Mah Suggests I Write to Suze Orman

While chatting up Our Mother on the telephone, I entertained her with tales of the Lord & Master’s and my many fiduciary blunders – mortgage under water, interest-only payments on line of credit, foolishly sending Sassafrass to NYU – one of the top ten most expensive schools in the country – leaving us enslaved to one Miss Sallie Mae. You know, fun stuff designed to get her mind of being housebound, diabetic, and facing increasing dementia.

And, let’s not forget, Hot Pants & I shepherded Bob and Jeanne through their very own personal bankruptcy. It’s a toss-up whether the finest moment during that hoopla was (1) H.P. finally locating a folder marked “I.R.S.” inside of which she found not a single thing or (2) Daddy’s approach to the bench in court accompanying himself with a fart for each lurching step he took. As their lawyer said, “Well, this’ll be a first.”

She zeroed in on the solution immediately.  “You should write to Suze Orman. She can fix this.”

“I’ve seen a lotta Money Morons in my day, and you’re right up there with the worst.” Hell, if I’m gonna mess up, I’m gonna go all out!

Oh, Mah, I wish it were true. Yet here I sit on another gorgeous spring day in San Francisco, doomed to be stuck in paradise. Until Wells Fargo repossesses.

So, here goes:

Dear Ms. Ormon: 

My mother wants you to undo the craptastic financial dilemma in which I find myself. Please help.


Another Idiot Who Used Her Home Equity Like an ATM.

I can hear ol’ Suze lecturing me right now. “Use of your credit card – Denied. Using electricity and heat in “your” home – Denied. Eating – Denied.”


Is 50 The New 42?

It is, if you ask my friend Amanda from the dog run. When I told her I was 50, she said she couldn’t believe it and that she thought I was in my early 40s. And it had the ring of truth when she said it! She thought I looked like this!!

It was a real shot in the arm, as Jeanne would say, because I have been feeling older….like, who are these whippersnappers they keep talking about on FASHION POLICE?  Where has my waist disappeared to? What the hell is an Icloud and can I see it from a plane?

I sorta have been feeling like this

These are just some of the questions that plague me. But at least people think I’m 42. Whoohoo!!


Most Women Would Slim Down For Their Vow Renewal. I Clearly Am Not Most Women.

This was my short lived dream. Dressed, of course.

The Lord & Master and I are renewing our connubial vows before our Nearest & Dearest as our 25th anniversary approaches. As Bob says to Jeanne on theirs, “Another year of goddam wedded bliss.”

Why, you ask? Because we are grateful to be lucky in love; because we still enjoy spending (almost) all our time together, because – let’s face it – no one else would have us.

Unfortunately, we’re enjoying ourselves so, ahem, fully in the run-up to this “picnic with ‘mush'” as the L&M refers to it, I’ve backed off the traditional ‘lose weight/look great’ idea, and sunk into the more forgiving, indulgent ‘be happy/look’ crappy mindset.

So I’m gonna resemble this luscious lady instead.

Of course, after two weeks of Big Jersey high life, by the Big Day, I’ll be a Big Mess.

Ah, the good old crispy pre-SPF days.

P.S. Memo to Hot Pants:  Battle of the Figurines? It’s ON, Babycakes!

Preview: Wiggles Is Coming to NJ to Renew Her Wedding Vows: Jeanne is thrown into a Clothing Quandry


Yep, you read that right. Seems Wiggles is putting down her nail scissors (or should I say, her saw?) and she and the L&M are getting on a plane to come East and re-pledge their love. It is shaping up to be a hell of a party, complete with deli platters, Sassy as officiant, and special appearances from Bob and Jeanne, the latter of whom has been mulling her outfit for the past few weeks. I expect the rumination to intensify, and I will start to hear more of the following:

Are you wearing a dress to Wiggles’ party?

Joan Rivers has been showing a lot of new clothes lately. Should I get a new outfit?

I do have white pants I could wear.

I think I need a new skinny belt.

One of the girls bought me a skinny belt. It cost $2!

That skinny belt doesn’t fit. I think I need to loop two together.

Let’s go to Banana Republic so I can get something to wear for Wiggles’ party!

Eesh. It will be a bloody miracle if I make it to this bash.


I Gave My Husband His Semi-Annual Mani/Pedi

Be grateful this picture is not in Smell-A-Vision.

My adorable husband, The Lord & Master, received his long overdue mani/pedi this morning. I’m still reeling from the aroma and the struggle. Neither of us is as limber as we used to be – like the good old days when we had at it in the back seat of his Camaro! Those were the days! – but it’s been months since his nails have met up with a scissors.

I once asked him what he did about tending his digits before he met me, to which he replied, “My nails never grew until I met you.”

I’m beginning to believe him. Or, maybe that’s why the first two wives left.

Amazingly, I only stabbed myself with the scissors once while performing this at-home surgery.

Service with a smile. And a Band-Aid. Where’s that hydrogen peroxide?

The UPS guy thinks he’s a Comedian

I was having a lunch with a colleague and telling her about a thorny personal situation. We were winding up on our conversation as we got onto the elevator, where there was a UPS delivery guy. He was in his uniform from head to toe: starched brown shirt, cute shorts, dark socks and UPS-issued footwear.

He Looked Kinda Like This

He Looked Kinda Like This

As my friend got off the elevator to return to her office, she said to me with great gravity, “It’s all on your shoulders now. You know what you need to do.” The doors closed.

We went up two floors and the doors opened for the UPS guy. Taking the exact same stance as my friend Mary, he turned, looked me right in the eye and said,  “It’s all on your shoulders now. You know what you need to do.”

Thanks a lot, Mr. UPS. You’re a real riot.


Pancake Meditates

I have been listening to Guided Imagery CD’s from Belleruth Naparstek, a psychotherapist, to help me sleep better. Here’s what Belleruth looks like:


Perfect, right?

So I was in bed a few nights ago listening to her CD, with one Pancake right next to me. The room was dark, Belleruth’s voice was soothing, and I was concentrating on relaxing and the lovely guitar music that was playing underneath her words. As I breathed deeper, I thought to myself, “God, I hope this works.”

A few seconds passed. Then I heard some surprisingly hardy snoring right next to me. It was from this little girl:

Little Miss Dainty can really chop wood while she sleeps!

Well at least meditation is working for someone!