and heartthrobs? Apparently with bad Botox and in rehab (see David Cassidy )
8. I can’t see/hear
I don’t know if it is a result of my kids burying their heads in their phones and me having to repeat the same question over and over but it seems as if teenagers are speaking at levels only dogs can hear. They have the Netflix turned up so high in one room while literally watching something else on their computer in the same room you would have to be the Bionic woman to hear anything. Reading “the fine print” is out of the question without a magnifying glass and a jewelers loop.  So now I’m no longer able to hear without the volume being at full blast or see without using the flashlight on my phone .. I’ve officially become my mother
9. Random hot flashes
This is no joke. This winter was one if the coldest in history yet I was like an Ez Bake oven, Literally. The thing with a hot flash  that no one tells you is that they sneak up on you and you have no idea it’s happening. One minute your standing in your kitchen watching the Real Housewives of anywhere and the next thing you know you are standing in a pool of your own sweat while putting your head in the freezer.
10. Body changes
All I can say is this. Remember when you were pregnant and your hips suddenly expanded overnight? Welcome to peri menopause. One day you are a solid size 4 ok 6 then you wake up and while you fit in your jeans, your hips won’t cooperate. If they ever stop putting stretch in jeans I swear there will be an uprising with women screaming from their cars “spandex matters”.
 I know there are many more symptoms, this was the tip of the iceberg. The lack of sleep, anxiety, the list is endless. The thing is getting old sucks. No doubt about it. And the world is cruel to the elderly…Just look at Hollywood . Celebrities are so scared of aging they maim themselves in their quest to remain youthful looking. Change is hard even on a good day  but what this represents is so much deeper … It’s a secret club no one wants to be a part of and no one wants to admit their in. The alternative is, There is no alternative. So I’m trying to embrace it. I told my husband last night I’m embracing my new curves . I’m such a psychotic lunatic at this point anything I say he smiles and nods. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m one step away from smothering him in his sleep if he looks at me the wrong way. Which is entirely possible if he looks at me during a hot flash.