The Unicorn...

it has been two months since my shoulder surgery…and while i plod on with pt and recovery through a late-blooming, but shitty winter…it is the calendar that has me fifty shades of blue...april approaching…55….ugh...there’s no getting around it…the roots don’t lie…or the memories, and sometimes lack thereof…the body parts that you never knew existed that suddenly ache when you reach for that cookie that you know you shouldn’t eat…but you feel you’ve earned with just getting out of bed another day…but in a warped universe…twisted and perverse…G-d has granted my wish for youth eternal…yes, almost 55…and yet i still haunt the tampax aisle…guzzle advil to no avail…and roar like a fucking dragon wanting to burn everything in my path once a month…yes, part of me seems to be 14…when i went for pre-op before the surgery…and filled out 75 pages of information…was passed like a bag of popcorn from nurse to nurse to nurse…all around my age…the awe and wonder that passed each face as they read the box…date of your last period…the disbelief…and then the audible…loud and clear…YOU STILL GET YOUR PERIOD?!?...yes, i replied…i am the fucking unicorn…the 8^th wonder of the fucking world…yes…i will be pushing through cvs with my walker and buying tampax until the end of days…or when jennifer aniston wins an oscar…whichever comes first…then i was pissed that they brought it up…and so the glint of the dragon must have blinded them and they shut up…yes…that wish over candles for youth…that was supposed to be for 25…skinny…carefree…able to down tequila shots with grace…and live to tell..and repeat…so in conclusion, ladies…especially those reading this in your thirties, forties…or, bless you, younger…next birthday…when you’re miserable over those five pounds…five grey hairs…five wrinkles…the candles…just wish for bradley cooper…

call your grammy...

the grammy awards...the grammy red carpet...the gifts that keep on giving...the last red carpet that has not been sanitized over the past few years to a yawn status...the artists who intentionally cause a twitter explosion...the ones who think they are all that but should have looked in a mirror before they left the house...with the lights on...the only thing funnier...or maybe scarier than the fashions are the interviews...i wonder what the cumulative IQ was last night...over the past few years the show itself has become more of a cbs concert...a white bread view of the current music scene...which actually is like the grammy's of yesteryear...only now it's shorter...but you remember...a performance for each of the 962 genres...flamenco...polka...and being a young teen in the 70's that meant that although i was blissfully buried in my records of joni, linda and carly...the name announced from the podium was the milquetoast queen olivia...but i digress...last night...thank you kim for wearing a dynasty cast-off joan collins bathrobe and calling it a dress...thank you rihanna...because you brought one of my favorite movies to the front row...the wizard of oz...as you channeled glinda in that pink 1960's toilet seat cover...thank you madonna...the mistress of style over substance (sorry fans...but cyndi had the voice)...for your red carpet outfit...did you get lost on your way to the "fifty shades" party at shady pines?...thank you beck...why i don't know...thank you grammy's for finally honoring joan rivers with an award before the telecast...and then leaving her off the dead montage...there were some better moments...tony and gaga...finally ac/dc...elo...hozier and annie lennox...but they somehow got drowned in all the rest...so i will clear my head...blast some led zeppelin IV...and wait for the oscars...pray that neil patrick can find that show's pulse...so i will not have to swim in my fifty-something memory for salvation...