GRUMPY OLD DIVA - FACEBOOK EDITION

I'm old enough to remember when Facebook was fun. Ten years ago, when everyone was still in a fairly decent mood, you could log onto your page and discover a wealth of information about family, friends, former high-school classmates, your dentist, and that strange couple who live around the corner. Those were the glory days when we all simultaneously changed our profile pictures to giraffes and debated whether that dress was blue or gold. But, times, I'm afraid, have changed. Ladies and gentlemen, Facebook has lost its mojo, and I'm here to announce it is the fault of one generation, and one generation, only. I refer, dear readers, to the Baby Boomers. Now, you all might ask:

BOOK EM DIVA - BATHTUB EDITION

Thanks to my boastful nature, you know that I now have a bathtub of my own. It's all very posh and glamorous as I no longer have to don a hazmat suit to scour the thing prior to my sip-and-soak. (For reference: Our previous tub was used by my teenaged son, husband, AND the family dog.) The best part is I can lounge to my heart's content, sipping tea (aka: wine) and reading as if I am on my own island oasis minus the jet lag. I am lost to the world, until the water gets cold.

Fun Game: Spot four reasons in this picture that I will not be permitted to babysit future grandchildren.

SNOW BIRD CHRONICLES: CHANGE OF PLANS EDITION

This year, we decided to modify our snowbird lifestyle. By modify, I mean axe it. The husband would disagree, as we'll still spend one week a month in the Sunshine State soaking up the rays, drinking on the beach, and complaining when the temperature drops below 75. But, that is not snow-birding. That's vacationing. Therefore, I am now referring to myself as The Vacationista. Join me!

PEG OF OUR HEARTS: GOOD GRIEF

A friend of mine once said, "If you are lucky, you will bury your elderly parents." While that's not motivation to carry a rabbit's foot, it makes perfect sense. The alternative is we leave this earth before they do or lose them when they are far too young. So, my sisters and I consider ourselves fortunate. Our father lived for almost 80 years and our mother for 87. She died on November 30, 2018.

YOU SAY YOU WANT A RESOLUTION

I'm the type who loves to make News Year's Resolutions. I start my list at the beginning of December so I can spend an entire month enjoying my bad habits to their fullest before it's time to relinquish them. For example, the year I gave up my nightly dish of ice cream, I doubled up on the scoops right through New Year's Eve. When I decided to eat "healthy," I had potato chips and Diet Pepsi for breakfast for four weeks straight.  Some might suggest that I deliberately choose resolutions that I have no intention of fulfilling just for the purpose of being extra naughty during the holiday season. How. Dare. You.

LICENSE TO SWILL wine

As my birthday approaches, (cash gifts accepted) it is time to renew my driver's license. This event always leaves me fraught with worry as I'm sure this is the year the BMV will finally catch onto me. You see, I'm not a good driver. Not only can't I parallel park, I can barely back out of the driveway without leaving a tire-sized trench on the lawn.  Obviously, my anxiety regarding this every-four-year task is greatly misplaced, as all I've ever been required to do is pass an eye exam. So, I finally decided that, this time around, I was going to be calm, cool and collected. Then, they changed the rules on me. Pass the Xanax.

Diva's Little Helper

CHEW THE FAT

When I go out to eat with my favorite women, the conversation always turns ugly. Before we've finished the salad course, we've already registered multiple complaints about the most repulsive thing we know. No, I'm not referring to Donald Trump. (Cheap joke, but I'm on a budget.) I'm talking about our bodies. Our disgust for our physical selves is so extreme, it requires an exorcism. We demand that the power of Botox compel our wrinkles be gone. We drown our faces in the holy waters of expensive creams and engage in the ritualistic waxing of the incubus that is body hair. And, don't get me started on the biggest, baddest demon of them all - FAT.  We are so possessed by FAT that the very act of looking in a mirror or putting on a pair of jeans causes our heads to spin. FAT fills us with self-loathing, while also enticing us to judge others. We can almost hear FAT whispering that it gets it's power from two of the deadly sins: Sloth and Gluttony.  Except, FAT can't talk. If it could, it would say things like, "Let me keep you warm! Is your butt comfy enough on that seat or do you need more padding?" So, if it's not FAT buzzing in our ears, telling us that it makes us ugly, undesirable, and unhealthy, who is?