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The Money Town Swingers

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Earlier this week a commercial came on for a new TV series about adult swingers.  Briefcase and I shared a raised eyebrow.  "I can't believe they are producing a show on that," I declared.  Briefcase smirked.  (Men are so immature, aren't they?)  I knew right then I better get this post out before people start assuming I got the idea from the series. 

No, Briefcase and I are not Swingers (with a capital "S" today).  At least, I am not a Swinger and as far as I know Briefcase is not.  Briefcase travels a lot though so, really, who can say?  If he's swinging,  however, he's swinging without me.  Nevertheless, right in Money Town there is an organized Swinger's Club.  Someone, I believe, forgot to tell them that the sixty's are over. 

Initially I thought all the members were ranging in the 50-60 age range, but recently I heard that is not necessarily true.  I was a little disappointed; doesn't it make much more sense if they are all just aging hippies from the Free Love Generation?  However, just last week a girlfriend recounted an experience she recently had with Swingers from Money Town who are only in their late twenties and early thirties.  Apparently, Swinging knows no boundaries based on age.  Perhaps, since these individuals all live in Money Town, it is a function of the excessively rich and bored.  Exactly why anyone in their 30's would want to swap partners with someone in their 60's is beyond me though.  (However, I will contemplate the thought of a 25 year old man's body for a few moments, just in the name of research.) 

Thursday night is Swinger's Night at one of our popular local restaurants.  This is not a function determined by the restaurant, but it is a reality because the Swinger's have made it one.  It took me awhile to figure this out, being a little slow on the uptake as I am sometimes.  After several occasions of being at the same restaurant for Girl's Night (also on Thursday) it finally dawned on me.  Those slimy men wearing long chains?  Yeah, those guys aren't just hitting on me because of my amazing beauty.  It was a little hard to come to grips with that.  For some reason they like to slime up against me as they walk past and I always feel like maybe they left snail tracks on me or something.   

A friend of mine has a daughter who works as a hostess at this particular restaurant.  The daughter confirmed "Swinger's Night" as a regular event.  Her dad was appalled that his daughter (age 17) would come home and recite Swinger stories after her night at work.  Mind you, this is an upscale restaurant in an affluent area.  The majority of time it is patronized by nice, normal folks.  Not to say that Swingers aren't nice, normal folks …. 

I guess Swinger's need a night out once in awhile too (?), but the whole situation makes me feel a little uncomfortable.  I have stopped frequenting this particular restaurant on Thursday evenings.  I would not be nearly as uncomfortable if the Swingers weren't always so friendly to me.  I am a "live and let live" type of person, but it is not quite the same when I seem to attract these folks.  (And all other sorts of other pervs, I might add.  I don't know why that it is?  Why am I a perv magnet?!)

In any case, a friend recently relayed a story about the Money Town Swingers to me.  She was at a party when the evening "pool party" all of a sudden went naked on her.  The next thing she knew there was quite a bit of "girl on girl" action going on in the hot tub and husbands were taking photos to memorialize the evening.  She left – in a hurry.  Some of the rich folks around here?  They've got too much time on their hands.

 

     

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Getting Skinny In One Week

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I've been in a bathing suit every day lately.  It is not a pretty sight.  I also have a vacation coming up that will mean 24 hour per day bathing suit wear.  I decided it would be a good idea to drop a few pounds.  Maybe ten, but possibly twenty.  In the next week.  Totally doable.  No problem.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. on Monday all set to go.  I knew it would be simple, I will just not eat (ever again).  I poured myself a cup of coffee and got through all the morning activities of getting two teens out the door for school.  I also started perusing through my Reader in an attempt to get caught up with the world outside of Money Town.  Thinking to myself how absolutely fabulous I was doing, and how skinny I must already be, I glanced at a clock and realized it was only 7 a.m.  Maybe I should have slept in later, because damn if I wasn't  starting to feel just a little bit hungry.  The strange thing about it is the fact that I am not normally much of a breakfast eater.  I think I started feeling hungry only because I decided not to eat. 

Around 8 a.m. food started flashing at me from the Internet.  (I want to point out here that I had now been awake and busy for two and a half hours with just coffee to sustain me.)  What's up with these blogs deciding to share recipes at 8 a.m. on a Monday morning?  Let me add here, that these are not healthy recipes people are sharing.  Do these women live in places that do not require bathing suits?  Do they not realize it is June now and bathing suit season has officially begun?  Clearly they must not live in Southern California.  In addition, they cannot possibly live in the vicinity of Money Town where women simply do not eat – at all, ever.  (It is the exact reason why so many of these women are bioches – they are starving.)

I noticed that there is some leftover cheesecake in the fridge from TR's birthday celebration and as scrumptious as dessert with coffee is, I managed not to indulge with very little effort.  Sweets in the morning are not my thing.  (I have a girlfriend who lives for leftover dessert with her morning coffee.)  Nonetheless, I gave myself a pat on the back for not eating the food I never wanted.   

Next, I headed off to PT.  As The Torturer (who was in a foul mood) proceeded to act like a slave master, I wondered silently how many calories are worked off when he lifts and moves my arm for me repeatedly.  I surmise the more it hurts, the more calories burned.  He lived up to his name and my pain level sky-rocketed.  I decided the PT session must easily be equivalent to 1,000 calories burned in one sitting.

I returned home to find TR (this was before the train disaster) eager to go out to lunch.  TR is a size 2.  I suggested having lunch at home but she reminded me she would be leaving to return to college soon and that it is my job "to entertain" her when she comes home.  Fine, out to lunch we went.  I ordered a broth-based soup while Size 2 had soup as her appetizer and a gigantic burrito as her main course.  We came home and spent the afternoon in the pool.  I did my required PT arm exercises in the water and convinced myself they burned off at least another 500 calories.

After I hugged TR good-bye (50 calories at least!), I came home and stressed out completely about her train disaster.  Another 1,000 calories burned, don't you think?  I should be able to eat anything I want with all this activity.  I was then reminded I had two "starving" teen-aged boys.  At this point I was in dire need of some down time.  I suggested RC (old enough to drive) run them out for a quick bite to eat while I recover from all the train/vampire stress.  Once they were out the door, I assembled a plate of fresh fruit and yogurt for myself.  An introvert at heart, I settled in with one of three books I'm reading (simultaneously – weird, I know).  In what seemed like only a moment, the boys had returned and were requesting leftover cheesecake for dessert.

I served up dessert easily, grateful again that I don't have a big weakness for sweet stuff (with the exception of PMS-required chocolate).  After cleaning up the mess, I returned to my book.  It wasn't such a hard thing, this dieting stuff.  With all my activity I'm sure I burned off at least 5 pounds on my first day alone.          

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One Day At A Time

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I was at San Clemente Beach a few days ago.  After a nice brunch with my family we decided to go for a walk on the beach.  A five minute walk on the sand after a big meal instantly makes all those calories you ate disappear.  It's magic (something to do with the sea air).  As we started walking we couldn't resist going "just a little further" until our walk actually turned into some decent exercise. 

SanCle 015

After awhile we needed to head home because RC had to get to work.

SCPier

We were nearly back to the pier when Briefcase turned to me and said, "Look".  I did, and what I saw struck me to the core.  Ahead of us was a man hopping on one leg across the sand to his beach towel.  He was holding his boogie board.  He had a huge grin on his face having obviously enjoyed the waves.  He was young, I would guess mid-twenties, and he was hopping on one leg because he only has one leg.  When he reached his towel he sat down and began strapping on his prosthesis.

I was stunned into silence.  Sometimes, I truly believe, things happen for a reason.  People are put in your path because you need to learn something from them.  Two days prior my surgeon had informed me that he had just finished writing a report on my prognosis.  Nearly 2 years post-car accident (and 3 months since my last big surgery), he was trying to foresee my future.  He told me he would prefer for me not to read his report.  When I asked him why, he replied that he only wants me thinking positive thoughts. 

Obviously, that means his prognosis is (at minimum) discouraging.  He also told me that I could be looking at another two years of physical therapy.  (Making a grand total of 4 years?  Truly, he can't mean that?)  He told me there are many things that he believes I will never be able to do again, but he doesn't want me thinking that I have limits.  Excuse me?  Can you repeat that please?

I left the doctor's and went straight to my standing appointment at PT.  The Torturer took one look at me and instantly knew.  "We'll talk, go find a room," he said.  I fought back tears and went into "denial mode" where I just won't allow my mind to go THERE.  I have spent an awful lot of time denying what's happened in my life over the last two years.

The Torturer joined me and began one of his infamous pep talks.  (Yes, for a Torturer, he has moments of being nice.)  He told me to remember that I am better than I was just 6 months ago.  To not allow myself to believe things won't improve further.  To not allow myself to think about how long it might take, or what I have ahead of me, but to just focus on today.  "Just take it one day at a time."  He told me to keep believing that someday my right (dominant) arm will work again.  There have been times in the last two years when The Torturer has been the one to talk me down off a high ledge and I am forever grateful for that.  This time, however, something is different. 

His words eased a little of the fear and anxiety, but deep inside … deep inside the thought that "this might be it" won't go away.  I am facing down my 2 year anniversary of the car accident this July.  I have gone through 5 surgeries and will not go through more.  Maybe it's time to start accepting what has happened.  To learn to live with who and what I am now.

I feel like, without even realizing it, I have spent two years just waiting for things to get better.  Waiting to get through this so I can move forward with my life.  The pain has been teeth clenching and the surgeries have been one, after another, after another.  So many things have been lost in a drugged up post-surgery haze.  My life has been on hold. 

Now, maybe it is time to accept that there is no end to this.  Yes, there is an end to the surgeries.  There's apparently no foreseeable end to PT.  Possibly I will only have one fully functioning arm for the rest of my life.  Maybe it is time to accept this the way the man with one leg has accepted himself.  Maybe it's time to start moving forward … one day at a time.         

  

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Worst Mom Ever!

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I put TR on the wrong train.

Yes, you read that right.  I put my eldest child, one of the most precious things in my life, on the wrong train and sent her off into oblivion.  Then I panicked, tried not to let my true hysterics show, and stayed on my cell phone with her until Briefcase could track her down and save her from my stupidity.

As background, TR is deathly afraid of trains.  (And that really didn't help matters in this case!)  She has had an irrational fear of trains her entire life.  Ever since she was a young child she has been afraid of them and relayed to me every train accident she has ever heard of anywhere in the entire friggin' world.  My daughter has major train phobia. 

She has been home visiting from college for a few days.  A friend drove her here and we had the choice of flying her back to college, driving her ourselves, or putting her on a train.  The train seemed the most efficient.  She could study while traveling and the cost was cheap compared to a flight.  Our gas costs if we drove her would be exorbitant.  In addition, in less than two weeks we will be visiting her to move her home for the summer.  It would mean a lot of driving to make the trip twice in ten days.  I laughed at her phobia and reminded her, "nothing will go wrong on the train!"

TR and I sometimes get a little (!) emotional saying our good-byes.  OK, so maybe I border on hysterical but I am improving as time goes on.  I was quite intent on keeping it all together this time and so who can blame me for what happened next?  We were waiting at the train station and TR was telling me a funny story when the train arrived exactly on time. 

We hugged and we BOTH heard the conductor call out a series of destinations that the train would be going to which included hers.  She hopped on board and I (sniff, sniff) headed to my car.  With a nagging feeling in my gut.  Those destinations?  They just didn't sound like the logical path for the train to be taking.  But then, what do I know about train routes?  Absolutely nothing, that's what.

I was halfway home when TR sent me a text message saying "something doesn't seem right".  In addition, she informed me that a man who looked "just like a vampire" was hovering.  Panic set in.  I am pretty fast at texting, but not while I am driving.  In this case, it didn't matter.  My car was weaving in and out of lanes as I texted back, "You must get away from Vampire Man!  Find the conductor and ask if you are on the right train!"  A series of near hysterical text messages followed with TR becoming more and more frightened about her "runaway train". 

Not only was TR on the wrong train, but she was on the wrong train line!  Who even knew there was more than one in existence?  She texted me again and her message said, "Conductor says ticket is for Amtrak.  Am not on Amtrak.  He's NOT NICE and is judging me up the A-Hole."  (Excuse her language – she was quite upset.  And I don't know where she would get that type of language from anyway!)  I told her to get off the train at the first stop and then we proceeded to try and figure out where the hell, exactly, that stop would be.  Briefcase started packing a suitcase while I continued the nonstop texting with TR.

Vampire Man exited the train when TR did and continued to hover.  There was no indoor waiting area and TR called me and kept me on the line until Briefcase arrived (an hour later).  She said it was "incredibly windy, there are huge pretty trees here and there is really bizarre music coming from an indeterminate source."  Before departing the train, TR had texted her boyfriend to let him know what happened.  She said instead of being worried, he just sounded grateful he wouldn't have to pick her up in the middle of the night at the university's closest train station.  Her roommate, upon hearing the news (also via text) thought the entire fiasco was hysterically funny.

As TR departed the train, the conductor informed her that the PA system at the station had been broken.  What he had actually said over the loudspeaker was the destination the train was headed to, followed by the news that her train (destinations number 2 and 3) was delayed.  What we heard instead was, "This train is going to [destination 1] ..pause .. [destination 2] and [destination 3].  

So I am a moron.  Now, as I write this, she is in the car with Briefcase traveling back to college.  This post will go out shortly after midnight and I imagine they will still be driving right about then.  Briefcase will return TR to her dorm, find a hotel to crash in, and begin the drive home in the morning.  I think this is my all time most idiotic moment.   

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Can You Spell "Obnoxious"?

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Last Friday I was waiting for The Torturer in a little private room at Physical Therapy.  Dweeb spent some time with me first.  Dweeb is what they call a "tech" (assistant).  Dweeb turned the TV on in my room because he couldn't bare to miss a minute of the Scripps National Spelling Bee.  Then Dweeb began a 20 minute treatment on my non-functioning arm while we watched the spelling bee and laughed.  Yes, we laughed at children.  Dweeb and I are headed straight for hell.

I never knew a spelling bee could be so funny (and no, I wasn't on pain meds).  We watched as the 44 semi-finalists were narrowed down to 12 remaining finalists.  This was serious stuff and we watched the anguish and joy as they tried to spell.  Words such as "etagere", "canicular", "solidungulate", and "allotriophagy" were attempted by kids as young as 10.  Two hundred and eighty eight competitors began the contest.  Friday evening the sole winner received $35,000 with an additional $5,000 of prizes. 

Emotion was high during the competition which is why we found it so amusing.  How worked up can you get about the word "secernent"?  Personally, I can't get worked up about it at all.  How about you? 

I felt bad for the kids who were clearly quite stressed out.  When a child was eliminated (by the ring of a small desk bell) they were ushered to "The Comfort Room".  The Comfort Room is where, presumably, they can cry far from the glare of network cameras.  Yes, a place to sob inconsolably over a word such as "solidungulate".  Let me repeat just part of that sentence:  A place to sob inconsolably over a word.  If a child passed a round they would jump up and down and pump their arms with joy and exhiliration.  This was their big moment in the spotlight.  (Don't you just picture them telling their grandchildren someday:  "And then I spelled 'ludicrous' correctly at only age 10?")   

Watching the parents was the highlight for me.  They were comical.  Dweeb joked that they already had cruises booked with the cash they expected their kids to bring in.  The parents were intense!  I don't mean to be judgmental … well, yes, I actually do.  It was like watching the proverbial "stage mom" (or dad), but worse.  The visible disappointment with their child when a mistake was made must have left permanent emotional scars for those kids.  I mean … oh my GAWD, how could MY kid have left one letter out of the word "allotriophagy"?  Especially when I packed him a "30,000 word briefcase" to study while we traveled to this event?  No dessert for Tommy after THAT disappointment!  Kids can be such let-downs sometimes.

I realize some people are naturally great spellers.  I was always winning classroom spelling bees in elementary school (a zillion years ago).  I inhale books at record speed and words … words are a part of who I am.  I am not knocking spellers, intelligence, or kids pursuing whatever their passion might be.  But parents get a grip!  Nothing in your child's life (or yours) is going to be dramatically changed by you force feeding them a dictionary every night at dinner.  Also, what happens when these same kids hit their teens and decide to rebel?  Perhaps by pursuing math or something horrifying like that? 

It's just a random thought on my part, but a child might be better served if parents helped them to become a well balanced individual.  Maybe throw in some physical activity with those spelling words.  It doesn't mean they have to be an athlete, but the majority of the spelling bee contestants looked like social outcasts.  Is there anything wrong with being intelligent and also having a decent haircut?  Or maybe no facial hair for the girls?  Or perhaps even getting rid of the unsightly unibrow?   

There is an epidemic of parents out there who know their kid is THEE smartest, prettiest, most athletic, or WHATEVER … but!  Those parents at the spelling bee were unquestioningly living vicariously through their kids.  Or maybe Dweeb is right.  Maybe they were just watching their vacation dollars go down the drain.          

 

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Can You Spell “Obnoxious”?

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Last Friday I was waiting for The Torturer in a little private room at Physical Therapy.  Dweeb spent some time with me first.  Dweeb is what they call a "tech" (assistant).  Dweeb turned the TV on in my room because he couldn't bare to miss a minute of the Scripps National Spelling Bee.  Then Dweeb began a 20 minute treatment on my non-functioning arm while we watched the spelling bee and laughed.  Yes, we laughed at children.  Dweeb and I are headed straight for hell.

I never knew a spelling bee could be so funny (and no, I wasn't on pain meds).  We watched as the 44 semi-finalists were narrowed down to 12 remaining finalists.  This was serious stuff and we watched the anguish and joy as they tried to spell.  Words such as "etagere", "canicular", "solidungulate", and "allotriophagy" were attempted by kids as young as 10.  Two hundred and eighty eight competitors began the contest.  Friday evening the sole winner received $35,000 with an additional $5,000 of prizes. 

Emotion was high during the competition which is why we found it so amusing.  How worked up can you get about the word "secernent"?  Personally, I can't get worked up about it at all.  How about you? 

I felt bad for the kids who were clearly quite stressed out.  When a child was eliminated (by the ring of a small desk bell) they were ushered to "The Comfort Room".  The Comfort Room is where, presumably, they can cry far from the glare of network cameras.  Yes, a place to sob inconsolably over a word such as "solidungulate".  Let me repeat just part of that sentence:  A place to sob inconsolably over a word.  If a child passed a round they would jump up and down and pump their arms with joy and exhiliration.  This was their big moment in the spotlight.  (Don't you just picture them telling their grandchildren someday:  "And then I spelled 'ludicrous' correctly at only age 10?")   

Watching the parents was the highlight for me.  They were comical.  Dweeb joked that they already had cruises booked with the cash they expected their kids to bring in.  The parents were intense!  I don't mean to be judgmental … well, yes, I actually do.  It was like watching the proverbial "stage mom" (or dad), but worse.  The visible disappointment with their child when a mistake was made must have left permanent emotional scars for those kids.  I mean … oh my GAWD, how could MY kid have left one letter out of the word "allotriophagy"?  Especially when I packed him a "30,000 word briefcase" to study while we traveled to this event?  No dessert for Tommy after THAT disappointment!  Kids can be such let-downs sometimes.

I realize some people are naturally great spellers.  I was always winning classroom spelling bees in elementary school (a zillion years ago).  I inhale books at record speed and words … words are a part of who I am.  I am not knocking spellers, intelligence, or kids pursuing whatever their passion might be.  But parents get a grip!  Nothing in your child's life (or yours) is going to be dramatically changed by you force feeding them a dictionary every night at dinner.  Also, what happens when these same kids hit their teens and decide to rebel?  Perhaps by pursuing math or something horrifying like that? 

It's just a random thought on my part, but a child might be better served if parents helped them to become a well balanced individual.  Maybe throw in some physical activity with those spelling words.  It doesn't mean they have to be an athlete, but the majority of the spelling bee contestants looked like social outcasts.  Is there anything wrong with being intelligent and also having a decent haircut?  Or maybe no facial hair for the girls?  Or perhaps even getting rid of the unsightly unibrow?   

There is an epidemic of parents out there who know their kid is THEE smartest, prettiest, most athletic, or WHATEVER … but!  Those parents at the spelling bee were unquestioningly living vicariously through their kids.  Or maybe Dweeb is right.  Maybe they were just watching their vacation dollars go down the drain.          

 

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An Afternoon at Laguna Beach

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Man, oh man, have I been suffering with technical issues in the last week or two.  I am a fairly patient person except when it comes to computer problems.  My patience goes right out the window.  I think (?) the issue is finally resolved now.  However, I was ready to throw my computer out the window last Saturday. I finally decided I just needed a little beach time to renew my spirit.

I am a (5th generation) native Southern Californian.  That's an extremely rare thing to be.  I am an unapologetic beach freak and I am convinced it is a result of my genetics.  For me, being near the ocean is one of the most rejuvenating things for my spirit and soul.  It doesn't matter what the weather is like.  You will find me seeking the ocean during winter storms, fall breezes, spring resurgences or the heat waves of summer.  It is almost a physical need to be near the sea, checking out the surfers, inhaling the salt air, feeling the ocean breeze, hearing the surf, and squishing the sand between my toes. 

Last Saturday Briefcase, PR, and I drove a short distance to Laguna which is one of the many beaches we frequent.  It was the day after a storm and still cloudy in many areas of Orange County.  Laguna was, as always, picturesque.  I know I shared the Laguna candy story with you a few days ago, but I thought you might want to end the week by enjoying a few more pictures of this stunning area in Southern California.   

As we approached the beach, the sky became clear and we enjoyed a beautiful, but slightly breezy, afternoon.  I love the jagged coastline of the west coast: 

PhonePic

Here's a look down toward the Laguna hotels with their scenic views:

Laguna 014

Next is a picture of "Bird Rock" where the pelicans and gulls hang out:

LagunaBird

Finally, here is one more look at a rugged stretch of the beach.  This is my favorite spot to hunt through tide pools:

Laguna 056

Laguna is a very eclectic community.  Tourists love it.  I will give you a tip in case you ever visit.  If the temperature is in the 60's, you stick out like a sore thumb if you are trotting around in a bikini and talking about how warm it is.  I don't care if you are from Wisconsin; anything below 72 degrees is cold here.  If you want to look like you belong, put on a sweatshirt and shorts (or jeans), Rainbow flip flops (that's a brand not a color!), and shades.  Otherwise we are just laughing at you.  Really.  

 

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Just Say No

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PR came home from 7th grade one day this week and calmly informed me that a student in one of his classes had been expelled for "smoking weed" at school.  He then stared at me in that way he has which demands a parental response from me.  Not just any parental response, but one he is going to judge me on.  I saw it in his eyes, the curiosity as to exactly what I would say about this important information he chose to share. 

I'll be honest here.  This was one of those parenting moments.  A moment you know your teen is going to remember.  This is when I always choke as a mom.  I am really not good in these situations.  I confess, the thought that immediately went through my head was, "Bill Clinton smoked weed, but he says he didn't inhale."  (No I did not voice that thought out loud.  But nonetheless, just having the thought means I flunk as a parent.)  Why, oh why, don't they offer parenting classes for parents of teens?

First of all, teens don't confide very often.  Not regarding drugs, alcohol or sex at least.  When they do they expect a well thought out response.  The problem is, when they do I am never expecting it.  I find myself flabbergasted, taken off guard, and frantically searching my brain for the perfect parental wisdom to impart.  In this case, I tried to buy myself some time by saying, "That was pretty stupid for him to smoke at school."  PR looked at me thoughtfully and said, "It was a girl mom and she is BIG, I think maybe almost seven feet tall." 

OK, so now I am sexist, in addition to being inadequate – why did I assume it was a boy who smoked weed and got expelled?  Also, the thought crosses my mind, fleetingly, that if I was a seven foot tall girl maybe I'd be smoking weed too.  Yes, I am a complete failure as a parent.

I found myself pausing to see if PR would say anything else.  PR is the quietest and shyest of my three kids and it is often like pulling teeth to get him to talk.  He didn't say a word, he just continued to look at me expectantly.  I took a deep breath (yes, I inhaled!) and I began my mom-talk.  You know mom-talk … when you say all the things you are supposed to say about wise decisions, thinking before acting, long-term consequences, etc.  I also told him that now that he's in 7th grade (soon to be 8th) he will be exposed to a lot more in the way of drugs, alcohol, and kids making poor decisions.  PR seemed quite satisfied with the whole conversation by the time we were done and I thought maybe I did okay after all. 

Maybe. 

That's the problem … how do you know if you've said the right thing?   

     

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Casting Call … Real Women Only!

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I don't live in a normal town.  I am very aware of that, and I pity the people who live in this area but don't have the same realization.  It is a microcosm of the rich and the spoiled and the very self-absorbed.  Narcissistic and overly competitive behavior is the norm.  Of course, there are also some very nice people here and some of those very nice people are rich and some of them are not. 

I live adjacent to a neighborhood I will call Money Town.  For the most part things are just not sane here.  Kids get Beemers on their 16th birthday; sixth grade girls have highlights in their hair and kindergartners carry cell phones.  I don't think most of America lives like this and that's a good thing.

Many years ago Briefcase and I contemplated moving a block or two over to Money Town.  We decided against it not for monetary reasons (although there IS that!), but primarily because we were concerned about how it would affect our kids socially.  There are many great stories regarding Money Town and I will share some of them with you once in awhile.  The Money Town stories will give you a smug sense of satisfaction about being happier than a bunch of crazy rich folks.  We all like to feel smug sometimes, right? 

Money Town is probably best known as the neighborhood featured on The Real Housewives of Orange County.  My understanding is that the show has now branched out to include other affluent neighborhoods, but Money Town is where it all got started.  Last weekend I was reading our local neighborhood paper when I saw this:

RealHofOC

The ad states that the casting call is an attempt to find "real women with real lives".  Well, as of my last gyn appointment, I qualify as a real woman and I certainly have a real life.  It goes on to declare that the women should live in a "luxurious environment".  Hmmm … is this luxurious?  (Yes, that's my laundry room and I'm working on it, okay?)

Laundry

I really like the next paragraph of the casting call ad.  It states, "We are seeking outgoing, exciting, strong, focused women who reside in South Orange County and want to share their lives with us.  We are looking for families with tweens and teenagers living at home."  Ooh Baby!  Are they talking about me or what?  To any of you who are living in North Orange County, well that's just too damned bad.  Everyone knows all the truly neurotic women (which make for better TV) live in South County.  I can do the neurotic thing, really I can!

It is quite a wordy ad.  I guess they are trying to avoid any confusion and don't want to deal with unqualified women showing up for the casting call.  (Remember, only real women need apply!)  It goes on to say that they are reaching out to women who are "energetic, with defined opinions and views".  Wasn't I just telling you about my political battles with Briefcase?  Is that not "made for TV" drama?  I have defined opinions … yes, I do!  It's as if they are out there searching for me.  I'm right here Mr. Producer!! 

Here are a few more qualities they are searching for in their housewives:  lively, energetic, busy, self-confident, happy, involved in the community, socially active, and enjoying "the good life".  Whew!  That's quite a list!  I think I am all those things though … I think it's a match! 

Oh yes, they forget to mention that you also have to be willing to let your teen be humiliated on national television.  Humiliating yourself and your spouse is not good enough.  Your teen can't go through all those normal (insane) teenage issues with just your own family looking on.  You need to publicize them so every kid at school can laugh at them.  Also, so people all across the country can judge them.  The ad specifically requests families with teens.  Teens bring all sorts of messy, dysfunctional issues to the table.  But hey, that's no big deal, right?  Most of the kids in Money Town have shrinks anyway.        

   

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I Woke Up With An Ugly Neck

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I woke up this morning, glanced in the mirror and could not believe what I was seeing.  Literally, I went to bed with one neck and woke up with another.  The old neck was, without question, much better.  It is as if my neck just sagged over night.  Sort of like a double chin, but it is my neck not my chin and all of a sudden it is no longer toned and it is just hanging there like a turkey's.  I'm talkin' very, very ugly!

I am blaming one of my girlfriends.  (It always feels better when we can blame someone for our troubles, doesn't it?)  Several weeks ago she and I had a conversation about a mutual friend who lost a lot of weight but then looked much older because of all the loose skin hanging off of her face and neck.  My friend asked if I had ever read the book I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron.  I had not.  My girlfriend promptly dropped it off for me to read the next day, which I did that very evening.  (Very humorous if you've never read it!)  I think, perhaps, the book has made me overly conscious of my neck.  My neck, by the way, which I had never noticed or had a problem with before.  Do you think?  

Now, several weeks later my neck has changed.  I went to bed last night and it was just fine.  I woke up and … egads!  All of a sudden my neck has lines in it.  And it is saggy.  I think a neck-lift would be highly appropriate, but I can't afford one and I think I'd be too scared to do that regardless.  I tried a few quick neck stretches almost immediately, with no visible effect.  I know we'd all like to stop the clock on aging, but who has ever woken up with an entirely different neck in just one twenty four hour period?  How can that happen?

One thing about living in Southern California, we are all very cognizant of plastic surgery here.  I have noticed a lot of women with bad face-lifts or worse yet … half face lifts.  Yes, women will do their eyes and forehead because it is cheaper than doing the whole face.  Or they will do their jowl area and not their eyes and forehead.  I have not had any plastic surgery yet, but I will tell you this … unless you can afford to do the whole face, don't do it at all.  It looks terrible and even if the other half of your face did not look that bad to start with, it will now look terrible in contrast to the part that has been altered.  One half looks saggy and the other half looks overly taut. 

It is a VERY BAD LOOK!

In addition, now that I've witnessed my own neck changing dramatically in only one day … I would suggest you not have a face-lift unless you do your neck also.  I had never given it a moments thought before, but don't you think there is something fundamentally wrong about a youthful looking face on top of a saggy neck?  And even if your neck is not saggy today, it will be sooner or later.  Clearly, if you make the decision to pursue some changes you really need to fully commit to it.  Either that or just make the decision to age gracefully. 

Personally, now that this drama has occurred with my neck, I am left wondering what's next?  Tomorrow, or next week, or next month … what's going to be the next thing to look like hell?  Do you have a body part that you hate?  If so, what is it and why?