Now is Not the Time to Buy Green Bananas

My friend Dan taught me that saying. Translation: Don't waste time, because we don't know how much of it we have.

The question of the day on my favorite Spanish-language morning show--and I'm so darn proud of myself for being able to understand it!--was, "Do you think the world is coming to an end?" This was, of course in reference to the disasters of late, and you can take your pick from natural (earthquake, tsunami) or man-made (Libya, global warming leading to flooding). Given the news of the day, I voted "Sí."

One of the things I've been putting off for decades is learning how to speak Spanish. I took French in high school and in continuing ed classes. When I got to Paris, I could only speak in fragmented sentences about basic necessities, such as more wine and a larger size skirt. I had absolutely no idea what people were saying; it might have been, "You've had enough, lady," and "I could've told you that, J. Lo," for all I know.

The combination of getting older becoming more mature and el mundo looking very much like an Irwin Allen disaster film is making me re-examine life's little to-do list, mostly moving things up. I write cards to say thank you. I tell people that they're important to me. And since I've actually lost work because no hablo español, I'm moving the language lessons up from "someday when I'm in the nursing home" to "ahora." (Of course, part of the idea behind this entire blog was reduced to hilarious ashes here.)

I don't really believe the world is coming to an end, though I do ache for all the suffering that's going on. After prayers are said and donations are made, I choose to take advantage of the time I have by not waiting for any more bananas to ripen.

Besos, chuletas locas.

Linguistics, Semantics, and Other Awesome Words

Retirement: a concept that, post- or current recession (whether you're an optimist or a realist), probably has to be retired. In this case, though, I'm not referring to myself--I don't want to retire--but to certain overused, underage words. To wit:

Awesome.
Amazing. 
Cooooooooool.


I love these words. I've used them since I became aware of them back in the Tedolithic Period--that would be 1989, the year Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure came out. Linguistics experts would argue that modern "Awesome!"-speak can be traced back as far as 1982, when Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl" single created a whole new language, but I think dude-speak really took off as commonplace with B&T. Discuss.

Since I'm old mature enough to have been around for both, I wonder if it's time for me to stop using these words. For one thing, words like amazing are now very un-amazing, having been overused into impotence. For another, I wonder if someone with grey streaks in her hair--no matter how adorable they may be--sounds stupid when saying, "That's ah-MAAAAAYZING!" Or worse: Giving someone the thumbs-up of approval while intoning, "Awesome." I mean, who the f*c% am I, Keanu Reeves?

Even Kee, as those of us who worked in the teen mag world used to lovingly refer to him, probably does not say "Awesome." Yes, even Cool Breeze Over the Mountain probably wanted to sound like an adult at some point. And what a fine adult he's turned into...

... Jeez, where was I? Oh yes! My question: Woman over 40. Hair greying beautifully. Opens mouth and says, "Awesome" or "amazing." Wrong? Meh? Who cares? Discuss.

Besos, chicas fabulosas y hermano hotcha.

PS: I think I can still use "cool," since that's been around since the Jazz Age. Si? No?

It Works! Magic Face Oil for March Madness

March: A time of transition. Not quite winter, not yet spring. No longer bitterly cold, but oy with the chill already. We could still get snow, but we can also get potted hyacinths and tulips. Emotionally, there's hope; dermatologically, there's confusion.

It's time to move on from the winter moisturizer, which is good because I just ran out. Yet it's still too early for my secret weapon for summer (which I'll share about here in good time; chillax). What to do--clog or flake?

Neither, thanks to my connection, Beauty Mole, an industry insider who must remain nameless. Think of B-Mole as FNB's version of Deep Throat. If you're over 40, you'll get that reference immediately. If not, go here, but then come back quickly or you'll miss the whole point of this blog entry...

Are you back yet? Do you feel informed? Great. Now: help for skin in transitional weather. Beauty Mole slipped me a bottle of this stuff:

Clarins Huile Santal Face Treatment Oil. Verdict? LOVE. Loving. Lov-ing-it. I put it on and I feel nothing--just my skin. I daresay this oil and a decent night's sleep might cause one to get carded at the local wine emporium when purchasing one's nightly case bottle of malbec. I don't know if I'd feel this way in the winter, as I'll never give up my Clark's Botanicals Deep Moisture Mask, but for right now, this stuff is right on. As in, right on my skin.
The price isn't bad either. Average cost: around $42.

[And now, the disclaimer: How je would adore to be lost in the ethical swamp wherein I had to confess to receiving payola for my endorsements. Fortunately for you (if not my wallet), I can tell you that while I received this product as a gift, I was under no obligation to plug it. I'm merely doing my duty, fulfilling the mission statement of this blog: to help women who are 40, plus or minus, to be the best damn 40-ish ladies they can be.]


Bisoux, bellas.