Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Bald is Beautiful

I’ve always wanted to know what I’d look like bald, so I shaved my head.  I didn’t leave a quarter inch of follicle. I took it down to the scalp.

The first few days I was in the “I am bald” shock-phase and wore a baseball cap everywhere.  I needed time to adjust and brace myself for what friends might say.  I feared the “You look like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family” comments, though, when I think about it, Uncle Fester did have a charm and sexiness about him. 


I gradually took off my baseball cap while driving.  I’d look in the rearview mirror and see a reflection I’d never seen before.  I was tough-looking, like a recent parolee from prison.  It gave me a boost. I accelerated the gas pedal with a “don’t mess with me attitude.” 

I then started slipping off the cap while walking the neighborhood.  I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the storefront windows. Yeah, I was looking badass. 

The first thing I noticed about being bald was the chill, the cold skull. If a gentle breeze blew around my scalp I felt a chill, a tickling.  It made me rub my head. It felt good. 

I also noticed I have a nicely shaped head with hardly a bump or a valley, though there is one blood vessel that seems to be prominent just above the hairline. 

With a slight beginning of follicle growth my baldness looks like an atlas, like the map of South America. If I’m ever lost in the southern hemisphere all I’ll need is a mirror to find my way around.  And that protruding blood vessel looks a lot like Peru. 

The good bald news is I can stand tall and proud and proclaim I’m contributing to saving water during this California drought. Shower times are much shorter because I don’t shampoo, rinse, repeat, condition, and rinse.  


This bald head is here to stay… for the summer at least. As winter approaches I might need to grow it out to keep me warm… or I’ll invest in a few battery powered heated knitted hats. I’m sure I can find them online, maybe on Amazon. 

But for now… 

Bald is beautiful… and badass… and so am I.

Thursday, May 07, 2015

There’s a Homeless Man Pooping in the Bathroom!

My adventures in life continue… and today I couldn’t believe what I witnessed. 

I went to a gas station/minimart to buy gasoline.  As I was standing in line waiting my turn to pay, a woman, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, started shouting:

There’s a homeless man in the bathroom. He’s been in there a few minutes. Too long. He’s pooping in the bathroom!

All eyes turned to this relatively normal looking woman. This was no joke. She was serious. 

I can’t go in there after a homeless man poops. That’s #2, pooping, not #1. He’s pooping in the bathroom. It’s gonna smell! 

The workers in the minimart didn’t know how to respond. They looked as dumbfounded as everyone else. It was getting hysterical… as in funny and out of control. 

I’m a lady. I can’t go in there. A homeless man is pooping. I have to tinkle real bad! 

At this point she’s rocking from side to side, holding her hands over her nether region. I was suddenly afraid she might let loose with a river of pee. I slowly backed up. 

I’m a lady!  I have to tinkle!  You’ve got to help me. I can’t go in there after a homeless man poops! 

The manager of the minimart, somewhat scared, moved towards the restroom.  I don’t know if she was going to knock on the door or not, and neither did she. 

I’m a lady! I have to tinkle real bad!”

Before the manager could knock, the restroom door opened. All eyes were anticipating a homeless man… not knowing what kind of creature would emerge.

A middle-aged man in business clothes came out of the bathroom.  And to say he was surprised to see everyone staring at him is an understatement. The woman began to bellow as loud as possible. She no longer was shaking her legs and holding her nether region. 

You’re not homeless. Oh dear lord, I thought you were homeless and pooping in the bathroom. 

The poor mortified man forced a smile and without saying a word made a quick exit. 

I thought he was homeless!  

She ran into the bathroom. 

I paid for my gas.  

And as I drove home I wondered if the man really did poop or not. 

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

Locker Room Selfies

Today, like every day during the week, I went to the gym.  It began pretty uneventful. I started on the treadmill and walked 5,000 steps while watching reruns of “Roseanne.” 

After treading the treadmill I worked on my biceps and triceps.  I do confess they need a lot of work.  Sometimes when I flex in the mirror, naked, in the privacy of my own bathroom, I notice my upper arms tend to shake like human maracas.  And if I add a little bopping up and down to the rhythm of my shaking arms my man-boobs do a little dance, and my… well, use your imagination because that bounces too, but not as much as I’d like.

So after my workout I headed to the locker room. As I did I put my water bottle on the counter which is in front of the mirror. That’s when I heard a groan, a harrumph, that caught my attention. I looked to my right and saw a man in his shorts with no shirt and he was taking a selfie. I was blocking him from seeing himself in the mirror. 

Suppressing a giggle, I said an inaudible “sorry” and moved out of the way.  

While opening my locker and gathering my things I watched him through the corner of my eye. He posed like a model taking photo after photo. 

He flexed his biceps and took a selfie.

He stood sideways, breathed in, and took a selfie.

He lowered his shorts to get a line of visible pubes and took a body shot selfie. 

He rubbed his chest and took a selfie. 

Apparently he didn’t care that he was being watched by others around him. 

After taking numerous selfies, he admired himself by examining each photo. Self-satisfaction never looked so funny. 

I wanted to imitate him and take selfies of myself, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate the humor, nor would he appreciate my less than stellar biceps, triceps, and pecs. 

I wish I had taken a photo of him taking a selfie to share with you, but that wasn’t possible. There’s a “No camera phones” sign in the locker room, and I didn’t want to break any rules, nor did I want to have my nose broken if he caught me taking his photo. 

This could be me... someday...

Tomorrow I work on my chest, and I’m increasing the weights. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Snapshots from a Wanderer

I’ve been wandering lately… down the street, up the hill, across the avenue, around the boulevard, and back again just to make sure I take 10,000 steps per day to meet my daily goal for that damn Fitbit. I’m addicted and it won’t let me rest until I see it hit 10,001, and then I feel challenged to reach 11,000 then 12,000 and, well… I walk until I drop!

As I wander I notice things, and I feel the need to take a snapshot and share these snapshots with you. 

On the back window of an SUV I saw this: 
David wants a spouse to complete his family.  Must love dogs and cats, specifically Rocco and Sydney. The perfect woman might be behind him at the next red light. 

The City of Glendale has humor:
And these whimsical flower displays are perfect.  Bet you can’t look at it without smiling! 

Duck art has take over:
Quite “ducky” I say!  Quack, quack… this duck desecration opens May 15 at a theatre near you. 

Are you ready for death? 
It’s open daily and has free parking. What else could you ask for? Enter if you dare! 

Public display of affection:
I didn’t have the heart to say I see divorce in their future. Instead I yelled, “Make sure you get a pre-nup!” 

I’m not quite at 10,000 steps yet today, so I’ll be on the streets soon taking one step at a time.  

I wonder what else I might find when I wander tonight… 

Saturday, April 18, 2015

My Bologna Has a First Name…

It was French Class during my senior year of High School.  Spring had sprung and prom and graduation were coming soon. 

My acne was clearing up nicely thanks to the huge doses of prescription tetracycline and bimonthly visits to my dermatologist whose name was ironically Dr. Hamburger.  (Yes, it’s true!)

Oh, such an exciting time is a teenager’s world. 

My French teacher decided it would be a wonderful idea for the Seniors to perform popular commercials in French at the Junior High School’s upcoming Spring Assembly.

Everyone formed groups and chose a commercial to translate and perform. I teamed up with Marianne and Susan to sing the Oscar Mayer song. The popular commercial was a little boy sitting on an edge of a dock with a fishing pole singing the joys of bologna. 

In our little version I would be the boy with the fishing pole and Marianne and Susan would sit on either side of me with their own fishing poles. We would be the Bologna Trio! 

If you forgot the original commercial with the overly cute little boy here it is:


Assembly Day arrived and Marianne and Susan and I took to the stage. We began to sing: 

Ma mortadelle a une premiere nom
C’est O-S-C-A-R
Ma mortadelle a une seconde nom
C’est M-A-Y-E-R

It was at this point I made the fatal mistake of looking left to Marianne.  When I did we both realized how silly we must look and how silly we must sound and we laughed ourselves silly. We tried to continue singing… 

J’aime le manger tous les jours
et si tu demande pourquoi je dirais

And then it happened. We lost all control and fell over each other in loud silly laughter. Poor Susan soldiered on and finished the final line of the song. 

Oscar Meyer a une facon avec M-O-R-T-A-D-E-L-L-E

Sadly no one heard her sing. Marianne and I were laughing way too loud, as was the audience. 

Our French teacher wasn’t pleased, but we didn’t care, we were graduating soon. 

And that is my fondest memory of French Class Senior Year. 

Monday, April 13, 2015

Pucker Up or Bloom



Tulips.  


Two Lips.

Both are red.  

Both are Beautiful.

If you had to choose one which one would it be? 


Monday, April 06, 2015

Helen Reddy Was Right: God Is A Woman

Back in the early 70s the great Helen Reddy rose to the top of the Pop Charts with her worldwide anthem “I Am Woman.”  The poignant lyrics gave woman a powerful voice at a time when it was most needed. 

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again

When Reddy accepted her much deserved Grammy for Best Rock/Pop Vocal Performance Female she ended her acceptance speech with, “I want to thank God because She makes everything possible.” 


It was a pivotal moment in Pop Music and Pop Culture, and her statement was the water cooler conversation the following day.  In the back of everyone’s mind was the question: Could God really be a woman? 

Forty years later that probing question appears to be answered, and the answer comes from a Man of the Cloth, a Catholic Priest from Massachusetts who was dead for 48 minutes before being revived by paramedics, and he’s not afraid to say who he met while dead. 


Seventy-one year old Father John Michael O’Neal claims he went to Heaven and met God, whom he describes as a warm and comforting motherly figure.  Yes, a motherly figure.  It was a major heart attack that took him on his near death experience and I am thrilled he was revived (sent back to earth by God) to lay the God-gender question to rest once and for all. 

Now I know you naysayers might be thinking that God dressed in drag for some heavenly humor to give the newly dead priest a chuckle…  or that Father O’Neal’s near-death interrupted the weekly Heavenly Drag Show where the dead dress as living earthly divas… but you know and I know what Father O’Neal saw was the real thing. As a Catholic I was taught that Priests never lie which means Father O’Neal speaks truth when he says God is a Woman. 

So sing out Helen Reddy!  You ARE Woman, and God IS a Woman, and now all we need is a Woman President…