Grow Old Gracefully? Bull*%t!

One of my favorite movies ever is The Parent Trap with Hayley Mills. I received it (finally!) as a Christmas gift a few years back and my daughter will attest to the fact that I watched it so much the DVD now skips. There’s a classic line where the father of Margaret, the mom, says to her, “Margaret, I can see you’re the kind of woman who accepts the coming of age with grace and dignity.” She, of course, blows her top and retaliates by going on a huge make-over, shopping spree thereby turning back the clock and looking years younger. How I wish it were that simple.

Now that I’m single again, I can’t help but notice that parts of me look waaay different than they did the last time I was single. Part of it is the usual, “Oh, you’ve had a child. A little wear and tear is to be expected.” Really? Wear and tear? Personally, I found the effects of pregnancy to be more along the lines of, say, the aftermath of a train wreck. A really bad one involving lots of carnage. Although when I point this out to my loving daughter hoping for a smidgen of remorse, I get, “Well, it’s not like I wasn’t planned. You brought this on yourself.” How I ever lived without her love is beyond me.

 I decided that a mini-makeover was in order. It was time to take inventory of what could be repaired and to hell with what couldn’t be repaired. I figured an exercise routine, proper nutrition and beauty products would be an excellent way to kick-start my new lease on life.

I began with beauty products. Holy shit. Have you ever really looked at what’s available in the beauty aisle of your local store? I was overwhelmed with the sheer volume of products that promise to “Make you look younger overnight!” or “Your friends will secretly wonder if you had a facelift!” Most of them are creams, serums, lotions, some form of something or another (probably sheep placenta) that you slather on your face before going to bed with the promise of looking younger in 7 weeks. RESULTS GUARANTEED! My personal favorite is the semi-mask you put under your eyes before going to bed. It’s these little sticker-like doohickies you put under your eyes and supposedly you wake up one day with no wrinkles. Right. Personally, I refer to them as character lines or the old tried and true, laugh lines.

During a conversation recently with my mom she made the attempt to compliment me. At least I hope that was her intent. She commented, “Lisa, honey, you still have a lot to offer. I mean, you ARE showing your age a little bit. I’ve noticed you have a few wrinkles, but you wear them well.”

“Mom, I would rather call them character lines, if you don’t mind.”

Silence.

“Sweetie, you can call them anything you want. But at the end of the day, it’s still a wrinkle.”

It’s impossible to argue with the truth so I shut it.

I ended up purchasing items that I trusted – Noxzema for washing my face, Oil of Olay for morning, Pond’s skin cream for nighttime. That’s the biggest commitment to reducing wrinkles that I can make for now.

I did discover one trick while doing facial gyrations in front of the mirror one night. Stand in front of your bathroom mirror (lights on, no cheating) and look at your reflection straight-on. Every character line is visible – no getting away from that even when you squint. I tried. BUT, if you tilt your head back just a bit, the lines tend to fade away. Yes, I am aware that I couldn’t see them as well helped considerably; but gravity was finally working in my favor and pulling my wrinkles, er, ‘scuse me, laugh lines away from my face. Why, I looked years younger!

 My solution: only be friends with tall people. That way, you’re always looking up and they’re always looking down. It’s perfect if you ignore the fact that walking around with your head tilted back does make one look somewhat Norma Desmond-esque from Sunset Boulevard.

Whatever.

“All right, Mr. DeMille. I’m ready for my close-up”

Next up: nutrition. For the most part, I’m a pretty healthy eater. I tend to eat a lot of brown rice, chicken, steamed vegetables and yogurt. I’ve also made the switch to 1% milk. (That stuff’s friggin’ nasty. It looks like cloudy water, but I’m determined to develop a taste for it.) I also try to drink a lot of water, but I gotta tell you if there’s a Diet Pepsi Max within walking distance, the soda wins every time.

My bad food habits include the bowl of miniature candy bars in my fridge (small ones don’t count), the pork rinds in my pantry (loaded with protein, ignore the fat) and my inability to avoid cookies. I adore cookies of all kinds. I bought a box of gingersnaps thinking, “I hate gingersnaps. These will last forever.” Pfft. More like 4 days. While I still hate 1% milk, apparently I’ve developed a taste for gingersnaps.

Exercise: simple enough. I do like to run, but during Minnesota winters, an indoor alternative is best unless the idea of freezing your ass off (and that’s in the literal sense) is your idea of good workout. I bought Jillian Michaels 30-Day Shred workout DVD. Now, I’m thinking to myself that I’m in pretty good shape; this should be easy. Maybe I won’t be shredded in 30 days, but I’ll take frayed around the edges.

I thought I would die on day 2 of Level 1. I wanted to die. Every part of me hurt so bad, even my hair was sore. I survived (4 weeks of torture) and was congratulating myself on making it to Level 2.

Big mistake.

I was halfway through my first Level 2 workout and was convinced I was going to throw up my pancreas along with a kidney. My quads were burning, my shoulders were trembling and I had tears in my eyes as I cursed Jillian Fuckin’ Michaels. I hate her.

Why are you doing it then, Lisa, if it’s so miserably painful?

Two words: Fwappa Fwappa.

I had been slacking off on the workouts a little bit when just the other day I had a funny, enlightening and yet strangely terrifying conversation with a friend. We were laughing about an old episode of Golden Girls and how they discussed that as a woman gets older, you never want to be “the one on top.”( I’m sure I don’t have to explain the semantics here.)

As we’re laughing, I’m remembering a similar conversation with another woman a couple of years ago. She was more descriptive as she discussed a recent encounter with her husband.

“Good God, I’m sure from below I looked like a shar-pei! Bat wings and boobs flying everywhere! It probably sounded like Fwappa! Fwappa! But hey, the lights were off!”

I thought I had completely repressed that particular conversation, but now it’s come back to haunt me. So here I am on a Sunday evening finishing up this post and waiting for Jerseylicious to come on soon. But before I indulge in my new favorite trash TV show, I have one final task to complete: yep, a workout. I will turn on Jillian Michaels and spend the next half hour cursing her existence yet ensuring that I will not hear that horrible phrase in my dreams for at least tonight…

Fwappa! Fwappa!

Til next time,

Lisa D 😀