"Granny What The Hell Are You Watching on TV?" "I Think They Still Call It Porn Kristina?"

Well summer has gotten away from me…I’ve been so busy, but with what... I can’t tell you? It’s always something however; I never seem to fit enough hours into my day…maybe Granny’s right-maybe that’s why I’m still single? I took her to lunch last week and she told me, “Kristina, you have to make time to find a man…you’re not getting any younger and one day you’ll be too old, to have fun. You need to loosen up and live a little.” It struck me as bit odd the way she said it. She had a big grin on her face and the weirdest thing was, she winked at me when she said, “to have fun”, then I thought…what the hell does a 83 year old woman remember about having“fun”…Let’s face it those days have been long gone for my Granny. Even when Grampy was living they had separate beds ever since I could remember. Wait… not just separate beds but they had separate bedrooms.

Growing up I didn’t realize that parents actually slept in the same bed until I was at my new friend Lynnie’s house for a sleepover. We were in the second grade and she asked me to spend the night. I was nervous about sleeping away from home but I agreed to it because at Lynnie’s they got McDonalds for dinner on Fridays and we got to watch The Partridge Family…a Big Mac, fries, a chocolate shake and David Cassidy…That was living! (Not living healthy but we didn't care about good health in the 60's...Cigarettes and martinis helped women get through their pregnancy!)

Herb and Anna-Bell were Lynn’s parents and I can still remember thinking…”What the heck- they only have one bed in the big bedroom? Hum? Wonder where Lynnie’s parents sleep?” Lynn and I camped out in our sleeping bags in the family room and once she and I had crawled in our sacs for the night and settled down to sleep (and giggle) her parents came in, turned off our light, said good night and walked in the big room and shut the door behind them. Not sure what to think I whispered, “Do your parents always sleep in just one bed together?” Lynn answered like any typical seven year old would answer, “Yep. But not when dad comes home from work really late and smells like beer, then he sleeps on the couch.” Well that was as good an answer as any and off to sleep we went.

For the past five years every Wednesday night Granny and I have dinner at her house together. I usually stop to pick-up Chinese and she and I will watch a little television and chat until 8:00 or 9:00 and she’ll fall asleep in her chair snoring. I often wonder if she feels lonely-so sad to get old.

So after work on Wednesday night like always I headed out to pick up dinner. “Granny, I’m on my way, I just pick-up dinner at Al’s Palace and I’ll be there in five minutes.” I said on speaker phone from the car.

“Oh dear, is it Wednesday? Well, that will be fine, my friend is here but they always give us enough food for 10 people. See you when you get her.” Granny said as she abruptly hung up the phone.

I thought it strange she would have someone over; in the past five years she’d never had a lady friend over, so I was pleased to know she was socializing.

I opened my Granny’s front door with my hands full of food and headed straight for the Kitchen. “Granny, I’m here.” Of course she couldn’t hear me because her television was turned up loud enough for the entire block to hear it. “GRANNY, turn down the television. Dinner’s here.”

I yelled as I fumbled in her cupboards to find her paper plates and set the table. The volume on the television quickly muted. “Kristina, lets eat in the living room, Ed and I are working on putting this puzzle together and we’re on a roll.” I laughed at her choice of words and wondered if she meant her girlfriend Edwina? I scooped up all the plates and boxes of Kung-pow chicken and egg fried rice and headed to the living room.

“Hey, Granny. Oh and Ed.” I said with a surprised tone in my voice and a strange look on my face. It was Ed, like in a man Ed, not Edwina like in a girlfriend. “Ed, this is my granddaughter Kristina. She’s looking at you like a deer in headlights because she thinks I’m old and should be home alone doing crossword puzzles. Kristina, stop staring at Ed and set the food down so we can eat it before it gets cold”

Still a little dumbfounded I did exactly what I was told. I sat down in her La-Z-Boy recliner with my TV tray in front of me and tried not to feel like the third wheel. Ed and Granny were laughing and cracking jokes…and seem to know each other quite well.

I had just scooped a fork full of rice in my mouth when I happen to glance at my Granny’s 42 inch HD TV that I bought her last year for her birthday…”Grrrannyyy…WHAT the hell is on the TV? What are you watching?” I said as I chocked on my food in shock.

“I think they still call it porn Kristina. Oh look Ed, I found that center piece we’ve been searching for” Granny never looked up from her puzzle and Ed took another bite of egg roll.

“PORN?! You’re watching porn? Why are you watching porn…with ED? Or at all?” I said with disbelief and disgust as I stood up to search to find the remote control so that I could get it off her TV before I had to make an emergency visit to my therapist. But instead I tripped over the cat and fell on my ass. I landed face first looking up at a ménage-a-trois on the fucking TV at my grandmother’s house. I wanted to die.

“We are watching porn because Wheel-of-Fortune is over and Jeopardy doesn’t come on for another 20 minutes. Ed, would you like more Kung-pow chicken?”

Well, just like when I was seven, that was as good an answer as any so I left it at that!

Just in The Nic-of-Time—Saved By The Estrogen Patch.

Oh, the power of the patch!!! Like a bottle to a baby, putting on my estrogen patch finally shut me up!!! About twenty minutes after the silver-dollar size thin sticky film hit my ass, I was Ms. Congeniality. I made no more death threats to anyone that dared to breathe around me. It was as if the heavens opened up and angles swung down, took me in their arms and we flew through the clouds like beautiful birds. OK, well maybe that part was the pain meds, not the patch, but whatever… I was back on the road to “normal” So I thought!

After a hysterectomy I’ll be honest, it takes some getting used to. I’m not sure what happened to my skin? I looked 17 again… but not in the good way.  My face broke out with underground land mines. Just days after my hysterectomy there were red painful zits big enough to blow up Texas all over my 40 Something Year Old face! And I’m not sure what hormone infested bug flow up my bee-hive but my beautiful long hair went from string straight to curly-kinky blonde…and again I don’t mean in the good way.

And just the other day, I was driving down the street and looked over to the passenger seat and noticed something stuck to the back of the seat…? I reached over to touch whatever it was…and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t my estrogen patch. How the hell it got from my ass to the front seat of my car is a bigger mystery than how my father has managed to get married six times. I could see how the patch may have ended-up on the driver’s seat…if I actually drove my car naked. But since I’ve always driven fully clothed, I was baffled. Well... there was that one exception…I had a major hot flash right before my surgery. I swear it felt 190 degrees when suddenly a wave of fire burning hormones flooded my body as I was driving up to Los Angeles. There was nothing I could do but pull over and whip my top off… and no, I don’t drive a convertible.

I was safely parked on the side of the 405 freeway on a Friday late afternoon so it wasn’t like anyone was driving faster than a tortoise on Quaaludes. I wasn't concerned with anyone seeing me without my clothes after all it was Los Angeles. So once I was off on the shoulder of the freeway I quickly pulled my T-Shirt over my head, cranked the air-conditioning and leaned directly into the cold air and lifted my bra to cool off the girls. That’s when the adorable LA Sherriff or Police Officer, or hell- it could have of been an actor preparing for a part as a security guard for all I know but he was young and looked hot in his starched blue uniform. He leaned down to knock on my window, “Ms, Ms, are you OK?...Oh, Wow! Ms.  You're going to have to put your clothes back on-Please!” He said with a smile and checks cherry red.  “I will as soon as I stop having a hot flash -Officer Cutie” I said as I continued to fan my Ta-Ta's with the cool air. It seemed that Officer Cutie wasn't quite sure what to say to that so he turned and hightailed it back to his squad car, turned his siren on and forced his way back on to the freeway. I guess he knew it was safer to be in the middle of crazy LA drivers on a Friday than to mess with a woman half naked dealing with a power-surge. Smart move on his part. Later that night I fantasized about him and me playing with his handcuffs…It was a lot like “50 Shades of Blue!”   

So I still don’t have a clue how that dang estrogen patch got on the passenger seat of my car? Although I do remember this one time when I was still getting use to putting a new patch on every Saturday morning-I tried to peel off the plastic on the back of the patch without it sticking to my leg or everywhere but my tushie. But half a sleep I peeled off the protective backing and slapped it  on my derrière and dropped the actual patch in the trash…It wasn’t until much later that day when I felt something poking my ankle. I sat down at the gym and took my sneaker and sock off my right foot and that’s when I found the plastic back of the patch stuck to the side of my heel. To my dismay I also found the actual patch stuck to the side of the waste can in my bathroom a few hours later…which still doesn’t answer the question…”How did my estrogen patch get from my ass to the front passenger seat of my car?”

Where the hell's my estrogen patch?

Hormones, Hormones, Hormones…!   

There’s nothing even remotely good when you’re told you can’t leave the hospital after they find a huge mass covering both ovaries.  So that’s when it hit me, I would never have children. I would never be given the chance to screw a child up like my parents did me-it wasn’t fair…

However, I wasn’t the only one distraught about me not having children; my mom bellowed her sorrow throughout the hospital to anyone who would listen. Still a bit loopy while waking up after surgery; the Demerol had also started to wear off, but I could hear my mother loud and clear talking to a group of hospital staff, I think they were the people that delivered the meals to the patients. “My daughter Kristina, she’s in room 201-bed A, she just had a complete hysterectomy. She's over 40 and I don’t know how she will ever get a man to marry her now…you know, in her condition.”  She lowered her voice to a loud whisper when she said “in her condition” She made it sound like I had contracted some horrible disease and only had a few hours to live.

“Oh Ms. Truly is your daughter? She is moy bonita, I served her breakfast this morning. This is horrible for your family. I have 43 grandchildren; I could not live without my grandchildren.” I heard someone say from the peanut gallery talking in the hall next to my hospital room. Then to make matters worse I heard my mother agree with her, with the one word of Spanish she knows. “Gracias. My heart is broken. But thank God, my son is expecting his first child. His wife is much younger than Kristina; she’ll have lots of babies for me.”

Note to self: Nominate my Mommy Dearest for mother of the year…UGH!

Well surgery didn’t go as planned and things were much worse than my doctor had anticipated but I was alive and for that I was grateful.

“Help…Dr. Coochie, please I need my estrogen patch…PLEASE!” I begged like someone begging for a smack of heroin. Going straight into menopause was no trip to the fun zone and I was not a happy camper. Insanity had nothing on the way I felt.

“KT, I’m sorry we can’t start your hormone replacement until we can get you walking around and your blood pressure stabilized, we are afraid of blood clots and your infection is still not looking good. You aren’t out of the woods yet my dear.” Dr. Coochie, stood across the room reading over my chart. I’m pretty sure she had heard that I called the resident doctor that had been in earlier that day to check my incision a prick…but he was so I felt he deserved it. “Dr. Coochie, you don’t understand, I need my hormone patch, Please! I’m so hot I can’t take it. The hot flashes are more like power surges and I feel like my body is going to ignite into flames. That’s why I asked Dr. Dick for an ice pack for the back of my neck to help cool me down and like a prick he said, NO.”

“Yes, I heard about that and I also heard you threatened to walk your naked ass outside if someone didn’t turn on the air-conditioning ASAP.”  Dr. Coochie, walked over and stood at the foot of my bed staring at me with a slight smile on her face. “Yes, that’s sounds about right.” I said with a proud stern domineer. “But Dr. Coochie, I’m in hormone hell, I’ve never felt so depressed and angry about everything-my heart is racing, I have anxiety -I feel overwhelmed. No...I feel like shit and no one seems to care.” I started to cry uncontrollably, hoping something would break her down and I could finally get my estrogen patch.

“KT, just a few more hours, I promise, once your blood pressure is stable and your white blood count starts to go down-KT, it’s for your own good.” Dr. Coochie made a bee-line for the door.

So that’s when I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. Looking back I can only assume it was the lack of hormones making me so crazy but when I was in the mist of hormone hell, it wasn’t safe for anyone including myself. First, I cussed-out the safety rail on the side of my bed holding me in hospital prison. But with merely breaking a few fingernails I managed to take down the rail. There wasn’t any blood shed so I was hopeful things were looking up. Then I swung both legs over the side of the bed. I was determined to take off walking to get some cold fresh air outside.

But that’s when it hit me…Wholly crap! I just had major surgery-I had a horribly painful incision across my entire lower abdomen and I was hooked up to more bells and whistles than a security system at a museum. And now I was completely stuck. I didn’t have enough strength to even get myself back in bed. I had no stomach muscles that weren’t on fire! So there I sat hunched over the side of my bed with my feet dangling not quite reaching the floor and I felt dizzy and ready to faint. I soon realized I was in a fine mess and thus far I had been such a bitch to everyone that no one was coming within 100 miles to visit me.  “Help…Help…Please someone I’m stuck.”

Finally a man walked by and heard my cries for help. I would have been totally embarrassed under any other circumstances by the fact the man willing to rescue me was an elderly candy-striper well in his late 70’s. Slowly and a bit shaky he managed to help me swing my legs back on my bed. He carefully got me all propped back-up and even fluffed my pillows. Again, I started to cry.

“Let me guess, you just had a hysterectomy?” This sweet man looked me in the eyes and for the first time I felt like someone wasn’t scared of me. I sniff and he took a tissue and wiped the snot dripping from under my nose. “I remember when my wife had a hysterectomy. Boy, she was a real bitch. A lack of hormones can really knock you for a loop.”  I attempted to laugh but it fring hurt like hell so I grinned really big and gently squeezed his old fragile hand.  

“But I bet you really loved her and she got better really quick. Right?” I looked in his eyes for wisdom and comfort. “No, she was always a bitch and it just got worse after the hysterectomy. But in those days we stayed together for the kids. I was lucky though, she left me for my best friend the day our youngest child went off to college. It was the happiest day of my life” And on that note, Mr. Candy Striper practically skipped out of my room with a smile from ear-to-ear.

“Ms. Truly, I have some good news. Dr. Coochie has approved your estrogen patch, it should be just a few hours and the pharmacy will bring it up and help you put it on.” Nurse Ratchet said gruffly as she checked my vital signs. “A few hours…I could die before that, I need you to speed this up.” I said in my Dr. Jackal hormonal personality as I whipped my sheet and blanket off my legs as a warm flash of heat consumed my entire body.

“I wish I could but that’s not going to happen, this is a hospital not the drive-thru at McDonalds. I suggest another shot of pain meds and some strawberry Jell-O. That’ll have to do for now. Good night Ms. Truly.”  

Poor Kristina…Hormones, Hormones, Hormones! Check in next week…Will KT ever get her damn estrogen patch? We'll see!!!

Hormone Hell-KT, Needs a Hysterectomy

I knew things weren’t looking good when while having an ultrasound of my throbbing ovaries the technician looked at her screen and with her eyes bulging opening like a hoot-owl and her jaw practically dropping to the floor stood up and said, “I’ll be right back”.

In what seemed like forever I waited for someone to come back in my room and tell me what the hell was going on. The longer it took the more than a little curious I became wondering what was the big deal. But first-things-first, before my bladder burst… I had to drink 32oz of water before starting the ultrasound and with all the probing and prodding and the stabbing pain in my ovaries I had had enough for one day. My head was pounding and I needed to pee. I wrapped the skimpy hospital gown halfway around my tooshie and headed down the hall to find a restroom.

“May I help you Ms?” Nurse Ratchet said from behind her thrown at the administration desk. “No, I’m good- just looking for the restroom.” I said as I pushed a door open and entered a room marked with a stick figure of a man and women and wheelchair symbol on the front.

I was seated in front of the ultrasound screen looking at a series of black and white fuzzy shots of my ovaries when the tech and the chief radiologist barraged through the door. It didn’t take a degree in medicine at that point to know they weren’t there to tell me I had just won a trip for two to Hawaii but rather something was not good.

The phone hanging on the wall rang and a bright red light flashed on line-one. “That’s your gynecologist; she needs to speak with you.” I picked up the receiver.

“KT, it’s Dr. Coochie. You can’t leave the hospital. You have a very large mass covering both ovaries and I need to take you to surgery. It looks like we will have to take everything including your cervix. You have a serious infection and we need you on round the clock intervenes antibiotics for 48 hours before I can do surgery on Friday morning. The good news is-I don't think its cancer.”

The Hawaii trip would have obviously been better news. Stunned, I glanced over at the two medical strangers that were staring at me like I was a time bomb ready to explode…and I kind of was. “Dr. Coochie, I can’t possibly stay at the hospital right now, I will have to come back in the morning. I don’t have my toothbrush, clean underwear, my contact solutions and I need to talk to my cat Mr. Snooty so he understands what’s going on. And by the way this all sounds, maybe I better make a call to my lawyer to make sure my will is up-to-date.” I said as I took a seat in the chair next to the phone.

“KT, I highly advise against you leaving the hospital. If the mass ruptures you will go septic and well I don’t need to tell you what that means. So if you choose to leave and because I know you; I’m assuming you will no matter what I’m telling you…please go straight home and come back to the hospital first thing in the morning.”

Poodles, my best friend, whose name is actually Peter drove me to the hospital first thing in the morning …well right after our drive-thru coffee stop for a warm chocolate croissant and caramel latte. I figured ovaries and a cervix must weigh at least 2-3 pounds so I could have a buttery rich chocolate treat to keep my strength up. And just in case I didn’t make it I wanted to make my last meal a good one.

The administration at the hospital was waiting for me and rushed me to my room where they wasted no time hooking me up to all the bells and whistles to pump me full of antibiotics and some really great drugs for the pain.

“KT, darling, it’s Mom. I came as soon as I heard. Why didn’t you call me? It breaks my heart you’ll never have children, how will you ever find a man to marry you?” Just what I needed-My Mommy Dearest…always there with her glass half empty…. She meant well but Mother Teresa she’s not…and so with my right hand I pushed the wonderful little button that detonated a powerful pop of Demerol and I was out like a light…!



Well KT’s not out of the woods yet. The hormone hell has just begun… Stay tuned for “Where the Hells my estrogen patch?”

He's going to the chapel and he's going to be married...to someone else!

Of course it goes without saying…I’m still single. But yet another one of my ex-boyfriends has found the girl of his dreams…It never fails. In my late 20’s it seemed like every time I went on a date the next day Mr. Dream Boat was leaving for vacation…Mr. One Date Wonder would be simply distraught about having to leave me for seven dreadful days, we'd had such a wonderful time, how could he possibly go to a tropical island of pure paradise without sweet little me. He'd passionately kiss me and beg me to wait for him. He would be gone an entire week and he would probably die without me…well maybe it wasn’t always quite that dramatic but whatever, blah, blah, blah...

A week would go by and no call from Mr. Wonderful. Then sure enough I’d run into him a month or so later and he would introduce me to his beautiful Fiancé. “Let me guess, you met her on the flight to Hawaii?” “Oh my God-yes. How did you know?”

I always knew because it’s happen so many fringing times. One night I was on a hot date and everything was going great. We kissed for hours. Neither of us could stand the thought of even going one day without each other…and on his way home from dropping me off at my apartment he got pulled over for a taillight out and Wham!-Love at first sight. A million dike women cops but he had to get pulled over by a former Miss Pageant Beauty Queen.

So it should come as no surprise to hear Mr. Handyman is hot and heavy with a new cute little bimbo. I heard they were getting married as soon as her divorce was final. "Divorce is finial...Not fair she's had her chance-it's my turn-Damn it!"

Well, if you want to get hitched just date Kristina Truly, she’s your blonde Good Luck Charm-It must be the Irish in me. “However I would just like to know... Mr. Wee Green Little Man where’s me Pot-Of-Man-Gold?”

Poor KT, she will have to keep searching...Mr. Right is somewhere, sadly however it seems that somewhere is everywhere she's not...!

KT-gets dumped...Again!!! What's a Girl to Do? Well buy some new shoes of course!

“So, after one sizzling hot, steamy sleepover - well, without the sleep, and another ooh-la-la Friday night together, I got dumped?” So instead of beating myself up over it like I usually do, I quickly put the blame where it belonged…on him. I can only assume he must be gay.

However, I knew exactly what I needed to console me with my sad state of poor pecker picking.  I may not get to enjoy Mr. Handyman’s cute-butt-out-of-jeans any longer but I could certainly enjoy a new pair of little strappy sandals to tide me over for now.

Oh Lord, the power of the shoe! I don’t care what is going wrong in my life - a new pair of shoes will fix it. And by the number of pairs of shoes in my closet, it appears I’ve had to fix a lot of serious issues. 463 pairs to be exact…well 464 if you count my snorkeling fins.

     

Usually, the local shoe warehouse’s sale rack would have done the trick, but this time I went straight to Nordstrom’s. I needed to pull out my big credit cards to get me over how upset I was with myself. I wasted two good years of testosterone waiting for Mr. Handyman to even notice me, just to get dumped. Besides, I was already in a perfectly wonderful committed relationship with my cat-Mr. Snooty and we were just fine. All I really needed was a cute pair of shoes, a hot new color of lipstick, maybe some new mascara and what the hell, a box of decadently-priced chocolates (nuts and chews, of course).

     

 As I walked out of Nordstrom with my hands full of shopping bags, I knew that Mr. Handyman would soon be nothing but a vague memory of another one of my ex-boyfriends turned homosexual. Yes, therapy would have been cheaper, but not nearly as effective. Besides, looking good is so much more rewarding. Let’s face it. I’ve never had anyone tell me, “Wow-KT, you look hot today, did you just have a session with your therapist?”  

KT’s search for Mr. Right Continues… When a Girl’s got to go-a girl’s got to go!

Driving up to Burbank to have dinner with yet another potential Mr. Right that I met on Plenty of Flakes .com. I knew better than to keep drinking from the bottle of water in my cup holder, but out of habit–I did. And like always halfway to the restaurant with at least another 30 minutes to go and bumper-to-bumper LA traffic I felt the pressure building in my teacup of a bladder. I turned the radio up to sing along with Jimmy Buffet for a distraction but ironically “Margarita Ville” just triggered more thoughts of drinking which of course lead to more thoughts of how badly I had to weedel.

The line for the valet was six cars deep and time was running out. I remembered a story I once heard from one of my pregnant girlfriends about how she used one of her kid’s dippers to pee in while she was stuck on the freeway in a sig-alert. I look around the car but the best I could find was a pair of gym socks and an empty Diet Coke can. But instead of having to throw away a perfectly good pair of socks or risk the inability to pee in a tin can like a guy, I decided to wait for the valet attendant to park my car.

“Welcome to the Airport Hotel and Spa Resort mama, will you be checking in this evening?” “No, I’m just meeting someone for dinner. Where’s the nearest ladies room?” I said as I threw my car keys on to the top of my dashboard and flung my car door open nearly taking out the young perky attendant. I sort of wished I’d nailed him with the car door for calling me “mama” like some old woman but then I may have had to fill out an accident report and I didn’t have time for it, this racehorse needed to fly.  

“Your name please mama?” “Ms. Truly”, I snatch the claim check from his hands knocking his black Sharpie ink pen soring into the Up-do of a Bride-to-Be getting out of a white stretch limousine.

“The ladies room?” I shouted as I did the two-step Pee-Pee dance shuffle. With no time to spare I  pivoted towards the hotel entrance as the attendant shouted, “Through the foyer to your…..”   Too late, I didn’t have time, to my right, to my left; it was about to make no difference if I didn’t keep moving. The beautiful 10 foot high waterfall gushed down an entire wall of the hotel and the trickling sound of water left me no choice but to speed-walk past the gift shop, lobby bar, ATM machine and finally reaching the coveted restrooms.

Thank God the door was wide open. A cleaning woman stood just before the open door pushing her mop back and forth across the marble tile floor, warning the patrons of the wet floor with a bright yellow cone.  “Hola, Senora…” I heard slightly as I plowed right by her. “Senorita” I quickly corrected her as I sighted the first stall straight ahead.  “WOW…!” I sighed with utter relief as I hovered over the lovely porcelain toilet bowl.

I quickly adjusted into position my pretty new lace panties and hiked my tight knee-high black straight skirt back down over my hips and unlatched the hook on the bathroom stall's heavy beautiful wooden door. Nervous but excited to have a relaxing dinner with a new very attractive man who I’d never actually met in person but who seemed adorable in his Internet photos and on the telephone when setting up our first date.

With a robust burst I opened the stall door. “Crrrap! I’m in the men’s room” I said under my breath as I stood from the reverse angle with a clear view of a row of urinals all lined up along the wall. “Kristina, is that you? It's Troy, from the Internet" 

“Yes, Troy-so nice to meet you...um, I’m sorry, I um,” I stuttered as I tried not to stare at my dinner date’s penis as he stood to shake.  “Well, nice to meet you  too Kristina. You don’t mind if I wait to give you a hug do you?” Troy said as he carefully zipped up his trousers.

"No, No, please finish. I mean take your time”  My cheeks nine thousands shades of red, I turned to walk over to the sinks. “I’m going to wash my hands, I mean as long as I’m here hope you don’t mind if I go ahead and um” I kept my head down watching the water flowing over my hands, knowing good-and-well I needed to apply some lipstick but I felt it may be a bit inappropriate. It would have to wait.   

“Senora, this is the men’s room” the cleaning woman said pointing to the sign on the door as she pushed her mop bucket from in front of the door as it slowly closed. “Yes, gracias, I see that-thank you.”

Well there was no second date. Who would have guessed seeing your date’s penis before you learned his last name was not such a great ice-breaker? Oh well…NEXT!

 Kristina Truly...Oh, what's a girl to do...?

Kristina Truly-Party of One Your Table's Ready

Proudly introducing my main character Kristina Truly staring in my romantic comedy "40 Something and Single" a novel for anyone who's found themselves dreaming of the day they too can change their FaceBook status from "Still Single" to "Married" or at the very least..."Yes, It's True, I Have a Date Tonight" !

“Hi! I’m Kristina Truly -- my friends call me KT for short. We all have nicknames, all my girlfriends, that is. It was cute when we were younger (much younger). Now the only things in our lives that seem to be much younger are the men Koo-Koo, my best friend dates.  

I’m a relationship expert, widely known and well-regarded, and I facilitate powerful motivational workshops called Turning Your Pain into Passion — One Date a Time. And best of all, I couldn’t pick the right guy for myself if my life depended on it!

I’m “40-Something and Single,”

and that is where my crazy story begins……”

(All Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Guilty!!!)

Kristina Truly is gorgeous, blond, smart, caring, and anything but politically correct. She continuously dates Mr. Wrong. KT’s love life is commonly referred to by her shrink as a disaster, even bizarre at times, but all in all it might lead her to find Mr. Right...She hopes!!!

40-Something and Single is a fearless account of what can happen between many, many men, and a woman determined to find true love, even after forty. From Internet dating to speed dating clubs; from heartthrobs to heartbreaks to hot flashes. With daring enthusiasm, KT reveals it all from a real world/real woman’s perspective.

KT carries a torch for two years, then gets dumped after just one hot steamy sleepover, and one “ooh-la-la” Friday night. Heartbroken, she propels into yet another shoe-buying frenzy. With 462 pairs of shoes already in her closet (463 counting the snorkeling fins), she decides a girls’ weekend in Viva Las Vegas is just what she needs to get over her recent letting go of lover boy. Whatever happens in Vegas, KT wants to be sure happens to her too; and it does, again and again! She meets Mr. Wonderful and spends three days of rug-burning, love-blinding bliss in the high-roller’s penthouse at a swanky hotel on the Strip. Sparks fly, and on that fiery Fourth of July weekend she falls in love. 

However, all good things seem to come to an end -- quickly.  KT is dumped again, this time by her sizzling Las Vegas love, who she’s sure is “The One.” 

KT reluctantly re-enters the dating game one more time.  On the advice of her Jewish girlfriend Kit-zophrenic, she joins J-Date.  For a shiksa to take on the Jewish Mother Mafia isn’t easy. For every nice Jewish boy, there comes a Jewish Mother…

On the advice of another friend, she also joins “Twenty-Five First Dates”. The task of enduring twenty-five men for just one date each before she can go on a second is impossible once KT meets a charming millionaire real estate investing mogul. One romantic date with REI on his alluring yacht, and the “only one date” rule is out… the Twenty-Five First Dates rule book is tossed overboard. Her sensual adventures with REI, Mr. Sky’s-the-Limit, eventually show KT that money can buy you a lot of fun, great sex, but not necessarily Mr. Right.   

Sharing her emotional longing for a loving relationship with the man of her dreams, KT describes adventures of hilarious honesty but often at a painful expense. Mostly she fears what just about anyone fears after searching a life time for true love; maybe I’m defective and simply not lovable. KT meets an almost sober airline pilot, to a “mental” mental health professional, to Mr. Organic -- Smokey Berra, the Park Ranger, and more—no one’s perfect.

KT uses her own screwed-up dating life as she teaches her love deficient seminar junkies to do as she says, not as she does. Even though KT is known to be a poor pecker picker she stays passionately optimistic about finding Mr. Right, until she is thrown a hormonal curveball which leaves her feeling hopeless to ever having a family of her own. But she never can quite shake her deep desire to return to the one love she may never forget – “The One” better known as the “One That Got Away”

"More blogging to come when I return with "KT's Love Afairs Gone Wild"

My Big "5" Oh..Hell-No!

Once upon a time I had a birthday coming up in March and somehow unbeknownst to me but yet it has been confirmed by my DMV records that I will be turning 50…Upon turning 50 while living in Newport Beach I know it is just a matter of time until I can no longer get laid in a men’s prison with a pocket full of pardons. After all it’s hard enough for an anorexic size six, 20 year old swimsuit model to find a guy so what are my odds? Well the odds don’t appear to be all that promising, with half of the male population gay and the other half losing their trust fund money in the stock market things are not looking good. I remembered the days when my silicone implants stood for something but after 40; they won’t stand up for anything anymore. After turning 49 I realized it was just a matter of time until all hell breaks loose and down I go -- my chin hanging to my boobs, my silicone torpedoes pointed straight down towards an old gunnysack of cellulite, my knees hanging to my swollen ankles, and I’m most afraid I will one day have to tuck my ass into the back of my knee-high support hose so I won’t trip over it. I anticipate the day I wake up and realize, “Wow, I’m old.” But until then I say, “I will hold my chin up high. That way when my turkey neck sways, at least it sways with confidence!” 

Dating For the Clueless-Not the Desperate

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns he’s never walked into mine." Could be my grandmother was right-I’m cursed…but I believe I just haven’t met the right guy. After all, 40-something is the new 30-something, so they say. Although I don’t know who “They” are, I assume “They” must be over forty. And although I’ve kissed more than my share of toads all cleverly disguised as a dashing prince I’ve still manage to have hope that someday I will cram my size 8 foot into that damn size 6.5 glass slipper and when it shatters into a million pieces my perfect prince will be there to tell me, “Damn! Sweetheart your ass sure looks good in those jeans.”