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That Tingly Feeling
March 2nd, 2012Written by Lori Stefanac of Lola is 40
So, I’m driving my 8 year old to a playdate when from the back seat I hear,
“Mom? I have a tingly feeling down there.”
Because I am driving the car, I cannot turn around to see which “down there” but I have the general idea.
I guess it’s time we had “the talk”.
Or at least a version of the talk.
Crap.
Just wondering…WHY do these conversations always happen when I’m driving?
It’s the lack of eye contact, right?
Or do the kids just want to see if mere words can make me swerve off the road?
I tell myself to remain calm, speak matter-of-factly, and above all?
NO GIGGLING.
(snicker)
In my most responsible mature mommy voice I say,
“Well, Honey…I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Tingly feelings are normal. They are supposed to happen.”
Stupid speed bumps in our neighborhood. No wonder he’s all tingly.
Hell, I’M tingly.
Mmmmm…nice.
AHEM.
I am totally making him sit on a pillow in the back seat from now on…
a home-made “shock absorber” if you will.
Then I won’t have to deal with my 8 year old’s “Tingly Bits”
My child continues,
“I don’t like it.”
Well, that’s encouraging…I guess.
Or is it?
He should LIKE it, right?
I mean, isn’t that what nature intended?
Could something be wrong with his little package?
I don’t know.
DON’T PANIC!
You’ll ask your husband later.
How am I supposed to field penis questions, anyway?
I try to be helpful.
“Ok. Well, if the tingly feeling doesn’t go away in a minute…you let me know”
Just bought myself a minute.
Go me.
Now think, Lola.
What would YOUR parents say?
“Ummm, just don’t touch it and it will be okay”.
There.
That’s good.
Should I add something about growing hair on his palms?
No. That might be too much.
Overkill.
We don’t want to freak the kid out.
Just want to keep his little hands out of his pants.
Then he says to me,
“I thought if I stomped on it a few times, I could make the tingly feeling go away but it’s not working”
WHAT?
Now I’m alarmed.
“Look Honey. I don’t know much about these sorts of things but I know one thing…
STOMPING on it is NOT a good idea.”
I want grandchildren someday.
“But stomping on it made the OTHER one stop tingling,” he says.
Other one?
You have TWO?
Confused much?
“Other one?” I ask.
“Yeah” he says, “when I stomped on my OTHER foot, the tingling stopped”.
A wave of relief flows through my body and I let my breath out.
I hadn’t even realized I was holding it.
We are NOT talking about boy parts.
We are talking about feet.
More specifically?
Feet that have fallen asleep…
and feet that feel TINGLY.
“You know, I think you are right. STOMP on it! STOMP on that sucker like you’ve never STOMPED before. That will get rid of any unwanted tingly sensations.”
Thank God.
Well, I handled THAT situation flawlessly if I do say so myself.
My parenting skills reign supreme.
Now to find more speed bumps.
Mmmmm…speed bumps.
I Can’t Remember What I Forgot
February 7th, 2012Written by Lori Stefanac of Lolais40
So, I know I blog about my bad memory and limited attention span a lot.
I can never remember.
Yeah. I just checked my archives.
I blog about these things quite frequently.
Anyhow, this time is different.
This time?
My bad memory and attention deficit have gotten me in trouble.
Or they may have.
Again, not so sure.
Nevertheless, I’m gonna fill you in on what I do recall.
My friend and I were talking.
She was telling me something important.
I know this because her eyes were knitted together indicating “importance”.
Or “anger”?
“concentration”?
Maybe just a need for Botox?
Whatever.
What I DO know is that it’s her fault I wasn’t paying attention.
I mean, after the first sentence or two?
It became abundantly clear that this conversation was NOT about ME.
Was I supposed to stay tuned anyway?
I think not.
I started to nod my head when it seemed appropriate as I looked down at my strappy sandals and thought about how delicate they make my ankles look.
I also thought about how I should run out to Nordstrom to see if I can find them in other colors because they are really fucking cute on me.
I looked up eventually and she seemed to be wrapping up.
She thanked me.
For what?
I don’t know.
Apparently I am a really good friend.
Well, no surprise there.
Although I have the sinking feeling that by nodding along during this conversation?
I may have agreed to something.
Hmph. Imagine that.
Well, that brings me to today.
I have this sense that I have forgotten something but for the life of me?
I don’t know what.
If my friend had just had the sense to insert a “wow your hair looks great today” in the midst of her monologue, I might have had more reason to stay tuned in.
Alas, she did not.
I mean, just a simple “Hey, I LOVE your outfit” inserted in the middle of all that jabbering about me pet sitting her kids’ stupid fucking fish while they are away and Imight have maintained some focus.
Umm, wait.
Did I just say something about pet sitting fish?
Shit.
Uh…
I have to go.
I have to make a goldfish run.
The kids won’t know the difference between the new fish and their inexplicably dead fish, right?
cute, huh?
And to think…
all of this nonsense could have been totally avoided if she had just told me that she likes my shoes.
About the Author: Lori Stefanac is the creator of the wildly amusing humor blog, Lolais40. She is a happily married Jewish mommy with 3 boys. She has no skills per se, no real training, and she’s never published a thing, but she figures if she say it often enough and loud enough people will believe it. Or they will just agree with her to make her shut the fuck up. Either reason is good with her.
F&*%ing Perimenopause
January 30th, 2012Written By Lori Stefanac of LolaIs40
So for about a year now, there have been some strange happenings in my life.
I’ve been having significant lapses in memory.
Plus, the people around me are suddenly all very argumentative and unreasonable.
One might even call them all Batshitcrazy.
Almost as if they’ve been bodysnatched.
However, after seeing a segment on the Today show, I realize my issues may NOT be associated with the invasion of Earth by an alien species that plans to take over by systematically messing with the heat and air in my house, making me forget appointments and making other people difficult to get along with.
It may be something else entirely.
Get this…
It may be medical.
It may be…
Perimenopause.
Or as I like to call it:
“Fucking Perimenopause”.
After watching “Today”, I did what any intelligent person would do when suddenly faced with a medical condition.
I Googled.
Now?
I’m an expert.
And being an expert, I’d like to share some of my expertise with you, my friends.
But I don’t really want to address the symptoms of perimenopause.
That’s been done a trillion times, and let’s face it…
anyone can Google a list of symptoms as well as remedies.
What I want to do is help the men.
Really.
Because my extensive research suggests,
and by extensive I mean my single Google Search
that there are very few resources out there dedicated to teaching the men in our lives how to cope with something that undoubtedly affects all of us.
And, face facts, Men.
You really need this.
Because you are fucking clueless.
CLUELESS!
Well, that is about to change.
Think of this as your own personal survival guide to living with someone who is going through Fucking Perimenopause.
And, by the way,
You’re totally welcome.
Lola’s Man-Guide to Surviving Fucking Perimenopause
1. Do not ask your wife when the “horniness” kicks in.
This will likely result in a throat punch, kick to the nuts or bite to the earlobe.
Personally, I believe that you men are confusing the words “horny” with “stabby”
because Perimenopause DOES, indeed make us feel increasingly “stabby”.
2. Do not ever use the following words to describe our behavior
(unless you are not very attached to your nuts…in which case go ahead and soon you will not be attached to your nuts):
*Nuts
*Psychotic
*Crazy
*moody
*hormonal
*ragging
*Batshit
*mad
*insane
*deranged
*demented
*lunatic
*non compos mentis
*unhinged
*mental off one’s rocker
*batty
*bonkers
*cuckoo
*loopy
*loony
*screw loose
*unbalanced
I think you get the idea.
By the way? We will be all of these things.
3. No matter how many times we repeat ourselves due to our newly impaired memory?
Pretend whatever we are telling you is new information.
Because when you tell us we are repeating ourselves we just want to pluck out your eyeballs with a soup spoon.
4. I don’t care how much we complain about our “Night Sweats”.
Do NOT buy us a portable air conditioning unit for the bedroom and call it a birthday gift.
Again, the plucking of the eyeballs is likely.
5. The only way to control our hot flashes (which, by the way, feels like someone has literally lit a fire inside our body)
is with diamonds.
Don’t ask why.
It’s much too scientific for you.
Just buy diamonds.
6. Although in a moment of clarity we women know that the room is NOT alternating between being as hot as an oven and then as cold as the freezer,
it does NOT behoove you to attempt to explain this to us while we are in the midst of these internal temperature changes.
Just pretend to fiddle with the thermostat and we will be happy.
Or at least less murderous.
7. Do NOT allude to our “mood swings” every time we go from laughing hysterically to crying uncontrollably within a 30 second time span.
This is normal…
to us.
We are complex fucking creatures!!
I suggest you adjust.
Hey Guys? Welcome to the “new normal”
8. No matter how many times we repeat ourselves due to our newly impaired memory?
Pretend whatever we are telling you is new information.
It’s really for the best.
9. We may put on a little weight, Guys.
So when we ask you if “these pants make our asses look fat?”
the correct answer is NOT
“no, it’s your ASS that makes your ass look fat!”
If you DO say such a thing?
Just run like hell because nothing short of a miracle can save you.
10. Our sex drive may not increase like all men hope and pray.
As a matter of fact, sometimes it decreases.
The solution to this problem?
Diamonds.
I know.
Seems unlikely that diamonds could cure not just ONE but TWO of the symptoms associated with Perimenopause.
They are truly a miracle mineral.
Don’t ask too many questions.
I know what I’m talking about…I’m a professional.
11. VAGINAL DRYNESS
Why am I telling you men about VAGINAL DRYNESS associated with Perimenopause?
No reason, really.
I just like to type the phrase VAGINAL DRYNESS.
And I suspect it sort of freaks you out.
12. Understand that there is nothing you can do or say
that is going to be right from here on in.
Let me give you an example of a conversation you might have with your wife.
Let’s go back to the fashion question again, seeing that you totally blew it the first time we went over it.
Wife: Honey, do I look okay?
Husband: You look fine.
Wife: FINE? I look FUCKING FINE? YOU are an insensitive ASSHOLE!
Didn’t go so well, did it?
Let’s try again:
Wife: Honey, do I look okay?
Husband: You look AMAZING! Better than you did when we met! If we had the time I’d jump your bones right now because you look so hot!
Wife: Don’t you fucking patronize me! Do you think I’m STUPID? Do you think I can’t recognize SARCASM? YOU are an insensitive ASSHOLE!
See? Not much better.
Guys? You will always be the asshole.
Sorry.
It’s not our fault.
It’s chemical.
Which reminds me…
13. Don’t ever suggest that perhaps we might benefit from some hormonal treatment…
except in the form of a letter,
when there is a safe amount of distance between you and your wife.
Because by YOU suggesting hormonal therapy?
You are insinuating that we are (insert any word from the expansive list given to you in number 2, here)
And such suggestions will result in…that’s right…throat punching, ear biting, eyeball plucking or nut kicking.
Anyway, I hope that this Survival Guide will save some marriages or at least keep some women from murdering their husbands in their sleep.
And women?
Maybe we should check into some Hormone Therapy?
Hey! Watch your filthy whore mouth! I’m just trying to help!
By the way, how do I turn this portable air conditioner on?
You don’t know?
Well, thanks for trying…
I mean FUCK YOU!
I didn’t mean that…
I love you…
Um…
I’m okay.
I believe I set a new record for myself in this post…
dropping the F-bomb a whopping 10 times!
Go me.
I am all kinds of classy.
Ahem.
Fame Has It’s Price…$67.49
January 24th, 2012
So, I was shopping at one of my favorite little boutiques the other day when I noticed the store clerk staring at me.
I pretended to go about my business, but it was actually sort of difficult to concentrate with all of the fucking staring.
Finally, feeling rather exasperated, I look up and we meet eyes.
The clerk asks, “Can I help you with anything?”
She’s being coy.
“No, no. I’m good” I say as I continue methodically working my way through the rack.
You see? I know what’s going on.
This store clerk?
She recognizes me.
I have achieved a bit of celebrity here in my small town and she is staring at me because she knows who I am, but she’s embarrassed to say anything.
Shut the fuck up! She does SO know who I am and is in no way just looking at me because I happen to be the only customer in the store.
Anyhow, I’m used to it by now.
The side glances, the double-takes and even the outright staring…
It’s all just the price of fame.
At this point I have acquired a few pieces that I would like to try on.
Store clerk approaches.
Poor dear…she’s nervous.
I can tell by the way she is walking with a wobble.
Shaking really.
A wobble having nothing to do with her 4 inch heels.
“Can I get you a dressing room?” she asks…shyly.
“Sure” I say.
I am OVERLY friendly to put her at ease.
I mean, come on, Honey, I’m JUST like every other customer…
Except for the FAME…
don’t be NERVOUS!
She leads me to the dressing room and as she opens the door for me she introduces herself.
“My name is Cindy if you need anything. What’s your name?”
That’s cute.
Like she needed to ask.
But I play along.
Afterall, this is a REALLY big day for her.
I’m sure when I leave, she’ll be on the phone, all “OH MY GOD! YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHO WAS IN THE STORE SHOPPING TODAY!!!”
“Lola” I reply cooly.
She acts as if it doesn’t ring a bell.
She’s a pretty good actress.
I try on the clothes and select a couple of things that I like.
As I approach the register the clerk, Cindy, looks up.
“Did anything work out for you?” she asks.
She has had time to compose herself in my presence. I’m glad.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, It DID. These!” I declare as I place the items on the counter.
The items that will undoubtedly be known, from this time forward as “Items Worn By Lola!!”
“Oh, yeah! Those are SO cute!” says Cindy.
Like I, Lola, need to be told which items are CUTE.
Even if they WEREN’T cute? They’ll be flying off the rack as soon as the masses get wind of WHO purchased them.
I snicker a little to myself.
“Yes, they are SO cute!”
I’m nothing if not agreeable.
Now comes the part I both dread yet understand.
I look away and pretend not to pay attention.
I AM modest, afterall.
But it’s all a part of “celebrity” and it’s something that I MUST deal with.
“Um, Lola? Can you just sign this?”
And there it is.
Sweet girl.
Took her ALL this time to muster up the nerve to ask for my autograph.
“Sure! It’ll be my pleasure” I reply with my toothy white celebrity smile and ever present graciousness.
“Where do you want me to sign?” I ask.
“Just right here, on the line” she says as she points to a small piece of paper.
It’s too bad I forgot my autographed 8 x 10 glossies at home.
Oh well.
I’ll make sure to throw them in my purse for next time.
“And who should I make this out to?” I ask.
“Uh, just to the store….Just sign on the line if you don’t mind” she says, clearly embarrassed to be putting me out.
I give her a wink to put her at ease, “will do.”
Then I write in my curvy, beautiful celebrity writing:
FROM LOLA WITH LOVE XOXO
Cindy takes the slip of paper and looks at it for a moment.
Call me crazy, but for just a second?
She seemed…well…almost annoyed.
I don’t get it either.
Perhaps she really wanted the autograph made out to her personally and lost her nerve at the last second.
I decide to let her off the hook.
I grab a business card from the stack on the counter and I give her another wink.
“Here, Honey! This one’s for YOU!”
I sign the business card and hand it to her.
TO MY DEAR FRIEND CINDY! IF YOU SHOOT FOR THE MOON, YOU MAY LAND AMONG THE STARS.
MUCH LOLA LOVE
I know, I know…inspirational.
I get teary eyed myself when I think about it.
Anyhow, THAT awkwardness being overwith, I give her one more celebrity wink and make my way towards the door.
“Ta ta, Cindy! Feel free to tell your friends! Oh! I almost forgot! Did you want a picture? I have my phone!”
She looks puzzled.
She probably can’t understand why I’m SO NICE!
Apparently shyness has gotten the best of her again and she declines the photo.
Her loss.
Anyway, when I get to the door I pause…
I open my purse and pull out my super big diva sunglasses.
I place them gently on my nose and peer around the corner before I continue on my way.
Why am I so careful?
One word…
Paparazzi.
Am I or Am I not a Chosen One | Lola Cartoon
January 20th, 2012Drawn by: Lori Stefanac of Lolais40
Hey, I know the Jews are the Chosen People, but if life is anything like Gym class….I’ll be chosen last.
…
About the Artist: Lori Stefanac is the creator of the wildly amusing humor blog, Lolais40. She is a happily married Jewish mommy with 3 boys. She has no skills per se, no real training, and she’s never published a thing, but she figures if she say it often enough and loud enough people will believe it. Or they will just agree with her to make her shut the fuck up. Either reason is good with her.
Redneck Jews – Myth or Reality?
January 15th, 2012So my husband sends me a text from work this week,
Husband: “Do me a solid. Look into PBR for the weekend.”
Me: “I have no idea what that is. But I will do you this solid. With the understanding that, of course, you will owe me a solid.”
Hubby: “Understood. A solid is owed.”
I take a few moments to Google PBR.
Turns out?
It’s a rodeo. Professional Bull Riders.
This is SO my thing (detect heavy sarcasm, here)
I read the description.
Great. Not only is this a rodeo (see above sarcastic comment regarding this being my thing) BUT as an added plus the event is featuring a Pastor who will be delivering his spiritual message, followed by the live music of a Christian band. To cap off the night? Stories of faith by the bull riders.
Look People, I’m Jewish. And I don’t judge other people’s religions but really?
This is just not appealing to me.
Call me crazy but I’m a tad uncomfortable being the only Jew in a room other than the guy nailed to the cross.
What? Jesus humor’s not funny? Email me at Lolais40@gmail.com. You probably know it by heart by now. God knows you’ve used it before. Oops. Lord’s name in vain. I’m sure that’s another email.
I text my husband all of the details surrounding the event.
Husband: “WHATTHEFUCK? Ok. Let’s look into something else. What’s going on in the world of NASCAR?”
Me: “Really? Kinda had enough of NASCAR with the pre-race prayers to Jesus, cars donning their Confederate flags and drivers with names like White Boy. L’Shana Tova, Y’all! I’m sort of surprised that they don’t hand out yellow ‘Star of David’ arm bands with their t-shirts and beer koozies.”
Offended again? Already? Pissy today, aren’t we? Well, refer to the above email address. I’m awaitin’. That’s hillbilly speak for “I look forward to hearing from you”.
Husband: “I agree. If our boys are going to be exposed to anyone’s deluded belief system, it’s going to be MY deluded belief system. So what can we do in Charlotte that doesn’t involve being prejudice against other religious groups?”
Although I’m not sure that a love of all things Harley and “Big Block” constitute an actual belief system, I’m not going to argue.
Me: “It’s tough since we are one of those rare Red Neck Jewish families. You know, sort of a myth like Sasquatch but actually real. So maybe more like the platypus. You know, rare and strange.”
Husband: “I’m leaving it up to you to make some good wholesome non-religious family plans for us.”
Me: “How about the zoo? I hear most of the animals are Atheists. Except that small radical sect of Muslim Penguins. But I hear they are on the no fly list, so it’s cool.”
Email, Fuckers.
Husband: “You should blog that.”
Me: “Really? Did I make you laugh?”
Husband: “No, but it seems this might be the kind of shit your readers like.”
Me: “I’m way ahead of you. It’s as good as blogged. So, can I blog about your penis while I’m at it?”
Husband: “Why the hell would you want to do that?”
Me: “It’s not for me. It’s the PEOPLE. They demand it. It always comes back to the penis. Besides, I feel like certain things need to be explained. Like how we are a hybrid between Jewish Girl and Red Neck Man…resulting in Jews who attend rodeos and NASCAR races. It bears explaining. Especially the part where I talk about you converting to Judaism and being circumsized.”
Husband: “Do you really think people need to hear about my circumcision?”
Me: “Definitely. Especially when I tell the part about the Moyel being completely unprepared for the large task at hand, and how it took him like ALL DAY to circumsize you, and then he had to retire because he would never be the same after seeing your rod, as it was kind of like seeing the face of God…you know…how some things are just not meant for the human eye to see? Too awesome and shit. See how good I make you look?”
Husband: “Ok. Go for it. Just make sure you don’t forget the huge part.”
Me: “I got you covered.”
Husband: “Too much texty. Not enough worky. I’ll talk to you later.”
And that, my friends is just a glimpse into the lives of “The Real Redneck Jews of Charlotte”.
Of course, that’s just the working title.
Yeah…I’m still working on that whole Reality t.v. thing.
Thought I could ride the “Real Housewives” coattail.
But until I can make this happen?
You’ll just have to be satisfied with Lola.
Shalom Y’all!
And YEEEHAWWW!!
About the Author: Lori Stefanac is the creator of the wildly amusing humor blog, Lolais40. She is a happily married Jewish mommy with 3 boys. She has no skills per se, no real training, and she’s never published a thing, but she figures if she say it often enough and loud enough people will believe it. Or they will just agree with her to make her shut the fuck up. Either reason is good with her.
You Are Such a Bubbie | Lola is 40
January 5th, 2012Written By - Lori Stefanac – Lola is 40
So, the 
other day, I was having coffee with a friend when I take out my lipstick case, hold the teeny, tiny mirror up to eye level, and reapply my lipstick.
“OH MY GOD! YOU ARE SUCH A BUBBIE!” my friend cries. (‘Bubbie’ being the name of a Jewish Grandma, for all of my non-Jewish friends).
I look around. I KNOW she’s not talking to ME because I’m a hot, blonde, fortysomething but look more like a thirtysomething MILF for God’s sake!
Wait. She’s looking at me and tears of hysterical laughter are streaming down her face. She repeats the offending sentence,
“YOU ARE SUCH A BUBBIE!”
“I am?” I ask, suddenly aware of the little old ladies surrounding us who all seem to have MY lipstick case in tow.
Well, I have to dispute this argument. My pride is at stake. So I say,
“WOULD A BUBBIE DO THIS?” Read the rest of this entry “
