February 2009

Seems money can solve one of a girls problems.

A few weeks ago there was an email sent out to a large group of women I socialize with. Written by one of the women new to the group, she had a dilemma. She needed a date for an important work event and didn’t know even one man she could ask to be a well behaved and charming pal for an evening. Either she’s 97 and hideous or so hot, guys can’t keep their hands off her, right?

Then yesterday, she happily writes, again to the whole group as if we care, thanks for all the suggestions, she’s found her man. A real male escort. That’s right girls, if you can’t rustle up even one male friend or husband of a girlfriend to borrow, just get your wallet out and pay this guy. For $100 an hour he will be your man whore for the night. He’s kinda cute, but come on.

http://www.meetalfie.com/

Don’t blame this little guy for what happened a few days ago in Connecticut. He’s just a sweet little sock monkey. My sister and I each had one as kids, and we both still love them. She even gave me the cutest monkey slippers for Xmas. Hey, slippers aren’t only for old ladies anymore.

Real monkeys scare me a little. I mean I get the attraction and all. Sort of. But not sure I’d really want to live with a chimp like he was my child. Well…unless they can cook or clean a little.

But imagine dating, and having to explain the big furry roommate.

Dealbreaker # 273 No big furry roommates that might attack me and mutilate my face.

Ever notice how the wild animal as house pet story never ends well? Kind of a freak show, ripe for disaster. That wild animal pet will probably attack someone, and there’s just no apology big enough for this kind of bizarre tragedy.

So now that I’m a bit past that, I must be ancient.

But I used to think I just dont want to live beyond 50. I imagined driving off a cliff to avoid being really old. Anything would be better than aging.

Of course I also used to wear jordache jeans and listen to Bad Company.

My, how times have changed. And maybe it’s just me, but I swear all of the hottest women are in their forties. Or maybe I just choose to see it that way. We’re living longer, we’re staying healthier. We’re cuter than most regular strippers. Then see “The Wrestler” and check out Marisa Tomei naked a lot. She’s 44 and um, her body is hot. Just 1 more reason to get a job dancing around a pole.

Forget the bad stuffed bears or balloons or goofy flowers that even sort-of look like carnations. Baking something for someone always says more.

Take the friend who asked me for this recipe, she’s saying “Hey honey, sorry about all my diet food in the house, here’s a big batch of gooey carbs for you to indulge in before I ask if you’ve found a job yet”

But you might want to say something different.

Brownies
1/2 cup unsalted butter

2 ounces unsweteend chocolate

2 large eggs

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup flour

1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

pinch of salt

1/2 cup chopped pecans

Toppings:
1 cup powdered sugar
4 Tablespoons unsalted butter at room temp
1 Tablespoon milk
1/4 teaspoon peppermint extract (I use a bit more just cause)
4 ounces semisweet chocolate

The brownies: Stir butter and chocolate in small pan over low heat until smooth and set aside. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sugar in large bowl until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Add chocolate then flour, the extracts and salt, stir just until blended, add nuts last. Pour into a lightly buttered small square baking pan and bake at 350 about 25 minutes. Cool slightly.

The toppings: Beat powdered sugar, 2 Tablespoons butter, milk and extract in bowl until creamy. Spread over warm brownies and chill to set, about 1 hour. Stir chocolate and the other 2 Tablespoons butter in small pan over low heat until smooth. Cool slightly. Pour over mint topping, spreading evenly. Cover and chill to set, about 1 hour. Cut into 20 squares.

This funny birthday card from my sister got me thinking about the lie a few of us tell.

How acceptable is it to shave just a few years off your real age?

Seems everyone is trying hard and botoxing up a storm in this city to fight the age monster. And if your lie is believable, I’m not sure it really matters what you tell people. Is it anyones business anyway? Unless you’re having kids, maybe no one really cares.

It used to be a manners thing, a question one just never asked. Sorta like asking, is that huge diamond real or how many facelifts have you had because I’ve lost track. Or maybe that was only in the south. Where it was sorta assumed a woman subtracted a few years off. Three years, no big deal. More than 5, it might matter. And of course it depends when you fess up to the lie. So at what point do you share the little secret you’ve been keeping? When is it anyones right to know the whole truth? And by whole truth, I only mean half. But yes, it should probably be before the wedding.

You know who I mean…the insane woman who just shoved eight little rascals out of Ladytown. And sure to be the next hideously popular reality show.

Divorced, with 6 kids already and living at home with her parents. Come on.

She is eight kinds of crazy.