Here Kitty Kitty

Like most Americans, my ancestors came from Europe.  When I’m asked “what are you?” I answer Irish.  We’ve got Noonan, Seagriff, McGreavey, McThis and McThat all over the family tree.

And then there’s my father’s mother.  Minerva DuBois (pronounced Du Bwah).  Her ancestors came from Lorraine, a small town on the France/Germany border.  As a child, surrounded by so many Irish references, Irish music, corned beef, cabbage and beer, I found it exotic that my grandmother was French.

Of course the only thing I knew about the French was from watching Pepe Le Pew cartoons.

My parents didn’t share my romanticism of the French.  When we got a French Poodle they named him DuBois because it was the only French name they knew. 

Anyway, I bring up my French heritage to explain why I’m so damn hairy.  French people are known to be a hairy people.  It’s in my blood, and by the time I was eleven I sported the very unattractive unibrow and gorilla legs. 

My mother was blessed with fair Irish genes.  She has the legs of a hairless cat and has never had to take a razor to her legs. I, on the other hand, inherited the dark hairy French genes from my father’s side.  Like his dark hairy sisters. 

They were the aunts who came out from Brooklyn once or twice each summer to swim in our pool and had tufts of what looked like brillo pads sticking out the sides of their bathing suit bottoms.

My brothers and I were disgusted and snickered behind their backs.  But as I entered puberty and looked at my unibrow and hairy legs I knew that my aunts were my personal Ghosts of Christmas Future.  If I didn’t stay alert and get the proper tools, my own brillo pad wasn’t too far down the road. 

Weed Whacker

It has been a life-long battle, and I’ve used any means necessary to tame those French genes.  I’ve shaved, waxed, plucked and weed whacked.

My whole life I've had to shave my legs every one or two days.  Well, at least in the summer or at the beginning of a new relationship.  Now that I'm an AARPer the leg hair doesn't grow as fast as it used to.  I can go two weeks and have only a bit of stubble.  

But something happened a few months ago that I’m going to share with you, but don't you dare judge me!  I forgot about my leg hair.  It grows so slow and I can't see it.  Okay, so maybe it’s because I need reading glasses for everything nowadays and don't look down at my legs with my glasses on -- whatever -- I forgot all about the hair.

And then one day the phone rang as I was getting out of the shower.  I ran down the hall and felt what I can only describe as a “blowing in the wind” on my legs.  I was intrigued by this sensation.  Could it be?  Could my leg hair have grown so long that it actually moves?

So I did what any normal person would do -- I ran up and down the hallway naked a few times to test the air currents against my legs.  Then I put on my reading glasses (and a robe) and examined my legs.  Some parts were as smooth as a baby’s butt, and then there were patches of inch-long strands.  They were amazing, no wonder they blew in the breeze!  

Needless to say, I’m a bit more vigilant now.  I’ve told myself that not being able to see the hair is no excuse because I still have enough of my brain cells to understand the passing of time.

Old Sparky

In my late 30’s I had my moustache and chin hair removed by going for electrolysis treatments.  I went once a week for two years.  What you might not know is that electrolysis doesn’t always last.  You electrocute those little suckers and after two years you declare them dead.  You're wrong.  It may take a decade or more, but like little Phoenixes, they arise from the ashes – and they bring along new friends.

The Phoenix Hair Follicle Has Risen!

Years ago I saw a low budget science fiction film where a guy is electrocuted and comes back to life as a crazed monster.  That’s my facial hair.  Before I killed them with electrolysis they were soft dark brown follicles.  They have come back to life tough, black and angry.  Think 1970’s Black Panther. 

But as bad as my Black Panther hairs are, their new friends are meaner.  They are short, white and nasty.  Think Dick Cheney.  When I pluck them, they hurt me. 

I’ve gone for a wax on lunch hour and by the time I get back to my desk and look in my 10x mirror the mean little white Dicks are back, taunting me into plucking them so they can sting me.

Yesterday was a first for me.  I found hair on my face that I can only describe as

CAT WHISKERS!  

It's kind of freaking me out.  There are hairs growing in little patches on both sides of my face that if I were a cat, they would be whiskers.  Is this a cruel joke that the hair on my legs finally eases up, yet I'm becoming a cat? 

Let me tell you something, if I start sticking my ass up in the air and going "MEOW" like a cat in heat, you better all watch out!

Larry and Danny Ramos Gomez are brothers with hypertrichosis (too much hair).   A production company is working on a reality TV show featuring Larry, who is divorced, in which he will look for a new love.    MEOW!!!  Hey, ya never know.  

http://myamazingfact.blogspot.com/2009/07/8-very-hairy-people.html



… and then there’s always Pepe Le Pew ...

The Voices in my Head

http://www.lidiasitaly.com/

Voices have taken up residence in my head.  I don’t know when this happened, but they talk to me constantly.  It doesn’t bother me because I think it’s just a part of aging (or at least I hope it is). 

The only voice that concerns me is the one who talks to me while I’m cooking because she has an Italian accent.  I’m of Irish decent.  I have no idea who she is, but she sounds like Chef Lidia Bastianich.

“And now you putta the pasta ina da pot.”

ETHYL

One of my voices thinks she’s still 24 years old.  She’s mean and picks on me.  I call her Ethyl because it pisses her off.  Although I guess I really can’t blame her, the poor thing is scared and confused.  She has no idea what the hell happened.

I was having a conversation about driving, and was stunned when these words came flying out of my mouth:

“I don’t like to drive at night anymore”

Ethyl was appalled.  She yelled at me.

 “What the hell are you talking about?  I can drive from Brooklyn to the Hamptons at 1:00 on a Friday night on nothing more than Yago Sangria and a doobie.”



Aunt Annie and Yago, cira 1975

 One day after lunch a co-worker pointed out that I had a piece of food on my face.  As I looked in a mirror, removing the offending dried-on cheese, I remembered being young and seeing old people with food on their face and wondering at what age stuff like that started to happen.  And now I know -- it's 53!!

Ethyl was furious

You had dried food on your FACE!  How could you not feel that?

Hey shit happens, Ethyl.  Get over it.  When I start sneezing and pissing my pants on a daily basis you can complain.

OLD LADY

Another voice in my head is the old lady.  She tries to be helpful but she bothers the crap out of me.  At least I understand Ethyl.  Hey, I know youth, I’ve been there.  But old?  I didn’t even give her a name, I just call her Old Lady. 

My short term memory isn’t what it used to be.  If I don’t write something down right away I might forget.  Like the day I was in the bathroom and realized that I needed to buy soap.  By the time I walked the seven feet from the bathroom to the kitchen, it was completely gone.  So I did what most AARPers do – I went back into the bathroom and stood still, hoping that the thought would come back to me.

SOAP!  This is when the Old Lady takes over.  With every step I take, she whispers:

Soap soap soap soap soap soap soap soap

And soap gets written down on the grocery list.  Now if I can only remember the list when I go to the store!

My friend Joan posted a video on facebook about old people ADD.  It's funny to the AARP generation because we can relate.

A few weeks ago I got home to find a new upstairs neighbor moving in.  She introduced herself and we chatted briefly.  During those few minutes I forgot her name. 

I swallowed the embarrassment I felt for immediately forgetting her name and decided that it’s better to ask her to repeat it right then and there than to see her a month from now and have to say “hey neighbor!” because I don’t know her name. 

 “Darlene” she says.  As we continue to talk, the Old Lady whispers into my brain. 

“Darlene Darlene Darlene.  Like Darlene Violette, my comedian friend.  Darlene, Darlene, Darlene.” 

I welcomed her to the neighborhood, gave her a “just knock on my door if you need anything,” and I went inside.

Puttzing around I’m thinking that it’s nice to have another single middle aged woman in the building, and what a lovely person she seems to be.  Darlene. 

“Darlene, Darlene, Darlene – wait a minute -- is it Darlene or DOREEN?”

For the next five minutes the Old Lady debates the whole Darlene/Doreen situation. 

Yeah, well, the Old Lady still hasn't figured it out.  The good news is I haven't seen my neighbor since that day so her name hasn't been an issue. 

The bad news is that Ethyl tells me she thinks her name is Dora.  Lidia tells me "I'ma telling you, I thinka her name isa Donatella."

The Hypochondria Fairy and Doctor Shows

There’s a new doctor show coming soon to your television.  Do we really need another doctor show?  Dr. Oz and The Doctors do a good job of covering every medical condition that I never wanted to know about.

These doctor shows are a hypochondriac’s dream.   I have the Hypochondria Fairy on my shoulder.  If my fingers tingle I have Lupus.  A headache is never just a headache, it’s either a stroke or a tumor.

For years I relied on the Merck Big Book of Symptoms.  It was a huge red book with over 1000 pages, and  was so ragtag from overuse, I needed a headband to keep the pages together.

About 15 years ago on a sunny Saturday morning I woke up with a headache.  As I cleaned the house, I began to feel a bit nauseous.  I turned to my reliable book of symptoms just to make sure I wasn’t on death’s doorstep.

Nausea – check

Headache – check

Joint pain – hmm, now that you mention it -- yes, my knees hurt

What do YOU say oh great big red book of symptoms? 

BOTULISM!!!

Enter the Hypochondria Fairy, and she’s yelling in my ear: 

Of course it’s botulism, that can of pears last night tasted tinny. 

It all makes sense.  When I bend over my head feels like it’s going to explode!  The pain!  I think I have a fever.  Chills?  Oh no, I think I have chills too!  I AM on death's doorstep! 

Oh my GOD!! I HAVE BOTULISM!!!

Panicked, I drove to the local walk-in clinic.  Diagnosis:  sinus infection and a touch of a stomach virus.  He laughed at me when I told him about the tinny tasting pears.   

The virus was gone the next morning, the sinus infection cleared up a few days later, but the humilation lasted about a month.

But it was the last straw.  I knew that if I wanted to live a somewhat normal life I would have to trash my big red book of symptoms.

And all was well in Aunt Annieville … until the Devil WebMD appeared on my internet. 

The WebMD Symptoms Body
http://symptoms.webmd.com/default.htm

With the body symptom scanner, my belly ache can be one of 20 different ailments -- anything from gas to lactose intolerance.  Of course the Hypochondria Fairy thinks it’s Giardiasis! 

Giardiasis (say "jee-ar-DYE-uh-sus") is an infection of the intestines caused by the parasite Giardia lamblia.

The illness, also called giardia, is most often a problem in undeveloped countries where tap water is not safe.

The fact that I haven’t been outside the country in two years and have a Brita water filter for my own tap water means nothing to the Hypochondria Fairy, because in the United States you can also get it from drinking water out of streams, rivers and lakes. 

But with these doctor shows, I don’t need a big red book, WebMD or mayoclinic.com to unleash the Hypochondria Fairy.  All I have to do is turn on The Doctors at 9:00 a.m. and Dr. Oz at 3:00 p.m.

There may be some informative bits on these shows, but most of them are made up of scary segments that make you afraid to eat a piece of fruit or wipe your own ass.

My biggest pet peeve with these shows are the audience members.  They’re made up of mostly women who screech with such ear-piercing velocity that I can feel my brain swell.  They act like Dr. Oz is a rock star.  I yell at them:

SHUT UP!  He’s a cardiologist who discusses the color of poop on national television.  You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere! 

The audience members on The Doctors are just as bad.  They oooh and aaaah over Dr. Travis like he's a male model.  I yell at them:

SHUT UP!  He’s got ears like Hermie the Dentist!  You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere! 

And then you have that woman in the audience of The Doctors who has some sort of medical condition that she’s too embarrassed to see her physician about, yet has no problem discussing it with the four doctors on stage, the crew, the one hundred other audience members and the MILLIONS of television viewers!

And now another doctor is getting a show -- I pray we all survive!

 

To Meat or Not to Meat

No way could I be vegetarian or vegan.  Well, okay, if I found myself on a deserted island with nothing but coconuts and berries I would have no choice. 

WILSON!  WILSON!

I could live off my own fat for a month, but sooner or later I’d be channeling Tom Hanks’ character in Castaway to spear a fish for protein.

I have what I call a meat dilemma.  And television doesn’t make it easier on me.

Take Jim Perdue.  He’s got Gladys, the candy and corndog-loving chicken, who sends him e-mails.  Damn, I have human friends who can’t grasp the technology behind an e-mail message.  Jim -- how COULD you kill Gladys, you mean bastard!

But along comes a chicken parmigiana hero …… mmmmm, Gladys?  Gladys who?

I couldn't get the commercial to download here, but you can click to see Gladys, before her passing.

http://www.viddler.com/explore/commercials/videos/44/ 

The Last Time I Saw Gladys

I haven’t had a hamburger since Lisa Ling visited a slaughterhouse for the Oprah show earlier this year.  I feel good about the decision to cut down on my beef consumption.  But I know that sooner or later I’ll be eating a juicy Filet Mignon – medium rare -- with a side of garlic mashed potatoes.

I like pork products.  Once again, television has made it difficult for me to eat bacon.  If the GEICO commercial where the pig goes “weeeeeeeee” all the way home wasn’t enough, the Sweet Millions lottery commercial with little piggies sleeping on tiny bunk beds kills me!

But it's crazy logic, because I realized that although I shy away from eating beef and pork, I eat a lot of chicken – sorry Gladys.  The math?  Well I probably consume two chickens a week, whereas how long would it take for a person to consume a whole cow or pig?  A month?  Two?  I have no idea.

But I do know that I have peculiar standards when it comes to animal use.

I’ll buy a coat with a rabbit collar, but I won’t buy a fur coat.

Years ago I worked with a woman who weighed close to 400 pounds who owned a mink coat.  I wondered how many poor little mink had to die to cover her big body. 

As she got fatter she had mink pelts sewed into the sides.  From behind she looked like a bear. 

I buy leather shoes because my feet sweat in anything else, but I won’t buy a leather pocketbook.

The one thing about Lisa Ling’s slaughterhouse visit that impressed me was that they use every part of the cow.  Nothing is wasted.  So if you’re going to kill a cow for a pocketbook, at least you get a nice steak out of it. 

So imagine my horror and indignation last night when HSN was selling Sharif Couture leather totes and satchels for $284.90.  Oh, it wasn’t your usual “use the whole cow, nothing is wasted” leather.  These bags are made from

ITALIAN STINGRAY LEATHER!

 

 http://shoes-handbags.hsn.com/sharif-couture-italian-stingray-embossed-leather-tote-and-keychain_p-6199715_xp.aspx


Yes, I said Stingray as in "I swam with the stingrays in the Cayman Islands."

Annie's Stingray Adventure 2009

Everyone loves stingrays.  Well, okay everyone except for Steve Irwin.  The stingray is a majestic creature -- and is not indiginous to Italy -- SHARIF -- who apparently thinks nothing of using not only cows and snakes, but ostrich and stingrays.

GOOGLE SEARCH!!

“Stingray leather has become a new fashion statement trend in the world leather market. It brings a touch of class … Stingray skin will endure a much longer life … you need not worry about moisture damage to this handsome marine leather … clean occasionally with a damp cotton cloth.”

So, yeah, I enjoy a steak now and then.  And yes, I like my tootsies dry in a pair of cow leather shoes.  And yes, my meat dilemma is a bit screwy.

But I think that if you can’t go into your local TGIF and order a Stingray sandwich with fries, you sure as hell shouldn't be able to buy a pocketbook made out of its skin for
TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FOUR FRIGGIN DOLLARS! 

Just my humble opinion  :)

Here Comes the Judge

I was very upset when I heard that Judge Judy was rushed to the hospital yesterday.  I’m now happy to report that she is feeling well and being released today.

I didn’t always like Judge Judy.  I remember my Aunt Theresa watching the show.  I would shake my head and laugh at my silly old aunt.  I had never actually watched the show but didn't understand how a smart person like Aunt T could watch “that crap."   

My Aunt Theresa

One day last year I was on the couch watching Dr. Phil and couldn’t find the remote.  Judge Judy’s show follows, and  I was too lazy to get off my fat ass to search for the remote control.  I am now addicted to the show and adore that crazy old woman.  Aunt T, wherever you are, now I get it!

 Did you know that the bailiff's name is Petri Hawkins-Byrd?  She calls him Byrd.  I bet you think his name is Burt -- yep, me too.  Byrd has a degree in criminal justice from John Jay College, and is a real bailiff. 

When Judge Judy was offered her show in 1996, he wrote her a congratulatory note saying “if you ever need a bailiff, I still look good in a uniform.”  She called him at home to accept his proposal, and he’s been her bailiff ever since. 

The moral?  Grandma was right -- don’t underestimate a nice handwritten note.

Judge Wapner, the original People’s Court judge – the grandfather of all court shows – doesn't care for Judge Judy.  He stated:

She is a disgrace to the profession. She does things I don't think a judge should do. She tells people to shut up. She's rude. She's arrogant. She demeans people.

YES!  YES!  YES! 

That’s why we LOVE her!

Listen, if you’re a drunk and your boyfriend is a nasty, angry SOB, your kids were taken away by CPS, but your neighbor took care of your kids while you were in detox and your prince was in jail – would you go on Judge Judy and sue that neighbor for the return of a computer?

Was Judge Judy rude, arrogant and demeaning?  Of course!  She’s been on the air since 1996, you know what you’re getting yourself into!

Picture it:  you have a small claims court and someone says

"hey, I have a great idea!  Take this case to the Judge Judy show.  They’ll fly you out to California, put you up in a nice hotel, and win or lose you’ll get paid about $250, plus you get your 15 minutes of fame on t.v.”

I wouldn’t have to give it a second thought.  I’d say HELL NO!   She scares the bejeezes out of me and I don't want to go through life with people whispering behind my back:

"Look, that's the woman Judge Judy made

pee her pants on national t.v."

 

HERE COMES THE JUDGE, HERE COMES THE JUDGE

There are so many court shows on television, most suck, but some have their moments. 

Judge Lynn Toler of Divorce Court has better one-liners than Matthew Perry’s new show, Mr. Sunshine.  A man was complaining that his wife started talking to ghosts and that the ghosts told her to paint the kitchen blood red.

Judge Lynn turns to the woman and deadpans, "Mrs. Taylor are you taking decorating tips from the deceased?"

Judge Karen Mills once said to a plaintiff “you’re suing this woman for not telling you your boyfriend was a scumbag and it seems to me that you should have known your boyfriend was a scumbag.”

I wonder what Judge Wapner thinks of Judge Mills’ language!

Then there's Judge Herman Munster.  Okay, so he's really Judge Alex, but really -- I can't see the difference.

 JUDGE JUDY LITE

Judge Marilyn Milian of The People’s Court is my absolute favorite judge.  She’s one hot Latina Tamale, but won’t burn you new asshole…  unless you piss her off!

THANK YOU!   dogs who bite people. 

THANK YOU!   people who don't pay their rent. 


And a special thank you to all you stupid girls out there.  All you ladies out there with that wonderful man with no job who "deserves" that cell phone, tire rims, bail,  back child support payment money, or whatever.  Thank you for loaning him the money that he now says is a gift.

It makes me laugh and talk to you through the t.v.  I say

"Ah yes, that's some mighty expensive peen."

Keep it coming people .....