Yippee, there’s a new Star Wars movie on the horizon and, hurray, all the original 1977 cast members are returning! So it’s set in an adult day health care center, right? Let’s get a preview of where they are now: As a result of a critical cloud car crash, Luke Skywalker went through extensive rehab. This led to his patent pending invention, Skywalker (TM). It’s a walker for Galaxy boomers — those from a long time ago and far, far away. The device even allows for yoga-style exercises which Luke is also developing under the name Death Evader.
Alas, studly Hans Solo found himself pained with gout and prostate issues. But it was worry over loss of testosterone and a mid-life crisis that led to an affair with Ally McBeal and a subsequent divorce from Princess Leia.
Princess Leia has battled both the bottle and an addiction to Chips Ahoy. Ironically, it was the attention of her former captor Jabba the Hutt that brought Leia to her senses. He convinced her that all men are giant worms, whether literally or figuratively, and that she had too much to offer not to move forward with her life. Leia is now a born again Christian and organizer of AA meetings at the Creature Cantina.
Last week, word came down from “on high” (whoever that is) that traffic in Los Angeles is the worst in America.
I am here to attest that the worst specific area for that worst traffic is in Hollywood during afternoon rush hour.
After leaving a commercial audition the other day the only way to get home was to travel through Hollywood. To drive 1.7 miles, it took me… wait for it… forty minutes!
Now while the traffic sucked, the weather was beautiful. So what did I do while literally sitting in the most iconic (if congested) part of America? I rolled down the window and took pictures, of course.
Above is the mural “Portrait of Hollywood” painted on the auditorium wall of Hollywood High School. Famous alums include such Golden Age stars as Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, Carole Lombard, Lana Turner, and Lon Chaney, Jr. up to more recent stars like Carol Burnett, Lawrence Fishburne, John Ritter, Valerie Bertinelli, and Sarah Jessica Parker.
Next up on our tour through traffic is the Hollywood Museum, which is housed in the historic old Max Factor building. This is where Max Factor, Hollywood’s Makeup King, helped beautify such stars as Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Jean Harlow, and Marilyn Monroe. Needless to say, Mr. Factor never got his hands on me.
At the corner of Hollywood and Highland, this giant billboard of Sophia Vergara drinking a Pepsi makes me want a soda… and an appointment with her plastic surgeon.
This vision of the Hollywood United Methodist church at the corner of Highland and Franklin is like a mirage in a desert. The freeway is now so close, yet still so far away. Jesus, give me strength!
And then, like a starving man spotting an In ‘N Out cheeseburger, I see it… The freeway…
Remember when I said it took me forty minutes to go fewer than two miles? Well, the good news is that by the time I do get on the 101, it takes me only thirty minutes to go thirty-five miles.
And that, class, is a lesson in the unpredictability of Los Angeles traffic.
Thanksgiving. The name says it all. A time to give thanks. Well, that’s what we’ll all do on Thursday.
Today, I’m going to rant.
In honor of America’s foremost fast food haunt (and the restaurant where I’ll dine too often during this frenetic week), I’ve lovingly compiled my observations into a McDictionary of sorts.
McDanger’s — Bitty’s name for the McDonald’s just off the 405 freeway that I stop at when en route to LAX. My feeling is, Why pay $10 for an Egg McMuffin in the airport terminal when I can get one for a dollar at McDanger’s? Bitty’s take is that she’d rather avoid — at all costs — the zombie-like creatures who hang out (or perhaps live) at this fine establishment.
McDillweed — the lazy soccer mom who, instead of getting out of her car, orders breakfast for the entire soccer team in the drive-thru, forcing the waiting line of cars to pile up past the parking lot, through the traffic light, and into the street.
McDummy — the name for the manager who doesn’t have McDillweed pull over into the parking lot during the 20 minutes she (and the rest of us) wait for her order to be filled.
McDangle — my upper arm flab. Due more to middle age than my visits to Mickey D’s.
McDelight — watching the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
McDefense — what the Dallas Cowboys will need to combat RG3 during the Thanksgiving day game.
McD-Day — my 50th birthday. Exactly ten days and counting. Yikes…
I’d like to welcome back Aging Gal’s resident gym rat and etiquette correspondent, our friend Q. Ever diligent about going to the gym, she has some courtesy tips for the rest of us:
The word for the week is “assets.” To the numerous ladies who think it’s okay to sit their “assets,” showered or sweaty, on public domain (gym benches and spa area furniture), it is not. That is where I sit and place my belongings. Please invest in a towel and use it! To the ladies who wear bathing suits in the public areas but have no intentions of swimming, please stay home because you’re just thirsty for attention. Just for confirmation, everyone does see your assets (and other areas that should be left to the imagination; see “camel toe”).
Last but not least, because the seasons are changing, I think it’s important for women to know there’s a difference between workout attire, tights, and hosiery. The latter two should only be used for ballet, when wearing shorts, or, even better, left at home. Yes, they may look dark and dense in the packaging, but once you are wearing them they become diaphanous. We all still see the colors of the rainbow underneath and sometimes quite vividly the crack of your “assets” when you workout. Thank you for these visions now seared into my brain that no amount of therapy will erase. I’ll be sending you all my therapist’s bill.
Once again, Q, thank you for our etiquette lesson of the week. Personally, I’ll be placing my “assets” firmly on the couch…
It’s a right of passage experienced by every person in their 49th year: the AARP membership push.
I receive regular e-mails from Betty White, that eternal Golden Girl, beaming at me from the other side of my computer screen. “Join AARP and receive a free ‘Insulated Travel Bag’.” The implication is that, if I join AARP, maybe one day I’ll be as hip as Betty (whom I have met and, as does everyone, adore).
But should I never reach Betty’s level of hipness (and, let’s face it, who could?), I can always give up walking and start running people over in my scooter…
Hell, yeah, I’m trading in my truck for one of these right now.
Maxine and I are free-wheeling rebels… in every sense of the word…
My hair looks better than these clown’s… really, it does…
Loyal readers know that I am cheap and will only pay Supercuts to cut my hair, and that I have a bald spot and a subsequent comb-over that Bitty calls my “Zero Mostel.”
I am quite the beauty.
And, since I only get my balding hair cut every couple of months, I am prone to split ends.
So, you can imagine how pleasantly surprised I was to find that Dove® had delivered a free tube of Intensive Repair conditioner to my home. (Whoop! Whoop! Oh yeah, my cheap and handicapped-hair self did the happy dance!)
Then I tried the conditioner. Not only do I love the fragrance (fruity aroma with an oaky after-taste… no wait, that’s my chardonnay), but I also love how smooth and soft it makes my hair. (And that, truly, is saying something. Usually, it looks like I’m wearing a frizzy fright-wig.)
Perhaps my hair finally relaxed because Dove® Intensive Repair Daily Treatment Conditioner contains all this fancy stuff that (specifically MICROMOISTURE Serum and Fiber Actives) that prevents split ends and breakage. I also learned that conditioners mainly repair surface damage, but some damage lies deep inside the hair fiber.
And, let’s face it, whose hair couldn’t benefit from a little Fiber Actives and Serum?
After all, look what Dove can do for Marge Simpson’s hair…
After all, summer may be winding down, but our fun in the sun and the water has wreaked havoc on our hair. It’s time to nourish it back to beautification.
Visit dovehair.com and find the conditioner that will bring your hair back amongst the living. After all, it’s still two months until Halloween… we don’t need those fright wigs yet.
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Did the legendary Michael Jordan dread the short, yet speedy Muggsy Bogues?
Can a Labrador Retriever really be petrified of a common house fly?
I can’t answer the first question, suspect Jordan was at least annoyed by Bogues’ defensive skill, but, as for the third question, I tell you definitively: yes.
Jack T. Dog is so afraid of flies that a single fly in the house causes him to cower and hide. Under the coffee table, tucked next to the toilet in the small half-bathroom… this is where Jack goes to protect himself from his nemesis.
Perhaps this makes me a bad mommy, but his histrionic panic at the presence of one innocuous fly just makes me… laugh.
Jack T. Dog’s nemesis — the fly
Because there is something in his (admittedly) OCD doggy brain that sends him scurrying for cover when he spots one of these six-legged insects, finally I had to wonder: Is his reaction metaphorical for our lives?
Aren’t we sometimes simply beaten into an irrational fear by all the “flies” (literal and figurative) buzzing around in our brains?
Life is hard, yes, and I know sometimes my own thoughts make it that much harder. (“So-and-So looked at me funny; does she hate me?” “I didn’t get the part after that audition; do they hate me?” “That driver didn’t let me merge even though I signaled; does he hate me?”)
Jack T. Dog in happier, fly-free times
My dog’s phobia is no less real; he’s just chronically afraid of a winged, germ-carrying, bizarrely ugly arthropod. Jeez, put like that, the fly does sound pretty gross. I think I’ve just developed a new fear myself.
Last week, I went for my annual eye exam. Now, I’ve never been strong in the eyesight department (think Mr. Magoo meets Scooby Doo‘s Velma), but nearing the big 5-0 has put me in a club I did not want to be a member of.
I need tri-focals.
Progressive lenses, here I come. (At least I can say I’m getting more progressive as I age.)
Certainly, I am not the only middle-aged person to go through changing eyesight… along with changing other things.
Anyone else look everywhere for their glasses… only to find them on top of your head?
Or have readers in every room of the house as well as in your purse and car glove compartment… yet you can never find any of them?
Or try to unlock a car… only to realize it’s not yours? (Yeah, I’m not sure that all these issues have to do with purely my vision either.)
Of course, single Aging Gals and Guys can always follow Garry Shandling’s advice and look on the bright side: “I have such poor vision, I can date anybody.”
And nobody’s take on diminishing vision as we near 50 is funnier than Bill Cosby’s. Check it out: