Monthly Archives: May 2012

It’s Summer: Let’s Break Down “I Get Around”


A dear friend of mine, whose friendship I have enjoyed since the first days of Lisa Birnbach’s The Preppy Handbook, had a hilarious habit with me of breaking down the lyrics to various songs.

One of our favorites, was a song by The Beach Boys.

Indulge me as I take you down a suburban parkway on a sultry summer night with the crickets in crescendo as we discuss “I Get Around” which was the band’s first US #1 song.


Read the rest of this entry

when you’re 44: aging and habits.


A few months ago, I wrote a post called, “When You’re Five Years Old” and it was wildly adored by both my fans.

Actually, four people liked it. It was a fun piece to write because I remembered those days when I was riding my big wheel bike and getting into all sorts of trouble.

These days, I imagine my big wheel is not rotting at the bottom of some massive landfill or beneath an apartment building in Buffalo, NY where I grew up. There is no big wheel in my life anymore. There’s a massive SUV in my driveway and peeling out in that isn’t nearly as fun as the big wheel. It’s freaking terrifying.

I’ve spent the past four days in the midst of some technological administrative duties. What’s seamless to you (my new blog address) is a life-caustic, DNA-shattering death knell for me.

I am old.

I know: 44 isn’t old.

But it is. I feel like the old lady at the bus stop complaining about the loss of the horse and buggy. My recent experiences with technology have shown me how much I hate technology. I feel like channeling Gilda Radner’s Emily Latella lamenting the transition from rotary dial telephones, “What’s all this I’m hearing about touch stone clones?”

The literal heavy lifting we have to do when we move from one home to another: the downsizing, the getting rid of crap we can’t believe we ever held on to, the things we have that don’t make any sense even if you think about a time when they could have made sense (I think my mom has 16 copies of “I’m OK, You’re OK” and myriad miniature inlaid wooden pegboard chess sets), is almost as taxing as the mental heavy lifting of moving a blog.

I don’t know why I “tagged” the words I did. Reformatting and sorting through it all at the moment is a nightmare, but it does show me one thing: despite my supposed lack of interest in being a known, successful writer: the tagging proves otherwise. The tags are like Hansel & Gretel’s breadcrumbs in the forest: I want people to find me. Fixing the tags to make sense is a lot of work.

Waah-waah. I hear you. No one made me start to write a blog and no one made me keep it up and no one made me move it. Google did. Because for my needs: Google stinks. The email updates of new posts weren’t going out to both my readers.

All the moaning aside, I’m happy I’m at this new site and I’ll never move again unless someone does it for me.

Being at WordPress means I can create categories. And once I figure out why that matters, I’ll let you know. Actually, I know: it’s because I write a lot of stuff that’s all over the map. I’ve published 64 posts. Many of the posts have similar themes: humor (I THINK SO), parenthood, mindfulness, authenticity and others. I want people, who might come here to browse, to be able to look for something that might interest them and read it and THEN decide I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I’m good, it’s cool.

So today’s newest category is going to be: Aging.

“Yay!” my mother said when I told her. “Creating a neeew category meeeans you’re expaaanding your writinnnng, Maaaally!”

“No. Well, yes and no. Creating this new category means I’m preparing to die.” I said. “Creating this new category means that I’m experiencing cellular failure and preparing for age-related organ death. I’m being proactive. I don’t want to be caught unawares. The last thing I wanna do is leave this blog for my children to clean up.”

“Ho! Maaaally, you’re so fuuunnnny! You’re nooot dyyyying! You’re tooo yaaaaung!” (And then she changed her voice. It dropped an octave and sounded like a scary almost female John Wayne), “You’ll live forever, kid. Ya gohht good gennnes.”

Woah. Insert my pensive smile and shallow breathing, an old coping skill from my childhood.

“Well, mom, it’s true. I’m dying slowly. My eyes are shot. Taking a splinter out of a toe is an act of futility; I can’t see it so I have to wear reading glasses now.”

“Everyone does. I have fifteen pairs all over the house. What’re you doing going barefoot?! I remember when I started …” she said.

“Aaaaand I creak and moan when I get up from the bed and I have lower back stiffness.”

“Everyone does. I have at least fifteen joints that you can hear two floors down. Just stay in bed. I remember when I started …” she said.

“Yyyyyeah. I … well, I also have to wake up to pee …”

“Everyone does. I pee at least fifteen times a night. I remember when I started …” she said. I guess she had no advice for avoiding the nocturnal peeing trips.

The conversation couldn’t go much longer because I end up doing all the listening. I had to hang up.

So. . . .

When you’re 44 years old, you fret about tomorrow because you can’t remember what’s on the calendar.

When you’re 44 years old, you drive to run halfway around the park you used to run to and then run around.

When you’re 44 years old, your eyes need to adjust between near and far vision and during the transition, everyone looks fuzzy like mold.

When you’re 44 years old, 25 push-ups take as long as doing 15 used to but don’t give the results that 25 used to.

When you’re a 44 year old female you don’t want anyone to touch you because you might burst into flames due to random perimenopausal hot flashes.

When you’re 44 years old, your body is what it is. Chances are you can improve it; it’s worth it if your health is on the line.

When you’re 44 years old, you’re very likely on the downward slope of the rest of your life. If you don’t like how your life is going now, you better get yourself together and fix it.

When you’re 44 years old, you’re the only one in your way. Really, there is no one else to blame. Forget blaming your parents: you’ve been a cellular adult (26) for at least 18 years; it’s time to grow up.

When you’re 44 years old unload the dead weight: stop hanging out with people who drag you down and stop ignoring the sensations we know as intuition: they will never steer us wrong. Even if near-term experiences prove otherwise, in the end: the intuition is right.

When you’re 44 years old live for yourself and stop being who you think others want you to be. If people decide they don’t like you but they can’t say why, give them a reason.

When you’re 44 years old if you’ve got some bad habits that affect your health, change them. It takes 21 days in succession to create a new habit (break an old one) and that’s 21 days of consciousness and awareness.

I’m gonna harp on this habit thing for a moment because I’m really talking to myself, you’re just listening in: regardless of your age, did you know that it takes between 8 and 14 minutes to fight an urge or break a craving? So if you’re fighting an urge to break into a box of Oreos (we get the huge ones from Costco) or have some ice cream or smoke a cigarette or take a drink or buy something you don’t need, know that if you distract yourself for 8 to 14 minutes, if you say to yourself, “I’ll come back to this …” or “Look there’s Elvis!” and start a hunt to find him, you will be able to beat it.

I’m saying all this because while I know 44 is relatively young, my elderly relatives that were still alive when I was in my teens and mid-20s all died before they fully experienced 90. They had some habits that were very hard for them to break and they were also completely immobile when they died as well. I don’t want to be like that. So Mom, if you’re reading this: get up and walk around.

And you guys, if you’re 26 or 16 or 48 or 37: live for yourself and get ready to savor the triumphs and learn from the lessons. Habits can be broken. When you are an adult, you are in charge of your own life.

Thank you.

I Don’t Know What I’ve Done, But Now I am on WordPress

I Don’t Know What I’ve Done, But Now I am on WordPress

Hi reader.

Happy Memorial Day Sunday (are you watching “Jaws”?)!

I’d be lying if I said I truly intended to open this account today.

I was tinkering around and here I am. I am glad I am here, on WordPress, because my blog on blogspot is making me a little nuts. The feeds aren’t going to both of my subscribers (sorry Dad, sorry elementary school homeroom teacher), nor does it allow me to set up “categories” with any ease and People have been saying that WordPress is superior, so I think it’s time I made the switch.

I have but one request: please bear with me while I awaken an area of my brain that was frozen in carbonite with Han Solo. I really don’t know what I’m doing.

What I’d like to do now, is migrate all my stuff from blogspot over to this WordPress blog, and since last Friday afternoon I have seven tabs open in my browser from all manner of sources: YouthTube (like that??), google, wordpress and even typepad:

look at all those tabs! my brain hurts.

I’m a writer not a data wonk and so to say I’m pacing around like a caged tiger would be an understatement; I simply don’t know how to do this. DNS, Masking, unmasking, servers . . .  it all seems so ironically permanent. It reminds me of the time I saw my printed wedding invitations. >gulp!<

I need a drool cup. I’ve become a mouth breather with eyelids at half mast. The BreadWinner just came in and looked at me and said, “Mol, do you need a break?”

I also have apparently set up, via my tinkering (which seems to be the electronic version of doodling in that it is permanent on the “e”paper, so to speak) a really weird WordPress … domain: I TOTALLY didn’t mean to do that. So that’s prolly gonna change. If it has, then The BreadWinner fixed it.

I did just create a new web domain: – which is really cool. I don’t know what to do with that. The BreadWinner said to open it because if I’m finally serious about writing, it would be a good idea to have it. Y’know, just in case Knopf wants to publish everything I’ve written: from my notes I leave on the door for my teenage son when I’m out running errands: “NO DANCING GIRLS AND NO FUN OF ANY KIND” to my as-yet completely undercover MOMB (monkey on my back) a tome currently under construction.

The basis of all this is that even though I write a blog, I *HATE* the idea of self-promotion. I need to find my inner Ru Paul, my inner Charo, my inner Dennis Rodman, my inner Madonna Paris Hilton Sofia Vergara, si. But… I’ve done the things that create these opportunities: written, opened a blog, opened a sister page to the blog on facebook, which has a very modest and highly intelligent following (i love you guys and thank you for reading my stuff) and I recently joined Camp NaNoWriMo thanks to the support and encouragement of a wonderful high school friend and his wise wife. So these things are happening (because I started them) whether I like it or not.  Maybe I should get behind the wheel on the bus I’m clearly riding. The only thing I haven’t done yet (and I’m cringing at the thought): Twitter.

So, I guess this is my first post on WordPress which also seems to be my probable final post on blogspot. I just hit 5,588 hits over on the old blog, so this is hard, but I have to remember my personal take on life: that my success means quality not quantity.  I’d like to thank the fates and my incredibly poor comprehension of what the what I did two days ago, but . . . um, I can’t in all good conscience.

The bottom line, FINALLY! If you’re following me on blogspot, please switch over to this blog. I think it’s easy to do: just click on the “follow” button below (Egad I hope it’s there) and enter your blood type, etc., and you’re good to go.

thank you,