We watched "Julie & Julia" the other day, you know, the film starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams about a gal who makes her fame and fortune blogging about French cooking a la Julia Childs?
I'm wondering if I can make MY fame and fortune blogging about menopause and women growing older? For my few followers out there... do you think folks will want to read about shower squirrels and Helgas rising, moisture-wicking sheets and varicose veins?
Just askin'.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Oh the noise!
Just wanted to alert you to some new venomous drivel unleashed by hate monger and conservative radio host Michael Savage. It's addressed in my other blog, writermd-noiseinmyhead.blogspot.com, in order to protect the hormonal sanctity of the meanopause blog.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sweat Fest
Night sweats. They're pretty much unavoidable when you're going through--or even rounding the corner of -- The Change. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning, hair plastered to the back of your neck, sheets stuck to skin sticky with salt. If you're coupled, you make sure to move to the far side of the bed so your partner can't cuddle up to your sweaty self. It's just too embarrassing. Sometimes it's unavoidable, however, and a little shuffling beneath the sheets ensues, resulting in those two little words every woman longs to hear: "Ewww! Gross!"
Menopause seems to single-handedly redefine pillow talk. "Wow baby, you're so hot!" at 3 am now means something entirely different than it did during the courtship phase. And don't even get me started on the new definition of 'wet.'
The other night I was awoken by my significant other quietly rummaging (that may be an oxymoron) through drawers in search of a dry t-shirt.
"Shit," she whispered to the night, after stepping on a half-chewed strip of rawhide abandoned by one of the dogs.
"Whas goin' on?" I mumbled, still half asleep.
"Oh, I'm looking for a fresh shirt. Mine is soaked."
Two years ago that might have begged the question, "Soaked with what?" But now, with both of us knocking on the door of the big M, it's a given that perspiration is the pernicious culprit.
"Oh, ok... sorry baby," I uttered and rolled back over into my own expanding circle of sweat.
And so it goes...
Menopause seems to single-handedly redefine pillow talk. "Wow baby, you're so hot!" at 3 am now means something entirely different than it did during the courtship phase. And don't even get me started on the new definition of 'wet.'
The other night I was awoken by my significant other quietly rummaging (that may be an oxymoron) through drawers in search of a dry t-shirt.
"Shit," she whispered to the night, after stepping on a half-chewed strip of rawhide abandoned by one of the dogs.
"Whas goin' on?" I mumbled, still half asleep.
"Oh, I'm looking for a fresh shirt. Mine is soaked."
Two years ago that might have begged the question, "Soaked with what?" But now, with both of us knocking on the door of the big M, it's a given that perspiration is the pernicious culprit.
"Oh, ok... sorry baby," I uttered and rolled back over into my own expanding circle of sweat.
And so it goes...
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Emergence of the Big 'M'
I woke up drenched in sweat... again. The wet, sticky, hair plastered to the back of my neck kind of sweat. I thought about changing out my top... again, but I was so tired, I just did the chicken-flap with my nightie, waving it around under the covers in a feeble attempt to get some air into the damp recesses of my body. I know. It sounds gross. And it is. Welcome to menopause.
I'm 47 and I think I'm entering what's called peri-menopause. I'm right on the cusp, just beginning the spiral into soaked sheets, hot flashes, rabid mood swings and sex drive disturbances. My body has somehow started to build fat in areas I didn't even know could BE fat. I'm not on any menopausal drugs--no HRTs yet (hormone replacement therapy), no regular anxiety meds (although popping a Xanax every now and then sure sounds good as of late)--and while I'm sure that's all to come as I continue this unasked for journey, I thought maybe blogging about it from start to finish, that is if it ever ends, might be therapeutic.
This blog is dedicated to menopause, a kind of homage to the emergence of the crone (more on this later). My partner is going through it too and we're planning to kind of of tag-team our experience, although she's a little further into it than I am. Imagine, two women sharing the joy! It'll either be hysterical or horrific--or both--but it'll probably never be boring.
I'm 47 and I think I'm entering what's called peri-menopause. I'm right on the cusp, just beginning the spiral into soaked sheets, hot flashes, rabid mood swings and sex drive disturbances. My body has somehow started to build fat in areas I didn't even know could BE fat. I'm not on any menopausal drugs--no HRTs yet (hormone replacement therapy), no regular anxiety meds (although popping a Xanax every now and then sure sounds good as of late)--and while I'm sure that's all to come as I continue this unasked for journey, I thought maybe blogging about it from start to finish, that is if it ever ends, might be therapeutic.
This blog is dedicated to menopause, a kind of homage to the emergence of the crone (more on this later). My partner is going through it too and we're planning to kind of of tag-team our experience, although she's a little further into it than I am. Imagine, two women sharing the joy! It'll either be hysterical or horrific--or both--but it'll probably never be boring.
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