Happy Birthday, You Doll You!!!




As I type this, I will turn 50 in less than two months.

Unlike my good friend, Cheryl  (our birthdays are one day apart…same year), I have no qualms with reaching the half century mark….at least, not yeat. 

 I don’t look 50, but I sure as hell feel it.  When I wake up and attempt to get out of bed, I hear a cacophony of cracks and snaps and pops.   I’m like this big peri-menopausal bowl of Rice Krispies.

The audibles that my body often call without my consent are only half the battle though.  I have other symptoms of aging, too.  I tend to forget things these days; my bladder control has all the effectiveness of Mexico’s militia and my skin is getting dryer.   I eat Omega-3 vitamins like candy; I try to stay hydrated, yet my skin still looks like slightly buffered dry wall.  Thank God it’s not manifesting itself in wrinkles, but the dryness is still there.   Guess my once  OPEC  friendly oil glands aren’t producing like they used to. 

I’ve tried putting vegetable oil on my face and hands–something about the emollients (or so I’ve heard) is good for the skin.  Well, it is GREAT for your hands and arms.  You can see a visible difference in just a few days of application.   This ISN’T great for your face.   I applied vegetable oil before going to sleep for two nights.  You’d be surprised by how easy this stuff is to rub in.   While my hands and arms were softer, the oil on my face, understandably served as  nothing but zit fuel.  Intellectually, I knew putting this on my face  was wrong, wrong, wrong, but I was desperate.   My face ended up looking like the back of a white chocolate Nestle’s crunch bar.   One pimple was so big it had a Black Diamond trail on it’s north slope .

But I terminated the oily irrigation source and applied some of the same shit Jessica Simpson puts on her facial version of the Pyrenees and then a day or two later, I popped that huge pimple of mine with Vesuvian like results, which were satisfying.

Ever noticed that women are crazy for popping pimplrecluse-spider-bitees and/or protruding cysts?  Why is that?   We don’t care what it is–blackheads, white heads;  big, hulking bulges on the backs of  our husbands or boyfriends.  We pinch, they wince and we push out this mass of ugly that both enthralls  and disgusts us.   We push the bulk of the evil out from the depths of the dermis, then we scream and act horrified,  but uultimately, we  come back for round two.  God forbid we should ever get our hands on a nice, juicy primed Brown Recluse spider bite.

So, dear readers, I face my 50th head on, but this noble, “hold-my chicken neck attached to my head high but I’m faking” bit, met with difficulty today.   One of Satan’s spawn  sent me a video just to  remind me, not of my mortality,  but that at age 50, I’m a hell of a lot closer to staring it in the face than I was a mere year ago.

Here’s the gist of this rambling nonsense: Cheryl and I both turn 50 this year….and so does Barbie.   I wasn’t much of a doll girl, Cheryl was, she had Barbies, I didn’t.   If I had dolls, they had to do something human-ish;  they had to walk, talk, burp, cry or have an intact , fully operational Mattel engineered excretory system.   My dolls had to  produce foul Infamil-like toy doo-doo.    Oh, I had imagination, I just dug the magic of technology in my play things.

Even so, I’m the same age as Barbie and I’ve realized that she, as a former pilot, gymnast, debutante, homemaker, model, attorney, vice cop,  Madoff’s PR consultant, haberdasher, astronaut, mechanic,  moil, stewardess, Teamster, toll booth worker, gay advocate, teacher, princess, game show host, post Civil War Carpetbagger,  junkie/whore, doctor, nurse, TV personality, corporate mogul, movie star, AFL-CIO lobbyist, pool boy, a mail woman,  politician and depression era wet nurse,  has had a far, far more successful life than I have. 

And she did these things…while consistently maintaining a 1.3″ waist…that Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene’d bitch!!!

So, watch this if you will and effort to feel empathy for my nearly 50-year old anguish at this sad, sad comparison.




  1. That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in quite awhile. Damn. It keeps popping into my head and I keep laughing. Hard. It’s one of those things, just like a really great song, that I wish so bad I had thought of first.

  2. Thanks for that.

    A Funny post but I guess I’ll never be able to eat Rice Krispies or a Nestle’s Crunch bar again.

    In fact, I may not eat anything for a couple of days after witnessing that picture…

  3. Hilarious post and video. Thanks Laurie!

    You’re right, 50’s nothing. You’ll be doing it in your sleep. My wife turned 50 last year and she’s been troweling all sorts of goop onto her face for decades, including various vegetable oils, honey, oatmeal, clay, iron ore, you name it. It helps!

    Yeah, I don’t know what that mega pustule is but it hurts! GAK!

  4. Been there, already done that, Dave. I hear that Pollock is painting a portrait of my colon’s midsection. Pop art, poop art…the same things. As far as turning 50, I’m fine with it. It’s an inevitability.

    That disgusting mega pustule photo is that of a nasty Recluse spider bite in the first stages of skin necrosis.

    Kinda makes you want to eat banana pudding, don’t it??


  5. You know Laurie, somehow I knew, as I was typing it, that you had already been violated by the endoscope. Call it intuition, or maybe I’d seen that Pollock painting. Please pass the banana pudding. 🙂

  6. laurie,
    have you ever noticed that when you post those gross pictoral posts, you have mostly “guy” responses? Hmmm…I raised two boys and know the answer. I think that mother use to call it, “bathroom humor”. Anyway, it fun to watch them come out of the woodwork when that subject line is introduced! Strange creatures these boys…you got to love ’em!!!!!!!!

  7. I thought that picture of the spider bite was a malignant breast nipple. Sorry, Laurie, that picture is disseiving. However, it is an ugly bite which left untreated can be fatal. That leg looks bad and I hope it was taken care of.

  8. That thing on Daddy’s back was huge wasn’t it? It varied in altitude from time to time, but more often than not it was bulging, reddened and primed for Kathy’s nimble pop-ready digits.

    The three of us could tell stories about the post popping mailaise we would find ourselves in. To use the word “vile” to describe it would be an understatment.

    I saw that thing once peak to near camel hump size. I looked at it closely and damned if it didn’t have it’s own ski patrol and booze toting St. Bernard.

  9. Laurie, when you sent this to me I laughed my ass off. I wish I looked as good as that Barbie.

    Yes, I played Barbies. I loved Barbie. I still have some of my old Barbies and clothes, cases, ect. We had the best time on King Ave. playing Barbies.

    I am not looking forward to turning 50. I really don’t know why, I just feel like it is soooo old. When I look in the mirror I see a person I don’t really know. It scares me! I don’t feel 50 in my mind, but I sure do body wise! Hate it.

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