Marrying George Clooney

okay so here i am standing in front of the bathroom vanity mirror at around midnight, and i find a few new tiny lines that i hadn’t noticed a few nights before. my husband tells me they’re laugh lines. i tell him to fuck himself. that ends that conversation. but truthfully, honestly, ken likes my face plenty. he likes that it has wear & tear, and shows & expresses great joy and sadness and fear and doubt and happiness and sorrow and pain and yes, oh yes yes yes yes yes … ecstacy. he likes that i no longer feel compelled to cover up any of those lines that are popping up left and right. i used to wear a bunch of make-up, years & years ago. base, and blush and mascara and kohl eyeliner and lipstick. now i wear a hint of mascara and lipstick. that’s it. like i said, he likes my face. and through his eyes i have grown to love my face.

i like who i see when i look in the mirror.

i recently stood behind a barbie doll in whole foods. this was no young chick. this was a woman who nipped and tucked her face into a retroactive trout. it was so very scary. her upper lip was so full it touched the tip of her nose. i mean, really…. i couldn’t help but stare. everyone seemed to be staring, looking, checking her out. her face was absolutely expressionless. like a halloween mask. her skin was taut and thin and holy shit… so, so tight. i felt compelled to acknowledge her – because yes, i feel compelled to acknowledge everyone – but then common sense grabbed hold and i was so afraid her face would crack if she smiled back that i refrained. honestly. she was thin and frail and wore tons — ropes and ropes — of necklaces; she actually clanked. and yes, i do get the whole concept of wanting to stay youthful, and trying to keep life at arms length as it comes at you really fast and furious. and yeah sure, i kind of get the whole notion of wanting to stay young, although with age comes great wisdom and amazing knowledge and forgiveness and yes, lines well earned.

my guess, she was around 75, 80 years old.

it was all in her eyes. her entire life was right there in her eyes. and i gotta tell you, you can stretch your entire face up to the heavens, if you don’t love what you see when you look in the mirror at midnight it’s gonna come back to haunt you early morning.

so, love you.

don’t wish for young(er).
wish for grace.
kindness.

wish for peace.
of mind.
on earth.

and when you look in that mirror, see your life. the one you lived & LIVE. every joy, every sorrow, every lover. every break up. every kiss. every great sexual experience. every mistake. every fashion faux-paus. every mini skirt.

ken tells me that smooth tight PULLED & tucked skin is no where as sexy & fabulous as wisdom and laugh lines.
“a little droop goes a long way.”
and that line always – without fail – gets me … in bed.

full disclosure:
i was one of 3 judges for the PEN/USA literary (non-fiction) award this year. (the award will be presented on november 17th)

it was one of those experiences where you say, “yeah, sure, absolutely definitely thrilled to do it,” and then… then, you wanna shoot yourself for overextending. especially, oh my god, especially when three large cartons arrive via fed-ex filled with books.
hardcover, trade paperback, small, big, 200 pages, 500 pages. memoirs. non-fiction. real, true stories. each and every one.
piles of books. you stare at the books and think, “what the fuck was i thinking?” maybe it was the ambien. maybe i said yes when I was in a groggy REM state, “yeah, sure, why not, send them on.” and then you go through the pile and think, hmmm, not one of these books is mine. then jealousy and rage and envy take over. and after that unpleasant stage passes, you dig in & start reading.

but really, truly this isn’t about getting cartons of books. or being overlooked.
no.
this is about 3 women from 3 different cities who did not know each other at all, who did not share one spoken word, not one glass of wine, not one recipe (okay that’s stretching it), 3 women who agreed more often than not, disagreed on occasion, agreed some more, re-read, whined a bit, re-read again, complained a teeny bit, fought for those we deeply loved (to the death), tossed out the ones we didn’t (with ease), a pile here, a pile there, held our ground, coined a few new phrases, and managed to pick 4 books (one winner, 3 finalists) that make you believe that every human being has a story to tell, and good god when it’s told with audacity and humanity and a raw, brutal honesty you realize, holy shit, wow, how lucky did i get get – i get to read all these gorgeous books. and the best part … even though we never talked, we never met … we picked brilliant amazing memoirs by brilliant writers, all of them. with great ease, and unity.
3 women worked seamlessly to pick a couple of pieces of work that hopefully will make a difference in this world.

and i might add that sharon doubiago & samantha dunn made a huge difference in mine.

so, here’s to women.
we rock.
and fucking roll.

i have a dream that one day my pale skinned blonde blue eyed 2 year old granddaughter will have a play date with a dark skinned brown eyed little boy, and then they will have a play date with a musical theater loving young gay boy and a folk singing young lesbian and then they will all be playing with a palestinian boy who will be playing with an israeli little girl who will be playing with an asian set of twins who will be playing with a disabled boy who will be playing with a special needs little girl who will be playing with a mexican boy who will be playing with a buddhist and a muslim and an islamic and a mormon and an atheist and a greek orthodox …
… white and black and brown and tall and skinny and overweight and short and gay and straight and right and left and the words that they speak will be filled with tolerance and kindness and love and care and disagreements and opinions and they will embrace their differences and they will all use condoms.

i also have a dream that my husband will drive just a teeny bit slower on route 80. it’s always astonishing to me that after a car trip i feel as if i’ve had micro-abrasion & botox.

i’m just sitting around today thinking tee shirts. not something i do on a regular basis. truth be told, i am a white tee shirt girl. nothing beats a white tee shirt as far as i’m concerned. you can dress it up – with pearls, or dress it down – with jeans. but today i’m thinking quotes, sayings… a word or two or three.

a couple that come to mind:

PA (L) IN
my ass

&

TEAD OFF

send in your thoughts. what would you like on a tee shirt?

and yes, i would most definitely wear a tee shirt that said: PEACE, PLEASE.

most definitely.

okay, so, between the 400 million egg recall slash possible salmonella outbreak & the incorrect inflammable information – the virulent hatred & madness – over the “world trade center” mosque…

this is a short blog.
a to the point blog.

i think palin & beck & limbaugh & the tea partiers & the right wing nuts & the whole mess of them should take responsibility for the fact that they are igniting a massive fire in this country filled with fear & hate & anger & intolerance & it is fucking unacceptable.

it is unacceptable.

a man was driving his cab, something has he done for over 20 years, he picked up a passenger who was hailing a cab, the passenger got into the cab, and after a few blocks asked the cabdriver if he was a muslim, the cabdriver said yes, and then he was brutally horrifically attacked. a hate crime. a violent horrific hate crime.

it’s not the eggs people, it’s all the fucking chickens who are walking around without their fucking heads.