Andy Rooney's Ode to Women Over 40

I was sent this by a friend and thought it, if you missed it on 60 minutes as I did, it was well worth sharing in a blog post:

60 Minutes Correspondent Andy Rooney (CBS)   

As I grow in age, I value women over 40 most of all.  Here are just a few reasons why: 

A woman over 40 will  never wake you in the middle of the night and ask, 'What are you  thinking?'  She doesn't care what you think.  If a woman over  40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around  whining about it.   She does something she wants to do,  and it's usually more interesting.    Women over 40 are  dignified.  They  seldom have a screaming match with you  at the opera or in the middle of an expensive  restaurant.  Of  course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot  you if  they think they can get away with it.   Older women are  generous with praise,  often undeserved.   They know what  it's like to be unappreciated. Women get  psychic as they age.   You never have to confess your sins to a woman over  40.  Once you get past a  wrinkle or two, a woman over 40  is far sexier than her younger counterpart. Older women are forthright  and honest.  They'll tell you right off you are a jerk if  you are acting like one.   You don't ever have to wonder  where you stand with her..  Yes, we praise women over 40 for a  multitude of reasons.  Unfortunately, it's not  reciprocal.  For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot  woman over 40, there is a  bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants  making a fool of himself with some 22-year old waitress.  Ladies, I   apologize. 

For all those men who say, 'Why buy the  cow when you can get the milk for free?', here's an update for you.    Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage.  Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig  just to get a little sausage!   

GO ANDY!  GO ANDY! 

Hey! It's merlotmom! Who?

It's been weeks since my last post.  Even BlogHerAds has deemed me a blogging sloth.  Oh, well.  I may be barely breathing in the blogosphere but in real life I am very much alive.

To prove it to you, here's what I did over this holiday weekend:

Flew to NYC for my SIL's wedding:

Lost my camera exiting the cab on the way to said wedding so took pix with my crappy iPhone:

Better that it's blurry, I have no idea if bride and groom want their picture on the internetz anyway.

Stayed in an apartment near Lincoln Center that's layout was a carbon copy of the one I lived in in Gramercy Park for six years  (cough, cough, twenty five years ago)

Do you have any idea how strange it is to be living with your husband and kids in what is essentially the same apartment you spent your SATC years (including the one night stands but excluding the designer outfits and shoes)? 

And then to top things off, I went back to the house in Long Island where I grew up

Which looks nothing like the red brick house I remember.  Unlike the town, which does look like I remember, just...older. 

And see this rock? 

I used to call this Plymouth Rock.  My sister and I used to CLIMB this rock.  CLIMB, as in Mt. Everest.   My sister says it must have sank into the ground because we both remember it as ginormous.


And after a busy weekend of celebrations and cerebral mind-f*cking,  we flew back to L.A.

Only to arrive in the middle of a thunderstorm and watch as my usually steady-as-a-rock husband white-knuckled the armrests and did his best imitation of Lamaze breathing while we pierced the thick, ominous clouds and circled above waiting for the precise point of entry.

Hey at least we weren't struck by lightning like these people!

And when we did get home safely (thank you American Airlines), my son and I put the finishing touches on his California Mission project (a long standing, well known tradition in fourth grade California curriculum) which was due today.

Not bad, huh?  I did help... just a little.

So, now you know what I've been busy doing even if it isn't blogging.
Not that anyone really cares, I just had fun sharing it.

So there my fellow bloggers.  Hope you've all been well.

Be back soon  (maybe).

Reflections (Not Resolutions) on the Millenium Thus Far

It is the end of the first decade of the millenium.

Was is really ten years ago that I watched with friends as the ball dropped and we held our breath waiting for the Y2K destruction that never materialized?

Was it really twenty-one years ago that I left all my friends, family, and furniture behind in NYC to start anew in Los Angeles?

The older I get the more I understand the phrase time flies.  How can SO much time have passed?  I'm still in my early twenties for god's sakes ...

Except now I'm in my early twenties with a teenager.   And a boy who thinks he's a teenager.  And a husband I've been with for 19 years.  And my third and fourth Labradors, my first minivan (ugh. did you hear me, hubby, I said UGH?)... so many things have changed.

Yet one thing remains the same.

My dream of becoming a published writer.

I've had this same dream for... let's see.... computing... wait for it  ...

37 YEARS 

OMG!  Holy crap.  Time really does fly.

F*ck!

(BTW, my trash mouth... remains the same).

So, will 2010 be the year I finish my novel?  Will it be the year I start the book of essays I've been thinking about?  (Cause I'm getting really bored talking about it and you're probably getting really bored hearing about it.)

Stay tuned to see if this will be the decade when merlotmom finally achieves her life-long goal?

F*cking better be.

Tha's right.

But for now,  I'll just hope for a happy, healthy, peaceful New Year for my family and all of my friends.

My best to all of you.

(And if I give birth to a novel, I'll be sure to let you all know where I'm registered ;)  ...)


HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE.
LETS MAKE 2010 GREAT!

I Need An Intervention (aka Let's Go Shopping!)

I've pulled myself away from my latest internet obsession to make a public confession...

...I am addicted to these new Private Sale websites that sell designer goods at ridiculously cut-rate prices.  HELP.

Have you heard about them?  Seen them?  The NYTimes wrote about them the other day but it wasn't like I needed the news to tell me about it.   But I feel I am alone in my obsession, so I'm telling all of you. 

Cause, you know, it's the holiday season, and I want to live vicariously through you guys spending instead of  me, have someone to talk to about it, spread a little cheer. 

These sites like Gilt, RueLaLa, HauteLook, and Ideeli are incredible.  You can browse from the comfort of your own desk chair or pillow.  You can bring as much food and drink as you like.  You don't even have to get dressed or put on make-up!  All you have to do is give them an email address and password.  That's it!

Of course, you can't try the pieces on but they do have return policies and it keeps you from buying things on a whim (most of the time).

So far, I've spent much of my time doing the browse/no purchase thing, but I did buy a pair of mixed metal mesh hanging earrings from Gilt.  They came quickly and I LOVE them.  AND THEY WERE CHEAPY, CHEAP, CHEAP!  Gotta love.

So, my blogger friends, please join me in my latest addiction because I need an intervention company.   Just to be clear, I am getting no payment from anyone.  This is purely a personal review/recommendation/plea for help.

Oh, and hubby, if you're reading this, I'm stopping right now and going to work on my writing.  K?  Really.  I mean it... (And I truthfully have only bought the one pair of earrings...though I have wanted to buy MUCH MUCH MORE).  See how good I've been???  Aren't you proud?

The rest of you,  see you at the sales!  (not now, of course, I'm off to work, tomorrow.)

Talking Trash About merlotmom

Where the f*ck is merlotmom?

I have no idea.  That bitch has the nerve to call herself a blogger?  Sheesh.


I know!  WTF!  So, what d'ya think?  Should we trash her blog while she's away?

Nah!  Can't hate on her just 'cause she's a flake.  I hear she's been spending her free time working on a novel.


So what!  Like the rest of us don't have busy lives?  We work, we write, we care for our kids...who does she think she is?


I did hear she had lunch the other day with this blogger.  Wonder how she had time to do THAT and not THIS.


Now you're getting it...


Although, in her defense, I know her writing workshop is right near where this blogger lives.  She's gotta eat, no?


Why are you defending her?  She ditched us.   She's a bad blogger... a bad blogger.


Jeez, you sound like Rain Man.  Maybe, maybe, it's a generational thing.  You know, I hear she's turning 48 this weekend and when we were at BlogHer this summer she wasn't nearly as interested in texting and twittering as the rest of us.  


Right, I noticed that, she even teased us about it.   She told me they didn't even have computers when she was in college.  Can you imagine?   She said she spent years working as a secretary in NY typing on an IBM Selectric.


IBM Selectric?  What's that?


I don't know exactly.  I think it's one of those ancient typewriters, you know, the black ones with those little round keys on sticks.


Nooo!


Yes.


Wow! She's old.  


And getting older every minute.  Fine.  I'll give her a break.  When we get to be her age, we may have no attention span either.  Scary.


Yeah.  Let's not hate her.  Let's feel bad for her.

Okay.  Well, gotta go.  I've had thirty DMs just since we started talking.   Don't forget to send merlotmom a Happy Birthday tweet.


Will do.  

And all of YOU better, too.  She still deserves your good wishes even though she's old.  Maybe even moreso.   ;)

The Spider And You (Or This Is Your Brain On Drugs: A Cautionary Tale)

My sister sent this to me the other day with a note saying "hysterical".  It is.
Enjoy.

Don't Underestimate the Power of Your Telemarketer

I don't know about you but in the past few weeks I have been deluged with unsolicited sales calls.  Did I miss something?  Did the DO NOT CALL registry expire?  Because literally one day my phone started ringing off the hook with sales pitches of all kinds.  If you scroll down the "calls received" on my handset, there are at least twenty to thirty in one day.  Not only do I receive mostly junk mail now but most of my phone calls are junk too.

When this began, I answered the calls as I always have. 

I didn't. 

Well, most of the time.  If I did bother to pick up the phone, I would only do so long enough for the obnoxious intruder to hear me hang up on them.  My husband, who is away most of the day, and doesn't have the pleasure of these telecommunication gnats constantly gnawing at his ear, has fun with them. 

He morphs into varying characters:  pretending he's hard of hearing, fluent in another (gibberish) language, a gun-toting conservative, a hippie dippie liberal, whatever is in direct conflict with what the person is selling.  The  hired employee desperate to make a sale, repeats their pitch over and over, keeping my possessed husband on the line long enough to have me and my kids rolling on the floor in hysterics.  Which is when they get a clue and hang up.  My husband has even gone so far as to ask them for their phone number so he can call THEM back during THEIR dinner.  (Funny guy, this is why I love him.)

But me?  I'm not so generous.  When I do bother to talk to these intruders it is not a conversation. 

"Please take us off your list," I order and then hang up on them as they attempt to change my mind. 

This is what I continued to do when this recent flood of phone calls began.  This time, the man on the other end yelled back, "Can you please let me say something?"

"No!" I said.  "I cannot."  And with that I hung up.

That very day and for every day since, I've been getting calls minute after minute, hour after hour, from salespeople asking for someone named Muhammed.  Or Ali.  Or Cassius. 

Do you see a pattern here?  Me, too.

I think that guy I yelled at put my phone number on every list imaginable.  Revenge is sweet.

Well it kind of is.  Because the telemarketer gnat  taught me a lesson.

If I ignored the dozens of calls I was getting a day, the same numbers would pop up on my phone 2, even 3, times in a 24 hour period.  The interruptions just kept multiplying.  It was like a horror movie, INVASION OF THE TELEMARKETERS.

So, I tried a different tact.  I did answer the phone.  And I politely listened to them asking for Muhammed.  Or Ali. Or Cassius.  Or sometimes, lo and behold, my real name.  And then I would, even more politely, in my sweetest, yet tele-weary voice, tell them they had the wrong number or I was not interested, and would they mind please taking me off their list. 

Well, you definitely get more bees with honey, or less bees, (whatever!)  because I have never spoken with such a lovely group of telemarketers.  Luck of the draw?  I think not.

Though I still do get many calls a day, the same numbers are not repeating themselves as they once were.  These are all new, unsuspecting sales grunts.

And one by one, I'm going to kill them all with kindness.