Sunday, December 7, 2025

Building a Better Barb

How's that for an end-of-the-year blog title? Who needs a New Year's resolution when you cap off the previous year with a bold statement like that? Making such a bold proclamation can mean only one thing: I'm really serious. And now you all are witnesses,  there's no turning back. 

I'm sure you are curious where this is coming from, so I will tell you: it turns out this aging thing is real. I have seen evidence of this fact all around me; however, I have somehow avoided most of the pitfalls of this reality. I still wake up feeling good, no aches or pains. I can still do all the things I love to do: walking my two dogs twice daily, playing tennis, traveling, skiing, and biking. I even had the chance to scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef this year (a bucket list item) for the first time in over a decade. Bottom line: I still got it. 


That said, there are signs. For one, no one gasps when I tell them I'm 60. I pause to give them ample time to properly react and say something along the lines of "no way you're that old" or something similar. It used to happen, but now I notice a lack of shock on their faces. I used to think 60 was old. Now my feelings have changed. Sure it's old for some people, but not me!

I have said it before; mentally, I'm about 27. According to Spotify Unwrapped, I'm only 17. This is all to say, how can my chronological age be so off? 

HRT to the Rescue

One thing that was slowing my roll was perimenopause, something I was both late getting and woefully unprepared for. In the spring, I noticed I wasn't sleeping well, something I'm really good at. Sleeping is one of the love languages, so it was concerning. 

Often, I would wake up all sweaty, go to the bathroom, and then get back in bed just to have my head spin about every possible disaster scenario it could conjure up. Probably as a result of my not getting adequate sleep, I noticed I was getting lit fast. My temper was quickly going from 1 to 10. Let's face it; there's an awful lot to rage about these days. Don't get me started...

I was also getting hot flashes and other symptoms, so when I went to my primary care doctor for my annual visit, I mentioned the sweating and the rage issues. She asked if I would be interested in Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT). 

Well, holy hell. What the actual fuck? My symptoms vanished almost immediately; I started sleeping soundly again, but it begged the question: Why are women not put on this treatment the second the first flash hits them? Or right after the first month of non-sleep and the raging that comes as a result. 

God knows now that the XGeners are hitting the "pause," there's no lack of information on social media and online about perimenopause. You would think we invented it. For the long, silent boomers who suffered through this for decades without talking about it? We don't thank you, but sorry. 

I didn't even have most of the more serious effects of the oncoming menopause, the brain fog, joint pain, and a host of other not-so-great symptoms.  I have friends who have suffered for over a decade with symptoms. Some were leery as a result of old studies that indicated a link between some cancers and HRT.

Fortunately, those studies have been debunked, and even the government agrees and has removed the black box warnings on HRT medicines. And that agency is led by an absolutely crazy idiot, but don't get me started on that. 

I'm donning my feminist hat for a minute to say: If men were impacted, they would be handing out estrogen patches and progesterone tabs for free on every street corner or pharmacy. Let's face it: if men were impacted by half of the physical challenges women face as part of simply being a woman, the world would be radically different. Tampons, like toilet paper, would be free in public bathrooms, and a diagnosed case of PMS would be grounds for dismissal of most violent crimes.


So I'm talking directly to all those women who are bravely rawdogging perimenopause: What are you waiting for?? There is no prize or compensation at the end for you, and studies are indicating that the benefits (reduced heart disease, for example) are best reaped when HRT is started within 10 years of the onset of symptoms.

I'm assuming some of these women are the same ones who brag about not using painkillers during childbirth, the mother martyrs. We all know a few of them. I was a max-dosage deliverer myself, which goes back to my "scream-before-it-hurts" methodology. 

The bottom line: Being a woman isn't easy. Our equipment is 10X more complicated than men's because we create life. There is nothing more powerful than that. Period, or in this case, no period. 

I would say we all owe it to ourselves to take the easy path whenever possible. And, heads up, there are not a whole lot of these easy paths ahead, my friends, so take it! 

Do yourself a favor and watch this video. Dr. Roy Casagranda discusses the evolution of our species and the incredibly important role as teachers we play as women after we transition into menopause. The only other species on the planet besides humans that have this transition are sperm whales and chimps.

Time for PT

At that same doctor visit, I mentioned that I had some concerns about my knees. I'm pretty tough and don't complain a lot, but my knees are important as I love tennis and skiing, and both require full function. So she wrote me a script for 12 weeks of physical therapy (PT).

At my first appointment, I filled out the questionnaire for my therapist, a very serious young woman. The questions were like "on a scale of 1 to 10, how hard is it to...get out of bed, get off the toilet, tie your shoes, etc. I didn't have any pain or difficulty doing any of the activities.

After reviewing my answers, she seemed confused. So you're not in pain and have no issues doing any of the normal daily activities? It turns out most people seek physical therapy AFTER they are injured.

Being a very small person, I've always been a big believer in crying out in pain well in advance of the actual pain. Wards off the eventual suffering that way. This is basically the same thing. When asked about pain, I said "not yet," and told her about my knee feeling "different." Like everything is working, but maybe not everything is correctly assembled? 

When she asked what my ultimate goals were, I immediately said that I want to be able to play tennis and ski mountains in my 80s. She almost cracked a smile before she realized I was being serious. I have a mom, if you all remember, who can still beat me on a tennis court, ski, has 7 hole-in-ones in golf, and does pilates twice a week. I wrote about her in this blog. 

The truth is that I want to be ahead of what's changing, and I'm happy I did. What I learned is that my body, like everyone else's, is unique. What I needed to work on is different; my IT band, for example, is very unforgiving, even more so than the rest of my rather rigid body, so she showed me specific exercises to do after tennis, for example.

I was a star pupil and learned a lot about what my body needs to stay strong and active, so I encourage all of you to fake an injury and try physical therapy. Just kidding, but seriously, get to know your body and what you need to do to keep it going. 

Training with Sherrie

Some of you know that my little sister is a personal trainer, so she has been on me for years to start training with her. Now, for those of you with siblings, can you imagine anything worse than being trained by that sister you tortured as a child? 

She has always been freakishly strong and, despite being a few years younger, was always bigger and stronger than I was. When we were young, I would assign Sherrie to be the horse who had to carry me around on her back as a fun game. She was happy as long as she could play with me. That said, you can imagine why I was a bit reluctant to take her up on her offer to train me. Paybacks, as they say, are a bitch.

Fortunately, it appeared that her desire was to help, not payback. Thank God! Laura and I have both done a few sessions with her, with instructions on how to do the same at home. She is as strong as an ox, so she does as she speaks. She always says, "You're never too old to get strong." Preach!

The reality is that multiple studies are showing that there is no age limit to getting stronger. One study actually showed that people over 65 who lift heavy weights regularly can actually build bone! Lifting can also help with cognitive decline and decrease the odds of injury.

Yoga is another great activity that helps with flexibility and balance (both things us sassy seniors need more of)  and can help with mood and stress.

A final bottom line: we can all defy the aging process to some extent. It just takes a conscious effort to do so and persistence, so don't just take it. FIGHT IT! Getting old is for lazy losers! 

I'll close by quoting Nike: "Just do it."

Happy Holidays

Sorry for the long gap between blogs, but I've been on a tear since mid-September, having a ball and traveling the world, so perhaps a travel blog is in my future. We have several months of shitty, cold weather on tap, so that means more blogs to come! 

I hope everyone has a lovely holiday, whichever ones you happen to celebrate, and 2026 brings you a stronger body and good health. 

All the best and until next time, my friends,

Barb


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Saturday, August 9, 2025

An Old Lady Guide to Music Festivals: 3 Best Practices

I know that many of you are reading the title, shaking your head, and thinking, "Why in the world would I go to a music festival?" 

And, I get that. I am a true music fan. Always have been, and obviously at this point, safe to assume I always will be. But, I understand why people would question spending a lot of money to stand in a field somewhere amongst thousands, and in some cases over 100K, sweaty people in the dead of the hot summer, just to listen to music? It's a good question.

Yes, you will encounter an abundance of drunk, often middle-aged idiots, partially clothed teens, drug-adled losers, and an assortment of other odd eggs. The people watching alone is truly next-level. Are these people you would choose to spend time with? Certainly not, in most cases. 


Another reality: It will also most likely be hot as balls...or worse, boobs!  And, for sure, you'll walk a lot more than you would probably like...especially in that heat. I typically log around 20K steps per day during a typical music fest. 

Of course, this is all dependent on the type of musical festival you are going to. There is Lollapalooza, one of the biggest music festivals in the world, held here in Chicago. This is the Olympics of music fests and not for rookies, unless you are well-prepared. 

There are six stages, but the distance between the two main stages is daunting, nearly a mile, or just under a 20-minute walk. That is, if you didn't have to navigate through a gauntlet of 100,000 other people to get there, which happened to me this year at Lolla. I got caught like salmon swimming upstream against a flood of sweaty, panicked young women leaving the Role Model set and trying to make the Gracie Abrams set at the opposite stage. It was terrifying. 

While not all music festivals are this big, you still need to do your homework. Know the bands you want to see, and where and when they are playing, so you can wisely and strategically chart your course. Backtracking is your enemy. 

That said, you must be prepared, so I'm here to help. You're welcome.

Tip One: Dress appropriately

Dress accordingly. If you are anywhere in my age range, the most important thing is to wear comfortable shoes. And, not sandals unless you like picking straw, sticks, and gravel from between your toes constantly, as festivals often take place in the middle of fields of any kind. 

That seems like a no-brainer, and yet you would not believe the number of people, typically women, who show up in cowboy boots. Nothing like your feet marinating in your own sweat all day, then add a few blisters. Or the high heel wearers. These idiots are easy to identify by the end of the night by their "Night of the Living Dead" zombie walk, along with the leather pants wearers.

Breathable fabrics are also a plus. Again, you will see a lot of tragic fashion choices at music festivals that will make you question whether anyone actually looks in a mirror before leaving their house. For many years, the girls were eager to show off their boobs, often bedazzled with glitter, just in case you missed them on first glance. Bras were nearly nonexistent for a while.

This year, the "fest" fashion trend was wearing shorts that show off the lower butt cheeks. I wasn't aware that was a thing, but not surprising, as I don't interact with large groups of female tweens, teens, and Z'ers. You have seen people wearing pants so low that their underwear shows? Well, this is the opposite. I guess like the "side boob," this fashion fail is a "this too shall pass" proposition. Just saying: not all asses are public-ready. 


It's also important to bring the essentials in your clear backpack that measures no more than 12 inches square. What to bring? Sunscreen, an empty, clear, reusable water bottle, earplugs, a hat, sunglasses, lip balm, tissues (for when portos run out), cash/ID, and a Turkish towel that can function as a wrap, a place to sit or as rain gear (that one was a welcome surprise). 

I usually also smuggle in some contraband...like granola bars, 😉 which I can do because of my advanced age. Another privledge. Food is stupid expensive and often terrible, so limiting the amount you have to buy, when possible, is best.

Tip Two: Don't drink...a lot.

I love my wine and margaritas, so this isn't a drinking-is-bad sermon. That said, for me every expensive, overpriced drink might trigger another trip to the bathroom, and bathroom trips can be tricky; not finding the bathroom but sucessfully finding your way back to your spot. 

Below is an aerial drone view of Lolla. Now imagine having to pee in the middle of that set, make your way through crowd to find bathrooms and then somehow find your way back to the same spot. Or not, I have lost people.  Bottom line: The less bathroom trips, the better. 


If you're a drinker, you're having multiple drinks, so many bathroom trips, and repeat, triggering multiple adventures that take you away from hearing music. I usually will have one strategically timed drink. 

In addition, with all the heat and walking, staying properly hydrated isn't easy, so you'll need constant and copious amounts of water just to survive. You sweat most of the water out, but drinking alcohol dehydrates you. 

I love going to festivals with my best music buddy, Stephanie, who is not a drinker. I never have to leave seeing a band because she needs a refill, and she's as cheap as I am so doesn't want to spend the money or waste the time buying food or shopping. She is also there for the music.

I am aware that many people see concerts as an opportunity to party and socialize, but that often makes it less enjoyable to everyone around you.. And, while I don't want to be a bitch, I am there to listen to music, not listen to drunk people who, instead of listening to the music, are just loudly talking through it. Yes, I'm grouchy because I'm old (see title). It's another privledge. 


Note: While having to pee at music festivals can be anxiety-inducing, the good news is modern porta-potties have come a long way I have a kitten-sized bladder, so this is important. This year at Lolla, there were all flushable, so no more holding my breath as long as possible. Amazing.

Tip Three: Have a good exit strategy

Yes, I know this sounds like this Progressive Insurance "Dr. Rick" commercial, but it's vital. Leaving Lolla at the end of the night, along with over 100K other people, is a thing of nightmares. Riding public transportation with a bunch of smelly, often drunk, teenagers is not pleasant, but neither is a $100+ ride share. All the options are piss-poor. 

So before every concert or music fest, I carefully weigh my exit options. Anyone who has been to a concert with me knows: I always come with a pre-baked strategy of when and how I am getting home. I first do my research on setlist.fm.com to determine what the band's typical set list looks like, and most importantly, how many songs are in the encore. 


My plan is typically to leave mid-encore; you can hear most of the rest as you walk out anyway. This is key, because getting that 5-minute headstart on the rest of the Tom, Dick, and Harries will get you home so much faster. At the end of any music event, spending extra time navigating through crowds or sitting in traffic is just a real bowl of bummer, so follow my lead to avoid it. 

I do think that, at any age, a music festival can be a great time and a wonderful way to open your ears and minds to not just new bands but entirely new genres of music. Bluegrass? Wasn't aware I even liked it until I heard Billy Strings and Michael Cleveland, a blind bluegrass fiddler with several Grammies, at a festival in Louisville, Kentucky. 

If you are a music lover, like I am, the ability to see many bands in one place in one day is very compelling. Start with smaller festivals and pick accommodations that enable you to walk to the venue, when possible. Do your homework beforehand to investigate bands you don't know who will be there. Some of my favorite bands I discovered at festivals. 

I hope everyone is having a great summer.

Rock on.

Barb


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Sunday, June 22, 2025

The Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Greetings, everyone! It's been a minute since my last blog, but as you all know, when the weather improves, I like to play outside, so fewer blogs. Today, however, it's hot as balls out (feels like 100+ degrees), so I'm stuck inside and enjoying my AC while I write this.

Time with the gals

If you remember from my last post, my current perimenopausal state has left me less motivated and tolerant of the inherent shenanigans of online dating, so I have increasingly enjoyed the company of my girlfriends. Most are either single or finally empty-nested and ready for fun travel. I love my work team, but my company and industry are very male-dominated, so the last place I thought I would do girl-bonding was work. 

For the past several years at work, I have organized and managed panels on various topics at our big annual user event, which brings 5,000 attendees. The topics discussed on these panels have been varied; one year, we tackled Workforce of the Future, last year the panel discussed DEI (just in time for its untimely and unnecessary death), and this year we did something different and made it all about the ladies. About time. Am I right?? 

The topic was Women in Tech, so my panelists for the first time were all women. Over the years, I have sweated these panels. You never really know how anyone will react to questions, and when given the floor, who knows what someone will say. You never know when someone will freeze or another won't stop talking or interrupting. It's a delicate balance. Fun, but stressful.

The fact that they typically take place on a stage in front of a crowd only adds to the stress. I wrote Making Peace with the Patriarchy about my experiences last year, as it was enlightening in a completely different way. 

This year, the experience was completely different. I never once worried about my panelists or about what anyone would say. I found my panelists and showed up for the panel. I knew that a panel of women would need no prompting. I knew the conversation would flow freely. I knew they wouldn't cut each other off, unless done by accident, after which profuse apologies would be offered. What I didn't expect was the reaction from attendees. 

The women who attended the session with the panel were engaged, invested, and generous. They were there to fully support each other; no competition. It was truly a safe space where they could be honest about working in a field in which they represent 8.5%, one of the lowest percentages in engineering, second only to Electrical Engineering.

Their stories were eye-opening and sometimes sad. One young female engineer stood up and told the group that she was being sexually harassed at work by a fellow engineer, and despite seeking help through appropriate channels at work, was still working in that situation. Several of our panel members suggested ways in which she could address the problem.

One attendee, who I later found out was a college engineering professor, suggested the young woman learn jiu jitsu. Sadly, she had experienced some scary situations with aggressive male college students. I spoke to her about it later.  She said now she doesn't feel intimidated by them, because she can "drop them like a bag of cement," if anyone makes her feel uncomfortable. Ok, she might not have worded it that way exactly, but hey, this is my blog. 😉

Throughout the Q&A at the end of the session, many issues and challenges were discussed. That same professor recommended jiu jitsu to resolve a few of those, too. It was hilarious, but sad that a professor has to deal with aggressive men in the classroom. I think it says a lot about where we currently are in the world.  While I don't suggest violence as a solution to anything, being able to protect ourselves in any setting is never a bad idea.


I could tell how much it meant for this group, which consisted of students, professional engineers, designers, teachers, and engineering professors, etc., to be together. To share stories and ask for advice. I can't tell you how many of them thanked me and said how much it meant to them that we brought them all together. 

As I predicted, the conversation flowed freely, great connections were made, and the time flew by. It was clear, this opportunity to be together, this bastion of sisterhood, was much-needed. 

Dancing the night...or early evening away

Another new favorite thing I've recently discovered is the Early Bird Club parties. Ladies, if you have not heard about these, it's time to learn more. They are all-girl dance parties "for ladies who have shit to do in the morning" and who doesn't??? They start at 6 pm and then end at 10 pm, when decent people head to bed. Think Blue Plate Special version of a rave, but with loads of happy, dancing women and a few who identify as such.

I was initially thrown off by the all-girls thing. It seemed like for years, when my kids were little and I most needed an occasional wild night out, most of the ladies-only activities involved buying over-priced candles, jewelry, or plastic storage containers.

So I wasn't entirely sure I loved that concept, but that was before I attended one. Now, I'm sold. I can hardly express how much fun it is dancing with abandon and singing every lyric alongside a thousand or so other women. It's a room full of happy women smiling all night, enjoying being together. 


They started a year ago in Chicago and are now in 10 or so cities, so do yourself a favor and check them out if you live in one of the cities. The events sell out nearly immediately, so buy the limit (4 tickets) and invite some friends. My sister and I have done the last two parties, and it's taken us days to recover physically, but what a blast! And, at least we got a full night of sleep! 

"Land the plane, Barb."

Right! I'm all over the place. What is the theme? 

I don't want to get overly political here, I waste too much energy daily being angry about that. But, there have been a lot of changes and proposed changes that are concerning to me as a woman in the U.S., and should be to all of us. 


The vibe is not good, and we've come a long fucking way to be going any other way than forward.  If you are a woman working in a largely male industry, some of these changes are going to impact you. The death of DEI support and the emergence of this "toxic masculinity" trend will undoubtedly be felt by many.

Women rock. The world is going crazy, and things are getting out of balance. Women must continue to fight and push back and maybe karate chop, if necessary, our way out of this. 😜 Part of winning this battle will be aligning with each other.   

The reality is that my daughter has fewer rights today than when she was born. That is not right. I don't think you have to be a feminist to recognize that.

We need each other more today than ever. Women need to champion each other; lift each other up whenever they can. Mentor when you can. It's the right thing to do, and it feels good to do it. 

Blog hits 40K visitors! 

Most likely, by the time I publish this gem, I will have hit over 40,000 visitors to The World According to Barb! Shocking, and "Barb" has gone global, my friends! I have readers in over 19 countries. Below is a snapshot of my blog analytics over the past month, and as you can see, the fastest growing audience sectors are Brazil and Vietnam, places I've neither been nor know anyone there. 



Regardless of the mystery around how all these global citizens are finding it; thank you all! I truly appreciate you all, and it certainly keeps me going and motivated to share more so, please, keep reading and sharing!

Rock on, my friends. Be good, everyone, enjoy the summer, and thanks for reading.

Barb


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Sunday, March 9, 2025

The Adventures of Peri-Menopausal Cinderella

Happy almost Spring, everyone! We made it, or damn near there. I'm sure we'll have a few random snowstorms here in Chicago until May, but it won't stay around long as the worst weather is in the rear view. Well done, everyone.

Some of you remember that for several years, I have been desperately trying to scam an online dating scammer, as it is my duty.  Not all heroes wear capes, after all.

I'll back up for the uninitiated. Approximately 30% of the profiles on apps like Bumble or Tinder are fake. Here's how it works: One dude, probably in Nigeria, China, or Romania, runs multiple profiles and maintains numerous conversations with women until he hooks an idiot and convinces them to part with their money, typically by sending gift cards of some kind or another. 

Here are two examples of scammers that I have failed to ensnare, both times because of my peri-menopausal rage kicked in prematurely before the bait was set.



This makes me furious, as the victims are merely women--and men--who are just trying to find a connection, which is why I typically lose my cool before setting my own hook.

I've had some promising starts but have never made it too far. My method is I swipe on all the obvious scammers and then just wait. Sadly, I think I'm in a particularly vulnerable age group. Older women are easily flattered by attention from younger guys..I get it. Not my first rodeo with younger guys, as I'm sure you all remember from this blog. 

Below is a sampling of some of the real guys who hit my dating app feeds. I know. I'm so lucky to still be out there with so many promising candidates. Adam, for example is 99 and just wants to suck toes. 


The Invisible Years

Here's another fun fact: women my age are absolutely invisible to a significant portion of the male population. I've lived in a gayborhood for the last decade so being invisible to the opposite sex is something I've grown quite accustomed to. Perhaps too much since I don't even glance into a mirror before going anywhere in my hood. 

I won't lie; there are times when this cloak of invisibility has its advantages. Like when you're trying to smuggle illegal items...like a granola bar 😉, into a music fest. No problem! Security people assume we "invisible" women are incapable of such crimes!

But more often than not, it's just a big bowl of bummer. I'll admit it; back in the day, I used to be a "head turner." I don't mean to imply I'm beautiful; I'm not, but I'm cute and approachable enough that men would look at me. Don't get me wrong; I'm probably still a hottie to some demographics; I would slay in a senior living community, but I digress...

Back to the story...

One day I matched with an insanely attractive man on one of the dating apps (photo available, upon request). He fit the classic scammer profile: very handsome, good photos, exotic travel, check, check, check. He was 6'4", which is NOT my thing, but height appears to be most women's kryptonite, so more likely to be a fake account. He was possibly also a little outside my normal dating age range, but it didn't matter. There is no chance this is a real man. 

Anyway, we started messaging on the app back and forth. I'm being patient, polite and on alert for the typical first questions from scammers. No huge red flags but I was certainly ready for them when they started flying.

We messaged a few times and then a few months later, he sent a message that he was going to be in Chicago. Ok, so the one thing that a true scammer will NEVER do is ask to meet in real life. 

Ok, so now I was confused. If he's not a scammer, what is going on? Ah, I got it! He's a crypto bro! That's it! He had mentioned being a crypto investor in a previous message. Cryptocurrency is all the rage and Shitler is all in so that's driving values up. He's going to try and sell me Bitcoin. 

I went back and forth on whether I should go, but ultimately decided that the worst thing that could happen is I spend an evening pretending to listen to a handsome man talk about BitCoin. Or he looks nothing like his pictures and is in reality a 60-year-old unemployed plumber living in his mom's basement. Or he's a serial killer. 

Either way, I felt like it could also be a hilarious blog so I went (you're welcome, readers!). We made plans to meet late afternoon at a small bar. 

Before leaving, I showed my daughter his picture and said, "I'm meeting this guy and he's either going to catfish me, try to sell me BitCoin or kill me. If I don't come back, this is him. Or not." 

I arrive at the bar and there he was! I am stunned to see he is as cute in person as he was in his profile pictures. He is all of 6'4" and he's real. 

We ordered drinks and talked about various things, no huge red flags flying. After a half hour, I could no longer take the suspense. I shot-gunned a beer to calm my nerves and blurted out, "What are we doing here? Seriously? Are you going to try and pitch me Bitcoin?" 

His expression indicated he was bewildered by the inquisition. He finally said, "Well, I actually prefer older women and I think you are really attractive and possibly selling yourself a bit short." 

Assuming that was not a short joke, I was shocked. I honestly never actually considered that option. We had a great time, went to a couple of bars, ate dinner, another bar, drank way too much, and made out in dark street corners and bars. I'm not going to lie. It was exhilarating. I felt sexy and desirable.


Then I got tired. 

We had met up at 5p.m., and now, 5+ hours later, I was losing steam as the multiple drinks were having a sedative effect. I took a glance at my watch and it was 10:45. 

So, while he was in the bathroom, I called my Uber. He looked puzzled when I announced I was leaving. I'm pretty sure he didn't see that coming. People his age stay up late, and guys who look like that don't get bailed on by women before 11 p.m., especially after vibing for the last few hours. 

Cinderella had to be home by midnight or her carriage would turn into a pumpkin.

ChatGPT's version of a Perimenopausal Cinderella

Peri-Menopausal Cinderella's self-imposed curfew is 11PM, as sleep is now her love language. Her carriage is an Uber, and her prince Charming was two decades younger...and possibly a Republican (though I didn't inquire enough to kill the buzz). And, sadly, getting in bed alone with her dogs sounded pretty enticing. 

I got into the Uber and started laughing uncontrollably. I'm sure the driver thought I was insane. I arrived to find Laura waiting at the door, having been GPS tracking my ass all night. Apparently every change of venue caused her to think I was being abducted.

She made me agree to stay on the north side of 40 in the dating world, and as she was walking away, I said, "He's way too tall anyway," to which she flipped me the bird without turning around. 

End of story. Well, until last week, when I was in Houston for a week for work. My "friend" lives there and we went out one night and had a great time...and I almost made it to midnight! 😉 

Wow, that got long but thanks for reading!

Happy Almost Spring, everyone.

Until next time,

Barb

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Saturday, February 8, 2025

St. Lucia’s Beauty vs. My Stomach: A Battle for the Ages

Holy shit! It's already February! As predicted in my last blog, the end of the year literally blew by and now we're already underway in 2025. Not sure why that part of the year always feels accelerated, then we get to January and it seems like that month had a full six weeks, but blessedly, February is short. 

Some of you are aware I spent a good part of January in St. Lucia, working and playing so no one is feeling particularly bad for me. I certainly get that. It was a beautiful respite from sub-zero weather in Chicago, for sure, and I highly recommend it as a temporary cure for any type of Seasonal sadness.



I had planned this trip months ago, and when I told a friend who is a frequent traveler we were going there, she visibly winced. What? I do plenty of research (it's half the fun) before embarking on a new destination, so I was very confused about her response.

She went on to say while the island itself is breathtaking, the drive from the airport to where most stay on the island is brutal. Now, I have traveled extensively, and have encountered bad roads, potholes, wandering livestock, you name it! 

Just ask my two girlfriends who came to Costa Rica with me a few years ago where we literally had to cross a river in our rental car to get where we were going. It's the shortcut we discovered from previous trips, called the Monkey Trail. It saves a good half hour and is certainly more interesting than the main road.

 That's me in the red Audi crossing a river while my friend stupidly follows me. 



Bottom line: I don't scare easily. And, let's face it: part of the adventures of travel is overcoming the unexpected. And, while I do suffer from motion sickness, it wouldn't prevent me from traveling somewhere. After all, there are plenty of medicines you can take to overcome that.

Let's go!

So armed with a patch (but a holistic, useless one), we landed in St. Lucia and I took my Dramamine and was ready to go. 

It always feels so amazing landing in the Caribbean during the winter. Your skin craves the warm, humid sea air as you inhale all the interesting island smells. Certainly beats Chicago in the winter.

We got in our taxi, a small minivan, and got underway. The driver asked if we wanted AC or to have the windows down, and still high on the vacation happiness, I stupidly said, "Windows down!" 

Everything went well for a bit. It smells so different in the islands; an odd mix of sea air and burning trash. Below is the stunning view from the rather mountainous ascent from the airport.



About a half hour in, I started feeling unwell. Pretty quickly, I stopped talking. I could feel the inevitable clamminess descending upon me. 

My daughter Laura is a true introvert with a well-established resting bitch face so in this situation, I am the designated "small talker" and I love it.  I have said before I could engage a wall or other inanimate objects in a conversation if needed.  I'm naturally curious about everything so I really shine in these scenarios, but not this time as I was solely focused on watching the road and staving off my impending nausea. 

Laura very uncomfortably tried to make up for my now-mute status by attempting to make small talk with the driver, but it's really not her strong suit. The silence was fine, I was in full focus-mode.

After what seemed like hours with my eyes intently glued to the road--all while Laura played Suduko on her phone--our driver asked if we wanted to stop for sandwiches. I honestly could think of nothing worse, but as this would require the minivan to stop, and me getting out, I quickly said yes.

We got out and walked over to a little roadside shack with a stone-carved oven, which in any other circumstances, I would have found charming. They were cranking out little loaves of hot, fresh bread, filled with various things. I asked the owner what the fillings were, but struggled to understand her response so weakly just held up two fingers after Laura ordered hers. 

Laura did confirm later that she was concerned after seeing me. I always get a spray tan before going to the Caribbean and am terrible about putting the stupid lunch-lady hairnet on correctly, so she always points out that I have a ring of pale white around my hairline post-spray tan. She said there were little beads of sweat along that line and my pallor was oddly pale, despite the spray tan. Things did not appear to be going well. 

"What did you order?" I rather fearfully asked. "Salami," she responded. I had to fight the urge to run into traffic to prevent having to return to the minivan, now filled with new scents of sweaty roadside salami and those odd outside scents that were suddenly turning my stomach. 

I didn't say much after that, other than to warn my daughter that if she even thought for one second about opening that sandwich in the car, it would be a big mistake. 

I made it for another 15 minutes before asking our driver to pull over while I parted with the remnants of the egg sandwich I had enjoyed many hours prior as well as all the other contents of my stomach, while our driver stood by with a box of handi-wipes and other minivans filled with other tourists sped by, beeping their horns. 

I returned to the car, requested the AC be put on, and asked if we were getting close. The response was no. With an empty stomach, however, I felt confident things would improve. Alas, I was wrong. At one point, we were climbing up a very steep hill, and once again, I felt the urge and requested he pull over. Unfortunately, there was literally just a cliff so he could not. I had to open the window, thrust my upper body out of the window, and vomit all over the side of the minivan. 

I'm not sure exactly how I survived that drive. We had to stop at the grocery to stock up for the week on the way in and I barely even remember that. 

I do recall telling Laura that I was not going to spend the next two weeks thinking about reliving that nightmare. So the very next day, I booked us on a helicopter to take us back to the airport, a 15-minute scenic flight versus another two hours of either vomit-fueled or Drammine-overdosed hell. As cheap as I am, I didn't even blink at paying $200 to fly then drive back to that airport. Best money I've ever spent!


I'm happy to report that the rest of our trip was lovely and largely uneventful. We got to know the taxi drivers quite well during our time in St. Lucia and they all would ask, "When will you come back?' to which I responded:

"Just as soon as you straighten out that damn road from the airport." 

Happy New Year

This blog got long so I won't keep you, but I hope everyone is surviving what looks like a long four years ahead. I won't even broach the topic of politics because it makes me cranky and mad.  At this age, I'm pretty much in that rage state at all times anyway, thanks to perimenopause, but I'll try and stay focused on the positive. It won't be easy, but I will commit to trying.

I will promise to write more blogs this year. I got a little lazy last year, but I'm committing to being better about it this year. How's that for a New Year's resolution? 

Until next time, my friends.








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Saturday, October 26, 2024

Evolving into a Hipper Barb After Closet Cleanout

It's been mentioned several times recently that it's been a minute since my last blog post. It's true and I have little excuse for that other than the fact that it's been an incredibly beautiful summer here in Chicago. 

While fires were burning and temps sweltering in other parts of the country, Chicago was blessed with an incredible summer. I'm sure we will pay the price in January, but summer is our time to shine and I contend no city matches Chicago in summer.



"But it's October, Barb."

Yes, I am aware but the weather is still great so I am taking advantage of it until I can't. In addition, as I have said it before: blogging is something I do for enjoyment so if there is fun to be had elsewhere outside, it's probably not happening. I also have the maturity level of a 20 something so making myself do anything I don't want to do is...well problematic. 

But I'm back! 

New Season, New Style

When I moved to Chicago, I was so overwhelmed with the logistics of it all that I never took the time to properly go through my clothes so everything was boxed up and brought.  Sure, it would have been an ideal time to shed some never-worn items, but see above 👆about making myself do things that are not fun...It could wait.

So, nine years later, I decided it was time to do something about it. I decided to hire a stylist to come and assist me in going through my closet and purging any items that are outdated, worn or no longer fit.  I needed someone, besides my daughter, to shoot it straight and provide a much-needed reality check on my wardrobe.


Above is the outfit I picked out to wear to my 40th class reunion.

I researched a few, found one who was pretty close, relatively affordable, so I reached out via email. 

I have described my wardrobe as "schlubby chic" and I think that still holds true. I haven't worked in an office since the late 90s so my professional attire is sadly lacking. My typical work outfit is sweats and a hoodie, but as a grown-up, I was realizing that I possibly needed a style update.

I wear a lot of casual leisurewear and I own more hoodies than most teenaged boys. Pulling my sweats out in the fall is one of my favorite seasonal rituals. So comfortable, warm, inviting and never judgemental about weight loss. They are the All Stars of my wardrobe, if I'm being honest. 

At dinner that night, I told Laura about the plan. She is typically my in-house fashion consultant so she is more aware that I needed help. She has been telling me for years that I needed to pare down.

A week later, I finally got back to the stylist, Lora, to schedule a day for her to come and dive in. As she was looking at her calendar, she said, "Do you have a daughter named Laura?" I told her I did, but was super confused as to why she was asking.

Yep, you guessed it. Laura indeed thought it was an excellent idea, such a good one, in fact, that she decided to do the same and independently found the same stylist! Small world.

Initially I was annoyed; she totally had snuck in and stole my thunder. Then as the days went on, Laura started dropping little hints like "Lora (the stylist) doesn't like flannels.." What??? An internal panic set in.

I also saw the 12 bags of clothes that the stylist had already ousted from Laura's closet so knew this woman was going to mean business.

Hmmm, so Lora doesn't like flannels, what else might she dislike? I'm guessing she probably is also not a fan of concert tees, the second most common and beloved clothing items in my closet. Considering I want to be buried with those, I had to make sure she was never going to get her hands on those! 

Must hide all concert tees. Check. ✅

Then I started thinking of my favorite hoodies. My favorite is from Purgatory Mountain, the ski area we grew up skiing in Colorado. It's faded, logo is barely visible, and it's decades-old. It's pretty awful looking and also my absolute fav. I knew enough of this stylist to realize it was not safe. 

Favorite hoodies also safely hidden. Check. ✅

The mental wheels came off the bus with this shocker: Laura casually mentioned one day that the stylist told her that scarves were out of fashion, I literally gasped. What? How do mature women hide our sagging "turkey" necks without proper scarfing? 

I recently had the great fortune of spending time with my girlfriends at my 40th high school reunion in St. Louis. I shared this rather disturbing fashion news about scarves with them during a lunch date, and they all collectively gasped with their hands instinctively covering their necks. WHAT???? 

So, you can see where this is going...Scarves now also safely stowed away. ✅ 

Did I question the logic of hiding my clothes from the woman I was paying to advise me on fashion? Sure, I did. But, my love of these items exceeded any logic on the matter.

Then Laura would say things like, "she's probably going to hurt your feelings."

So, now with full-blown anxiety and clothes safely stashed throughout my house, the stylist arrived. I put on my nicest sweatpants and hoodie, which she deemed acceptable, calling it "casual, but elevated casual." 

I heard that a lot. She was kind though and let me keep a few things, most of which she described this way: "I don't hate this." Cool. That meant, it could stay.

I can work with that. 

Lora immediately tackled my closet, then after a couple of hours, she came in and asked where my dresses were. I froze. Oh no, I had not vetted that closet! It was too late though. That was where she discovered my secondary stash of shoes too.

I'm sure you all want to know what I learned as a result of this rather humbling experience. Well, for one, I learned that I am apparently I am a shoe hoarder. I had no idea. I guess the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem. 

There were signs. 

I have a lovely Guatemalan housekeeper who barely speaks English although she has saved nearly every houseplant I own. She discovered my second closet with my hidden shoe stash a few years ago and came in with two pairs in her hands, shaking her head and saying, "Dis...is no good, Bar-barrr-a." Enough said. 


What's particularly hilarious is that now that I walk everywhere, I wear the same 3-4 pairs of shoes every day. Tragically, a few of the pairs that I wear daily were at the bottom of that pile! I told her that she would have to pry my All Birds out of my cold dead hands before I would ever part with them. I think she caught my vibe. There were a few other pairs I fought for, but overall, it does feel great to have less. 

Less shoes, less clothes in general. My closet is now incredibly organized and I get dressed in a snap because I have so few options now! 


The next step is Lora comes back and will help me create outfits with what's left of my wardrobe. I will keep you all posted as I evolve into a much more sophisticated, hip Barb. 

Good grief, this got long so perhaps I will wrap this up!

I hope this blog finds you all happy and well. I hope you all enjoying the "Tripartite" (Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas) season. We all know you blink this time of year and it's the holidays so let me be the first to say Happy Holidays! 

Avoid malls and Home Goods.  Shop online. You heard it here first.

Be well and until next time,

Barb


Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:


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Building a Better Barb

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