So. easily. annoyed. even when I'm having fun

I don’t think I ever told you, but I’m a tribute band freak. My friend Donna shares my guilty pleasure; together we’ve seen tribute acts for U2, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, The Doors, and there are more I can’t think of right now but they were all great fun. Except one--a band called Lez Zeppelin. We should have known.

So last night I met Donna and her husband, Joey, up at The Cannery, a hotel/casino on the north end of town to see a band perform Led Zeppelin IV in its entirely. The room at the Cannery is pretty decent—nothing special, though—and last night they set it up with rows and rows of chairs all facing the stage. Well, just as Donna and I finished our conversation about how, as we’re getting older, every goddamn thing seems to bug us and we get annoyed by the stupidest shit, two big guys sat right in front of us. [Eyes rolling.] One guy’s head was obstructing my view of the stage and the guy in front of Donna had a string of lint on the back of his shirt that she soooo wanted to pick off.

Anyway, the band came on stage and immediately made it clear that they’re not a tribute act, which was a huge disappointment because it’s much more fun when the band is decked out like their idols. They opened with a promise to get to the album we came there to hear after a few classic rock songs and within seconds I felt like I was watching your typical bar band. Fortunately, a woman in the row across from us provided some entertainment, dancing all sexy-like in her micro-mini sweater dress and reminding me of the line in a Leonard Cohen song that goes, “She’s a hundred, but she’s wearing something tight.”

The lead singer increasingly annoyed the hell out of me; in his stupid golf cap and preppie clothes, he reminded me of a spoiled suburban kid whose parents still pay for his car insurance even though he’s 32 years old. When he introduced a Soundgarden song with, “You older people probably don’t know this one,” Donna and looked around at the age 50+ crowd and wondered who the hell did he think was gonna turn out to hear Led Zeppelin IV? What a douche. (I never used to say that word, but I do now because Stewie on Family Guy made it cool.)

Anyway, the night turned out fine. The dancing Monet (do you get that reference?) moved to the bar area, so the people sitting in back of her didn’t have to shoot her. I was able to position myself so Giant Head Guy in front of me perfectly blocked my view of Douche Boy. (And to think I was pissed when he sat down—see, everything really does happen for a reason!) For the rest of the show I focused on the guitar player, who looked like he could be Keith Richards’ grandson, which, if you ask me, is how young rock-n-rollers should look if they’re gonna cover Led Zeppelin.

And yes, the band did get around to playing Led Zeppelin IV but perhaps most importantly, after her third beer, Donna found the courage to surreptitiously pick the lint off the shirt in front of her.

Good times!

Do you believe in psychics?

Hey, if you missed last night’s Aging Nymphs internet radio show, you can always listen to the archives by clicking the link on the right sidebar of this page or you can go to www.blogtalkradio.com/agingnymphs.

We had a fun show--duh, I love talking about my book--and Prudence, my tarot card reader, also called in. I don’t talk much about psychics in this blog, but I’ve used them regularly for the past 15 years or so. I had my first reading with Prudence back in February 2000 when I was still living in Albany. At the time, I was going out with a guy I called “Mike Peterson” in my book, a Grateful Dead lover 12 years younger than me. (Yeah, that’s when I had two kids and a boyfriend all in their 20s.)

Among other things, Prudence saw that relationship ending and another strong romance starting “in 3-6 months, one with greater intensity than I’d ever experienced before.” (I save all my notes.) Then she pulled a card that indicated a marriage proposal and I thought, “You gotta be kidding.” Marriage was the last thing I could ever imagine. She also said I’d be moving to someplace warm and dry. Another thing that wasn't on the radar screen or even a twinkle in my eye at the time.

Three months later, to the day, I met BH and by the end of the year we were married. Needless to say, it doesn’t get any warmer or dryer than Las Vegas. And the date of my reading was BH’s birthday.

That was the only reading I’d had with Prudence until November 2008, when I called her out of the blue (she does phone readings, as well as in person). I’d used the services of other psychics over the years—and was happy with almost all of them—but for some reason I felt it was time to reconnect with Prudence. I’m happy I did. And oh, man… did she predict Mike coming into my life to a T.

I know that some (most?) people don’t understand psychics and think they’re a waste of money. I’ve always liked that stuff and won’t even engage in an argument. I don’t feel the need to defend them; I’ve said a million times that you can’t tell anyone anything and I’m not about to waste any time trying. For me, psychics can be more helpful and certainly cheaper than psychotherapy and I get what I need out of them, and that’s all that counts.

I usually call on a psychic when I need some direction, but can’t see the forest from the trees on my own. How about you? Do you ever consult psychics? Do you feel that you’re psychic yourself?

Bastard Husband... any questions?

What does BH think about the book? Whatever happened with Perry? Will there be a sequel?

How do you go about writing a memoir? What does it take to get a book published?

I'll answer all questions when Aging Nymphs internet radio show returns tonight at 10pm Eastern/7pm Pacific. To listen live, go to the Aging Nymphs Blog Talk Radio show page and click on the show title. Call in with your questions, leave them here as a comment, or email me at linda@bastardhusband.com. And remember, you can listen to the archives anytime!

And hey--my sincere thanks to those of you who posted reviews for BHALS on Amazon.com. Thank you, thank you!

Partyin' it up, Boise style

Well, I had another fun weekend in Idaho and we were so busy this visit, we didn’t even have a chance to break out the Scrabble Deluxe.

My sister Lori flew in from Albany earlier in the week and since Wednesday was Stepdaddy’s 74th birthday, they decided to have a bash for him on Saturday night. I know that partying in Boise with a bunch of senior citizens may not sound like fun, but these are cool folks. You can tell by the wine bottle, right?


This lady’s name is Donna and she used to own a biker bar in Pocatello.


She told us about when the Hells Angels came to town and how she 86ed a biker who later rode right through the front door and into her bar to ask her how long he was banned. She got in his face and said, “Forever!” and then he rode right back out. I think she could have kicked his ass.

Here’s Mom and her girlfriends. I love these gals and not just because they told me they liked my book.


Mom moved to Idaho from Albany about five and a half years ago—about a year after I moved to Vegas. Like me, she’s found that people out West are friendly as hell. How’s that for a generalization? But it’s a good one.

(Can you freakin’ believe you’re reading a blog post about a septuagenarian’s birthday party?)

Lori is a nut when it comes to cooking and they had enough food to feed the whole local AARP chapter. Here she is with Mom.


The music was excellent—my son-in-law’s band, Red Haired Strangers, just released a new juke joint/honky-tonk/bluegrass CD which played throughout the night. But the best part was that Lori and I got to meet our stepsister, Cindy. Here she is with her husband, Traig, their awesome son, Cale, and Stepdaddy. Isn't she adorable?


They live up in Manhattan, Montana, and when I heard them talking about other family members—Brea, Paisley, Sackett, and Gage—I thought who the hell named you people, Sarah Palin? They were so nice, and it really was a thrill to finally meet them.

But hey, it wasn't all party-party. Lori, Stepdaddy and I managed to get in some exercise. That morning, the three of us took a walk around the 'hood. It was like 32 degrees, but nice and sunny. We came across this house for sale on our walk.


Wait, what's the name of the Realtor?


BAH-ha-ha-ha! You're never too old to laugh at a name like that, are you?

If you have some free time today...

Bastard Husband: A Love Story is now available on Amazon.com. If you've read the book and want to kill some time at work today, please do me a favor and submit a short review (a sentence or two is fine) here. Reviews help greatly with sales and are very much appreciated!

If you want to save shipping costs and receive a signed copy, you can always order BH right from this site. You can also get it through your local bookstores, but you'll have to order it--it won't be carried in stock.

Happy freakin' Monday...

Aural pleasure

Doesn't that sound sexy? I'm talking about Leonard Cohen. He performed here in Las Vegas on Thursday night at the Coliseum in Caesar’s Palace and of course I had to go.

You might remember this post from when Mike and I saw him in Phoenix back in April. Mike was unable to go this time, but you know me, I don’t mind doing things by myself and there was no freakin’ way I was going to miss Leonard.

I’d never been to the Coliseum; as I expected, it’s a beautiful venue. I bought my ticket, got myself a t-shirt and beer and settled into my seat about 20 minutes before show time. The lady who sat next to me, Rita, was super nice. She’s from Israel, but has been living in Encino for the past 15 years. We had a great chat and of course I had to show her my book because that’s just what anyone who crosses my path these days has to endure.

Then about a minute before show time, two guys made their way into our row and I swear, the one who sat himself next to me looked exactly like George Clooney except he was a little bigger, a little younger, and about 10 times better looking. Yeah. And he was really friendly. Rita and I exchanged knowing glances and as the lights went down, I leaned over to her and whispered, “God loves me.”

The show in Phoenix was fantastic and Thursday night’s was just as enchanting. (That’s a pretty gay word that I don’t usually use, but in this case it really fits.) I’d say the two performances were about 80 percent the same—both were perfection. I’m so glad I didn’t miss that show.

I know there are a lot of you—both women and men—who wouldn’t feel comfortable going to concerts by yourself, or soloing on the town as I do. I wish I could convince you to give it a try. You'll never have as good a time sitting at home as you would sitting next to people like Rita and George.

Somewhere there’s a psychologist working on a research project yelling, “JACKPOT!”

So how about me posting almost every day this week? Who loves ya—huh?

Hey, I was reading Tuesday’s post and then I thought, I wonder if my friend Kathy is pissed that I told the world she’s overweight? I didn’t mean like, holy shit overweight, just overweight like everyone else on earth. You know what I meant, right? Well, if she had a blog and wrote “Happy Birthday, Linda” and then told everyone I have crappy hair, I’d be like yeah, no kidding.

I hope she’s not pissed because she really is one of my best friends. Man, it must suck to be in my social/family/work circle. You never know what I’m gonna say, and maybe about you. But if you knew me in real life, you would freakin’ love me. I bet you would.

Anyway, I’m heading to Idaho again this weekend. My sister Lori is there and Mom is having a party on Saturday for Stepdaddy, who along with Kathy, celebrated his birthday yesterday. Stepdaddy, like Kathy, is freakin’ awesome. Whenever he and Mom pick me up at the airport, he gives me a big hug and even lifts me off the ground. Sometimes if we’re just standing around, he’ll hug me for no reason.

This is very different; the other day I was thinking, man, if my real father (who died in 1999) ever hugged us for no reason, we’d be like what the hell? I mean, we all knew he loved us and all—he would take the ends of the loaves of bread and leave the good slices for us, and he always made sure there was ice cream in the house—but he was definitely more the “Jesus Christ who spilled the goddamn gravy” kind of father. Which is totally different from the hugging for no reason kind, if you know what I mean.

Ha—I remember when my little sister first heard of the concept of incest. I think she was about 12 or so. I remember her saying, “Well, that’s nothing we have to worry about,” like how lucky is that?

Whew!

Happy Veteran's Day!

Last year at this time, I had just a few readers, so odds are you haven't seen this post about my favorite vet. It's adapted from my book, so if you've read it, you already know about Paul.

Happy Veterans Day and thanks to all who have served and currently serve our country.

When you’re laughing your ass off, nobody cares how big it is

One of my dearest friends turns 51 tomorrow. I met Kathy in 1976 during her freshman year (my sophomore year) when we were students at the State University of New York at Plattsburgh and since then we’ve had a million beers and as many laughs together. You know how some people get after they get married, have kids, and work a professional-level job--all boring and grown up? Not Kathy. She’s a friggin’ blast.

Over the years, we’ve taken countless “girls’ trips” to places like Lake Placid, Montreal, Newport, Burlington, New Orleans, Las Vegas, to name a few. On our last trip we spent a fabulous weekend in Sedona with our fellow Plattsburgh friend, Maggie.


One of my all-time favorite things to do is to drink beer and shoot pool with Kathy in a dive bar with a great classic rock band, and that’s exactly what we did when we raised hell in the biker bar last year at the Connor Hotel in Jerome, AZ. I can picture her now, grinning broadly with her eyes closed, playing air drums (not air guitar like most people). Goddamn! Just having that image in my mind makes me so very happy! We had so much fun, laughing our asses off. You know how sometimes you have those “life-gasmic” moments when you could simply burst with joy?

Kathy is so freakin' awesome and she's the most loyal friend on earth. But oh, I didn’t tell you... Kathy is overweight. I'm sure that's what the charts would say.

But it doesn’t matter.

I'll say it again: it doesn’t f*cking matter. The whole goddamn universe is overweight. My mother, my sisters, three-quarters of my BFFs... So what?

When you’re laughing your ass off, nobody cares how big it is.

One of my favorite friends at work has lost 80 pounds over the past year. I’m thrilled that no doubt she’s at a healthier weight and she must be enjoying quite a boost to her self-esteem, but seriously, I can’t say her sarcasm is more entertaining or her smile more endearing since the weight’s been off. Everything I adore about her now was there a year ago, too; she hasn’t suddenly become a more worthwhile or valuable person.

I’m telling myself this as much as I’m telling you. I'm not even overweight and I bitch about it. And God knows I’ve wasted half my life fretting over my fine, thin, shitty hair. But seriously, do you think any of my beloved friends loves me an iota less because of it? It’s a pretty safe bet that no one at my wake is going to say, “Linda would have been so much more awesome if it weren’t for that crap on her head.”

Let’s stop this, huh? Let’s stop being so hard on ourselves; let’s not treat every goddamn imperfection like it’s the end of the world. Nobody cares. It doesn’t matter.

Although Jesus H, can you imagine if I actually had beautiful, long hair? Can you imagine how full of myself I’d be then?

And BTW, Kathy has gorgeous thick hair.

Happy Birthday, Katter!

I used to think I was a female Larry David, but now I think I'm a female Ricky Gervais. Either way, I'm being awfully complimentary to myself...

... but that's nothing new.

Did you happen to see Ricky Gervais on Letterman last Friday night? He was talking about how the older he gets, the more he's annoyed by everything and I was like, "YES!"

He said, for example, he gets annoyed when he's in an empty restaurant and the waitress sits people right next to him and he has to listen to them chew, and how every other little noise drives him insane (short trip), but the best was when he talked about his intolerance for people who are late. He said something like, "I'm always 20 minutes early, so when someone shows up 10 minutes late, they've kept me waiting for half an hour."

[Picture me sitting on my couch with the stains from my kids' beer parties shouting "Amen, brother!" like a black person in church. (How's that for a stereotype?)]

And then he said something like, "I just can't imagine why people wouldn't want to rush to see me," at which point I turned into an octogenarian in an assisted living home and yelled, "BINGO!"

So maybe the perfect man does exist for me. Yeah, he's a short, pudgy, pasty little guy who obviously dyes his hair and has fang teeth... but he does have a killer sense of humor and an English accent. And as you know, I can overlook a lot for that.