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Help! I’ve been mugged and I can’t get up! A sick contest…

Donna's mad as hell.

My sister called not long ago, telling me about how she got an email from a friend who’d—gasp—been mugged in Europe and for my sister to PLEASE SEND MONEY! 

My sister (after freaking out) came to her senses and called her friend here at home and… lo and behold!  Her friend was not in Europe!  She was here!  In the good old USA.  Unmugged.  Hadn’t ever been to Europe.

 Luckily, my sister mentioned this to me because–okay this is so weird– the next day, I got a similar email from one of my friends!  Mugged!  In Europe!  What are the odds?!  OMG!!  After I’d made arrangements to wire over a gogillion dollars to my friend, I suddenly remembered my sister’s friend hadn’t been mugged and maybe, just maybe there wasn’t a sudden rash of European muggers targeting our friends! 

The email letter (below) is now the third one I’ve gotten in the last few weeks.  I’m sorry to say, I don’t even know who poor Donna is…probably someone from my Facebook list.  Have you gotten your letter from Donna yet?  Better yet, are YOU Donna?  DONNA, ARE YOU OKAY??!  Talk to me, Donna!

Carolyn:

This had to come in a hurry and it has left me in a horrible situation and I’m really going to need your urgent help. Some days ago, unannounced, Jeffrey and I came to visit a resort here in London England but unfortunately we got mugged by some gunmen and lost all cash and credit cards, we are financially stranded right now and our return flight leaves in few hours .I need some money to clear our hotel bills, I didn’t bring my cell phone along since I didn’t get to roam it before coming over. So all I can do now is pay cash and get out of here quickly. I do not want to make a scene of this which is why we did not call home this is embarrassing enough .I was wondering if you could loan me some cash, I’ll refund it to you as soon as we arrive home just need to pay the  Hotel bills and get the next plane home. I promise to refund you back as soon as we are back home, please write back so I can let you know how to send it
Donna

Okay.  I’m sick, but these kinds of letters bring out the dark humor (and editor)  in me.   “Donna” I get that you are “in a hurry” but does the last sentence really need three ‘backs’?  Anyway, I can think of about a dozen different snarky responses to the goons who are trying to extort money from me.  Hello?  My husband and I have FIVE CHILDREN WHO ALL NEED BRACES AND COLLEGE and have I mentioned, I HAVE YET TO HIT ‘THE LIST?’  Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree, “Donna”, unless you want a handful of Pillsbury coupons and a token to the Bullwinkles Family Fun Center.  Plus, I may be menopausal, but I’m still strapped into the old turnip truck.

So, I’d like to have a little fun and open it up to you, our hilarious readers and comment posters.  Yeah.  A contest.  Respond to poor “Donna”.  Go on.  You know you want to.  Don’t be shy.

Carolyn

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Filed under Anxiety, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

Drinking games

  

I'm so proud

  Wow.  Good old mom.  Has she ever changed.  Yesterday, I was standing in the grocery line, waiting.  The woman in front of me clearly knew the checker.  I couldn’t help but overhear this inspiring tidbit.

 

 Mom:  Yeah, that’s my beer.  Well, my kid’s, actually.  I let my son and his girlfriend have beer at home.  They’re in high school now, so it’s…

Checker:  Better than having them go drink somewhere else.

 

Mom:  Right.  Oh, this is so funny.  The other day, they were playing the f-word drinking game.  You know what that is, right?  The F-Bomb?

 Checker:  Gotcha.  Don’t have to spell it out for me.

 Mom:  Well, the kids were watching this movie, and every time they heard the F-word, they had to take a drink.  (Mom laughs indulgently).  Yeah, they got plastered.  Put ‘em to bed in my son’s room.

 Me:  (thinking as I drove home) Golly, I was watching Ozzie and Harriet just the other day, with my eldest (high school age, sweet, loving, adorable, virginal, drug-free ooo, I love her so much I could eat her with a spoon) daughter, and I realized:  I’m such an old-fashioned dirt-bag of a mom.  Geez, what a loser. Here I thought I was doing her a favor by steering her away from the harrowing foibles of my misspent youth.  My poor kid.  How the bleepity, bleep is she going to learn to drink?  Neither Ozzie nor Harriet dropped the F-Bomb once!  When I got home, I immediately threw that DVD out.  Then, I took inventory of our cupboards and realized, if she’s gonna get high, she’s gonna have to settle for tablespoon of vanilla on the rocks.  Couple the vanilla with Ricky Nelson and her seven-year-old brother (who will occasionally crawl into bed with her when he has his recurring bad snake dream) you ain’t got much of a partay, know-whut-ahm-sayin-ma-man?

 

 So, I’m headed back to the store for a copy of Bruce Willis’s Die Hard with a Vengeance, a case of Bud, a pack of smokes and a bag boy or two.  We’ll giter up to speed.  That way, she’ll be more acceptable in today’s society.  After all, I wouldn’t want her to be…different.

 Carolyn

 

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Another Get Rich Quick Scheme Down the Toilet

Heeeeeellllppp meeeeee!

Ohmigosh, Wendy!  Last night I had a dream that J. Lilly, President of Pillsbury wrote us a letter.  It was so terrifying!  So real!  I woke up in a sweat (could have been a hot flash) and scribbled down what I remembered on a candy wrapper I found lying near my bed: 

To TooHotMamas:

(Whoever you are and whatever your racket is)  

 Stop harassing me about winning my contest, or I’ll be forced to take out a restraining order against you both.  The only reason I haven’t contacted the authorities yet, is because my sister is menopausal and tells me you are both out of your minds. 

In answer to a few of your many and varied accusations:  No, the contest was not rigged, nor am I related to the winners and yes I eat Pillsbury products in my home and have no signs of these ‘pathogens’ you allude to.  

Also, since Jack Bauer is a FICTIONAL television character (24), I cannot take the threat that you would report my contest to the Counter Terrorist Unit seriously.  I can’t believe Jack Bauer would take it seriously.  In a shoot out, everyone knows the doughboy has no vital organs and can withstand intense heat.  Jack Bauer, though impressive, would never survive a pre-heated 350 oven for more than 30 minutes. 

TooHotMamas, I will not be bullied into, and I’m quoting here, “Taking you to the stars with your two-ingredient Pancake Sauce”, and must reiterate: Winning my contest will not solve your myriad problems.  In fact you both may wish to consider counseling.  I’ve heard this stage of life is hard on many women and can lead to delusional behavior.  

Thank you for including the pictures of your children in your missive of terror and yes, aside from needing braces, they are all exceedingly attractive. 

You will be contacted from my lawyers for your issues with our contest protocol, and must sign sworn statements to hold Pillsbury harmless, if you wish to participate in the future. 

Sincerely, 

John Lilly, CEO Pillsbury Corporation

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Filed under aging, Anxiety, Children, Cooking, hot flash, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Pillsbury Bakeoff, Weight gain, Weight Loss

THE GYM: Day One

Whoa, Dude. Exercise? Me?

Got to the club. Was assigned a Personal Trainer. He carried a little note card around, said he was gonna make notes for exercises that would help make my ‘Menopause Journey’ a ‘healthier’ prospect for me and get my daughter into an ‘active’ life-style. He’s a total hottie. I wink at the daughter. She winks back.

Machine number one:
Personal Trainer: Let’s start out by warming up. Hop on the treadmill and give me 10, trotting.

Daughter: Trotting on machine next to mine. Zen-esque. Beaming at the hottie. Show off.

Me: I wonder if he meant 10 seconds? I’ve been trotting for well over a lifetime and the clock on the machine says I’m only up to one minute. Holy crap. I’m ready for a nap. Hope this is all he expects today. Is it normal to fall off the machine?

Machine number two:
Personal Trainer: Now that we’re warmed up, let’s try some resistance exercises.

Me: Good Grief! Should I tell him I just herniated my heart? Lacerated my liver? Exploded my spleen? Several people on other machines are staring at my beet red face with concern and murmuring amongst themselves.

Daughter: Drops into the chair, adds 10 lbs to her recommended weight and powers through the first set. I don’t like the smirk on her face.

Machine number three:
Personal Trainer: This is my favorite for Buns of Steele.

Me: Call 911. I’m sure I just heard something pop. I think it was my spine. I swear I can’t feel my legs. Woman on machine next to me asks if I need defibrillator paddles.

Daughter: Don’t know where she is, as she has already completed three sets. I hear her singing somewhere in the distance. She’s grounded.

Machine number four:
Personal Trainer: This one is guaranteed to give you a six-pack.

Me: Someone get me a six-pack. Stat. With a Ringer’s lactate chase. I’m hearing the Hallelujah chorus and am heading toward the light. I’ve decided I LIKE the way my thighs sag. And what’s wrong with wearing a bra sized 38-Long? Are we done yet?

Daughter: High-fiving the Pilates instructor. I hate her.

Machine number five:
Personal Trainer: Feel the burn.

Me: My head is spinning. I can’t focus. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. Have I given birth to my lower intestine? Should hemorrhoids fill your pants out that way? My shrieks of pain are drawing looks of annoyance from the other members. Up theirs. And the barbell they rode in on.

Daughter: Joined several peers for a quick game of racquet ball. She’s so outta the Will.

Machine number six:
Personal Trainer: This one’s for the Gipper!

Me: Shoot me. I don’t care. I stopped breathing 10 minutes ago anyway. Someone call the morgue. I think I’ve had a series of mini-strokes because I’m drooling now and have lost the ability to communicate in anything other than Klingon.

Daughter: She’s fifteen. Close enough. She’s driving us home. Now.

Looking forward to tomorrow.
Carolyn

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Filed under Exercise, Fitness, Health, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Weight gain, Weight Loss

Bad Hair

Wendy and Carolyn Do Hawaii

 

Carolyn and Wendy Do Hawaii
 
The 35 Symptoms of Menopause: A continuing education.  Today, we explore Symptom #26:

Hair loss or thinning head or pubic hair.  Increase in facial or whole body hair.

So many of our friends complain about this symptom.  The hair falls off the head and seems to just explode out of everywhere else. 
 
So, girls.  How do we get rid of unwanted hair without the hideous pain of waxing / electrolysis and those horrible red bumps that come after shaving?  Well, after a LOT of debate–and experimentation–we’ve come to the conclusion that there is no solution.  Why are we fighting the inevitable, ladies? 
 
Let go of your inhibitions.  If you’ve got it, flaunt it.  Embrace your inner gorilla!  Oh, we’re not saying it will be easy.  The first time we hit the beach sporting our new hirsute look, we were a little bashful.  But as you can see by the video our husband’s shot, (above) after a couple Mai Tai’s we got into the rhythm. 
 
Carolyn and Wendy

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A Baker’s Dozen

The 35 Symptoms of Menopause: Symptom #13 DISTURBING MEMORY LAPSES

When Wendy and I agreed to begin this blog business, it seemed to me that we were both going to take turns blogging.  However, since it’s been awhile–and our fan base is dwindling from 2 all the way down to zero–I’m beginning to wonder if Wendy might not be suffering from symptom #13 this week.

Since I’d been planning to eventually tackle this subject, I figured I might as well jump in and “Just Do It” as they say.

There are three components to dwindling… thing.  (What did I do with those notes?)

Number One:  The whole RABBIT TRAIL SYNDROME  Starting out with one task in mind and then running off in another direction altogether.  For example:  I sit down to write the great American novel.  But then, somebody, say, my cousin, has this hysterical video on Facebook, that makes it look like he and his wife can do this fabulous figure skating routine.  This is especially funny, as his bio claims he’s 300 pounds.  The fact that he’s holding a beer in his hand only serves to underscore the idea that he’s not all that athletic.  Although, I know his sister’s kids played soccer.  The reason I know this, is because her son played soccer with Jaclyn Smith’s  son.  Remember her from Charlie’s Angels?  My dad loved her.

Carolyn

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All Dolled Up, Part Duex Deux

Ahhh, Wendy.  My Wendy. Every woman needs a BFF to tell you how much she hates you when she thinks you look good.  This is so satisfying.  Especially when all I can see are the parts of me that are falling apart, and for whatever reason–cataracts?–she can’t.

Anyway, yesterday I was desperate to get out of the house to be with friends.  I convinced myself, and my 6-year-old son, that we were done with the stomach flu and it was time have a playdate!!  Four adult writers–and two little kids– out to hear Kristen Hannah speak at Powells Books!!  After that, lunch at McGraffs!!  No more vomit!! Yay!  Time to get dolled up!  Roughly translated, shower.

I remember this one time, when I was a kid, my entire family had the stomach flu.  My mother, sick of being housebound, managed to convince my dad that it was time to go out to dinner.  We were “well”, dammit, Jim!  (my dad’s name is Doug, but whatever).  Anyway, we get to the Chinese restaurant and my sister has to throw up.  So, my mom, clearly in denial, says, “Carolyn, please take your sister to the bathroom,” and proceeds to order us all these hurking combination plates.  Being that I was still suffering, I was probably not at my most patient.  Especially considering I was 10 and she was 8.  Okay, so in the bathroom there is one stall available.  And, I was crowded in there with her.  And the more she throws up, the less ‘good’ I feel, until we are both on our knees, fighting over who gets to puke into the public toilet.  Since that day, Hoisen sauce still makes me think of toilets.

All this to say, I now have complete sympathy for my mom.  Yesterday, my sweet son was submitted to multiple humiliations because of my premature need to get out of the house.  I knew we had a bit of a problem when his French fries arrived and he didn’t fall into them face first and devour them in his usual style.  “These make me want to BARF!” he announced.  I laughed, thinking, oh, look how he’s showing off for Wendy’s daughter, also age 6.  So, of course, I have to eat his fries.  Then, he had to go to the bathroom.  NOW.  Wendy’s daughter came with us and found it both fascinating and hilarious that my son had to use the Ladies Room.  When I finally got him into a stall, he…stalled.  Couldn’t get his shoe off.  Not getting the shoe off, means not getting the pants off, which means not being able to climb up onto the toilet…in time.  Oops.

I was tempted to flush his underwear down the toilet, but hey, that would clog the plumbing and besides, that’s what those sanitary paper protectors are for, are they not?   And so, I return to the table, an aromatic package sticking out of the top of my purse, polluting its contents, spreading the love, so to speak.  

Thank God I’d taken the time to get all dolled up.

Carolyn

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