Hello Hotties! Long time, no posts. The past few months have presented numerous challenges and changes which have kept me absent from the Hip to be Hot site, but I’m back and happy to be here.

In my last post I had shared my desire to find the Fountain of Youth by the road less traveled and I continue to plot my course. I have become very interested (okay, more so obsessed) in alternative skin care regimens involving homemade products and despite the wackiness of some of the things I have stumbled upon I am willing to give them a try at least once. So recently when I spied a post on FB from a male friend which mentioned an older client of his who looked considerably younger than her physical age my curiosity was peeked. He posted that this woman confessed to him the secret to her youthful appearance was something odd she applied to her face a few times a week for approximately 10 minutes and asked his FB friends if they could guess what that was. Numerous people commented and I anxiously waited to find out the results. It was hours later before he finally came back and typed the words Elmer’s Glue. ELMER’S GLUE??? What, Why, HOW??? I attempted to get more information, but he had none. Now how one hears something like this from someone and doesn’t press them for further details would be beyond me, but then again he’s A. male and B. has lots of facial hair so I could see why this was not of importance to him. I, on the other hand was beyond intrigued and immediately attempted to type all kinds of searches on Google where I continually came up empty handed.

Weeks later my curiosity remained heightened and I finally took my search to Youtube where I was amazed to find numerous videos featuring Elmer’s Glue as a DIY facial. Most of them highlighted the fact that doing this was similar and much cheaper to using one of those facial strips meant to remove blackheads. I didn’t believe I had any of those, but I figured if it could remove blackheads it would be a good pore cleanse and worth further investigation.

I clicked on the top ranked video to find a girl who appeared to be closer in age to a child who would be eating paste than to a woman who would be using it in an attempt to combat the signs of aging and silently questioned my (and her) sanity, but pressed the play button anyway. Game On! Now to find some Elmer’s Glue…

I don’t know if glue has an expiration date, I couldn’t find one and honestly couldn’t remember the last time I would have needed to purchase any as my youngest is 18 years old. I found a bottle tucked away in one of the kitchen cabinets. It looked okay, so I took the bottle in to the bathroom with me and prepared my face by giving it a good cleansing and applying a warm washcloth in an effort to open up my pores. Face dried, I unscrewed the cap and got ready to dispense the glue on to my fingers. OK, I’ll admit it; at this point I hesitated and slightly winced at the idea of purposely putting glue on my face. I’ll spare you the ugly details, but this would not be the first time in my life that I would have glue on my face. Let’s just say in my younger days (much younger) there may have been a slightly traumatic ordeal involving crazy glue. Again, I will spare you the details, but as a public service announcement I will say this….never, and I do mean never attempt to take a stuck lid off of a crazy glue bottle by using your teeth. OK, back to my facial.

The instructions are easy enough as exhibited by my young video friend…apply a fairly thick layer of glue to the areas of your face where you need it and then let dry. Now, during her video she provided entertaining things one could do while waiting on the glue to dry…everything from singing in to a fan (remember when we did that?…you did do that…didn’t you?) to going out in to her backyard dancing around to a Bieber tune. For me, the perfect way to pass the time was to pour myself a glass of wine and just relax. Before long I could feel the tightening effects as the glue began to dry. Moment by moment my face began to feel as though it was becoming like one of those shrunken apples and I suddenly realized that the skin around my mouth was becoming so tight that in opening and closing my lips I must have resembled a gold fish. I panicked realizing that this could have negative consequences on my ability to enjoy my glass of wine and began frantically searching for a bendable straw. Crisis averted thanks to a found box of straws in the pantry…I slowly slipped my wine and drifted in thought when the doorbell rang. SERIOUSLY??? I slowly made my way to a window where I had hoped to glance out undetected to find what appeared to be some women in search of God…I don’t know what makes them think he hides out here, but I ignored them long enough and they finally turned away. It occurred to me later that I missed out on a great opportunity to assure they never ring the bell again…but hindsight is 20/20. I laughed to myself because that was all I could do…I couldn’t get a facial expression if I tried. In fact, for the first time in my life I can honestly say I now know what it ‘FEELS LIKE’ to be Joan Rivers.

I probably kept the glue on about 15 to 20 minutes and then it was the moment of truth and the moment to peel off the dried glue. Let’s see the word I am looking for to describe what that felt like most accurately…OUCH! I have to be honest…it hurt. Not like being waxed, but if you’ve ever had to take a bandaid off of a spot on your body where there was any body hair at all…you know the sensation. I peeled slowly and was grateful to find the glue came off in one fairly large piece. All that was left to do was wash away any residue, splash some cold water to close off the pores and apply some moisturizer.

I looked in the mirror and was greeted with a rosy complexion which looked clean, clear and smoother. My skin felt like silk and I was sold. I tucked the bottle of Elmer’s Glue away in a bathroom cabinet where it will now find a new purpose long after its days of having transformed old cigar boxes with macaroni and turn small handprints traced and cut from construction paper in to Thanksgiving Turkey décor. Who knew?
Based on the Hip to Be Hot rating system I give this experience a Hot Yes rating!

Side Note: If you think drinking wine from a straw is unacceptable, might I suggest a bloody mary?
You WILL want to secure your hair back with elastic.
You will NOT want to do this if your nose is sniffly….tissues and glue do not mix.
Scaring off solicitors is optional, but highly recommended.
There’s more on the way…stay tuned and let me know if you decide to give the glue a go.

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I wasn’t always a closet Scrooge. I like most everyone loved the holidays and then I grew up and had a family of my own. Being the oldest daughter of an Italian family this transcends to the fact that EVERYONE and I do mean EVERYONE will be coming to your house for the festivities. Not just your relatives, but friends of those relatives and anyone who does not have special plans for the day will be given an invitation because of course we have room and there’s going to be plenty to eat…and why will there be plenty to eat? Because we’re Italians damn it and despite the fact we owned a restaurant most of my upbringing…the one thing we truly loved to do on our few days off during the year was to cook.
I once confessed to a dear older friend that my favorite time of the holiday gatherings was when everyone went home. Getting them all out of the house was a fairly easy task…nothing like a kitchen full of dirty dishes to send them all scrambling for the exit. I would get my own family off to bed and sit in the near darkness with just the last flickering lights from the candles on the table(s) with a glass of wine and a huge sigh of relief that it was over and my thoughts would turn to the idea of a more enjoyable holiday the next year. One Christmas night my husband woke and found me still sitting at the table with tears in my eyes. He asked what was wrong and I told him of my disappointment of the day. I went on and on about how I worked so hard to give our children the perfect holiday…the holiday of my youth…the décor, the dinner, and the memories of perfection that I had and I’ll never forget his response to me. “The children will never miss what they never had.” WHAT??? “Those are your memories…they are not theirs…to them this is the perfect holiday and they love it and they love you for what you have done.” To say I cried like a baby with that realization would be an understatement…he was right. I was so busy attempting the ‘Norman Rockwell’ Christmas (Thanksgiving, Easter, etc.) that in all my craziness to make it fabulous, I didn’t get to enjoy it.
A couple of years ago after another ‘failed attempt’ at perfection…I googled my old friend Mr. Rockwell and was shocked to discover the following. He divorced his first wife. He suffered depression. His second wife ended up in a psychiatric hospital and he himself received psychiatric treatment from the well-known Erik Erikson. Erikson is said to have told the artist that he painted his happiness, but he did not live it. WHOA!
All of a sudden…I was met with numerous flashbacks from the holidays. Here are just a few highlights because truthfully I could fill a book of holiday mishaps… There was the year that everything we bought for our son Ryan…and I do mean EVERY THING didn’t work. Oh, I take that back…the one thing that didn’t require batteries…the whiffle ball and bat worked just fine until the second time he hit the ball and it wound up on the roof…game over. There were the paramedics…twice…don’t ask. And probably my favorite…the year I had my husband’s family down visiting and just moments before the dinner was to come out of the oven, I inserted the thermometer in to the ham and it broke…spilling poisonous mercury in to what would have been my perfect ham. As we sat at the table, my youngest one decided we should all take a moment to give thanks. The older two children could barely hide their laughter at their younger brother’s suggestion. One by one we obliged to speak why we were thankful and then it got to Ryan…his speech….”I’m grateful God that Mom didn’t ruin the turkey too!” Possibly a payback for the year mom shopped Misfit toys.com? It was on that occasion that I perfected the Italian eyes of death stare that went completely unnoticeable due to the overwhelming laughter from the grandparents and great grandma.
Besides flashbacks of our own holidays as a family…I had numerous ones from my youth…the youth of perfect Norman Rockwell holidays and then I realized…despite all the warm, fuzzy memories there was the yearly spillage of red wine on my grandmother’s pristine starched white tablecloth. There was the time she forgot to slit the chestnuts and fat, old Italian women were engaged in some kind of espionage attempting to stop, drop and roll their way to defuse the situation while sounds of ‘machine gun fire’ and smoke poured from the oven. AND the time poor Aunt Rachael (the strangest of the relatives…to us kids anyway; as she never learned to speak a word of English and felt it necessary to pinch our cheeks and twist with every drawn out syllable) got a fig stuck in her mouth at the dinner table and in an attempt to free it pulled out her entire set of dentures. To this very day I can still hear the laughter that ensued and recall one of the deadliest Italian eyes of death from my grandmother who was beside herself that we would disrespect an elder but despite her best attempts to quiet us…how could we when Grandpa was laughing harder than any of us? “Flo, relax è perfetto” In other words…all I can remember…are the perfect imperfections.
Once there was some kind of an historic comet coming…one we would only see every two hundred plus years. I got up around 3 a.m. I gathered a couple of lawn chairs from the garage…went in to the kitchen to make two mugs of hot chocolate and then went to my youngest child’s room and woke him. We made our way out in to the cold dark night settled in our chairs and looked up only to find a sky filled with thick, dark clouds. In all my excitement and planning it never occurred to me to check the weather forecast for the evening. Completely disappointed and deflated, I turned to my son to apologize…he took a sip of his hot chocolate and said…it’s okay momma…we’re making a memory.
And so…in conclusion…that’s what I most want to share. Something this holiday season will be broken, burned or spilled. Don’t stress…you didn’t make a mess…you made a memory! You too can have a Norman Rockwell holiday…all it takes it a little insanity and a little imperfection. Happy Holidays friends

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It was not an easy trip. It required our leaving our home at 4a.m. in a mad dash to drive 10.5 hours to her home in PA. We had little time to prepare ourselves and we all worked feverishly to tie up loose ends to allow ourselves the capability to get there in time for her viewing. Our initial plan was to get ourselves back on the road immediately after her funeral services to drive the additional 10.5 hours so that we could return to our crazy rat race of a life. Thankfully, we chose to spend an additional day which allowed us the opportunity to spend some time visiting the property where she had lived and time to relax and reconnect with family members we now only seem to see at weddings and funerals.

Upon our return home last night I did as I have done for years…I turned on my computer. It was time to get back to life and in that moment, it occurred to me that what I was getting back to was technology and stress. I immediately found myself becoming agitated and with that, I reached for the off button vowing to deal with it all in the morning.

This morning as I sat out on my patio enjoying a cup of coffee in the cool autumn air I found myself reflecting on my to-do list for the day. And this is what spilled forth…

I have especially in the past few years found myself living a very busy life, when in fact I now see that all I have been doing is living busy. I beat myself up over all I could and should be doing in my pursuit of happiness and yet, I don’t even know where that concept of ‘happiness’ came to be. Is it really my desire or is it the desire to be successful in the eyes of someone else? I chase after the trappings of belongings as if owning them defines me. I fuss over the weeds in the garden and never notice the beauty of the flowers. I get up every day working on that ‘thing’ which will surely bring me happiness tomorrow and then tomorrow becomes today and the cycle starts anew.

I watched the people spill in to that funeral home. I saw many older couples who had been together in this world for 50 plus years still holding hands and helping one another to walk. I watched them both cry and laugh over precious memories of times spent together. I realized that all of them have experienced difficulties in their lives and yet, somehow there they were still supporting and caring for one another and committed to the love they vowed.

I enjoyed the stories amongst the numerous cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles of simpler times and pleasures of sitting on the front porch swing or playing in the creek that ran through Grandmother’s yard. None of the stories were attached to an object or a technology, but rather a scent, a taste, a feeling.

I realized over that cup of coffee that just a few days ago I was completely stressed out over things which now don’t seem to hold any importance. Yes, there are still things I want to do and ways I want to succeed, but the prize has changed. In reinventing myself I want to revisit myself and be okay with what makes me feel successful. Today, I want to put on an apron and cook a large homemade meal. I want to tie out a clothesline and hang my bed sheets out and take pleasure in watching them blow in the breeze and dry in the sun. And tonight I want to crawl into those fresh smelling sheets and smile knowing that today was one of the most ‘successful’ days I have enjoyed in a long while.

I will remind myself over and over again that in order to propel something forward…it must be pulled back to launch…how grateful I am for having to go ‘back home’ to receive this gift. Thank you Grandma. You have reminded me of the type of woman I want to be when I grow up. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have some sheets to wash.

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From the you couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried category of my life. A true story…

A couple of days ago I awoke with a pain in my stomach. As the day progressed it got worse and by mid-day I was humped over like an 80 year old woman unable to stand straight due to the excruciating pain. I finally gave in and headed for the medicine cabinet where I found a bottle of the ‘pink stuff’.

I immediately poured out two caplets and proceeded to chew them. UGG! How horrible! I raced to the sink to pour myself a glass of water wondering how they could make something taste so bad. While drinking the water at rapid speed I turned to pick up the bottle to read the label and of course found I couldn’t read the print. I raced to my purse to find a pair of cheaters, returned to the bottle on the counter and found the following instructions…SWALLOW WITH WATER, DO NOT CHEW. Well GREAT! I consoled my half blind, painful self by reasoning the chewed caplets would work more quickly as they wouldn’t need the time to dissolve. I know…poor reasoning, but I was desperate to redeem my stupidity.

A couple of hours later, when I had experienced little relief, I went back to the bottle of pink stuff and followed directions. Placing the first caplet in my mouth, I went to wash it back with my glass of water and the water went down the wrong way…next thing I knew I was choking. Tears running down my face as I attempted to force even more water down my throat to dislodge the pill that had become stuck…my obituary flashed before my eyes. I wondered if the obit editor would give it the following headline: Death By Pepto…Woman’s ‘BISMOL’ End. Hey…if I was going to die such a pathetic death, I had at least hoped the headline would be fabulous.

The pain never subsided so I took to any and all home remedies I could think of; everything from drinking apple cider vinegar in cups of warm water to forcing down a horrid cup of peppermint tea. I crawled in to bed extra early that night in a near fetal position praying tomorrow would be better. BETTER???

Late the following afternoon my son called as he and my husband were making their way home from work. He asked how I was feeling and said Dad would stop at the store if there was anything I needed. I told him to tell his dad I needed some Mylanta. My son didn’t understand what I was saying so I told him to just have his dad call when they arrived at the store.

As directed, the husband called from the pharmacy aisle of the grocery store. ‘I don’t see any Mylanta in liquid form…they have it in pills.’ The last thing I wanted was another pill incident so I told him to find me some Milk of Magnesia. Don’t ask me why I said that…honestly, I haven’t a clue. I remember my mom always had Milk of Magnesia in the medicine chest so I just assumed….

Moments after they came through the door I ran to that bottle and poured myself a large shot of YUCK and sat myself down in front of the television to watch a football game as I prepared for the relief I just knew was moments away.

I waited, and I waited and soon I could feel my stomach getting a bit rumbley and assumed I was on the road to healing. When a couple of hours passed I decided to knock back another medicine cupful.

I sat back down to watch the game, but I didn’t sit long (well not on the couch anyway). Let’s just say I spent more time heading to the end zone then the entire SEC conference. I bet I went for a game time high of 195 yards back and forth to the powder room. After about my 4th 3 yard dash I had a flashback to an old commercial of Milk of Magnesia. In an absolute panic I ran to the bottle on the kitchen counter…attempted to once again read a label that I couldn’t and frantically set out in search of those cheaters. Even with the cheaters it took me a while to find the words ‘relieves occasional constipation.’

I walked upstairs looked at my husband and said, “Did you know Milk of Magnesia was for constipation?” He quickly defended himself saying he did as I told him to and no he was not aware of that fact.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details of my very long, late evening. Fast forward to this morning where I was out having coffee on the patio when my husband appeared…

“So how are you feeling this morning?”
‘Like I could be cleared to have a colonoscopy.’
“Oh, is it that bad…I’m sorry, but you told me to get it for you.”
‘It’s OK, I heard a colon cleanse is good for you.’
“Do you think it cleaned out your colon?”
‘Are you kidding me…I have cleaned out everything between my bum and my tear ducts…I doubt I’ll be able to produce a tear for weeks, I probably lost 3 pounds and I’m just waiting to drop a viable organ out my backside.’
I give him credit for his stoic attempt to keep from laughing, but when I had to admit to taking 2 large doses his best attempt was foiled. He quickly headed for the nearest exit, but I could still hear him chuckling.

I reached for my reading glasses once again to revisit that M.O.M bottle. Adding insult to injury…I found the following warning (far too late however) do not exceed the maximum recommended daily dose in a 24 hour period. So what is the daily dose? Let’s just say about 4 to 6 tablespoons less than what I consumed.

I am feeling better, but not confident to wander far from the home field just yet. When I do however, my first order of business will be to head over to the Dollar Store and stock up on reading glasses for every room in the house including the pantry (don’t ask…that would take another page and a sad confession). My next order of business will be to get to work on that obit…
HIS not mine…because if he chuckles just once more…I’m going to kill him!

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The following are true forget me not moments. To protect the innocent and the hormonal, the names of the participants have not been shared.

Case #1 Groceries in Trunk
A friend of mine had gone to the freezer one evening to get some ice cream to feed her craving. She searched for the ice cream that she knew she had just bought a couple of days earlier. When she couldn’t find it she became quite angry. Having a house filled with young adults she assumed they had found the ice cream and being the selfish, empty pits they were, consumed the entire tub. Angry, and still hungry for a sweet fix, she then remembered the cookies she had bought. She headed for the pantry only to find that they too were missing. Her anger now raging she decided to head off to the grocery store fuming the entire drive. Taking a cart, she proceeded to fill it with a variety of junk food while allowing her jangled nerves to calm down. She finished up her shopping, paid for her groceries and walked to her car. She popped open the trunk and found the bags of groceries from her earlier shopping trip, melted ice cream and all. GUILTY: By Reason of Mental-Pause

Case #2 Lost Car Keys
A group of women had gathered at a fun night spot downtown to celebrate one of the woman’s birthdays. After a couple of hours of laughing and dining, it was getting late and everyone was gathering up their belongings to head home. One of the women became quite distraught when she couldn’t find her car keys. Everyone began helping to search for the keys. She emptied her pockets and her purse and sure enough, there were no keys to be found. Eventually one of the women in the group offered to take her to her car thinking that quite possibly she had left them there. Where did you park she asked? Oh, I didn’t park, I used the valet. GUILTY: By Reason of Mental-Pause.

Case#3 Maam’ Will You be Purchasing That Sweater?
A friend was in the dressing room trying on clothes when her cell phone rang. It was someone from her office who needed some assistance so they chatted for a short while. Upon finishing up the conversation, she left the dressing room with some items she had decided to buy. She continued to walk around the store for a while doing additional shopping and then finally decided to call it a day. She stood in line waiting on the next available register. She proceeded to the cashier who was happily ringing up her purchases. When the cashier had gotten to the last item on the counter, my friend proceeded to present her credit card of which she was going to swipe in the terminal. The cashier, looking a bit uncomfortable, leaned closer to her and quietly asked, Maam were you planning on purchasing that sweater as well today? My friend looked down at herself and was horrified to find that she had never taken off the sweater she had been trying on in the dressing room earlier when she answered her phone. She had been walking around the store for at least an additional hour wearing it tags and all and never noticed. The cashier handed her a scissor so she could cut the tag and then scanned the purchase. My friend left the store immediately, leaving her original top back in the dressing room because she was too embarrassed to go retrieve it. GUILTY: By Reason of Mental-Pause

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Hot flashes aren’t symptoms-they’re a way of life down south. We have 100 percent humidity so we are very experienced in dealing with ‘the vapors’ from an early age.

Southern women are well versed in the use of a fan. Watch a well-seasoned southern gal with a hand fan and she will actually charm you with her ability to fan her glistening self. It’s an art form.

We get 9 months of Air Conditioning.

Iced Tea is served 12 months out of the year.

Ceiling Fans…we love our ceiling fans so much we even have them on our porches.

Memory lapses are no big deal as we only have to remember two first names…Honey and Sugar and the bonus is they are inter changeable and non gender specific.

We Don’t Do Panty Hose Down South.

“Bless Your Heart” is the be all, do all, Southern way of telling someone off while maintaining a smile.

When truly agitated we can channel our favorite Southern Gentleman and simply state, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

And lastly…the South burned once and it rose again…so shall we!

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Keep me from going completely insane
As my youthful appearance withers and wanes
Greeting each symptom with dignity and grace
Accepting with compassion the wrinkles on my face.

I pray that you keep my boobs from sagging
Lift up my spirits when they are dragging
Lesson the mood swings and hot flashes so severe
Take mercy on my waist line and on my derriere.

And as you provide me all that I’m requesting
For my hormonal girlfriends… grant them these same blessings.
Amen

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Bravo Nora…and Godspeed. I HATE my neck too and my aging skin, my failing eyesight, my foggy memory and my new found gray highlights. OH…and while we’re at it….I hate my insomnia, I hate my droopy underarms, my sagging derriere and the bags under my eyes that might possibly challenge South West Airlines Bags Fly Free Policy. I hate that I have to write a list for every trip to the grocery store even those that only involve the need to pick up milk. I hate while at the grocery store I catch myself putting my purse in the spot previously held by one of my children many years ago. Who puts their purse in the cart? Seriously…look around and you will find only OLD women do that and when did I become incapable of holding my own purse? OH yeah…at about the same time that I developed the need to write lists and then I have to hoist my purse in the cart so I can dig through it in a feverish attempt to find said list.

I hate my feet. Who gave them permission to reject my high heel shoes? AND further more…I’m not too pleased with my significant other who will say to me as we are getting ready to leave the house for the evening…don’t you think your such and such shoes would look better? ‘OH…you mean the ones that now cut off my circulation?’ This from a man who has never had to endure physical pain in an attempt to look good? The worst pain he’s suffered is a run in with his razor on his chin…try shaving your bikini line sweet cheeks and then we’ll chat. And back to the whole shoe thing…here’s a rhyme for grown up women…This little piggy went to the theater…this little piggy wished she’d stayed home. This little piggy had an excruciating toe cramp…this little piggy felt numb. AND this little piggy cried ouch, ouch, ouch…all the way to the parking garage where she promptly threw off her heels and walked over God knows what in an effort to get to the car where she immediately broke off all relationships with said shoes and threw them in the back seat never to be worn again.

You know what I hate the most…I HATE that we women can’t ever be happy and satisfied with who we are; what we look like and be at peace with the fabulous beings we are. Andy Rooney (another recent RIP) did an awesome piece on mature women http://www.connectingsingles.com/forum_0_790_1/mature_women_by_andy_rooney.htm Unfortunately; it came from Andy Rooney…if only George Clooney said it…we might own it!

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