In February over 400 people attended a fund raiser at the Playboy mansion.Over 100 of them developed a respiratory illness, including fever and headache.
"It is scary everyone came down with the same thing at the same time," says one participant. "It knocked me off my feet for five days," says another. "I'm over it now, but I'm still feeling fatigue, which is not a good thing."
Perhaps it’s the fog machine on the dance floor, they said. I tend to agree:
Yep, that's what it is -- the fog machine. I’ve been to parties with fog machines
and I’ve needed to use my asthma inhaler – Stupid fog machines!
Two months later, epidemiologists can now confirm that it was a milder form of Legionnaires’ disease known as Pontiac disease.The culprit?
Vapors from the hot tub at the Playboy mansion.
Do I hear a collective “ewwwwwwwwwww”???
What's Up Doc? I have Legionnaire's Disease, that's what's up!
Legionnaires' disease acquired its name in July 1976 when an outbreak of pneumonia occurred among people attending a convention at a hotel.
INDOORS!
What kind of God-awful thing was brewing in the Playboy hot tub that was so potent it infected people milling around the grounds – OUTDOORS!?
Even BigFoot can figure out Dirty Bunny Pish Soup
I’ve sat poolside on cruise ships and watched people plop themselves into the hot tub. When they exit others willingly take their place.Young, old, skinny, fat, black, white – and all those skin cells are sloughing off into the hot water.
You really don't know whose in that human bouillabaisse with you. Does that man have a festering boil on his ass? Does that woman have a yeast infection? You really don't know, do you?
How most people view Hot Tubs
How Aunt Annie sees Hot Tubs
If Legionnaires’ disease isn’t enough to keep you out of a hot tub, how about Folliculitis?It’s an infection caused by bacteria that survives in hot tubs.
First you get an itchy, bumpy, red rash; and then the bumps can turn into dark red, tender nodules. Oh yeah, and the bumps may fill with pus!
And of course, you could always find yourself in a hot tub with this girl
Facebook is being used by Old Farts to reconnect with Old Flames.According to Newsers.com, there’s a term for the trend – Retrosexuals.
There are sweet stories about people finding lost loves through the social network like a woman in Chicago who found the first boy she ever kissed after 22 years.They began dating, fell in love and got married.
Call me cynical, but I think the majority of retrosexual stories are of the sordid type.Adultery is nothing new.
Remember the 1998 movie “You’ve Got Mail?”AOL was all the rage back in the 90’s because it was one of the first internet sites that “regular people” could access easily.I opened my AOL account in 1994.
Email was one thing – the chat rooms were something else entirely.You could find people to talk to at any time, day or night.You could chat about any subject in the comfort of your own home, anonymously.It didn’t matter if you were into quilting or devil worship – you could find likeminded people.
But the truth is, most of the chat rooms were filled with men and women flirting with each other.
I commuted daily on the LIRR with George, a very nice, mild-mannered man. He told me his wife was so obsessed with “those darn chat rooms” his family life had become a nightmare where he got off the train at 7:00 and had to tend to his two children, do the housework, and make his own dinner.
One Saturday morning while George was at work, his wife took a plane to Cleveland to shack up with a chat room buddy.George was devastated, she was apologetic, and the chat room obsession was addressed in couples counseling.I stopped commuting about a month later, so I don’t know if the marriage survived.
Before technology it was the high school reunion.You go to your 20 year reunion, have a few martinis, and that guy you drooled over in high school is telling you how beautiful you are and of course he remembers you -- he was just too shy back then to approach you.Your husband is home in Topeka.What the hell … whose it gonna hurt?
Cue the chicka bow-wow porn music
(or watch this funny commercial if you don't know how porn music sounds)
Brooklyn
I guess before reunions it was going back to the old neighborhood and asking Mrs. Rossini “how’s your beautiful daughter Angela doing?Tell her hello for me.”When Mama Rossini gives poor unhappily married Angela your message, she tracks you down.A few months and a few quickies later her jealous husband tracks you down, shoots and kills you.
Mrs. Rossini from "Whose the Boss"
W. Keith Campbell, a psychology professor at the University of Georgia:
“You get a thrill out of finding an old girlfriend just to see if she still likes you. You're curious to see what she looks like, and it's easy to fantasize about alternative courses your life might have taken.”
Ah yes, “if only” and “what if” -- I know them well.
And, of course, the most famous trio:
“shoulda woulda coulda.”
We make choices in life.A lot of them suck. If the decision is marriage to the wrong partner, tough shit.You either suck it up and make it work or get a divorce.
Adultery is not the answer – oh, and neither is murder, you usually get caught!
So imagine my disgust when I got a phone call from someone that I used to love.Good song -- “Someone that I Used to Love.” I linked it if you want to listen.
Anyway, I’ll call this man Roy because Roy Biggins was the obnoxious fat guy on the television show Wings.I wouldn’t do Roy with YOUR or your mother’s cho-cha!
I’ve already posted on this blog how much I hate the phone.Roy is an Old Fart who doesn’t use computers, so he needs a phone to connect with an Old Flame.
Background:Roy was good looking when I was in my 30’s.We shared some good times, lots of laughs.Then out of the blue he knocks up a chick and marries her.A mutual friend has kept me up to date on Roy’s lousy marriage and 20 years of hard drinking, not because I care, but because we’re gossiping Yentas.I’ve seen a picture of Roy’s alcohol-bloated face.
In my opinion, Roy is living out his major life choice and I escaped a bullet.
THE CONVERSATION
Hey ... do you know who this is?
You always know you’re in trouble with the “guess who it is ” phone call.
It’s Roy, I was hanging out with Joe and Brian this past weekend and
your name came up.How are you?
Um … wow, I’m okay. Wow ... how are you?
Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah
Listen I was thinking, maybe I could come out there and take you to lunch.
What I said:
Well, I’m really busy looking for work, and I don’t know what my schedule is going to be like, polite blah, polite blah, polite blah, yeah sure, you can try me again next week ...
What I should have said:
Are you kidding me? You call me after twenty years just to take me to lunch?
Take your friggin wifeout to lunch.
You get a twitch in your peen thinking about the good old days and you call me? You don't have even have the decency to send me an email!
I know what you have on your mind you big old bloated cheating bastard – I’m on the internet! I know all about Retrosexuals!
He hasn't called, so perhaps he picked up on my vibes. Then again, maybe he found some other Drunken Old Flame’s cho-cha to reconnect with.
Blah is all I heard until he got to the real reason for the call.
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 seethe 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.
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."
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.
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!
