That old, restless feeling

I wrap myself in a tshirt worn by him, his fragrance tickling my senses as I curl up on the bed.  This shirt that's cut for a 6'7' body is too large for me and the fabric folds itself between my legs. I roll over, stretching a hand across the bed, feeling cold where the warmth of his body should be.

Night time is the hardest. Sometimes I wonder if he's ever coming home though  I know he is. It's just that he's been gone so very, very long.  I scrunch a pillow up under my head and lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the night away.

I can hear the wind rattling the outside of the house and unseen objects are blown up against the structure.  I rarely question living this far from town but then the solidarity creeps up and the emptiness I feel makes me restless.  I try to outrun the night but I can't hide from it's inky chill.

I toss and turn watching shadows dance across the wall, a beam of light reflected from somewhere outside.  The t.v. screen flashes a DishTV message at me but I ignore it. 

I press his shirt against my nose, close my eyes and breathe deeply.  It's the nearest thing I have to his touch and I revel in it...for the moment. I can almost hear the soft thudding of his heart, his slow, steady breathing, feel the heat from his flesh.  I swim in a sea of warm memories. 

Soon.  Soon he will be home.

Somebody should have told me...

I headed out the door this morning, a spring in my step, excited about hitting some thrift stores and finding some interesting items. My morning caffeine fix rushed through my brain and I fairly buzzed about.

I visited one store after another.  At each checkout I asked the same question.  "Do you have any discounts or specials today?"

The shocker came when I visited the last store and unwittingly asked the same question.  The cashier asked if I was a "Senior".  I laughed, shaking my head no.  Out of curiosity I questioned at what age they considered a person to be a senior.  When  asked if I was 50 I felt the blood flush through my face, searing my scalp. 

Why yes.  Yes!  I had  just turned 50.  When the cashier stated I qualified for the "Senior Discount" something inside me snapped and I wanted to yell "You take that back!  Take. It. Back.  NOW!  I'm not one of those...I'm not a senior...I'm not...I'm not... (dissolving in tears).

A quick mental picture of myself flying over the counter feet first planting one stiletto heel right between the cashiers eyes snuffed itself out before I could act.

I maintained my composure, graciously accepted my discount and scrambled to make a hasty exit, tucking my dignity between my legs.  After all, I did ask for it.  (How many times did mother warn you, be careful what you ask for?)

I sat inside my truck.  Stunned.  Surprised. In some sense even horrified. Many things ran through my mind.  I am now considered a "Senior".  I turned the key in the ignition and headed home, still in a bit of a daze.  I mean 50.  To me it was just another birthday.  No big thing.  But 50?  When the hell did this happen?

I dragged myself through the front door, shrugged my clothes off and pulled on my fluffiest bath robe. My feet found comfort in a pair of fuzzy old house slippers.

Shuffling to the bathroom I wet my hair and put it up in big metal rollers (the kind with the spiky plastic thingies in the middle-heavens only knows where those came from!), washed off my makeup and put on my anti-wrinkle cream while contemplating where I would find a donut to sit my poor old tush on.  I squeezed in a couple of kegels for good measure.

A cup of weak, watered down tea sat cooling beside me taking the place of my usual double espresso while images of "Maxine" danced in my mind.

In front of the mirror, I opened my robe and much to my surprise I didn't see a "Senior" standing there.  My breasts are still perky, my butt cheeks aren't sagging, my belly still looks pretty darned good.  I continued to stare in confusion.  My mental image of "Senior" just wasn't fitting the image reflected back at me.

I checked my teeth.  Thankfully I won't need polygrip, polident or any other denture grip because I'm blessed to still have all my own natural teeth.  I looked at my eyes.  Yes, there are a few "character" lines (I refuse to call them "crows feet") around the outer corners but my eyes don't droop and I don't have bags under them.

My mouth looks fine.  A couple of smile creases at the corner but nothing major. Definitely not any "road maps" crisscrossing my face.  Thank heavens.

With a final assessment of myself in the mirror I had to smile.  All in all, I look pretty danged "hot" and, if I'm going to be a "Senior" at least, by George, I'm a sexy Senior ;-)

                                                           

 

Last days of Summer

I lay in the warm sun-kissed grass with the wind gently stirring, the sun glaring off my lashes.  I shield my eyes with one hand as I watch the clouds dance across the sky.  Soft puffs of cotton candy.  If I stick my tongue out, surely I can taste them.

Laying here, I have one ear turned to the sound of rustling leaves.  A sure sign the deer are traveling through the pasture and a clear indicator  the season is changing.  Fall is right around the corner.  The air is more languid, life has slowed down to a slumberous crawl.  A fly buzzes lazily nearby and dogs bark in the distance.

There's not much definition to the clouds today.  No fluffy bears or puffy dragons. A jet shoots by overhead leaving white streaks in its wake.

I roll over on my belly, propping my chin in my hands.  I'd hoped to recapture a childhood memory of calling out cloud shapes.  Oh look!  There's a monster!  Over there!  It's a clown!  A boat! A kite!  Whatever tickled my fanciful imagination, if I looked hard enough, it would be there.

I remember wonderful summer days doing this very same thing with my sons when they were little.  Each of us excitedly vying to be the next to find a really cool cloud.  Laying here makes me drowsy and I let my mind float back in time.  I drift away...slowly....with a small smile curving my lips.

Out of the darkness there came a light

During the darkness, before the doctors and God recreated me, I could find no relief from the torture of my traitorous body.  Unable to walk, to wheel, to move I sank into a dark depression trying to will myself to die and failing miserably.  I was denied what I craved most.  An eternal end to the mental and physical suffering.

Thrust against my will into the world of the living, surviving, the recovering, I grew angry.  Angry with God, angry with circumstances, angry with myself.  That anger got me nowhere.  Eventually I entered a state of resignation.  I resigned myself to fighting my way back.  Apparently God wasn't done baking me yet. 

Day by day I forced myself to get up, get moving.  It was hard to do trapped in a body I didn't recognize.  My physical self had betrayed me.  It was no longer ME.  Not the me I'd known all my life.  The me that was physically fit, active 24/7, energetic...this new physical self had lost tone.  The muscles had collapsed on impact.  The bones no longer worked as they used to work.  I cried over the loss.

Unable to find relief from pain I began to experiment.  Doctors remedies weren't doing the job.  In my incapacitated state I had plenty of time to lay around and research.  Experimenting was more challenging, but it drove me, carrying through those dark days.  And then, at the edge of the darkness I saw a light.

The light came in form of a young boy.  A burn victim.  He became a candle, lighting my way, drawing me forward.  His pain became my own.  I wanted to absorb his pain, to help him find relief.  And in some small respect I did.

By the time I encountered "Christopher" I'd already experimented for quite some time and had begun marketing my own bath and body product line.  Everything I created was based on purely natural ingredients.  These creations I had used on myself and were the very things that had brought me relief.  They were my own natural therapy.  Christopher was my opportunity to share with others.

I packaged up some bath items that I thought would help soothe him and shipped them off.  Thus formed an ongoing relationship that has helped me on my own journey back.  It's truly amazing that such a huge gift could come in the form of such a small person.

I thank God for sending me Christopher.  Little Christopher became the candle that chased away the shadows cast in my darkest hours.  A beacon on storm ravaged shores...Thank you Christopher.

(Christopher's mom, Lynn, is an ebay seller, Blue Diamond Products.  It was on ebay that we first encountered one another and I am forever blessed in having met her and Christopher, albeit, it was all online.  They may never know the huge impact they have had on my life....)

Another man done gone!

I flew into the dental office like Marie Laveau, hair streaming wildly behind me, eyes flashing sparks of pain, long nailed fingers pressed harshly against my mouth.

I'm sure the dentist heard screams of "Another man done gone" as he looked at my wild appearance. I was in and out in record time! A simple replacement filling turned into a complicated extraction when said dentist shattered the tooth.

I lay writhing in the dental chair, my back arching, as two dentists pried at my tooth using my face for leverage.  My nose was skewed toward one eyebrow, my lips mashed painfully against my teeth. A passage from the song Marie Laveau flashed through my mind:

"Then Marie started mumblin', her fangs started gnashin'

Her body started tremblin', and her eyes started flashin'"

Amidst the dentists curses and mumbling I wondered if they were feeling fear...Mentally I was zapping them into hellfire.  Grrreeee!  ANOTHER MAN DONE GONE!

Now, a couple of Lortab later I sit here typing, one eye swelled shut and the entire right side of my face marching in time to native drums.  Lortab inspires inertia and my fingers drag along the keyboard.

 

I'm not Erma Bombeck

I'm not Erma Bombeck and I know as you read this, you're sitting  in stunned disbelief.  It's true though.  Sure, we have many qualities in common.  Our quirky sense of humor, our flair for writing, our disastrous and sometimes not so disastrous encounters with day to day life.  We even sport a similar hairstyle and hair color!

                                                                         

                                                                            Erma Bombeck Pictures

From childhood I would pour over her stories, each new story feeding my hunger for her to write yet more.  To me, her writing was like mind candy and I couldn't get enough. Her written escapades left me doubled over with laughter.

Whereas she found fortune in her writing, I'm yet waiting to be discovered.  Come discover me now.  As i find my personal muse again you won't be disappointed.

Chocolate milk and toast

One of my favorite breakfasts is sitting down to a frosted glass of chocolate milk and a couple of crispy slices of toast.  It's not even that I really like chocolate milk, it's the memories the chocolate milk and toast bring back.

Chocolate milk and toast take me on a journey way back in time.  To a time of self discovery. A time I was a teenager struggling to find my identity, learning how to love life, live life and how to thrive.  It was a time I was closest to my oldest sister who is no longer with us.  A simpler time.

It was a time of tanning in the back yard, using the garden hose to cool off and  moisten our bodies.  Of flipping over ever 15 minutes so we could "bake" evenly, front and back.  Of laughter and nonsense.  Of squishing our bellies together with our hands and cracking up over how it made our bellies look like a baby's butt.  There's nothing quite like a sun kissed body!

It was summer days full of Knots Landing, Dallas (we loved to hate J.R.!) and the Eagles.  Cruising around in a '64 pea green cougar, rocking out to Heart,  The Eurythmics, and Kiss.  Singing at the top of our lungs (usually off key) with the windows down, the sun streaming in and our hair blowing itself into long tangled knots. Later, during more mellow moments, digging on Lou Rawls.

Ahhh, the memories.  I say my sister is no longer with us, but that's not entirely true.  She lives on in my memories and the special moments that we shared.  She's the sound of music playing on an old radio in the front seat of a '64 cougar...she's the soft laugh that ends in a hiccup and a sigh when I hear something funny.  C'mon sister, let's go for a ride...

Feeling a little melancholy today...

I am a thrift store junkie and a dime store diva

I'm totally addicted to thrift stores and bargain stores.  I've found everything from Rolex watches to Egyptian gold rummaging through these little digs.  Today I ventured out to do a little rummaging, looking for wall hangings in a Tuscany style.

I have an eye for putting things together, for blending colors and design.  In minutes, I can have a cart filled with an unusual assortment of items that individually look unimpressive, but as a whole become something interesting and colorful.

Most often I don't really know what it is I have in mind when I set out, only a vague idea of what I want to accomplish.

Each of these items were found at different thrift stores, none of them coming from the same store and yet, each one with subtle variations of the same color schemes. 

                                                                                                 

 Two small wall hangings

I particularly LOVE this clay vase!  A bit on the primitive side but it appeals to me.  Grouped together, the colors in these items flow smoothly. 

I can't wait to get them all put up, but for now, it's time to relax, put my feet up and contemplate my next little adventure.

I only wish my friend Lindsay could have taken the photos for me.  Speaking of which, if you have a love for fine photography, check him out here  Lindsay Donald

To tweet or not to tweet?

I've just set up a Twitter account but I can't seem to make sense of what's going on there.  Everybody's following somebody (somewhere) and it all seems to go in absolutely no particular direction.

Why is it that the first person to "follow" me lead straight to an XXX site?

How do you follow a conversation on there?  I haven't been able to make any sense of the "chatter" yet.  I can't even seem to find where all these conversations originate.  Is it just me, or is there some kind of method to this madness?

High Speed Technology....NOT

If it weren't for my phone card I wouldn't have internet access at present.  Even as I should be thrilled I can get online, some mornings I feel like this:

                       



Pingomatic Directory

Claim to fame or walk of shame?

Today I've been busy promoting my blog. I don't know how many of you are familiar with all the means of getting pinged, zinged or badabinged out there but I'm utilizing those avenues that I'm familiar with.  This post is just a confirmation that I own this blog.  You may now tune back to your regularly scheduled programming.  Thank you.

FGFUGDQ2RJCG

Blogging with abandon

I've been a blogger for many, many years.  I can recall a time when I blogged with total abandon, writing about anything and everything and enjoying a loyal following of other fellow bloggers. 

Those were the days.  A bunch of nonsensical fun.  Each blogger writing in a style unique to them.  The variety was like my own personal smorgasboard where I could feast my eyes on whatever written diet of words I desired on any given day.  Or I could gorge myself on ALL the varieties at once.  Manna from heaven!

Lately it seems I've lost my muse.  So I search.  I read.  I visit other bloggers seeking inspiration.  While I haven't quite found where my muse is hiding, I have found some fascinating individuals who rekindle my love for writing and stir the smoldering embers of writing with abandon.  Take Annah for example, at When Red Means Go.

She's a little risque, totally off the wall, but I completely get her sense of humor!  She's blogging her way to "famosity" and makes no bones about it. I do, however, think the whole "eating kittens" part is a bit of a sham, but shhhh, we won't mention that!  I laugh at the thought even as I hide my "kittens" from her keen eye.  (Forgive me Annah, I tried to email you for permission but this crazy system wouldn't allow me...grrr)

And then there's Geri, a military wife and mom to two kids.  Her life is never dull as she dances dangerously with her cats, takes on the principal and coaches like a bulldog and waits anxiously for her husband to be deployed.  There's never a dull moment around her house!  You can visit Geri at http://justmedefyinggravity.blogspot.com/ .  You won't be disappointed. 

I'd like to find my sense of "abandon" again.  As I tumble in and out of one blog after another I feel I should bring a gymnasts mat.  Sometimes I laugh so hard I fall to the floor.  Other times a post is so outrageous it makes me swoon.  Never, however, am I ever bored!

For other fantastic blogs check my list of blogs I follow. 

Frog man

I just watched my husband do the naked, drunk, frog man walk from our R.V. down to the house that we're preparing to move in to. Mind you, he is not a navy seal or anything military related. The only things he had on were his flip flops and a cocky smile. No pun intended.

      

As he high stepped over the thigh high weeds and grass I thought I'd snap some pictures but I saw how white his hiney is and I don't think the flash on my camera works too well against that kind of white...

Why is it when you take a man out of the city and drop him in the country he's suddenly Rambo gone commando? A little rumble in the jungle? His primitive side, (along with his back side) begin to show.  Just him and his "boys" enjoying the cool night air.

Zeus the goose

My savannah cat, Zeus, loves the water. It's not uncommon to hear shrieks coming from the bathroom whenever some unsuspecting soul steps into the shower or slinks into a warm bath. Even though I give fair warning, some people just don't listen and if Zeus is allowed in the bathroom he believes it's his right to join you in the tub.

We'd brought Zeus up to spend a week with us in the R.V. at Shawnee lake. I wasn't sure if he would be as excited with such a large body of water, but I put him on his leash and harness and off we went.

The initial introduction to this foreign body of wetness was met with hissing, scratching, flailing legs and horrible howls.  After a quick dunking, Zeus settled right in and was curiously swimming with me and the little one.


Occasionally he would paddle out and give one of us a little loving head butt then realize his paws were no longer touching bottom and swim back in to safer places.

After a short while of swimming, skipping after minnows and ferociously attacking water weeds until he was certain he'd killed them, I decided he'd had enough for his first time out and took him to shore.

I dried him off with a towel and he sunned himself for a bit. Drowsy, Zeus was ready for a nice little nap. I watched him as he slept, marvelling at how much he resembles the wild cats. His head is more cougar shaped now and his eyes have a definite exotic slant.

It's crazy how much I love this cat, but I do and he's one of the greatest gifts I've ever received.  If he ever dies I think I'll have his head and tail stuffed and turn him into a purse.

Slip sliding away

When my two sons were small we saw something on t.v. that got us really excited. It was the hottest part of summer and we were looking for ways to cool off when we saw a commercial for the Slip N Slide.

Looking back, I question my sanity as a parent. Initial impressions said this device would be great fun but I really didn't think beyond what my eyes had seen on that blinking t.v. screen.

Off we went to purchase this amazing instrument of slippery summer fun. Joyfully we toted it home. Following the manufacturers simple instructions, we were able to create our own personal nirvana.

Triumphantly, we stood back to admire our handiwork. A long, yellow snake of plastic stretched out flatly before us, water shooting gentle streams inviting us to have some fun  !

Wheeee~ Look at me!

                                        

Just look at that face in the photo!  How could any mother not be excited?  For hours we ran and jumped, our bodies arcing through the air and landing with a resounding "thwack" on the wet plastic.  One belly flop after another as we slid the length of that slippery yellow snake. We wiggled and we squiggled and we laughed out loud! 

How could I know that this harmless seeming device was, in reality, a device of torture? 

As I tucked the boys in bed that night I prided myself on being a good parent.  We'd had a wonderful day of fun, sun and laughter.  The following morning told it's own tale as I rolled out of bed, moaning and groaning and clutching my body.  Oh the deception! I couldn't sit up for days. 

Who in their right mind could ever think that body slamming yourself onto solid ground for endless hours with only a thin sheet of plastic between you and the dirt could be a good thing?  For me the end results were similar to having somebody take a wooden plank and hit me in my  belly with it .  Over and over again.

He's got the look!

Three days ago, my FABULOUS husband walked through the door sporting a short haircut and a cocky grin....my baby's come home.  Finally.

Symbollic hair

I'm sitting here at a lake in central Oklahoma watching the clouds roll by and the wind whip the trees. It's hard to believe just 4 years ago this month I met my husband. And fell wildly in love.

I've debated the wisdom in writing this post but realized anybody that knows me and my husband already know that we had a little hiccup in our matrimonial menu.

This morning started out wonderfully, both of us in a fantastic mood, laughing, smiling and joking around. My husband grabbed a quick shower and for me the mood changed immediately. It changed because of the hair.

Tto me his hair has become a symbol. It's symbollic of the man who could not just walk away from me, our marriage and everything we'd ever meant to each other, but run. As far and fast as he could. A man who could callously tear my heart in pieces and continue to run. A man I found I didn't know. A man with long hair.

His hair wasn't long when we met. He kept it short and well groomed. When he left, he began growing his hair out. To me it is a sign of his rebellion. A symbol. A reminder that he left, turning my world inside out with his leaving. A sign that he could easily do so again.

It's not that I think his hair looks bad long because it doesn't. He's beautiful to me either way. And though it's just hair and I really should let go of these feelings I find it hard to move beyond them. It's as if, in keeping the long hair, he's withholding making that final commitment to be fully back in this relationship. A foot out the door per se.

As I watch him flip his wet hair back from his face, smooth his hands over it and plaster it down with Bed Head styling gel, then spray it with more Bed Head product, I feel something inside me disconnect.

So I wait. And watch. And hope that one day he will walk through the door, his short hair neatly combed and the incredible smile he always wore creasing his face once again.

Life is a Highway

I've heard the expression Life is a Highway and I tend to disagree. It's more like a back country road filled with bumps, potholes and unexpected twists and turns. Much like driving at night with your headlights off and not being able to see what's directly ahead of you. So much more exciting than the highway where everything is clearly marked off in advance and you can see your destination just ahead.

Life is not for the timid. It is to be driven and explored and held in awe under all conditions.

I love my cats!

I have a couple of exotic cats that bring me great joy.  Zeus is my Savannah cat (part African Serval, part domestic cat) who has a temperament like a dog.  Not only does he play fetch, he loves to swim, climb ladders and terrorize dogs.  This is a cat with a ton of attitude.  Sometimes not a good one.  I haven't had a moments peace in the bath or shower since Zeus moved in.  If I close the door to the bathroom he runs and slams his body against it over and over again.  If I leave the door open he believes that's a invitation for him to share my shower.  Somehow that simply doesn't work for me.


Zeus came to us with a diet of raw chicken and Iams Cat Food. We've since changed his diet around finding the raw meats seemed to bring out more of the wild cat attitude in him.

The other cat, Cleopatra (Cleo for short) is a bengal bob.  Part bobcat, part asian leopard.  She's the best mouser I've ever encountered and she keeps the house spider free.  Cleo isn't much of a social cat, she prefers to stay to herself only occasionally gracing us with her presence and only on her time and terms.

Cleo is a petite cat but very agile. Her primary diet is Science Diet. She turns her nose up to "people" food (thank heavens!).

Since both cats are strictly indoor cats unless I take them out on a leash and harness, I'm very finicky about cat odors. Exotic cats seem to be a bit more pungent than domestic cats so I prefer Scoop Away cat litter for odor control in the litter box. I had invested in an electric litter box simply to keep the box continually clean. That didn't last. Zeus decided it was something to be attacked and destroyed. Whatta mess!

Them bones

I'd written this several years back and it amazes me that even after ALL this time, the random phone calls still come in.


Them bones.....yep.....little bones of contention....We've all got them. Bones that become disjointed over day to day things..... I've become a master at avoidance. I don't like those kind of bones. You bend them and twist them enough and they become swollen and painfully arthritic. Inflame them enough and you have serious problems....


Seemed during the course of my divorce everything became a major bone of contention. I was to the point I honestly didn't care. Here, you want it? Take it? My first born? Take him! Neighbor's child....heeeeere ya go. Generous by nature, I was willing to give it all.....here take it! Go away! Be happy!

Strangely, now that we've gone our own separate ways, some of the things that were major bones are still in my possession. You wouldn't think it would be any big deal, but it is. It's a direct connection. It's two tractors in my front yard. That and a baler, swather, drill, etc., etc. Not little ticket items either.

The direct connection I speak of is the repeated phone calls. "How's my tractor".....geeeeez. :The tires still full on the baler?" Any little thing to make a phone call. "How's my dog"....well, your dog is waiting for you...come pick him up. And while you're at it, take your tractor, baler, swather, drill, plow, yada yada yada. But there's always an excuse why not.

Today, I'm placing a notice in the newspaper. He will have a limited time to remove his possessions or I'm having a farm equipment sale. The proceeds will then go to a needy organization....ME. It's time for life to move forward. It's been long enough.

Pet names

Isn't it crazy how we find ourselves tagging the people closest to us with little pet names? I find myself doing that more and more with Andy. One in particular that pops into mind is "Nubby" which is a combination of new and hubby. Upon further reflection, I just don't see Andy finding this pet name adorable at all. Think on this. "Nubby" sounds more like a severed appendage than anything adorable. Given Andy's 6'6" of long, lean Texas hot body...I just don't think he fits the tag. I could call him "Babe" or "Honey" or "Stud Muffin" but those are all so cliche! Half the time, just looking at him still has a way of leaving me speechless, so this is probably something I really don't even need to think about.


However, speaking of pets and names, I'm usually quite creative in giving my pets unique little names. I once had a four foot iguana that I artistically named "Iggy". He had a little leather vest and a cool black leather hat. He looked really sharp at the end of a leash going for a walk. Then, there was my one eyed shark that I called "Sharky". Sharky was harder to dress than Iggy and the vest just didn't look right on him

Living with Sharky was a huge Oscar that I named "Oscar". Oscar was viciously surrounded and killed by a school of goldfish who later ganged up on Sharky and threw him out of the tank. I swear this is the truth. My little one eyed dog that's very small is named "Dot". Two of her puppies, even smaller than she, were named "Micro" and "Macro" and a third one was "Speck". The largest of the four puppies was "Spot". As you can see, I put alot of thought into these names.

Of course, I have my cat, Smokin' Joe, who's totally cool! We've recently adopted a kitten for my step-daughter. I call him "Evil Kitty" while the rest of the family calls him Cotton. "Evil Kitty" has multiple personalities. The cute, cuddly personality he shows to everybody else and then the wicked personality he reserves just for me. He doesn't realize I'm onto him. He still owes me for one destroyed top!

The two horses, Knucklehead (this name was accidental, I swear!) and Sega. Sega was so named because when I first came across him it didn't look like he would live through the night. Not having any money to buy another horse, I traded a used Sega game for him and took my chances. He's turned out to be quite a robust young horse as well as a beer hound and cleptomaniac. You cannot leave beer unattended around him (this happens sometimes at a roping) he tries to guzzle it up. Nor can you leave anything else lying around unsecured. This horse is an absolute THIEF. Knucklehead on the other hand is pure athlete. He won't eat or drink anything that isn't strictly healthy. One of his favorite treats is ice cubes. This makes the children crack up. Like Sega, however, Knucklehead is a irrascible thief. I swear the two are in cahoots!

What wonderful little pet names do you use? Come on, there's got to be some creativity out there! Some of the answers should be exciting! Won't you share???

Wonder Woman vs. Menopause

I talked to my doctor who advises me that:

1) I am not wonder woman and I should stop overpowering people because frankly, it's a bit
    frightening...and


2) I am  not enjoying magical power surges that make me invincible,  rather......

• a) I am a hormonal, moody, frightening woman and... 
• b) those power surges are truly just hot flashes that can be easily controlled through   hormone replacement therapy (HRT).

It's a little deflating because as wonder woman I felt like an invincible one man show. As a hormonal woman with hot flashes, night sweats and uncontrollable mood swings, I feel like a helpless little freak show.


Before I visit the doctor  to begin treatments, I intend to slip into my Wonder Woman gear and don my bullet deflecting bracelets, just in case he might be wrong.