Hattie is over 70 and still has wild sex…..

I’ve recently discovered the joy that is video streaming from Netflix.(Lovin it)  It is because of this, I was able to watch a show on TLC for the first time called: Strange Sex.  The first episode I saw was about a 70 something year old woman who dates men 45 years her junior and get’s busy! A lot. wink, wink.  At first, I was thinking, “WHAT!  She can’t be getting laid more than me?” lol While I do admire her ooommff and ownership of her sexuality….I’m left a little dumbfounded.  On one hand, I see why her lifestyle makes sense.  I am barely into middleage and  already notice a lull in the energy of men MY AGE!  Hattie is so full of life and vigor and it is frustrating trying to date a man who goes to bed at 9 o’clock or falls asleep during a movie.  On the other hand, I would like to think I outgrew immature men a long time ago….solidarity is also rewarding…I will let you decide for yourself.

Here is the link to her website and if you get the chance, I would watch her episode on TLC.  Maybe you will be inspired…you may be horrified…but either way she is one hell of an interesting person and I admire her Chutzpah, Shalom Hattie. (In the words of my great Jewish friends)



I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening..

When you are younger you try to argue your point.  You think you know it all.  The most asinine move you can make is believing that you will change another person.  When I was younger, I believed I could sway someone to my way of thinking; if I could just explain a position better.  I presumed I could aid friends in abusive relationships by emphasizing their worth. I would exhaust myself and waste time listening to people who had no intention of seeking help.  I finally became exhausted enough to realize I could surround myself with healthy, peaceful people instead.  Age has taught me to avoid people that always have drama and never seek an end to the madness  At this stage, I choose what I allow into my life and what I don’t.  I can tell when a person is about to start pushing their political agenda on me and I can diffuse the situation with a smile and simply not engaging.  I marvel in the power of it! In my youth my blood would boil and I would be waiting for the other person to take a breath for the chance to interject and explain why they were such an asshole.  It’s like amazing grace, I once was blind, but now I see… smiling and staying silent works for me!  Choosing not to engage, but still being present with kindness, is wisdom.  I intend to sip my wine, smile, and enjoy the oblivion….watching as the young people waste time arguing their point of view. 

Orthopedic shoes need rehab…yes, yes, yes..

I went somewhere today and I noticed a lady in line. She had obviously spent a lot of time getting herself ready.  She was with her teenage daughter it seemed like they had just come from church.  As I stood there, I admired her hair and great bone structure.  She was about 15 years older than me but I thought, wow you are aging really well!  She had on a nice dress and then I looked down and saw this: There they were, in all of their glory, orthopedic sandals.  This woman stood tall and looked ten years younger until her long dress flitted and revealed this atrocity.  Why do women do this to themselves?  Aren’t there better orthopedic options out there?  I mean, if we can make fake noses and boobs, we can make fake orthopedic shoes right? These shoes (when not medically prescribed) scream, “I have given up.”   All the bone structure and natural glow in the world, can’t compensate for these.  I say, “Fight like hell against wearing these as long as you can.”  Better yet, Never.

Did my muscles let go of my thigh skin?

I walked by the mirror in my closet-room today and saw something no person should have to see.  The skin on my legs wiggled a little bit.  I even walked backwards and tried it again in slow motion.   My thigh skin used to be tightly connected to my muscles; it wasn’t a separate entity?  So, I did what any reasonable middle-aged woman would do. I grabbed my car keys, hauled ass, and joined a gym.  I approached the counter,  like a person buying drugs in a hushed voice and their darkest sunglasses. It went something like this, whispering, “Excuse me, I think I would like to join the gym.”  I even did the finger-pointing thing that looks like you are pushing buttons in the direction of girls on a treadmills. Just incase she didn’t know what I was talking about.  As the girl started to fill in my information, I glanced around and pushed my ray bans further up my nose like I was doing surveillance.  Did I mention, I was already sweating from the walk in and I had yet to take the complimentary tour?  I thought I was being really clever during that by holding my bag in a way that masked my exposed thighs.  Actually, I clung to it like a security blanket.  I’m planning on letting the jumbo bag go tomorrow and moving up to an adult sippy cup that fits in that hole built right into the elliptical.