I SEE WHAT YOU’RE SAYING

I know I left you with a cliffhanger and that’s not fair.  But guess what?  I need you to hang there just a little longer while I work out a personal crisis. 

Just the other day, I dropped (for the one millionth time)  and broke my Olay Regenerist stick.  That may not sound oh so serious to you but it is a personal disaster of monumental proportion!   Allow me to explain:

This little stick of wonder is the only thing that keeps me from tripping on the bags under my eyes.   Every morning I stumble to the kitchen and retrieve that wand of perfection from my refrigerator.  I roll those cold little roller balls covered in debaggery lotion under my eyes and then sit back, drink coffee and wait for magic to begin.  For the record, I don’t know if keeping it in the fridge makes it work better but that is what Lolly does and she doesn’t have any bags under her eyes.  And that is good enough for me.   As for me, I won’t say that this cosmetic tool completely erases the bags under my eyes but man oh man does it ever help.

Before you get all, “Let’s start a telethon for SMB and her baggy eyes!”, I bought a new stick and personal crisis #1 has been averted.

But never being one to leave well enough alone, I decided to get creative and experimentish.  Hey, when inspiration hits, one must go with it, right?  Right?  That’s what I thought.

So I was applying some “More Expensive than I Usually Spring For but Since I am Desperate, Go for IT” eye cream yesterday when I noticed all these little wrinkles around my mouth.  And I thought to myself, “Self, how does this lotion know if it is dewrinkling your eyes or your mouth?”  And myself answered, “I bet it doesn’t know the difference at all.  Just because it’s pricey doesn’t mean it’s smart.” 

And so I did it.

Yes.I.Did!

I applied that METIUSFBSIADGFI eye cream to the wrinkles around my mouth.  And you know what?  I think it worked.  A little……  But a little is good, right?  I do notice a difference.

The only thing is:

Now every time I can’t find the words to express myself………my mouth squints.

 

Love and Kisses

SMB

MIRROR, MIRROR IN MY PURSE

F+1  Tip:  Always carry a mirror.  And use it.

I was thirteen when my grandfather died and my grandmother came to live with us.  After sharing several meals with my dear grandma, it became quite apparent that she had no feeling in her chin.  The woman always had food on her face.  As a young Smart Mouth Broad, I had plenty of comments on the subject.  All of said comments were kept to myself so as to keep my teeth intact. (She had a cane and knew how to use it.)  I would sit and wonder at how in the world she could have that big glop of gravy on her chin and not seem to notice.  Was there an age when it suddenly became acceptable to have mustard on your face?  A geriatric fashion statement, perhaps? 

A few decades later, my mother starting exhibiting signs of loss of sensation of her chin.  Always a stickler for proper etiquette, a napkin was always at the ready and eventually she would wipe her mouth and remove the goo from her face.  But still I marveled at how she didn’t seen to notice there was anything there.   After all, I could always feel when excess mayonnaise escaped from my sandwich onto my chin.  Sometimes I put it there just to be sure.

Recently my own children, who never hesitate to notify me of anything that could cause potential embarrassment….for them, have started gesturing to me to wipe my chin.  Fifty FLIPPIN’ years old and already I’ve lost all feeling in my chin!  I haven’t even gone through menopause yet! 

There appears to be an elephant in the room that no one wants to mention.  We hear all about loss of hearing, memory and eyesight.  We know that we lose the hair we want and grow it back in places we don’t.  You can’t turn on the television without hearing about arthritis pain, bone loss and high blood pressure.  But no one and I mean NO ONE is talking about chin sensory loss. 

To my knowledge, there is no pill, no lotion, no potion, no 12 step program to avoid, repair or cure Mayonnaise on the Chin Syndrome.  Therefore my words of wisdom today are:  Carry a mirror.  Never leave home without it. 

 

Love and Kisses,

SMB

FIFTY AND FABULOUS…..

…….OR BITE ME – (You choose.)

I’m about to “celebrate” a big birthday.  Yeah….THAT one.  And so far, I’m not dealing with the idea very well.  I’ve never been one to be bothered by the passing of another age milestone: 

Thirty?  I was THRIVING.  Didn’t phase me.

Forty?  Lordy, this is fun.  Bring it on.

But FIFTY?  In the last few months, the decline in my physical, mental and emotional well-being is snow-balling at a break-my flippin’-neck pace.  The eye-sight is going fast.  Everything hurts.  And I hear they are planning to give my arse its own zip code soon.

I guess part of the problem is that as Martina McBride would say, “Every morning when I drink my coffee, I can’t believe my life has turned out this way.”  That’s not to say that I’m not blessed.  Certainly I am.  And by contrast, when I compare my life to some, I admit that I feel a little ashamed of myself for whining.  But whining and/or wining makes me feel better, Dammick! 

As the self-appointed Queen of Everything, one might think that I would be above such triviality.  It’s really just a number after all.  But it’s  a really BIG number.   Waaaaaaaa.

I’ve never been one to make a plan.  In fact, bad things happen when I make plans, so I just don’t make them. I choose to live my life by the seat of my pants.  I play it by ear.  I go with the flow.  Whichever way the wind blows me.  I really hope you get the idea here because I seem to be out of clichés.  (And I never thought that could happen.)

I’m afraid that my lack of planning has left me feeling that I have lived without purpose.  Could it be that I was meant to do more than spread good cheer and nonsense wherever I go?  Is this it?  I mean after half a century, I should be able to look back and say, “WOW!  Look at all I’ve accomplished!”   Is it too late to take stock?  Perhaps a nice midlife crisis would do the trick but I don’t have time for that!   

I have to do something……even if it’s wrong.  Surely there is something I can do that will put me on the path to self fulfillment and enlightenment.  I’ve listed some possibilities:

• I could run away and join the circus.  I’m pretty sure I would make a really great trapeze artist.  (Do those costumes come in extra large?)
• I could join the Peace Corps.  (Except I heard they send you to countries that have no cheese!)
• I’ve given serious consideration to becoming an alcoholic but I keep forgetting to keep drinking after one glass of wine. 
• I could move to the beach and sell velvet Elvis paintings by the shore.  (a life-long dream of mine)
• CIA?  Covert Operative?  I AM an excellent markswoman.   I could do great things with a sniper rifle and work out my midlife frustrations at the same time.  Nah, I can never keep a secret.  *sigh* 

Will SMB survive the BIG ONE?  Stay tuned. 

I’M A BAG LADY

I’m not talking about these bags……


Or these bags…..

or even this bag………. (although I really like this one and it does deserve some discussion.)  






Today is the 20th anniversary of my 29th birthday.  ACK!

I awoke this morning once again to find my permanent luggage right there on my face.  It was my birthday wish that they disappear.  I was pretty certain that they were a 40th birthday gift.  I clearly remember waking on that particular date to find what I believed to be a new development.  And I was NOT happy about it either.
 
But before you get all weepy and go out shopping for sympathy cards, today there is good news!  It’s a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!  I was going through some old photographs and made an amazing discovery!
I won’t bore you with all of my baby photos because they are stuck like glue in a very old photo album but please allow me to enter the following photographs into evidence to present my case:

Preschool SMB

Kindergarten SMB

3rd Grade SMB

If my mother was still with us, we would have to have a serious discussion about my bangs.  Seriously…………………what was she thinking?  And don't even get me started on that big ole bow.

Clearly I was born with bags under my eyes.   You can see that even at four years of age……….bags……….right there under my eyes.  Kindergarten………….same bags.  3rd grade………….still there.
 
All this time, I thought the bags I was carrying were a sign of aging.  Now doesn’t that shine a different light on the subject?  These darn things are a sign of eternal youth.
 
So there you have it.  I may be a bag lady but I’m a very young, spring chicken, bag lady, dammit!

I feel so much better now. 

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

MORE HAIR AND LESS ME

Four score and seven years ago, I did a photo-shoot for my sister-in-law and brother-in-law photographers. It was the era of big hair, parachute pants and scrunchies. My naturally thin and limp hair was permed and poofed to unbelievable heights never again seen since that decade.

My Harley Stud was cleaning out his old car the other day and came across this photograph. He apparently kept it in the car for quick reference should he momentarily forget what I looked like. He made it a point to show everyone in the house the picture so we could all remember a time when I was wrinkle-free and ever so much thinner thanks to a J*zzericise career.

My Daisy, my father’s new wife, said, “Who is that?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her “the look”. “Is that yooooouuuu, Smart Mouth?” After a few more looks back and forth, she conceded that indeed she could see a bit of me in there.

Daisy showed the picture to Daddy, who of course knew me then so he recognized the image as me immediately and followed with…….”Oh yeah, Smart Mouth used to be really thin. She even had to drink beer to keep weight on.” Yes.I.Did. I told my father I “had to” drink beer. I guess I could have drunk milk.

Later, the photograph was shown to my niece, Smart Mouth in Training. She carefully inspected the image before her and looked me square in the eye and said, “Wow, Aunt Smart Mouth, you used to be pretty.”

I think I’m going to start drinking beer again.

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

WANTED: FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH…..STAT!

I really had no intention of blogging today. I’m cutting back, you know. However, I had the most awful thing happen to me today. And I ran crying in the streets, whined to every single person I encountered and still have not been able to exercise this demon from my brain. So who ya gonna call? No, not Ghostbusters. I’m turning to you, my beloved bloggy buddies. I know that I can count on you to show me the love. I know you darlings can be relied upon to tell me lies the truth. Ahhhh, I feel better already.

So here is what happened:

On a lunch break last week, I came across a pair of shoes that were so comfy and exactly what I needed. I was wearing heels at the time and they were NOT shopper friendly. My tootsies were crying. I slipped on the little angels and ahhhhhhhhh, instant relief. However, showing incredible restraint, I left without making the purchase. But the shoes…..they called to me…..they haunted me……I had to go back.

Today I went back to get the comfy shoes. I figured that I deserve them, right? That’s what I said to myself. “Self, you deserve those comfy shoes that you walked away from last week. Now just hurry yourself back to the store before some other woman goes home with your shoes.” And so I did.

When the clerk rang up the sale, I was surprised to see that the sale with tax was less than the price of the shoes. Never one to make a fuss, I quietly left the store without mentioning the obvious error. Imagine my horror, when upon inspecting the receipt I found that I had been given the “55 and over discount.” That bitch! Damn her! I stood there like my feet were glued to the pavement. I was dumbfounded. I was speechless. I didn’t know whether to go back and demand to pay full price or slink to the car in a state of total depression and just be grateful for the price break.

Eventually I staggered to the car. I sat there in a daze. I got out my phone and took a self-portrait with the camera on my crackberry. OMG! I did look over 55. I bet you want to see that picture, right? Yeah, I figured. Scroll down:

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Not that being over 55 is a bad thing, mind you………unless you are only 27 aren’t even 50 yet.

My commute home takes about an hour. I had lots of time to stew in my own juices. I called MHS. He reassured me that I don’t look anywhere near 50, let alone 55. Here is a man who knows on which side his bread is buttered. Next I whined to Daddy (in whose eyes I will forever be six years old). Daddy said that the woman was just being nice and gave everyone the discount.

I was not to be consoled. I stopped at the grocery on my way home. I ran into my next door neighbor and told my tale. She told me that I look great and the woman was clearly an idiot or visually challenged. It was about that time that Daughter #1 joined me to shop for dinner. I told her what had happened and she laughed her fool head off. She actually guffawed. So much for moral support……

After she composed herself (jerk) we moved on to the seafood department. Being completely consumed with my own midlife crisis, I turned to the man behind the counter and asked what he might suggest for dinner. He asked D1 and I if we liked pork. Huh? D1 said, “Aren’t you the fish guy? Way to support your department.” He laughed and said he was NOT the fish guy but was just covering the seafood counter. I argued that he has sold me lots of fish in the past and that must make him “almost the fish guy.” Now that we were friends and all, I said, “Hey, Mr. NOT the fish guy. How old do you think I am?” He said that I was probably 35. I rewarded him with a smile instead of a psycho reach across the counter punch in the nose and bought the salmon. I love intelligent men.

So my lovelies, show me the love. Lie to me if you must.

The night of the Brad Paisley concert

How old do I look? Twenty-seven, right? Never mind that I’m standing next to my 24 year old daughter. This is my most recent photo…….other than the one above that I took today. Regardless of what you really think, just tell me that I don’t look 55 and older so I can move on with my life.

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

HOLY CRAP, BATMAN!

Things are a whirlwind of chaos at the SMB household. Let it suffice to say, it REALLY is Labor Day weekend. Because labor is all that is happening around here.

I got this in an email from Daisy and thought you might enjoy it.




Have a great weekend, everyone!

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

HERE’S YOUR SIGN

Before we get started, I just wanted to let out a big WOOT! for President Clinton who negotiated the pardon and release of Laura Ling and Euna Lee.

I’m lazy out of new material really busy tired on hiatus this week so I’m posting some reruns of the early SMB posts that were never read by anyone but my family. This was one of my favorites. This was my third blog post.

THE SIGNS WERE THERE – I just didn’t read them. (originally posted 8/5/08)

I have friends that freak out over birthdays. Surprisingly many are men. Birthdays have never really bothered me. I’ve always enjoyed them. I’m for anything that includes a party and cake. I guess I have been in denial. This might explain my complete shock at the fact that I am indeed well into middle age. For me, it’s not the birthdays but the little milestones along the way that revealed the years passing by…..daughter #1 and #2's first day of high school, college applications, last proms, high school graduations, leaving for college…….and more everyday.

I remember the first time I felt the clock ticking: Daughter #1 “became a woman” November 11, 1996. You might think it strange that I remember the date. For some reason, my brain remembers insignificant dates, numbers and commercial jingles from the early 70s. I guess that is why I can’t remember the important things that I should remember. My brain is full of things like, “Wrigley spearmint, gum, gum, gum.” Do you remember that one? I remember this particular date because it was 2am on Veteran’s Day when she woke me with the announcement. I was certain I had prepared her for this occasion nevertheless she was quite distraught and convinced the world as she had known it was over. I remember thinking that it was fortunate that it was Veteran’s Day and there would be no school. She would have 24 hours to get used to the idea before she had to go out into the world as a new woman. My next thought was that while it wasn’t likely, it was now biologically possible that I could become a grandmother. OUCH.

Fast forward a few more years: We are sitting at the table eating dinner when I mentioned that I had heard on the radio that Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt were separated. I said that I was disappointed because until that time I thought they would be this generation’s Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. Daughter #2 raised her head with a look of complete confusion and said, “The salad dressing guy?”

A few years later: Daughter #2 is studying to take the SAT. The pressure of getting into the college of her choice is getting to her. Her entire future depends on the score she will receive on this test and she is descending into a serious melt-down. When I tried to offer her encouragement, she launched into a tirade about how I had no idea what she was going through; after all I had never had to take the SAT.

I said, “I didn’t?”

I will never forget the look of shock on her face. “YOU took the SAT?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t know it had been around that long.”, she said.

“Well, I did have to dip my quill into the ink to fill in those little boxes.”

“Really?”

UGHHHHH!

So, I guess with daughters like mine, my advancing age should come as no surprise. They have reminded me every step of the way.

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

RERUNS

As previously announced, I’m re-posting the Best of SMB this week – aka – the first posts that nobody but my family read.

MINI MID-LIFE CRISIS (First posted 8/2/08)

What was I thinking!

After hearing those dreaded words from my physician the other day informing me of my advancing age, I hauled myself into the gym. As I explained to my doctor, I exercise regularly and have for 2 ½ years. I have to admit that my routine has become a bit stale and I haven’t felt challenged for awhile. Maybe I need to try something new. These were the thoughts that were going through my head as I walked into the gym. I am not someone who truly enjoys the process of working out. The whole “runner’s high” thing – never experienced it. I’ve run 6k and 10k runs before………..nothing. My favorite part is when it’s over. But I realize that working out is a necessary evil in my life and I trudge on. The most enjoyable experience I’ve had while exercising has been taking aerobics classes. I think this is because I enjoy laughing even if it’s at myself. So anyway, I stopped at the desk on my way into the gym and asked if they plan to add any evening classes. I was told they do not. The classes are not well attended and they have to pay the instructors. I wanted to say that maybe the classes might be better attended if they held them when average people weren’t at work. I didn’t say that though. Instead, I continued on to the locker room and started up a conversation on this topic with a complete stranger. My new friend suggested that I try the IRON BODIES class that she was on her way to right that very moment. I made my “I don’t think so face” and told her that I thought I might be better matched with a Soft, Round, Cushy Body class. “Do they have any of those?” She smiled very sweetly and told me that the class is a great all over body work-out, you don’t need to bring anything more than a towel and water and you can go at your own pace. Uh, huh. Right.

For some reason that still is a mystery to me, I followed her into the classroom where IRON BODIES was being held. The instructor, Chris, looked like a nice enough man. He welcomed me as “fresh meat” and smiled as he instructed me to be sure to work at my own pace.

The music began. We used all sorts of toys during the class. There were steps, free weights, body bars, and rubber bands. We ran, forward and backward, we lunged, we lifted and moved to the music in ways this tired body has not moved for awhile. At mid-point in the class, as I was gasping for air and gulping down water, the nice woman from the locker room asked how I was doing. As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I told her that I didn’t think we could be friends. She offered encouragement saying that I was doing great. I was not convinced.

I don’t really consider myself competitive but at some point I completely forgot those words “at your own pace”. I don’t know what happened to me. I was determined to keep up with my classmates that have been taking this class on a regular basis. I’m not saying that I was keeping up with them but I was certainly trying. I didn’t quit. There were times I had to slow down to avoid collapsing in an embarrassing heap on the floor. But eventually we arrived at my favorite part: The end. I walked out of the gym on that day proud of my accomplishment. Thoughts like,” don’t tell me I’m getting older.”, “I’ve still got it.” “I finished, didn’t I? “ all went through my head.

Driving home, it occurred to me that maybe pushing myself to the limit on the very day that my doctor tells me that my blood pressure is high and I could be at risk for stroke might not have been the most intelligent decision I’ve ever made. What was I thinking! I think I could be having my own mini mid-life crisis. My “I’ll show you” attitude would not have played well had I stroked out on the dance floor.

Around 4:30pm the next day, I was reminded of my foolish behavior the day before. I had trouble standing up from my desk. For the next two days, I was stiff and sore beyond belief. Returning to the gym was out of the question as walking was barely possible. Oh yeah, I really showed ‘em.

You know, I really thought I was above all this. I thought getting older wouldn’t bother me. And it didn’t until that day that I woke up and saw bags under my eyes that don’t disappear after I’m completely awake, lines around my mouth and excess me around the middle that doesn’t want to budge no matter how much I diet and exercise. Oh and let us not forget the words of Dr. Good News. So apparently, I’m not above it all. I wonder if there a way to approach 50 years old …………….. (someday) …………..without having at least an occasional melt-down? Is there a way to escape this desperate attempt to hang on to our youth or is it something that we should just embrace and go for it?

Will there be another IRON BODIES class in my future? You bet but this time I will go at my own pace with nothing to prove to anyone but myself. And the next time I see a middle-aged, overweight, balding man in a little red corvette, I will still smile but it will be a knowing smile saying, hey, buddy, I’m right there with you.

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

A LOW BLOW ………AGAIN

My very first post to this blog almost a year ago was all about how I had been to my girly doc and she was very rude kind enough to inform me that I am at that age when I need to have a primary care physician to manage my healthcare.   *It might help to read it first.  Go ahead.  I’ll wait.*  I work for a doctor and while she is a breast surgeon, she can and does prescribe antibiotics or other meds when the need arises.  Why waste your time with doctor appointments and forms and copays when you have your own personal physician right in your back yard ………….uh…er…or in the back office as the case may be.

It took me almost a year to get over the shock of being told that I’m “at that age when…” because I’m a bit of a drama queen but I finally got around to choosing a PCP to manage my care.  Oddly enough, the referral came from a biker friend I met at the gym.  My new doctor is his girlfriend.  We’ll call her Dr. LuLu.  I liked Dr. LuLu instantly the moment I met her.  And when she discovered that I was Smart Mouth Broad, BF’s friend from the gym, she was almost as excited to meet me as I was her.  We hugged and chatted about how much we had heard about each other.  It was a very different experience from any medical appointment to which I’d ever been.  Then  it was back to the task at hand.

Dr. LuLu began with the results of my bloodwork that had been drawn the previous week.  She dropped little phrases about “being at that age when”  and I could feel my teeth start to grind.  She proceeded to tell me that my sugar is high, my thyroid is low, my cholesterol is OK but my triglycerides are high.  I got an A+ in liver functions but my white blood cell count is high which means there is inflammation somewhere in my body.  She asked me if I had a portable home blood pressure cuff because my bp is  a little high.  Uh NO!  I’m not that old!  Then she told me that I was at high risk for heart disease as my bloodwork shows 25.2 on a blood level that anything over 3 is high risk.  I’m pretty sure it’s a typo or I’m about to drop dead any minute. 

My head was spinning.  She must have noticed that glassy eyed stare I get when I’m overwhelmed with news I don’t want to hear because she switched from her all-business medicalese tone to a more comforting, nurturing tone like you use when talking down a wounded wild animal.  She said, “I know this is a lot to take in but the good news is that we can work on all of it.”  And she was a little too cheerful about it, if you ask me.

I said, “You know, when I walked in here I thought I was basically a very healthy woman.”  as I curled into a fetal position on the exam table.

She smiled and said, “Well, you know you’re almost fifty.” 

That is SO NOT TRUE!  I’m not even forty-nine.  What the hell is she talking about!  I don’t think Dr. LuLu and I can still be friends.  And I had such high hopes too.  I thought we could maybe ride the Harleys to dinner sometime.  Not now.  I can see that she is an excellent physician but no friend tells you that you’re almost fifty when clearly you are NOT! 

So the plan goes like this:

• Stick with the South Beach Diet because it is great for keeping your blood sugar stable.  (What do you know?  I was doing something right!  Yay! Me!)
• Start taking fish oil.
• Start taking folic acid.
• Have an ultrasound of my thyroid and as long as it’s negative, start thyroid meds. (and possibly find it easier to lose weight.  Yay, again!)
• Take a water pill for the pitting edema I get cyclically.  (Like I don’t already spend enough time in the ladies room, “powdering my nose.”
• Monitor my blood pressure twice daily, log it and turn it in for homework at my next visit. 
• There could be more that I may have forgotten.
• Drink lots of beer……….or vodka PRN.
• Spend all your days at the beach
• Eat Dark Chocolate

OK, so those last three I threw in just to see if you were paying attention.  They pertain to “my plan” not “the plan”.

So it’s taken me almost a year but I finally figured out the end of that sentence.  I was in denial.  I was clearly blocking it before.   But now there’s no escape. 

I’m at that age when ………………………….things EFFIN START TO FALL APART!  FML

Hugs,

Smart Mouth Broad

BAGGAGE, SAGGAGE AND LINES OF DESTRUCTION

Once again, I’m turning to you, my wise counsel. I’ve got a problem. I’ve been aware of it for quite some time but recent developments have brought this particular problem to the forefront making it impossible to ignore.

Last night My Harley Stud and I were in Walmart. Yes, I know…..Walmart on a Saturday night. It’s an exciting life we lead, folks. Don’t you wish you were us?

Anyway, we were in search of white wine, (My Zone snack before bed with a bit of cheese) and MHS points out the sign in the wine section that says they will card anyone under 40 when purchasing alcoholic beverages. What the……? First the sandwich boy at my favorite lunch counter tells me TWICE that I look tired and now this! I just knew that they wouldn’t ask for ID. I began to fret. I look over 40, I just know it! They are going to take one look at me and say, “Nah, she’s older than the hills. Let her drink.” Well, sure enough, we cruised on through without being asked for id. I’ve decided that the cashier must have seen the gray in MHS’s hair. That’s it. She thought I was his very young trophy wife. That’s my story and I’m trying to stick to it. But still I worry…….

I’ve never been one to buy every lotion and potion that comes down the pike. I figure if there ever really is a miraculous product out there to erase the lines, remove cellulite and LORD, HELP US PLEASE, take away the bags under my eyes, it will surely be shouted from the mountain tops around the world. Even a Pollyanna like me who can’t bear to watch the news unless it comes from the lips of Anderson Cooper and even then I don’t listen to what he says, I just watch his beautiful face would not be able to escape such a revelation as that.

I haven’t heard of any such product but now I’m getting desperate. I’m frantically searching for something…………..anything that will slow halt reverse this process calling aging.

Please allow me to present the evidence:

1. I have lines around my mouth that many would associate with a smoker. If you pucker up around a cigarette for enough years, those lines are inevitable. The only thing is that I’m not and was not a smoker well, except for that brief experimental time as a teen. (Damn, did I say that out loud? Daddy, that’s just embellishment for entertainment purposes, I swear!) I do have a nasty, lifelong habit of nervously biting at the inside of my lip. Mother always told me if I kept screwing up my face into that position, it would freeze like that. Man, I hate it when it turns out she was right! Calling all daughters! Listen to your mothers! They know where of they speak.
2. I have bags. And they’re not Louis Viutton although I could probably pack enough in them for a two week trip. Where did I get these awful bags under my eyes. I just woke up on my 40th birthday and there they were. The gift that keeps on giving. UGH. What on earth did I do to deserve them? I’m following Debra over at Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History who recently had eye surgery. She is still swollen from surgery and already has less baggage than I do. If you haven’t met Debra, go check her out. When she’s not documenting her experience under the knife, she tells of her life as a biker chick and other great tales.
3. Can my skin get more dry!
4. Last but certainly not the least is the problem with parts of my body that shall remain unmentioned da boobs that have gone South for winter with no plans to return.

Does anyone out there have a solution to one or all of my disasters?

Do you know of a lotion or a potion to erase those fine lines around my mouth? Botox? Frankly, I’m a little scared. What if I end up looking like Jack Nicholson as the Joker?

Please and purdy please, does someone know how to unpuff my puffiness? Seriously, my eyes could completely disappear any day. If you don’t hear from me, the puffiness has taken over my face and I can’t see to blog. And if that happens….please know that I love you all dearly. Fairwell, my sweets. Just sayin. I do have this little L’oreal roller ball thingy that seems to help some but at best is just a bandaid for the problem at hand. For the record, I googled puffy eyes images and even google can’t find anyone with eyes as puffy as mine. That leaves me with no choice but to post a picture of my puffy eyes for a true visual aid. Sorry. That ain’t happenin’. Use your imagination.

My skin is crying for moisture! “Help, I’m crawling thru the desert here, I need a drink!” Can you hear it? Does anyone know of decent non-greasy moisturizer out there that doesn’t leave your skin even more dry in an hour?

As for that last problem. I’ve solved it on my own. Forget surgery, forget the wonder bra. I’m having MHS build me a shelf. Yep. I stook nekkid in the mirror and lifted those babies up and the answer became clear. I need a shelf. If anyone else needs a shelf, let me know. He can make you one too. He's quite the master craftsman. Just let me know what type of wood you want and if you prefer paint-grade or stain-grade.

Daddy’s on vacation and hopefully without internet. If he reads that I talked about being nekkid on the interwebs, I’m grounded……………………….again.

Oh and by the way, I’m a WINNER times TWO. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post where I gloat display my winnings. I’m a very lucky girl! Yes.I.Am!

ONE DAY AT A TIME, MY ARSE! I want it NOW!

By now, you've probably seen the cover of this week's People magazine. You know the one with little Valerie Bertinelli, the girl we all loved in One Day at a Time. She is 48 now, soon to be 49 years old and revealed her smokin' hot, new body, in a bikini no less, on the cover. Yeah, I hate her. But seriously, good for her. This struck a chord with me because we are the same age. Well, she's a bit older. *smirk*

Ironically the People magazine arrived in my office mailbox yesterday: The very same day that I woke up, took one look in the mirror and said, "Who the hell are you?" I didn't recognize the face staring back at me. I look like crap! There are bags under my eyes that you could pack for a month long vacation. There are lines on my face that would give MapQuest a run for its money. I don't even want to talk about my grey roots. Does anyone know how to get your hair to stop growing? Oh and let's not forget the mini me that's attached itself to my mid-section. Oh yeah, there's a whole other person cohabitating with my body. I've got proof. Just look at the scale. Wait! Stop! You're just going to have to take my word for it on that. Bottom line: I've come to the realization that I'm no longer pushing forty. I'm draggin it.

It took a while but I finally got over the shock of this over-night transformation, (Don't tell me it didn't happen overnight. That's my story and I'm stickin to it.) So I sat myself down and had a talk with myself. It went something like this:

Me: "Damn, girl! You've really let yourself go."

Me also: "Go where? Where are we going? "

*Apparently the new me is not only a wreck, she's also stupid. Grrr.*

Me: "We've got to do something about this. What do you propose that we do?"

Me also: "I like donuts. Can we go get donuts?"

Me: "That's it. You're going back to the gym today! You're going back on the South Beach Diet" There is no excuse for a woman your age to let herself go like this, Do you hear me, Soldier?"

Me also: "Does that mean we can't stop at Dunkin Donuts? Not even for a muffin?"

Me: "You are really thick, you know it?"

So then I get to the office and see cutesy, little Ms. Bertinelli on the cover. That might have p*ssed off a weaker woman. Not me! It just strengthened my resolve. If VB can do it by her 49^th birthday, by gosh, so can I. *Oh dear Lord, have I lost my mind?*

I've got until December 2009 to literally get my rear in gear. I'm going to start drinking more water and less wine beer coffee. I'm going to get more rest. I'm going to hit the gym or exercise elsewhere vigorously 4-5 times a week. I am going to follow the South Beach Diet because it works for me when I actually follow it. I'm not saying that I'll be modeling any bikini come December but mark my words:

I will be a smaller, fitter, crankier happier Smart Mouth Broad.

And I'll be doing it all…….One Day at a Time.

WHAT IS A BANDWAGON? And why is it so easy to fall off?

I jumped on the traditional January bandwagon today………………..backwards. Technically, I guess I jumped off. At a time when millions are flocking to gyms and weight loss centers everywhere; I canceled my gym membership. Yes, I did. I walked in sans exercise equipment and signed my name on the dotted line. There is a thirty day notice policy in effect that allows me to continue not working out until February 15^th but officially, I am no longer a member.

You may or may not remember that my motivation for establishing this blog was to create a place where I could hold myself accountable by proclaiming my successes and failures publicly in my quest for better fitness, a more youthful appearance and most importantly arse removal. If you are a new reader or don't remember that post, you can click here to see what I had to say in my very first blog post. Since that time, I have posted about a few of my gym experiences, and discussed my diet regimen or lack thereof occasionally but for the most part, this blog has become more about my nonsensical life and all the joys that lie therein. I'm OK with that. It is what it is.

That being said, I still feel the burden that is finding the ever-elusive fit me, the healthy me, dare I say the smaller version of me that is out there somewhere, I just know it. Someone told me that they saw her at Whole Foods but by the time I got there, she was GONE! **sigh**

Here is the real deal:

• In the three years that I have been working out on a regular basis (with the exception of the holiday season this year) I have basically gotten nowhere. I lost and gained weight throughout and in the end can say with pride frustration that I am ten pounds lighter than I was when I started. Not good enough. I guess it's better than finding myself ten pounds heavier but three years! Come on!
  
• I want/need to find a diet that is as much about changing my eating habits as it is about losing weight. I have no interest in going on a temporary fad diet because history shows, the weight just comes back. I understand that in order to lose weight the caloric consumption must be more restrictive now and will loosen up a bit for a maintenance plan. I think I will be going back to the South Beach Diet because it's healthy and it includes all the food groups. I am a foodie and cannot will not cut any one food group out of my diet. SBD does restrict carbs but eventually you add them back in measured doses.
  
• My workout has become stale. I know that I enjoy classes more than working out independently but my old gym's class offerings didn't accommodate my schedule. It caters more to the stay at home mom, the senior citizens and the independently wealthy crowd. Every time they try to open an after-normal working hours class, it is poorly attended (meaning I'm the only one who shows up) and is eventually canceled.
  
• There is another gym near my office that offers multiple evening classes. It is a national chain. They have another location not too far from my house should the desire strike me for a weekend workout. The membership is the same price as my old gym. I'm not sure what the time commitment is.
  
• I have a treadmill in my bedroom that currently serves as a clothes hanger. The motor needs to be replaced. I can't imagine this repair would be too costly.
  
• I get the Fit Tv channel, I have a dvd player and I own several exercise videos. The problem with working out at home is that I always think that I will do it later and later never seems to happen.
  
• I've always wanted to be a runner but since our trip out West on the bikes last year, my knees have aged to 78 while I have only progressed to the ripe old age of none of your business. Osteo BiFlex wants to be my friend but I keep forgetting to take the darn pills.
  

I have to do something and it really should be now. Time is slipping by fast and it's already been over a month since I've exercised. Sadly my eating habits have gone to hell in a hand-basket too. It seems that the whole world is telling me to get up off my arse and just do it. People magazine showed three women on their cover that lost half their body weight. Thankfully, I don't have that much to lose. So why is it so hard for me to stick to a plan? I get at least 10 emails a day on my blackberry telling me to lose weight and exercise. Well, maybe not in those exact words.

Geri over at New Wrinkles did a recent post where she tells just how important exercise is to the aging process. New Wrinkles is a blog dedicated to giving important information on all sorts of health topics. It seems some people feel it's a better use of their time to actually give helpful information on their blog instead of the (almost) daily dose of silliness you find here. **wink**

So, peeps! Any suggestions? What's a girl to do? Are you frustrated too? Have you found the answer? I'm not talking resolutions here. What's your plan to get into shape? Or have you just decided that being fat and sassy ain't all that bad?

Oh and today I read over at Bear Naked that Physical Fitness helps your brain! SIGN.ME.UP! I need all the help I can get in that department. This case of Midlife Distraction is killing me.

AND NOW WE KNOW IT'S TRUE

Mother always said it would happen.

I didn't listen.

I was young.

I was carefree.

She would repeat it often.

Oh, how I wish I would have heeded her advice!

Because now it's too late.

It's already happened!

Mother always said if you keep making that face, it's going to freeze that way.

Today I woke up with a wrinkle in the middle of my forehead that can only come from spending way too much of my life with that "What the …….?" look on my face!

Now what do I do?

Do they have botox for this?

Hurry, people, I need help!

HOLDING MYSELF ACCOUNTABLE

A week or so ago, I walked into the local supermarket and witnessed a little boy hopping onto the scales. He was very excited as he told his father, "Look, Daddy, I'm 40 pounds!" All I could think was "Oh my gawd! I have to lose a four year old!" Well, I'm pleased to say that after a change in diet and exercise, I now only have to lose a three year old.

It was about six weeks ago that I started this blog. I was mortified motivated by the proclamation of my physician that I was indeed no longer a spring chicken. After I recovered from the shock of that statement, I sat myself down and made a list of goals and then posted them on the internet for all the world to see, thinking that maybe this might help to keep me on track. So in the spirit of accountability, it's time to see just how far I've come.

The original goals listed were as follows:

• Lose weight or grow taller – no luck on the growing taller but as of this morning, I have lost a total of 13lbs. (more than 25% of my weight loss goal)
  
• Improve my fitness level – I've taken up spinning classes and I'm still trying to make it back to iron bodies. I find that while I have been working out at the gym independently for over 2 years, a drill sergeant instructor motivates me to work harder and challenge myself.
  
• Lower my blood pressure – Turns out that the blood-pressure reading was most likely a false high brought on by the utter excitement (NOT) and anticipation of my lower-body inspection.
  
• Eat a healthy diet and practice portion control – I started the South Beach Diet, (loosely) I stay in phase I because I never seem to make it thru the two weeks without cheating. If I wasn't losing weight, I would tighten up my restrictions but I prefer to be strict most of the time and have fun on the weekends. Almost daily, I visit Kalyn's Kitchen for recipe ideas.
  
• Lose weight (I thought it might help to list this one twice - Sometimes I need a reminder, it's that mental pause thing.
  
• Blog all about it – obviously.
  
• Define myself as "at that age when……I am energetic, fit, healthy and lovin' life! – I may not be there yet but definitely working in the right direction! Step by step, I'm gettin' there.
  

I've learned a few things along this journey too:

• Readers have told me that I inspire them with my little successes and determination.
  
• I don't need chocolate as much as I thought I did. (At least most of the time)
  
• Friendship is not about geography.
  
• I can still be a foodie and make healthy, delicious dishes for my family.
  
• When I go on a diet, MHS loses weight!
  
• I really need to invest in a better, more supportive sports bra if I plan to continue to spin. You want your legs to go at the speed of light but not your uh, well, you know. It's not pretty. Recommendations, anyone?
  
• The support and encouragement of friends and family is key to your success. So, friends, care to join me on this quest for fitness? It's more fun with buddies!
  

MENTAL AGE VS. REAL AGE

I recently came upon a blog called “Twenty-four at Heart”. (If you aren’t already reading it, take a look) (And THANKS to Midlife Slices (read this too) for teaching me how to add that link!) Anyway, it struck me that we all have an age in our minds where we remain regardless of how much time passes. Mine is 27. Sometime during my 27^th year, I finally stopped being my Mommy and Daddy’s little girl and grew up. Relatively speaking, of course. This is a little sad, given the fact that I married at 19 and became a mother at 24. What can I say except, I’m a late bloomer. But suddenly, I was a bitch. And I mean that in the most positive of ways. I can’t say that I still don’t lapse into people pleasing occasionally but at the age of twenty seven I realized I don’t always have to do what people tell me to do, expect me to do or want me to do.

At 27, I was fit, thin, young, not completely unattractive and confident. When I imagine myself in any situation now, I don’t picture the forty-something me, I envision the perkier, firmer version. When I dress to go out into the world, I always check myself in the mirror before leaving. Occasionally someone will take a picture of me and then be “kind” enough to share the photograph with me. I’m always shocked to find that the image in the photograph is much older and heavier than the woman I saw in the mirror before I left the house. A camera defect? I think not. It’s that state of complete denial and a mental image of the twenty-seven year old version of me deeply planted into my brain that I just can’t (won’t) let go.

I’m not alone. I’m sure of it. My grandfather died when I was a teenager and my grandmother came to live with us. She always referred to our next door neighbor as “that old woman next door”. That “old woman” was probably 30 years younger than Grandma. That leaves me to wonder, what was Grandma’s mental age?

Recently while sitting with color on my hair at the salon, my stylist, who I will call Stacy (because that is her name) was getting ready to cut the hair of what appeared to me to be a woman of no less than 90 years. The woman was very thin, with many lines in her face. Her skin showed many (what my mother referred to as) age spots. Stacy asked, “What are we going to do today?” The woman flashed one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen and said, “Just make me cute!” In her eyes, I’m certain I saw the sparkle of a twenty-something young woman.

So, I ask you, what is your mental age?