my g-spotmy guest spot blog

married with xanax

I’m approaching another birthday on September 16^th.  Women of “a certain age” face a conundrum -  Celebrate or Avoid?  If I don’t celebrate, maybe I will fool the birthday gods and lose a year this time?  If I avoid, will I feel cheated of the one day where it is socially acceptable to act like it’s all about me? Here are a few thoughts that come to mind as I brace for my 38^th year:

1)  Why do all reflective surfaces magically add ten pounds?  This includes windows, glass doors, mirrors etc.  I need to either A) stop looking in them or B) assume there is a funhouse effect on all reflective surfaces and happily maintain my position of denial.

2)  I had to go to the DMV to renew my license before my birthday.  I tried to make sure I looked halfway decent for this photo as I will be damned with it for the next four years.  But let’s face facts.  I’m over 35.  So unless I am going out without makeup, in a baseball cap AND sunglasses I’m not fooling anyone.  After 35 no one is really carding me for anything and this license may never see the light of day.

3)  Lately when I look in the mirror, particularly when clothes shopping I ask myself “Who’s ass is this?”  This is not the one I agreed to on the release form.  I’m really in a state of shock.  I can’t believe it belongs to me.  There must be a mistake.

4)  Sometime around my 30^th birthday the wheels fell off physically.  Every year that passes means some other major body part is planning to break down, whether it be my back, hips, knees etc.  I thought this joy was exclusively reserved for AARP members – wrong.  I’ve looked around, my friends are all limping.

5)  After trying on all the “age appropriate” jeans and deciding I will not be seen in public wearing jeans that are either mid rise or high waisted, I went to Abercrombie and Fitch.  This store caters to the vertically challenged with “S” lengths.  Let me add that the inseam on an “S” length is 31 inches, which is still about 2 inches long on me, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Also, please note,  I am NOT fooled by the slanted mirrors in their dressing rooms.  I know that mirrors propped at an artful angle magically whittle away pounds and inches.  So while I’m staring at my reflection feeling proud and self satisfied, before pulling the trigger on this purchase, I’m mentally adding the 20 lbs to my image that are bound to reappear (on my ass) at some point during the drive home.  Besides being the oldest person in the store shopping for themselves and not their pre teen child, I always leave A&F nauseous and lightheaded from both the cologne copiously poured all over everything and the throbbing and insanely loud music.  If I ever need a reality check about my real age, this place is the headquarters.  I can almost see the future, they will hang a sign on the door that says “No One Permitted Over 30”.  The half naked models will hand out wrist bands.

What’s my birthday wish this year?  That everyone I know, and people I don’t will fall over themselves telling me how YOUNG I look.  Now there’s a reason to eat cake.

-MWX

i had no idea i even had coattails, but this is in response to my post,  i am mother hear me slack

-swv
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married with xanax

It’s amazing the rush I’m getting from riding on Sue’s coattails. Bravo Sue, for the apply named g-spot, or guest spot. I even gave the directionally challenged a link to find it on facebook.

Since Sue listed her confessions of motherhood, I think it’s only fair I list mine – a few confessions of an empty womb. I was a pre-school teacher, I have all kinds of maternal instincts up the wazoo, I spoil my dogs to death – and so my childlessness puzzles people.

1. If I’m too lazy to keep up with my own blog, there’s a good chance that running my kids to soccer practice, gymnastics, baseball, mensa summit and what have you might be outside of my motivational range. That being said, I think cereal, microwave popcorn and easy mac are all acceptable options for a healthy dinner after a long day at work.

2. I’m highly competitive. When I worked with kids and ran a K-5 program after school I couldn’t stand to lose to the kids at games. I was the four square queen, I kicked ass at board games (and accidentally tossed the game pieces or cards if I was losing) and I noticed EVERY instance where a kid colored outside the lines. Parents are supposed to let their kids win, especially in the interest of time.

3. I haven’t yet accepted that I am not still a child myself. Call it the youngest child complex. Even though I am very independent, having lived alone at one point for almost a decade, I still like being tucked in at night. And waited on. I also refuse to give up naptime.

4. I have a fear of commitment. 18 years is a long time. And from what I hear, it doesn’t end there. Kids are forever. Just typing that sentence induced a wave of panic.

So if I had more time, or less time, kids might have entered the picture. I believe if I had married in my early twenties I’d have the 2 or 3 munchkins, be on the PTA and the first to attend mommy and me class. If having a child was both physically possible and socially acceptable after the age of 50 – then who knows? But I’m on the verge of 38 here. And the little voice in my head says 38 is basically 40, is basically dead. Nice huh? Hello, my old friend xanax, please talk to that little voice for me?

My BFF just had her fourth child. I think she must be insane. However, the same woman who said she could never have children because she couldn’t handle seeing soggy cheerios on the floor is handling the situation with grace, candor, and ingenuity. She also amazes me.

PS I think some of Sue’s confessions make good tips and tricks for saving time and your sanity. Were the confessions meant to be instructional?

dear friends,

meet my first guest blogger, mwx or married with xanax, a brilliant & deliciously snarky writer and old high school friend who dabbles in the blogosphere. i am dying to link her blog to mine, but she has gracefully declined, preferring instead to post here when the mood strikes her fancy. gd women. anyway, this post was in response to my california & vegas blogs. enjoy!

swv

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married with xanax

For those of you who don’t know me, a little background.  Sue and I grew up in the same town in New Jersey and went to school together.  I am also Jewish, busty, and short, (though I have surpassed the five foot mark for you doubters) so basically Sue is my doppelganger.  After reading her blog and contacting her we realized we have more in common than the obvious.  We’ve both been through recent losses, we’re both sarcastic, and we have a lot of opinions.  Opinions we are going to force on you people.   Unless you click on the ”X” in the top right hand corner.  Then…not so much. I usually reserve my more caustic comments for twitter, favoring the brevity of 140 characters, but maybe it’s time to expand my repertoire. For clarification though, I should point out one notable exception between us.  Sue is Single with Vodka, I am Married with Xanax. (More on that another time)  Two similar people looking at life front different points of view.  Alcohol or pills?  We all deal with our stress in our own ways, don’t judge us people.  Between the two of us, we can probably cover all the bases.  If you can’t relate to either of us, you probably live under a rock somewhere, or in Montana.  Wait, that’s the same thing.

I have a lot of free time on my hands (no kids), and started to blog last year (littleblackdresses.blogspot.com).  I talked mostly about fashion and my personal addiction to Project Runway.  Posting with regularity was starting to feel like a job, one which I wasn’t being paid for, so laziness took over.  So unless you people want to fork over some cash, I’m thinking guest blogger may be my true calling.

Right about now you’re thinking “She’s said ‘you people’ twice already, WTF?!”  That’s the New Jersey talking.  I have also lived in California, Maine, and currently I’m in Ohio.
When I’m writing, the New Jersey pretty much takes over.  I’ve lost most of my accent and I’m hoping to get it back.  I’m going to need to watch a lot of reruns of the Real Housewives of New Jersey so I can start practicing.  When I moved to California I was teased relentlessly about my accent so I worked hard to lose it and now it feels like a long lost friend.  I reconnected with everyone else on Facebook, so why not myself?

So while I was stuck in traffic this morning on my way to work, (Yes, they have traffic in Cleveland that rivals the 405 in Los Angeles so why the hell do I live here???  That is an entirely different topic/tangent for another time.)  I was thinking about something Sue mentioned in her last blog entry about the Shadow Bar in Las Vegas.  I was thinking about how I just read “Candy Girl” by Diablo Cody, her memoir about being a stripper.  It’s a safe guess that the girls in the shadows at Shadow Bar are either just working for tuition or rent, and not for screenplay material or the sheer voyeuristic thrill of it all.  This concept is clearly not targeted for the female bar going Las Vegas demographic.  With the exception of those who are sloshed on vodka (I’m talking to you, Sue) most women will be stunned that this type of bar exists in the mainstream, and spend most of their time examining the women in the shadows like they are zoo animals.  We’ll point out both their attributes and flaws, then try to guess which parts are real and which are fake. There’s a good chance that a lot of cold hard cash, injections, acrylic, smoke and mirrors went into creating that Barbie World. If the proprietors of this establishment really wanted to impress the female patrons there would be men behind those screens.  They wouldn’t be completely naked of course, because that would just be hilarious.  Six packs and tight buns not withstanding, if they want to be every woman’s fantasy they will be ironing, vacuuming and cooking behind those screens.  That would really make us swoon.  I’m just saying.  I am definitely overdue for a trip to Vegas.  I have a gambling problem.  It’s actually only a problem when I lose.  Or when I refuse to leave a table to eat, or sleep, or interact with other people who don’t have chips in their hands.  Sorry I missed the trip Sue, maybe next time…MWX.