Holding Out For A Hero

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I've read a lot of blog posts about Susan Boyle over the last few days. I personally got phone calls from readers after I posted her video on my blog. And I heard today that since the video of her audition on "Britain's Got Talent" was posted on YouTube, it's had more than 12 million hits. She's an international internet sensation. Some people think we're all shallow because we want our talent gift-wrapped in a visually pleasant package, and when someone like Susan comes along and isn't what we expect, we're all shocked. I guess I think my fascination with her is different. I'm fascinated with her because I identify with her. She is the personification of why I started a blog called "Cinderella After Midnight." What happens when you've reached the age when you're supposed to accept that your youthful dreams may not come true? I'm fascinated with Susan Boyle because she reminds me that it's never too late for dreams to come true...if you're willing to risk it all. I mean can you imagine the courage it takes to sing in front of Simon Cowell? Susan may look like a little wallflower, but I think Simon is right...she is a 'tiger.' And she continues to amaze me. I can hardly wait until she and Paul Potts go on tour together.

Spinnin' Wheels Gotta Go 'Round

The Handsomest Man Alive and I have agreed after much discussion and gnashing of teeth that we both need to involve ourselves in a diet and exercise regimen. The parameters of our individual diet and exercise programs have not been hammered out, but I'm hoping that it will not be this laugh out-loud funny to onlookers. I also hope that if I'm caught on videotape doing any sort of atheletic activity that the music is the theme to "Chariots of Fire" and not this crazy surfer guitar. Who can maintain their dignity with that soundtrack?

When you're alone and life is making you lonely...

I spent last night in the waiting room of the local urgent care. It was filled with little kids who were coughing and wheezing with assorted kinds of creaping crud. If I don't come down with consumption after two hours breathing their germs, it will be a miracle.

• While I was there, the Westminster Kennel Club show got on without me. The WKC dog show is the bright light in every frigid February. And if you miss the first night, no worries, things really get going on the second night. It is not to be missed. And this year, a scottie won the terrier group, so things are going to be sweet in the final round. Her bloodline includes the Anstamm kennel -- and my first dog, Angus, was an Anstamm on his father's side. So I'll be cheering tonight for a family member. The top four finishers in the terrier group (seen clockwise above from left): Scottish Terrier: Ch Roundtown Mercedes Of Maryscot. Female born Apr. 2, 2005. Sealyham Terrier: Ch Efbe's Hidalgo At Goodspice. Male born May 19, 2004. Norwich Terrier: Ch Skyscot's Poker Chip. Male born June 17, 2006. Miniature Schnauzer: Ch Earthsong Remedy For The Blues. Male born Dec. 21, 2006.

• Last night was President Obama's first White House press conference. While his performance is getting mixed reviews -- I still can't get over the fact that we have a guy running the country who properly uses the word, 'bellicose.' Unbelievable! Gobama!

• Here's the antidote to Valentine's Day. What kind of crazy dude runs away from Sandra Dee?

• Have you seen Captain Cool on television? I love this guy. My favorite quote: "I was sure I could do it." I would kill for that kind of confidence.

THIS JUST IN: Betty, who currently cohabitates with a white Scottie named Primrose, checked in this morning with this information: "Sadie, the 'real name' of the little Scottie who won the best of the terrier group, is owned by the people who own the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. She is the granddaughter of Bardene Bingo, who was imported from England and won best of Westminster in 1967. Sadie wore the lead worn by her grandmother last night at the WKC. Our Angus was the grandson of the same dog, and I think most of the Scotties in Michigan have a little Bingo in their blood."

I'm stuck in the middle with you

It's Wednesday and I feel stuck in the middle of two weekends. I don't know whether to remember last weekend fondly, or whether it's time to start to pine for Friday night. While I'm mired in indecision...

• I'm following stories that originate in Ojai...and involve President Obama. Two of my favorite things.

• Los Angelenos seem to have no sense of history. The first problem is that L.A. is a twentieth century town -- so nothing ever seemed old enough to be "historical." The second problem is that Los Angeles isn't confined by space -- rather it's defined by it's sprawl. Out here, if we can't tear down and build new, we go down the block and build new. Every once in a while someone points out that some spots in L.A. have thrived despite the circumstances. Clifton's Cafeteria is one of those L.A. spots.

• Remember how hot Michael Phelps looked in his swim trunks? Now we know how unhot he looks doing bong hits. Should we be judgmental? Maybe. His is not the greatest crime committed, but he did receive $100 million to endorse products because he was a clean-cut American hero. Maybe we should start to hold people accountable for their actions, instead of rewarding them for their rehabilitation.

• Cool! Meet the Zamboni of the 2010 Winter Olympic games in Vancouver.

• Today's imagication is a trip in a bottle. Personally, I prefer bubble bath.

Cuts like a knife...and it don't feel right

I have a mass on my left ovary. I'm having surgery tomorrow to find out what it is. Ironically, according to the ultrasound report my right ovary is completely normal. But nothing feels normal anymore. I have never felt so alone in my life.

It all started back in September when I started having a searing pain in my pelvis. It was like there was a red hot jawbreaker trapped in the crook of my thigh. A trip to the urgent care provided medicine for a yeast infection. A trip to the ob/gyn provided medicine for a bladder infection. My pain subsided -- but then came back with a fury after I had worked an eighteen hour shift on Election Day. I felt like I had a gunshot wound and spent two days in bed. I went back to urgent care. The nice doctor told me he thought it was a cyst and ordered an ultrasound. He told me to follow up with my ob/gyn. That's when I learned about the mass.

"It's just a cyst," I said positively.

"It's solid. Cysts are fluid-filled. It's not normal," said Dr. Kittur (which sounds like couture.) "It has to come out."

"But I feel much better now," I pleaded. "Can I just keep it?"

"Sure. We can wait. Do another ultrasound...and then we'll do the surgery in two months."

Getting out of the surgery was not an option...nor was getting out of spending the night in the hospital. I begged, cried and pleaded.

"I've never been in the hospital!"

"Yes, you have," Dr. Kittur responded. "Unless you were born at home, you just don't remember it."

Just my luck, I've managed to find the only doctor in the Santa Clarita Valley with a wicked, dry sense of humor. Just the kind of sense of humor that I usually find irresistible in men. Yessiree, I've met my match in Dr. Kittur, who, by the sound of it should look like Project Runway's Tim Gunn, but instead actually looks like combination of Statler and Waldorf -- the two muppets who used to argue in the balcony during The Muppet Show.


My age and health history make me a high risk candidate for ovarian cancer. In case you didn't know, ovarian cancer patients rarely have a good prognosis. I pointed this out to Dr. Kittur.

"Well, you're at high risk for uterine cancer too," he responded.

Ah yes! Wicked, wicked dry.

My closest friends and family seem overwhelmed with the news. They don't know what to do for me. The handsomest man alive has shouldered the burden of having to spend time with me in the days before the surgery. I've had my moments. He's been as solid as a rock. What else would you expect from the handsomest man alive?

I've also been given a big assist from the Xanax that was given to me by Dr. Kittur. It has helped. A lot. As I was leaving the office with the golden prescription in my hand that day, I heard him dictating his notes in his office.

"Patient has an anxious personality..." he said. I know I should've been insulted, instead all I could think was how that was THE understatement of the year.

I debated about whether or not to blog about my left ovary. It isn't what this blog was supposed to be about -- I was hoping to celebrate middle age. But life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. And so as much as I can, with as much bravery as I can muster -- I will try to continue to share here.

Here's what you can do. I really need to know that there are people reading this blog. I need comments and well-wishes to feel less alone. Of course, I need your prayers, but I'd also love it if someone could call me on the phone and discuss last night's episode of The Big Bang Theory. And please keep telling me that it's going to be okay, even if it's not going to be okay, because my definition of okay may never be the same again.

Cinderella Blows

It's time to add another candle to the cake to blow out. This year, Cinderella's thinking of just setting the whole damn cake on fire. I mean seriously, how did I get this old? I knew it happened to other people, but to moi? Tres tragic! I do think I have more to celebrate now that I'm a woman over 40. My mom once wisely told me that at some point birthdays change from being an embarrassment to a victory. I think she couldn't be more right on. I do know that I have found with each passing year that I become more nostalgic for symbols of my youth. I grew up in the 80s and have a soft spot in my heart for John Hughes' films. A filmmaker from Chicago he seemed to speak right to my Midwestern heart when he made films like "Sixteen Candles" about the high school ugly duckling who got Jake Ryan, the cutest boy in school, as her Prince Charming. Girls of my vintage wanted to play hooky with Ferris Bueller, and make-out with Andrew McCarthy in the stables at his very rich parents' Country Club. I thought John Hughes was a genius all the way up until "Uncle Buck". Whatever your dreams are...I hope you're pursuing them today and every day. That is my birthday wish today in the 45th year of my life.

Daily Hot Flash

• Newsweek's cover girl this week is Sarah Palin. The story inside the magazine is less than flattering, and the Republicans believe the photo on the cover is not so flattering either. They're ticked off that Newsweek didn't Photoshop her 'wrinkles, pores and unwanted facial hair.' I guess I can see both sides of this story. If you're writing a story that's unflattering about a national politician, does a pretty photograph match the tone of the story? Not really. On the other hand, Sarah Palin is a beauty queen who is not afraid to use her sexuality to get what she wants. To be frank, the girl's a hottie and really can't take a bad picture. I know from what I'm talking about on this, as I have an entire file cabinet of bad pix of myself. And in the matter of unwanted facial hair...first of all, if I was Sarah Palin I'd like to thank the boys in the RNC for pointing it out. But honestly, the girl obviously doesn't really have a problem there. If I leave my unwanted facial hair unattended for more than a few hours, I grow a Fu Manchu moustache that could make Hulk Hogan seriously jealous. Now THAT'S an unflattering story...

• Meanwhile, John McCain has changed the new plan he slyly announced during the debate Tuesday night to buy bad mortgages so that it will be more generous to mortgage lenders and more costly to taxpayers. Shocker!

• Shazam! Bloggers are here to save the world.

• I feel so sympathetic for this woman. I have cried when I've accidentally purchased Dulce de Leche instead of Toasted Coconut and ended up with mousy brown hair. I don't want to leave the bathroom, let alone the house. It is very frustrating. I always just go to the store and buy new and start over. Which leads me to wonder...why do they name hair care products for desserts?
  
  
• Anybody else looking forward to seeing Daniel Craig's 007 again soon?

Mama Mia!

• While everyone's been focused on Michael Phelps' abs...yes, I am 'everyone'...the big winners at the 2008 Beijing Olympics are Moms. Mom to a two-year-old and sporting one of the hottest bods of the games, Dara Torres rocks the pool in the Water Cube despite being old enough to be the mom to most of her competitors. And she not only looks good...she kicks their ass! She's bringing home two silver medals to add to her trophy case. Meanwhile, over at the castle of gymnastics, where thirteen year-old girls are wearing eye make-up to look sixteen, a mom competing for Germany took the bronze medal when she stuck the landing. Turns out she flips for her kid. And just so you know...Michael isn't the only Phelps cutting endorsement deals in Beijing this week. Debbie Phelps' wardrobe for her week of bench-sitting in the Water Cube was brought to you by Chico's fashions. And when she gets back to the U.S., she's got another deal waiting.

• I blame Meg Ryan for making me believe in happy endings, and NOW she tells me that they don't come true. Thanks a lot! I'll just have to comfort myself by watching 'When Harry Met Sally'...for the eleventy-hundredth-million time.

• Oh my Lord! That's my church...130 members of the Agape International Choir are rehearsing for a final time before heading to the Democratic National Convention in Denver, where they will perform TENTATIVELY on Monday.

I'm Olympic-addicted!

This commercial has been running during the Olympic Women's Softball competition on Universal HD. I love it because it celebrates women -- chicks who compete with passion. It's a beautiful thing.

Two weeks ago I told someone that I wasn't really looking forward to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. I'm sure I said it in a superior and sarcastic tone. Like I've been there, done that...can't impress me. I'm much more interested in winter sports and I just wanted it all to be over so that we could get back to the U.S. presidential race. All I wanted to know was when Barack Obama would announce his running mate, and who would he pick? Well, it's two weeks later, and I couldn't care less who Obama picks in the Veepstakes, at my house it's all Olympics, all the time.

I have the Olympic FEE-Ver, and the only cure...is more Olympics!

Last Friday night, saintly John Edwards admitted he had cheated on his beautiful and cancer-stricken wife right there on the prime-time television -- and no one watched. The ratings were terrible. Why? We were all watching the fake fireworks over Beijing. Two hours of nameless people from every country in the world wandering slowly into the stadium -- I couldn't look away. It was riveting television!!! Did you get an eyeful of the Romanians' flower dresses? I almost called people on the east coast and woke them up to discuss. Who cares that a seven year-old girl's self-esteem may have been crushed when there's 2008 choreographed drummers pounding out a beat?

If you have only been watching the Olympic sports that are broadcast on NBC, you're doing yourself a disservice. I've watched Water Polo on MSNBC, Equestrian events on Oxygen, and Women's Softball on Universal HD. My new favorite sport -- Synchronized Diving! Best. Sport. Ever. How do they do that? And I love when you can hear each team countdown in their own language. The Mexican divers said, "uno...dos...arriba!"

The first Olympic games that I remember was the Summer of 1972. The games were in Munich and Mark Spitz was the Michael Phelps of those games. I was nine and I watched the Olympic competition on the television in my Grandma's living room in northern Michigan. While I know I was glued to the competition, I don't have a clear memory of the tragedy that unfolded during those games in Munich. I'm afraid that the Russians are counting on the world being as Olympic-addicted as I am as their tanks roll into Georgia.

Just before the Olympics started this year, I clearly remember telling someone that the only sport I liked less than Track...was Field. Yes, I was going to watch some of the first week's gymnastic competition, but I doubted I'd still be watching the Olympics during the second, and more boring, week of competition. Yesterday, KLAC did a preview of next week's Olympic long jump competition. I sat in my car with the engine running for 15 minutes after I got home listening to it. With the price of gas these days, that should tell you how passionate I am about the Olympics.

Morning Hot Flash July 28, 2008

• I fell asleep long before the premiere episode of the second season of "Mad Men" was even at the halfway point. I managed to see the opening montage -- which was lovely, but after that things get a little cloudy. Did Don Draper actually spend Valentine's Day with Betty? No. That couldn't be true. When you have a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call, it's hard to still be awake for the eleven o'clock news the night before. Jay Leno falls in the "I'd love to, but I can't" category, and I have a better chance of sleeping with Craig Ferguson than I have of being awake to see his show. So please, don't tell me what happened on last night's episode of "Mad Men." I have it on my DVR and will enjoy it this afternoon when I get home. Until then, I'll get my fix behind the scenes...

• Helen Thomas is one of the original old broads. I admire her spirit, her smarts and her perseverance. I can hardly wait to see the documentary about her life in the White House press corps.

• A bunch of former employees of Google got together to create something really cool. Only they decided to spell it a little bit differently. Check it out here...it's way cuil!

• I'm always a day late and a dollar short. I'll be mailing my reservation in for next year's conference right after lunch.

• I have always been fascinated with the idea of ghost . I love visiting ghost towns. I think it grew out of my long-time fascination with history. And now there's a website devoted to ghost towns so that you and Caspar can plan your next vacation.

• I don't know about you, but my self-esteem has been in a witness protection program for years.