Heidi in Real Life

You can get into big trouble trying to diagnose your own ailments on the computer.   As tempting as it is, there is no substitute for a medical degree, a cold stethoscope and a scale that adds 10 lbs.   However, one night recently, I turned to the dark-side and read up on the residual pain from my gall bladder surgery.   Of all the crazy things it could be, the one I settled in on was:   A plugged, spasming bile sphincter. Oddly, this diagnosis soothed me and I went to sleep. Later, the next day, I attended a water aerobics class for the first time in many months.   The two male lifeguards who were on duty that night I knew from years past.   One was a college kid; another man was nearly my age.   They asked how I was doing. “Much better, but I had some complications after my surgery.”   I said.   I should have said, “Fine”, but I felt compelled to give more details.   It’s what old people do. “Oh?   What kind of complicat...

Last night we attended a “Huey Lewis and the News” concert.   Huey’s still got it: the fantastic voice, the hair, the muscles and the jeans-friendly body.   OK, I'm back. At the entrance to the event was, in contrast to paragraph 1, my first real glimpse of myself as an old woman.   This occurred when we comingled with our fellow concert-goers-- the cast of “Cocoon ”—in line at the door. My daughter and I stood for a short time to have our tickets scanned, not by a tough bouncer searching for pot or explosive devices, but by an elderly woman who wouldn't hurt a fly. In my seat, I lost myself again, youth recaptured, as Huey entered the stage to the heartbeat at the beginning of “Heart of Rock ‘n Roll.”   With the lights out in the darkened theatre, it was a magical night.    Then they played “I Want a New Drug” and flashed the spotlights on the audience.   WHOA!!   50 shades of grey !!   I felt like I was standing in a cotton fiel...

A blogger friend of mine sent challenged me to write 7 facts about myself.   Opening the door into Heidi’s “Fact safe”…creeeeeaaakkkkk: 1.          I spent a night with Elvis Prestley . O.k, O.k, I was with a stadium full of people in 1973 (I was 8) at one of his last white-jumpsuit shows.  I was not impressed and spent the entire concert with a scarf over my face (the flashbulbs were blinding) and my fingers in my ears.   Thank you.   Thank you very much. 2.          A Hamster helped me get through my divorce in 1991. On one, lonely, miserable night just before my divorce to my then husband was final, I felt especially lonely and uncertain about my decision.     At 4:30 in the morning, I made a list of the Ex’s good and bad points.   Concurrently, our 7-year old, half-dead hamster, Elmer, squeaked his wheel, so I decided to make a pro-con list about HIM and compar...

Approximately 3 times a year, I treat myself to a pedicure at a nail salon.   Approximately 3 times a year, the nail technicians at the nail salon run to the back room and to do “Rock, Paper, Scissors” to see who gets saddled with my hooves. “I’m here for my “shoeing”,” I joked today to the Vietnamese girl who runs the place.   She doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but she knows my feet.   She announces something to the other employees in her native tongue-- something that sounds like: “Who hasn’t done a horse footed woman, yet?” I see their faces get longer and their eyes open wider and a younger girl is ushered to the front like a virgin about to be tossed in a volcano. She says, “Go pick a color,” trembling. It’s not my fault my feet are nasty…not entirely.   Heredity plays a factor--I got the thick heel skin compliments of my mother, and the petrified toenails from Dad.   I’m also a long way from my feet because I’m tall.   I also hav...

I hardly ever do this...but...does this fur coat make me look fat? HELLO?! HELLO??? That's all Dr. Phil's rep says when I call to describe my friend's problem. It's like they can't even hear me. I enjoy the fact that "rabbit trailing" is an insult used by "suits" to make fun of those off-topic. MY trails ARE the topic I don't think sitting stone still and looking casual is fooling anyone. "Ding Dong the Falcon is Dead" is a song I hum when I'm happy. The problem with eating tulips is that you just can't stop at one. I would like to propose that Dust Bunnies be called Dust Raccoons Everyone I know is sleeping, yet I am wide awake, staring at a starry night. I think I'll write my name in paw prints. A deer told me my butt was fluffy, so I opened a can of 'whoop ass' (which in my case entailed staring intensely and thinking evil thoughts) Suckling an icicle like a gerbil's water dispenser. Long winters ...

I've never been that person in the gym locker who walks around nude.  In our gym locker room, I am often called upon to talk to women who do walk around nude.   Somehow,  they don’t seem to care that something (a lot, actually) is off.   I’m no prude .   I’ve had plenty of pleasurable private naked historic events, but none of them ever involved yappy senior female nudists.   Maybe it’s just me, but if you’re going to enter my personal space-bubble unclothed -- let's at least agree to coffee later.  Here’s my personal decree:   If you’re naked in the locker room and you want to talk to me, I’ll be able to pay attention to you for approximately 2 nanoseconds.   After that, my brain starts sending a million ADHD-fueled conflicting signals and then H eidi has left the building .   If you really want to talk to me, unless it’s about danger or a spider is about to drop on me-- can’t I just meet you in the lobby? “What do you think ...