Beyond Puberty 2.0

Navigating the emotional acid trip, the hormone blender that IS post-menopause, i.e. "the rest of my life." Cooing to my husband one minute, verbally eviscerating him the next, having digital thermostat reboots on a whim. The zits are internal this time around and much harder to pop.

[robertagale]

I'm on Substack now so find me there!

https://robertagale.substack.com/ See ya over there!

[robertagale]

From the Audubon Field Guide: Gila Woodpecker: A brash, noisy woodpecker of desert regions.

Dear Gila Woodpecker,

Do you have any idea how much of an asshole you are?

I mean, woodpeckers in general are the assholes of the bird world, but you’re their emperor. Every day it’s Good Morning Desert! with your atonal squawk that deafens me like a Jet Ski even through double-pane windows.

And that pecking on the metal part of the chimney thing at 5 a.m.? Nonstop? For a half-hour? What kind of a sadistic waste of your Darwinian adaptation is that? I know you’re beating the bill to let every bird know that this is your joint just in case some broad comes by, but no female in her right mind is up that early. And trust me, if she’s hot for you, she’ll come flying in first 20 seconds or so.  

You sound too desperate and even this human knows that’s a huge turnoff in the avian world. I don’t blame every feathered frail from here to Yuma for turning tail when they see you.  Maybe if you spent some time in quiet contemplation you’d figure out why you haven’t had a mate for the past three years. May I suggest you pee on something instead? It works pretty damn well for male coyotes.

And I know that you know the Hummingbird feeder is called a Hummingbirdfeeder because it exists to feed Hummingbirds-- birds that hum and are really little and can’t eat the birdseed or peck on the quail block or drink from the birdbath that I fill every friggin’ day.

 But despite the thousands of times I tried to chase you off by flapping my arms like a Harris Hawk or growling like a Bobcat, you refused to move away from the sugar water. Yes, you’re an addict who can’t stop hittin’ the beak, which is why your last mate left you. And if you had any friends you would have found that out way before now. 

Have you spent at least a feather of time wondering why I stopped hanging out on the porch in the morning, even though it’s my only slim window of reasonable temperatures this time of year? I doubt it, because you’re too busy giving me and every other living thing in the desert an upturned middle wing.

You should thank me for telling you this because the Ladder-Backs have been thinking it for years, but don’t have the balls to tell you because they’re half your size. I wouldn’t be surprised if even the Pilleated ‘peckers in Jersey know about you. I hope they do, so they’ll come West and kick your ass so hard you’ll turn into a doll’s feather bed.

Why am I even wasting my time? You’re a narcissist. And no, I’m not going to tell you what that is. You’re just going to have to look it up in the Audubon DSM-5 or ask a Raven or something. Or stuff your fluffy ass into your lonely Saguaro hole and never come out. I’m beyond caring what the fuck you do.

--She Who Lives in That Really Big Nest

[robertagale]

THESE GLASSES ARE WOW WITH ALL CAPS!

I love these sunglasses so much I ordered them twice--they're the most UV-blocking I've ever had, and they're dark--a real plus in the searing desert sun. The brand is WOW, which is a typical name that overseas Amazon sellers think people in the US love, because who couldn't love something that's WOW IN ALL CAPS! Also, as I found out later, it's close to WOOW, a brand I never heard of but is expensive and made in Italy, which of course both equal beyond amazing but then again so is Italian bread except that it's cheap.

So the WOWS fit great, just like the last pair, and they made me look so much cooler than I do in my non-sunglasses mode, but when I put them down, one side flopped on one side which WOW REALLY DROVE ME NUTS. Maybe because I'm a perfectionist or OCD or a Virgo but WOW DO I LIKE THINGS TO BE SYMMETRICAL.

I mean so symmetrical that it obscures common sense like that time I jammed a Q-Tip deep into my right ear just so that it would match the length it went into my left ear only I ended up in a lot of pain and found out later that my right ear canal is smaller than then my left so I was trying to perform the impossible.

Maybe another person would just say hell with it and wear the glasses as they were; their function wasn't compromised and they do what they're supposed to do, but not me. It's my raison d'etre to make sure everything is right in my world because I must control every little thing, it makes me feel safe and I think it will reduce my anxiety and and if I don't I'll go crazy and all the other reasons I learned in decades of dealing with mental health professionals but won't post here because you can just do a Google search for any of this stuff on your own.

So i wrote the company and they asked me to send a picture of the defective glasses and then sent me a new pair. Which was really swell of them but they were sort of tight at the temples but an optician once told me I have sensitive temples but I'm not alone which only marginally made me feel better because I thought, "Shit! One more thing I have that I don't need!" So "sensitive temples" will one day not end up on my resume, because I'm too old for that, but more likely my obit. "Sensitive-templed, anxiety-ridden control freak with OCD, who self-identifies as funny, died today from wearing too-tight glasses." A relative commented, "I told her to take them off, but she said they were fine because one side didn't flop over." Her last word was reported to be "WOW."

[robertagale]

Let's keep the narcissism going, shall we? Three pics. Same me. Top left at 8, with my trademarked crooked bangs and randomly chopped length courtesy of mom's now-infamous kitchen scissors. And that head tourniquet I was wearing? Mom would call the school to make sure I didn't yank it off on the bus, which you bet I did because my temples were throbbing so hard I thought they'd fall off. Note the teal bonded jumper. Fourteen years later I would wear a similarly colored dress to my sister's wedding, which explains why she was always a few feet away from me in the photos.

Bottom left, me at 6, in case you couldn't tell by the "Roberta" my mom wrote at the top of photos in case she forgot who the hell I was. Not a bad sleeveless shift, which I wore a bit off the shoulder. I'll pretend it was a fashion statement and not caused by my hyperkinetic body. But those ghastly ponytails! Mom tied them tight with thick, painful rubber bands which she ripped out at the end of the day bringing clumps of hair with them. And need I mention the bangs? At what age does this become abuse?

Top right, me at 2. Pre-any-haircut which means my natural curl was in play and my hair actually looked sorta good. Big eyes probably trying to charm food from someone. (Note: I was years ahead of the curve with that not-looking-at-the-camera thing.) But smiling while wearing tulle, the most uncomfortable fabric ever? If cotton breathes and polyester wheezes than tulle is having a full-blown asthma attack.

[robertagale]

Lakewood, New Jersey. I'm guessing 1959. Grandpa and Grandma's house. Grandpa was a carpenter and made the bench. I probably jumped up there myself although someone told me not to. That smile hides the miniature "no one tells me what to do" punk I was. Note the ghastly hair and signature crooked bangs courtesy of mom and scissors usually kept in a wayward kitchen drawer.

I don't know how anyone got a skirt on me. I was a pants-wearing mini-broad. It seems odd that it was cold enough to wear a heavy jacket, yet the skirt looked less substantial than a Bounty towel. My legs were probably freezing. My socks were always overstretched like that and the toes had holes, which my mom folded under my foot before she put my shoes on. The shoes? Buster Browns, of course. The best part of this entire outfit .

[robertagale]

I was Tiny Tim's Driver For a Day - Google My Maps

I was Tiny Tim's Driver For a Day

Follow the links r to read about my real-life adventure with Tiny Tim in the early ‘90s. 

[robertagale]

ArcoDysUTopia

My Arcosanti concert history: It's been 42 years since I saw Jackson Brown and 41 since I saw Stephen Stills and Todd Rundgren and Utopia play while 180 cars burned during a brush fire. Though I would have liked to see Florence and the Machine, Fred Armisen, Kelsey Lu, Pussy Riot, etc. this year, the PR machine was a complete turn-off: "FORM Arcosanti is a sanctuary for inspiration - a time and place to coalesce, share and experience. Just as the city of Arcosanti was designed to explore how man can live in harmony with the natural world, FORM reconsiders the music and arts festival experience through a primary focus on community and environment. The intended result is something more personal, collaborative, lean and lasting." Construction on Arcosanti began almost 50 years ago. I finally realized it was never meant to be finished, and man will never live in harmony with Paolo Soleri's quasi-bent vision of a natural world. But as a dystopia/utopia for weekend concert warriors and masochists who like to pay money to someone so they can do hard labor, it works just fine. Peace out.

[robertagale]

Did Jane Austen Know My Mom? Did Hillary live in the early 1800’s? A Synopsis of the First One-Third of Pride and Prejudice

So I finally got around to starting Pride and Prejudice and now that I’m about a third of the way though, I figured that there was already enough stuff in it to write a recap. Plus I&#8217…

[robertagale]

Trump: Stall-hogging the Election

You know what it’s like when you really, really have to go to the bathroom but there’s someone in the only stall? You cross your legs or hold in your sphincter and stare at the sink or the empty Gojo soap dispenser or read the note about how employees must wash hands — STATE LAW! and walk around in small circles or shift your legs a bit so the person knows you’re there and ten minutes go by that seems like a hell of a lot longer than ten minutes and you’ve read the wash hands sign so many times that the words start sounding funny like they’re not real words so you put your hands under the Xlerator hand dryer to kill time and all you get is puffs of cool air so you try the San Jamar hands-free paper towel dispenser (slogan: Smart. Safe. Sanitary.) and wave your hands under it but nothing comes out so you try again more forcefully but get the same result and you realize you look like crap in the mirror and wonder if it’s you or the lighting then you start thinking maybe there’s another bathroom somewhere else, a secret bathroom where there’s a line of empty stalls and full soap and paper towel dispensers and hot hand dryers and maybe even some Prell Hand Sanitizer but you realize that if it existed, you’d never make it there anyway because it too late so you run outside, look for a patch of grass at the side of the building, squat down while keeping an eye out for people and trying to keep weeds out of your ass, pull your pants down and take a big dump, wiping with that wadded piece of filth in your purse that resembles a tissue, pull your pants back up, but still feeling like you have to shit? That’s what I felt like after Trump was elected president.

[robertagale]

Bernie Sanders reminds me of My Cranky Jewish Grandpa Who Just Sent Back the Bialy Because It Didn't Have Enough Onion On It And Besides The Guy At The Next Table Got A Bigger Schmear Than Me

[robertagale]

#Bernie would withdraw Merrick’s nomination to the Supreme Court if elected because he thinks the guy isn’t progressive enough and of course his minions agree that the Panderer in Chief is full bore on this one. You dipshits. Do you understand what Obama did and why? He knows that Congress will never confirm a justice during the remainder of his term. So by picking a more moderate nominee, one that in a "normal" year (and with a differently-colored president) Republicans might confirm, he's making much more of a point about what intractable obstructionist assholes they are then if he picked a nominee way to the left that #Republicans so overtly wouldn't even think of confirming in any year. #Genius. #Obama #Hillary2016 

[robertagale]

For those whose dads sucked or sort of sucked

To those whose fathers were/are positive role models, I bow to the decent man in your life. To those whose father is/was violent, abusive, mentally ill, absent, drug addicted, a monster or a molester, and for whom Fathers Day is sad, strange and angry, I wish you peace, comfort and the knowledge that you are not alone. And for those, who like me, had a father who was both good and bad, wonderful and terrible, and for whom Father's Day is a melange of feelings, I wish you the strength to honor the positive while not minimizing the negative.I hope that if you cannot foster compassion for a damaged daddy (I'm not there yet) that you can at least foster compassion for yourself. No sympathy, please, just gratitude for a format where we can all be honest.

[robertagale]

Facebook

I hitch a ride on the passions of others.

[robertagale]

It's a holiday, but the Quail never take a day off

The quail are sculpting their block into something that will be recognizable by February. They prefer bird shapes, which is creepy/cool. I will post here when they finish their creation to prove that I have the most talented quail in the Quailiverse.

[robertagale]

Find someone who's turning, and you will come around.

I resolve to stop searching for a resolution while keeping revolution and evolution alive.

If our calendar had 24 months, we'd only be in mid-year, so the date doesn't matter, but the movement forward does. 

[robertagale]

Resolution Number Nine

#9. I resolve not to look at this list all year and use it as a template for my laziness, shortcomings and general fuckupidness as a human being. 

[robertagale]

Dead Dog in the middle of the road

Have you ever seen a dog hit by a car? I have. More than once. It's heartbreaking, and I hate the owners who let the dog run loose. I know there's a chance the dog was an escape artist for whom no fence is high enough to jump or no fence is reinforced enough to dig under, but to ease my own grief, and discharge some of my anger, I choose the blame the owner.