Tag Archives: America

Bridal Diapers???

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http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/bridal-diapers-new-wedding-trend-1794912/

I have been meaning to write on the subject of bridal diapers (no, not as in horses).  You have to read this.  Truth IS stranger than fiction.

A college friend emailed this article around shortly after our 25th reunion in mid-June.  (As I mentioned in an entry then, at reunion we discussed relevant topics such as, “if we were dating when in our 70s and 80s, would someone’s use of “Depends” diapers for convenience only be a dating deal breaker?”)  We thought it was.  We determined that one should maintain as much control as possible for as long as possible and resist smelling like a cesspool if at all possible.

But, apparently, according to the article, the bridal gowns are so cumbersome that going to the bathroom is a 20-minute ordeal or could possibly end in unsightly leakage.  EEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

You would think the sensible answer would be, of course, GET A DIFFERENT DRESS!! 

Nope, not for these bridezillas.  The answer: DIAPERS, so they can wet themselves while talking to guests and dancing with their fathers or cutting the cake or being danced around on a chair. 

Think about that the next time you go to a wedding.  Think to yourself, could that dress be hiding a diaper?  Could I be congratulating the happy couple while the bride is . . . ?

And we wonder why our civilization is rounding the drain.

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Youth, Age and Beauty

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So, I am still fixated on the events at the gym yesterday.

I must have a magnet in the shape of an S (for schmuck) implanted in my forehead, just above my eyes.  Why else would I notice things better left unnoticed? 

Yesterday’s magnet caused me to see the following:

In the locker room at the gym, a mid-twenty-something woman is prancing around, checking herself out, all in preparation for her performance of the daily nude hair-drying ritual.  She had dyed hair, sported a tattoo and was bronzed (but not orange like House minority leader Rep. John Boehner).  These fly under the radar these days.  No one notices those things anymore. 

But what shocked me — maybe I am naive — is that she had breast implants.  At her age!! 

Didn’t people use to wait for a sag before a lift? 

Then I walked upstairs to a work-out floor and saw an older woman who had way too much work done and looked Joan Rivers-like only not as good.  Now, that is tragic.

Then I got on the bus and there was a 30-something woman who had had plastic surgery to restore her nose and mouth and part of her cheeks.  You know, that look when plastic surgery is necessary after something really bad happens. 

An unfortunate reality check on beauty and the medical reasons for plastic surgery.

I don’t think I’ll go to the gym today.

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A Gym Moment

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I stopped off at the gym for 20 minutes of cardio (how does someone with a family find time for more).

I bumped into my sister (one of the things I loved about the City being my hometown).  She was on her way to the locker room to take a shower.  Not a bead of sweat on her.  And every time I see her, I think cows sweat, men perspire and women glow.  But, SOB (sister of blogger) has a sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes but no glow on the skin (other than the fabulous skin courtesy of our mother’s genes).

She passes me again as she leaves and I am on the recumbent bike, sweating.  SOB remarks, in that genuine way that only an utterly charming, yet clueless person can pull off, “Wow, you’re sweating!  Isn’t that wonderful!” as if this a discovery of an as-yet-unknown by-product of exercise.  Being the doctor, her knowledge comes from the results of clinical trials reported in the New England Journal of Medicine (that mag rag, as I’ve named it) or CHEST.  CHEST is really a medical periodical and not a late night pay-per-view show.  Only doctors don’t see the irony of the logo on the t-shirts distributed at conferences: “CHEST” written right across, well, er, the chest! OK, I digress.

Back to SOB.  I have seen her exercise and I can confirm that she never experiences sweat as a by-product of exercise .  She does the least she can do.  It is remarkable.  She should be able to deduct her gym membership as a charitable contribution on her taxes.

Our memberships in the same gym give us a common point of reference.  For example, the other day, I asked SOB if she saw the young woman with the BIG curlers preening NAKED in front of the mirrors.  I see this woman every time I go to the gym.  She has fake boobs and fake hair color and wears “come hither” panties as she struts in front of the mirror.  We had a communal “EWWWW” moment.

A sister-bonding moment.  Worth paying a lifetime membership at the gym.  And more.

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Tim Burton’s version of Toy Story

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I haven’t seen Toy Story 3 yet but I understand that there is a bear that is cuddly even though it is the evil character in the film.

Because life imitates art (for example, Mel Gibson is still a star despite hateful speech and threats of violence), this evil bear is all the rage among the under 6 set.  It wasn’t always the Cabbage Patch Doll redux; in fact, at one point, you could buy one huggable version and get the second one for half price. 

A friend has a 3 year-old who desperately wants one and now these bears are all sold out.  He knows that his friend’s wife bought two bears on special and wanted to buy one from her.  She wouldn’t sell it to him.  He then goes home and proceeds to scare his child into tears so he could take a picture and post it on facebook with the caption, “I am crying because Aunt [name withheld] won’t sell Daddy the cuddly bear”.

Even Seinfeld couldn’t have dreamed up this one.

I told my friend I would blog about this because the world needs to know this scary toy story.

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So, canyoubelieveit, someone asked my opinion

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No sooner did I write about not being polled, than I answered a phone poll.  About my local Congressman.  What I answered surprised me.

Charlie Rangel has been great to NY and the country.  He also has some alleged ethical lapses.  Serious (alleged) ones.  He is 80 years old and probably should make way for the younger generation (who are nearly eligible for AARP benefits).

But, Charlie Rangel remained a steadfast liberal even when it was a dirty word.  He spoke up against the tyranny of fear-mongering during the Bush years, even when others (whom we thought were strong) cowered.  He has worked hard for over forty years to move America forward.

Assume what is alleged is true.  He failed to pay taxes on investments and improperly owns too many apartments in a subsidized building.  I am ok with it.  (Not HAPPY, but ok if I hold my nose.)  I guess I have mellowed or my righteous indignation has been spent on other, more deserving targets.  Or, I guess I put it into perspective of what other politicians did — sold their votes to big oil, took us into a war that was a mistake, vilified a group of Americans or immigrants for political gain, stoked the birther movement for political gain.  I could go on and on.

Yes, he should retire soon (and wear an orange jumpsuit if he is guilty) and let the younger politicians carry the torch, but right now we need people who are experienced in the trenches and are squarely on the side of the President to help the President get us out of the mess created by 8 years of George and Dick.

So, guilty or not, Charlie is my man.

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Nobody asks me

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I don’t know how the pollsters pick the representative sample of Americans, voters, Mets fans, whatever, to poll on a particular issue.  No one asks me.  My demographic is highly educated, reliable voter.

I think President Obama is the leader we need.  He is the one pushing us to take the bad-tasting medicine that will make us healthier, making the financial industry face consequences of its ruinous reign and trying to end two wars with dignity.  (Contrary to Michael Steele, Afghanistan was not a war of President Obama’s choosing; it was a war started by President Bush even before he chose to go to war with Iraq.)

Everyone wants our problems to be fixed, just like in the movies, and preferably within two hours and with limited commercial interruption.

President Obama took over a country on the verge of collapse and the problems just keep coming.  He handles them in an understated, calm manner and people think that is a sign of weakness.  But then again, “we” thought that GWB’s strutting around and baling hay were signs of strength even as we knew our nation was going to hell (think Nero playing his fiddle while Rome burned). 

I believe in President Obama and in his leadership. 

Never has been so much asked of one man and so little been done to support him.

Mr. President, you have my vote in 2012.

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What’s PC

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I can’t keep up with the latest PC terminology.  “Intersex” was the new word for hermaprodite for ten years before someone told me that I needed to get with the times. 

Also, there are apparently six genders.  I can only count two — you could be one or the other, transitioning from one to the other or have both gender markers.  Still, only TWO unless you count points in the journey from one to the other.  Clearly, I am so backward and uncool that being a lesbian mom doesn’t even give me cover.

Therefore, in an effort to regain my “cool”, I am going to make up a new phrase that should be PC.  And I thought of it on the subway as I tried to squeeze between two full-sized individuals. 

No one likes the words “large,” “overweight,” “heavy” or “obese”.  Societal stigmas attach to the words like an octopus to a  [please, someone, fill in this blank — especially if you read about the crazy octopus as predictor of the World Cup winner].  (If I were Jacques Cousteau, I would be able to fill in that blank.  But, you get my point.)  

So, I think that we should use the terms “high volume” or “high density” instead.   Better connotations.  What do you think?

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The horn of plenty in the midst of the dust bowl

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Last night I was in an expensive, still trendy, restaurant and the place was PACKED. 

Maybe everyone there was entertaining out of town guests like I was.  

Maybe that’s why it is hard to understand the true nature of our economic problems and how close we still are to the precipice.  Because we all thought economic Armageddon would look like something out of “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” or some other post-apocalyptic film.

Maybe not everyone in the Great Depression were like Ma or Pa Joad. Or, for that matter, like my parents and grandparents, TGFOB (two generations of family of blogger). Barely getting by, barely enough food to eat.  Hey, I am not suffering like them either because I am eating at this restaurant, too, but I am constantly gripped by the fear of homelessness. (I love the freedom that 25 years, coming out as a lesbian, and being in a loving relationship afford.)

I overheard a group talking about the burden of taxes. I thought, DUDES, you’re still earning money.  No one realizes that it is dumb luck that we are not like Ma and Pa Joad or TGFOB.

This reminds me of the conversation I had at my 25th college reunion with a guy who — how do I describe it — was not so much a friend but from time to time over for years we had the “benefits”.  In our first conversation in more than 25 years, he mentions the European bank taxes and complains that they unfairly punish him.  I couldn’t hide my disgust at his words (and at my own poor judgment so many years ago) and said maybe a little too firmly (and with a lot of “edge” to it), “Suck it up. There are people here without jobs. There was a lot of collateral damage and innocent people were punished for the stupidity of a few so if all it costs you is a few extra dollars, then pay it and feel lucky.”  (I

By the way, I feel really lucky, and I am scared every day that my luck will run out.  In the meantime, we eat out every now and again.

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Aging

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My brother-in-law is turning some age older than 55. He looks great and is handsome, charming and lively — a good catch.

The question is: when did I start thinking that some guy with ever-so-slightly thinning gray hair is a rock star? I guess one could also ask how the septuagenarian Mick Jagger keeps rock star status. My brother-in-law is way cuter: no one would ever think he had the blood sucked out of him and then re-infused with formaldehyde so he could look like the walking dead like Mick Jagger. But there I go, digressing again.

My point is (and — SURPRISE — I have one) that we look decrepit to 20-somethings, but who cares? As long as we look at our contemporaries and think we are looking good, isn’t that what matters?

I am starting to understand my mother’s saying she thought of herself as 35, even when she was 70 and she thought of Dad as 42 even when he was 77. The point is that mild cataracts perform an essential social function necessary for the survival of the species.

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Hot Town, Summer in the City

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On Sunday, I went for a run along the Hudson River.  The City has constructed a bike/walk/run path all along the River.  It is really terrific.

Sunday was hot, hot, HOT in the City.  So, City dwellers actually had a fair reason to be scantily-clad (as opposed to other days when there is no good reason to flash so much flesh).  And runners were especially scantily clad.

I, on the other hand, wore knee-length, tight-fitting shorts under the usual running shorts.  If my legs didn’t do a jello impression when I ran, I would have just used the short running shorts.  But I am 46 and, at a certain age, more clothes are way more attractive.  So, athletic gear goes into my “more is better” category. Compared to others, I was dressed like a nun.

I am not a runner for the sake of running.  I run so that I can fit into my clothes.  I run outside sometimes so that my skin doesn’t have that pallor sported by Woody Allen.  Clearly, I will take any opportunity to stop.  By the time ran to the 79th Street Boat Basin, I was tired, bored of running, and wondering about do-it-yourself liposuction with a vacuum.  So, I stopped. Running that is.  I didn’t stop thinking about the DIY liposuction.

While I was heaving and coughing and making a mental note to Google liposuction, I noted two couples walking along the water.  The women had on hose and skirts and little jackets and the men were in ties and pin-stripe suits.  This was not the orthodox Jewish look and even orthodox Jews try to look a little casual on Sundays (as if just wearing a baseball cap will make a person forget the long beard, black coat, long hair locks and prayer garment fringes).

These were not the usual Sunday Church-goers.  The pin-stripes and the pantyhose indicated they were a special type of Church-goers. Of course, I had to investigate further and walked over to them as they looked out onto the Hudson River.  As a cover, I coughed and heaved a little more.

Before they moved away from me because I sounded like I had a dread disease AND I was sweating profusely, I saw that they had name tags (so convenient for me).  These were the kind that a hotel concierge has; ones that are used daily.  No throw-away types.  These people DO what their name tags say and what they do required TWO lines of print:

BELIEVERS IN THE

LORD JESUS CHRIST

Well, all right, then.  No other name necessary, I guess.  JC will cover it.

I walked away a little overwhelmed.  (And, wished I had a Dyke March t-shirt.)  Maybe I should have asked whether they were in town to catch some theater.  Maybe they were taking in a little theater while walking along the River.  Life IS a carnival.  And maybe they were someone else’s street theater, too.

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