One of our family photo outtakes. The photographer said, "Act natural." So, I did. That is one creepy smile! Since a very early age – I have always felt that I was different than my siblings. Not to say that they didn’t feel the same about themselves (or just me?). As I muddled my way through the tribe of misfits – desperately trying to find my niche and mark my territory (not literally) – I came to this conclusion, “Aliens live among us and I’m one of them!”  I was an energetic child (high-strung). My fears and anxieties started at an early age. I wasn’t too concerned because I was completely self-absorbed and had no barometer other than my family to compare to. I desperately wanted to be liked and listened to. I believe my fear of invisibility began at birth. So, I over-compensated by reading the room and ambushing anyone who would make eye contact. Happy siblings - before there were 5 - I liked being youngest! Uke, drums, piano - anything to entertain and distract me. My mom liked music and singing, so I used her weakness and started performing to garner and consume all of her attention. I held on to that unique position throughout my 65 years. It was the one thing that set me apart from my siblings. I believe I tried to fulfill my mother’s dreams and aspirations by choosing acting, singing and performing. But that’s a whole other blog. My sister and I shared a bedroom. She endured it and even played with me until she hit the next stage of life – while I remained stuck in obscurity. I remember a game we used to play in bed. Bridget would lie down with her legs slightly bent in the air. I would stand and bend forward, so my tummy was on the When I was a baby - vomiting was cute! soles of her feet. We’d grasp hands and she would straighten her legs and lift me up as if flying. Once my balance was secure – we would let go of our hands and I’d be levitated and trying not to fall. We’d laugh and laugh. Kind of like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey in “ Dirty Dancing ” only we used feet rather than hands (and not remotely coordinated or sexy). This became one of our bonding and secret bedtime games that I treasured – until I didn’t. The last time my sister lifted me up on her feet – it gave rise to a different reaction, and I accidentally vomited on her face and probably into her mouth. I believe that was my first sisterly “Violation.” I couldn’t argue with her terminating our bedtime gymnastics and with this horrific breach   of her trust!!   To appease Bridget - Mom left me under the Xmas tree as a replacement doll. The second violation was breaking her favorite doll – of which I conveniently have no recollection. I’m sure I had secretly coveted that doll and was probably secretly playing with it a little too enthusiastically – and broke her doll and her heart. "Destruction" is my middle name! “I’m sorry” was my mantra!   The neighborhood terrors! Because my sister was three years older and the oldest in rank – I hung out with my brothers quite a bit. Growing up in northern Maine – we spent an inordinate amount of time outside – even in winter. There were no fears in the 60’s like there is now and we were basically feral children with little to no supervision. Another example - none of us ever used a seatbelt. Somehow we survived. But this was normal back then. The biggest fear was breaking a bone – because we did some crazy shit! I thought I was a boy for a long time and that also involved fighting like a boy.    My brother, Jerry, was a year younger than me and we were the most alike – physically and mentally. He was fearless and got attention whether he liked it or not. I was anxious and begged for attention whether others liked it or not. Also, he was the child that invariably found trouble whether by intention or just bad luck. We were close and had a passionate relationship. We would be best buds and inseparable until one of us said or did the unthinkable. I have no idea what the “unthinkable” was – but we would fight just as intensely as we would play. Our fights were explosively noteworthy! My whole life is one big cartoon! My sister remembers (and probably my other siblings) one bout to the death. She was in the living room, sitting on the couch reading.   I came down from upstairs and Jerry came around the corner from the kitchen and we met in the middle of the living room (gunslinger mode) . No words were said. She recalls the brawl like this: Arms swinging, legs kicking, fists punching and teeth gnashing. The only sounds were grunts of pain and vengeance. We became a blur of ferocity. She said it reminded her of cartoon fights - a whirlwind of limbs amidst a cloud of outrage. We stopped as fast as we started. I walked on to the kitchen, and he walked upstairs – in total silence - as if nothing had happened. Bridget said it was mesmerizing and disturbing at the same time and grateful she wasn’t collateral damage!   Jerry and I were really close and yet so resentful. For me, it was because he got away with a lot of crap. But for Jerry, I think it was because he was in between the middle child and the youngest and had no defined role. That contributed to his animosity and possibly his ultimate motive to whittle our family down, thus eliminating the “Middle Child” first and allow time to take out either Michael or Scott to win one of the coveted spots. We may never know his intentions! I'm writing this so apparently he never succeeded. I loved to dress up and often raided my mother’s closet. Pending my latest obsession – whether it be a cowboy, model or movie character – I’d cobble something together to fulfill my fantasy. My wee brain preferred fiction to reality. My imagination conjured up a wide assortment of genres. Even though we had limited Gunslingers or Boy Band? TV and movie options – I was consumed with Westerns, Fantasy, Musicals, Monsters, Witches, etc. etc. When I saw “ Sound of Musi c ” – I was a nun singing on top of an Alp and flirting with danger and sexual tension. When I saw “ Cat Ballou ” – I was a femme fatale and outlaw, desired by all men and out for vengeance while flirting with danger and sexual tension. When I saw “ Dark Shadows ” – I was a different femme fatale who smelled like bloody honey while flirting with danger and sexual tension and also immortality. You catch my drift. Just a normal day as a cigar-smoking hobo! I had no idea what “flirting with danger and sexual tension” meant – but I wanted me some!! I believe middle children have extreme imaginations and live inside their own neurotic, frenzied and hungry universe of unfulfilled needs, yearnings, and ultimate heartache. We don’t understand how to control our unreasonable expectations. We learn disappointment at an early age! My mother found this note (written to myself) taped on the inside of my underwear drawer! Just another daily disappointment. I was never a good sleeper once I discerned we all had a biological clock – ticking down to our doom. I mentioned my early exhausted years in my book Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! –  Chapter 4 Sleeplessness   –    “Latin Term—Sleepus Interruptus. As I’ve already mentioned—I don’t sleep well. Since my childhood obsession with horror films and then hanging their movie posters on my bedroom wall thinking that was a good idea—to my adulthood anxiety over my every waking decision—sleep became my Sasquatch. Out of focus glimpses of a mythical “blissful night of sleep.” I’m too anxious and hyper a person to ever relax totally. Meditation helps—but apparently, drugs would help more.”   My mother has mentioned that I was a terrible napper as an toddler. It seemed silly to lay in bed while daylight blasted through the scanty curtains. A waste of precious time. It also didn’t help that I had a propensity for nightmares. Even before I started watching horror movies like Dracula and the Wolfman – I woke up often with night terrors. Initially I would crawl into my parent’s bed to calm my emotional distress – until they got tired (pissed off) at this nightly ritual and refused me entrance. Naked Bed-Hopping Baby! I remember they would carry me upstairs and put me into bed with another sibling so they could get some sleep. I trespassed on Bridget’s tiny bed quite often until she began disdainfully cold shouldering me. I tried my brother Michael – but he quickly built a barricade to isolate from all of us. My brothers Jerry and Scott (younger) were accommodating. Jerry slept like a log and never knew I’d crept into his bed. He was a rambunctious sleeper – so I spent all night avoiding his kicks and punches (very much like when he was awake). Scott silently allowed admission until every sibling finally said, “Sleep in your own bed you crazy neurotic child!” I spent many nights stiffly lying awake – imagination in overdrive. Our house made a lot of noise and the shadows flowing over the walls projected all my demons. The “Dreaded Closet” that was on the opposite wall from our headboards was alive! Like in any horror film – closet doors tend to open on their own volition to let your schizophrenia do all the slaying. That f**king door opened every night and whispered its evil intent to my hallucinatory middle child-mind. It also didn’t help that I got tricked numerous times and locked in that closet of horrors by my siblings – usually my brothers (Michael and Jerry) as payback for my nighttime bed-hopping – and because I was gullible as shit! To this day, all closets must be closed tight before I turn out the lights.  Our annual school picture. Mom had a camera attached to her face since I was born! Since I had over-stayed my welcome with parents and siblings – I had to come up with a plan B on my nighttime wanderings. I waited until everyone was asleep and the closet bored with my lack of attention. On silent feet, avoiding all the creaky floorboards, I would curl up on the end of my sister’s bed – never disturbing her feet or blankets. I’d lie there without any covers (shivering) and wrap my spindly frame around her legs without touching them. I would relax enough to mimic sleep but alert to her every movement to avoid discovery. It would help me get through the night without irritating my family and without arousing my monsters. I’d get back in my bed just before sunrise, release the six hours of held breath and no one was the wiser. I did this for a few years until I graduated to Plan C – never sleeping again! Later in life, as adults, I told this story to my sister and family. I made my sister cry. I was horrified because it was  all my  neurosis – not her fault. Who wants a wiggly icicle in bed with them every night! I realized at a young age that sleep was always going to be an issue and gave me plenty of time to go over all my regrets and dreams, as well as, planning out all the notes that I needed to leave my mother. Now I do a mantra of my to-dos and daily chores for the next day to help me eventually fall asleep for a couple hours before the cycle begins anew.   I will end this blog with a moment of painful clarity that influenced my future. I was pre-teen and my sister in high school. Without going into too much detail to protect those involved – I was woken up late at night with an argument between my sister and mom. Dad stood in the backlit doorway with arms crossed. Bridget and mom were having a heated discussion about choices and consequences while Dad just “Tsked” and shook his head while leaving discomfited with this unpleasant exchange. My parents had been out visiting friends and my sister made choices that they disapproved. I lay in bed with my back to my crying mom and sister. I have no idea why mom called me silly? I didn’t move but vibrated with curiosity, concern and tension. I somehow felt responsible for this trauma because I should have prevented it from ever happening (middle child logic). My ears perked up – pink and hot – when my mom said, “Bridget, you should be setting a good example for your sister because Colleen is silly and will do whatever you do.” I’m paraphrasing because it was a long time ago – but the word “silly” and “Colleen” were definitely used in the same sentence. I must admit that it may have been true – but I also believe, “Don’t mistake being silly for being stupid!” Quote (Colleen) Unquote. So, I laid there without moving while they finished up and mom left our room. It’s a moment that stands out as significant, never forgotten and taught me to never underestimate those you love. Even unconditional love comes with yellow caution tape!   I’m going to name a few famous, creative and successful Middle Children - people of notoriety : Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., Princess Diana, Charles Darwin, Ernest Hemingway, Georgia O’Keefe, Susan B. Anthony, Mark Twain, Theodore Roosevelt, Warren Buffet, Bill Gates, David Letterman, Grace Kelly, Martha Stewart, Michael Jordon, Madonna, Diana Ross, Jennifer Lopez   Now I’m going to name the infamous, crazy, creative in their own twisted way Middle Children - insane people of notoriety : Kim Jong Un, Kim Jong-il, Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler, Osama bin Laden, Genghis Khan, Jesse James, El Chapo, John Wayne Gacy/Gary Leon Ridgeway/Amy Archer-Gilligan (all serial killers), Michael Myers (from “Halloween” fame), Leatherface (from “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” fame) and my personal favorite – Vlad the Impaler!!   Words of wisdom – be very careful who you piss off – they might be a Middle Child! No, I didn't kill this bear - but I played with it! To prove that aliens live among us and I'm one of them - the note below appears to assume my mother is stupid and unaware of my origins. I wanted that suede fringed midi vest really bad. I also ran out of room on my torn out tiny piece of paper and wanted to be clear that the fringe was really long, so I extended the fringe to the back side of the paper to idiot-proof my midi (many) demands. Mom siad she laughted so hard when she got this note and knew it was a keeper! Only an alien would assume this note and behavior was normal. Suede fringed midi vest - turn note over - MOM! Suede fringed midi vest - don't forget the fringe is long - MOM! Part 3 of MC will be coming to a blog near you! See you in 2 weeks! " There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please tell everyone that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Yes - we took our baths together for a long time! We also left occasional "presents!" Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your social media friends, family (middle children) and followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Just a normal day in the life of Colleen - the middle child! After I wrote about my  Menopausal Journey   and flummoxed my way through the publishing and marketing process – I planned on writing my next book about being the middle child of five. We all have distinct personality traits – based on the family infrastructure – but middle children have a unique distinction that sets them apart from the traits that form us within this hierarchy and from the normal/sane world. I believe that Middle Children are the uniquely challenged siblings. The crazy, screwed up ones. Their patented peculiarities either qualify as genius or serial killer – or both.    I read some (psycho)logical birth order diagnoses that makes sense if you're talking about a family unit of 3 children. But once you scale up the size of your family - the Older, Middle and Youngest theory becomes far more complex and the psychobabble becomes debatable/obsolete. For example – if you have 6 children – who is the “middle child?” In my family – we have 5 siblings. There is a clear distinction of who is oldest, middle and youngest – but what about the other 2 that are in-between?  In 1971 flapper dresses were all the rage in northern Maine! Alfred Adler , an Austrian psychotherapist, developed the first birth order theory. Depending on your birth ranking – his theory suggested that certain personality traits were common – including education, career success and life outcomes. Examples of personality traits: Firstborn – more intelligent, controlling, conscientious, cautions, reliable, achiever, structured Middle Child – competitive, rebellious, peacemaker, people pleaser, social butterfly Youngest Child – spoiled, fun-loving, attention-seeking, outgoing, self-centered   In reading through some of these analyses I decided that when it comes to my family, there are only one or two traits that might apply (Firstborn, Middle, Youngest), but I think there are too many variables that we need to consider before judgement: A.  Who are your parents? B.  What is your social status/finances? C.  When were you born? D.  Where did you grow up in your formative years? E.  How many years apart in age are the siblings? F.  Male vs. Female (because we ALL know that makes a big difference)? All these questions significantly affect each child’s personality and choices in life.    If this baby only knew what was to come - Head Weirdo! BTW - I had a large head when I was young! I’ll break my family down into a simple pecking order of personality attributes (and peculiarities) with gender classification (because gender puts a whole new spin on this experiment). I’ve also decided to include an additional layer of designation with my “Seven Dwarf” theory:   I am third born - the second girl - surrounded by males. It was inevitable that I evolved into head weirdo! I am an observer of the absurd - especially when I look into a mirror! First Born (F) – Reliable, Conscientious, Intelligent, Achiever, Thoughtful, Leader, Popular, Wishes she was an only child – Dwarf analogy = Doc   Second Born (M) – Studious, Controlling, Intelligent, Combative, Generous, Self-Contained, Judge/Jury/Executioner – Dwarf analogy = Grumpy   Third Born (Guess Who?) – People-Pleaser, Obsessive-Compulsive, Attention-Grabber, Worrier, Dreamer, Needy, Creative, Hyper, Low Self-Esteem, Psychotic – Dwarf analogy = Dopey (on cocaine or Satan's Baby Powder)   Fourth Born (M/F - Just kidding!) – Rebellious, Social Animal, Independent, Self-Destructive, Loyal, Outgoing, Party til you Drop – Dwarf analogy = Happy   Fifth Born (M) – Peacemaker, Taciturn, Conscientious, Cautious, Kind, Dreamer, Secretly a Spy – Dwarf analogy = Bashful   My parents stopped at five – meaning – my mom stopped at five! They never birthed a sleepy or sneezy! We were put to work as soon as we could walk! I'm off to the potato fields! Originally, as I was figuring out what title my next book would wear on its cover – to catch readers attention - I started with “Growing Up Middle!” Then it morphed into the following options: Growing Up Middling! Growing Up Meddling! Growing Up Maudlin! Growing Up Muddling! Growing Up Manic! Growing Up Melodramatic! Etc. etc. etc. It was a work in progress depending on my mood that given day. Part of being a middle child is your multiple personalities - arguing with yourself(selves) about your every decision!   First Birthday! Apparently, I wished for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder! Hi, I’m Colleen – I am a note addict! Note taking has been my drug of choice since I was able to hold a crayon. I don't recall my siblings having this particular quirk. I’ve been keeping an ongoing folder of old notes, recent notes, post-it notes, ripped out pages of notes, etc., based on my now normal routine of writing (or even jotting down my daily to-do lists) – any blank piece of paper at hand became an idea for my book or blog (or cleaning chores). My notes were a big part of my Middle Child book - which I will share throughout this blog - and future MC blogs. Front of note - ending with Mike on a trike getting run over. Disguising my evil intent never crossed my mind! Back of note - ramblings of a deranged toddler! Not very organized or logical, but that’s the way my brain works (exhausting). After publishing and freaking out about my first book and all the challenges that most authors face – I finally felt like diving into the next one. Self-torture is another MC criterion. I decided to research how many books were written about this family strata conversation – and screamed when I scrolled through 20 Google pages on this topic. It never ended. So, I decided to change course and topic. My older brother was obviously my nemesis! I just wish I had learned to spell better! Psychotic comes to mind when I read this note. Front and back ravings of an unhinged middle child! My mother, in her wisdom, kept files on each of us as we grew up and then gave back to us when we moved on. My file was somewhat disappointing because it did not include school accolades but instead included many notes that I’d left her – outlining my daily demands. Yes, demands! No, I’m not kidding – DEMANDS!!! Please carefully read this insane note to my mother. I laugh and cry every time! She thought they were hilarious and worthy to keep. Of course, when I was asked to read them out loud (cornered and forced to share my sins) in front of a crowd of siblings and relatives – I gave a fantastic performance – but wept inside. I was a monster, but my mother loved me anyway. Thus began my journey carrying my notes (albatross) around my neck and planning their future application – a book outlining my trespasses and begging my mother’s forgiveness. But those notes had another purpose to fulfill.  My husband and I often chatted about book topics and where my focus should lie. One idea was to use my Menopause Obsession and write a murder mystery about an aging psychotic menopausal woman (me) as the protagonist and alleged suspect. Did she do it or didn’t she?  Mood swings   are potential acts of violence – when suffering through The Menopause. The second idea was even better.  Potential murder weapon (trowel) and burial plot (garden bed). I have a box of plastic gloves as well! The smile is a little creepy.   Write a murder mystery about a middle child accused of murdering a sibling – with her OCD lifetime note-taking as evidence, while also going through menopause. That’s a mouthful but I already envision hilarious mayhem. You may ask, "Why does Colleen have crime-scene booties?" I plan well! Obviously, I’ve already tested out ways to cover my “tracks". My only dilemma is which sibling do I (presumably) murder? Suggestions are welcome!   Until I start the next book – I decided that I would use my blog as a platform for this Middle Child Syndrome subject matter. I have a feeling that this may be an ongoing theme for a few of my upcoming posts – so stay tuned. This could be a three-parter!   I’ve already blogged about some of my “Middle Child” issues in my  Memory Expiration Date - B log excerpt: “It doesn’t’ matter if it’s true or not – it’s  what I remember !  How I remember ! Is it wrong? I don’t think so. If you play the game “Rumor” by whispering a short rumor into someone’s ear and then they pass it along to the next person, etc. etc. – that rumor doesn’t resemble the original one  at all!  I equate my personal stories to this Rumor game – what I remember can be a completely different “rumor” to the other participants. It happens all the time when I’m with family and relate a story from my past. My mother or brother will pipe up and say, “Colleen, you are completely wrong. That’s not what happened.” I whole-heartedly believe that I am  not  wrong – I just remember it differently. Memory is subjective and my memories don’t always mesh with other family members, husband, friends, etc. My husband thinks I “embellish” our stories – but do I? In my mind everything is embellished and magnified! That’s just how my brain and personality work. It’s the same story – but told by ME!! I’ve never denied my melodrama and flair for the sensational! I was an actress for crying out loud!!! Practically everything I do is a performance and I expect applause!   I’m a middle child of 5 – second girl.  1. Sister 2. Brother 3. ME 4. Brother 5. Brother   My memories never sync with my other siblings or parents – but I believe, as a middle child, my stories are  absolutely true  in my teeny tiny yet spectacular universe. Middle children go through life as if they are on LSD 24/7. Our memories are all “Magical Mystery Stories” because that’s how we get through life as “Not quite as good as the First Child/Daughter or Second Child/Son.” I’ve never done LSD – but I think I know it’s effects!!!   I’ve decided at 64 (almost Medicare age) – that I don’t give a rat’s ass if my stories are different from others. It’s what I remember and I’m sticking to it!!”   As you can see by that excerpt (cry for help), I fall into a category all my own when it comes to my family. They love me (I think) but I definitely stand out in a crowd of 5 – as not entirely stable. Four days old and not yet contaminated by being a middle child! Let’s start at the beginning. I am an October baby/Libra. Born in rural Northern Maine. Middle of five children. I believe I exited the womb emoting, singing and dancing, making demands and screaming, “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!” I was small but mighty – a theme I’ve carried throughout my life – just to prove that I’m worth existing. I’ve often wondered if the family gene pool was watered down as each spawn was conceived and by child number 3 (me) became so diluted that it had eliminated some important characteristics – like sanity. That would explain why my youngest brother doesn’t talk very much. The rest of us got all the “Words!”   What's the fun of eating flour without playing with it first? I was a happy, cute, blond-haired baby. I loved hanging with my mom in the kitchen so I could dive into the flour bin and consume carbs. Apparently, I was too impatient to wait for the baked product. My Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior (specifically writing notes) began when I was able to construct basic sentences. I wrote my mom notes as soon as I was able to hold a crayon, knew my ABC’s and could phonetically spell words. Nobody likes a f**king tattle-taler! Initially, the notes were complaints about my two brothers – one year older and one year younger – and basically were death threats. I believed with my whole heart, that if I wrote a note – then it would come true. Writing the words became my reality. I was delusional and disappointed daily – but it never stopped me from writing my mom notes – often repeating the same demands over and over until I got the result I wanted (apparently, I never did). This issue has followed me throughout my life and to this day I write daily notes and they are often ignored – even the ones I write to myself. This is clearly the definition of “Crazy.” I believe being a middle child has created this schizophrenic mutant.  Middle children feel like they can never live up to their siblings’ rankings and achievements. We are sandwiched between others that garner more attention and deservedly so. Analogy – the bread is superior to its contents. I decided early on that the only way I got noticed was to be “ON” all the time. It was exhausting and often went too far – but I did it anyway - to stand out from the crowd of 5. I look at it this way - Middle Children exist to make their siblings feel better about themselves. When I told my lady friends about considering writing a book about being a MC - some of them cried out loud, "Oh, my God!! You have to talk to my sister (MC) who is bat shit crazy!!" We Middle Children should start a club! The request starts out pretty sweet until it takes a dark turn! “You were a mistake!” I was between 10-13 years old (I think? the trauma still lingers) when I first heard these words come out of my mother’s mouth. Shocked speechless, my whole existence flashed before my eyes – the world slowed down on its axis – my mother’s voice/face/attitude in blazing detail - revealing her deepest darkest secret. Her words blurted out with an expression that may have resembled a smile (if you were Jack Nicholson in " The Shining "). But even in my youth I recognized a cynical, painful and sincere edge to her voice. Her words spoke volumes. Not only was I a mistake, but my mom’s life was a series of errors (at least 5). At 65 – I can feel her sorrow and to some extent can empathize. When I brought this up recently, she clarified (to make me feel better) that every child she had was a mistake! There was no Planned Parenthood or options in her youth. Please don’t get me wrong – my mother loves all of us very much. But I can’t help but wonder how different her life would have been without us. I feel my mother’s despair at unfulfilled dreams and weep for what could have been.  Sarcastic "slanted page writing" is a warning sign! Of course, it wasn’t my fault that I was born “accidentally” in a moment of passion. Unfortunately, as a middle child, we take on the onus of their anguish and pain and pay for the sins of our parents. Too melodramatic? Of course! I’m a Middle Child! We assume more responsibility due to our self-esteem issues. We are self-absorbed creatures, but only because we never feel equally loved – like our siblings. We don’t hear, “I love you!” We hear, “I love you, enough! Death threat #1! When you write about personal issues that involve yourself and invariably those within your small universe – you inevitably hurt feelings. It’s not intentional but it’s part of life. We all harbor aches, pains and grievances against those we love most in this world. I humbly apologize if I hurt anyone with my words. (The four images of threats to my mom were written over the span of a month. I'm surprised she's still alive!) Death threat #2! My mom just laughed and put these notes in my file! Let me end Part 1 on a funny note – because humor has made my middle child syndrome bearable (just like menopause). I was a very fastidious child and didn’t mind cleaning chores – except the after dinner washing of 7 people’s dinner plate-ware and all the other items you need to clean after every meal! Bridget and I usually had to do the “women” chores. I became quite adept at disappearing into the bathroom right after the meal was finished. I obviously had intestinal issues – because I’d be using the toilet for at least a half hour every night. Bridget wasn't stupid and knew my evasive evil intentions. It really pissed her off that I not only escaped the chore but got away with it. Ironically, to this day I still go to the bathroom right after I eat – home or restaurant – without fail. The only difference is that I do the dishes when I’m finished with my OCD toilet habit because I’m the only one who can truly clean my kitchen properly. Yes, cleaning is another obsessive-compulsive dis(order). I don't recall taking ballet in H.S.? Maybe this was my first dominatrix outfit? FYI – one of my T-shirt quotes for Middle Children: “Don’t mistake being silly for being stupid!” All you MC’s out there will understand this quote. I got a little tired of being called silly! Psycho Begging! Please buy my book and Pretty Please review it on Amazon!   Back to adding a cleaning tip : Vacuums have been an obsession with me since I started buying my own. My current vacuum is the second bagless Shark that I've owned (and worked to death). I've had Dyson's but did not like this expensive vacuum because it did not pick up dog/cat hair as well as the Shark. The Shark also has more attachments. My BFF! I selected my first Shark while at a Bed Bath and Beyond (when they had actual stores). There was another woman also looking for a vacuum and kept referring to a book (blue book for vacuums) as she perused the many options. I sidled up to her to look over her shoulder. She, like me, kept looking at Sharks versus Miele's. I struck up a conversation and our mutual passion bonded our new friendship. Ed had already left me to have a lie-down in the bedding section (bored but titilated by suction conversations). My new friend and I meticulously read through all the pros/cons/ratings of each vacuum and settled on the Shark because the Miele canister had such a tiny disposable bag - that I'd be changing it 3 times in one vacuum session. Since I vacuum almost every day - that was going to get expensive!! Since my husband works long hours and we have limited time together - my vacuum has become my best friend. Very supportive, good listener and has great suction. Does this apron make me look fat? (My sister came up with this tag line) Mr. S.H. Ark (nickname - Shark-bait) keeps me company in every room and never talks back to me or lets me down. He is happy to accommodate (enable) my OCD! My companion likes to dress up and very self-conscious of his weight. He loves anything on the BBC and enjoys murder mysteries. His favorite food is hair of any kind - especially dog hair. Part 2 of MC will be coming to a blog near you! See you in 2 weeks! " There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please tell everyone that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your social media friends, family and followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

I love my husband! Las Vegas weddings are the best! Just don't lick my ear, Dude! I’ve thought long and hard on this – “How do you bury a body without getting caught?” Since I haven’t figured out the perfect crime yet – then I’ll just have to cohabitate with my primate until I do or he agrees with everything I say!   It’s time for Primate Part 2 - which is an accumulation of “primate” euphemisms. I’ve been jotting down these Ape-isms - that have alternately confused, angered, shocked, amused and exhausted me – but are always great Blog material. I am a very lucky primate-ista!   This is Ed's - over the glasses look - which means, "Do I look stupid to you?" To get you started, here is an excerpt from my previous  Primate Blog : “We’re of different species and often communication quickly breaks down. It’s like we are speaking alien languages that only our species understands. I don’t speak primate! I can sometimes interpret his hand signals and facial expressions for rudimentary needs and emotions – hunger, anger, boredom, irritation, happy, needy, sleepy, horny. They are simple creatures with basic primordial emotions. I give myself a 50/50 chance of getting his grunts right. I muse on the cosmic joke the universe is playing on us – pairing us together to propagate the world.” I read this hand signal - loud and clear. "You're #1, Honey!" As we all know – men (apes) consider themselves to be the smartest person in any room they enter. If my husband decides to pontificate on topics of which he knows nothing except that it exists and happens to be exclusively female related – he gets upset if I react with irritation. If he continues to regurgitate misinformation - then I’ve decided that I’m going to either dress him up in a shag wig, make-up, low-cut dress with 6 in. heels and a purse - OR - bury him in the backyard. His choice!    Some examples of my primate’s presumed feminine side and dearth/lack of knowledge: 1.  How to select a purse  – I’m not talking about the “Man Bag (purse)!” It takes a long time for me to find just the right purse. I typically search for a larger one, black, cross-body, with 101 pockets and zippered sections. I’ll stuff all my essential (bathroom sink) women stuff that I think is vital to have on hand for daily uses and emergencies. Twenty packets of tissues are crucial. I’ll finally shove that one “Thin Mint” into the overburdened bag until it mushrooms into a mini-nuclear meltdown of leather, zippers and way too much absurdity. Normally, I would spend money for quality leather and secure seams that will last me numerous years because once I find that perfect bag – I hold on to it for life until it begs me to put it out of its misery. But this time I decided to buy on The Google and selected a cheap knock-off. That way, I can avoid getting too attached (like most of my ex-boyfriends). I guess Ed is my “Forever Bag-Boy!” Anyway, I got a bigger purse – Hobo style. Ed was shocked that I bought a purse online (as was I – but I’ll never admit that). After I’d done my ritual changing of the bags with much fanfare, he insisted on seeing it in use. He made me sling it over my shoulder and said, “It’s bigger than you!!!” I immediately started defending my cheap purse and extoling all its virtues and zippers. I kept justifying my purchase until I realized – it’s none of his business. However, that didn’t stop him from giving me a lecture on how to buy and select a purse. He has a birthday coming up and I know just what to buy him for a present. A Primate Purse!  This hat just won't die! My primates favorite! This was my 3rd attempt at repairing it! 2.  How to cure menopause  – His cure, like most men, is that it doesn’t need a cure because it isn’t a real Health Issue. I am not going to embarrass him too much – but he did not think my mood swings were menopause health related. I was just being a crazy-ass bitch! My primate is not great at reading the room when I’ve reached maximum I'm-ready-to-blow. When I snap – he doesn’t realize that I won’t be the one jumping off the ledge – he’ll be assisted to leap. That’ll leave a bruise!  This expression is one of pride and gratitude that I didn't murder him during menopause! Since I’ve written a book about my  Menopausal symptoms  - he has learned a lot about menopause and the severity of women’s change of life and far more empathetic. Better late than never! It was hard on our relationship when I was in full-blown menopause – when I actually needed his support. Neither of us understood the implications of The Menopause. It is my mission to educate both women and primates - so no one dies! 3.  How to write and publish a menopause book  – The only thing I have to say about this is – he’s read books, but never written one or published one. Why do men feel compelled to give advice on a topic that they have ZERO reliable input? Ears are meant for listening! 4.  How to write a women’s blog  – Same as above only more ridiculous. Unless my husband has neglected to tell me an extremely important biological surgical procedure in his youth, then he, once again, knows nothing about writing a blog – let alone writing a blog about women and women issues. He was born of a woman and has friends/dates and married women – but IS NOT a woman. Leave the blogging to the professionals! This is the only feminine (silly) pix I could find of Ed. All he needs is a cute purse and parasol! Ed has only read 3 of my blogs – one being, “ How to Communicate with your Primate! ” I was nervous but knew that it was written with a lot of love – and humor (at his expense). He critiqued it – pointed out a missing word – and then proceeded to tell me how I should do my blog. I’ve written 20 and now he chimes in. He pontificated, “They’re too long! No one will read them. Your audience doesn’t have the patience to read all those words. Yes, it’s funny, BUT…..” etc. Once he finished his ape-sided conversation, I told “Evil Colleen” to put the knife down and decided how to best respond to the barely concealed insult to all womankind. I proceeded to explain all the research I did on Author Blogs, typical length, catering to my audience, threw in some SEO stats, etc. etc. etc. – he backed off. Men (apes) have limited attention spans – which is clearly who he was describing! Ed's Boy Band album cover! Love his hair!! He's so dreamy!! 5.  How to cut my hair  – I wrote a whole blog on my hair and the importance of hair in our (women's) culture. Ed is torn when it comes to women and their hair. Two of his “Wish List/Free Pass” actresses are Jennifer Aniston and Jamie Lee Curtis. He loves Jennifer Aniston’s long hair that can be styled a myriad of ways from pigtails, to ponytails, to long and flowing in the imaginary breeze (in slo-mo). He also loves Jamie’s short haircut which happens to be similar to my mine. However, when I go “too short” he isn’t as pleased. Personally, I would shave my head if I could work the bald look! But I leave enough hair to style and tend to prefer (stubby) short. When I come back from the salon – Ed is waiting for my grand entrance. If he likes it, he’ll say, “You look taller!” If he doesn’t, I hear dead crickets. I don’t tell him how to cut his hair – so why is he chiming in on mine? Hair is so personal and part of our identity. Hair makes or breaks your mood depending on its cooperation. Historically and psychologically – hair is power. So I propose my primate nod, smile and tell me I’m pretty after each haircut – OR – I’ll give my opinion on his mustache and beard, “Santa Clause is not a good look! Why do I hear banjos! Hurts, doesn’t it!!”   The irony is that without all my feminine hormones – I’ve basically turned into a man. Ed and I can exchange hair tips –  thinning pate and facial hair grooming – Read Chapter 12 Hair - in my book . Ed’s lucky that his nose hair transitions smoothly into his mustache, or we’d be grooming together as well. Film crew of alpha primates! Too cool to smile! 6.  How to select my glasses  – Like haircuts, this is a tender topic. I like fun and unusual glasses and it takes forever to cull the 300 pairs I try on before nominating my next eye jewelry. The selection process is intense. My glasses, like my hair, are part of my identity and integral to my fashion strategy. They both tell a story of my choices in life. They also decrease the amount of makeup that I wear because they  are  my makeup. So, I am the only one who can honestly make this pricey and long-term (1-2 years) style-sensitive purchase. I bought a pair of glasses without his input once and he said the following, “If you keep these, I will not be able to look at you - ever.” He proved this statement when I tested them out around the house prior to getting my prescription filled. He stuck to his “gums” (yes gums) and did not make eye contact. I did not return them and purchased another pair to “his taste” – with a fury-filled core – and spitefully turned them into prescription sunglasses. He liked them as f**king sunglasses!!!  Hard at work. Primates are adept at scaling ladders! As I’ve aged into “Senior” and begun the shrinking phase of my elder years – I now must be careful what glasses I purchase. In trying on about 50 pairs in Warby Parker – I forget how tiny (petit) my head is which eliminated a lot that I really liked. I gradually narrowed down the likely candidates to the frames in the children’s section. Luckily, there were some adult choices that came in narrow, fit my pocket-sized cranium and accommodated my old lady, post-cataract “Readers” section. Initially, Ed wasn’t sure he approved. But then I noticed a facial cue that resulted in a leer as he said, “They make you look smarter, like a librarian. Mmmmmm….” Glad it worked out for him. 7.  How to dress while cleaning  – I’ve already  blogged  about his choice in cleaning attire. French maid or dominatrix are the ensembles/costumes/cliches he prefers. I am considering including the dominatrix “activewear”, not only as cleaning garments but also training my husband to never express his opinion on my purse, writing, hairstyle, glasses or how to dress while cleaning - or he gets my professional dominant opinion in the form of my riding crop! Ed claims I am a dominatrix in attitude only. He just wants his daily dose of humiliation and degradation to include the sexy pleather full-body sex suit and 7-inch black laced heels for him to lick at my discretion. I think I’ll combine the two fantasies and speak French while I deliberate on the more sensitive parts of his very pert buttocks!!! Too much info? One thing we agree on is - vacationing! He kept me safe from falling off the slippery giant's causeway! As to my normal day-to-day raiment – he just wishes I’d wear less layers and show more cleavage. True red-blooded primate! How about I show Ed and his film crew buddies - how to WORK! 8.    How to grocery shop, do laundry and clean  – When he opens his mouth, all I hear is white noise (grunts) because I just don’t care.   Here are some daily nonsensical primate-isms I have to endure. One morning, while dressed, I was tugging and twisting my bra and mumbling about how it was irritating my “old age spots” that set up roots along portions of my bra and strap paths – and he proceeded to regale me about some previous girlfriend who took him bra shopping (so now he was an expert on bras) and spewed what was wrong with the ones I have and what I should be purchasing. I was stunned, amused and curious why this popped into his head and the authority behind his discourse on women’s bras!!! Other than worshipping what bras contain or taking them off to ogle at the contents – what kind of expertise do apes have? He doesn’t even qualify for the “Fonzie bra snap” club. He’s only finger-snapped my bra off once and it was in an outdoor crowd at the fairgrounds. I was not amused but he was elated at his dexterity at humiliating me in public. If memory serves, he’s never worn one? I’ll take him bra shopping and make him try on a bunch to see if he prefers lacy, push-up, padded or athletic. He'll have to ask the female attendant to get him the correct sizes. If he was game to step into my combat boobs (bra) – then I’ll consider listening to his opinion and advice about bras! I love my husband! He wears whatever silly birthday headgear I purchase for him! Every time I talk to myself (which is an ongoing conversation 24/7) or frustrated at a project (which happens more often than not) or on the computer trying to figure something out (which is not easy for a tech challenged EMP) – he wants to interrupt my private conversation, take over the project and tells me to stop killing the computer so he can show me how it’s done - correctly. He ape-splains and offers advice all the time whether I want it or like it. If he shows me how to do something - he mumble-talks and quickly does the deed without any step-by-step guide. For example, if it’s tech-related, he’ll say “Just play around with the computer and you’ll figure it out on your own.” My personality doesn’t work that way – I want a written down explanation from A to Z so I don’t f**k anything up. I want to do something once not 100 times. Also, if I need help – I will ask!!! I know he’s smart – but stop assuming I’m not! If I don’t take his advice – then I’m hurting his feelings. I can’t win! A couple days ago, we were having a heated argument about computer related issues and the above topic and I said with frustration, “All I want is to understand each step so I don’t mess up – especially if you aren’t around to help fix it.” He replied with emphatic energy, “I hate it when you don’t trust your instincts. You are smart – smarter than you think.” It shut me up – because that was the first time he acknowledged (sort of complimented) my brain. Huh! Love this pix of Ed on our Pacific Coast holiday! Of course, he was looking the wrong way!! I think my husband is ADHD, not medicated and assumes he is in control of it. When he first wakes up or is bored – he paces and jumps from topic to topic, tells me what I should do on every aspect of my life, plans my day, won’t leave me alone, interrupts me constantly and spews words like they are magical nuggets of interest and wisdom. He thinks this ADHD activity is useful and important and I’m an idiot if I don’t agree or marvel at his superior massive brain. I need coffee before I am assailed with his genius and often annoyed. When I wake up, I want quiet. I spend my gradual awakening as a time for thought, reflection and stumbling to the fridge for my vat of iced coffee. I am assaulted in the early hours with Ed’s intense enthusiasm, Tater’s whining and Rey’s meowing demands. I’ve read that writers tend to be more internal upon waking up – and reserve their energy for the brain reboot they got from sleep – because they are more creative upon waking. Example: I love crossword puzzles. I can be completely stymied the night before by a crossword clue but if I look at it in the morning I see the answer very clearly. Your brain is refreshed in the AM and ready for action. But it’s a slow burn wake up – not a “let’s have a parade” wake up like my husband’s. It's cerebral not active – with the exception of making coffee! Ed selected a hip new restaurant - that serves no food! All the "rage"!! My primate’s diet method is cutting out meals. Our metabolism drastically changes as we age and you have to adjust your eating and movement to accommodate your slower cell-pace. He won’t listen to my 65 years of weight and health related wisdom - which is exercise, cut down on quantity/portion size and eat more vegetables/roughage. Don’t eliminate but cut back. Don’t eat a box of T Joe’s Rockets – have a handful. Don’t eat a pint of vanilla ice cream, eat half. Have a banana for the love of God!! He cuts out meals - which means – he is Fungry (f**king hungry) and unpleasant to deal with. Eggshells are laid down on the kitchen floor for me to carefully navigate his diet plan. He often hides in the woodshop which terrifies me – what with all the sharp implements and electric machinery with sharp teeth and hungry for fingers. He watches me work out daily – but it’s only to stare at my butt when I’m in a Downward Dog position!  Primate bonding with our dog! My primate is a good cook, but this includes sloppy ingredients flying and hot oil spattering. He chops with fervor, glee and acts like the chaos improves the end result. Cleanup is laughable. Not to disparage toddlers, but he is on a par with their level of cleaning skills. At least he doesn’t finger paint with his poop! My husband can’t boil water without making a mess! It’s his superpower! After I spit-shine clean the kitchen each week – I have deemed this day as, “No Fry Thursday.” Ed (on the right) looks like a demonic altar boy! He's not allowed to cook on Thursday because inevitably he chooses frying or sautéing on my detailed shiny stovetop. Is it on purpose??? I suspect there is a little boy inside that adult body with evil intent. It took years of training but now he’ll come into the kitchen as I’ve just finished cleaning – open the fridge and say, “Hmmm…I think I’ll fry some eggs.” As I whip my head around ( Exorcist  style) and open my mouth to blow off his head with my words – he turns laughing. I hate him sometimes! I hate me for being so gullible! Watching TV together is fun, but I’m becoming my mother and slowly believing the TV can talk back to me. Drives Ed nuts. I must monitor this evolving behavior very closely, so it doesn’t become the norm. Sorry mom, but this is a very irritating habit.    When Ed decides to start a project and it’s not necessarily the best time to do so, it becomes a sweat-induced debate. For example: starting a massive project like repointing the entire front stone porch (and the siding) while also assuming I’ll be participating. I was out sick the day they taught the masonry class. He wants me to do as many handy-man projects with him as possible. Isn’t that his primate job? Primate like to sand and cut out circles! Hurt primate ears! Hoo hoo hah ooh ha! I’m no mason, carpenter, roofer, machinist, plumber, electrician, etc. and yet he insists. He wants me to be involved in all these home repairs – but also  needs  me to do so - because apparently, we are  attached at the hip. Actually, I don’t mind learning how things work and how to repair the basics – but some things should be left for my primate or better yet - a professional!   The ongoing battle of the muddy dog. I’ll clean all day and he’ll let Tater in 10 min. after I’ve collapsed on the couch to rest my back. I’ll scream when a muddy dog flies through the room. Like the time I stripped (not clothing) and laid down 3 layers of wax on our floor in the kitchen which took me two days. It looked fantastic! Let me rephrase that – it did look fantastic until I stupidly went to pee. When I came out of the bathroom I heard commotion in the kitchen. I found Ed playing with our dogs – with their favorite ball – making them go in circles to catch it. Think about it for just a moment! He destroyed all my work in less than 5 minutes. A big circle of running dog nails deflating my soul. I did not blame the dogs – I blamed the big ape with the dog toy and his lack of humanity. How many Grips does it take to guard one crane? I love film crew pictures!! They are HOT! Men are as vain or more so than women. For example: beards, picky about their favorite brand of flannel shirts and jeans, weight gain, hats, tattoos, etc. They have their preferred “uniform” that they maintain is for comfort only. Don't be fooled by their nonchalance! Example of primate fashion! Glorious specimen! They pretend they're blasé or put any effort into their wardrobe or waist size – but they’re deceiving no one! Ed professes he doesn’t care what he looks like when he gets dressed – but I know his “manly fashion statement” has been honed to best show off his laid-back, I’m too cool to care approach - to evoke envy with the other primates in his social system. They have no idea how smart women are and how obvious they are. Silly primates! Ed makes fun of my footwear display and I make fun of his coat fetish. It all balances out in the end!   Primates might be hairier, but gravity affects them differently. Since they don’t lose estrogen and progesterone – they don’t have the elasticity issue that we women do. Ed has less wrinkles because he's too cool to smile! Like a cracked windshield, wrinkles appear and expand into a map of misery on our (my) faces, chin line sagging into a jowl-ing mass of humiliation, boobs sag into de-feet (yes, I meant to spell it that way) and the ass weeps into our thighs. I hate men and their ability to hold onto youth - mentally and physically.   I told him that I was thinking of turning my blogs into a book – albeit when I have 400 pages or so. Women have told me I should make it my next book. Ed questioned that notion and grunted a few criticisms. Then, a dull lightbulb went off in his brain and he did a complete reversal and proudly expounded, “I think you should wait until you have a large quantity of blogs and turn them into a book!” I was perplexed by this conversation and whiplash U-turn because that’s what I just said, and he obviously wasn’t listening to me! Men have dyslexia when it comes to women speaking! It’s a strange phenomenon that I have never been able to understand. We speak the same language – English – but in his (man/ape) banana-brain he is apparently hearing it in Romulan and poorly translating and butchering my words into Ape-lish. I believe women need to create a book of basic interpretations for men - called - “Women-Speak for Dum-Dum Primates.” Words and phrases to assist your ape-splaining mate how to communicate properly with you and all women-kind. Ed in his 20's - working for WWF! A circus of big apes and very popular with wanna-be chimps! Primates don’t like their mistakes or asinine decisions aired to the world outside their habitat. Women (me) have no qualms about airing our own dirty laundry as well as our partner’s (read my book). We don’t spill everything – but it’s very common to vent our frustrations to our understanding and empathetic feminine comrades. Last year's birthday - Baby Yoda Ears! I love it! Most of us must live with and endure our primates ego-centric personality disorders – of never being wrong or never making mistakes. I love it when my primate fails and graces my stratum (a primate lower on the food chain). It makes him more human - not ape.   I love my husband, Ed! He is my primate for life! His many attributes qualified him as the one man to warm up my cold black heart – like no other could. He’s handsome (good genes), intelligent (a vacuum for learning and I LOVE vacuums), creative (music, design, gardening, woodworking), funny (thanks to me), trustworthy (with much chagrin from one of my alter egos – Darla Darkside – an amoral lying bitch), and so many more glowing qualities. He has loved me unconditionally even when I tested his sincerity repeatedly. I love my husband and I can’t imagine life without him. Not to say that he doesn’t piss me off. I occasionally measure his body mass and test the backyard for potential digging sites. My fear is that Tater will dig him up! Big chew toy! Ed wine. Full bodied, acidic with a hint of coffee grounds! Edisms – cute primate moments: We were watching one of our YouTubers and the question was asked “What kindness have you done today that made someone happy?” I asked my husband, “What kindness have you done today, Ed?” He replied without hesitation, “I didn’t kill anyone.” Good answer?   I was watching a show and told Ed, “You know, this show starts out as a funny and light-hearted comedy and then turns gruesomely violent in the blink of an eye. Crazy!” Ed replied, “Huh…just like you.” I had no witty response – but just said, “Huh…I can’t disagree! (pause) True dat.”    There are times when Ed and I are in the kitchen – I’ll start talking to him and realize I keep pausing because he is loudly blowing his obviously over-stuffed nose. Then I realize he’s timing his proboscis honking each time I open my mouth to talk. Good looking Ape! As I turn to prove my suspicion – he is laughing. He gets me every time! My man-child is best at toddler humor!   Typing with 2 hands is magical to my primate. His vast cerebral cortex is in awe with my ability to multi-task at the keyboard. He’ll stand over my shoulder and watch with admiration at my dexterity and that I am typing without looking at my hands. Typing with 2 index sausage fingers is challenging for many primates. My skill elevates me to god-like status when typing!   Reassuring your Primate is key to a  harmonious  relationship. Saying, “I Love You” is like giving him a BJ or batch of Italian Ricotta Cookies! Love soothes his savage breast/beast. It makes both of you feel good and creates harmony in your private jungle! Contemplating the meaning of life - making me happy! " There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would love (I’m really begging you) to get some reviews posted by the wonderful people who purchased or were gifted my book. If you could take a moment and post a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Good Reads, Bookbaby Bookshop &/or your social media platforms - I would be ever so humbled and grateful. I'll send you my recipe for Italian Ricotta Cookies! I’m typing this on bended knees! Thank you to the wonderful women (and one man) who have reviewed my book on Amazon, B&N and Good Reads. I'm so grateful! Thank you everyone for your support and encouragement. I am so appreciative of your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    We discovered these sand glyphs at the beach! Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your friends, family and strangers!   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Colleen and Ed - My Favorite Primate! C’mon Ladies!! We’ve all considered the similarities between Man and Ape!!! I’ve done some research on our non-human primate ancestors and deduced that we are more similar than we’d like to admit. I consider myself an amateur Biological Anthropologist because I’ve been studying our cousins - primates - for 65 years. I believe there should be an Honorary Doctorate with my name on it for all my hard work! Like our primate relatives we are social animals and live in groups. There is a hierarchy of social structure and organization – which primarily falls to the female. This allows the male primate to beat his chest, seduce his mate, eat her snacks (Trader Joe’s Cheese Rockets) and solidify his dominance as alpha in our household. Unbeknownst to my primate, the female (the real alpha) is subtly controlling him !! BTW – I’ve hidden those T-Joe’s Rockets and he sniffs them out every time. We fight to the death which leads to a shredded box of Rockets and high levels of cholesterol and chronic (psycho) stress!!! The Alpha Primate’s job is to protect me and our territory, provide for us, desire me and keep me happy. He better keep me happy because my job is far more complex and time consuming. I also provide, source supplies, feed us, groom him, entertain him, clean, wash, nurture our hairy children (pets) and protect him from doing something reckless! Is it a balanced society? A work in progress. This blog will primarily focus on male/female relationships – specifically my relationship with my husband, Ed. My primate for life!! I love my husband with 100% of my heart and 99% of my head. The 1% is still on the fence due to the vast differences between us – male and female. Ed and I have been together almost 27 years. He is the love of my life. Unless Timothy Olyphant bursts through our door and professes his undying love. Hopefully, for me?! Cowboy hat, cowboy boots and tight jeans! He can "Justify" me anytime!!! He is in the top three famous candidates that I can cheat on my husband and be forgiven list. Just watch the show Justified and you’ll completely concur. (Image Right - while sitting on the toilet. His eyes are strategically covered for privacy!) Ed and I still make each other laugh every day. However, it’s not all butterflies and baby goats in our micro-society of 2 (4 if you count our dog and cat). He loves me but he can also piss me off, irritate the snot out of me and hurt my feelings, but we are still soul mates. I am true to myself with him, in all my lunacy and messiness - yet he loves me anyway. Same goes for his primate-ass – I love him despite him. Unconditional love! BUT – we’re of different species and often communication quickly breaks down. It’s like we are speaking alien languages that only our species understands. I don’t speak primate! I can sometimes interpret his hand signals and facial expressions for rudimentary needs and emotions – hunger, anger, boredom, irritation, happy, needy, sleepy, horny. They are simple creatures with basic primordial emotions. I give myself a 50/50 chance of getting his grunts right. I muse on the cosmic joke the universe is playing on us – pairing us together to propagate the world. I pepper my menopause book with snippets of Ed and our relationship. He is the primary male that lived through this momentous transition. When women go through “The Menopause” they have multiple stages of transformation. Our metamorphosis is initially met with confusion, panic, fear and longing. Since most of us have little knowledge of the menopause – we must go through the stages of grief - at losing our youth. Only then can we accept the change with wisdom, grace and beauty – inside and out. Men don’t experience this physical and emotional migration. Men are used to society saying, “He just gets better with age!!” It’s equally confusing for men because they will never fully understand these mutations that occur – emotionally and physically – that women endure. Since time began – men were bred to have simple basic needs and were told that they were entitled, powerful and dominant. Society has twisted our norms into lies and we have all paid the price. It will be women who will have to clean up their mess and rewrite the story – along with everything else we have on our plates. Anyway, I veered off the topic to point out some obvious truths. Back to my deciphering the chatter!! Let’s breakdown some obvious discrepancies and solutions to communication between our two species: 1. How to Hug Your Primate – It's vitally important that the primate be taller and larger than their mate/partner – unless you have big boobs – then it’s okay. Masculinity is jeopardized by the feminine act of “hugging” so you must make allowances for your primates need to maintain control. The reality is – you are in control, but his ego must be humored. Hugging, to a primate, is an act of protection, affection and calming his female chimp (mate) that everything is fine because he is indulging her need to be encircled by his long, virile ape-arms (hug). Here is an example of “Hugs by Ed.” Almost every day (usually early morning before I’ve put on shoes), Ed and I end up in the kitchen together for coffee and one of our ritual hugs. We have a chef mat in our kitchen which is about a half inch to an inch thick which Ed subtly (or so he thinks) arranges our positions so I’m standing on the floor while he is standing on the mat. He wraps his arms around me as I scoot in with my arms tucked into my chest. Ed now has about 1 inch advantage on me – thanks to his shoes and the chef mat. As such, Ed can cradle my head under his chin. He proceeds to rock me like a baby grunting sweet nonsense. Knowing that this makes him feel so manly, I will say with laughter building, “Oh, you are so big and strong! So masculine!” Ed can’t maintain his puffed-out chest while laughing. To balance out the “Primate Hug”, we will switch places with me doing the hugging. It immediately breaks down into giggles, because I can’t reach my arms around his bulk and it looks like a toddler is hugging a Gorilla. We must like these hugs because we keep coming back for more. Hugging in bed is a whole other bag of brute. It’s like cuddling a boa constrictor. A little suffocating and scary! I wouldn't give up these hugs for anything. My primate gives good hug!!! 2. How to Control your Chest-Beating Primate – This can be tricky. Depending on how you react, you take the risk that it will turn uglier than initially intended. The key thing is to NOT WHINE when the "Hulk is beasting !" Sarcasm is also frowned upon. The worst thing you could say is, “Calm Down!” I’ve learned over many years to not provoke that beast. Silence and body language are your initial means of communication until fully reading the meltdown. I usually stare with eyes half-lidded and mouth firmly shut with neutral body language. It hides my real feelings of surprise, judgement and why the f**k are you so upset. My body is not fully relaxed but in a holding pattern of tension in case I need to flee. I’m not scared of my primate – but more concerned about his solution. Rash decisions are a threat when the “bear/primate is poked.” These outbursts are often caused by stress or calling an insurance company or phone company or credit card company. You catch my drift. Yelling at a robot on the phone is infuriating!! Keep your responses to a minimum. Add a touch of empathy in your tone at his amplified frustration. Sidling quietly out of the room can occur once his focus turns away from your carefully crafted expression. He’ll gradually deflate and need a nappy. It will resolve itself once he’s rested. Sometimes, albeit rarely, I must pull the Grownup Card and tell him to, “Stop It!! Listen to yourself! Grow Up and Chill Out!!!” 3. How to Distract Your Primate - Here's a distraction snippet from my book – Memory Loss Chapter 6: Memory Loss - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!!! When you walk into a room and forget why you walked into the room—I recommend you clean something—so to distract others into believing your true purpose was to clean that “fridge” all along. Keep the mystery alive until you ultimately forget to even clean something and just stand in the middle of the room with a perplexed look on your face. For example—if your husband asks what is wrong—just say, “Do you smell smoke?” Men always fall for that and immediately go into ape-man survival mode. Usually, that should give you enough time to remember the real reason you walked into that room before you have to re-cage your primate. Diversion is key!!! I find that when your mate is on a tangent, getting worked up, droning on and on, not paying attention – ask a totally unrelated question. They already think they're the smartest person/primate in the room, so they feel compelled to answer that question ad nauseam. Your alpha primate expends a lot of energy maintaining his alpha status – therefore, he needs more snacks. Food is a great distraction. If he starts irritating you, just walk away and say, “I’m going to bake some cookies.” No Brainer!! Then there is the age-old trick of using your sex. I’m not saying, “Have Sex.” I’m saying, use it to your advantage. It could be as simple as bending over, wearing tights, holding his hand, telling him he’s cute/handsome or if you're desparate - flash him. Women are always the most powerful person in a male dominated room – simply because we are women. Primates/Men are controlled by one appendage – and females are at the controls. ‘Nuff said! My primate also loves to play with tools. I admire how adept he is with these advanced technologies. I am very proud of my primate because his primate friends have not evolved to his level of using hammers and making sticks. So, this is a wonderful distraction for him – preening and showing off his skills. I suggest he make things for the house – the bigger the project the longer the diversion. 4. How to Control Your Primates Primal Urges – Cold showers are fantastic – but the minute they step out of that shower, they are horny again. Ed gets aroused if I’m wearing plaid flannel jammies, large tee, bulky sweatshirt, wooly socks and a baseball cap. In other words - same garments my primate is wearing?! He leers at me and starts fondling me saying, “You are so HOT in your baggy layers of clothing! Plaid turns me on!!” I guess I’m flattered but more confused. Ed has mentioned the word “Harem” a few times – which in some primate societies is a very common practice. Apparently, Ed closely resembles a Gorilla’s sexual proclivities. Males often communicate their needs through olfactory and vocalization communication. Women secrete pheromones that alert the male there’s a chance he’ll get lucky. Often, they misinterpret these “scents” and get a slap across their hairy jaw. Your primates vocalized grunts (a gateway to language) can communicate different needs – hunger, distress, predator alert, dominance, needs attention, wooing which may lead to sex. Over time you’ll cue into what each grunt means and decide how to reply, react or do neither! You can’t control his libido. I believe castration for "humans" is illegal, even though we share 99% of our DNA with our primate relavtives. There could be a case for it! 5. How to Translate Your Primates Grunts – Below is a quick tutorial of deciphering the chatter and interpreting his gibberish repertoire: a. Hunger Grunt – 2 quick grunts in quick succession – feed it soon. b. Dominance Grunt – 1 deep loud prolonged grunt – no use arguing – he’s gone full primate. May also include chest-thumping, baring teeth, pacing and lunging. c. Predator Alert Grunt – multiple grunts that gradually increase in volume that end in a dominance screech - to scare away whatever made that noise in the basement (probably the cat). d. Pay Attention To Me Grunt – 3 softer grunts to encourage his mate to acknowledge and coddle him. He thinks softer grunts will appeal to the nurturer in our cold black hearts. Stupid Primate! e. Repairing The Relationship Grunt – 3 mewling grunts to beg forgiveness for being a Primate. 50/50 chance it will work. f. Shocked At Your Dominant Intellect Grunt - 1 quick low grunt, immediately followed by a high one as if affronted. Don't worry, he'll get over it. Deep down - way down - he knows you are right! g. Sex/Wooing Grunt – 1 basso-deep Isaac Hayes grunt initially and if that doesn’t work – repeat until it does – OR - he knuckles it to a corner to rub/lick his rejected testicles/wounds. 6. How to Manipulate Your Primate – It takes time to truly learn the art of manipulation. It involves subtlety and finesse. You don’t want to upset your primate. Sometimes they bite! You have to use reverse psychology. For example, if he wants you to pick the restaurant – make sure you have 3 choices. One he likes and two you like. His obvious selection would be the first one, but that will make him hesitate because he knows you won’t be as happy and might think he’s being selfish. So, he’ll pick one of the others hoping to please you and maybe get lucky!! He’s wrong, of course, because after stuffing his hairy belly he’s too sleepy to “get lucky!” Going silent always has power. Deadly silence is a perfect way to gain control over any situation. Primates are terrified of your silence and cold dead stare. It’s the “Black Hole” of relationships. When you finally speak, they’ll agree to anything. Manipulating bigger decisions is in the section below. 7. How to Talk Your Primate Off “The Cliff” – First rule is - Do Not Jump Off The Cliff With Your Primate!!!” Impulsive Cliff Dive! Just follow Meeeeeeeeeeee......! I’ve mentioned this quote in a previous blog, but it applies perfectly to this one. “When a Man plans, a Woman laughs!” Jason Pargin quote. When my primate jumps off "The Cliff” I can hear him scream, “Just follow Meeeeeeeeeeeee....!” Consequences be damned! For years I would immediately jump after him, also without a parachute, wondering if this was a good idea?? Now I just silently watch him take a flying leap and wait for him to figure out what a ridiculous plan that was and - Ouch! That must have hurt!! Making colossal rash decisions with the expectation that you will blindly follow is another definition of “crazy.” I will listen to his passionate (demented) grunting about life-changing objectives (hallucinations) but only respond with non-committal sideways glances. Never making direct eye contact or verbally promising anything but acknowledging his enthusiasm by just being in the room. He also changes his mind a million times within a very short span of time – so the whiplash effect is neck-defying! I need to keep a chiropractor on speed-dial. This occurs periodically and I’ve finally learned not to panic but let the storm run its course until it fizzles out. It’s not that some of these notions are bad, but it’s the super-frenetic energy that terrifies me. This is why no “Male Primate” should have access to that “Red Button!” On a smaller scale “Cliff Dive” – crossing a busy street with my primate can be suicidal. I’m a person that likes to walk a few feet to get to the intersection with these Blinking Walking Human Forms – clearly indicating when I can cross without being run over. But not my primate!! He grabs my hand and drags me at a loping run weaving amongst speeding cars with angry primate drivers – grunting for me to keep up! I like living by some basic sensible rules. Primates live for the thrill!! 8. How to Potty Train Your Primate – Not what you think – but there is always the “Toilet Seat” argument. It took years to train my primate to put the effing toilet seat down after peeing. It’s very rare now – but there is nothing worse than going to the bathroom in the middle of the night – with no lights on – and blindly free-falling to the freezing ceramic rim of the toilet. Even worse if your ass is smaller than its circumference. Unpleasant wake up call. I won’t name names – but you know who you are!!! Some primates have horrible marksmanship and spray the walls around the toilet area every time they pee like they are in the Scarface movie – or they don’t hold their penis while peeing and let nature takes its course. Disgusting primates!! Luckily my primate uses physics and common sense when urinating and aims true! Thank GOD!!! Housetraining your primate on home etiquette takes time and patience. I’m OCD and need my home neat, clean and everything in its place. Yelling and fuming only upsets you – and makes your primate dig in their prehensile feet. Show them by example. Give positive reinforcement and use treats as incentives (like my Rockets). Calmly and sweetly say, “What a good primate!!” Then give them a thorough scratch on the head or back and you have a happy and orderly household. When your primate has a male companion over to play with tools, gently remind him to offer the other primate a beverage or banana. Being a good host sets him apart from the other primates. 9. How to Groom Your Primate – Carefully, so as not to offend! Every now and then you need to assist your primate in some “grooming tasks.” Areas they can’t reach, even with their long arms. They are hairy creatures, but societal pressures – expectations and ideals - controls the grooming of their hirsute monkey suit. Vanity prevails in conforming to societies demands. Purchase a quality razor and primate-scape kit. When they grunt for help – be calm and agreeable to shaving their back, arms, neck, ears and any other body part that needs mowing/trimming. Once again, give them a good scratch afterwards to let them know they look handsome!! BTW, I’m not excluding my own “Hair” issues – just read Chapter 12 in my book !!! 10. How to Stop Your Primate from “Ape-splaining!” – This is an almost incurable disease and will be my hurdle to overcome for the rest of my life. You must remind yourself that they believe with every hair-follicle of their being, that they are the smartest primate in the room. Often, they are right – but not always. One of my favorite self-quotes is, “Just because you’re educated, doesn’t mean you’re smart!!” I came up with this nugget due to all the “Ape-splaining” I’ve had to endure for 65 years!!! If I’m wrong or need help with something – I am the first one to admit defeat. But male primates will never relinquish their smart status. It can be mind-bendingly irritating – but since creation – it is their nature. Women's burden to bare!! BTW - If I want to bring my primate down a peg or two - I ask him how to spell a word. His eyes glaze over and he starts trying to spell it under his breath, sometimes using fingers like he's counting - only to admit he doesn't know how to spell "hirsute" and knuckles off to play with his tools. Small but gratifying victory. The best way to deal with this? Don’t argue with Captain Obvious. Don’t waste your energy because they refuse to lose this game of intellect. I recommend you let them primate-ificate until they run out of steam. Nod occasionally, but once again, don’t commit. Once they feel safe that you’re convinced of their “Superior Primate Brain Dominance” – you are free to do whatever you want – because they have short attention spans. If it’s a major decision that affects you both – do your homework and spreadsheet them to death. Excel is your strategic line of defense. Primates don’t know how to type. Remember this - men have what is known as - Mansplaining! A disease called, Correctile Dysfunction! Here's another excerpt from my book – Sex (Less) Chapter 9: Sex (Less) - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!!! Marrying a man 5 years younger was a great idea initially. He kept me young and was someone to take care of me in my old age—but, not so great during my menopausal years. No adult male understands a menopausal woman. Sorry, My Love! Luckily, it’s all worked out. I now carry Ed’s balls in my purse for my protection. I have collected quotes from my husband, Ed, over the years that I call “Edisms.” He can be pretty funny in a bestial sort of fashion!! For example - while I was dancing around the living room along with the dancers in the musical we were watching, he told me, "You can be your own Flashmob!!" I’ll intersperse these witticisms throughout the rest of this blog! (BTW - my primate will occassionally watch a musical with me - hoping he'll "get lucky.") One of my favorite stories of Ed - early on in our relationship - involves my new job - working for a particularly challenging primate. Ed was employed by WWF for many years (formerly known as the World Wrestling Federation – Now named WWE – the largest company of Primates in the World). It was a few months into this job when Ed started greeting me on the phone with sexual innuendos. Every time he called, he’d say, “What-cha wearin???” In a creepy, sexually suggestive grunt! Initially, I would giggle and think it was cute. But, one day I was running around like a lunatic, with a large group of female clients in attendance. I was in the middle of doing something when the office phone rang – but I was not near my desk. As my gut kicked in that this was about the time Ed calls me – I went into “nightmarish slow-motion running maneuvers” – pivoting to lunge for the phone – when I hear the ringing stop and the account exec saying, “Hello? (BIG PAUSE) I think you meant to call Colleen. Let me get her.” At this point, I knew it was Ed and I snatched up the phone fast and Ed said, “Oops! I thought it was you.” As I’m whisper/reaming him out – I hear every woman in the other room roaring with laughter. I told him that if he said that while I’m at work, ever again, I would castrate him - slowly!!! Lots of apologizing and laughing with the clients ensued. My boss-primate took it “barely okay” because the female clients reaction was one of humor and he didn’t want to look like an old kill-joy. Later, I ended up paying dearly for Ed’s childish shenanigans. Ed and I also have nightly rituals. As I’m prepping for bed – changing from my comfy layered PJ’s into my comfy boxer-short and layered tee ensemble, Ed will leer at me and say, “Let me see the girls!!!” With a tolerant look on my face, I will flash him (to assuage the beast). The other night he said, “I’m going to name your breasts.” I said (sighed), “What will you name them Ed?” He thought for a couple secs and replied, “Left and Right.” This was unimaginative, so I said, “Why not call them the “Boobsey Twins.” That got a laugh and the moniker was settled. Secretly I call them the Blobbsey Twins. Another bedroom ritual - every night after I’ve done all my OCD bedtime chores – I slither into my perfectly-made side of the bed. Out of the corner of my eye – I notice he is staring at me. I turn and say, “What? Something on my face?” He always replies, “No. Just admiring your beauty.” I must admit, he either loves me or he needs a better prescription. This is a man who calls me adorable when I’m wearing flannel pajamas, layers of tops, his huge jacket, baseball cap and wellies. This is one of my sexier outfits! Love is Blind!!! Love is blind! Please don’t think I’m not appreciative or not flattered with this affection – but I do have mirrors in my house!!! Lately, Ed has been complaining about getting a bald spot. He can join me and my receding hairline!! The man is 60 and doesn’t have a wrinkle on his face (or knees). We often laugh that we could be siblings. Now I just look like his older sister (or Aunt)! I don’t understand why Ed thinks I get more beautiful with age when I’m starting to resemble a Shar Pei - only not as cute! As I age - there is a definite resemblance! I told him that I was going to make up matching tees with one of my sayings. The quote would be, “Sister with Benefits! Wink..Wink..” The other night Ed turned to me and asked, “What’s going on in the land of weird?” I immediately start talking about the book I’m reading – which was weird – and then realized he meant something else – so I said, “Wait! What did you mean?” He said, “Your head! You are the Wizard of Weird!” Humor is always my weapon of choice - to get through life. Two of my idols are Phyllis Diller and Carol Burnett. I know I've just aged myself, but they were/are genius women and comedians who were/are always smarter than any man in the room. Phyllis Diller was a unique, self-deprecating, outré comedian that often included her imaginary husband in her stage act/routine. She called him “Fang!” Many people thought she was talking about her real husband and when they divorced were upset that she left “Fang!” She was brilliant !!! I recently realized how much she influenced my own humor. Making fun of yourself and those closest to you makes perfect sense. It’s familiar (familial) territory – in my own imaginary TV show. In fact, I would be a shoo-in for casting in her biopic movie. We could be twins!!! Carol Burnett is also a force of nature. Comedian, singer, actress! Another woman unafraid of making fun of herself and others. I religiously watched her TV comedy program, The Carol Burnett Show . I grew up with these icons and it formed so much of my humor and self-analysis. My motto: Make fun of yourself before others do. Neither woman was beautiful (just like me) in the traditional, societal fashion sense – but their real beauty lies in their intelligence, acuity and ability to make everyone laugh. They were strong influencers and I hope my humor has a trace of their genius!! This blog is an homage to both of them! So, being a primate-ista has secured me an ape-man that loves me unconditionally and a full understanding of Fay Wray’s attraction to King Kong. Makes perfect sense now!! BTW – to prove my primate theory - they have produced a TV Show for primates over 50 – The Golden Bachelor! This should take place in the jungle to make it more of a challenge!!! Just for fun - I’m going to end this blog with a Cleaning Tip! Ed loves to watch YouTube videos of a wide variety of topics. He helps me by finding “Cleaning Tips.” A current one was mind-blowing. Did you know that there was a “trap” at the bottom of your washing machine – to catch all the dregs from your loads??? Well, I watched the video and immediately ran down to the laundry room to inspect my washing machine. About 2 years of laundry scum in one little TRAP!!! Disgusting and fascinating at the same time. Now I tell everyone to check their traps! My primate has added an additional contribution to our tiny society. Good Primate! Walking off in the senior sunset! Thank you everyone for your support and encouragement. I am so appreciative of your kindness. You are my Super Hero’s!!! My sister, Bridget, recently ended an email to me with a fantastic tag line - Women Ignite and Unite . I would love to chat with you about igniting and uniting about menopause or aging or anything you feel like getting off your chest. I want to hear your stories. I will listen without censure or interruption! Thanks for taking the time to read my blog and I hope you have a safe and cheerful holiday! Let's all have a happy, healthy, safe and minimal drama New Year! Wishing you Health, Happiness and Lots of Laughs! Let’s be Friends!!! Colleen McIntosh

Pirate fashion is all the rage! Aaarrbedarghhh…me matey! Where’s me parrot?  My title is a little play on the novel, “ The Catcher In The Rye ” by J.D. Salinger. I know this is a massive stretch comparing myself to Holden Caulfield – BUT – as a 65-year-old postmenopausal woman - there are a few similarities. We are both bewildered and frustrated by the “phoniness” of society. We are both weary and unbalanced. Fighting the “machine.” I lost my innocence long ago – but still yearn for my irretrievable youth. We are both protagonists in our own stories/books. Life is precarious and unstable – but we just keep plodding along - making it up as we go. BTW – my book is also considered “salty” in more ways than one! I wonder if I’ve been banned?   This blog is about my Cataract Adventure. Cataract surgery - live to see another day! A tale that I hope enlightens those considering cataract surgery but are confused by the process and overwhelmed by the glut and dearth of information. Finding a good Ophthalmologist and Cataract Surgeon are key. Following their instructions, loading up on snacks, binging TV shows with multiple seasons, lots of naps/sleep and forcing someone to wait on you 24/7 are all part of making this as painless as possible.    I’ve been extremely bored the past couple weeks, so my blog is going to be a doozy!! Cataract research - thank you Post-It Notes! I’m going to cover the events in real time(ish). When I was diagnosed last fall – I decided to research this aged eye-related surgery to the nth degree prior to committing to the operation. I have just completed my Right Eye (2/8) and in the recovery phase (with one refurbished eye and one half-blind eye – attempting to work together, play nice and focus on the task at hand). So, I will start from the beginning and hope that my personal detailed account will help anyone thinking about having this surgery or anyone concerned about their genetically inclined future eye issues.    1.  Pre-Surgery Diagnosis : I’ve already blogged about my initial diagnosis – see blog excerpt below from - “You’re Getting Old!” : Ophthalmologist  – My eyes have always been sub-par – so  cataracts  were inevitable. When I was referred to an Ophthalmologist I was once again surprised to see a very cute pregnant 15-year-old doctor. Of course, she wasn’t 15 – but every doctor looks so f**king young to me. She proceeded to tell me that my eyeballs are short, small and shaped wrong. I’m sure she said that in more technical terms – but that’s what I heard. We were nose-to-nose as she stared into my eyes and held my head and said, “Your head is narrow and (long pause) “petit.” I said, “Did you just say I have a small brain?” She laughed and said, “You’re funny!” She did not clarify her original statement – but left my tiny brain to process this momentous diagnosis. My mom said my brain is small but MIGHTY!  Did my head (brain) shrink? Does that explain why my ears look bigger?  Cataracts situation – My insurance does not offer laser surgery. I have two astigmatisms which equates Toric lens implants and lasik surgery. It also means out of pocket costs for my EYESIGHT!! Twisted health insurance logic!!! Conclusion – getting cataract surgery that is best for my eyesight even though it will cost me one of my arms and half a leg. My OCD went into massive overdrive researching and worrying – thank you Cataracts!! Overthinking everything. What-ifing to death. On an OCD scale of 1 to 10 – I was riding that 10-point summit for weeks.    As a renowned Nervous Nelly – I tried to squeeze answers out of family, medical staff and doctors on every little detail about this procedure – but only got vague mumblings about how great it is. Most doctors give you medical (non-committal) information and family has erased most of the surgery details and fuzzed out any trauma. I wanted “barometers” – pre/surgery/post/recovery – but realized I had to mount and tame this bronco on my own.    After I joined Medicare and got supplemental insurance, I had to make another appointment (12/12/23) with an Ophthalmologist because my last appointment had timed-out on the requirements for scheduling cataract surgery. My new doctor is excellent and did not make fun of my petit head! Dr. Levinson of  Specialized Eye Care   ran all the tests and re-confirmed my need for cataract surgery. He has a great staff – who were very interested in my Menopause Book – which they ordered while I was being tested. I know what you’re thinking – how did menopause come up during an eye exam? I love to chat and I find most women share this passion. Many topics were discussed in the matter of minutes and menopause happened to be one of them. Anyway, Dr. Levinson decided to play a game with me - 20 Cataract Questions. He asked, “Why are you here?” I was a bit confused and a bit concerned that this was a quiz and hesitantly replied, “For cataract surgery?” He barked, “Good Answer!” Then he said, “What else!” I said, “I want you to refer me to an excellent eye surgeon since you no longer perform this surgery?” “PERFECT,” he said, “I have someone I have worked with. What else?” I replied, “I want someone close by. I don’t want to drive 2-3 hours to D.C. in nightmarish traffic.” He parried with, “How close?” I was now frantic and this game was making me panic and yelped, “Nearby in Towson!!!” Dr. L replied, “Good Answer!!!” I was exhausted at our repartee but got what I wanted – a referral that was 15 minutes from my home and which came with glowing accolades. I was a little out of breath after running this eyeball gauntlet!! The surgery was also being performed in the same area at a reputable ambulatory facility –  Dulaney Eye Institute . The cherry on top! FYI – hospital surgery is more expensive than ambulatory.   Now that this decision was solidified – I then made an appointment with the surgeon on 1/9/24 to determine which cataract surgery was best for my waning eyesight. In the meantime – I just had to get through the holidays (you can read all about that in my blog  “Sneeze the Day!” )!   To while away the time – I reached out to some family for their own cataract experiences. I’d already talked to my father-in-law who had recently undergone cataract surgery and grilled him on all the details/costs/recovery/outcome. I also asked my sister who’d had it done 3 years prior, my mom and my sister-in-law. My father-in-law had the most detail because as time went by – most people tend to have less and less memory of having their eyeball lenses stripped and replaced. If you ask anyone who has worn glasses their entire life how they feel about having their eyeballs surgically tweaked – they’ll all pale, look nauseous and may even run away with ears covered, screaming, “La la la la la….I can’t hear you….la la la la la!!!!” When you age – this is a very common and safe procedure – so buck up and start research early.   2.  Cataract Surgery Decisions : I went to my pre-surgery appointment in early January with my list of questions and concerns. I once again ran the “trial by eyeball” performed by very nice non-judgmental young women who have to deal with seniors all day long. One curious observation while there – was that none of the young staff wore glasses. That’s not to say that they weren’t wearing contacts – but I found it odd and a bit unsettling. Just prior to meeting with my surgeon, they had me watch a video on Traditional (performed manually) versus Laser-assisted Cataract Surgery. It was about 15 minutes and made my decision VERY easy. When they showed the Traditional method – they mimicked a hand-cut squiggly line cutting the cataract and then sloppily removing it. Same lack of precision for inserting the new lens. My vivid imagination made me gag a little. When they showed the laser performing the same operation – it was precision perfection and took a minute. The only downside to using laser is that you pay for this meticulous option out-of-pocket. Insurance and Medicare have not advanced with technology and will not cover the cost of laser. I could have shopped around for the cheapest surgical team – but opted for experience, safety protocol and stellar reputation – rather than saving me money. Eyeballs are delicate orbs that require pampering. I’ve already spent a lot of money on these fragile viscous balls of nerves and cones – so why stop now. If anyone is interested in how much my laser surgery cost – you can sign up on my website and email me your questions. It’s not the most expensive and not the cheapest. I’m very content with my decision. Also, my HSA paid for this procedure – which is why I opened this savings/investment/tax-free medical account many years ago and finally tapping into it.   When I met Dr. Pramanik (who wears glasses) I felt very comfortable with his calm and confident demeanor. He was less aggressive with his mental exams – but still challenged me.  Below is yet another excerpt from my blog - “Sneeze the Day”: Cataract Negotiations:  I do need reassurance (way too much) when planning or making big decisions - like cataract surgery.  My doctor listed out the post-op “Do Nots” which made my heart do a little pitter-patter of concern. I asked, “Well what about exercise? I work out five days a week.” He said, “No bending over (90° bend from waist) for at least one week or until you are healed. For both eye surgeries.” I must have looked panicked because he then patiently asked, “What kind of work out do you do?” I said, “Pilates and Yoga.” Like that must be an exception to the rule! He said, “When you do these exercises – do you bend over?” We stared at each other for a long pause and I whispered, “Yes.” He then smugly said, “Then don’t do it!” I was pretty pissed that he cleverly outwitted me and that now I couldn’t ask about cleaning!!! After my appointment I started counting how many times I bent over from the waist and stopped at 52 bends because it was only 10am (I'd been home an hour.) I’ve done a ton of research on cataract surgery options, lens, pre/post guidelines, statistics of recovery and success rates, etc. etc., ad nauseum! I will be paying out of pocket for the enhanced Toric lens surgery because they made me watch a video of the procedure – manual vs. laser. After the video I told the doctor, “I’ve made up my mind to do laser surgery and will (gladly) pay for it out of pocket – because you made me watch a horror movie about manually cutting my eyeballs!!!” He said, “Horror movie?” Sweating, I said, “Have you watched that video!!!” We also talked about anesthesia for this procedure since I’d also heard a few nightmare stories of people being totally awake during this “ A Clockwork Orange ” surgery. He told me that they use a twilight anesthetic, but I would be aware and able to see and hear while they worked. I said, “Does anyone choose to be unaware?” He responded, “Yes – we just give you a little more juice!” Bring On The Juice!!! My defected eyeballs will have surgery in a couple weeks – one week apart. I will have to get out the restraints and have Ed hide the key for about a month. He’ll have to clean up my cage and hand feed me with gloves. This will not be pretty.    When we went through my surgical options – laser was already pre-determined. Dr. Pramanik proceeded to cross out all but 2 of them. Door #1 - Traditional (they called it Standard) Lens with Laser and Door #2 - Toric Lens with Laser. The difference is that Toric repairs my 2 astigmatisms (and more expensive). I selected Toric. My 2 astigmatisms have always been those unwanted guests that never leave. (Kind of like me when I stayed at my sister’s home for a year – 11 months more than originally planned) So, the procedures that I/we eliminated were all manually performed surgeries and the one called Multifocal Lens and Laser. He said that I was not qualified for the multifocal. So, Door #2 was the winner!! My eyeballs came with a caveat. Statistically I was in a lower percentile of full recovery (20/20) success. I fell in the 85% versus the 97% percentile. We shook hands on the “cross your fingers it all works out percentile!“   I have found that the medical community can spout generalities about what the outcome should be (in a perfect world) – but always with vague and unsettling potential casualties that can occur in the 5% of patients. I DID NOT want to be one of the “unique percentiles” (victims).    With pre-op checkup complete – Dr. Pramanik offered to get me into his schedule the following week – but after I picked my stomach up off the floor and swallowed my vomit – I opted for early February. I needed a month to wrap my terrified brain around this decision. I also needed to find a new GP and get the pre-op physical done. Once again, I needed to do research.    I had to go over additional details with one of the staff prior to leaving. She was very thorough and gave me a nice packet of materials for me to read over and things I had to complete prior to my surgery. I complimented her on her organized folio. I love detailed paperwork!!! She mentioned that I would be wearing an eye shield after the surgery and would also wear it when I napped or slept. Pirate Eye Patch for kids (and crazy old women)! That perked me up. I asked her, “Do you have the eye patches in different colors or designs?” She laughed and said, “No! It’s a plastic eye shield.” I was disappointed and muttered, “I wanted a black pirate patch with skull and crossbones.” So, I bought some when I got home. If I’m going to wear an eye shield – it must be “eye-catching!” BTW – you  cannot  use the purchased designer eye patches to replace your plastic eye shield. It’s only used over the medical shield as decoration!   In the meantime, I met with my women’s group and told them about my upcoming surgery. They asked who the doctor was and I completely butchered his name. But one of the lady’s confidently said, “You mean Dr. Pramanik?” Surprised, I said yes and it turns out that her husband had an eye surgery performed by Dr. Pramanik and they loved him and his practice. He came highly recommended. That made me feel so much better!!    I couldn’t find a GP in the time allotted – so I opted for Patient First to perform my pre-surgery physical. Below is an excerpt from my blog -  “Sneeze the Day”: I’ve already blogged about my (part 2)  historically bizarre doctor appointments   and this exam proves my record remains unbroken. When the woman came in to give me an EKG I was laid out on the slab in my easy-access Johnny gown (feminine translation - Jenny gown) - wide open and waiting for the stake - imagining that this would be the death-blow heart test results – because every doctor appointment makes me feel like it might be my last. As she was placing stickers all over my chest, ribcage, legs, etc., I happened to glance over and noticed that the curtain wasn’t pulled shut. As I watched people walk by - I very politely said, “Do you mind closing the curtain? I’d hate to see myself like this on social media. Not very pretty. I wore a hat today and have “Hat-Head.” She laughed because my saggy boobs were hanging out for all to see – my right one was pointing at the open curtain - daring a passerby to take a picture. In other words, no one would have cared about my Hat-Head (only said for sarcasm). Actually, no one seemed to care about my sagging boobs either??? She closed the curtain anyway. BTW - my heart is still beating. I also seem to have issues getting my blood pressure taken properly. I’m either dying or dead. The first BP had me dying – so the doctor redid it because she didn’t believe the results. She started rambling on about BP Cuffs (the armband device that they pump up and squeeze the crap out of your upper arm and then very slowly deflate). Apparently, the initial results were askew because they used an adult cuff. So, my doctor pulled out the child cuff to perform the death knell. Another pattern that keeps emerging - I have sub-par grownup body parts – head and now arms. I also may have hyper-tension as a result of these multiple BP readings – which doesn’t surprise me one bit. With my OCD and tendency to expect the worst – I’m a Blood Pressure Monitoring Nightmare!  With my track record of Doctor’s visits and procedures – I was somewhat cautious about my cataract surgery. But my physical was approved and next came the pre-payment. What could go wrong!!! I decided to pay in person and popped in a couple weeks prior to my procedure. I met a lovely woman in the elevator (Carol) and we briefly talked about cataract surgery. She had just completed her 2nd eye and in for a post-op checkup. We parted ways and I went to the front desk to reconcile my surgical bill. As I made jokes and chatted with the nice woman helping me – I was all paid up and checked that box on my to-do list. I ran into Carol again and we had a lovely conversation about her recovery tips and she calmed me down (off my minds-eye-ledge). Once again, menopause came up in the conversation because she asked me what I did for a living. I said, “Retired, but now I’m an author.” I told her about my book which really tickled her and she mentioned that her goddaughter was in Ireland writing a book about  Menopause and Mental Health !! Ironically, a blog topic I was half-way through writing – what are the odds!!! We exchanged info and I left feeling so pleased with myself. That self-satisfaction lasted until Ed called. He was working in DC and had a fender bender on the highway which is all too common in our area (everyone was fine). He was in a horrible mood – obviously – and his mood went out the roof when he discovered that I had paid for the surgery with my debit card – not my HSA card. I felt like an idiot because I had been so busy talking and being witty with the staff - that I wasn’t “paying” attention and grabbed the wrong card. No talking Ed off his ledge – but I showed up at the doctor’s first thing next morning and explained my plight to the nice woman who’d helped me the day before. As I waited to see if accounts payable could switch payments – a couple of the younger staff were whispering and looking over at me while I sat in my “demented old lady chair” feeling that their whispers were justified. It all got resolved and for the second time left the practice embarrassed but relieved I was able to repair the damage.  I still had a week to complete my prep for the first surgery on 2/8/24. I had to get 4 different eye drops from the pharmacy. It’s never straight forward when ordering drugs of any kind. Walgreens had all but 1 of the drops required. I asked when I would be able to pick up the missing drop – only to be told they had a shortage and couldn’t get it. That was worrisome. I called  Mid-Atlantic Cornea Consultants   and they found the missing eye drop at the neighboring pharmacy CVS (literally across the street from Walgreens). I bought 2 of them because I have 2 eyes and didn’t want to run out!!!  So, I was then able to gather my meds, paperwork, medical/ID cards, post-it notes, etc. for my surgery tote. It’s kind of like prepping your baby bag when pregnant – only I was birthing new eyeballs! BTW – wear a button-down shirt for the procedure – because pulling a turtleneck over an eyeball that was recently operated on would be a very bad idea! Great advice given to me which you should heed. You are fairly loopy after surgery and should not handle large machinery or turtlenecks! 3.  C-Day – Cataract Surgery : Understandably, you can’t eat or drink after midnight before a surgery. I was fine with the no food and water part – but felt a headache coming on - because that also included NO COFFEE! Drinking coffee at age 3 is normal - right? Just prior to leaving home – I had to do my pre-surgery eye drops for dilation. I was told to arrive an hour early for sign in. Very busy waiting room of seniors! Ed was with me because you obviously can’t drive yourself home. We waited for about 45 minutes and I still hadn’t been called up to sign in? Ed manned up and took control - reminding the nursing staff that there was a sign-up sheet of people (& me) waiting for check in. They claimed that they didn’t SEE this sheet – which made me a little concerned. It all worked out and I was called into the surgical area shortly after my delayed check in. At this point they had to put more dilating drops in my eye because I had once again timed out. As we were walking to my cubicle – the prep nurse asked if I needed to go to the bathroom. I said, “Of course. I’m a woman. I can POD – Pee on Demand!” Once in my cubicle, I had my vitals taken. Lots of health questions, temp, the dreaded Blood Pressure, etc. I liked my prep nurse – she had a sense of humor. Once the basics were out of the way – we had the serious surgery prep. I only had to strip off my top and kept my bra, pants and combat boots on. It made me laugh to see my boots sticking out of the gown and blanket while on the gurney. She proceeded to put large black metal clamps on my forearms – which reminded me of my husband’s woodworking clamps. I said, “Are you planning on electrocuting me? Are these for reviving me if something goes wrong?” She laughed and explained the clamps. I had a Brain Fart while she explained and can’t for the life of me remember their usage. She had to put an IV into my arm and all was going well until I looked down at the bloody mess that was my arm and asked, “Should I be concerned?” She ignored my question and asked me if she could get me anything - and I said, “I’ll take some coffee.” This became a running joke because that was my answer for every question posed throughout this whole procedure.  The next stage was the surgical nurse – with additional prepping for the event. I had wires and hook-ups all over me. She explained the process – laser room was first and did not require anesthesia. I squeaked, “WHAT?” She said, “Don’t look so panicked – it’s painless.” Of course, that’s coming from a young woman who has never had cataract surgery!!! I also asked her for coffee. Stage 3 was the anesthesiologist. She applied more (numbing) drops. As she was doing her thing, I noticed that my left eye was getting droopy (the non-surgery eye). I said, “Why is my left eye droopy and sleepy?” She looked confused and said, “I only put numbing drops in your right eye and it doesn’t make you sleepy – that occurs when I give you the Twilight Anesthesia (Juice) in your intravenous prior to the new lens procedure.” We just looked at each other. I had no explanation for my droopy left eye except maybe it’s show of solidarity with the right eye surgery? So, I dropped that conversation and didn’t ask her for coffee. They rolled me into the “Laser Room” and quickly prepped me for Part A of cataract surgery. I'm fuzzy on the details because I was getting nervous and checking out. Dr. Pramanik very calmly explained what was happening and inserted a round, spring-loaded  “monocle”   into my eye cavity in the “blink(less) of an eye” and they laid me down and strapped my head in place to prevent movement. It reminded me of every horror movie I’ve seen of being immobile and tortured slowly. The nurse whipped me around underneath the laser. They didn’t give you time to freak out or run! The laser did its job while I “Clockworked Orange” underneath. Super-fast procedure. The monocle kept my eye stabilized and prevented me from blinking and screaming in agony as the laser cut off my eyelid. Oops! Sorry my imagination just took over my typing hands!  Once that was completed, they administered the Twilight Juice. If I could have wept tears of joy – I would have. Part B of the surgery was inserting my new Toric lens. This part got weird. I was vaguely aware of the activity but didn’t care. I heard disembodied voices/conversations about mundane things – but can’t recall the actual words. Picture of strange old woman laughing after cataract surgery! I had a bizarre light show going on in my right eyeball that kept me transfixed. I was having a laser show and northern lights spectacle being performed for a concert of one. It was somewhat nightmarish but not unpleasant. Like a vivid dream that you can’t wake up from and unsure if you should scream or go with the flow. I wonder if this is what an acid trip feels like? BTW – spectacle(s) means – as in defects of vision or something exhibited to view as unusual, notable or entertaining. Eye-catching or dramatic public display. An accurate description. Next thing I know – I’m back in a cubicle and awake(ish). I was still loopy. The nurse asked if I wanted something to drink. My husband appeared out of nowhere to hear the discharge instructions (because I wouldn’t remember). I'm a Rock Star - in my mind! Someone please take that phone away from me. I immediately asked two questions, “Ed, where is my phone? I want you to take some pictures.” Second question was for the nurse, “Do you have coffee? Thanks.” They said no to coffee and gave me cranberry juice. I pounded down 2 cups and then had water – because they still refused to give me coffee. I made Ed take some pix while I was laughing for no reason. I grabbed the phone and took a selfie while doing a rockstar peace sign. I was a lunatic – wobbly, giggling and hard to handle. I eventually got dressed and was asked to leave. So, I put on my unattractive Black Out Goggles (sunglasses) that came with my discharge paperwork.  Ed won't let me wear these in public. I look like a fly! 4.   Post-Surgery – Convalescing and Bored : Once home, I proceeded to sit on the couch for the remainder of the day – except when I had to do my eye drop regimen. I still had my plastic eye shield – which was heavily taped down on my face. When I removed it for the first round of drops – I had a hematoma above my right eyebrow and half that eyebrow was missing. Curious? WTF happened while I was at the concert. Ed and I surmised that my old delicate onion-skin face bruised when they strapped me down? Maybe I struggled or started gurney-dancing while at the concert? Apparently, they also gave me a waxing/threading to reshape my eyebrow to match my new shiny eyeball. I should have asked for a facial while I was under the twilight influence. I also needed a waxing for my mustache, goatee and nose hair forest. I’ll ask them to do that for my next surgery. My new eyebrow gives me a cock-eyed expression. I now look quizzical, comically quaint, mildly teasing and mocking - with a splash of puzzlement.  Cataract surgery essentials! I recommend setting your alarm for the eye drop reminders (4 x per day). I also set a timer after each drop – for 3 minutes – because you need to wait for it to absorb into your eyeball before doing the next one. You will be applying a MILLION drops to your eye for 1 month after surgery X 2.  Pay Attention!!! My right eye felt like I had shards of glass and grit – which made my eye leaky and my right nostril never stopped running. I got very concerned and called Mid-Atlantic late afternoon. They told me to take Tylenol for the pain and if worsened to call the overnight attending doctor. They also called in an ointment (like eyeball aspirin) in case I panicked (over-reacted) even more. BTW - they ask that you continue to wear your glasses while your eye(s) adjust. Post-surgery - still loopy! I suffered through my eye drops and put on my eye shield for bedtime. I had a post-op appointment early the next morning to check my eye progress. The pain had lessened come morning. I did not shower – because you CANNOT get that eye wet for a couple weeks after surgery. I still needed to research and figure out how to navigate the showering. My eye was doing okay – but I had elevated “eyeball pressure” that needed to come down to normal before I could leave. I had my purse and tote of eyedrops with me and kept moving them out of the way for the tech to do her thing. I finally said, “Sorry, but I have a lot of baggage that I carry around with me everywhere!” She laughed which made me appreciate that she got my pathetic joke. They gave me 3 kinds of eyeball pressure drops X 3 - over the course of an hour until they were satisfied. It symbolized my outlook on life – Too much pressure and I need to calm the f**k down! I wondered what would happen if they couldn’t bring my pressure down – would my eyeball explode? Anyway, it finally deflated and they gave me an eye exam. My vision had already improved quite a bit. Pretty miraculous! An excuse to wear all your cute PJ's! I love crosswords! I had to tell them that I occasionally had a “strobe, shimmer, underwater ripple” that was hard to describe – so they called in another eye drop for me to take for pressure and to shut me up. I almost asked for a Xanax prescription to alleviate the mental/high blood pressures. Sigh! Once home, I really wished that my packet came with an Eyeball Barometer with all the potential anomalies. They cover the more severe possibilities but not the unknown odd things that can occur. My sister was helpful in assuaging my fears. She said that over the course of the week before my next surgery my eye would gradually adjust. Once I had my second surgery – I should notice a big difference. It’s a bit wonky having one eye done – while still wearing my glasses – doing eyedrops and wearing an eye shield at night. Like me, my eyes are very confused.  Pepe Le Pew PJ's! I don't own sexy ones. Surgery #2 is 2/15 – a couple days from now. I’ll take Valentine’s Day to prep for Thursday - mentally and physically. No romance this year! I still have a slight “water shimmer” effect and my right eyeball looks bigger than my left – but trying to be calm and let this baby heal.  A couple important tips to remember when convalescing after cataract surgery:  A.  Do Not bend over from the waist! It creates a lot of pressure on your eyeballs. I admit I forgot a couple times (it was more than 2) – anticipating my eyeball bursting and spraying all over the floor. I love to bend over but I now know it’s harmful to your eyeball pressure. My husband is very disappointed. B.   Do Not hold in your sneeze! I was terrified the first time one was coming on – afraid my eyeball would go flying across the room. I am a violent sneezer! C.   Do Not strain when you poop! I remember when the nurse was giving me instructions prior to being released - I asked Ed, “Did she just say don’t Poop?” Who knew your eyeballs were affected by your constipation!! Yes, anesthesia causes bowel issues. D.  Do Not lift your 25 lb. cat! She’ll eventually stop meowing and get over it (I hope). E.   Do Not eat only comfort food! You can’t exercise for a long time. I combat weight gain by working out a lot. I gained 3 lbs. by day #2 of sitting on the couch binging TV and snacks. Stock your fridge and snack bins with a few healthy items to balance the gallon of post-op ice cream in your freezer.  F.   How to Shower Post-Surgery! Buy yourself a big box of Big-Ass Waterproof Band-Aids that cover your entire eye plus half your face and add some waterproof tape to make sure nothing leaks in. Put your shower head on low pressure and never fully immerse your face or head. Be conscious and careful – so you can wash your hair and body of the post-surgery sour sweat.  Big Ass Band-Aids! G.  DO NOT RUB YOUR EYE(S)! Ignore that phantom itch that will inevitably occur the minute the Doctor says, “Don’t rub your eyes for the first couple weeks – it could damage your cataract.” Wash your hands before touching your delicate new eyeballs. You can use a sterile cotton disposable pad or cotton ball to remove eye boogers and clean your eyelid – but you must not apply any pressure while doing so. Be gentle..  I talk about being a clean freak – so by Day #3 of convalescing - I was chomping at the bit to vacuum! Ed gave me permission with his supervision. He obviously had no intentions of vacuuming or cleaning while I recovered. I couldn’t crawl around and clean underneath everything like I normally do – but I was so excited to vacuum because I was bored out of my effing mind!!!  My nephew Monkey The Pug sent me a get well card! 5.  Surgery #2 – Left Eye : I admit that I expected to be less nervous with my 2nd surgery – but it was the opposite. I was cranky and really wanted coffee - so I would have to cancel the surgery. We arrived at DEI to an empty waiting room. We both thought this odd and that we got the date wrong. I found out that a lot of people wait 2 weeks between surgeries – so that mob of seniors on 2/8 were probably due the following week. I had everyone’s full attention!!  Things were slightly different round 2. It took less time to prep me. I had a different nurse who was bored and taciturn. She didn’t ask me if I needed anything – so I never got the chance to ask for coffee. It was pretty mundane until she inserted my intravenous needle. I told her I had “rolling veins” and she proved it – because she kept missing!! I was moaning like a sick cow while she attempted to hit my wandering vein. It reminded me of the first time I got on a waterbed - trying to maneuver the waves - while attempting to look confident and sexy for the idiot I was dating. Only men think waterbeds are a turn on. He weighed about 150 lbs. more than me so every time he moved – I went flying! My vein had a mind of its own and being coy by rolling away from the nurse’s needle. Without apology – she finally got it in. I rode that pain just to get my happy, sleepy juice!!  As my surgical nurse got me prepped for my procedure, I asked, “They had a lot more wires attached to me last time – why is it different?” She said, “No, it’s the same??” My imagination was apparently working overtime on the first surgery – everything was way more complicated round 1. She was very sweet and wrapped me in warm blankets (yes – they have toaster-warm blankets that I now want for my home) and walked me to the Laser Room. I was more aware this time as she strapped me to my laser bed. While we waited for Dr. Pramanik – I felt like my head wasn’t as secure as the first time and started to worry that I’d accidentally move (run away) during the procedure. My nurse was a little too sweet and afraid to cause me any discomfort – so I asked her to re-tighten my strap and re-wedge me into position. Dr. P arrived to put in my monocle – which is very discomfiting – and I was way more aware second time around of this spring-loaded torture device. This time round I remembered everything. They poured a thick fluid into the eye socket monocle device and then a suction cup gets snapped into place over the monocle. Disconcerting to say the least and my blood pressure shot up in anticipation of what was next on the menu – cataract slice and dice. I remained frozen while the machine did its job and expelled my breath once completed. My nurse had to help me walk back to my gurney because I was wobbly. I did not recall this procedure in such detail the first time. It is painless and quick - but still unnerving. My anesthesiologist arrived to get me ready for the new cataract lens. She explained that this time round – I would be more aware of what was going on – that the first time most people don’t remember anything. I am not “most people.” I had the best power nap - EVER!!! I remember nothing from this part of the second eye surgery. They were all surprised. I was also out-of-it and may have been abusive to Ed? The nurse had to order a wheelchair and kept holding me down until it arrived. She sent Ed to get the car while I attempted to get dressed without falling over. As she wheeled me out – I kept making "squealing tire noises" whenever she turned a corner - while giggling hysterically. I kept telling her to go faster!! I also managed to tell her the story of how Ed and I met, all about my menopause book and I may have told her a couple of my deepest darkest secrets - within the span of 10 minutes. I didn’t know Twilight Juice equated to Confessional Juice! Now I have to kill her. Second eye surgery - just came down from my high! Once home - I woke up and had my vat of coffee. When I removed my plastic eye shield and did my first round of eyedrops - I realized that the “hematoma” and “reshaped eyebrow” on my first eye - was fiction. The hematoma was actually the surgical mark above the surgery eye (so they didn’t accidentally do the wrong one). The waxed eyebrow was in fact my everyday eyebrow and my quizzical expression is normal. My second eye surgery was less painful after the procedure. I barely felt any discomfort – no shards of glass.  My post-op appointment the next morning went well but revealed that my left eye also had pressure issues – so those drops just shifted over to the left eye. The amount of drops you must do over the course of 5 weeks (4 weeks each eye) is ridiculous but necessary. You have to pay close attention to which eye gets which drops because as you see from the image  Crazy-Ass Eye Drop Schedule! the amount of drops eventually reduce as time goes by. Cross off as you go. Keep in mind that you had your 2nd surgery a week or two after your first one – so that makes the eye drop regimen even more confusing. I was one of the youngest patients and can’t fathom how older (than 65) people keep this schedule straight. I decided to set my phone alarm(s) and to lock myself in the bathroom – no bright shiny objects to distract me from completing my mission – 4 times a day. Below are a few observations and tips while my left eye adjusts and acclimates to seeing life in a more colorful, brighter, crisper perspective. It also needs to learn how to work with my right eyeball – teamwork is key. I feel like a newborn baby – viewing the world for the first time in Hi-Def Resolution. When you’ve had muddled eyesight since 1-year-old – this transition of clarity is a little shocking. No more squinting to read!! This was my permanent expression before glasses! A.  Drainage System  – When you put drops into your eyeballs – you’ll experience a runny nose almost immediately. While applying the millions of eyedrops for post cataract surgery – keep a box of tissues nearby to catch the overflow. Once the eye drops have fulfilled their purpose of medicating the eyeball – the extra fluid drains from the tear duct into the nostril cavity and then down your throat – thus resulting in a sometimes-colorful runny nose (some drops are yellow). The first time I blew my nose and it came out yellow – I was a bit concerned! Everything is connected in your body – so imagine my surprise when my pee also got very “yellow!” In fact, I think I’m peeing more (if that’s even possible) since I’ve been imbibing all these eyeball drops!!! I call this leakage my – Freight Train of Tears – carrying all my baggage from eyeball to nostril to urine. In one end and out the other. B.  Eyeball Shield  – I’ve noticed two things since I started wearing a plastic eye shield for sleep. One - that this protection device looks like a codpiece or athletic cup for a very small penis! I searched for a small jockstrap to fit on my head – but had to use 3M first aid paper tape to secure it in place. Two - the 3M gentle paper tape is applied to your old, fragile, onionskin face every night to secure your codpiece (plastic eyeshield). Pulling that tape off is like getting a chemical peel every morning. I bought the “gentle” tape and can’t imagine what the regular tape would do to my face. The first time I tried pulling it off my sagging face – my cheek looked like silly putty – being pulled and stretched to the breaking point. I never did that again but have stress chafing on my cheeks like I got a freezer burn in the shape of tape strips. I have to admit that this is a good product but not kind to my tissue skin. C.   Keep Moving – Like a Shark – As a woman of 65, eliminating exercise for even a week or two is devastating. Within a couple days of minimal movement – I found my Monkey Suit disengaging from my skeletal framework. The stress of surgery and anesthesia on your body is bad enough and ages you 10 years. With the additional instructions to keep movement down to a standing/sitting crawl sets you back months on maintaining strength and muscle tone. I need to confirm when I can resume exercise – because I’ve gained 5 lbs. - sagging arms/core/ass/thighs and have formed Worry Warts (hemorrhoids). So, any time you sit for more than an hour – make sure you get up and briskly walk a circuit around your house or yard – to minimize the damage. We don’t bounce back as quickly as we did 20 years ago.  D.  Cheaters – I’m not referring to your husband/partner – but your eyes. When the new eyeballs start to heal and adjust – you’ll go through the various stages of repaired and rejuvenated vision. First, it’s a little cloudy and out of focus. But very quickly, your eyes become clearer, cleaner and improved vision for color and distance. But when you go to read something the first time – you realize that you might need assistance. I understand why they told me to continue wearing my glasses during convalescing. I have tri-focal glasses and couldn’t see with the top part of my lens but could still read with the bottom part. Very confusing to my eyes. I waited until my second surgery to get my first reading glasses (and stop wearing my normal glasses). DO NOT buy expensive readers until your eyes have completely healed and adjusted to their new prescription (a few weeks). Target is too expensive ($20 each) – buy them on Amazon ($15 for a pack of 5 in different colors). I stupidly and impatiently bought the Target pair initially, but my eyes are still changing and immediately ordered cheap ones on Amazon with a different strength. I discovered very quickly that I need a pair for every room while I juggle multiple pairs of eyewear. Trust me when I say - juggle and multiple. I have my prescription glasses and sunglasses, non-prescription sunglasses, readers, etc. None of them are where I need them. I am so used to having glasses on my face that I was excited to buy my first pair of Cheaters!! Unfortunately, they don't make toddler size readers for my petit head! I will continue to wear glasses because I don’t wear make-up – they  are my make-up! I also buy hip/cool frames which have always been a personality/fashion statement. I have an eye exam on March 8th to determine my new eye prescription. I will need readers and may need glasses for distance. We’ll see. But I’m pretty sure I’ll continue to wear glasses – even if they just have clear plastic lenses. FYI – this is the first time that I can read subtitles on the TV while sitting on the couch. I cried while reading it out loud to Ed. He was so proud and so happy he no longer had to read for me. Be kind to your eyes. You only have two. With cataract surgery comes not only clarity in your eyesight – but in your life. It’s all part of the aging process and surviving the aging hurdles. I hope this blog is helpful to those diagnosed with cataracts. I write to share my somewhat messy experiences and to offer moral support - whether it's menopause or cataract surgery. You are not alone. If you have any questions – please feel free to get in touch.  My husband Ed was very helpful and supportive during this whole process. He just had a couple concerns. He said, “When your eyes get fixed – will you look at me and wonder where Paul Newman went?” Every time he hugged me, he’d say, “I don’t want to squeeze (hug) you too tight and pop your eyeball out and I really don’t want to clean that mess up!” I wish they could resuscitate my hormones!! There won't be a cleaning product tip at the end of this blog - because my NEW EYEBALLS ARE THE CLEANING TIP!!! I have a whole new perspective on dirt and grime with these new babies!!! I can spot dirt, stains, lint, pet hair from a mile away!! I can't wait to clean!!! I LOVE COFFEE! Thank you everyone for your support and encouragement. I am so appreciative of your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!! My sister, Bridget, ended an email to me with a fantastic tag line -  Women Ignite and Women Unite . I would love to chat with you about igniting and uniting about menopause or aging or anything you feel like getting off your chest. I want to hear your stories. I will listen without censure or interruption!  I would really appreciate (need) reviews of my book on whichever site you purchased it - even if it was a gift. It's very helpful and gives me credibility - and maybe they'll start selling my soft cover book again. Otherwise, I'm just a hamster on the wheel of book retailer life! Thanks for taking the time to read my blog. Tell all your friends and family! Let's be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Battle Scars of a Fabulous Aging Woman! Attempting to take a sexy selfie! Old doctor/surgery war stories and battle scars of an aging woman. I wanted to have a Part 2 of my female related medical and surgical procedures gone just a tad awry. Not quite as funny as Part 1 – but you’ll definitely see a pattern emerging. As an old(er) person, I am beginning to understand the fascination that my elders have about all their aches, pains and ailments. And go into obsessive detail about each doctor visit. What was once a compact vitamin organizer increases in size exponentially along with your doctor appointments, drugs and wrinkles. If I wasn’t so freaked out at my own desire to talk about my doctor appointments and ailments (ad nauseam), I’d find this phenomenon quite interesting. I'm also starting to understand older people's obsession about reading the obits every single day. Obviously, praying that their name doesn't appear!! I’ve been having annual mammograms since I was 30 years old due to my family history. Any woman will tell you how much fun these appointments can be. Getting my breasts squeezed and squished into a vise of torture is not my idea of an hour well spent. Pre-Cold War Mammogram! I’m surprised that they don’t have a certificate on the wall from their Spanish Inquisition Classes. (Actually, the techs are all super nice and do all they can not to hurt and maim me – but you can’t help but think of these things while your boob is wedged between two plates of plastic and hoping it doesn't POP). I might as well go down to my husband’s woodworking shop and do it myself. Of course, he’d be happy to help! Having your breast pulled like taffy to fit within a centimeter of space front and side is bad enough. You also must hold your breath and not move so you get through each position just once because repeating this pancake (crepe) trial of torture is not without mild pain Mammogram room - screaming yellow is not soothing! and discomfort. Just as you think the tech has tightened the vise enough – they always have a couple more “cranks” to go. It’s also a little irritating to be told that they don’t have much to work with?? I believe a more “petit” breast makes the mammogram more challenging. Apologies if I’m wrong. My less than bountiful breasts shrink inside my body when I arrive at Radiology. My recent Mammogram left quite am impression!! I’d never noticed any lumps or issues until my late 30’s. After one of my annual appointments my doctor called me to give me the news everyone fears hearing – we have detected a small dark mass on your mammogram – and you’ll need to see a specialist. He said that I would need a biopsy to determine if it’s negative or positive. So, a surgery was scheduled. On the day of the event, I was being prepped and awaiting my anesthesiologist to put me under. A young woman walked in (she is labeled “young” because I wasn’t much older than her – unlike my age now where every doctor looks like a teenager). We were chatting about the procedure and I noticed her name tag on her scrubs. It was an unusual last name. Making small talk to distract me from going under and having my left breast sliced open, I casually mentioned that her name looked familiar and the same one as my GYN in Philly. I’ve never seen anyone react like she did when asked about their last name!! She stiffened up and glared at me over her mask and said, “That’s my SISTER!” (All names will obviously remain anonymous). Not knowing where this nipple-chilling conversation was going, I innocently said, “She was wonderful? I loved her? My favorite GYN?” My anesthesiologist proceeded to have a meltdown in front of me. She started babbling about her perfect sister and her inability to live up to her sister’s glory – I’m paraphrasing – but you get the gist where this was going. I got increasingly nervous, because while babbling, she was holding a VERY long needle and coming towards me as I lay prone and helpless on the slab (I mean table). Apparently, sibling rivalry and low self-esteem caused her to miss my vein and hit a nerve while my body levitated about 6 inches off the table in white hot agony!! As I slammed back down to earth – she cried out, “I’ll never be good enough!!” Wow!!! Next thing I know, she put me under while I prayed, “I hope I wake up!” I did. When I came out of surgery, the male nurse who was gurney-ing me down the hall to my recovery room was laughing out loud. I said, “What’s so funny (in slurred speech)?” He said, “You’ve been telling me jokes ever since we left surgery.” I said, “I never remember jokes – that’s odd.” He just kept chuckling and said I was really funny. This was the last thing I anticipated after the anesthesiologist debacle. I was fully expecting lots of fire and brimstone and a welcome to hell package. I never complained about the anesthesiologist. I just felt empathy and hoped she’d seek therapy. Her sister was a fantastic GYN and I miss her to this day – but maybe I should have reached out and told her to call her sister in Baltimore. To please give her a compliment or better yet, visit her and give her a hug. My next surgery was for uterine fibroids . I was around 40 years old. My GYN said I had multiple fibroids and recommended surgery to remove them – as they could be detrimental to carrying a child to term. I was recently remarried and would have loved to have a child with Ed – so I said yes to their removal. She needed to scrape some of my uterine wall to be biopsied to eliminate cancer from the mix. She invited a couple extra “medical toddlers” in to observe. I think I approved this decision. So, as I’m surrounded by strangers and my doctor is crouched between my legs – she starts digging (mining for golden fibroids). She apparently skipped the day they taught the “be gentle” course. I sound like a dying cow when having work down on my nether regions. It can’t be helped or ignored and I just have to take one for the herd. It hurt like a Mother-F**ker and probably convinced a few of the toddlers to consider becoming vegan. I had the surgery at GBMC, an excellent hospital. I was put into a private room for an overnight stay (slumber party of 3). My husband and sister were there to hold my hand and give me comfort. I wish the nurse assigned to me had felt the same way. When I was gradually coming out of my drug-induced delirium my husband was standing in front of me with a large bouquet of flowers. Apparently, these particular flowers outraged me and I proceeded to lambaste my husband and demanded he remove the offensive flowers from my post-surgery presence. I may have told him they “sucked.” I don’t remember any of this and horrified that I insulted my sweet, worried husband. I really hope it wasn’t a subconscious reaction. When I finally became coherent, I was in excruciating pain. I was hooked up to an IV of Morphine, but the pain only got worse. Both my husband and sister were beside themselves at their helplessness. I can handle pain, but this was like my uterus was trying to claw its way out of my vagina and lower abdomen at the same time – slowly!!! The movie Alien quickly came to mind. The scene in the movie when John Hurt gets a tummy ache can never be unseen!!! Ed raced out of the room because no one was responding to the nurse call button. He tracked one down and dragged her reluctant ass back to my room. Needless to say, she was miffed that she had to actually “nurse” someone. Her reaction was, “She’s hooked up to Morphine. She should be fine. There’s nothing more I can do.” Ed was insistent something was wrong and the non-nurse finally looked at my drip and realized that it wasn’t turned on. She said, “Oh, the drips not turned on. Why didn’t you just turn it on?” Hmmmmmmm……Big pause here! I did not know the patient oversaw their Morphine dosage. Excellent!! Ed was furious and reminded her of her vocation and to turn the f**cking drip on NOW! She huffed and puffed but did not blow the hospital down. She harumphed and turned on the morph-candy. Instant flow of, “I don’t care anymore and just keep the euphoria coming.” There will be more about “Nurse Ratched" in a couple paragraphs. BTW – I added yet another battle scar to my left breast baby scar – a very wide grimace between my pubic bones. My GYN also skipped the class on precision slicing and stitching. It’s challenging to find underwear that accommodates the unhappy thickened deformity. Also, thanks to menopause – the pubic hair (forest) is now growing north to conquer the blighted tissue. It also has phantom itching! The day I got home, my neighbor decided that this was a good time to practice his side gig – part-time bar musician. It was a beautiful day and all the windows open. I was put into the guest room to rest and for the first time in my life – take a nap. I was in a weakened and childlike state of mind. Then the music started and like a baby, I got cranky!! He normally practiced outside in the evening - singing and playing his guitar quietly. He added a new layer by plugging into his amp so the entire neighborhood could enjoy the drunken concert of one (yes, he was obviously drunk). He also decided to practice just one song – over and over again – at top volume. I used to like Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks but grew to hate the song, “Landslide.” Actually, I can’t quite remember which song it was – but after listening to the song about 12 times – let’s go with Landslide. Both my sister and husband immediately reacted. My sister calmly but my husband ferociously. Ed flipped out! At first, he was yelling out the window but the neighbor couldn’t hear him over his caterwauling. Then I heard the door slam and a heated alpha confrontation between yards. My neighbor refused to stop and my husband screamed that I was just home from the hospital and needed rest. This went on for quite a while until the drunk decided having another beer was more important than a pissing contest with my husband or maybe he just needed to piss. Good times! I got through the first week just fine because I had such good rehab nurses (Bridget & Ed). But then she left, Ed had to work and life went back to normal. I had a couple more weeks of recovery and unable to work (or walk). Ed and I decided that my convalescence was a fantastic time to repaint the interior of our house. Luckily, I wasn’t the one doing it. I was left in charge of the paint crew. However, I was not very mobile and incapable of changing from jammies to civilized clothing or hosting or project managing. I do remember about 6 men in my home and occasionally being asked questions. But my clearest memory was lying on the couch in the living room and being asked if I needed assistance getting to the bedroom. I declined and told them I didn’t weigh much if they needed to move the couch and to just throw a paint tarp over me and leave me alone. So, they decided to cover me. They could still hear me through the tarp when they needed direction. This became our routine for a couple days while repainting the living room and dining room. One young guy even checked in on me periodically – pulling up an edge of the tarp - to see if I needed food or water. Very sweet. Of course, if I’d been myself the job would have turned out better than it did. Plaster walls are not easy to prep and we discovered a few sloppy sections that needed redoing. I decided that I’d do the painting from now on. The next medical emergency was my miscarriage. I’m not ready to go into detail on this horrible and traumatic crisis but even that nightmare yielded an absurd occurrence. Maybe I'll tell you someday. As a result of my miscarriage, I decided to go to a fertility doctor to see if Ed and I could still have children. My miscarriage was a very violent one and we needed to make sure everything was in working order because I’d had an Ectopic pregnancy . They decided to do a Fallopian Tube post-op HSG test . Dye was injected into my uterus and fallopian tubes and x-rayed to determine if I could carry to term. Shortly after the procedure (which was very uncomfortable – dye HURTS!) I started feeling very ill. Ed was in NYC for work and the nausea and cramps grew to onset delirium. It was a work night and we had a client scheduled the next day and I needed to find a replacement. I barely remember calling Christina - to see if she could fill in for me. She told me later – that she almost drove to my home she was so worried. She ended up calling my boss as well – but he never reached out to me. Hmmmmm…. Anyway, I went to sleep (passed out). Next morning. We were having a roof put onto our back porch at this time and I stayed long enough to give them directions prior to going to the emergency room. You’ll have to bear with me and my OCD because I was not in my right mind and did not know how sick I really was at the time. I’m from sturdy stock and just assumed I had a bug! I called the fertility clinic to let them know something was terribly wrong and going to the ER. They said that I needed a referral and had to stop by their offices before getting emergency assistance!! I cried. At this point in time, I could barely walk upright. The intense cramps/pain were starting to scare me. I gave the project manager instructions as I leaned against my car. As this clueless, stupid man talked my ear off about inane, ridiculous nonsense – I proceeded to lay on the hood of my car and took a nightmarish nap. He never shut up!!! I finally crawled to the car door and left him in the driveway still talking and drinking his f**king coffee. If I’d had the energy, I would have slowly driven over him - twice! I don’t remember driving to the out-of-the-way fertility clinic but they confirmed I had an infection and should go to the ER. Wow! Like I hadn’t figured that out all ready! I hate insurance companies and their life-threatening referral rules. I don’t remember driving to GBMC – same hospital as before. I was now in full sweat, pain I’ve never experienced and in-and-out of consciousness. But somehow, I managed to get there without incident and park my car. I half-crawled to the ER entrance. Upon entry I finally succumbed to my illness and unable to walk. I literally crawled to the front desk and grabbed the counter to hoist myself up. The receptionist/greeter looked terrified as I asked for help. She immediately yelled for a wheelchair but found out they were all occupied. She was mumbling to herself that she wasn’t supposed to leave her station but ran out and grabbed me off the floor and practically did a fireman’s carry to the elevator and up to the women's wing. The last thing I remember was her screaming for a doctor. Big pause here! I sort of woke up once or twice - a dark shape hovering over me changing my bag of meds. The clearest memory was around 3am when a voice was nudging me to wake up. Yes, Nurse Ratched was my attending and looming over me!!! She wanted to know if she could borrow my magazines. I asked myself 3 questions – What the f**k? What magazines? What horrible thing did I do to deserve getting her as my nurse – again ?? The only question that got answered was the “Magazine” puzzle. Ed had been called by the hospital (apparently they went through my purse because I passed out) and drove from NYC to Baltimore in 1 hour. Not really, but he said that he drove 100 miles an hour the entire way and arrived in record time. He also bought me magazines! The diagnosis for this rambling and agonizing story was that the fibroid dye test caused a massive infection. Apparently, the dye never left my fallopian tube and curdled into a potential death sentence. They told me that if I had arrived at the ER one hour later – I would have died. They kept me for a few days on an IV and considered me extremely lucky. I am very grateful for their care but I never want to see Nurse Ratched ever again!!!! The other diagnosis from this nightmare was that I could never have children. I was coming to terms with this until my next GYN appointment. My doctor was the same one who handled my miscarriage. I was expecting just a normal uncomfortable poke and prod appointment but got quite a shock. While having our post-exam chat, she said, “You’re good to have children now – so let’s talk!” I was speechless and realized she didn’t remember me even though I’d been her patient for a few years. While all the blood ran from my head to my useless ovaries, I croaked, “I can’t have children.” She scrambled through the files piled on her desk and finally found mine and said, “Oh, right. Never mind.” This was the first time I wanted to slap her or sue her. If you’ve read my book , I mention her as the doctor whose pat answer for all my medical concerns was, “You’re getting old.” I told her that if she said that one more time, that I’d slap her. I never did, but I eventually changed doctors. I found a new GYN. One who listened and actually answered questions. Below is an excerpt from my book at our 2nd and last appointment. He was very helpful despite what I've written in my book. I miss him! I recently went for my annual GYN appointment. My new doctor and I discussed my vaginal disuse and the painful result—and how to get it back in working order. As he penetrated me with 2 hulk-sized fingers—describing and explaining my gossamer vaginal walls—I immediately started blurting out words of discomfort and pain. As I grunted, “Ow! Ow! That hurts! Owie! Owie!”—I slowly turned my head and looked at the 11-year-old nurse who had backed up into the corner with a look of sheer horror and disgust at me and her future. No help there. Unfortunately, he announced that he was retiring and I would need to find a new GYN. Sigh….. This reminded me of my 2 sessions with a Therapist during Covid. I was referred to her by a friend because I couldn’t stop crying and she kindly fit me into her schedule. I was suffering from PTPSD (I’ll explain this in a later post) and my conflicted decision on quitting my job of 21 years. I knew she was a very good therapist when she said, “Is your name on the company letterhead?” I said weeping, “No.” She said, “Then it’s not your problem.” I made the decision to quit on that short and obvious comment. She was a genius. Then she moved to New Zealand. Sigh..... So I don’t end this post on a sad note – let me tell you about my recent Dentist appointment. Have you ever cried at the dentist that did not involve a procedural pain? I have. Have you ever cried at the same time as your dentist? I have. I arrived at my bi-annual cleaning appointment in a seemingly good mood. I’ve been seeing this dentist for years and we always chat for a while prior to me being tortured. Dr. R asked me, “How are you Colleen?” I said, “Fine.” Big pause here. Dr. R asked again, “No, how are you really ?” We locked eyes over our masks and I burst into tears. I started babbling about my father who had recently passed away and the impending trip to Maine to celebrate his life party. I babbled about writing a book and being overwhelmed at the whole process. I just kept babbling! He cried and hugged me and began telling me about his ongoing issues that I can’t reveal but were heartbreaking. We kept hugging, crying and blowing our noses while the 10-year-old tech stood nearby - holding a suction hose in dead silence. This went on for a while and then we calmed down and he proceeded to scrape and clean my teeth. I left feeling somewhat better but with a sore gum from being stabbed during the plaque removal. It was buy one get one free appointment – therapy and a dental cleaning. I mentioned in my Part 1 Doctor Appointments post that I was getting an MRI because I was diagnosed with Tinnitus. They wanted to rule out tumors in my petit head and ear canals. My husband went with me to the appointment because I was a little nervous about being in an enclosed tube for an hour. When I checked in they revealed that I owed them a big chunk of change co-pay. My husband freaked out that they did not tell me about these charges. I checked with the front desk people who referred me to the money people but they were out to lunch. I called customer service about my health plan’s out of pocket/deductible crap and they confirmed what I owed. I cancelled that appointment and will wait to try again after my Medicare begins. Never a dull moment when I deal with the medical community. It drives one absolutely insane!! Always take a pix of your favorite and most frequented room! I had to take a selfie in my doctor's facility bathroom. My last day will be a Covid shot and a Goodbye to KP. Medicare begins 10/1/23!! Sigh.... I'd love to hear some of your hysterical or tragic or empowering Doctor Visits - it helps to share!! Share with your Friends, Family and even total Strangers! I recommend you purchase the soft cover book for the preferred reading experience! I have pages at the end of the book for you to add your own menopausal journey! I really hope you’ll sign up and become a part of my community. I would love to hear your stories, without any editing, please. I can handle anything! Thanks for taking the time to read my blog! Let’s be Friends!!! Colleen McIntosh

My Doctor Appointments have become Comedy Routines! Indignity #1 - wearing paper boxer-like shorts at doctor appointment Why do I never hear hysterical crazy stories about doctor appointments from other women? I can’t possibly be the only person who has awkward and laugh out loud checkups!!! Below are just a few examples of what should become my “Standup Comedy Routine!” Orthopedic – Recent appointment for Knee Bursitis - an ailment I’d never heard about until it happened to me! I vaguely recall hearing the term “Bursitis” but thought it had something to do with trees or testicles? I was doing my mega-cleaning - on my knees - underneath the dining room table – when I experienced an incredibly sharp pain coming from my right knee. You may ask, “Why were you on your knees underneath your dining room table – you weird and crazy woman!?” Well, table legs also collect dust!! Anyway, I pulled up my work pants and saw a massive gelatinous lump protruding from my wrinkly knee!!! I screamed! My husband Ed was equally shocked and mildly appalled but offered to rush me to the doctor if I'd pull my pant leg back down. We ended up at a Patient First to have it looked at until I could see an Orthopedic doctor. They put me in a small room to wait for my turn. As I paced my cell (I mean room) and tried to find something to amuse me – one of the nurses kept popping her head in to tell me I needed an X-ray. I kept replying that I’d like the doctor to look at my knee first and to stop asking me that question. She was persistent! Anyway, I saw a doctor for 5 minutes and she concluded that I had Bursitis and needed to follow up with an Orthopedic doctor. Another nurse wrapped my blobby knee up so tight that I lost circulation in my leg and it turned blue. I screamed again! Of course, I couldn’t see the Ortho Doc for a month and had to wrap/compress my knee until my appointment. While I waited for the appointment, life went on with some discomfort. I was always aware that I had a foreign object on my knee that was controlling my life. During one of my daily meditations, I felt a presence. A separate heartbeat coming from my “Bursa Twin” and probably plotting my demise. All I could meditate on were these words, “It’s ALIVE!!!” The day of my appointment finally came and I arrived in my go-to outfit – tights, large tee and sneakers. The nurse came in to do my prep and asked if I wanted to pull up my tights or wear one of their disposable garments. Well, there is a reason why they are called “tights,” so I chose the alternative. She handed me a pair of large paper boxer-like shorts to change into. I immediately said, “Oh, I’m taking a selfie with these babies!” (See pix above) I also texted it to my niece and sister for a good laugh. Below is a breakdown of the “Indignities” I endured for this appointment: Indignity #1 – Wearing huge blue paper boxer shorts with a big lump on my knee. Indignity #2 - My 16-year-old male doctor made me wait long enough for me to start sweating. This will make sense later. Indignity #3 - When he finally arrived, I immediately started babbling and told him that I have named the lump “Alice” and I hoped I could one day say, “Alice doesn’t live here anymore.” (meaning that I was looking forward to "Alice being taken care of" (wink, wink) at this appointment.) He looked a bit confused and I said, “It’s a song and movie reference.” He looked more confused and I said, “Never mind. You’re too young.” Indignity #4 - He then asked how this bulbous ball of fluid got on my knee (not in those exact words) and I told him that I was cleaning and crawling underneath the DR table. I felt a sharp pain on my knee, pulled up my pants and screamed!! I told him that I’m a very enthusiastic cleaner and often on my knees. My mouth couldn’t stop vomiting words, so I explained that at my previous job, I spent 21 years on my knees every day. He got another really confused look on his face and I realized how that statement sounded and said, “It’s not what you think!” Then he looked even more confused and a bit concerned and I said, “Forget it! Let’s just drop this subject!” (Hooker comes to mind?) HUGE Indignity #5 - Once we got past the “how I got the Bursa humiliation,” he asked what knee pad I’ve been wearing for protection. Internally, I was already in a frenzy, so I jumped up from the table and started to run over to my pile of clothes to get my knee pad and realized that I’d been sweating so much that not only were my paper boxers wet but I’d also soaked through to the big paper strip on the exam table. Halfway to the chair, I also realized the paper was attached to my ass and I had a soggy trail of paper behind me. I started ripping it off my sweaty legs and ass while throwing the shredded pieces onto the floor – mumble-yelling, “Stupid Paper!!!” I grabbed my knee pad and (half) flung it at the doctor. At this point I realized my dignity was non-existent and left in shreds on the exam room floor. Indignity #6 - There was nothing the young doctor could do for my long-lost twin now living on my right knee. I just had to accept “Alice” and wait for her to re-absorb back into my body. Creepy! He recommended some arthritic pain cream and compression knee pads for the foreseeable future. Oddly, he got really enthusiastic while looking up massive knee pads on Amazon - something that a hockey player would drool over and suggested I buy a pair. Men can be so stupid. But I did go to Dick’s and bought some female volleyball knee pads and decided I would tell everyone that I’d joined a local league for women over 50. It gave my knee pads street cred! Indignity #7 - My child-doctor couldn’t run fast enough to get out of the exam room and away from me. Dejected, I got dressed and picked up my soggy paper remains. After a while, I realized no one was coming back with my after-visit instructions – so I poked my head out the door. The nurses all turned their heads as one and just stared at me. All I could think was - the Doctor told them an OLD HOOKER was in the exam room and to please take care of her and have her removed – because he was traumatized. I did not take a photo of the Post Exam Room paper catastrophe because it looked like the exam table was attacked by a badger! Conclusion – knee pads and ice packs for 5-6 months. Alice is getting evicted! BTW – don’t ask an orthopedic doctor to just get a needle and suck out the gelatinous fluid out of your knee. One more indignity that reminds you that you’re not very bright. Ophthalmologist – My eyes have always been sub-par – so cataracts were inevitable. When I was referred to an Ophthalmologist I was once again surprised to see a very cute pregnant 15-year-old doctor. Of course, she wasn’t 15 – but every doctor looks so f**king young to me. She proceeded to tell me that my eyeballs are short, small and shaped wrong. I’m sure she said that in more technical terms – but that’s what I heard. We were nose-to-nose as she stared into my eyes and held my head and said, “Your head is narrow and (long pause) “petit.” I said, “Did you just say I have a small brain?” She laughed and said, “You’re funny!” She did not clarify her original statement – but left my tiny brain to process this momentous diagnosis. My mom said my brain is small but MIGHTY! Did my head (brain) shrink? Does that explain why my ears look bigger? Cataracts situation – My insurance does not offer laser surgery. I have two astigmatisms which equates Toric lens implants and lasik surgery. It also means out of pocket costs for my EYESIGHT!! Twisted health insurance logic!!! Conclusion – getting cataract surgery that is best for my eyesight even though it will cost me one of my arms and half a leg. Osteopenia – Prior to Menopause my bones were strong and my skeleton supple. Now the word “crispy” comes to mind when I think of my internal structure. A “structure” that was meant to maintain my skin suit until death. I’ll end up shrunken and curled in a fetal position at the end. I already exercise 4-5 times a week and eat properly. Conclusion – double up on your calcium and vitamin D. Realistic Conclusion – stock up on bubble wrap. Audiologist – I knew something was wrong for quite some time. I had a hissing/white noise in my left ear. I wondered if it was Alice or another one of my inner voices trying to tell me secrets to the universe. I was wrong and diagnosed with Tinnitus . I had 2 appointments – one in a sound studio and second one with a specialist. Of course, every time you see a doctor they get your weight, height and blood pressure. Having my blood pressure done is exciting. My tech had to do mine 3 times. The first time she said it had to be wrong because I wasn’t sitting right – the second time she got panicked because it was so low she thought I was dead. So, she had me stand up to prove she was wrong and did it a third time and told me to breath normal!!! I was fine. At a previous doctor appointment, I was told to do breathing exercises to calm down. I am usually very nervous when I see a doctor, so I took her advice and did slow breathing prior to the blood pressure test. It worked last time, but not this one. After she got a normal BP – she said, “Ok, you’re alive .” Once I saw the specialist and went over all the details of my tinnitus, she told me I needed an MRI to make sure I didn’t have a brain tumor – or tumor in my ear canal – which is located in my head near my brain!!! That was an unexpected surprise! Three cheers for me laying in a claustrophobic tube for 40 minutes. EEK! Wait just a sec! It should take less time to do my MRI since I have a “Petit Head” and “Tiny Brain!” Conclusion – no real cure for tinnitus so I’m going the homeopathic route! FYI - the appointment hasn't happened yet. I'll update once I get the results. To prove my point about wacky doctor appointments, I’m going to tell you a couple stories from my youth. I don’t think I ever see a doctor without some bizarre moment where time seems to slow down for me - while the rest of the world keeps moving. An out-of-body kind of experience. One of my first memories going to a GP with my mom, that did not include getting a childhood vaccination, was to get a physical exam. It was traumatizing. The one thing that I remember from that routine visit was lying on an exam table with the old male doctor looming over me. He was pulling “stuff” out of my belly button and chastising me for not cleaning myself better. He had this “lint-like substance” on a large Q-tip. He shoved it in my face and told me to smell it. Horrified at the smell and him - it fell off the Q-tip and on to my face. I screamed! I was very young and he was very nasty. What child is fastidious about cleaning any part of their body? And what child looks at their belly button and thinks, “Boy, I better clean the smelly stuff out of my weird tummy hole! I don’t want to embarrass my mom at my next doctor visit or have nightmares forever!” To this day, I am anal retentive about cleaning my F**king Belly Button!!! I did not go to a doctor for quite some time after the BB incident until I fell off a minibike and split open my eyebrow. We all know how bad head wounds bleed. Of course, it was a weekend and I was rushed to the “ER”. I grew up in Northern Maine – so it took a while for the doctor to get to the tiny hospital. I can’t remember this doctor’s name, but he was considered a little eccentric. We smelled him before he entered the exam room. He had just come from his farm and had obviously been doing chores and was literally covered in shit. He pretended to wash his hands and decided I needed stitches. To this day, I can’t believe I didn’t die from a bacterial infection or maybe swine flu. BTW – I don’t recall getting any anesthetic. Upcoming medical appointments and procedures: MRI, Mammogram, COVID vaccine, Dentist and Cataract surgery. Cross fingers it all goes well with minimal humiliation! I'd love to hear some of your hysterical or tragic or empowering Doctor Visits - it helps to share!! Don’t forget to purchase my book Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!!! I talk about other hysterical doctor moments. GYN appointments are a laugh riot!!! I really hope you’ll become a part of my community. I would love to hear your stories, without any editing, please. I can handle anything! Share with your Friends, Family and even total Strangers! I recommend you purchase the soft cover book Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!!! for the preferred reading experience! I have pages at the end of the book for you to add your own menopausal journey! Thanks for taking the time to read my blog! Let’s be Friends!!! Colleen McIntosh

Milo and Tatertot - My Furry Children! Whether your heart resolved to choose a dog, cat, horse, goat, cow, hamster, parrot, snake, turtle, pig or bunny rabbit as your familiar/familial loved one – they are all integral to the household – vital to your life and soul. If angels exist, they are our furry children. Imagine life without a furry friend! Imagine life without experiencing unconditional love! Gives one paws (pause)! When we’ve lost a pet to disease, age or evil-doers – we have a mourning period to absorb the loss and manage our grief – listening to echoes of furballs past. There have always been furry sisters and brothers left behind that are also hurting and missing their siblings. It’s painful to watch them search the house for their partner and only finding their scent. I’ve watched each pet lose their loved one and wept for their/our loss.    I left off with  My Furry Children – Part 1 - Furballs are Forever!   – with my sweet Bob’s passing. Milo had now suffered two losses.  Master Jedi and his Padawan! I’ve already mentioned in Part 1 – that Milo is/was the smartest Border Collie that we’ve had the honor of loving. He was always the “adult” in the room – taking care of the other furballs. All our dogs were perfect, but Milo was unique. He passed 5 months before his 17th birthday (12/20/04). I believe with all my heart that bringing Tate R. Tot (official name) home January of 2021 prolonged Milo’s life – because he knew we needed him to help Tater feel at home. He lasted as long as he could but left us on 7/31/21. Tater had a short-lived partnership in Milo – but Tater adored him. Milo couldn’t play much – mostly in a horizontal position – because his hips and legs were giving out. Ed and I had to assist him going up stairs or while walking. But he still had all his faculties, appetite and kept Tater in his proper station as his “Padawan” (Star Wars term for a Jedi apprentice). Milo was a master Jedi! He was already on pain meds when he Milo was beautiful - even at 16! got a brief introduction with Tater prior to us bringing the puppy home. We chose to get another dog during the worst of Covid. For the first time, the breeder would not let us pick out our own dog and selected Tater as the “most calm” from his litter. We talked the breeder into letting us visit once, with Milo, so we could be sure he approved of a stranger’s selection. I don’t think Milo really cared, but he did not reject Tater. I also think that Milo questioned the breeder’s choice – because Tater was in no way – calm.   Ed started working on a TV show in Richmond just prior to our bringing Tater home and would be away for about 8 months. Ed was home for holiday just long enough to bring Meeting Tater for the first time - then I dropped him! home our new puppy. I was left to raise and train our newest addition to the family and terrified of ruining Tate. I’d never trained our dogs – but abided by Ed’s basic rules of furry conduct while he trained. We always had an older dog (by about 4-5 years) to do most of the training anyway and it never failed. We relied on the elder to maintain decorum and for the puppy to follow suit. Tater and Milo had a 16-year age difference, and that made a huge difference in Tater’s assimilating into our household – and not necessarily in a positive way. Milo didn’t have the strength or the energy to fully integrate Tater in the dos and don’ts. Tater was a handful. It also didn’t help that Baltimore had a rough winter of snow/ice. Taking them outside to do their business was more than challenging. I had to help Milo with walking on ice and not getting hurt – while a maniac puppy was running/sliding in circles. When I could walk them in our neighborhood – I had one arm fully and tautly extended while the other arm was fully and tautly extended in the opposite direction. Tater running full tilt forward and Milo sitting/not moving behind. Tater also hated the leash – which was an ongoing issue until about a year ago (3 years of leash training).  Look at that sweet face! (both of them) I quickly realized that the breeder had not been forthcoming about picking the “calmest” BC in the litter. I think she did the opposite. We loved Tater so much, but he is the most hyper BC we’ve ever had and that has not changed even though he is fast approaching 4-years.   Milo endured and with a show of strength, wisdom, character and grace – loved and protected Tater (from himself). I knew that Milo didn’t want a puppy at this stage in his life. A puppy whose energy exceeded three BC’s put together. He was tolerant, but also would put Tater down in a neck hold (which all our BC’s would do to claim position of Alpha). It did not hurt the puppy, but it made him chill out and play by Milo’s rules – for a short while anyway.  After Tsunami Tater-time - Milo enforced Nap-time! Throughout this 7-month period of Milo and Tater – I was alone, working full time and long hours, potty training a crazy puppy, tending to an elder dog and hardly remember Rey in all this frenzy. I slept downstairs so Milo didn’t have to climb the stairs to our main bedroom every night and morning. Milo was a large BC and hard for me to fully carry with any comfort or safety. Tate was crate trained – but was obsessed with water. He drank like he’d lived in the desert for his first 10 weeks without an oasis in sight – and with his voracious lapping – Tater loved his Monkey toy to pieces - literally! came copious amounts of urine!! He never pooped in the house, but all rugs, floors, bedding and couch were christened and cleaned often! He also had a habit of attacking the water bowl and slinging it around the room. I kept a mop and towels handy. I’ve never seen a dog drink so much water and upon our first vet visit – asked the doctor. She recommended a hamster water bottle to control the amounts consumed and with minimal water distribution. Of course, Milo still needed water and we ended up getting a bowl with a floating wedge that had a smaller opening in the top to control splashing. That worked well for both dogs – but I still had to refill it about 30 times a day. This also meant that Tater had to tinkle 2-3 times each night. I was averaging about 3 hrs. of sleep. Between my negative work environment, Covid, minimal sleep, bad weather, the puppy/elderly dogs and no support – I fell into a deep depression . Fathomless.  I began crying. I couldn’t stop. Everything made me cry. This went on 24/7 for over a year. Ed was very worried and neither of us had a solution – except therapy. With my work schedule and the pups – that became challenging. I managed to get a few sessions in before the therapist announced she was moving to New Zealand and had no referrals for me. I tried not to take this personally.   When Covid hit the world, everything we knew changed. I knew that I had to take some action – for all our sakes. Rey spent Tate's first 6 months under a blanket! I leaned on my wonderful, kind and very patient neighbor, Debbie, who was working from home. I did not have that luxury – but forever grateful to her. She would check on the pups and let them out during the day. I also got a dog walker recommendation who came by a few times a week to exercise and play with them. All this helped so much and made me a Thank you Milo for taking the bullet! little less morose. I even got some help from Milo. I would come home and spend all my time entertaining Tater who was in dire need of play time, watering and comfort. Often, I would not eat dinner or stand by the kitchen sink and eat whatever was easiest/quickest because cooking or sitting down was forbidden (by Tater). At one point, I snapped (not with anger but at twits end – yes twits!). I looked at Milo and said, “Sorry Milo, but I’ve got to eat! It’s your turn to take the bullet!” Milo stared at me, his head and shoulders slumped, and he sighed. He began playing with Tater while I ate. I swear to god, that Milo understood what I said and he continued to help me on occasion when I was in need of a 15 minute break.  Even horizontal - Milo never lost the Alpha battle! Milo lasted until Ed came home. I was cooking him anything (mac ‘n cheese) to get calories I find comfort with them nearby. into his poor old body. We had to make that final decision and took him to the vet end of July. Milo left a huge empty space in our universe. My heart aches as I write this. We miss our beautiful courageous boy. I talk to each of my pets when I am in the office. I find comfort with their ashes nearby.    When I returned to the vet to pick up Milo’s ashes – I sat in my car holding them and crying – when a young woman (probably on her phone) slammed her car in the back of mine and Milo’s ashes container flew! After I made sure he was still intact – I FLEW out of my car to very emphatically tell (yell) the unaware child that I dropped my ashes and wanted all her insurance information ASAP as I started snapping pictures. I had a vet tech and client rush out to say they saw the accident. One witness was a judge and she gleefully told me that she would sign a statement for me. It sucked that in my moment of utter grief that I’d be hit while in a parked car. I guarantee that girl will never do that again!! Life is so effing bizarre.   We lost two precious furry children during Covid. A dark and devastating plague in our lives.   Of course, we still had Rey and Tatertot. Both seemed confused and distracted by the void left by Milo. When we were able to begin the conversation about a partner for Tate – we both hesitated. Life without a second dog gave us paws (pause) – but was Tater ready to take on the mantle of alpha and educator? No, he was not ready – sigh! My sweet OCD boy! We were still training Tate on a leash. I’ve already   blogged about taking “face plants” in front of my neighbors while being tugged down the street when walking Tate. It’s funny until you wake up with gravel in your mouth. A total stranger sitting in his car was watching me being walked/towed and gave me great advice on a non-harmful mouth guard that trains dogs not to pull!! I immediately bought one and it worked like a dream! I also tried a safe spritz device to control his frenetic barking when I went to the store – which worked initially but he’s never broken that habit. Tate’s barks and yelps are of such high intensity – he can ring our doorbell when he’s in the house. I believe his yips are the scale that tipped my ear into the land of Tinnitus. Tate is not a basso – but a castrati soprano!  Tate liked Walle their first encounter - then he didn't! Due to Covid, Tate was not socially integrated into our neighborhood of dogs – of which we have many. He was overly protective and occasionally aggressive – very territorial of his parental unit. I did not trust him with people or other pets. He’d be fine and then lunge. Not so much biting but nipping to make sure no one got close. Tater is one of the fastest dogs we’ve had and blindingly accurate. I’ve learned that he is very particular who he befriends. Our neighbors, Richard and Danielle with their sweet girl puppy are his favorites. He is in love with Arial. He is also in love with Richard. He treats him like he's Ed - Alpha male. Total adoration. Over these past 3.5 years – Tate has taken baby paws to achieve every hurdle.    Ed keeps approaching the topic of getting Tate a partner – but I’m the one hesitating. I finally feel that we could start looking for his new mate. However, we will both need to be around for the training with Tate’s input. I would like to rescue a dog – but not necessarily a puppy. It’s an ongoing debate – but I know that for me, the breeder is no longer an option. Stayed tuned on extending our family unit. I have gobs to say about my two current furballs. They are always entertaining. Not even the bathroom is sacred! I spend way too much time alone and so I am prone to announcing my every movement – often to the pets (and my vacuum). When I say, “I’ve got to pee!” Without fail, my dog(s) and cat(s) hear, “Family confab!!   Assume your positions!” They realize that I am unable to move from my throne (toilet seat) for a few minutes – which is plenty of time for me to pet them and sometimes throw a ball. “Waste” not, want not! If I need alone time in the bathroom – I create a diversion, run in a zig zag pattern to disorient them, a quick drop and roll and slam the door without catching any little paws in the process. This really pisses off my cat, Rey.    My cat Rey is like a fart – silent but deadly!! Little Miss Busybody! Rey slinks through the house or lies on various flat surfaces (couch, bed, hassock, shelf, etc.) with a haughty attitude of authority. Do her bidding and all will be copacetic. Any sudden movement or change in routine – may piss her off. I call Rey, “Her Royal Heinie!” Her Royal Pain in the Ass is more like it – but Heinie sounds a lot like Highness, and she doesn’t know the difference!! Any open box will do - even a Ukulele box. It fit her figure perfectly! Turn the tap on B*tch! I'm thirsty! Rey is very demanding as far as cats go. She is very vocal. From the moment I descend from our bedroom – groggy, crusty-eyed and tired – she begins her meowing decrees. Directing my every movement as if I’d been replaced overnight by another humanoid and unaware of all her monarchial needs. Meows ensue while I refresh her water bowls. Meowing as I dole out her teaspoon of soft food. Meowing while she eats the soft food. Meowing as I clean her royal litterbox of its imperial s*it. Meowing as I clean up her majesty’s litter spillage from the bench and floor. Meowing as she beckons me to lift her royal chubbiness to the other bench to have her dessert (dry cat food). Meowing, thinking I’ve forgotten all about her and jumps into the large utility sink for her morning footbath and beverage – tap water. (she was born in a tub and has no fear of water) I then Rey's morning ablutions and refreshment! prep Tate’s food until her thirst is slacked, and the meowing begins anew! I must pick up majestic ass and carry HRH upstairs to be deposited on the office couch – impatiently waiting for me to open the blinds for her to oversee her realm and wave at her royal subjects (squirrels). This routine is without fail. It never varies and I pretty much do it in my sleep now. I wake up once I’ve fulfilled my duties as her royal maidservant and had my morning vat of coffee. Of course, my attendance is needed again before I continue my daily duties. She appears in the kitchen corner beside the fridge. As I’m swigging coffee – I feel an itch between my shoulder blades and slowly turn to see her glaring at me. With her cat-mind-meld I get her 2 nibblet treats. Her Grace manages the staff of one (me) with cat-like precision and sharp-eyed/clawed punishment if her servant falters. This just covers 5:30am to 6:30am.  Scares me every time! She doesn’t meow for her morning treats – but in the afternoon – she’s scream-owing! For the remainder of the waking hours - when I’m in the kitchen cooking or cleaning – I'll hear meowing in the distance. I'll continue with my chores when suddenly Rey magically appears in the corner next to the fridge – her eyes silently telling me to give her a f**king treat – while Tate stares at Rey hoping he can steal one of those treats without harm inflicted upon his nose. Rey is the Alpha and Tate keeps a safe distance. He knows that if Rey gets a treat – then he also gets lucky. I believe they are conspiring behind my back and I’m too weak to say NO. Honestly, Rey just scares us.   She’s not allowed upstairs at night – bedtime – like my previous cats. I value my life too much. We always let our dogs upstairs at night – but they sleep on the floor next to the bed. We attempted to let Rey sleep with us – but I never slept. Ed is her Lord and Master, and she just oozes love and seduction when he’s around. However, she loves him so much that she Rey is luring me into a false sense of security before she attacks! doesn’t want to disrupt his much-needed rest – so she always sleeps next to my head. We have a queen size bed and I’m already limited in bedspace with Ed. Add Rey into the mix and I have about 1/16 of this queen. Wedged between the two – if I roll over in either direction – I have an angry, spiteful cat to deal with. She isn’t happy if I turn my back on her and she isn’t happy if I’m breathing on her. It pisses her off royally to be disturbed once she’s settled into her position – sharp teeth and claws next to my face. I have sleep apnea, so I can’t sleep on my back. I also don’t sleep well – so I roll back and forth all night. I laid in terror when Rey was next to me. I finally put my foot down while bandaging my scratches and declared, “No cat is allowed upstairs while we sleep!” If she’s upstairs when we are getting ready for bed – that becomes a whole game of – “Let me get a couple scratches in just for the hell of it before Colleen-in-waiting kicks me out.”  Doors seem to be a fascination to a lot of cats and Rey considers them a challenge. Rey has been locked in many a closet over her 8 years – because she’s a stealth bomb and I never see her enter as I’m closing that closet door. I eventually feel an uncomfortable silence in the house and realize I haven’t been meowed at for about an hour and go in search of my liege! Ironically, she never meows to alert anyone that she’s in a dark closet – but waits until I finally open the door and then bellows her meowing outrage! Oddly enough, she can pretty much Indiana Jones any closed door. Treasures to be found and toyed with. She can’t pass up cracking the secrets behind a closed door – and keeps me on my tippy-toes. When we have guests staying over – they must wedge the guest bedroom door at night – from the inside. Rey sharpens her claws and meows, “Challenge accepted!”   Where's my f**king brush! I am not only her handmaid – but her groomer as well. I brushed her as a kitten and that has maintained as one of her greatest pleasures. Her brush is in a tin on our pie-shelf in the kitchen. If I so much as breath on that tin – she comes galloping and meowing in a furry frenzy – in anticipation of her spa day. The meows continue until I’ve settled in our spot on the couch (where Ed lays) and she is on her hind legs reaching for the magical brush or meowing me to hurry the f**k up and get brushing human parental unit (translation – B*tch)!! It’s a specific routine of what body part I brush and when. Her favorite spots are her cheeks (jowls) and the top of her head. She cannot get enough of the pheromones that are released when I do her jowls. It drives her insane!! I am her best friend for those 15 minutes. She will let me brush any part of her body just to get her fix. The only time that I have power over that cat, and I wallow in it. I only do it once a week – just to keep her wanting more (and not having me beheaded).    When I read her my book - her critique was a harsh ME-OW! It's taken a few years for Ed and I to figure out the safest way (it takes 2) to clip Rey’s nails/claws. As a kitten, it was easy-peasy. Not so as an adult. Rey has a full flotilla of uber sharp teeth in that tiny skull. We’ve all had the displeasure of finding out how sharp (except her lover Ed). So, now it’s like we are planning a catnapping. I get out a large towel in one hand and then rattle the “tin” and pull her brush out with the other. As she charges into the room Ed and I go over to her spot, waving her brush (lure) and once she’s on the couch between us – I throw the towel over her head. She doesn’t seem to notice that we are both wearing balaclavas! I gently but firmly hold my captive down while Ed clips her nails as fast as he can before she escapes her towel-tether. Her meows turn to growls but once the hostage is released, I shove the brush into her murderous face, and she melts into meows again – as if the offense never occurred. It’s a seismic line we walk when clipping her nails – but this has been the only way to do so without a trip to the ER or a $300 manicure at the vet. She's laughing at me saying, "He's mine. All mine!" Ed is Rey’s favorite and will let him cuddle, rub, maul, scratch her anywhere and never get irritated. If she could blush and giggle – she would! The strange thing is that I am the one she comes to for all her basic needs and comforts – but with conditions. I feed her, I clean her litter, I brush her, I let her out of closets, I arrange her sleeping accommodations, I scratch her in her favorite spots, I respond to all her meows, and I even play hide and seek with her. We carry on conversations all day long and this b*tch still manages to swipe at me on occasion to keep me on alert! Whenever I go to the bathroom, I am expected to leave the door open or else Rey will angrily use her claws to open it. We have a routine in the bathroom with petting while I’m on the toilet and then she sits on the tub If Rey turns her back on you - it means she's invisible! bench while I do my ablutions. One of her favorite games is hide and seek. She will hide behind the towels hanging on the towel rack – but half her generous sized body is still visible. I always cry, “Where’s Rey? Where is she? Rey..Rey..where are you?” As I’m doing my part, I wiggle the towels and pretend to search for her. Eventually, she’ll scare the crap out of me and lunge with a smug, “Me-ow!” That translates to a human, “Boo!” I know she’s going to lunge but it startles me every time. Another game of hers is the “Invisibility Game.” She’ll sit on the tub bench and turn her back to me. I believe she thinks she is invisible because she can’t see me. I have learned to come up behind her and gently hug her for about 5 seconds and she purrs, meows her approval. She then leaves to plop down on the dining room rug for her carefully crafted head rub and massage. I keep an eye out for any show of displeasure at my ministrations and then bow/back out of the room quietly so as not to rile her royal furry heinie.   Her favorite game - hide and seek. Once again - she thinks she's invisible! The face I see when she's on my chest! Would you feel safe!! When we watch TV at night – it’s inevitable that Rey will seek out her Royal Cushion – me. She will approach my end of the couch and calculate her options, “Can I wedge between my servant and her pillow, or should I climb atop her and settle myself onto her bosom?” If she chooses the Wedge option - then it’s - jump up, put my royal ass in the human’s face and wiggle my abundant body into the imaginary targeted space. Once  I’ve  made room and shoved her ass down - which takes time because it keeps popping up to prove a point – she expects me to pet her coronated head for 2 hours. I’ve convinced myself that her “ass in my face” is a position of endearment and her way of telling me, “I love you!” Her other option is After 2 hours of me rubbing her head! to jump up when I’m distracted and establish her furry girth from my lap up to my chest, so her face (sharp teeth) is 2 inches from my own. I’ve grown used to it – but there is always a little tremble of fear that she has me in a vulnerable position. A position of trust that I’m forced into by a “cat!” Rey has turned out to be our cuddliest cat but comes with a lot of cat-veats!   The beast my mother poked! My mom was visiting. While I was at work – while on the couch - she decided that reaching behind her head to pet a snoozing Rey was a great idea. She found out that Rey is not her cat (Lucky)! I had to rush her to Patient First to get antibiotics for her infected bite. Rey got her good and scarred – but my mom recovered and will never do that again!   Don't be deceived by her innocent expression! I used to have an antique china cabinet in my dining room that had been in the family for many years. Ed insisted on putting a large antique speaker next to the cabinet and Rey would often perch on it and wave at us (swipe at us) as we entered the kitchen. I’d had one of my (many) bad days at work and came home late. Ed had made dinner, and I was starving. As I was exiting the   kitchen – a loud noise startled Rey – and she vaulted off the speaker which rocked it back into my curved glass-sided china cabinet. She broke that glass panel 2 times! Broken glass flew at me, into my food and throughout the room. I burst out crying for many reasons. I did not have dinner but cleaned up the crime scene and furious at the stupid speaker. It took a while for Ed to find a person who could recreate this curved glass but someone in the mid-west specialized in antique glass, and we got the cabinet repaired. I insisted the speaker be moved – but Ed claimed this would never happen again – until it did. Exactly like the first time. I didn’t cry the second time – but my silence was worse. The china cabinet will be put into our next yard sale sans one pane of curved glass, the speaker has been moved to a place where it can do no harm and Ed built me a new hanging cabinet with normal glass panes and matching credenza in record time. Rey still lives – but I am fully aware of her skills of mass destruction and always on alert.  My new China cabinet!!! Ed made it - he had no choice!! In the rare event, I go out of town – my neighbor Debbie – has always come through for me – forever a good friend. I had to go with Ed to Richmond for a kidney stone operation and Debbie fed and kept an eye on Tater and Rey. Both my pets have known Debbie since their adoption, and they act like it’s the first time meeting her - every time. I surmise that Debbie I hear the "Psycho" music every time! means I’m going away. My children are both OCD in their routine. I don’t ever expect Debbie to adhere by my psychotic OCD rules – just refreshing water and food bowls, letting Tate out to do his business and making sure Rey is alive. Often, Debbie tells me she never sees Rey while I’m gone – but her treats and food were consumed so she assumed Rey was alive and breathing. One babysitting visit, thinking Rey was hiding as usual, she turned and saw Rey sitting in the utility tub glaring at her. She took this picture! We both laughed so hard because it’s creepy and hilarious at the same time. I told Debbie that Rey was pissed because she gets to drink out of the faucet every morning and Debbie wasn’t cognizant of this rule. Debbie has also learned to have a ball in her hand upon letting Tate out for her first time entry. Balls are his heroine and distract him from any aggressive action. Exhausting! The other day while typing my Blog - invisible forces startled Rey who was around the corner in the guest room. I turned and saw her body fly by (about 3 feet off the ground) and land in a jumble of limbs – then zoom down the hall to the office. Just as I stood to go check on her – she came back and started licking various parts of her body with feline fervor – pretending she didn’t just get scared by NOTHING and acting like she meant to do it prior to grooming herself. Every awkward Rey moment is reason for her to lick her entire body as if that was her plan all along.    Rey reminds me of the Feng Shui Maneki-neko porcelain waving cats that you see in Asian restaurants – spreading good fortune while sweetly waving at customers. If I had her likeness turned into one of these Chubby Lucky Cat statues – she’d be gleefully waving - “You’re Number 1” - claw/finger! DEATH REY!! It's very rare to capture this on camera! Tate and Rey tolerate each other. There are times – when I come around a corner – they’ll be nose-kissing. Upon seeing me, they break contact. Tate lunges while Rey bat, bat, bats his face (no claws) like a professional boxer. Rey gives Tate her disgusted meow and resumes her “Death Rey’s” (rays) to mitigate their secret attraction. They tear off in opposite directions. If Tater had his way, they’d play all day and if Rey had hers – Tate would get apposable thumbs and brush her all day. As I’ve mentioned, Tater is our most extreme OCD Border Collie. Maintaining his schedule is key. Any sudden fluctuations – a burst of loud laughter, opening the front/back/garage/any door, putting a coat on, grabbing my purse, putting a hat on, walking near the treat container, going upstairs, going downstairs, going to the bathroom, moving, etc. – creates a frenzied response of whining, yipping loudly and running his gauntlet – down the basement stairs, licking the corner of W/D base, running back upstairs and zooming to the office while licking the corner, licking the office floor and repeat – over and over again. He licks in the exact same spots and runs the exact same pattern. He licks everything and everyone. If I pet him – his head circles until he can cop a hand lick. It’s one of his obsessive fetishes. I used to think he was salt deficient or showing me affection – but now I suspect I’m just another dog treat.  Tater as a tween and always "happy to see me!" Tate was great at fetching - until he got tired and made us go find the stupid ball! Another compulsion that makes him quiver with anticipation is throwing a ball. He could care less about frisbees – but he adores bouncy balls! Especially squeaky balls. When he was a puppy, I bought him Curious George Monkey soft squeaky toy. Tate loved that Monkey. He slept with that Monkey. He tore that Monkey apart, one limb at a time. I would sew the leg on, and he would rip the other one off. And so on and so on. I bought about 4 of them until I had cleaned out Pet Smart. I bought him Kong’s – that claim they are indestructible – but in reality - aren’t. I’ve scoured the Google for various durable toys – but Tate has proven to each manufacturer that, “Where there’s a will, a Border Collie, a good set of fangs, there’s a way!” Tate has many toys and balls that have stood the test of Tate and are great for tossing. We will play his favorite game of throw/retrieve until I collapse. Another BC trait – is no internal “off” button. I now buy him toys from the $3 bin. These cheap ball/toys have lasted the longest.  When he wants me to play with him - daily ritual - Green candy cane #1! His favorite outdoor toy - pumpkin!! While I water the garden beds – I am throwing his current outdoor favorite – a pumpkin squeaky toy that cost $2. If I say, “Go get pumpkin!” He searches until he finds that cheap toy. At night, when I’m watching TV – I am tossing his inside ball (less bouncy) for hours. My right arm is ripped!! I have defined veins popping out on that arm. When Ed is home, we have indoor ball rules. While watching TV or relaxing – if Ed leaves the living room – Tate frantically grabs the ball, throws it into my lap and we play toss. When Ed returns – he drops the ball and lays down – but not before he looks at me to make sure the rule hasn’t magically changed.  That river was a lot higher before Tate went swimming! Tate’s preoccupation with water has lessened, except when I’ve filled his puppy pool, or we go hiking on a river trail. He is our first BC who loves to swim. Of course, I believe any large body of water makes him whimper with delight – endless water supply. He basically swim/gulps until he vomits – and repeat. He is in OCD heaven! My beautiful boy! When Tater was a puppy and Ed was away working – I still had to take him in for his initial shots. It was 3 trips in my new Prius Prime. I had purchased a collapsable pet tube with vents, padding and plenty of room. I’m grateful that I also put down a blanket underneath the tube and additional pee pads and towels inside the tube. The first trip – he made it all the way to the vet and once parked – proceeded to spew vomit - copious amounts inside This was pre-vomit! the tube and all over himself. As a puppy – he was easier for them to handle, and they were used to such “accidents.” They cleaned him up a little, gave him the shot, I peeled layers away and made it home without additional incident. He got a bath. The second series of shots were due, and I repeated the prep process but forgot one important necessity – paper towels and garbage bags. This trip was diarrhea – everywhere. The vet tech helped me out and brought out supplies – while taking Tater inside as I cleaned the worst of it. He got a bath. The third time was the worst. An evening appointment – I had everything but the shop vac in my car in preparation for an odorous ride home. He made it there and back home – until I drove into the driveway – when he proceeded to explode from both ends in a spectacular display of sh*t and bile fireworks. It looked like a crime scene. As I cried and got him inside for yet another bath – I knew we had a dog that hated driving in cars. That clean up took me hours to complete. He also hated riding in the back of the truck. He never pooped or vomited – but drooled. He’d be covered, stings of drool and puddles everywhere. After 3 years – he’s gotten better. Better at waiting until he’s let out of the vehicle before he blows! When he wants me to play with him - daily ritual - Red candy cane #2! As Tatertot grew from tiny, adorable puppy to puberty – his body evolved into a new breed of Border Collie that we’d never witnessed. His legs remained thin, rigidly straight and long. Tatertot is so Handsome!!! His ears grew to twice the size of his head and didn’t droop like our other BC’s but at full attention 24/7. They are HUGE! Tate’s tail got long like normal but grew into a huge curl – like a Husky. His paws never grew bigger like most dogs but always look like he’s “on pointe!” Please don’t think I find Tater unattractive – just the opposite. Tatertot is gorgeous – but like most gangly tween boys – he had to grow into his spastic body. Ed and I have never seen a BC that looks like Tate – but he is a handsome specimen. He just got teased a lot in his formative years!   An important lesson I learned from Tater – never go downstairs without letting him go first. BC’s are herding dogs and if you f**k up their rules of engagement – then you can’t be surprised when you take a header or rumper down the staircase. It took a couple spills and bruises for me to finally get it and come to a full stop before that top step – let him leap by me – and then proceed with caution. I trained him to stop barreling into me – but if I have company – this rule is always shared as they enter the house: DO NOT go downstairs without stopping and grabbing the railing because a tsunami is right on your heels! Apparently, for Tate, rules don’t apply to newcomers.    When he wants me to play with him - daily ritual - Pink donut #3! Covid and the rules of non-engagement – took a toll on socializing Tate as a puppy. Covid took away a lot of things. He only knew me, Ed (on rare occasion for 8 months), Debbie and Stacy (dog walker). We have a neighborhood filled with pet lovers and yet, we had to be Cousin Monkey (not the toy) came to visit and Tate almost broke him!! careful not exposing our dogs or ourselves to the plague that blew up in our faces and around the world. So poor Tate only knew distancing as the norm and that everyone was living in fear of exposure. I was a f**king mess, terrified, depressed and completely isolated – so it’s no wonder that Tate became aggressive towards anyone outside his miniscule universe. He was extremely protective of me and my fragile mien. His attitude didn’t change when restrictions eased. I had to be very careful when walking him – because I always ran into a neighbor/pet. He has gotten better as he’s aged and friendlier to dogs and people. I had a routine when I had family visiting. I learned that he had to be outside with me upon greeting them. We then all entered the house together and he seemed to think this was okay and allowed them entry. If someone comes to the door – it’s a territorial reaction. He’s picky and I can never assume that he is cured of his mistrust. Like humans – you don’t take a shine to everyone. Our next pup will be brought up in a much more social environment and hopefully Tate will relax as a result. I think Tate needs a partner and some chill pills. When he wants me to play with him - daily ritual - Pink ball #4! Because of my OCD cleaning – I’ve trained Tate to respect my orderly nature. He learned as a puppy, that entering the house meant clean paws. He can’t remove them – so I got him used to my cleaning each paw prior to coming into the house. He’s so used to it now – he assumes the position and will lift his paw for me to wipe down. He’s agitated (because he’s OCD) but follows the rules like an OCD comrade should. Another difference between Tate and our other BC’s – he has no issues with my vacuum (Mr. S.H. Ark). Whenever Ed is away working on a film – I am free to vacuum to my heart’s content. So, Tate thinks the vacuum is part of his daily routine and had no desire to attack and murder it - like all my other dogs – who considered the vacuum and anything with wheels their sworn enemies.  Tater is unbelievably fast and agile! He loves hiking and running! Thank god Ed can whistle! Tate’s first 2.5 years were Covid restricted – but I think he would have made a champion agility competitor. He is the fastest BC to date. When I take him out front before bedtime – he races out and in a single bound (from front door to front yard) lands in the same spot every time – about 15 ft. He is so fast, that I think he is out by our front fence peeing – but then turn around and he’s behind me on the porch. He is good about staying in our yard – but in the blink of an eye – I’ve lost track. As a puppy, he would run up and down our driveway – around and underneath our neighbor’s truck – and repeat until I forced him to stop to go inside. He wore a path in the grass along the driveway. I let him do this while I talked to Debbie, until one day as he was zooming around Chuck’s truck to run underneath it – I hear a bang and yelp! He’d outgrown the truck and the truck won! He continued the circuit but avoided the truck. He still does it out of habit – but not quite as enthusiastically. Bunny rabbits and squirrels are his current obsession.  When he wants to play with me - daily ritual - accidentally pooped his Pink Ball #5! He can leap tall buildings in a single bound but can’t climb up on a couch! I’ve watched this dog leap around the backyard – knowledgeable of where every tree, pathway, rock, fence, garden bed, etc. are located and fly over objects as if he has wings. He would have been Tate's couch etiquette was "sprawl." fantastic at agility – but he needs an adult that can keep up with him. When we first got Tater – we allowed him up on the couch because Milo and Bob were allowed. As a puppy, we let him up to cuddle on the couch. This stopped because of his water addiction and its consequences. We would occasionally let him up when he grew bigger – but discovered an abnormality in Tater. He wouldn’t jump up on the couch – but would do the following: paws up first - wiggling ensued with the backside out of control - leaning into me or Ed as if expecting us to pick him up (all 42 lbs.) - then realizing we won’t, one hind leg attempts to navigate the 1.5 ft. distance from floor to couch cushion - failing he would try again – and again – then try the other leg – then he becomes a slithering mass of black and white fur – gainly crawling up the couch and onto my body  – continuing the ascent of my torso until he is fully ensconced in my lap – victorious and hoping I won’t notice he’s sitting on me. I’m laughing too hard to disappoint him. We are fascinated at this awkward, clumsy display of an otherwise athletic dog. When I am feeling down, Tate will go through all these graceless motions to get into my lap to comfort and cheer me up. I laugh through the tears and give him a big hug. Pets are intuitive and so sensitive to your emotions and moods. They are the best therapy!   BC’s have an extensive vocabulary and can even read lips and spell. If I spell, whisper or say the word “Walk” it causes great jubilation. Tate runs over to the closet door - stares at me, door, me, door - until I open it. Once I grab the leash that confirms that his dreams have come true, and he runs to the front door – bouncing and doing his happy whine. I sometimes will get inventive with my vocabulary to mess with him, “I shall endeavor to secure the leather harness to my canine and proceed henceforth to the entrance so we may depart and meander down the cement pathway.” He somehow knows olde English?? He also knows his toy names – pumpkin - being his favorite. Lie down, stay, sit, treat, I’m eating, pardon me, please, thank you, good boy, its nighty nighttime, stop licking, you are so handsome and I love you. Border Collies are smart but stubborn – and OCD! Tater's first cow. He didn't know whether to herd it or f**k it! Dogs have super-olfactory diagnostic noses – 100,000 times more potent than a human. They are basically Phlebotomists technicians, Gastroenterologists and Urologists. Dogs do colonoscopies every time they sniff a dog’s ass or poop and diagnose any medical issues. They do urinalysis when they sniff the Pee-Tree (petri) or grass. Our medically inclined canines can prognosticate and diagnose disease, emotions like fear, anxiety, happiness. They can tell what each dog had for dinner, their mood, health, medications, age and gender. They can also diagnose human illnesses – which has been proven with cancer and other life-threatening diseases. They’ve recently attempted to see if a dog could identify Covid in patients and they did! Dogs are incredible specimens and should be treated as such.   Tater does his daily walks in our neighborhood – checking out each pet on our street – making sure that all is balanced in our little bubble. His hyper-sensitive nose and personality keeps us safe from all the brutish bunnies in our yard. Because we all know that bunnies are terrifying!!   Belfast Maine - Tate was in water heaven!! Just some little pet quips to give you a giggle: My house is always clean. Then, Ed gets up, I let the dog in, and the cat wakes from her nap. The end.   Tate – have a little whine with that slice of cheese!!   When I’ve been to someone’s home that has pets and come home reeking of strange dog or cat scent – I might as well have a banner posted on the front door saying, “Welcome Home Slut! Cheater!”   Sometimes I think Tate would love me more if I had a squeaker in my tummy!   I love my husband and furry children more than coffee – but not until I’ve had my coffee!    Whatever warm or cold-blooded pet you chose and that loves you unconditionally, is pure of heart and accepts all your crazy. We are their protectors and nurturers. Do not abuse this privilege. We are so fortunate to have them as part of our family. Thank them every day. They balance our lives and ground us. They keep the monsters at bay.    If you’ve read all of this wordy blog – thank you! I love my Furry Children and truly believe Furballs are forever in my heart – whether they have passed or still with us. Give your furballs a loving cuddle and thank them daily! Saying, “I love you” makes their tails wag! Below are some Maryland rescue organizations for those looking for a sweet puppy/kitty who needs a loving home: https://mabcr.org https://www.mdspca.org https://www.lastchanceanimalrescue.org https://www.barcs.org/adopt-dogs/ https://animalalliesrescue.org There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please tell everyone that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your social media friends, family (middle children), pet lovers and followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Curious, Bob is wondering why he is staring at the door - but sure Milo knows best! I needed a vacation from my Growing up Middle(ing) blogs. I’m not even close to being finished – but as a middle child - writing about it (my life experiences) can be formidable! It makes my petite head hurt. As I was looking down at the black and white furry face gently licking my salty shin and hoping I wouldn’t notice – he sensed my attention had shifted and his tongue stopped mid-slurp while his soulful eyes cautiously looked up into mine. I scowl-laughed and rubbed his soft ginormous ears and realized what my next blog topic would be. My furry children – my furballs! Because furballs are forever in our lives and in our hearts!   My morning routine – Wake up, drink coffee, feed pets, get sloppy kisses – Thank you and good morning!!   I don’t mind being a saltlick. I don’t have children (the humankind) because I can’t. That’s another tale (blog) to tell. But I can’t imagine life without our furry, sweet, funny, loving, whining, meowing, treat-begging, ball-catching, four-legged critters – to trip over (and sometimes even fall over down the stairs)!  Relationships come and go but our Furry Children are forever in our hearts! So many stories to tell - so little blog space. Life is never boring and always full of love! I come prepared for Rey's nightly visit. I can't believe I forgot my gloves! Whether I’m being licked, sniffed, stalked, rubbed or used as a cushion (pin and couch) – my life would be devoid of a unique kind of relationship. A love that only pets can provide. Our family - dogs and cats - have never failed to give 100% body and soul to Ed and I – unconditionally. (long pause here) Let me clarify – our dogs give 100% body and soul – our cats always have conditions!    Ed and I are part of a special club – DINKWAD(S) – double income no kids with a dog(s). We’ve always had cats – but after our original 2 – we decided we could only handle one cat at a time. Ed and I prefer two dogs because they keep each other entertained and you get BC - Before Colleen. Dixon and Quigley! double the love! We have had 6 dogs throughout our 26 years of marriage.   We’ve had 3 cats. Cats typically live longer than most dogs. When we combined our households, we had 2 dogs and 2 cats. Ed had the dogs (Quigley and Dixon) and had recently adopted a kitten from the litter born in his backyard by a stray that abandoned the runt (Bastet). I also had a cat (Marvin) – my first pet without having to share – who picked me up in a bar (No, this is not the beginning of a bad joke).    Growing up in a household of 5 children – we had dogs and cats and one rabbit – but they were to be shared by all. So, I never had my own pet – for me, myself and I. I remember some of them more than others. Missy, our beagle, was adopted because Dad loved to hunt and wanted a “hound” to follow the scent, alert his master of a deer’s location or maybe tree a bear! Missy was a purebred, but never once showed interest in beagling! Me and Missy! Our Beagle who hates Beagling (but loves cuddling)! However, once a year, she would wake up and start baying as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her short hind legs – and would take off on an extended beagle holiday – hunting invisible unicorns in the Maine woods for days! We could sometimes hear her yelps and howls – but we could not locate, catch or convince this dog to come home. Northern Maine is 80% pine tree forest and she had a lot of sight-seeing to do. She’d eventually show up with some heinous wound, on the cusp of death’s door, only to be rushed to the vet just in the nick of time to save her. My parents - “vacations” - were visits to the local Veterinarian in downtown Presque Isle. She was an expensive beagle! Stick in her eye socket, large stick in her torso, broken leg, etc. She apparently ran into a lot of trees and had nine lives. She was our pet and we loved her – but a bitter disappointment to our hunters.    Quote from a person I follow on Instagram (idratherbewithmydog) :  When you decide to adopt an animal, it means they stay with you until their last breath. Not until your next vacation!! (or in Missy’s case – your next Vet visit) When we became adults, my siblings always had multiple pet households. Chaotic and fur-flying fun. We all wanted our own households to be filled with furballs. Growing up, we were leery of getting too attached to any of our family pets. My father’s and his father’s generations treated them like livestock, not furry, cuddly members of the family. We didn’t even get the cliched overt lie: “I’m taking (dog or cat name here) to a tranquil farm upstate for pets, where they play, eat and sleep all day!” We grew up in a less "aware" world and worried for our pet’s tenuous future. It was traumatizing and I am having a hard time writing this with tears in my eyes. My father wasn’t heartless – but it was a time and place where pets were loved, but not indispensable. Now, our pets have their own Instagram accounts, a wardrobe, fancy toy boxes, hand-made petfood delivery services, meme’s, pet insurance, car seats and treated like an equal (or elevated) member of the household. They deserve nurturing and pampering for putting up with all our high-pitched baby talk!! No wonder my current dog, Tater, whines all the time – his sensitive ears are ringing from my “only dogs can hear” voice/pitch!   After my divorce in the mid-nineties and after escaping to safer climes (Baltimore??), I decided I wanted a companion (non-human and non-male). I was in no rush to adopt a pet (or man) – but kept my options open (on the pet – not the man). My landlord only allowed cats (no dogs or ex-husbands allowed). I consider myself more of a dog person and enjoy other people’s cats with limitations – don’t sit your hairy body on my black outfit! I was enjoying my single life and my freedom from passive aggressive people who decided they knew my needs better than I possibly ever could (bitter…says What?). Marvin the Martian! I was at a local hangout with a group of new friends. We were drinking and singing karaoke and having way too much fun. I collapsed in a chair after a robust rendition of “Piano Man” – when I noticed a kitten was bellying up to the bar. It was a beautiful night and they had left their front door open. Curious, I watched the kitty wander around drunken partiers legs and began to get concerned that it would get squished and wondered who brought a cat to this mayhem!! Before I could react – I looked down and a ball of orange fur was sitting in my lap. We just stared at each other. He snuggled down and I fell in love instantly. I knew in my soul that he had selected me, and without hesitation named him – Marvin the Martian (my favorite Looney Tunes Thank you Mom for the cute pix of Baby Marvin! character). Everyone congratulated our union and we all laughed and joked that I got picked up in a bar by a kitten and that he was going to get lucky tonight! Me-ow! Best pick-up line ever!! The bar gave me a box and towel. Marvin curled up in his make-shift carrier and slept all the way home. I cleaned him up, checked for fleas and any injuries. I had some tuna and put shredded newspapers in the box until I could get all my cat supplies. After he investigated his new surroundings – we cuddled all night in bed. I have never loved a cat more than I loved Marvin. He stole my heart and soul.   Our street's envoy taking a quick siesta! We were a happy couple until Marvin decided that he was bored with his indoor confinement, needed some variety and started to charge the door every time I opened it. It was a battle royale for the next couple years and I paid dearly for this malicious offense/prison sentence. I have many salt and pepper shakers that are glued together because Marvin knew how much I loved my  S&P collection . One time, while in the kitchen, I heard a noise and looked up on top of the fridge to find Marvin staring at my first and favorite S&P (chicken holding an egg). His head swiveled to look directly into my eyes. I looked back and trembled. He looked back at the mother hen and swatted it off the fridge. I failed to catch the egg. Marvin was calculated and finite with his revenge! He used my love as ammunition – because this was war!!!   BC - Before Colleen - Ed on his many travels with the pups! When I met Ed, I found a like-minded furball lover. He had 2 dogs – a Border Collie (Dixon) and an Australian Shepard (Quigley - with one brown eye and one blue) – along with a young cat named Bastet. After Ed and I both surrendered our single status and relinquished our hearts to one another – we decided to move in together. We opted to ease Marvin into Ed’s furry family of 3 – because Dixon and Quigley considered cats as something to give chase. Marvin, a street urchin, was not stupid and loved a challenge. Bastet was already used to hiding and defending her runt-sized ass. Ed lived in a large townhouse in Fells Point – so Marvin was thrilled with the space and three levels of hidey-holes. We introduced Marvin to Bastet first. As young single felines – alley cat and pussy cat – they were intrigued and got along well. When the dogs were injected into Bastet in Godess Mode! the mix – the newlyweds (Bastet & Marvin) were not amused, and both changed focus and became a unified front. Their mutual desire to cause chaos and bloody noses – cemented their fondness for each other. Ed prevented me from crossing the strike line and letting the pets duke it out and negotiate terms on their own. I was horrified but we both had intelligent savvy pets. All was going well – cats hidden in/under furniture with dogs whining and running back and forth begging them to enter the fray – when Quigley did the unthinkable and shoved his nose into the sharp-clawed nest. Yelping and running in circles while Ed and I tried to see the damage – Dixon ceded his (and Quigley’s) egos to the victors. He had a claw-scratched bloody nose and lucky he didn't lose a brown or blue eye and made it out alive. Quigly was a drama queen. Oddly, that was the worst of it. They got along by avoiding and tolerating each other’s existence. The cats lived high, and the dogs got low. All was harmonious in our furry bubble of cuteness.   I’ve already  blogged  about our Vegas wedding ( Give Yourself a Little Meno-plause! ) and immediate move to our current home in the burbs of Baltimore. Quigley and Dixon were confused by the backyard space and grass  confounded them. They grew up pooping Where's Quigley? He melted right into the Badlands! on the back cement stoop. They adjusted quickly – because frisbees and tennis balls were finally part of their home routine – not just at the local park. The cats decided they didn’t want to share their new territory with each other, let alone the dogs. The turf war ensued. Rooms were divided up and the bloody divorce battle settled by their legal counsel (Ed and me). Ed decided that our contentious home environment and quiet street was a great time to let both cats be indoor/outdoor. His solution for maintaining the peace. I was not pleased with his ruling. Marvin shook off his indoor shackles, marked his territory throughout our neighborhood and became Lord and Master of his domain. Bastet was happy to stake her claim by delineating our property lines as her fiefdom and to never stray from our yard. She was our sentinel and content to watch life go by from the front porch. Marvin was given permission to enter via the basement cat door. After much deliberation, we all settled into our new home and routine.   Marvin was our street ambassador. Bastet was our mouser, bunnier, birder, ratter, bugger – our home pest control. Judge, jury and executioner. Her namesake is an Egyptian Goddess of home and protects our environs from evil spirits. She took her job very seriously. She loved bringing all her captives into the house – dead or alive. The dogs were thrilled when they found a headless carcass on the rug (she only ate brains and always on our expensive rug). A tasty, unexpected snack. The dogs were even more thrilled when she brought in a live one. One night I heard a massive ruckus downstairs. When I entered the dining room – I saw Ed with a BB gun, both dogs intently at his side and Bastet looking smug. They were all standing next to my antique china cabinet, leaning forward and looking at “something” in the corner. I yelled, “What is going on and why do you have a BB gun?” Bastet had chosen to bring an acquaintance (snack) home to meet (share) with her brothers. The poor  unwilling visitor/rodent   never stood a chance and I believe died from a heart attack. On another occasion, I got up late one night and was peeing in the bathroom with Bastet in attendance (as usual). She wasn’t looking at me but looking underneath my legs at something behind the toilet. As I woke up, I realized that an uninvited guest was nearby. I slowly wiped, got up and carefully backed away to look at her “present”. A shivering baby bunny was hiding behind the pedestal. I was distressed and frantically figuring out how to save this baby from Catzilla!!! I was able to get Bastet out of the bathroom without incident and with gloved hands safely got this precious newborn outside. I did what I could but know that it probably did not survive the trauma – called Bastet!   Marvin was a cuddler until he wasn’t. He tolerated my mauling him in his early years but as he got older, he was less patient. Bastet was never a cuddly cat and yet allowed me to exist. Her way of showing any affection was stilted and a bit tense – one heartbeat away from Bastet - if looks could kill! I must have twitched! fleeing. I sat in a big comfy chair to watch TV. She would materialize on the arm and would gradually slither into the wedged space – gently moving (forcing) me over (without me touching her) to squeeze between me and the side. I couldn’t move or she would bolt. It hurt when she bolted – emotionally and physically. Apparently, she wanted to be close to me – but with minimal physical contact. I couldn’t brush her or clip her nails. She had to be sedated for her pedicures. Any show of affection specific to her rules. I couldn’t hold or cuddle her. It was very frustrating. She lived to be almost 22 years old. Ed was working on a show when the time came to do her final vet visit, so I had to take her by myself. I was beyond devastated. At the end, I was finally able to pet and cuddle her.   Marvin’s story was cut short and with my heart weeping – too difficult to tell at this time. Everyone who knew him - loved him. He was such a character and had a unique personality. He only lived for 11 years. I’m not ready to write about his demise. It was tragic and it destroyed me. I had every right to sue one of my neighbors and the ER vet/hospital. I never got a chance to say goodbye. Equating my love as a heart-broken spurned lover - always waiting by the cat door for his return. A wooer who never totally committed. Monsters who deserve punishment for ending my baby’s life too soon. It still hurts.   Gorgeous Aussie! Maine vacation visiting his dog and cat cousins! Dixon turned anything into a frisbee! Dixon and Quigley were wonderful dogs. They accepted me immediately as their new mom Celtic God (dog spelled backward)! and caregiver. I became their primary “livestock” to herd. I used to “Baa” to simulate for their ingrained pastoral urges. One in front and one in back everywhere I went. A lot of humans are sheep, so it made sense! I got used to it! When Ed introduced me to his pups – unbeknownst to me - I was walking the proverbial plank. If they didn’t like me – then I would be escorted into “ye olde briny.” I didn’t know about this gauntlet until we were living together. All I could say to Ed was, “Harsh dude!” Both dogs were handsome, smart, sweet and well-behaved. They were inseparable. Dixon was quiet, gentle , patient and interested in frisbees and food. Quigley was anxious, neurotic, sweet and interested in digging holes. I believe Quigley was an adventurous dog – because he was always trying to dig his way to the Orient! Dixon would have happily died by frisbee. We adored them and were a happy family. Dixon was reserved Marvin loved to watch Dixon squirm! (shy) and my cat Marvin decided that Dix would become the new focus of his affections (since he and Bastet didn’t work out). It initially horrified Dixon. Marvin would lock eyes with Dix, slink up and rub/curl his body around him. He’d put both front legs around Dixon’s neck for a cuddle, nuzzle and chew. Dixon wouldn’t budge. Eventually he tolerated Marvin’s hugs and love bites. He was such a good friend. Dixon died from cancer – but was never diagnosed prior to his collapse and falling into Ed’s arms. His death almost killed Ed and me. It was sudden and shocking. He left us too soon. He was 12 years old. Border Collies do not show discomfort when they are ill – they protect us to the end – even from the devastation of their passing. Quigley lived to a ripe old age of 16. He missed his brother/partner so much. When we were all ready and able to consider (easing of our grief) getting another dog – we reached out to the breeder. She bred border collies for herding and sold any dog that was not considered sheep material to families/pet owners. Quigley, Ed and I were still mourning Dixon but when we saw puppy Milo – we fell in love and knew Dixon would approve. Milo was a confident alpha puppy and accepted us as parents with sage approval. He frolicked around Quigley, and they bonded instantly. He was a blue merle border collie with piercing gray-blue eyes. Quigley helped pick Milo and even though he was depressed, Milo perked him up and gave him new purpose. Milo was LOOK AT THAT FACE!!! the smartest dog we’ve ever had. He understood everything we said. He managed the household pets with calm, dignity and authority. He was beautiful and kind but diligent to minimizing chaos. Border collies typically don’t mingle with other strange dogs but are patient and tolerant if the need arises. They are fiercely loyal and protective. He was regal and an honorable alpha. We knew that Milo needed a mature partner to educate him – but he was so smart that we believe he just humored Quigley and the parental units. He nurtured and cared for Quigley (the elder) until he passed of old age. Milo was a tennis ball enthusiast and would amuse himself in the backyard by bringing the ball up to the back porch and then dropping it at the top – only to run down the steps to catch the bouncing ball at the bottom. He would do this endlessly. He also loved beheading all rubber chicken squeaky toys. Milo could Milo had the most beautiful coat! Perfect! outstare anyone, whether canine, feline or human. He had precision focus and always won the “who blinks first” game. His gorgeous eyes were intense and made most people mildly uncomfortable – like he was looking into your deepest darkest secrets (soul). A lot of people asked if he was part wolf. Genetically – probably. After Quigley decided to go for an extended holiday with Dixon in doggie utopia – we all mourned his loss. When Milo was Quigley and Milo became close companions! about 4 years old – we ended up going back to our breeder for a new puppy/companion. I was sick (bad cold/flu) when we visited their latest litters. They had red and black BC pups. We always bring our older dog with us to assist in the selection. The breeder let loose the “hounds” all at the same time. The red and white ones were particularly hyper, and they gave chase with the black and white pups trailing – Milo was their prey! He accepted his fate and took off to give us time to pick our new family member. Ed ran off to make sure Milo was safe from the furry barking mob and left me swaying. I was so sick and had no energy to follow. I felt a Still my beating heart - those eyes! presence and looked down at my feet. A little black and white border collie pup was leaning against my leg – watching the chaotic mass of fur chasing Milo. He looked up at me with the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen and I melted. My heart started beating again. I picked him up and told Ed that I’d found our next baby. Milo gave his approval. It was my turn to name the puppy. As I stood (reeling) in the office, the breeder asked me what name we had selected for his paperwork. I was barely coherent, but I dragged my head up, looked at her and said, “first name Bob - middle initial A. - last name Licious. Bobalicious.” The breeder burst out laughing.  Bob thought the dishwasher was another puppy! Bob wasn’t home 24 hours before he fell off our back porch. It was an accident, and he was given the clear by the vet. We were rattled, to say the least, but it may explain why he became our “special needs” pup. Bob had a habit of letting his tongue hang out of his closed mouth. Just a little bit – but it made us laugh every time. When he slept the tip was usually showing for our amusement. He was not the alpha and had a hard time looking us in the eye. Loud noises (sneezes) scared him. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was probably a middle puppy. Bob was the first border collie to exhibit extreme OCD. I had forgotten that BC’s are inherently known for this disorder. Being OCD myself – I found nothing strange about his foibles. Bob had anxiety and certain things would set him off – like sneezing. He had a routine when having an “episode” – going His tongue was his trademark! around the living room and touching specific objects with his nose – all in a precision pattern. It was always the same objects and became routine. Feeding him was a ritual. His bowl in a certain spot – separate from Milo. He would circle the bowl 3 times and only then was he allowed to eat. Bob couldn’t obsessively wash his hands or turn lights on and off – but he could nose and circle his way to calm. Bob was always there for me when I was feeling sad or beaten up by my abusive employer or life. He would put his head on my leg or lean against me (like when we met) or nudge me with his wet nose – to let me know I was loved and had a friend. With all Bob’s eccentricities and anxieties – we understood each other. We found a kindred spirit and true love. Bob was my dog. Milo was Ed’s. Baby Shop Bob! Milo hard at work. There is a ball just out of frame under a stack of lumber! Bob and Milo became a team. Milo tolerated Bob’s OCD and Bob worshiped Milo. After Ed quit wrestling (WWE) and worked in the exotic lumber business – he would bring the dogs to work with him every day. They became the shop greeters and herders. They were also incredible judges of character. Ed used to have lunch delivered from a local deli – with the same delivery guy. When that man walked into the shop – smelling of warmed meat – the dogs growled. He tried bribing them with roast beef, etc. – but the dogs would never take food from him. He was the only person that caused our dog’s shackles to rise and go on alert. Also, our dogs never turned their sensitive noses up to a piece of free meat! Based on our dog’s reaction – I suspected that this man had some dead bodies buried in his backyard!! Ed changed delis. Words of wisdom: Dogs are phenomenal judges of character. If your dog doesn’t like someone – Beware! Camping on the coast! Morning yoga. Bob is teaching Milo downward dog! Milo's hips decline! When Bastet passed away of natural causes (old age) – I (we) needed a time out before we went in search of our next cat. I told Ed that the only way I could handle getting a kitten was to never allow this cat outside. Bastet never left our property – but Marvin’s death killed me. We picked Rey! She fell in love with Ed! Ed agreed and we eventually went to a rescue to find our new family member. A litter of calico cats were available and only 2 were left for adoption. It was a lengthy process, but we finally got our new baby – called Rey Skywalker (Star Wars fans). She was a friendly kitten, and the pups didn’t torture her too much. Rey was a curious cat and loved to play with all her mouse toys. When she sat in my lap, I played with her feet/paws and rubbed her belly and made sure she wasn’t loathe to getting cuddled or her nails clipped. She did well until she hit puberty. I will continue Rey’s coming out party (story) in Furballs Part 2. Her true colors showed around the time we got Tatertot. She is 8 years old now and getting more demanding each year. Her majesty is currently meowing (yelling) at me to get Her Royal furry ass some treats. I comply and bow while backing out of the kitchen. (Sigh!)   Bob and Milo's cousins - Sadie & Toby - on a hike and frolic in the river! Toby is the lifeguard! We had about 11 years with Milo and Bob. Fun years of traveling to visit family and vacations. They both loved hiking, balls and camping. All was great until we went to visit Ed’s parents in Florida one Xmas 2019. Bob seemed quiet and sluggish. We thought the long drive down had upset him. As we were going to bed one night, my mother-in-law discovered blood on her white tiles. We could not figure out who was bleeding until we wiped Bob’s behind, and it was coming from him. When we saw the vet – we discovered that Bob had  prostate cancer  and that it was inoperable. We had limited time. All we could do was make him comfortable, love him and make his final days cherished ones. Like most terminal patients – he had some irritating and embarrassing side effects to his illness. Due to his occasional bleeding – he did not like wearing my boxer shorts or diapers. He refused to wear them in public. He was the sweetest dog/child to the end. Our beautiful Furballs. Bob gave me permission to photograph him in my boxers! Just this once. Making the decision to have your loved one euthanized – a word I hate – is the most painful decision we pet lovers have to make. Part of my heart dies with them. This occurred at the beginning of Covid. We had to wear a mask in the Vet’s office while we held our baby and said goodbye. I’m crying as I write this because I miss my Bobalicious as much today as I did for his meager 11 years on earth and when he passed in the summer of 2020. He was my special boy.   My sweet Bobalicious! I miss you so much. I need to blow my nose and dry my eyes. I will continue my - Furry Children – Part 2 – Furballs are Forever - in my next blog. Milo and Rey live on to welcome (tolerate) our next BC - Tatertot.   Dogs know how much you love them – but need reassurance from us. They prove their unconditional love for us every day.   Cats know how much you love them and use that vulnerability against you! All part of their evil plan of world domination! Thank your pets daily. Give them a cuddle (if they let you). Office bookshelf that Ed made. My furry babies are always in my Zoom meetings background. Not one client has noticed - but I know they are with me.. Below are some Maryland rescue organizations for those looking for a sweet puppy/kitty who needs a loving home: https://mabcr.org https://www.mdspca.org https://www.lastchanceanimalrescue.org https://www.barcs.org/adopt-dogs/ https://animalalliesrescue.org There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please tell everyone that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your social media friends, family (middle children), pet lovers and followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Working hard while looking for the benefits! Recently in Savannah contemplating my Full Time Job! Before I begin my blog topic - I want to mention that I've done the Positive Pause Podcast with Claire Gill, Founder of the National Menopause Foundation . Claire is my Superhero! Please check out their website for a wealth of information on everything menopause, women and growing older. I am eternally grateful for this opportunity to share my own personal journey on the Positive Pause Podcast (#32) !! https://nationalmenopausefoundation.org/podcast-2/ Being a senior citizen is a full-time job - and I'm doing it for free. Essentially slave labor. I'm underpaid, underappreciated and irrelevant in today's current environment - all in the name of being an old(er) woman! I pay for some of my own health care and there are no paid vacations and no company perks! Actually, very similar to my previous job! I'm having Blogger's Block lately and unable to concentrate due to a variety of issues and events. I've got constipation of the brain! Every time I start to write - my gray matter can't focus on one topic - but rapidly richochets around my tiny head - rebounding from banal to apocalyptic concerns sans focus. Even writing this paragraph is hard. But I'll keep trying becuase writing soothes me and makes me happy - as long as I don't go ranting off-topic. I can't promise that I won't! I'm sure everyone has seen those commercials about growing older and entering retirement. The laughing and contented visuals of the attractive healthy senior couple - holding hands and staring adoringly into each other's eyes. Walking on an island beach, sailing on a cruise, doing yoga in the park, playing pickleball, taking pottery classes, gardening, etc. - blissfully secure in their finances, health, happiness and future. Spending money like it's an endless fountain of monetary joy - breathing in mountain fresh air like their bodies will never betray them with receding hairlines, saggy boobs, arthritic hands, etc. - plus aches, pains or illness - interacting with others like society actually cares about seniors. We all strive for those make-believe scenarios, but these ads are fictional for most of us. Reality is a watered-down-cold-shower version. I know that younger adults are really pissed off at baby boomers for ruining our world. We are not blameless - BUT - not all baby boomers are living the cozy high-life and ignoring these grievances. We care deeply about our planet and rage against the injustices, as well. I am not part of the 1% or even the 20% of the commercialized fantasy seen in TV ads, TV shows or in movies. I am part of the majority of seniors that worked hard and finding out that the JOB OF LIFE continues even after retirement. We are not destitute, but we are not gleefully spending money like we have a "mint" in our basement. We diligently watch our finances and have been planning for retirement our whole adult lives. Reaping the benefits is our dream - harvesting them is laborious! As I grew up, I noted the older family members who eventually withdrew from the daily grind (work force) and segued into the "Golden Years" (old(er) age) of full retirement. A time of leisure and enjoyment. Often younger than I was, when I quit my job at 62. Comfortable in their pension plans and owning their homes. Collecting Social Security benefits at full retirement age. Enjoying their lake-front camp, renovating their homes or moving to a sunnier clime, planning their vacations and fulfilling their bucket lists. A time of securely harnessing the benefits from those 40/50+ years of toiling for a living to pay the bills, feed your loved ones, providing money for college funds - whether as self-employed or working for "The Man." All those years of saving and financially planning for the day you give the finger to the establishment and finally savor all the things you dreamed of doing before you croak! Typically, that period of kicking back and completing that bucket list is a somewhat narrow window of time - before you physically are unable to achieve climbing Mount Everest. But millions upon millions have accomplished this final stage of life and died with contentment. However, millions upon millions of people continue to struggle in this final stage and die destitute or close to it. Life is not equitable. My doctor appointments are rarely straight forward and often crazy! Today I had an eye appointment with my Optometrist. It has been a year since I had cataract surgery and I wanted to make sure that my "reading" perscription had not changed. I do not currently have a vision plan - so I wanted to make sure that I was just seeing them for an eye exam and not all the other additional tests and costs that I had previously paid for. Just prior to leaving for my appointment this morning - my husband discovered that the colonoscopy prep solution that I purchased at CVS yesterday was not charged to my HSA account - but his! He immediately called our bank to ask why. They had me down as a dependent - not a primary of my own account. The painful discussion with the bank revealed that they sent me the wrong card and I assumed it was my original HSA account card. It was not. I'd already dismantled (shredded) the old card and assumed this was my new one. Banks don't do anything above and beyond anymore - you are just a number to them - even if you've been with the bank for 27 years. Needless to say, with much frustration we ended the call and I ran out the door to my eye appointment without access to my HSA account. Once again, I needed to be my own advocate and did not want to walk away from the appoinment with a $500 bill - out of my own pocket. I arrived with resolve and fire in my heart - ready to do battle or die!! Always ask up front what the costs will be prior to entering an exam room. I assumed I'd be charged $70 for an eye exam. Period!! However, when I completed my exam and was asked to move on for more tests - I had to ask why and what this will cost. Again, there was a comfab with all parties and it boiled down to potentially getting a bill from Medicare to cover the remaining deductible owed for medical tests. Exhausting! Once I met with my eye doctor - he explained that I hadn't needed an eye appointment for another year - as long as my eyes had not changed. They hadn't changed and I was never told by the cataract doctor that I could have waited 2 years - not 1 - for an eye exam. It's like pulling teeth to get all the info needed to plan your appointments - and I have a dental appointment tomorrow - not pulling teeth, thank god! Unless my eye shape changes - my perscription won't change. Another learning curve resolved!!! My eye doctor said that my perscription had not changed and that he was not going to charge me for the eye exam, which was very nice of him - helping out a somewhat unstable senior. He probably noted the steam wafting off my body and chose to prevent an implosion from occurring and having to clean up the mess. The appointment wasn't all about advocacy - because I love the staff that works there. Remember I was on fire and words just spill out of my mouth at random. When I mentioned writing a blog about doctor appointments and that I was currently writing one about being my own advocate - the young technician remembered me from my last visit and telling everyone that I wrote a book about Menopause. She had purchased it. So, we began a lengthy discussion about menopause, aging, advocacy, peri-menopasue, sex, hysterectomies and many other female issues that arise as you age. We were laughing and at one point crying (mostly me). Hard doing eye exams when you are tearing up. As I was leaving, I had to give her a big hug because without the support of women - we are lost souls. I'll forever be known as the crazy old menopause lady in room 3. I needed a hug after all that as well. I have a dentist appointment tomorrow and may need to meditate (free medication) before I leave - because doctor appointments are so haaaarrrrrrd! So, my point is - growing old(er) and being a senior is a full-time and often thankless job for many of us! I'm the unsung hero in my own little universe (Broadway Show) along with millions of tuneless seniors. We need to break out in song as one to be heard above the din of the white man chaos! I was born in 1958 - the Boomer years - and chose a career path (acting) that didn't include pensions and lifelong benefits. I watched pensions and retirement perks slowly seep away in the U.S. around my 40's-50's - so people who are now 60-65 are less fortunate in that previous windfall. I had a client tell me that she was forced to retire early because the new CEO was cutting pension plans and she didn't want to lose her benefits - only to read in the news that this same CEO got a year-end bonus of $5 million for his brilliant bottom-line company growth savings tactics. They didn't report that the "growth" was stripping employees of their benefits. My husband and I don't have kids - so for those who did - it's even harder. Of course, as a result of being unable to have kids - we have no one to care for us in our old(er) age. My husband and I are alone and will be changing each other's diapers without the aid of children. A whole new level of intimacy! Then why do I feel like all my/our hard work and decades of planning are in jeopardy? I think you can guess where I'm going with this blog. If you voted for Trump - I encourage you to continue reading. If you didn't vote for Trump - Thank You! I'm not naive when it comes to our fractured government - but never in my most terrifying nightmares did I ever imagine the Trump dictatorship of lies, ignorance, vengance, evil and more lies. I loathed this spoiled narcissistic lying misogynistic bully when I lived and worked in NYC. His garish and pathetic bravado, along with his daddy issues, was ridiculed by everyone. His corruption and abuse was splattered all over the intelligent media sources. We knew what a low-liffe conman he was in the 80's - and it somehow managed to get worse as he aged. The only thing legendary about this lowlife is his lack of education and his compulsion to lie whenever he opens his yap. Apparently, a large portion of America has looked into the mirror and finally come out of their closets - admitting to themseleves (and the world) that they are just like him - and by "crap-instance" - voted for him - putting the rest of us in this Shit Show! We are being held hostage by a lunatic and his cult of sycophants. What was once the "land of plenty" is now the land of peanuts, poverty and pittance. America has become an embarrassment to the rest of the world. I'm sure I'll be ranting more about this puerile evil troll and the parasites that are feeding off him - but I need to discuss growing old(er) as my full-time job! Recently in Orlando visiting my nephew and niece taking selfies like a millennial pro! I've already talked about turning 65 and joining Medicare . This "job application" was a f**king monster. I'm tech savvy enough to navigate their website, but it is saturated with clicks - and then more clicks - etc. In order to piece together the answers to your initial questions - you've clicked your way to forgetting what you were looking for. I felt bogged down with analysis paralysis each time I tried to decide on my future health plan. When I tried to call someone - whether it was Medicare or the Maryland State Health Insurance Assistance Program (SHIP) - you were put in a queue that was 3 hours or longer - listening to bad elevator music. They usually hang up on you after an hour. When I called AARP - I talked to someone fairly quickly and he was super nice - but I knew more about Medicare than he did. At least he now knows that he must sign up for Medicare at 65 or suffer the costly consequences - unless he's a multi-millionaire, than who gives a flying f**k. After about 3-4 months of intense research leading up to my October birthday - I felt somewhat secure in my selections and bit the bullet and signed up. It was exhausting!! But the fun didn't end there. Because I chose Original Medicare A B - plus a supplemetal insurance plan with UHC AARP - my new job is advocating for my health - because nobody else cares! Every appointment must be carefully researched and doctors vetted. I am once again on the Medicare site often making sure that my Gastroenterologist is Medicare assigned, accepts UHC AARP and that (after being probed) my colonoscopy is covered and has no surprise bills coming y way for the next 2 years. For example: if the Medicare assigned anesthesiologist calls in sick the day of my procedure and they pull in someone else that is NOT Medicare assigned - then I'm f**ked! If they so much as walk into the room where I'm awaiting my knockout juice for my procedure - then they can charge me for being present. If they offer you a band aid or mint - don't take it! You'll be charged! So, as I make the appointment for this colonoscopy - I'm carefully (OCDing) asking these vital questions prior to even committing to this doctor. Demanding assurances from the Medical Secretary while talking about the appointment - making sure they follow my $$ requests. I'm also documenting all these conversations. My sister, who is in the medical field, told me to cover my (soon to be violated) ASS! Once again, being old(er) is a Full Time Job!! The kick in the teeth is once you turn 65 - you get the disease called, "Body Betrayal!" The clock starts ticking in decline (reverse) mode! When you sign up for Medicare A B - you also need supplemental insurance to cover costs that Medicare only partially covers (or not at all - like an annual physical). Then you need a separate Drug Plan, Dental Plan, Vision Plan and possibly Hearing Plan. It's cumbersome and confusing at times - but growing old(er) can be difficult to navigate, maintain and pay all your insurance bills. You have to check prior to your appointment if you are covered or the exact amount you will pay out of pocket and then double check it again. I am occasionally surprised with some cost or deductible that I thought had already been covered or fulfilled. Painful and expensive!! Still in Orlando loving the weather and happy to be outside and not inside our truck! Something I learned during my first career and first marriage is that you are alone and better have a back-up plan. For example: in my first marriage, no one had my back, and I was treated like a temporary cheap fixture that was purchased on a trial-and-error-basis until they could find a better model! This nightmare family made it their goal to be rude, nasty and make my life a living hell. Pushing my "niceness boundaries" until I either caved to their bully tactics or packed my bags. I chose the latter. Sadly, the only two people I liked were not my ex's blood relatives and both passed away around my nuptials. They were wonderful human beings and much missed. So, once again, I was my own advocate in divorcing these evil trolls and moved on before I checked myself into a loony bin! Next up in my senior career is applying for my full Social Security benefits at 66 and 8 months. WHATEVER YOU DO - DO NOT TRY CALLING THE NATIONAL MAIN LINE OF SSA! (As of today - you apparently can't call the main line or even log into your account because of DOGE and Trump). My blood is boiling!!) Once again, another stressful learning curve. Luckily, I went to the local SSA office nearby a while ago and read a book for an hour before I was called into one of the agent's booths. She informed me that I was too early (eager) to make an appointment for my application and to call SSA on April 1st to set it up. She gave me the local SSA phone number which is easier to get through to a human. I questioned her on the April 1 date because you are allowed to make an appointment up to 4 months prior to your full benefit status. She insisted that I was wrong - that it was 3 months prior not 4. I called March 1st and was able to make an appointment!! I hope I don't get her when I sign up for my full benefits. The man that helped me from the local SSA office was very nice, informative and even called me back when he ran into a glitch while attempting to make my appointment. He called me back the next morning before he started work and completed my assigned date. A month ago, I could do this all online - but have always preferred face-to-face human contact. Depending on your situation - they may require a plethora of proof to legitimately get your benefits. Another part of my old(er) age job beyond research, is patience and persistence! I just pray that my SSA office isn't erased from existence before my May 1st appointment. FU DOGE! Or as I call them DOUCHE! Adorable senior citizens will tear them to shreds if they continue to f**k with our SSA!!! So now I have a massive concern, that my Social Security (and Medicare) will be stolen from me by Mr. Trump and his puppet-master Musk (and his gestapo). I have a small window of time to apply for SSA and get my ass probed for science (cancer) - before ptentially losing these aging privileges! I can't assume (make an Ass of U and Me) that this current sham of an administration and the silent Congress won't destroy this very important segment of my retirement. It's disgusting that SSA (which I contributed to for over 4 decades) and Medicare (assisting US seniors) is being threatened by a bunch of millionaires and billionaires. Worrying about my future was dumped onto my daily workload! None of his voters thought of this when they checked that box in the voting booth! If you wanted to ruin your life then do it. But, how dare you ruin mine too! My sister sent me a cheerful card to erase the hate. Female Rage!!! Let's not forget about all the scammers (Trump and Musk, etc.) that prey on seniors. Making sure that you don't accidentally "click' on that link in a suspicious email is part of my job as a security monitor! There are way too many nasty lowlifes in this world that find joy in destroying innocent lives. It's a cyber jungle out there!! Beware all the Scammers!! Another senior project is figuring out how to monitize my power of invisibility. It's a fun super-power - until it isn't. Invisibility comes with great responsibility. Being your own advocate requires being not only seen but heard. So speak loudly and slowly! I tell women to yell, "OMG! I'm invisible! I have a Super Power!!!" I guarantee they will pay attention or call security. Spending my senior years invisible and irrelevant - having to spend my retirement worrying about all the disinformation and losing my retirement - having to deal with potential illnesses due to aging - is not what I envisioned when I was 20, 30, 40 or even 50. I already retired from one bully and became my own "boss." I didn't sign up (vote) for a bunch of bullies (Musk/Trump) trying to do a hostile takeover (illegally) of my company (me) and my future! I'm surprised I haven't received one of Elon's emails asking me what I accomplished this week. Potentially being fired for being old(er). Firstly, I wouldn't reply to a nazi lunatic billionaire and secondly, I'd email him, "What have you accomplished that was for the good of mankind this week, Elon?" Since he only works for his own gain and pocketbook - I'd have to FIRE HIM!! I think that I'd be enjoying my 60's a lot more if I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder in fear of this insane troll administration. I want and need to keep my senior advocacy job, so I can survive a little longer. Growing old(er) is a full-time job! Being my own advocate is my full-time job. We work hard every day just getting out of bed, bending over, remembering where you last put your keys, paying bills, finding all new doctors, being happy, surviving.....etc. Navigating all the bullshit, learning all the new technology, fighting for recognition and remaining relevant - can be debilitating for an old(er) person. But we persevere despite the opposition. Remember - waking up each day is a job! It's a privilege growing old(er) - because some of us are not able to. Last stop before home. Horne's Diner in Port Royal VA. They size doesn't matter, unless it's a French Fry! Give yourself a little Meno-plause!! If anyone would like to share their foible(s) or aging stories or your full-time job as a senior - we could commiserate on our peculiarities and frustrations - with an open forum of like-minded challenged adults. No shameing on this blog!! If you want even more info on life, menopause, aging and other fun observations – not only check out my book but I have 38 more blogs that go into all sorts of funny and informative crap about being a woman of many years, experiences and observations . My doctor appointment  and middle child blogs are a hoot!! It’s better to educate with honesty, horror, humility and humor than remain silent .  There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please help spread the word that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your OLD(er) friends, family, superheroes and SM followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

There is no photo-shopping of my Wrinkled Avatar in this image! Wrinkles are very loud! My Wrinkles in Time Blog is not some best selling young adult fantasy sci-fi novel or a discourse on the space-time-continuum - but a chronicling of my wrinkles through life and time - lasting impressions of past, present and future TBD. Mapping the "Climate Change" over my 66 years and hard-won wrinkles. A pre-apocalyptic countdown. A dystopian vision of my future in aging. Too dramatic? The "Wrinkle Culture" would beg to differ! My bespoke wrinkles connote aging as a memoir of my life to date. A lot of women and men - try to defy time/reality with plastic surgery and magical wrinkle creams - but wrinkles are inevitable and a formidable opponent. If you have a lot of money and a spectacular surgeon - you can gain a few years before anyone notices. But a loft of people don't have access to great plastic surgeons or control over their additive personality issues and continue with repairs until they look like a rictus waxy sad halloween mask. If you happen to be a lottery winner in the "good genes of life" - then I applaud you and envy you. BTW - you don't get wrinkles from all the fun and happy times! It is known that you get wrinkles from smiling - commonly called "Laugh Lines." They are cute until the surrounding stress wrinkles take over and turn that laugh line upside down - aptly called "Grimace Lines!" I've always been somewhat dramatic! Since birth I've been told how "animated" I can be. I always considered that a compliment. I also remember being told to not be so "expressive" all the time or - "You'll get wrinkles!" I now regret my rubber-faced enthusiasm. Too late now unless I want to spend my retirement savings looking like a pathetic scary plastic clown! I see my future. Katherine Helmond was in the movie " Brazil " - a great science fictional example of plastic surgery gone wrong. Of course, that was in bizarro land - but knowing my bad luck with Doctor Appointments - I would probably mirror her characters' terrifying attempts at looking younger. A "Brazil Lift" comprised of paperclips, elastic bands, torture devices and stretched facial skin - poorly camouflaged and tucked behind my ears! Probably the only back alley plastic surgery I could afford! My husband, Ed, is handy. Maybe he can DIY my face and neck with some sanding, clamps, screws and a varnish topcoat! Wrinkles in time, for me personally, will be dating my life-lines from birth to date - identifying my life in wrinkle-time! Imagine your wrinkles evolving and metamorphosing because of cataclysmic events in your life. I can pretty much label every wrinkle due to a traumatic/catastrophic/fatal event that occurred - because they seem to appear overnight. New wrinkles can be F**KING LOUD!! Wrinkles in time can be compared to the archeological and cultural periods over the centuries. We can scientifically (emotionally) define our own timeline in wrinkles! Another analogy is Dendrochronology - a scientific method of dating tree rings (growth rings) to the exact year of germination. If you did a cross-cut section of a woman's face - you would see how the aging process degrades your derma-layers from youth to old age. We unfortunately don't have a shared root system - like trees - nourishing and assisting us in longevity and regal beauty. Wrinkles mark every stressful event to ensure it has made a permanent mark (wrinkle) for future generations to dissect for your obituary. Tragic but true! A cross-section of youthful skin versus aging skin - which is structurally unsound! Ironic Menopause card I received! Uncanny similarity to the image above!! But, if done realistically - the roller coaster would be structurally compromised and the cars would be crashing to their doom! Below is a visual representation of my upper torso and head with numbered directional lines - Event categories listed below: Event terminology: the category of each numbered wrinkle: A - Cataclysmic Event: a sudden, large-scale and violent event that causes great destruction and change B - Doomsday Event: event that could threaten the survival of humans, civilization or the planet C - Personal Event/Disaster: a spectacular bad failure D - Natural Disaster: climate change, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, floods, fires, tornados, hurricanes, landslides, melting icecaps E - Cosmic Events: anything coming our way from outer space From Birth to Date - Origins of my Wrinkles in Time! Wrink-lo-meter: Dating of each Wrinkle in Time Lines: 1 - BIRTH - E - 1958 - BEING BORN: This cosmic event is buried deep in my psyche (and along my forehead). Like an alien from another planet - landing on earth for the first time - we are strangers in a strange land. Ill-equipped for what is to come. Being ripped out of a warm, nourishing, safe environment - into a cold, blazing, shocking cacophony of stimulation would make an indelible mark (wrinkle) on any newborn. Surrounded by legs and birthing fluids - while a masked stranger grabs you and slaps you into screaming reality with your newly formed baby lungs - is a felony! Our first thought being, "Friend or Foe?" This is the first of many forehead lines and the first of many times my little pea brain yells, "WTF!!!" 2 - FORMATIVE YEARS - B - 1960'S, 70'S, 80'S: After much observation, deduction and self-analysis - I finally realized I was the MIDDLE CHILD! I now posed a threat to the survival of my siblings (and mankind). Deciding who needed to go first was a no-brainer - my older brother! He still lives, but it was a close call! I've written four blogs (so far) on my Middle Child status (issues) and will be haunted to my last breath! Realizing you are not the center of the universe and not as special as your imagination tells you - leads to poor choices and lots of excuses and an etched wrinkle in the center of your forehead! This mark was a reminder that I was insane and to stop listening to the other voices. With my additional mental health condition - OCD - you now have a Doomsday Event! 3 - FIRST MARRIAGE - C - 1990: I haven't told this story yet - but it cemented a deep f**king forehead line (gash) to remind me to listen to my gut from now on!! It absolutely falls under the Personal Disaster category - and a spectacular failure!! 4 - FIRST DIVORCE - C - 1995: The same line across my entire forehead deepened further into my scalp and brain to warn me that it was creeping into a Doomsday Event very quickly! I had to leave PA before I was caught burying a body in the backyard! I had more than one hole to dig!! 5 - MISCARRIAGE AND MENOPAUSE - A - 2000 TO DATE: I've mentioned my miscarriage in my blogs but really need therapy to face that cataclysmic event and fully come to terms with the pain. But the big cosmic slap in the wrinkled face was the "birth" of Menopause as a result of the miscarriage. Coincidence? I think NOT! My "frown lines" were carved into a V-formation in the middle of my face to remind me that I was a woman. My barren womb needed company - so it urged my hormones to vacate my body as well and Menopause roared into existence. All these fenimine rites of passage evoke how much women endure. Women are the BAD-ASSES of the universe. We are constantly told that adversity is somethign to accept and defeat. Over and Over again! My wrinkles visually map my personal topography of survival. We all hate our eroding facial features - but must learn to love our hard-won wrinkles and existence. Without women - this world would collapse into a black hole of testosterone and annihilation. Thank the Goddess for Women!! 6 thru 10 - THE JOB YEARS - B C D - 2000 - 2021: Many wrinkles appeared over these two decades. But one is more of a sag than a wrinkle - commonly called the "Brow Droop!" That droop affects the eye sag, eye creases and permanent dark circles under your eyes. I could write a book on what I sarcastically called my tenure, "I'm 105 in Job Years." Those 21 years contributed to the etching of 6 thru 10 on my Wrink-lo-meter and will become a future blog! 11 - MONEY - C - 2021: Retirement was a great decision - but losing that underpaid bi-weekly paycheck was important to our finances. I chose my health and sanity by revoking my contract with Scrooge. But a new concern popped up as a result and I discoverd a wrinkle on my ear lobes. I never knew you could wrinkle an ear lobe? Transitioning from full time work to retirement is a longer process than expected - but at least I have my soul back! Worrying about money has become my new full-time job! 12 - DEATH - C - 2020/2021/2023: The devastation of losing two of my dogs in 2020 and 2021 was beyond sad and turned my dimples into permanent wrinkle fixtures. Losing my father in 2023 broke a chunk off my heart. Death is inevitable but a horrible reality to bear. 13 - COVID/WEEPING/RETIRING/BOOK PUBLISHING & MARKETING/MEDICARE/INSURANCE/AGISM - A C D E - 2019 - 2023: Number 13 (unlucky number) - covered so many unforeseen EVENT moments. Once again, the landscape of my face changed drastically along each side of my mouth - called nasolabial folds, marionette lines and a mouth frown. I decided to combine a few aging wrinkles into one gigantic grimace of despair. Crevasses of mass proportion evolved, melded and deepened over these five years. The Covid Pandemic attacked and changed the world. With a clown-car administration telling us to drink bleach as a cure - to weeping daily for an entire year - to retiring from a thankless abusive job - to publishing and marketing my book (writing my book during this timeframe was my only joy) - to signing up for Medicare while also finding a supplemental insurance in a non-friendly senior environment - to worrying about money - to facing agism for the rest of my days on earth - and the worst of all, dealing with an administration that sucked the llife out of everything with ignorance, lies and chaos - resulting in a dust bowl that has become my face and neck - defying a millennium of derma-infrastructure evolutionary compromise (detrioration)! I was depleted! 14 & 15 - TRUMP FIRST REIGN OF TERROR - A B C D E - 2017 - 2021: Pinching of the mouth - top and bottom - from cursing at the TV for a year leading up to the vote and the four years of HELL we had to endure. Don't get me started on this spawn of Satan! My vertical lip lines and mental crease (aptly named MENTAL) has quadrupled and continues through his second reign of terror! See number 16! 16 - TRUMP SECOND REIGH OF TERROR - A B C D E - 2022 - TO DATE: He wouldn't shut up when he lost to Biden - so the reign of terror continued through Biden's term of intelligent calm and cleaning up the mess left behind!! My neck took the brunt of his first days back in the oval office since stealing the election. Day by day his attempts (along with his master puppeteer Musk and all the other fat rich old evil white male slugs) to destroy the Constitution, our rights and our nation - along with my future - is a tsunami of disaster!!! We don't know when his evil oligarchy will end or how it will end - but I'm holding out hope that it will end soon and spectacularly!! My neck wrinkles can't take much more of their SH*T!!! Below is the most brilliant analysis of the "Shakespeare of Shit" I've heard so far. The British person who wrote this is witty, clever and very perceptive. I must add this to clearly explain my concerns. Please enjoy the read as much as I did: "How the British got Trump Right" "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?" "A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British tradionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awaremess, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So, for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump's limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief. Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever. I don't say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour, is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it's a fact. He doesn't even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty. Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny, and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn't just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness. There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It's all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don't. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He's not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He's more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege. And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a sniveling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a genleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down. So, the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think, "Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy" - is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that: Americans are supposed to be nicer than us and mostly are. You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man. The last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it's impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump. And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: "My God...what....have...I...created?" If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set. Nate White https://www.reddit.com/r/BoomersBeingFools/comments/1ik344j/how_the_british_got_trump_right/?share_id=lAf-WrD6L1v3pfW-_78aU&utm_content=1&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_source=share&utm_term=4&rdt=43835 Now we move on to the full body frontal view with a Dishonorable Mention Diagnosis at the end of each "Wrinkles In Time" Event - listed below: I have no shame! 17 - ELBOW POCKETS - 2023 - 2025: I don't usually have cause to look at my elbows when my arms are straightened - but happened to glance in a mirror over my shoulder the other day and screamed! I have already noted the loosening skin on the inside of my elbows but never imagined the outside would morph into ring pockets of puckered skin! Colleen Book Quote - Chapter "Elbows - inner and outer - Like the turkey neck - you can also pinch the loose wrinkly elbow skin and entertain toddlers for hours." I don't know who or what to blame for these useless skin flaps - but I'll just blame fat rich old stupid evil white men. 18 - SAGGING BOOBS - 2020 TO DATE: Yes, menopause, aging and gravity are to blame for my titty descent to my belly button - but, once again, I'll just blame fat rich old stupid evil white men. 19 - STOMACH SKIN THAT REFUSES TO TAUTEN ALONG WITH MY AB MUSCLES - 2019 TO DATE: I am proud of my ab muscles and worked hard to achieve them. However, my stomach skin remains lazy and refuses to cooperate with my work-out routine. I'm ripped and rippled at the same time! So, naturally, I'll just blame fat rich old stupid evil white men. 20 - FROWNY SURGERY SCAR - 2003: Thanks to fibroids and a surgeon who clearly skipped precise neat suturing class - I not only have a scarred lump of tucked skin flab but now aging and gravity has turned this scar into an upside down frowny face. A nice surprise for my GYN to stare at with repulsion. It also is strategically located at my panty line! yes, I'll just blame fat rich old stupid evil white men. 21 - KNEE WRINKLES & PUFFY POCKETS - 2000 TO DATE: I included this in my book, Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!!! Colleen Book Quote - "Knees - Let's just say - the first time I noticed a change in my taut adorable knees, I screamed! What the fuck is the puffy pocket of fat on the inside of my knees and where did it come from? I also did not know that knees could wrinkle!!!" With my knees consent, I'll just blame fat rich old stupid evil white men! 22 - FEET FOLDS - 2025: This is new. I'm waiting for the next phase because I have no idea where this batch of wrinkles is going! So, I'll gleefully blame fat rich old stupid evil white men!! 23 - DROOPING VAGINA LIPS - 2019 TO DATE: I'll let my Book Quote explain: "Vagina - One more note on your dried-up vagina. I never had an issue prior to losing my youth with the dreaded - Camel Toe!!! Yes, your vaginal lips not only lose elasticity but also sag into a two-lipped betrayal. Hence, when you put on those new, taut-fitting tights - always wear a top that extends below your camel toe - or not - and make it a conversation piece at family get-togethers. But remember - family can be brutal!" My puckered vagina lips are blowing a raspberry at fat rich old stupid evil white men!! Some women are naturally beautiful whatever their age - with or without make-up. Unfortunately, I got hit with the wrinkle stick! My husband, Ed, loves and desires me anyway. Thank the Goddess I have a charming wit and sparkling personality! In the harsh light of day (or night) - my wrinkles cannot be hidden from others. What I see in my mind's eye - does not match what I see each morning in the mirror. It's a surprise every day!! Just remember that an infusion of hope, tolerance, kindness, empathy and love is the only way to make this world a better place. And maybe minimize your wrinkles! This blog has taken on a darker side - but it is impossible to avoid. I'll end this blog with a nursery rhyme: Trumpty Dumpty sat on a his impostors' wall, Trumpty Dumpty will have a spectacular fall, All the Oligarch's KKK men and All the Oligarch's Neo-Nazi men, Couldn't figure out how to put this fat rich old stupid evil white man back together again!! The End! If anyone would like to share their foible(s) or wrinkle stories - we could commiserate on our peculiarities - with an open forum of like-minded challenged adults. No shameing on this blog!! If you want even more info on life, menopause, aging and other fun observations – not only check out my book but I have 38 more blogs that go into all sorts of funny and informative crap about being a woman of many years, experiences and observations . My doctor appointment  and middle child blogs are a hoot!! It’s better to educate with honesty, horror, humility and humor than remain silent .  There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors ."   By   Barnes & Noble Press/Blog I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY  and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego. Please help spread the word that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All! Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!   Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite!    Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your wrinkled friends, wrinkled family, superheroes and SM followers.   Let’s be Friends!! Colleen McIntosh

Stephen King's Pennywise Evil clown in Warner Brothers "IT" - Bill Skarsgard's terrifying version. Trump's doppelgänger! Why does every blog I start - turn into a raging rant? I normally post a blog every two weeks - but since last November - it gets more difficult every time I start typing. So, I've developed a Blog Blocker! Sort of like constipation - but of the mind (and soul). Every time I start a new topic - it somehow does a 180 and I end up ranting and raging against the Oligarch Administration. I need to take a breath and figure out how I can intellectually react and respond to the f**king mess in the current evil clown car - pretending to be a government. In the meantime - you can read Mr. Claude Malhuret of the French Senate speech that is blistering, chilling, accurate and eloquent. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/french-senator-speech-trump-ukraine-russia_n_67ca0a83e4b0404dff3019c7?ncid=engmodushpmg00000003 I'll be back blogging after I hire a plumber to clear the brain clog!! Stay strong and carry a big protest sign!! I hate clowns! Colleen McIntosh