Archive for 2006
Every so often for a holiday or birthday I have been given a gift certificate for a massage/spa treatment. Chalk it up to a dislike of strange people rubbing me or just a fear of Enya but getting a massage always sounded about as relaxing as riding shotgun with Nicole Richie. Yes, I’m fully aware that I’m the only woman on the planet that has that hang-up. If I explore the issue more deeply I guess I’d have to admitt that I’ve always had trouble relaxing. And especially if there’s real or imagined pressure to do so. My body just seems to have the opposite reaction. Like, it used to be if a nurse airily said, “go ahead and pee in this cup” my bladder would close up like a steel trap. Didn’t matter if I’d had a two liter bottle of Diet Coke for breakfast, no pee would be leaving my body until I got home. For many years I couldn’t pee in a stall if someone was next to me. I’d have to pretend I was “just changin’ a tampon” and rustle around some paper, prematurely flush or do something to distract from the lack of peeing going on. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable to say the least.
Besides not being able to pee on demand I also had trouble enjoying “oral pleasures.” Again, it’s the hurry up and relax dilemma. I’d be so busy worrying about how long it was taking me and how bored he must be and wondering if it had been the right move to avoid feminine deoderant products all these years that I felt the opposite of pleasure. It was work.
So, even though I’d worked my way past a few of these issues, I still didn’t want to put myself right in the path of any forced relaxation situations. I avoided Yoga, meditation, hypnosis, staring into space and had never indulged in any sort of spa activity and those Burke Williams certificates remained in my drawer beneath a bunch of bank statements, old birthday cards and a few random baby socks. That is until two days ago when my sister-in-law mentioned how much she loved getting a massage and I offered my unused gifts. Of course, she wanted me to go too and I didn’t have a good excuse. So after careful consideration, I figured I could trade in a massage for a facial – hell, what forty-year-old couldn’t afford to improve their glow? Little did I know the facial also included a scalp massage, paraffin hand dip and rub, mini foot massage and face and neck rub. It was pure fucking heaven. Every second of the fifty minutes I cursed myself for not having done it sooner while I layed in the heated bed with cucumbers over my eyes and a variety of aromatic creams seeping into my skin.
Okay, I’ll admit that a few thoughts still raced -actually raced would now be too strong a word – meandered through my brain about what I would have to eat from the Cheesecake Factory afterward and whether or not I should get a present for my babysitter on top of her Christmas bonus and how much that bonus should be…but for the most part, I found myself thinking only vague thoughts and just feeling blissful. And, yeah, relaxed.
But here’s the rub (intended). Now I feel I might have become an addict. Oh yeah, heed my warning, it only takes once. I need more relaxing! And this stuff is more expensive than heroin! Oh Santa……..
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on December 15, 2006 8:21 pm
Do you ever start blogging and wonder what title you’ll give your post? Sometimes nothing comes to mind because you have no idea what you’ll write about you just know you haven’t blogged in a fortnight (I intend to single-handedly bring back the term fortnight). A lot of times when I write, I find that the title is the hardest part. Here’s what I’m going to do: I’ll write this entry and then you give me a suggestion for a title and I’ll choose one. Objectivity helps in these instances. Maybe someone could write a book called “what to name your blog post.” Maybe the person who wrote the book about blogging, something about “don’t write about what you had for lunch” has a chapter in her book about that. Hmm…let me add that to my Amazon wish list right away. Right after I finish eating my Lean Pocket. And polishing my toenails. Of course by then the child will be awake, my babysitter will be gone and I’ll be knee deep in a glass of Pinot Grigio so I may forget.
Speaking of drinking, I wish I wasn’t still getting over a cold last night because having a little buzz would’ve seriously enhanced my viewing of The Bachelor: Rome. “Prince” Lorenzo Borghese finally chose his princess. And we were all reminded about forty times a segment between ad breaks, that the final two ladies were indeed living out a “fairy tale.” This show is offensive on so many levels. The biggest level being its blandness factor. Someone needs to tell the producers to stop scripting every line. It all sounds like the girls are reading their comments off of a teleprompter. Also, if you’re going to have it come down to two blondes who look like they got drunk and forgot which sorority they were rushing, make them wear name tags. I had no idea that Sadie and Jennifer (wow, you never see someone named Jennifer on The Bachelor) were two different people until about an hour into the finale. Finally, could the prize, the main catch, the fucking PRINCE have needed CPR any more? The guy had no personality at all. I’ve got to hope that he was edited to be the most insipid man in Italy. Is this what people think we want? I like to hate on reality shows as much as anyone but give me someone to root for please!
What is there to watch, besides The Office. I love The Office but am I supposed to want Jim to get back together with Pam cause brunette hottie is pretty feisty too. I wouldn’t mind if they got together. I mean, they’re no Ross and Rachel but…
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on November 28, 2006 10:36 pm
I call this picture “Happy Holidays – It’s 80 Fricken Degrees Out Here.”
I’m not cooking a turkey this year. At least not from scratch. I may put it in the oven and warm it up but I’m not making it. I tried it last year for the first time and, let’s just say it wasn’t good. Have you ever tasted the bottom of a New Balance running shoe after the wearer finished the Boston Marathon? Well, to say it was like that would be paying it a compliment. Everything but the turkey turned out fine. Butternut Squash Soup – delish, Garlic Mashed Potatoes – even Oprah would say fuck it and have seconds, the rolls? Reheated to perfection and the gravy and stuffing were from a can and box respecively so it’s hard to go wrong. But the turkey – not so much. And before you go all Rachel Ray on me, yes, I brined it. Please don’t start writing in with your special “can’t go wrong” recipe because it’s the main part of the meal! It can and will go wrong and then we’ll be stuck eating green bean casserole as a main course again.
I’m buying my bird from Gelsons and I will not feel the least bit guilty. I’ll be too busy feeling guilty about lots of other things. Hey, I’m a Jew, it’s in the contract.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on November 20, 2006 7:13 pm
Yeah! It’s JK Livin’ and LiveStrong! BFFs!!
I’M SO OVER LANCE ARMSTRONG. Yes, you won a bunch of Tour de’ Frances blah blah blah but you have gotten such a swelled head about it.More than a swelled head, you’ve somehow decided that your celebrity is such that you need a new Hollywood rep. And the rep you’ve chosen is “weird old guy co-mingling with the under 17 set of stars and starlets.” It’s unbecoming. I don’t care that you can get into Hyde and have a posse that includes Lindsay Lohan. I think if I had enough “performance enhancing drugs” and was willing to hand them out, the man in the headset at the door would wave me past the line too. The difference is, I HAVE NO INTEREST IN IT. You on the other hand, like some 15 year-old-boy, think it’s cool that you can feel Paris Hilton’s boobie in the VIP lounge of Area.
We know, you’ve been through a lot. You only have one ball, that can’t be good, except maybe giving you a little extra speed on your bike. But, fuck, you’ve retired so you can’t even use that to your advantage.
Again, what’s happened to you? First you dump your wife of a lot of years (I don’t know exactly how many and to be honest I’m not in the mood to go look it up. I’m not writing a piece for Vanity Faire, it’s a blog for Christ’s sake). I can’t even blame Sheryl Crowe whom I love to shit on. She’s not a girl’s girl if you know anything about her. Which I don’t but I’ve heard from people who know people who read People. But, seriously, you dump the wife who has been with your forever, stayed with you through your chemo and ball loss, then dumped her ass along with your kids and hooked up with Sheryl. Okay. Fine. But then!!!! You dump Sheryl (who you may have dumped because she gave you Clamydia for all I know but still she just found out she had breast cancer) and now…da da da da…you’re hanging out with Paris Hilton? Lance we need to talk. More than talk. You, my friend, need an intervention. Not to mention a bath from hanging out with Matthew McCaunahay or however his name is spelled. Honestly, what do the two of you talk about? “DUDE, do that line from Dazed and Confused again!It fucking kills me” “I get older, they stay the same age.” “AAAAAAHHHHH! I love it! Fucking hilarious. And so true! One more time!”
I don’t want to hear anymore about the beach house you two share, all the “lady killing” you’ve been doing, the his and his botox you’re probably having and stop with the fucking bracelets. They’re not working.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on November 3, 2006 11:32 pm
Thanks so much to everyone who responded to my call to mom writers! First off, hot is a state of mind. We’re all hot. I mean, right now my armpits look like my front lawn when the gardener’s on an extended vacation but somewhere there’s a guy who’s really into that. So, in my mind, I’m HOT! And leg hair – please – doubly hot!
Anyway, I personally think that good writing is hotter than anything. I’ve been THIS close to a lesbian relationship based soley on what I’ve seen on the page. With this in mind, a submissions section will be coming out on the hotmomsclub.com website that will describe the different types of articles the site is looking for. But if you want to send me a movie review or music review or a short review of a product you love, do it up!
Again, in other news, I took my kidlet to a local pumpkin patch (something I honestly don’t think I knew existed before I had a child)to pick out our Halloween carving victim. On our way in we saw a happy old guy missing about 6 teeth walking with a surly looking woman sporting a neckbrace. There has to be an interesting backstory there right? As always in Los Angeles, even a pumpkin patch can be a great place to overhear inane conversation:
Blond Mom with Baby In Sling and Seven Inch Heels: I just don’t care for Dustin, the actor. The person is a different story.
Mom With Overly Defined Collar Bones and Unrealistically Skinny Arms Ignoring Three-Year-Old Whining Daughter: Mmmhmmm.
Blond Mom with Baby In Sling and Seven Inch Heels: Dustin the person, the human being, is a pleasure. But, truly, when do I get to see that?
Mom With Overly Defined Collar Bones and Unrealistically Skinny Arms Ignoring Three-Year-Old Whining Daughter: That’s hard.
Okay, who were they talking about??? Hoffman or Diamond? I just can’t let it go!
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on October 22, 2006 5:13 pm