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Irritating Moments that Leave a Mental Rash

handling your irritationWhat irritates you to the point that you feel you may just commit an act that could have you facing a judge, pleading not guilty by reason of insanity? At any point throughout the day, there are any number of events that could set me off. Sometimes it is as simple as my husband forgetting to replace the toilet paper. Other times it is lights.

Good gracious, I cannot stand light in the mornings when I first wake up. Natural sunlight is welcomed, but artificial light peeking underneath doors and glaring in my face as I stumble to the kitchen for breakfast is absolutely uncalled for. My light aversion could be the cause of my inexpertly applied make-up, but let’s not go there.

I didn’t start off writing about what irritates me. No, I actually began with the intention to write this article about Pinterest. My heart was happy, my head filled with creative thoughts. I wanted to share with you a pin I recently tried and detail the lovely experience that I had while experimenting with that pin. Eventually, I will get around to writing that and you will be able to view it here.

What happened, you ask? What happened was that while sitting at a table at a local eatery two things happened that have managed to throw me off my game and make me incredibly irritated.Which in turn leaves you, my faithful reader, at the other end of one of my hissy fits. One, the free WiFi is being cantankerous, leaving me disabled and discombobulated. Unable to move any faster than a snail’s pace, I quickly gave up the notion that I would be able to get anything done online. Even as I type this, I am using my computer’s word processor…UNCONNECTED! Incredible. Unheard of. How do we live without the internet and technology.? What would happen if my computer deserted me all together this evening? I would be forced to write to you in Neanderthal ways using a notebook and pen. I don’t even want to entertain that thought for a second longer.

Losing access to technology was brutal, but then came the icing on the cake. The one thing that could irritate me more than my husband watching the same episode of Dr. Who ,over and over again, happened. Actually, as I write this it is still happening. One of the restaurant staff began to vacuum the floor. That’s fine. I want this restaurant to be clean. Clean anywhere you want, but why do you insist on vacuuming underneath my table, around my feet, next to my purse? Why is it absolutely necessary that you invade my space? It absolutely cannot wait until I leave?

Yep, I admit. I sound pretentious, spoiled and uptight. Usually, I would have made an effort to take a restroom break or a drink break. I probably would have even picked up my purse and feet. Maybe I was still bitter about the WiFi. Who knows? Sometimes I can’t  reason my actions.

Tonight I will post this and tomorrow I will be embarrassed that I shared these trivial insecurities with you, but for now I don’t care. Perhaps you will find the humor and have a little chuckle at my expense. This is my gift to you.

What irritates you to the point of bad behavior? How do you handle situations that threaten to unleash your inner demon?

The Suburban Clone Syndrome – Do You Fear It?

The suburban moms

It’s Friday! What does that mean? It means it is time for me to subject you, my loyal readers, to another installment of my rambling nonsense. Today I am going to talk about my fear of labels and the dread I live with everyday of becoming a suburban clone.

What is a suburban clone, you ask? Simply put a suburban clone is a zombie that walks around dressed in styles that come from the select, handful of shops that the suburban moms shop at. A suburban clone is the woman who sits in Starbucks on a Friday morning with her skinny mocha “chit-chatting” with three other similarly dressed women discussing school politics, last weekend’s soccer game and, in a nutshell, continuously trying to one-up each other with their humble brags.I could go on, but you get the point.

I don’t want to offend anyone. I have friends who LOVE the fact that they are The Suburban Mom. They are proud of their accomplishments, their kids, their husband and the life that they have built. I have those things, too. I have children, a husband, a good life and I live in suburbia (although, it it technically borders on rural). So, why do I fiercely reject labels? Why will I go out of my way to be different from everyone else? I will purposely not purchase an outfit that I actually liked at one of those “mom stores” simply because off the ideological label that unpurposely comes attached to it.

This morning I sat in Starbucks with my regular mocha and reflected on my anti-label attitude. Here is what I came up with. I reject all labels. Not just the mom label. I reject the wife label. The daughter label. The thirty-five year old woman label. The reason I reject these labels is not that I don’t want to be a wife, daughter, mother or thirty-five year old woman because I am clearly all of these things. I think the root of my adversion to labels is the fear of being imperfect.

When I feel labeled, I feel backed into a corner; pigeon-holed into an exact mold with precise instructions on how I am suppose to act as the wife, mother, daughter, etc. I have perfectionist tendencies. To be what others expect of that particular role creates automatic anxiety. So, when I feel cornered into a role I panic; certain I will fail to live up to that expectation. Oh, my God! I forgot sign the permission slip for the field trip. I suck as a mom! Crap, I didn’t send my mom a birthday card. Shitty daughter of the year award belongs to me. I am not even going to mention how many times I have failed in the wife role. So, to avoid these feelings of failure, I rebel. I become the adult version of a rebellious teenage who rejects anything normal just because she can.

Labels always come with expectations. It is just the way the label creators set-up the game. I guess I feel if I am just me no one has any preconcieved ideas of who I am suppose to be. If I forget to sign a permission slip,I am not mom who forgot and failed as mother. I am simply Denise who forgot and there aren’t any expectations to knock me down.

Am I the only person who feels this way? Do you welcome certain roles with open arms or do you run-away from zombie, suburban clones like I do?

I have been going through menophase since my early 40′s

Handling menopause symptomssubmitted by:

Wanda Killen

I’ve been on several different hormone replacement drugs other the years. Nothing worked, My hot flashes were so violent that they took all my energy. Even my gynecologist looked at me my last visit and said, Wanda, I can’t help you, I don’t know what to do about hot flashes. I thought I’ll spend the rest of my days and nights with hot flashes.

Shortly after this I saw and ad on line about Amberen. I read all I could on Amberen. I felt I had nothing to lose even if it didn’t work. I started taking Amberen in May. Within a week I was feeling better. The first morning I woke up not wet from head to toe I was amazed! I’m down to taking only two pills a day. Amberen is my wonder pills. Menophase does horrible things to a women’s body.

I would tell any women struggling with menophase to try Amberen you may wake up one morning with a big surprise! Waking up after 40 years with no hot flashes gave me a new lease on life.

The “Tanning Mom” Reveals a Paler Skin Tone for In Touch Magazine

Are you weird and pale? That is how Patricia Krentcial says she feels after agreeing to stop tanning for a full month in order to appear on the cover of In Touch.

Patricia Krentcil Pale

Krentcial, 44, became an overnight celebrity and a what-not-to-do-in-the-tanning salon when she was charged with second-degree child endangerment for allegedly allowing her then 5 year old daughter in a tanning booth. Immediately, the focus shifted from whether or not she allowed her daughter to be burned in a tanning booth, but to her over-baked appearance.

Today, Krentcial pales in comparison to her former self. No longer is she a dark shadow, the only color the white of her eyes and her teeth. After a full month of resisting the artificial tanning booths, self-tanning creams and lotions, her skin has a healthier glow that the artificial tanning seemed to mask.

So many questions can be asked about this situation. Did the media exploit Krentcial’s obvious addiction to tanning? Did Krentcial exploit herself in order to shift the focus from her potential criminal deeds to something less punishable by the courts? Of course, the court of public opinion is usually harsher than a judge and jury. And lastly, after the celebrity and the publicity fade what happens to this woman and her family? Fifteen minutes of fame cannot cure bad parenting and addiction.

Judging another human is hard for me to do (even if my husband thinks I can do it with ease), but Krentcial does make it a little easier. I have a hard time believing that one photo shoot and one month tan-free has made her a changed woman. I don’t know about the situation with her daughter. I try to believe that people are inherently good. But perhaps I am just naive.

For this random thought piece, I am going to let YOU finish the thought! Write to me and let me know what you think. We will publish as many editorials as we can.

Do you think the tanorexia mom is worth talking about? Or should we invest our time and energy into more important matters than a person’s right to choose the shade of their skin?

Debunking the Myths of Aging

unravelling the myths of agingRecently, my former high school literature teacher passed away. He was a burly, lumberjack type of man whose wise mustache and crazy hair was a combination of wisdom and lunacy that made all of us love him dearly. Upon hearing of his death, I spoke with a high school friend and asked if she had read his obituary. He must have been at least 70, right?

We grabbed our smartphones, tracked down the obituary that former classmates had already posted to Facebook and stared at his picture and birthday in utter shock – 56 years old. How could that be? That would mean that when he taught me 11th grade literature he was only 38? Not possible. That is just a few years away from the age I am now.

This revelation forced me to reevaluate my expectations and belief of age. Apparently, at the age of 17, I viewed a man in his late thirties as old. I see now that the word “old” is subjective and, for the most part, harshly categorizes people. Age is simply a number based on the years we have walked upon this planet. It is not an indicator of our abilities or our competency.

Just recently, I heard a heartbreaking story about a 78 year old woman who had been asked to leave her position at a local eatery ( a well-known chain throughout the country that at this time will remain unnamed). She had been a beloved employee at this restaurant, developing friendships with regular customers ages 2 – 99. Her kindness did not discriminate based on age, but her employer did.

When a regular customer came looking for the “adoptive grandmother,” as her boys called this woman, they were told that she had been asked to leave and was no longer employed. When the manager was questioned about the reasons behind the request, he simply shrugged and stated, “She is 78. It is time for her to enjoy retirement.”

Heartbreaking and assuming. Who are we to say that at 78, you are no longer vital to the workforce? Who has the right to determine your worth?

We have all been guilty of making assumptions about individuals who are older than us, but the myths of aging are unfounded. At the age of 30, you don’t automatically begin to gray. If you are 40, you don’t suddenly look horrible in a bikini. When you reach 50, a broad mind is not necessarily replaced with a broad middle typically associated with menopause. At the age of 80, you don’t necessarily lose cognitive function and need to be shuffled off to the nearest assisted living home.

Mr. Lord’s death shocked me in more ways than one. His death was a wake-up call to quit using age as a reason for not living life the way you want. We should absolutely never lower our expectations as we add more candles to our birthday cakes. We need to reject negative stereotypes associated with aging in order to treat everyone with respect, dignity and equality. We are as robust as we feel no matter our age. The power to be ageless is within us.