Sometimes I think that all women should become actresses during the years that they go through menopause, because this is the only stage in my life that I can ever remember being so easily brought to tears, and then complete and utter rage, all within the space of a few minutes!
A photograph can reduce me to a sobbing wreck, a smile can bring tears streaming down my face, and the kindness of a human being can move me deeper than the biggest, bestest orgasm Meg Ryan ever thought about having! Oh yes, and this bizarre turn of events that has your hormones fighting a civil war with your brain, this interesting time of woman-hood also makes you get deep and philosophical, like being high on pot without the chill factor, and also with a larger appetite that makes anything warm blooded nervous.
Aging makes you ponder. A week can become a journey of a lifetime, a day can be a sentence, and a moment can feel like the real reason you were put on earth. Funny isn’t it how it all shakes out for each and every one of us? How we are so incredibly individual, yet somehow so very alike?
Well enough of that deep shit stuff…..I have no idea where that came from, somewhere down in the pit of my vast and immense body mass..Speaking of which, last weekend three of my delightful and witty British lasses came over for a curry and a movie. “Shirley Valentine” was the movie. A gem of a flick for the mid-something ladies, and a refreshing change as well,to see a real woman in a real role. Pauline Collins is the name of the actress, and she is a lovely lady with an imperfect face, crooked teeth and she even goes topless in the film (gasp). You actually get to see a great shot of her breasts and she has no implants! I can remember when the movie first came out in the UK, people were so astonished because it was rare that a middle-aged woman flashed her less than perfect boobs for the cameras. But women back then were fed up with being ashamed of their aging bodies, and turned things around for the rest of us that have followed behind,
Ah, those early days of female power, isn’t it interesting that even in our lifetime vast improvements have been made for Women’s Lib and the progress of our gender? Of course our culture is still way behind the Celts (they held women in high esteem and it had nothing to do with the size of their boobs), but I guess we still have it better than our grandmothers.
So, back to the Brits, the morning after our movie, we sat at the breakfast bar stuffing our faces with crumpets and bangers (yes, they both really are a food item). We bemoaned the fact that our bodies were imperfect and chubby. We discussed that phenomenon called a ‘muffin top’ and indeed had to explain it to dear Maz who lamented having one, but had not known it bore a name. I sympathized with her, pointing to my own as it hung over my waistband, but I told her that mine was not a muffin-top, but an actual LOAF! With that, we had a good laugh, and then voted that I should write the comment in my blog, so Maz and Maria….tada!!!!!
As I write this, Forrest and Stinky Sam are doing a duet; it is the Snore Choral symphony in Hog Major. Kind of makes you figure why I am sitting in a different room typing at 11:42 pm right?
Well I gave up at 11:43pm and went to bed, and then spent the rest of the night wondering why I didn’t stay up – because along with the fat fairy that I told you visits me most nights, the damn insomnia fairy has been stopping by as well. I also got a visit from the cramp in your right calf fairy, the need to blow your nose fairy, and the ‘what do I need at the store’ fairy. Yep, sleeping at my house is like spending a night with bloody Peter Pan…….
I have four days until my bloodwork – and eleven days until I see the doctor to find out if I pass the test or if I will officially be classed as a diabetic. I have had the past ten weeks to focus on my diet, be aware of what I am eating, and I have failed miserably. I keep thinking I will ‘start tomorrow’ – and now I have left it too late. So I am rehearsing my pathetic excuses with a hope of buying a little more time. We’ll see what happens….another gift of aging ladies….the persnickety pancreas…….. Sammy got a blow job last Friday – he looks and smells great! (What did you think I meant by blow job? Filthy minded readers) but the groomers always put a sorry-arsed bone-patterned ‘neckerchief’ around his neck and it makes Stinky Sam look like someone’s ‘bitch’. Whenever I go to collect him, it’s like he has seen himself in the mirror and in between slobbering all over the car he gives me a soulful look that says “take this scrap of human ornamentation off my neck and get me a choke chain quick!” Hey, even dogs have a rep to maintain. The weather in Oklahoma is changing today, rain is coming in and the temperatures are going to drop. I am going to make a Shepherd’s pie for dinner, and pretend I am on the moors somewhere in Cornwall (that’s the most southwesterly county in the UK). It is one of those hearty warm-your-belly dinners, and will most likely be the highlight of my day.
I am currently homesick (even though you are all very nice to me), and after 30 years of living in these here United States, I still crave things from my homeland. Things like Clive Owen, Gerard Butler, fish and chips and raspberry ripple ice cream. It’s odd after all these years, but I have found it to be true with other ex-pats I have met (definition -that means they are ex-patriots, not people whose names used to be Pat).
But I am going home soon (in a few weeks) so I shall be able to write this blog from across the Atlantic, and I will probably write in a British accent as I will be there. You can count on seeing more “U’s” in my words like coloUr, valoUr, and I will talk about writing a cheque, not a check, getting in a queue, not a line, oh, and while I am rambling on, just so everyone is clear…we do not have a/c in our homes in England because the temperatures are much milder than here and we don’t need it, but we ALL own refrigerators, but not necessarily as big as the American ones. Seriously, I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked about the bloody fridges, of course the same people that ask also think that I personally know the Queen…….
Perhaps while I am in Blighty (England), I can report back to the blog on the best places to get yummy fish and chips? The most fun pub to get plastered (that means drunk), and how to become a piss-artist in three easy lessons (that means being really really good at getting drunk) doesn’t it sound fun and don’t you wish you were going with me? Actually one of these days we should have a Brit on the Blog UK tour…..it certainly wouldn’t be boring…………………HUZZAH!!!! Enjoy the weekend dearest readers – again, thank so much for all the positive support of the blog, another thing that makes this old hormonal wind-bag (that is me) feel all mushy. I appreciate the feedback, comments and kindness. Talk to you next week! Jude (boohoohoosniffsniff)