I went through the first 35 years of my working life having to look up how to spell 'laid off.' For real. It was just one of those brain twerks; to this day, I never type the words 'meditate' or 'environment' right the first time either. But I sure learned how to spell 'laid off.'
The Academy Awards appearances of Goldie Hawn, 68, and Kim Novak, 81, triggered a firestorm of fan reaction. Both actresses appeared with what were perceived to be dramatically altered faces and the Internet was quick to harshly criticize them. Can we pause a moment and reconnect with reality -- both theirs and ours?
I am probably the most responsible, stay-the-course, do-the-right-thing person you have likely never met, and I admit that even I don't quite understand this pounding drumbeat in my head telling me to throw my pick-up sticks in the air and see where they land. I'm 64, not 24, and really don't have time to erase life mistakes if I make them this late in the game. Still, the temptation is there to just rewrite my script.
When Whisper co-founder Michael Heyward speaks to groups, he asks those in the room who are virgins to raise their hand. He's never seen a single hand raised, he said. He then passes out blindfolds, dims the lights and repeats the request. Generally about a third of the room puts their hands up. He uses this exercise to show what anonymity can bring to the experience of sharing, he said.
We are just seven weeks into 2014 and already I am annoyed, verklempt if you will. Here's a list of the top 7 things pushing me -- and others -- over the top.
No sooner did my husband drive down the driveway last week when one of the smoke alarms in the house started blasting. Blasting as in ear-splitting, migraine-inducing, scare-the-dogs-off, hurt-your-molars blasting.
Long before Apple's iPod Shuffle came with the warning that it should not be eaten, companies hoping to avoid litigation have been bombarding us with the obvious. These warning labels have proliferated like bunnies and spilled over to direct-to-consumer advertising.
After 22 years of hosting the "Tonight Show," Jay Leno is -- again -- stepping aside to make room for some younger blood. As he told viewers and apparently every entertainer who ever asked him, in show business you need to stockpile your bunker with sandbags of cash in anticipation of the day when they tell you it's all over.
Camille's life is the life shared by a generation of women who are now in their late 60s. They were stay-at-home moms who missed the women's movement by a few years but rejoiced in the doors that it opened for their daughters. They drove carpools, kept house, had dinner ready on the table when the breadwinner came home, and were the glue that silently kept the family together.
I bumped into a woman the other day who I hadn't seen in a while. I knew from word on the street -- or, more accurately, word at the school bus stop -- that she had caught her husband running around with another woman, or maybe it was that she had been diagnosed with Lupus, or possibly it was that her over-achieving-never-tasted-failure kid didn't make the all-star team and is now in counseling for his grief-induced migraines.
I have two small dogs, one extremely brazen coyote, and a need for an alpha male eager to urinate in public. Anyone up to the task?
Dancing is one of those magical experiences that I hope I never age out of. With enough wine in me, I really don't care what I look like, although I acknowledge that my teenage children might.
Recently, a real estate agent who I once wrote about added me to a group on Facebook without asking my permission first. The group was for supporters of a political candidate who I know nothing about, including whether her views are even aligned with mine. Yet I woke up one day and found myself in a position of publicly 'supporting' her.
Some people like to make resolutions this time of year -- you know, the stuff that makes January the happiest time of the year for Jenny Craig and Gold's Gym. There won't be any 'lose weight, exercise more' on my list -- not because I don't need to do both but because I'm feeling more introspective as we flip the calendar page into a new year.
Los Angeles has been experiencing an uncharacteristic cold snap. The temperature in my canyon has dropped precipitously into the 30s at night. (It actually happens every year and every year we insist on calling the idea of cold temperatures in the winter 'uncharacteristic.' It's an L.A. thing.)
For the past 35 years or so, I have been part of a wolf pack. Don't panic, it's just what I call my collection of close women friends.