Dana lives in Seattle, and Tracie lives in Germany. We are businesswomen, writers and humorists. We write about life, dating, and today's modern women.
Lying, Cheating, Stealing, Loving..
I awoke this morning and the remnants of my affair glared back at me. Guilt consumed me as I shamefully tried to justify my actions.
Why does the temptation relentlessly attack me at night? The urge is so over-powering, I am left weakened and defenseless to any measure of will power.
It summons me. It makes me leave the sanctuary of my cozy bed. I brave the chill of the hardwood floors. I scurry- Dateline, my favorite “Who Done It” would resume in 3o sections.
So, here I am, once again…
LYING to my lower half which I affectionately refer to as “My Kim Kardashian”.- One little bowl ain’t gonna hurt! I will ask Santa for a stronger pair of Spanx this Christmas.
CHEATING I deserve it. I had a sensible dinner, and no wine! Even though I am reversing the effects of the exercise and cup match of tennis I rallied in earlier, at least I did something!
STEALING the last scoop from my daughter, who was feverishly studying in the adjacent room. I hope she doesn’t hear me as I gently close the freezer door.
But most of all I find myself LOVING every morsel of the chocolate chip mint that melts in my mouth. The distinct, delicious combo of the chip and mint, I devour as I’m back snuggled in for the completion of my show.
Ah, the sweet life! Somethings are worth the guilt of lying, cheating and stealing.
Today, the menopausebarbees salute all of the women who ran in the U.S. 2018 midterm elections. Deep in my heart, I believe that those of you who won your seat at the table did so because you were the better candidate. Nonetheless, you are women! You serve your country during the day and some of you change diapers at night. You are breaking barriers, breaking ground, setting records, making history and making us proud.
And ladies, that is a win for all of us.
Talented and Troubled…
The offspring and I headed to Ipix Theater in Redmond this past Sunday and cranked up Bohemian Rhapsody on the I phone to prepare for the movie about the band, Queen.
My heart warms that music transcends generations and we could recite the lyrics to Another One Bites the Dust, Crazy Little Thing Called Love and Killer Queen.
Although many critics panned the flick, I walked away feeling moved by Freddie Mercury, a true talented, yet troubled soul. I laughed at his line when a reporter asked why he didn’t fix his front bucked teeth and he said, ‘I’m British, I don’t want to stick out!’ There were several self deprecating humorous captures throughout this journey. Freddie Mercury was a curious, funny, pained, tortured, talented, troubled soul. He proved in spite of it all – he was The Champion and kept fighting til’ the End.
My sister, Menopausebarbee co-blogger Tracie and I in front of Freddie Mercury tribute statue in his adopted city of Montreux, Switzerland.
Have you watched Bohemian Rapsody yet? Queen frontman Freddie Mercury grew up in a faraway land with no idea of what he was capable of and who he would become. This is his story.
Posted by Life Stories on Saturday, November 3, 2018
Shining today in the menopausebarbee Monday Spotlight is a young woman who has deeply impressed me. I hope to be proven wrong, but she seems to be truly a rarity in our world today.
I don’t know Nathalie Funke very well, but what I do know is that for the past ten years, she has devoted herself to the Ronald McDonald House of Cologne, Germany. She started when she was just a baby at the tender age of just twenty-two. The Ronald McDonald House for which I volunteer, provides a home atmosphere and support for fifteen families whose children are under medical care in the adjoining children’s clinic. Opened in April 2009, the RMH supports four hundred families yearly and Nathalie was here at the beginning.
“On my first day here, the house had just opened. It was furnished, but there was no structure, no families, no decoration–no life. I remember going into the city and buying flowers and doing so much to get the apartments prepared for the families. Today, there are 62 volunteers and we have supported over 3000 families. I am incredibly proud of what we have accomplished together.”
She has decided after ten years, to move on and see the world; give some time to herself so that she can catch up on all she’s missed. After all, if not now when?
So last week about sixty or so of us gathered at the RMH to celebrate this young woman with homemade soups, quiches, sandwiches, chocolate fondue, cakes, cookies, gifts and cheer, albeit tinged with a bit of sadness. Nathalie will be missed.
And Nathalie had something for all of us: Merci chocolates sticks on which she took the time to write our names and what she thought about each of us. On mine she wrote: Super Woman. So incredibly thoughtful.
She has given the RMH her heart and soul and I must say that it is so inspiring to see a young woman not engrossed with posing nearly naked on social media and doing it “for the (insta) gram,” as they say. It makes me take pause to open my eyes to see that there still really are selfless people in the world who are loving and generous and thoughtful with purpose. And that purpose is not for their gain, but for the gain of others. As I said in the beginning of this post, I hope to be proven wrong, but she seems to be truly a rarity in our world today.
Nathalie, here’s to you. We all are wishing for you your best life.
With the recent hysteria outfall of Meghan Kelly’s comment surrounding the question of Black Face being appropriate for Halloween, I was reminded of an incident I am re-posting.
Dana: “Tracie, did you hear our friend Nicolette gave up drinking?”
Tracie: ” No way, she loved to get her drink on. Why did she stop?”
Dana: “She stopped drinking because she said it was really affecting her legs.
Tracie: “Her legs??? What happens to her legs, do they swell?”
Dana: “No! They spread.”
I love a good laugh, especially when the punch-line is funny.
Humor, like art is in the eye of the beholder. Unfortunately, sometimes ignorance is as well.
A few weeks ago, I attended a holiday party. As I nestled in a fabulous, warm home, surrounded by long time friends, acquaintances and some new intros, we toasted the year in recap and discussed 2016.
I sipped my wine and let the sights, smells, and sounds from the piano player fill my soul with the spirit of the season. As I glanced over my shoulder, new guests arrived and I literally did a double take. I held up my glass of vino- it was only my first, was it spiked? I had to be seeing things. Realizing I was completely sober, I reasoned we had to be a part of the ABC television program, “What Would You Do” and the cameras must be hidden. I sat my glass down as I whispered to one of my best girlfriends, Patti, “A man just walked in here in black face.” Patti turned aghast at the sight and studied the man and said, Nooooo way. I shook my head in disbelief. Then Patti reasoned maybe he had that skin disorder Vitiligo. My impatience waned as I made my way to get a closer view. Sure enough his blue eyes sparkled through the black cream paint he had smeared across his face and neck. Under his hat, he donned an Afro wig. I’m generally never at a loss for words, but when he approached me, all I could muster was,
What are you thinking???? He laughed and shared that in honor of what would have been Frank Sinatra’s 100th birthday, he decided to dress as part of the Rat Pack, Sammy Davis Jr. He proceeded to ask me why I found his get up offensive.
I decided to be a true MenoPAUSEbarbee and take a time out to pause and reflect.
How in 2015 could ignorance prevail that a successful, commercial real estate businessman would consider going out in black face? In addition to what I expressed that night, I would like to tell Mr. Black face the following:
Here are some quick facts that you should know about the history of black face and why it’s never alright to slather your face with the nearest charcoal, brown paint or MAC foundation and expect us to laugh. Black face originated in the 1820s during minstrel shows where white men would portray plantation slaves and free blacks. These caricatures were used to make a mockery out of black people and eventually, this portrayal led to Americans believing that anyone with brown skin subscribed to these stereotypes.
After nearly two centuries worth of negative stereotypes and images of black people in America, it’s important to note, we’ve come a long way. However, making fun of pain and anguish of ANY human suffering is no laughing matter.
I suppose Meghan Kelly find out the hard way.
It’s All Saints Day, the day dedicated to the saints of the church–in other words those who have reached heaven. Although millions, maybe billions of people could be saints, those declared to be saints are those who are recognized in the canon of the saints of the Catholic Church. Today is not to be confused with All Souls Day which is tomorrow and dedicated to all who have passed.
As I write this, I hear church bells ringing and it gives me a spiritual kind of feeling.
As today is a holy day of obligation in the Catholic religion, some of us will take off our masks and go to church and worship. Some of us might pray the Litany of the Saints. Some of us might observe this day by visiting the graves of deceased family members and leave flowers or wreaths; some of us will light candles in remembrance.
Maybe some of us will decide to just be peaceful from here on out.
Regardless of how we round out our day, I truly believe that no matter our religious persuasion, tradition, skin color, political view, sexual orientation, or aspiration, we all have the chance to save our souls.
Share your candy.
Like Donna Summer, I had worked hard for the candy. Dressed as a Pioneer Girl, I had left home on a typical rainy Halloween Seattle night. For three hours, my sister dressed as a cow girl, along with our two besties, Carrie and Sandra trudged through the night, mud puddles, and low hanging tree limbs and filled our pillow cases (yes, this was the 70’s,) with Baby Ruth bars, Butterfingers, and Tootsie Rolls. My mouth salivated as I was born with a sweet tooth. My six year old legs tired of collecting loot, and I just wanted to return home for my mama to wash the red lipstick and rose blush off my cheeks, where I would devour some of my treats, brush my teeth and head to sleep.
Ed, my bestie’s father, along with their mom, Joan drove their car slowly adjacent to us as we neared 9 pm. The rain had subsided, but we were still wet, and our tennis shoes were soaked from the puddles we had encountered in the dark. The houses in our Leschi neighborhood were slowly dimming the lights, and blowing out the lit pumpkins as they ran out of candy. We had survived the haunted houses, and long treacherous driveways, and earned every morsel which would soon fill my mouth with a sensational burst of SUGAR!
The neighborhood kids were comparing houses. Don’t bother going to the blue house on the corner, they gave apples, and mama had warned me some sickos were putting razor blades in them. We would buy our own fruit. And if any candy was open or unwrapped, I was to toss it immediately. In unison, pint-sized people dressed as a police cop, a ghost (her mama probably used the same set from the pillow case), superman, and a hobo, we all huddled together as chaos erupted when I fell to the ground. Imagine Nancy Kerrigan as I screamed) “Why ME??” I lay on the sidewalk and cradled my empty hands, where seconds before I held enough sugar to keep my parent’s dental bill competing with our mortgage payment. “Why me?” I wailed and did the ugly cry.
Ed heard my wailing as my sister and besties tried to console my broken heart. They begrudgingly would share their candy- if they had to! But, Ed was on it, as he put that station wagon in reverse and drove it like it was a Ferrari in an Indy race.
The thieves knew they were ill equipped to out race this man on a mission and so they threw my pillow case full of my precious treats on the ground and disappeared into the night. With my soggy loot recovered, but still in tack, traumatized we called it a night.
The bad ass little boys thought they had to the trick, but I got the treats- thanks to Ed!
Now to continue your laughter..
Ever since I visited Kyteler’s Inn in Ireland, Halloween always brings to mind the story of Dame Alice Kyteler. Alice opened this medieval inn in 1323. I just happened to stumble upon the inn while out roaming after visiting St. Canice’s Cathedral and the ancient tombstones (this is a site which has experienced Christian worship since the sixth century). I knew nothing about the history of the inn when I stepped inside. I was drawn in because antiquity intrigues me. And this building is ancient.
So come to find out–there was something about Alice.
Born into a noble family, Alice went on to marry four wealthy men which resulted in Alice amassing a great fortune. Well, each and every one of these men died and each and every one of these men left Alice and her son all of his possessions. Upon the death of her last husband, her step–children accused her of sorcery to murder each and every one of her husbands. The kids were impoverished and pissed and prayed that Alice would be arrested and they would gain her fortune.
Alice was eventually accused of amongst other things, rejecting the Christian faith, performing satanic rituals, concocting witches’ brews and heresy. Allegedly, she slept with a demon named Robin Artissen, who sometimes appeared as a cat, black shaggy dog or a black man who is sometimes depicted as Aethiops, the mythical founder of Ethiopia. I haven’t yet discovered why it was a black man or a black four legged animal.
Hmm. . .Alice was busy.
At the Kilkenny Witchcraft Trials, one of the first witchcraft trial to take place in Europe, Alice’s son William was convicted and ordered by Bishop Lederer to attend three Masses every day and to give alms to the poor. Pretty light sentence when you consider that Alice’s maid Petronella, who confessed to being a witch and a member of Alice’s tribe, was the very first person in Ireland to be tortured, whipped and finally burned at the stake on November 3, 1324. It is said that she screamed for Alice’s help, but Alice had gotten the hell out of dodge and fled to England and was never seen again. She was forty-four years old.
Alice was a savvy businesswoman, as a matter of documented fact, the most successful and richest business woman in medieval Ireland and her establishment was the most successful in Kilkenny.
She left a haunting reputation which seems to emanate from the stone walls of the inn, where the food is quite good and you can sit for a spell and have some brew…
Alice. Woman or witch?
Where there is no imagination there is no horror, but this my friends is a true tale.
Halloween is upon us! It’s one of my favorite holidays.
Over the years I have dressed as various characters from Kim Kardashian, a cheerleader, a Vegas Showgirl, a Playboy Bunny, the game Twister, a girl from the 50s, a Flapper Lady, She Devil to Queen of Hearts.
As my son, Brett and I took our annual trip and toured the costume store, I spotted the pink chiffon polyester blend dress and jacket. With a little creativity, my friend Betsy had me meet her at Joann Fabrics where we enlisted the help of her mother to sew Menopausebarbie on the back.
As my crew and I hit the Saturday night party scene, people laughed aloud trying to comprehend what a Menopausebarbie meant. I found myself describing myself. She embraces all the Barbies sold on store shelves around the world. This Barbie has known love and loss. She has been a mother, a business woman, a philanthropist, a connector, she travels, and she has Ken.
As the cocktails flowed, and we danced to our favorite old school tunes at Julie Relf Lynch’s fabulous 520 party and The Central I found myself thinking of a joke which I’m sharing for your Monday chuckle.
A father and daughter go shopping for a new Barbie. The father was overwhelmed trying to decipher the choices. Beach Barbie $19.95, Chef Barbie $29.95, Pilot Barbie $39.00, Teacher Barbie $14.50 and then his daughter found the doll of her choice, Divorce Barbie $495. Aghast, the father asked if the Divorce Barbie was mis-marked and if not, why the discrepancy in price. The sales clerk smiled, “Oh, the price is correct. Divorce Barbie is so expensive because she comes with Ken’s house, Ken’s car, his boat, his pension, and his Malibu Beach vacation home.”
Of all my costumes, Menopausebarbee may suit me best! After all, we’re getting older…but we’re still dolls.
Once again, it’s Friday.
Time is flying and across the globe from Arizona to Zimbabwe, it seems that we are living in a turbulent, tumultuous, ticking bomb period of time.
Despite this, I truly believe that no matter what our station in life is, the one common denominator we all have, is hope. Whether for personal, selfish or for betterment of the world reasons, everyone has hope for one thing or another.
Right now, I’d like to encourage everybody to have hope for a better day. For us all.
If we open our hearts and our minds, we can step from behind the clouds that are blocking our view and see the light…
Peaceful weekend everyone.