Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Friday, April 29, 2005

29 April- it ain't pre-men till your pubes change colour

My GP’s surgery called to say to please come in (after a recent blood test) to discuss the results which point to pre-menopause. I laugh hysterically with the receptionist bewildered on the other end of the phone. Is she supposed to say this quite so bluntly? Doesn’t she know that it’s akin to tell me I’ve got leukaemia? She realises her mistake in speaking in lieu of the doctor and hastens to add that the ‘pre’ stage can last years. Great, I shall hold off going on the internet to bamboozle myself with information, but make mental note to ring mother and ask for ages it hit them in the family (her, granny, aunties etc - assuming they talked about these things, which is not necessarily a given and I don’t live near them so didn’t notice manifestly evident effects: mood swings, depression, sweats etc or if I did thought that was pretty normal behaviour) and then work out average.
I do however go to the bathroom to check if suddenly my pubic hair may have gone grey or something. Then remember I have a Hollywood and so won’t see much and what a blessing that is. And before anyone comments, I’ve had versions of Hollywoods, Brazilians and so on for years. Trend lights ahead me, despite no allegiance to any of the industries normally associated with a trim bikini area. Gosh, I have to stop being so circuitious with language. This is a blog diary after all, where else can you call a spade a spade. But, there you go, can’t quite say it.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

27 April - diabolical channels

Morning at home sick, well not really sick but sometimes you know, facing an office is more than you can do and if you choose a day when not much is going to happen your colleagues won’t resent you and besides it’s understood that they can and will do the same any week soon.
The boss has a different system, his are days out golfing, allegedly to mingle with peers and clients or other company decision makers. Fun anyway if you are decent at the game and not going to be humiliated. Do you still have to lose to your clients or is that a Japanese myth? This in itself requires extra games and tuition for which time off is taken with the blessing of the board. Anyway, I turned on the TV because there was nothing on MTV - ok I confess I was searching for some background music but I raised my arms and let them drop to my sides disconsolately when I spotted more urban youths moving like Muppets. All that squatting, why can’t they dance upright and without doing monkey grooming gestures?
I never thought it would come to this, me thinking current styles of dancing were pathetic. As if the 60’s ‘yeah yeah’ stuff had been any less idiotic or all that arms waiving in the air we did in the (hehm!) 80’s: acieeeeeeed. Jeez how embarrassing.
Anyway, my channel-hopping alighted on Living TV and over an hour or two I watched programs on women giving birth or just coping with new babies. Some of them had twins, triplets etc. on top of other pre-existing brood. Blimey, it all seemed like such hard work. Some women had a present and supporting partner and a nice environment and some had not. In any case, if there was any doubt in my mind that life was better without (ok all the people on TV seemed happy with their status and happy that once bottle feeding was over, potty training was over, tantrums were over, school was over, crazy zombie teens were over... well i don’t know, they seemed to believe there would one day be light at the end of the tunnel and their kids would be nice 'friends-like' people. Except that kids don’t as a rule listen to you and you can’t burden them with what a shitty day you had at work otherwise that would undermine your regular exhortations for them to study hard and become ...like you are now? Are you crazy? or whatever you thought they should become.

I resolved to tape these programmes from now on and watch them when, as it happens regularly to any woman, I felt a bit down and unsure of my choices. Of course it would also appear, judging by the ads interspersed with the programs that these viewers also had financial problems and needed to consolidate their debts, or that they would be happy to get a mega unhealthy meal from Goodfellas for only £4.99, pizza with chips, for god’s sake, why not add garlic bread too. Oh, yes, that came with the deal. Italians would turn in their graves at the tragedy of this carbo surplus. I couldn’t work out why people went on this programs, though some were American and doesn’t anyone there want to be on TV no matter what level of personal degradation?

But hang on? I thought the West was suffering from downward birth rates, were this programmes really going to enlist more women to become mothers? I had an idea, to record those programmes, make funky little covers for them and give them to girlfriends when they are down. The Super Nanny one on CH4 was also perfect content to cheer you up. And I’d seen a trailer or something about bozo cheating husbands. You know, you work hard and then double the dose at home and he, oh, he's got enough free time to go screw someone else.

Another question arose watching this diabolical channel. Why were these stupid people in debt, (the wiewers addressed by the ads) if they had jobs? I counted 8 financial ads in an hour. If they didn't have jobs then who would lend them money in the first place? Also ads for funeral expenses, medical insurance, accident insurance etc and what’s this got to do with birthing/mothers I wondered? Was there some oblique link to make between having children and how much they would cost to keep, hence you now need to borrow money? And feed your children pizza because it's cheap?

If anyone out there writes these ads/works for these companies, please explain.

25 April - hems & colours

Window shopping at lunch time, the curse of the working and leisure classes alike in free countries. Went from thinking ‘These shoes have got my name on them’ (my life long shorthand for got to get them, they will be mine’), to ‘These shoes used to have my name on them’ - this now said with a distinct hint of forlorn-ess in the voice in my head. The wanting to buy impulse is over, because it’s now linked to the ‘why buy?’ (ie. trying to picture the occasion where this item can be worn and coming up with no premieres, launch parties, anticipated dates) and now it finds no ‘because!’, especially as every item seems to be an enhanced copy of something I already own.
Besides if you change lovers as often as I do, or go for long periods without one, they never get to see the full extent of your wardrobe, so you’ve always got something new with which to surprise them - hence no need to acquire new items. And it’s a well known fact that men are unaware of seasonal changes to fashion. They would notice if it goes from maxi skirts to mini skirts - legs always a favourite - but do they know in marketing speak the return of the mini is always linked to times of economic upswing? But they wouldn’t know this summer is ‘pea green’ or ‘strong yellows’ even if all the shops were awash with the colours. Not sure where we are with skirts lengths at the moment in any case. Can't say have noticed, office people are a bit restricted on choice. Must go out on a Saturday and take a look. There's a general election impending (we are writing in London folks) so where is the economy or the spirit of the country. upswing or downswing? I shall report back eventually on this subject, which is surely fascinating or no less so than 'Is Brad really going out with Angelina?' Must admit that's keeping me awake - not.