Category Archives: Aging Gal at Play

Monkeys and Marathons, Oh My

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This past weekend, Bitty and I went to Solvang for the Santa Barbara Wine Country Half Marathon. Bitty ran the half marathon, I drank the wine.

Bitty post-race eating some of Solvang's famous Danish Aebleskivers

Bitty post-race eating some of Solvang’s famous Danish Aebleskivers

Our friends Gretchen and Steve went also. Gretchen ran while Steve watched with me and their… child.

Steve and his son, Kumba

Steve and his son, Kumba

Rafiki, the cartoon version of a mandrill, in The Lion King

Rafiki, the cartoon version of a mandrill, in The Lion King

While some might argue that Kumba looks like Steve, he is a mandrill monkey (like Rafiki in “The Lion King”). Steve runs Saving Wildlife International, which is dedicated to helping people develop an awareness of and commitment to nature. Plus, he’s got a LOT of cool wild animals.

Kumba's only two years old, so he's got a lot of growing to do. Oh, my...

Kumba’s only two years old, so he’s got a lot of growing to do. Oh, my…

Saving Wildlife International is a non-profit organization so please check out the website at www.wildswi.org and witness Steve’s other children and all the good he does.

Everything’s Bigger in Texas

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You know the saying “Everything’s Bigger in Texas”? Hyperbole? I think not. These pics from my recent trip to Texas prove it.

With the Buddy Holly statue in Lubbock, TX

With the Buddy Holly statue in Lubbock, TX

With my brother-in-law and the big Golden Tornado Cheerleader in Lamesa, TX

With my brother-in-law and the big Golden Tornado Cheerleader in Lamesa, TX

The mascot at the Chicken Fried Steak Festival in Lamesa, TX

The mascot at the Chicken Fried Steak Festival in Lamesa, TX

Even the tractors are bigger. At least it makes me feel petite...

Even the tractors are bigger. At least it makes me feel petite…

Channeling my five-year-old boy and driving off in my new truck...

Channeling my five-year-old boy and driving off in my new truck…

Skyfall (or How I’m Not Even Close to Being James Bond)

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Sunday afternoon I finally did it.

What I’d wanted to do all my life.

What I’d said I’d do for the last twenty years.

I jumped from an airplane.

With a parachute.

And a big guy on my back. (No, I’m not changing teams; it was a tandem skydive.)

And despite my fears and curses (the entire fall was one very long curse word), I am grateful that I lived to show you this video:


Geronimoooooo!

People Who Need People

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People. People who need people.

Quick: Who does that lyric make you think of? If you didn’t say Barbra Streisand, then you are disowned.

And who did Bitty and I go see last night in honor of Bitty’s birthday? You got it: Babs.

At the Hollywood Bowl.

Two legends indeed.

Little did I know when I mortgaged the house to buy these tickets that seeing Streisand in concert was on Bitty’s bucket list. Cross that one off the list. Done. And, oh, so totally worth it.

For video taken from my seat dead center in the middle of the Hollywood Bowl, check these out. First up, her tribute to the legendary Marvin Hamlisch:

Babs singing Rose’s Turn from Gypsy mashed with Don’t Rain on My Parade:

People…

And, finally, with her sister (and her mom) singing Happy Days…

Priceless.

Mad Hatters

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Bitty and I just got back from a long weekend in Sedona, AZ. Yes, we hiked and saw beautiful red rock vistas (see exhibit 1 below):

Exhibit 1 (Proof that we actually did hike)

After our hike, we lunched at Tlaquepaque which is a darling arts and crafts village. Then we also partook in Bitty’s favorite activity: shopping.

We stumbled onto a cute boutique called Just Us Girls that sells winter hats which also double as animal and monster characters (and fodder for goofballs like us).

Bow to the wow

Subsequently, I launched into one of my favorite activities: photography.

The “Monster” hat with the flap removed to show the creature’s “brain”

Makes you want to yodel, doesn’t it?

A multi-eyed monster… so Bitty has extra “eyes” for bargains…

Oh my Wile E. Coyote, we’re Looney Tunes

Then Aging Gal had to get into the act…

Here’s hoping the eagle on my head will hide my double chin…

A Tasmanian devil… and the hat

And which one did Bitty come home with? Drum roll, please…

My norse woman already on the lookout for her next (shopping) expedition…

Perhaps we are aging backwards (ala Benjamin Button) and getting younger every year? Nah, but we certainly act like it…

What Do You Eat on July 4th?

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First of all, Happy 4th of July/Independence Day/day off of work. Now, what are you going to eat, America?

Joey Chestnut, Hot Dog-Eating Champion

As you probably know, tomorrow is the annual Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest which is now a big enough sporting(?) event to warrant being televised on ESPN. Five-Time Champ Joey Chestnut will compete for most consecutive wins in this feat, and, in the women’s competition, 100-pound Sonya Thomas will defend her title. And the rest of us will be jealously ill.

What is it with men daring each other to eat crap? I spent twenty years working in television, sitting in on sitcom writer’s rooms with men daring, even paying each other to eat the pickle that’s fermented in that jar on the set for the past five years… or dozens of Mickey D hamburgers… or that shot glass-sized clump of wasabi. And, without fail, each male has taken the challenge and eaten that pickle, those burgers, the wasabi… until he looked like a nauseated version of Wile E. Coyote.
Certainly, we Americans love our hot dogs. According to this article from the Orange County Register, “On July 4 alone, the biggest hot dog day of the year, 155 million hot dogs will be consumed. That is enough hot dogs to stretch from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., more than five times.”

Sonya Thomas, who downed 40 dogs in last year’s contest; How is that possible?

Now you probably think I’m going to reprimand you into eating healthy on this July 4th holiday, to which I say, Hell, no. In fact, I’ll race you to the grocery store because it would be damned unpatriotic not to have a hot dog on July 4th. Have a great holiday!

Cheers to Summer

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Who doesn’t love summer barbecues? Certainly anyone who’s stumbled onto Aging Gal here in the last year or so knows I am the Will Rogers of food — I’ve never meet a dish I didn’t like.

Well, Aging Gals and Guys, have I discovered the perfect mate for your steak! Anheuser-Busch has just added a new beverage to its line-up: Michelob ULTRA Light Cider. This cider is naturally sweetened from hand-picked apples and is gluten-free. Now y’all know I love my glass of chardonnay, but sometimes it’s just too darn hot for that. Michelob ULTRA Light Cider is a refreshing, not-too-sweet change for those sun-drenched days of summer. Plus, it’s got only 120 calories.

“As more people continue to discover cider, we’ve found that many view traditional ciders as either too heavy, too sweet or both,” said Ryan Moore, vice president of premium lights, Anheuser-Busch. “This perception has often times limited ciders to a seasonal beverage during fall and winter, but we saw an untapped potential to expand the category as a year-round option. Michelob ULTRA Light Cider fills this void with a lower calorie cider with a milder, but distinct, sweetness that can be enjoyed straight or over ice.”

Tastes like good old grandma’s spiked apples

I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Moore. Like the fresh apples Michelob ULTRA Light Cider is made from, drinking a bottle is like biting into a crisp, hand-picked apple from grandma’s farm in the fall (after devilish grandma spiked the fruit a bit). Neither too sweet nor too filling, I truly feel as if I could drink a bottle then run a marathon, which is great since in my life I’ve never run so much as a mile. Seriously, after some beers or malt beverages I do feel bogged down and, well, fat. Not with Michelob ULTRA Light Cider, though. (Maybe I will check into running that marathon…)

Please visit Michelob’s site by clicking here to find where to purchase Michelob ULTRA Light Cider. Then head over here to tell add your comments about this fabulous new product!

Finally, please leave me a comment and tell me which favorite summer meal or activity do you think would go best with Michelob ULTRA Light Cider?

Cinco de Stupido

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This past Saturday night, Bitty and I celebrated Cinco de Mayo at our small, locally-owned Mexican food hangout. We each ordered taco salads, which come in a fried tortilla bowl. Perhaps we were loopy from our one alcoholic beverage each because suddenly Bitty displayed a square of tortilla from her salad bowl and exclaimed, “Doesn’t this look like Nebraska?”

My Mexican flag and the sangria that inspired it

I’m not at all knowledgeable on geography, and nothing against our Cornhusker friends, but isn’t Nebraska just a rectangle? I retrieved my iPhone to take a picture of “Nebraska,” at which moment Bitty informed me, “I just ate Nebraska.”

“Well, now, how in Hades am I going to have photographic evidence?” I said. “Maybe that bit of tortilla was going to be our claim to fame. You know, like those folks who discover Jesus grilled on their pork chop or the Virgin Mary formed in the whites of their scrambled eggs.”

She was unabashed and starting breaking up her bowl. “I’ll make another,” she said, crunching away again.

The boot that is Italy... really?

“How ’bout this?” she asked a second later.

“What’s that? Florida?”

“Duh, no. It’s a boot.”

I stared at her. “Yeah. Like Florida.”

“No,” she said, disgusted with me now. “Like Italy.”

“O-kay,” I said, no more convinced that this was Italy than that a perfect Nebraska replica had just disappeared before me. “Then I’m gonna make a state.”

I picked up a discarded piece of crisp tortilla decorated with a small lettuce leaflet and exclaimed, “This is Colorado.”

Colorado and the Rockies (elevation courtesy of Corona)

“No, it’s not!” Bitty was indignant. Like I was the big moron.

“Sure, why not? And the green is the Rocky Mountains.” Beat. “Aren’t those in Colorado?” (I truly am not a geography person.)

Bitty was done with our game (like she’s the only one who can sculpt tortilla states), but I made her wait so I could finish my impressionistic art of the Mexican flag, using the one green and one red tortilla from our chip basket. She waited impatiently and a bit jealously for the true artist me to finish.

And then we threw our art in the garbage and went to buy chocolate for dessert. But the chocolate we didn’t mess around making “art” with; nope, chocolate is serious business with us and it went straight into our stomachs.

The End

 

 

 

Everyday or “Dress” Sweats?

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First, a brief look inside my internal monologue (don’t worry, we won’t stay too long, it’s scary in here): “Gosh, I have to shower today and go out into the world. Should I wear my everyday sweats or “dress” sweats?” Yes, readers, I have fallen so far into the valley of sweat suits that I don’t even consider wearing anything else. The best I can do is “dress” sweats. God help my fashion-conscious mother.

There used to be a time when I cared what I looked like. Growing up in Texas, I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the house without a couture worthy of Princess Diana. Now, I don’t think a thing of taking care of errands in the stained sweat pants I’ve worn for three days straight.

When did this change happen? When did I stop caring two-twats about how I look? When did I become Glee’s Sue Sylvester?

Ironically, it is another television show that has captured my imagination lately. One that is the antithesis of the present-day me — Downton Abbey. Set in turn-of-the-century (the last century) England, the women — and men — of Downton Abbey dress to the nines for casual, everyday at home or “school night” dinners. The women especially wouldn’t dream of stepping out into society in any wardrobe that would denigrate their upper class status.

The wealthy Crawley women of Downton Abbey, dressed for an ordinary "school night" dinner

Recently, Michelle Dockery, the actress who plays Lady Mary, was on The View stating that not only do the actresses have to wear corsets under their costumes, but they cannot get a suntan because, in the early 1900s, wealthy women sheltered themselves from the sun. (I don’t know about you, but at the word “corset,” my belly stubbornly inflated another quarter inch.)

So, while I may fantasize about being a rich Anglophile in the British isles of a hundred years ago, my body type is now purely American — lumpy, overweight, and in love with its sweat suits.

 

 

Vacation Vices

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My name is Heather.  I am an addict.  My drug of choice: Mini Oreos.

My profile mug shot with my drug after my "crime"

As you know from my last post, Bitty and I just got back from Maui.  Since we were on vacation (and I needed energy for my 5K run), I allowed myself to purchase something I’ve forbidden myself from buying at home — you guessed it, those Mini Oreos.

As much as I love food, I am really not a binge eater, just a steady three-meal-a-day gal. But these Oreos (and only the mini ones) are one snack of which, as the old Lay’s potato chip slogan goes, I can’t eat just one.  Or just half the bag.  No, nothing short of the entire bag will do.

I acknowledged my “problem” about a year ago, after witnessing the coma-like state I fell into upon noshing on these cream-filled chocolate bites of heaven.  Like any addiction, the more I injected, the more I wanted.  Sometimes the white sugar center was enough to satiate my high; other times I inhaled fist-fulls of cookies at once.  I would wake from my sugar coma to find myself covered in tell-tale Oreo dust.  It wasn’t pretty.

And after weeks of trying to conceal my habit from my spouse — burying empty Oreo bags deep into the trash bin, blaming the manufacturer for all the missing cookie cream centers — I knew it was time to stop the madness.  I had to quit cold turkey.  And I did.

Even our grocery store’s cookie aisle manager called me on my lack of Oreo buying.  ”We can’t move our stock!” he joked.  ”Buy!  What’s a little bag of cookies?”  Crack, I thought, that’s what a little bag of cookies is to me.  I joked with the manager; my pusher, I called him.

Still, I held strong.  I cleaned myself up.  And for months I had been so good.  No Mini Oreos.  But then last week we went on… (insert dramatic music here) vacation.  You know how the thinking goes, I’m on vacation.  I deserve a special treat.  Well, the next thing I know I look like this:

Evidence of my addiction: Oreo dust covering my face and a stupor in my eyes

Suffice it to say, I have relapsed.  Now that I’m home, I have to once again go through withdrawal.  Merely looking at these photos makes me want to run to my pusher and buy some of that saturated and hydrogenated goodness.  Maybe Bitty won’t notice the gluttonous human-sized blob of Oreo dust laying on the couch when she gets home…

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