The Silly List (a registered trademark of My Fabulous 40th Birthday)

Other than the fact that these are observations I've made over the past four decades (or possibly just the last four years), this blog post has nothing to do with turning 40. Please allow me the detour to share...THE SILLY LIST.

The Silly List began a number of years ago, when my parents attended the opera for the first time and deemed it...well, silly. They weren't saying it was bad, just a little silly (to them). Thus began an ongoing mental compilation of The Silly List. Over the years, I've added to it - here are five of my top ten items on The Silly List. Again, silly's not bad, it's just silly; I have no feelings of ill will towards these inductees. Five more to come in a future installment, if you like these:

THE SILLY LIST

1. Pre-school Graduations. Four year-olds in caps and gowns - how could this not make the list?

(image: Sterni.net)

2. Twitter. Yes, there are practical uses (finding out when the cupcake truck is outside our office building) and at times it has emerged as a real news medium (the Iranian protests), but 95% of it just seems silly. I know, I'll be eating my words in the future...


3. Fruit Cozies. I know people love to knit, but does an apple really need its own sweater?


4. Paying Famous People a Lot of Money to Do Voiceovers for Animated Films. The kids have no clue, and there are so few kids' movies, we're going to go no matter who does the voices. Ray Romano isn't getting me into the theater.

(image: allmoviephoto.com)

5. Lamb Chop Ruffles. They're cute (I always want to save them to be Barbie toques) but what do they really bring to the party? At least their cousins, corn-on-the-cob holders and wine glass tags, have a function. Ruffles are pure frill. (As it turns out, after writing this, I looked it up and that's what they're actually called "frills.")


(image: tasteofhome.com)

More to come...

What Scares You?

Put me on live TV and I'm calm as can be. Stick a needle in my arm and I won't look away. Need a giant bug removed from your bathtub? I'm your gal.

But put me behind the wheel headed to a never-before navigated destination and I am a wreck. Today I had to go to Westchester for work and while I was looking forward to a change of pace, I was, to say the least, anxious about the drive.

After a bad night's sleep, I spent a half-hour before the departure studying the directions on Google Maps, taking advantage of the photo feature to try to memorize what all the key turns looked like. There were things that didn't make sense - slight right towards 9A North, then slight left to 9A south for 354 feet, then right again to 9A. FDR, Harlem River Drive, Henry Hudson, Saw Mill, Hutch,684, 22...so many names, so many numbers. The over-preparation threw me into an even more nervous state.

I can't pinpoint what it is that freaks me out the most - fear of getting lost? crashing? wasting time? finding myself in a bad neighborhood? I think it's a general sense of being out of control - on a ride (did I mention I really don't like roller coasters) that's going too fast that you can't get off.

I got myself organized before taking off - seat nice and high (I marvel at people who drive with the seat reclined - driving is definitely a lean-forward activity for me), mirrors adjusted, water available, A/C at comfortable temperature, sandals off and sensible shoes on, directions to my right. Buzz Aldrin wasn't this prepared.

But despite of or because of it all - I was about five minutes into the trip when the heart pounding got really loud, my forearms felt tingly, and my grip was loosening on the steering wheel due to my sweaty palms. I felt a Tony Soprano moment coming on...the panic attack.

Panic attack sounds so dramatic though, and I'm always a minimizer versus a maximizer. Even when she screamed all day, I'd only describe the baby as fussy, never colicky. If my head feels like it's in a vise and I can't open one eye, that's a bad headache, not a migraine.

So, we'll just call it High Anxiety, but the older I get, the higher the anxiety about this. I had to talk myself down - "you're doing great, deep breaths, oooh...it's Mariah Carey, sing along, distract yourself." And I was doing great - I am actually a very good driver with an excellent driving record (to the three shell-shocked people in the backseat during my Highway Driving Class from Driver's Ed 1987 who experienced the emergency use of the passenger side brake, I assure you I have gotten much better over the last 23 years).

I thought of nothing other than the next step in my directions and calming myself down until I hit the Saw Mill Parkway and saw the cell phone tower about which I once remarked to my husband, "what an unusual tree," and have never lived it down. (If you will recall from a previous post, I am extremely near-sighted.) That made me laugh, which made me relax, and it was smooth sailing from that point on. Ride home was a breeze too - New York City is hard to miss, it's getting out of it that I find so daunting.

I don't want to become one of those older women with self-imposed driving restrictions - "I don't do Expressways - the trucks," "I don't do bridges," "I can't go through a tunnel," "I don't drive at night," but for my own mental health, I may have to.

Photo credits: ManiacWorld.com, Funonthenet.in, TechGuy.com

Almost-40 Realization #2: What Am I Saving it For?

(Don't jump to any conclusions by the photo above...)

I have always been a saver, which I'm hoping is a bit better than being a hoarder. I've seen those hoarder episodes on Oprah, and they're not pretty. In my mind, a saver is to a hoarder what chubby is to morbidly obese.

This rainy weekend has given me the opportunity to clean up and take a hard look at all the stuff I've been saving...here are a few things I found:

1. Expired Cans of Soup and Beans. Why didn't we eat these? Maybe it was overly ambitious to think our family would whip up something with pinto beans after work one night? We've never eaten pinto beans before. Hasta la vista, pintos.

2. Bag of Kettle Chips that expired in 2007. We moved here in mid-2008. Does that mean I packed the already expired Kettle Chips and brought them here? Or worse yet, that I paid a mover to pack and carry them? Chucked 'em.

3. Convertible Victoria's Secret Bra Straps - Never Used. I don't even know what bra they go with. I certainly don't wear it. Throw them away.

OK...along with the three items above, you'll be happy to hear I also tossed "IBS for Dummies," a lot of magazines (which I donate to children's ICU waiting areas, which illustrates one of my obstacles with getting rid of things, I need to find a good home for my old stuff. If I do, it's much easier to give away), way-too-many shopping bags, and handfuls of broken kids' toys. These items were just the warm-up. Here's where I start getting in trouble...In some cases, I'm not entirely sure why I'm saving these things, but I don't seem to be able to let go.

4. Used Pregnancy Tests. This seems weird - what am I saving these for? I have the children to show as proof positive that yes, I really was pregnant. Do I need to save these (once urine-soaked) sticks? Am I going to put them in a Martha Stewart-style scrapbox and hang it on the living room wall? I don't think so. But yet, I stash them in a bag under the sink. What's wrong with me?

5. Leftover Christmas Cards. We seem to have about 50 left. If you didn't get one, let me know, I'll send it to you. I contemplated throwing them away, I really did...but it's hard to throw away pictures of your kids, right? I have decided that I will use the back of them to write notes to school - like when my daughter has permission to go to someone's house after school. Weak? Maybe?

6. Remote Control to Air Conditioner in Our Old Apartment. It seems lazy and a bit mean to just toss this, when I could mail it to the new owners who would get some use out of it. I've been saying this for eight months.

7. Domino Magazines. Anyone who knows me knows I mourned the closing of this magazine. I've heard of single copies fetching $50 on eBay - not that I'd sell even one. These are collectors' items now - can't get rid of these.

8. Bag of Colorful Lipsticks. All I wear is a light lipgloss. But you never know...

9. Gift Closet Gone Crazy. A long time ago, I started a gift closet in order to be stocked up on presents in advance, so I wouldn't be making a mad dash to the toy store before every children's birthday party or would have a bottle of Champagne in a nice bag ready to go as a hostess gift. But we live in New York City -2 toy stores and 3 liquor stores are within a few blocks; how hard is that? Now, the gift closet has stagnated - it's desperate for a clearance sale. Time to get rid of it all and start over, yet instead of tossing, I'm adding to it.

10. Old Knives. I am saving these simply because I don't know how one throws away knives without becoming accidently linked to a homocide.


Above all, I've been saving gift cards and store credits...what for? It's time to use them or lose them (as I did with the Tower Records and Fortunoff cards.) So this week, I'll be booking three free Yoga sessions, dinner at Nobu, massages at Bliss, finding something to buy at Banana Republic, Burberry, and Bloomingdale's, buying a large clam shell (odd, but I liked it) from Crate & Barrel, and using $10 off at Shutterfly (the old me would want to save it to over-order cards next Christmas).

I think I am to crap what black pants are to cat hair - I attract it. But I'm entering my 40s with a cleaner slate. No more saving it all!

Things I Don't Want For My 40th Birthday

When it comes to things I don't want for my 40th Birthday, the list could be long: I don't want wrinkles, cellulite, gray hair, and so on. But I'm talking specifically about things I DO NOT WANT AT A 40TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.

I started trolling around for images from 40th Birthday parties and inevitably, "celebrity" 40th birthdays abound.

I don't want this guy at my birthday party:


Or this gal:


But apparently, they both made Hans Dorsinville very happy at his 40th hosted by Donna Karan. Different strokes...

Another thing I do not want is for my husband to throw a party for me entitled "An Evening for Lola," when my name is not Lola.




And finally, I'll take a pass on these ladies:


They seemed to make Jamie Foxx happy at his 40th Birthday party. Either that or he's having a heart attack. He looks like Red Foxx (apparently no relation) doing his classic,"Elizabeth, I'm coming to join you!" fake heart attack on Sanford and Son.



I definitely don't want a heart attack. So no surprises, please.

Images: picapp.com, urbanmecca.net

Almost-40 Realization #1: I'm Whine Intolerant

Nearly four years ago, a few months after the birth of my second child and right as I was about to return to work after maternity leave, I started to experience stomach pains unlike anything I'd experienced before.

It was a pervasive ache, running the full length of the stomach, piercing through to the back, and accompanied by a sudden tenderness around the rib cage. And there was no relief - not Tums, not Zantac, not Prevacid, not Alka-Seltzer. I felt like I was in digestive purgatory and in major need of a nap.

When I consulted my doctor (okay, that's a bit of a stretch, because I will admit that I don't have a primary care physician, just an OBGYN) she said that it's not infrequent for gallbladders to act up after having a baby, so off I went for a sonogram. All clear.

As the months and then years went by, the stomach aches continued, off and on. I had an endoscopy (how cool is anesthesia? I was fascinated that one minute I was counting backwards from 10 and the next I was in the recovery room) and some kind of body scan that required downing 2 vile liters of Barium Something Or Other (not so cool although I still have the complimentary tin of feel-better mints from NYU Hospital) and everything, thank goodness, came up negative.

It seemed that the occasional bout of Rot Gut (my technical term) was my destiny.

It wasn't until Spring Break last year - three years after my first bout -- that a diagnosis came. And I didn't need a primary care physician, a gastroenterologist, or a sonogram technician to figure it out -- it was my husband. Day 4 with the kids was also Day 4 of consistent Rot Gut and it was then and there that my husband had the lightbulb moment - it's not an ulcer, it's not your gallbladder, it's not a muscle pull, IT'S THE KIDS.

Some people are wheat intolerant, some are lactose intolerant, I am whine intolerant. Every whine, every unreasonable harrumph and every eye roll is like another knife in the gut. Sometimes even happy shrieks can aggravate an already irritated system.

But while you can make gluten-free cookies and switch to Spelt bread, or pick up Lactaid in place of your usual 1%, you cannot get whine-free kids. So, I continue to suffer quietly, but as I get older and see others struggling with far greater health issues, I can endure the occasional Rot Gut with the great peace of mind that...it's only the kids.

(image from Kikoshouse.blogspot.com)

Fab 40 Definition # 42: Forty-tude

Forty-tude (for-tee-tud)noun: a certain attitude that women (and some men) rarely acquire before their fortieth birthday.

Do you have forty-tude yet? If you find yourself saying any of the following, you might:

- "I don't really give a shit what (you, she, he) think(s)"
- "What are they gonna do? Fire me?"
- "No. I can't be the Benefit chair/bake 12 dozen cupcakes/attend another meeting I don't want to go to/travel 10 hours in holiday traffic to see my in-laws."

Forty-tude is about finally getting your priorities straight and saying, I'm not going to spend one more minute doing things solely because someone else wants me to do them and I feel obligated.

Forty-tude is life, your way...with a few compromises thrown in, but not too many.

Do you have forty-tude? Sometimes? Always? Never?

Fab 40 Definition #14: Howdy Doody Lines

Howdy Doody Lines How-dee du-dee linz (noun): lines leading from the nose to the outer corner of the mouth that appear so deep that they make the mouth and chin look like a separate entity, much like famed dummy (is that the PC term for this kind of puppet or is it like saying midget instead of little person?), Howdy Doody.

Since I was in my early twenties, I've always regarded Howdy Doody lines as the true giveaway of a woman's age. Women in their twenties don't have Howdy Doody lines - their skin is soft with just the faintest shadow of a line leading from nose to mouth. This is why they're still carded at bars.

Women of a certain age develop Howdy Doody lines -- not just lines, but deep crevices that don't go away...or do they?

The medical term for Howdy Doody lines is the nasal labial folds. Everyone has them, but when they start looking like permanent parentheses, you Google what they're really called and what you could do about them. It turns out...a lot.

So far, I'm too chicken to do anything that involves injecting botulism into my body, sloughing off my skin with chemicals that leave me red and raw, or buying a cream that costs over $100 for a few ounces. But I'm not saying never.

Until that day comes, lines add a little character; that Howdy Doody was quite a character, right?

(Photo credit: from www.fiftiesweb.com)

Fab 40 Definition #1: Pfeifferize

Pfeifferize fi-fer-ize (verb): 1. The act of getting increasingly better looking with age, like Michelle Pfeiffer.

The best possible benefit of turning 40 is Pfeifferizing. It doesn't happen to everyone, but you'll know it's happening to you if your once round face starts to give way to cheekbones -- sultry, sophisticated cheekbones. If your eyes sparkle with a little more confidence...you're probably Pfeifferizing.

Check out this then and now of Michelle Pfeiffer here.

Other well-known people who have Pfeifferized include Katie Couric, Sela Ward, Tom Cruise, George Clooney. Even Oprah has Pfeifferized.

It's the luck of the draw, those who Pfeifferize and those who don't. For those who do, it makes for a Pfabulous Pfortieth.


*photo from InStyle.com