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i am probably sharing too much so your life may be in danger

I have been wanting to write about this fear of mine, irrational or not, for a long time but refrained because I did not want to offend anybody. But I can’t ignore it any longer. It depresses the shit out of me on bad days. I am just going to come right out and say it:

With all due respect, I think the saying “Life begins at 40” is a crock of bullshit. It’s like saying the lottery winners are unhappy because now they have the trouble that comes with extreme wealth. Are we not supposed to be admitting to ourselves and the world that aging is scary and depressing? I don’t feel “Rah Rah Yeah Look at me I am a middle-aged woman” at all. I feel like shit, and now I also feel guilty for feeling like shit.

I am watching this aging thing in horror the way I watch a glass vase fall. In s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. I freeze. Eyes wide open. Wishing I could somehow turn back time to before the moment when the vase was knocked over. There is nothing I can do but to watch the vase hit the ground and break into pieces.


The trailers for “Mirror Mirror” and “Snow White and the Huntsman” reminded me how peculiar it is that in many of these tales, fear of aging drives people to the extremes in order to forestall the inevitable. And inevitable it is. On more and more occasions men would greet me with “Young lady!”, sometimes with a wink even because they knew they’re doing me a favor. It’s a secret handshake that firmly positions me in the category “women who have past their prime”. I hate this because, yes, it does make my steps lighter and lift my spirit. How pathetic it is that I now live for evidences of the residue of my youth?


Maybe I’d feel better about this whole aging thing if I felt I’d lived a life well-lived. For myself. As myself.

I spent 23 years of my life in school. The kids came. I had lived in a fog ever since. All of a sudden the fog cleared because the kids are old enough to spare me some free time, I opened my eyes and screamed when I looked at myself in the mirror.

What the fuck happened?

I feel cheated. I was put in cryogenic sleep but I did not wake up like Captain America. I demand a do-over! All the unfulfilled promises from my youth make me want to lie on my back and throw a big, giant tantrum.

“But I don’t wanna. NO! You can’t make me! It’s not fair!”

Waving my arms frantically to bat away the minutes. Covering my ears singing “LalalalalaIcan’thearyou” and shielding my eyes from the glaring tick-tock of time.

If I cry hard enough, scream loud enough, someone will relent and let me have my way right?


I noticed a varicose vein on my face today. I’m shell-shocked I guess. Watching Vivien Leigh who was 43 in “My Week with Marilyn” crumble under the frightening prospect of the march of time did not help either.

I hope you could see this as an acceptable excuse for my irrational outburst.

Just don’t call me “Young lady”.

And definitely don’t say “When I grow up, I want to be like you.”


ETA: Came across this cartoon… Yup.


The Little Light that Could

January 6, 2011

in random

I have not been able to focus and write anything since December 30 because on our flight back home, my husband asked me WHEN and WHY I became so politically aware and belligerent, bordering on snobbish. I was caught off guard and tongue-tied. Lots of soul searching on my part since then and panicking.

I became pretty despondent about our future because if I cannot talk about politics and religion even with my spouse…

I EVEN pondered the possibility of me learning to like watching sports and us becoming a family that watches football on the weekend, for about 5 seconds. *shudder*

Once again, this goes to prove why and how blogging is only good for my sanity and marriage.

UNTIL on the morning of January 1st, as I was brushing my teeth, husband sauntered in with a big smile on his face while holding the mini book light I got in my Christmas stocking.

“I saw this lying around on your night stand and I was horrified at first. ‘I can’t believe she just left this thing lying around where the kids can see!'” He chuckled.

I burst out laughing as the mental image of a side-by-side comparison popped up like a light bulb.

“You should take a picture of THIS and blog about it.”

So I did.


Thou doth protest too much...


NOT a book light


We-Vibe. A sexy, fun couple’s toy from the generous Sandy, aka Ms. June/Lady Godiva,  over at Toy With Me.  And yes, you’ll probably need to read the review to figure out how this thing is supposed to be positioned… Harrumph.


"Dont cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?"




November 21, 2010

in therapy in session

Of all the Seven Deadly sins, ENVY arguably is the root of all evil, imo.

Of the seven deadly sins, only envy is no fun at all.       — Joseph Epstein

Kevin Spacey obviously agrees and that’s why his character in Seven saved Envy the Sin for himself…

It is also in the Ten Commandments in the form of the Tenth Commandment:

Thou Shall Not Covet.

Envy is an emotion that occurs when a person lacks another’s (perceived) superior quality, achievement, or possession and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it. (Wikipedia. What else?)

Most of the strife and many of the abhorrent, cruel, cold acts men committed against fellow men in this world have been caused by envy. To understand Envy, we need to understand the differences between Envy and his close cousin, Jealousy.

“Envy” and “Jealousy” are often used interchangeably, but in correct usage, they stand for two different distinct emotions. In proper usage, jealousy is the fear of losing something that one possesses to another person (a loved one in the prototypical form), while envy is the pain or frustration caused by another person having something that one does not have oneself. Envy typically involves two people, and jealousy typically involves three people.

(Wekipedia. Sigh. Maybe I SHOULD make a donation to Wikipedia after all…)

Or as Aristotle said…

Jealousy is both reasonable and belongs to reasonable men, while envy is base and belongs to the base, for the one makes himself get good things by jealousy, while the other does not allow his neighbour to have them through envy.

In this sense, Jealousy implies that there is a “reason” behind the emotion that human beings should be able to relate to: the fear of losing a loved one to someone with something more desirable, whereas Envy causes you to stand alone with your rage (for the rage “It is not fair” inadvertently comes when one is envious of someone else for something; the rage becomes even more severe when one recognizes that there is nothing unfair about the situation and yet cannot help but feel the tightening of one’s heart)

The emotion used most often to explain the motif (if there HAS TO BE one) for Iago’s actions in Othello is envy. I despise any attempt by modern scholars and especially, theatrical directors to turn his motif from Envy to Jealousy, creating a plausible yet cheapening story of Iago’s potential infatuation with Desdemona or Othello.

Why does Iago’s action have to be interpreted with reason? Envy is irrational, pure and simple. And what makes it the worst of all human emotions: It is isolating, unproductive, and more often than not, destructive. And it lives within all of us.

Here is my confession.

Envy lives within my heart and I cannot ward it off completely, 24/7.

When I marvel at undeserved good fortunes and when I subjectively decide who is or is not worthy of such good fortunes. When I belittle the fashion world and the people living in it. When I complain about my sister-in-law whose husband does all her bidding and whose parents are at the ready to provide long-term free babysitting. When I go out of my way to ignore bloggers whose husbands cannot get enough of them in the bedrooms and, it seems, everywhere else. When I tighten my fists reading about husbands who help around the house after an 8-hour work day. When I make fun of the really wealthy for their frivolous purchases or idiosyncrasies. When I look down at the young for their recklessness and carefree-ness.

I cannot honestly say that I do not feel envious.

When I witness brilliance and genius.

I cannot honestly say that I do not feel Antonio Salieri’s pain, that I do not understand where his hatred of Mozart came from.

Even though I could comfort myself with the understanding and perhaps acceptance that “There is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy” (Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the guy who wrote The School for Scandal), I despise and scare myself when I recognize envy in my heart. I look in the mirror and I see ugliness. Embarrassed and ashamed. I close my eyes, shake my head, breathe deeply, willing it to go away by counting my blessings.

I learn to truly recognize and sincerely admire the brilliance and genius in those surrounding me.

This has served me well in blogosphere.


Thank goodness Halloween is here because I look better in drag

October 28, 2010 therapy in session

Disclaimer: Objects in the mirror are both closer and farther than they appear. . Preamble: I have no idea what the point of this post is or whether there is any. Except to demonstrate the power of Picnik, the danger of believing in profile pictures in social media (Think Catfish), and the fact I look […]


Called My Bluff

September 1, 2010 therapy in session

. The phone rang and I noticed the number was an unfamiliar one. Even the area code was one that I did not recognize. “Hello. Hi. Let me introduce myself. I am So and So calling from blah blah blah…” That’s all I heard since I pegged her as one of the telemarketers. I was […]