Wanted: Funny 50 ish Woman To Work For Jimmy Fallon Show

Dear Jimmy,

I am responding to your ad that was featured in “The Senior Funny Lady Times.” I am well within the limits of your age requirements, not that I think that there should be requirements at all (I hope you checked with your legal department) but that is just my opinion.

First, and this is not a matter of mere sucking up, as the kids say:  my husband and I watch your show, every single night. I admit, we tape the show and watch it the following night with bowls of ice cream

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in our hands but I don’t think that is unreasonable .(Hey, how did I miss this? )

I’ve already admitted we are not in our twenties anymore, so why not? Actually, tonight we are having our usual dessert (called D) smorgasbord. A combination of mango sorbet, banana-chocolate ice cream, Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food Frozen Yogurt (We are watching our weight) Ben & Jerry’s “That’s My Jam” ice cream (we’re not that strict) and Straeter’s (I have to turn you on to this ice cream) Black Cherry Chip (which should be called Chunk ice cream.) Believe it or not, my cardiologist whose father was my pediatrician hooked us up with this brand. Hooked up in the OLD sense, I don’t even want to know what the new usage IS.

I would like to point out that as much as you are our favorite comedian and of course our favorite show, there is one thing you may want to consider changing. PLEASE think of another opening other than “Hot Crowd.” Once in a while it’s funny, every night, not so much. I mean this with utter respect and comic relief.

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You have brought comedy, wholesomeness and joy back to the country and I thank you for doing that for our nation. I now pronounce you “The New Shirley Temple” and I cried when she died.

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So, Jimmy, feel free to look through my blog and then, get in touch with me. It could be one of those Oprah phone calls where I would never believe you are on the phone for real. Send a car for me, because G-d knows, I’m NOT driving into the city and we will talk. I’m flexible about writing for you, shmoozing,comedy, whatever you need. I’ll even watch your adorable girls from time to time in a pinch.

My own kids are amazing, I have a “boy” who is graduating from Binghamton and he is going to Med School in the Fall and a cracker-jack “girl” in Geneseo, who is a Junior and will have a double major in Spanish and Pre-Law.

How did we get them to SUNY’s? Basically, we bribed them with new cars.

Nice talking to you, Jimmy

Congratulations on your beautiful family.

Sincerely yours,

ME

 

 

 

My 1,000th Post, THANK YOU!

Yellow roses (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Can you believe it? 1,000 posts? I can’t either but I am so excited.

I started this blog when I was going through a very rough time and I wanted to hide, to hibernate (hence the title hibernationnow) to just get through one day after another. I was sick, I hurt everywhere and was finally diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an autoimmune disease. This blog has helped me grow up and get through many important things in my life. Some very good and some very bad: It’s LIFE as I have known it; I’ve always tried to be honest. (Although there is a lot of fiction and non-fiction mixed together and sometimes I love trying to trick you!)

I want to THANK YOU sincerely from my heart for reading/following my bog.You don’t know how much it means to me. There have been people from the start that still follow me and I am so grateful. There are new people every day and I get excited with each new follow. WELCOME. I enjoy the comment section so much and I try to write back as many people as I can even if it is a simple “Thanks for writing.” I read EVERY comment and I think about them too. You make MY day.

I know I can’t stop writing, writing keeps me centered. It’s in my heart and soul. But, I need to make a few decisions down the road. Some of you have suggested that I self publish some of the posts into a book. I’m thinking about it but I know it is quite expensive. In the “old days” people had agents who did this for them. Blogging is an absolute joy to me and I will continue writing, no matter what.

There’s a new chapter in my life now, both kids are in college and while I was sad and angry for a while, I’m now excited and looking forward to my new adventures. It’s not the end of the road, it’s just the beginning of another chapter and the possibilities are endless. Knowing me as you do, some of them are quite…..interesting! I’ll keep you posted.

Thank you, again, for your support of me, for your suggestions and your kind words. Please keep them coming. I truly appreciate you.

Love, Laurie aka hibernationnow.wordpress.com

p.s. of course you knew any image would be in my favorite color…….

Carry on Tuesday

English: Rainbow flag flapping in the wind with blue skies and the sun. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Midway in life’s journey…

“My name is Joey, I’m thirty years old, married with a daughter named Sophia. We are a good family but sure we have more than our share of ups and downs. Who is happy all the time, right? I mean I know we aren’t. I never thought I would turn thirty, have a family and be out of a job but the economy sucks. I was laid off from my writing job at Music Magazine, a place where I have worked for over five years. Five loyal years of my life and now they lay me off. I hate my life now. My wife is a lawyer and we can pay the mortgage but that’s just not it. I put hours and hours in this damn company, screw the economy. “It’s not personal” my boss said, ”we’re laying off 20 people.” Is that supposed to make ME feel better? It doesn’t.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, my wife, Gabrielle and I have been fighting non-stop, I’m not even sure what we fight about anymore.  Gabby and I have been going at each other since we met, at least that’s how it feels to me. Sometimes, I feel furious when I even think of her and I don’t know why. Well, maybe I know. That’s when I feel my heart speed up and I scream out loud, I’ve even put a few holes through the wall but I am in no way proud of that, trust me.

Been hanging around with my friends Steve and Jack more, since I don’t have to be anywhere in the mornings. We usually go to bars or to the ballgame or just hand out at their house watching television.. It was really funny, last night we went to a gay bar. Steve and Jack are a couple and they asked me if I wanted to go. I  thought ‘why not?’ So we went in and after a while, a few guys asked me to dance. Of course, Steve and Jack were egging me on so I thought it would be fun. I danced and it was a blast. I felt free and I felt happy, happier than I have been in a long time.

I left the bar at 3 am and was not looking forward to Gabrielle’s interrogation, God, I hate that. She’s not my mother you know, I’m a grown up and can go out with my friends if I want to. Sure enough, she was sitting up in bed, her dark brown eyes looked black with fury. She starts screaming about “courtesy and marriage, and “why didn’t I call? ” Yeah, I know, I screwed up by not calling but after her screaming at me for so long, I stopped caring. Enough is enough. Everything inside me froze.

I’m midway in my life’s journey for my own truth and happiness and as I stood up from the bed something clicked in my head. That always happens when I have a very important thought or if I have reached my limit or made a very important decision. I didn’t say a word and Gabby was still screaming at me. Calmly, I went to the closet and got our old navy blue suitcase and started packing. I couldn’t speak but I cried, tears streaming down my face. Gabby didn’t even notice that I was crying which says a lot.

I started sobbing and shaking violently so I sat in my armchair, put my face in my hands and wrapped my arms around myself. I was moving side to side like a pendulum. Gabby was suddenly silent. She didn’t even ask if I was ill or was having a heart attack, she just sat there and stared. Through my cries of distress and anguish I managed to say “I’m so sorry Gabby, I’m so, so sorry” over and over again. Her face looked as if it had aged ten years. “You’ve always been suspicious and I’ve always denied it but I can’t anymore. I deserve to live a full and happy life.””Gabby” I continued, “I’m gay.”

The words lingered in the air, floating around the room like a helium balloon. Finally, I was able to let out a deep sigh, I felt so bad about hurting her but I felt amazingly light inside myself. “I will make sure to see Sophia, but don’t ask me to change who I really am.”  “I’m a gay man and I’ve lived a lie,” “but I can’t live with myself any longer playing this game. I love you and our daughter but it’s time now, truly time, for me to love myself.” With that, I lifted the suitcase, went to Sophia’s room and kissed her sleepy head and then slowly walked out and locked the door behind me.”

The Sweet Scent Of A Perfect Peach

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In my imagination I think we would be friends if only we lived closer together. I would give her, and only her, the true secret ingredient to my super moist banana chip/raisin bread. Her mouth would smile widely and crumbs would spill happily from her mouth as she ate it with delight; her big doe eyes would nod in agreement. I can’t compete with her cooking of course, she was born baking and cooking but there is no competition between friends. We laugh together at my lack of cooking skills and she constantly admonishes me and tells me she will force me to learn. Knowing her, I have a feeling, she will make me follow through.

On the side of her house I imagine her large garden where she picks her own deep, red  tomatoes from the vine and takes a big bite of one warmed by the sun. She has sunflowers, big tall, brown, vibrant orange and yellow, about fifty of them, near the rows of green peas and lettuce and carrots hiding in the moist soil. Next to them, sweet butter corn  grows tall and stretches to the sun like a morning yoga pose. Wildflowers grow nearby, purple, yellow, pink, white and the blue of a delicate robin’s egg. There are so many vibrant and intense colors in her garden, it’s like staring at a painting by Matisse.

I’ve never had the actual opportunity to meet an idol, someone I’ve cherished since I was a teenager, but I came close, by association, a few weeks ago. I spoke with her warm and friendly assistant and it was such a pleasure. Melissa, her assistant, told me something I will always remember. “She liked your writing and wants you in HER group.”  That lifted my spirits for days. While I could not go to the current workshop she was holding I hope one day to meet her and attend a different workshop.

I read her first book about one hundred times; a book that still sits on my living room shelf now,  forty years later. I share my house with my husband, a son who is soon off to college for the first time, a daughter who will now be a senior in high school and a nine-year old adopted shelter dog named Callie who is sleeping on top of my feet. That first book has been carted from my parents’ apartment to college to every city I have lived in.  We grew up together, she and I, for a forty-year time period, she just didn’t know me.

There’s no doubt in my mind, from her first magazine article in the New York Times that she would grow up to be an amazingly talented, gifted writer. True to herself and her family and friends. She grew as a writer and as a person, I wonder if people expected her to stay nineteen and if that was hard for her? We all change and grow, make mistakes, learn; stagnant is boring.

I think she would be warm and funny, intense about her work and friendly, she probably just baked apple muffins with a crumb topping and served it with sun tea. There’s a colorful tiled table that holds chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies that she whipped up in a spare hour;  sharp, white cheddar cheese and crispy pita chips would be nearby. Family and friends are always invited to her kitchen; there are always people and animals nearby.

I imagine sitting on a large white patio, rocking slowly on our rocking chairs and exchanging whispered secrets and watching the red sunset fall slowly into the water to form three lines of color, orange, dark green, ultimately black. I remember when my family and I used to go to Cape Cod, when our kids were much younger, at every sunset we would sit on the sand, other people around us, and we would wait for the sun to set. When it did, everyone clapped. That is my idea of heaven, living near the ocean, watching the sunset with strangers sharing stories, listening to Reggae music provided for free. Sitting still in front of nature as if we were in a theater waiting for the curtain to rise.

At night, in my imagination, we would creep down the stairs and meet in the kitchen unplanned. We would burst into giggles when we found out we were there for the very same thing.  I always snack after I am supposed to be asleep and I eyed a bowl of ripe peaches on a small, round table that she had recently repainted in pink-rose paint. That first bite of that juicy peach would make me happy, so happy I  can’t even describe it. This peach, this wonderful gift from nature was just perfect. It was ripe, juicy, sweet and had a silken texture. The juice rolled down my chin and I groaned with every bite of happiness. It was the sweet scent of a perfect peach with my new friend, laughing into the dark night.

Dedicated to Joyce Maynard and Melissa

Always Elizabeth

I associate french fries with Elizabeth. Still, to this day, I can picture her face when the french fries that she DID NOT WANT appeared on her plate. I can’t forget her face. She looked like a deer, with white, almost translucent skin and dark, dark eyebrows and eyes.

When I was in High School, a long, long time ago, in Jamaica, NY, in the early seventies, I was good friends with a girl named Elizabeth W. I don’t want to give her last name since she seemed to disappear and maybe she wanted it that way; I hope that’s the reason.  This was a friend, a dear, enormously talented friend that wrote amazing stories, poetry; I think she was an artist too.

I remember we cut class together and would go to a pond or grassy area right near the school and talk about writing and life and everything esoteric. What sticks in my mind the most is that this was one tragic, sad girl. I cannot call her “young woman” because nothing about her wanted to grow up or change. She was the daughter of one Child Psychiatrist and another Psychiatrist or Psychologist. Elizabeth was one very sick girl. I am not sure if her parents knew how sick she was.

Back then, as my daughter would say, in the land of dinosaurs, no-one knew what Anorexia was but certainly that is what Elizabeth had. I remember vividly going to a restaurant and Elizabeth told the waitress at least twenty times that she did not want french fries with her sandwich. She said it over and over and I also told the waitress to make sure they didn’t bring french fries because I knew how Elizabeth would react, badly, of course. Sure enough, Elizabeth, never Liz or Lizzy or Betsy or Beth freaked out. Deep down in my stomach I sensed that would happen and I swept the offending french fries away and started to try to talk her down. She was inconsolable, she cried and trembled and cursed; we left immediately. I want to say we went to a show or a movie after that but I don’t know what we saw. I think there were kids throwing candy and that upset you, and me, too.  Poor Elizabeth, no one knew much about your illness back then.

I remember your very pale, very skinny body that seemed to shed it’s own skin. The hair on your arms were black or maybe that’s just how I remember them. We took a trip to Philadelphia once, I don’t know why, but we did. We took the train together for a day trip, did we visit a museum? I remember nothing about what we did there or where we went or even why. I had an aunt and uncle that lived there but I am not sure if we saw them. I remember nothing but your face, dear Elizabeth and the photo in our yearbook; etched in my brain.

Rumor had it that you went to a small all-girls college, Smith maybe? I tried to track you down but never found you. I was your friend and then you were gone. Nobody knew anything about you, it’s as if you were a dream of mine, that you existed only in my imagination.

I just wanted you to know, if you are still out there in this enormous world, that someone has not forgotten you, that I remember your big dark eyes, and your wistful little smile, like that of a tiny kitten. I hope you are well, I hope more that you are still alive.