"They have no good magazines..."

I hate the torture of waiting rooms.


It doesn't matter if its the doctor's office or the building department, I feel trapped in all of them. Impatience rears its pointed head and I start looking for some form of entertainment. People watching exhausted, I start to scrounge for a magazine.

Did I mention how much I hate waiting rooms that have crappy magazines or none at all? Ok, I can understand why the OB/GYN has Parenting magazine. But must they have 300 copies of it and nothing else? I don't have anything against parenting, but I'm over it. At least give me a choice in case I'm just too damn old to parent anything, anymore!

Today the wait was to be interminable. I grabbed a ticket as I entered. My number was 79. They just called the number 33 over the loudspeaker. I felt the anxiety bubble up in me like Mexican food does.

Please. Please. Let there be something here to read, I mumbled under my breath.

I glanced around. There was only one magazine in sight. I made my stealth approach. Oh no. The worst - it was an AARP publication. As I heard them call the next number, only 40 away from mine, I picked up the magazine and headed back to my seat.

Hmm. Dennis Quaid on the cover. He didn't look old. As a matter of fact, he looked damn good. Why was he in this magazine? To sate my curiosity I started flipping through the pages. No ads for Cover Girl makeup. No Cosmo tips on how to keep your man happy. No info on surrogate mothers or parenting tips.

Instead, I found a article on retirement - where, when and how much money do you need. I could relate to that. Which insurance companies cover knee replacement and what is the average recovery time. Yep. I had questions about that subject too.

I flipped back to the cover page to verify that this was AARP. What followed next was an out-of-body experience. I WAS reading AARP and I could relate...to almost every article.

I don't recall hearing the next 30 numbers called (guess I have the memory of an old person too) but when I got ready to leave I squirreled away that magazine into my purse like a shoplifter hiding her stash.

I still feel like a Como girl and I'll continue to buy Cover Girl makeup even though the models who advertise it weren't yet born the year I graduated from highschool. But, I will not join AARP or subscribe to their magazine. I will not give in to being that vintage. I will however graciously accept a senior citizen discount at the movie theater starting next month, that is as long as there is no one in line that knows me.

Did I mention how much I hate aging? :-)

Coming up next time: "Donald flies the coop without filing a flight plan." or "Where the hell is that duck?"

Always On the Wrong Side of the Door

Don't get me wrong.

I love my family. My two daughters are the sunshine of my every day. My sister - a mirror image of myself and a loving opportunity to change and improve at every turn. My boyfriend - the love of a lifetime - generous, kind and gorgeous. I'm a lucky person.

But then, there is the unconditional love of the four-legged, scratching, fighting, barking, bed-hogging, disgusting breathed, neurotic furballs that shadow my every move, every day.

My daughters can ask for 30 things a day from me; my animals ask for only 3 - love, food, and "Help, Mom! I'm on the wrong side of the door, again."

Don't get me wrong. I love my family, but oh those animals. They know how to steal my heart without a word.

The race is on for my greatest affection and I admit, it's looking like a 'photo finish.'

Gotta run...the litter box is calling my name.

**Tomorrow: Donald disappears without filing a flight plan.