24. If you want to stop seeing someone, TELL THEM.

Recently, I've been in touch with a couple of guys from the past - one from 10th grade, and another from 1990. Both said the same thing about me: "One day you were there, and the next you were just...gone". In each case, I moved away and never looked back. It wasn't personal, of course. I just...moved on.

Years later, having reconnected with people on Facebook, I get to hear what friends and acquaintances thought about me. It's really interesting how we view ourselves and how others view us. Of course, everything depends on a good foundation and healthy self-esteem, and to be honest, I was so busy running away from myself that I wasn't much able to focus on anything but the trip. What people thought of me or how I affected them, it just didn't occur to me to wonder. I assumed I was expendable and forgettable, so therefore I needed to make people nonessential.

Of course I made good friends along the way, deep lifelong relationships, and ultimately managed to carve out a life for myself. But there were, as these two guys pointed out, casualties in my wake. People who genuinely thought they were having a relationship with me and who I just up and left, with no explanation. How could I do that? How does anyone do that? I know for myself it was, getting back to what I said earlier about self-esteem, all about not feeling I made an impact. I didn't matter.

Well, it's years later and I don't do that anymore. Perhaps it was having my son, someone who needed me, who grounded me. Perhaps it was caring about myself and those around me and not wanting to hurt them. Or maybe it was just the natural progression of life - you get older, people matter, life means more than something better around the corner.

This blog is nothing if it's not about learning, moving on, growing up and trying to be accountable. But growing up doesn't really have anything to do with age, as I'm learning. I have a friend who's 24 who seems more mature than some guys twice his age.

One in particular, and the one who brings me to the title of this post.

Remember the guy I blogged about a few weeks ago who convinced me to go out with him even when I tried to say no? The one I got on here and talked about his being the adult in the situation? You know, the 48-year-old skateboarder? Well, it turns out going against my instincts was not such a good thing. It turns out that "excited" feeling one gets in their stomach is actually a warning sign, a danger signal. But we know that, don't we?

We always do know better, but sometimes it takes behaving like our younger selves to find out that our experiences weren't for nothing.

And sometimes it takes someone else behaving like our younger selves as one last kick in the gut: Dude, U R 2 Old.

Rules are made to be broken...?

I just realized it's been nearly three weeks since I last posted. A lot has happened in these weeks, the main (huge) event being the death of my birth mother on November 20. I'm also realizing that the last post was about the death of my friend Ken. Wow. What a few weeks. What a year. What a decade. I am looking forward to 2010, despite the fact that I've never really used years as markers; rather it's been events that have imprinted themselves into my memory and surfaced to remind me of what happened when. There was the move to Miami, New York, L.A., the birth of my son, the move to Austin, the move back. Then of course many things in between - sometimes it was the guys I went out with who stamped a date into my head; I could remember the music I was listening to or the color of my hair. Recently, I met up with someone I'd been involved with and he was shocked to see my long hair - he'd only ever known me as a tomboy with a buzz cut, hopping from club to club in New York. But, we all must grow up...

...which leads me to this post. This confession, if you will. One I'm embarrassed to have to admit, and not because of what I did but because of the rigid rules I so publicly rant about. So here it is: I went out with a 48-year-old who used to be a pro skater and who - gasp - still skateboards. I went out with him despite my rules, despite my belief that yes, he's probably too old to be on that skateboard, because of all the things I mentioned way early on and do still believe (broken bones, family to be accountable to, etc.). I went out knowing who he was, what he did, and that I was being a complete hypocrite. I went out with him even knowing I'd have to come here, 'fess up, and take the heat.

On the phone with him one night, I said "I'm not a teenager!" and his response was, "That's right. You're not. Now grow up and come meet me...". As I took his words in, this person I'd offhandedly assumed was a man-child, discounted over a piece of wood and some wheels, it occurred to me he was, in fact, the adult in this situation.

Because really, it takes an adult to see past the outside to get to the cool stuff inside. In the end, rules are ever evolving - made to be broken.

At least that's what I'm telling myself.

23. Don't Put Off Today, What You Can't Do Tomorrow

This one comes hard-learned. In the photo to the left is my friend Ken Ober, who died this past weekend (also in the photo is my friend Stephanie). I hadn't talked to Ken in a couple of months, but maybe it's been longer. There'd been email exchanges, perhaps a random phone call here and there, but I always thought there'd be time. He wanted to get together awhile back. He was willing to drive over, pick me up at whatever time I wanted, and bring me home. Yet somehow I managed to not go. It wasn't about him. It's sort of been like that with most people lately. I blame it on not having the time; life is too busy, I have too much to do. But somehow, over the past couple of years, I've just let things slip past me. Friends I adore, things I love to do, have just little by little started to fade away. Partly this is because I am busy - that's what happens when you're a single parent for most of the week. Single parents are in worker bee mode. That alarm rings at 5:45 a.m., and you are on the go until 10:00 p.m. There's not an ounce of spontaneity on those days.

However, I do have two nights a week to myself so why have I let this happen? I write this not really having an answer. This is, perhaps, self-examination on the fly. And why is it so many of us don't really stop to think about things until something terrible has happened? In this case, the death of one of the kindest, funniest, most generous friends I've ever known.

I used to be one of the most social people I knew. In my 20s, I was out every night. I loved crowds, parties, clubs. I even loved the packed subway. I found it exhilarating. Everyday was an adventure I couldn't wait to explore. Of course, by 31 I was pregnant and life took a different path. Now I was up in the middle of the night not because I was rolling in before the sun came up, but because I was breast-feeding. Yet I was still social; dinner parties, drinks with friends, art openings. When I was in Austin, I was going to see my friends play music or hosting parties at my house all the time. I met new people constantly.

Now, at the time when I probably should be social (single, in the last few years of being somewhat okay to look at, still in possession of bodily and mental functions), I'm the most isolated I've ever been. It's not that I don't go out - it's just that I go out and I'm home by 9:00 p.m. most of the time. No kidding. Now there's a nice little life I've carved out for myself, right? Meanwhile, life goes on. My son gets older, I get older. Time doesn't stop because I have.

If I constantly say no, eventually no one's going to ask. If I don't answer the phone, it will stop ringing. If I don't go see friends I've known for nearly 20 years, they will go away and that is a very, very sad lesson to learn.

I vow to call my friends, make plans to see them, and open myself up to the adventure that life still is.

That's probably the corniest, most embarrasing line I've ever written and I am cringing, but it's message is important. To me, anyway.

Everyone is probably blogging about this...

But, just watched the season finale of Mad Men, and how is it that I'm siding with Don? Especially given that my own situation with my parents divorce was not so simple, not so cut and dried that either one was right, really. It was a complicated situation, and I probably do side with one more than the other, but for the sake of my own peace in the family, and my son's place in the family, I don't choose sides. It was hard, it sucked - and I know that because my own relationship didn't work out. I made bad choices that affected my kid, and will likely haunt him for the rest of his life. I mean, again - we're Upper Middle Class in a First World Country so really, how hard can it be? His parents broke up, that wasn't great, but he still gets love, good education, basketball shoes and utter devotion from both of his parents. When he comes to me later with his problems with me, I'll step up - but I'm saying now that he has it pretty good, under the circumstances.

Having said all that, watching Don Draper cheat for the past few years, seeing how he grew up and how his family life has played out - I don't know. I don't think he was so bad. So he cheated. Big deal. I mean, okay - commitments are made, vows are spoken. I guess I get that. But don't both people have to hold up their end of the deal? As in, love and understanding and friendship and compassion? And yes, I know - he lied about who he was. That was a big one. But in my viewing of the show, what I took from it, Betty absolutely loved getting that information about Don's past, learning he was Dick. She wanted OUT. I get that too. It was the 60s. Women were being subtly, and then not so subtly, told that their lives as housewives were meaningless - they should think about themselves for a change. It was the beginning of the "Me" generation (of which I spoke about in the blog just before this). In my view, Betty took that and ran with it. But she's sealing her fate - running from one guy to the next. That was absolutely not the point of the women's movement - from what I got, it was to go on without the men. Make it on your own. Whatever. None of it worked. Betty and Don are just the T.V. version of many of our parents, though ours not so glamorous - but at least, for the first time in my memory, portrayed realistically and sympathetically.

At any rate, as much as I am for the girls and always ready to take it for them, I'm on Don's side on this one.

22. It's not all about you.

This picture is from Hideous Kinky, which to me is the ultimate depiction of the "Me" mothering.

Okay, this might not be typically on blog point, but I think that what I am feeling and planning on conveying is related to aging gracefully, even if in a round about way.

I've had an interesting couple of weeks and I'm just now beginning to process all that's happened. I don't need to tell everything, but some of it is important, and it's particularly important if you're someone who questions every move you make, every word you utter, every look you give or breath you take. Some of it's private and would hurt people I love, and therefore, even if I find it important to a point I'm trying to make, out of respect for those people, I will refrain.

My birth mother is terminally ill and two weeks ago my son and I got on a plane to visit her, likely for the last time. I met her when my son was a baby, and he's now 11. I've kept in touch with her over the years, including a few visits and many phone calls and emails. I have siblings, one whom I don't know very well because he is, sadly, in jail and has been for a long time. One sibling died before I had much of a chance to get to know him, but there are two girls - much younger than I - and we are close. I've written essays and emails to friends and talked to therapists. I have left no stone unturned when it comes to figuring out what I feel, how it affects my life, and more importantly my son's life where this family is concerned.

Yet, when it came time to face the situation - to take a look at this woman who gave birth to me and was now dying, I wasn't sure how to feel. No one had told me what this would be like. There was no guide, no road map. What the hell was I supposed to be feeling? I felt like an outsider, to be honest. Was there something I should be feeling? Shouldn't I want to do everything in my power to help, to caregive, to pitch in, to be a good example to my son? What was I so scared of? But then something amazing happened. I was able to see her for who she was for the first time since I'd met her. There was great freedom in this. I didn't have the growing up issues my sisters did - I was removed, in a sense. We all shared blood, yes - but I'd had a whole other life. Other parents and siblings and a lifetime of memories with them, some good, some bad - some life altering. But a whole other family, nonetheless. With that came power and knowledge and compassion and perhaps some perspective I could share.

The thing is, for those of us born to parents of the 60s, those of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s, we really had to figure life out for ourselves. We were, in a very real sense, on our own. That "Me Generation" was very real, and I was a part of it. I know now how much my parents loved me and I have spent many years working through it and trying to overcome my alienation from that life. It's worked. I'm close to my family, we talk a lot and I see them twice a year and they're always there when I need them. But growing up, and my mom admits this, it was about them. Their needs, their desires, whatever worked for them and however us kids fit into the picture was kind of how things went. I'm sure, in fact I know, they thought they were doing a good job and I have too much love for them now to tell them "You know what? It sucked. It hurt. I was lonely. I had no idea what to do and no encouragement and way too much opportunity to get in trouble."

Back to Santa Fe and my dying birth mother. After seeing the dynamics that I missed by not growing up there, it finally occurred to me why I was there. I was there to assure her that I did not hate her for giving me up, I was there to try and convince her to let go of her wound and anger, and to start letting her daughters go so they weren't left with those same wounds after she was gone. It was now her gift to be able to say to them "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I messed up. You didn't deserve that." It is our job as parents, after all - to let our children have a voice. Let them tell us how mad they are and take it in the gut. It. Is. Our. Job.

One day my son will come to me with a list of all I've done wrong, and you know what? He'll be right. I will have to look him in the eyes and say "You're right, I was wrong, I'm sorry.

I hope it's not hard, because in the end it's not all about me. Or you. It's about them. Children or friends or siblings. Take it in the gut. It's the parting gift, I believe.

21. Costumes to avoid if you're over 35

1) Playboy Bunny. Or, any bunny for that matter. Leave the ears and the fluffy tail to the pre-schoolers and the Millenials.

2) French Maid. (see above, minus the ears and fluffy tail)

3) Amy Winehouse. She's younger than you. If you really have a hankering for a f****d-up rock and roll chick, try Debbie Harry or Nancy Spungen.

4) Cheerleader. Aside from the obvious , it's just boring and unoriginal.

5) Prostitute*

6) Princess. Um...well, it seems pretty clear, doesn't it?

7) Naughty Nurse. Again, there's simply no reason for it. It's not tasteful, and it's clinging to a bygone era.

8) Flapper. Another one to leave for Generation Y.

9) Catholic School Girl. Not much to say about that except: Don't.

10) G0-Go Dancer. (see above)

* An exception to this is going as a rode-hard, hung-up-wet street-walking hooker. But, that would take a very healthy ego to pull off. God bless you if you can do it!

There are plenty of options out there, if you're still into dressing up. I can't remember the last time I did, simply because my son begs me not to do anything that might call attention to the fact that I'm his mother, and even a benign witch's hat or Zorro mask would, according to him, scar him for life. However, if I were going to dress up I might try something a little more original than an angel or a devil or Cleopatra. I don't know. Maybe I'd just get a little baby powder, put it under my nose, and pretend I was in Miami in the 80s.

Of course, I'd have to do that an an adults only party. And who knows when that might be?

Wherever you are, whatever you are, be safe and Happy Halloween!

A Deviation From My Norm...

I've decided that once in awhile, it's nice to hear what someone else has to say :), so I've invited my friend Allison Burnett to answer a few questions.

I’ve known Allison since the early 1990s. We’ve weaved in and out of each other’s lives over the years, always staying in touch. We’re both highly opinionated people, and we’re both parents. You’ve seen my thoughts in this blog about parenting and aging, so now let’s hear what Allison has to say.

Q. Los Angeles has as many nannies as gardeners. Any thoughts about that?

A. Anyone who can afford either or both should thank his lucky stars. If nannies and gardeners are used as helpers instead of substitutes, they are a wonderful thing. Chloe and I both work at home, so our parenting of our two little boys is continual, and yet our nanny is a god-send.Similarly, Chloe has begun an organic vegetable garden, and yet we are relieved to have a gardener to tend to everything else.

Q. The Catholics have Pre-Cana before they are allowed to marry in the Church. Do you feel an equivalent, say "Pre-MamaDada", might be a good idea and possibly change the direction of this world? (oops, no leading questions, Sarah!)

A. I think people should have children with their eyes wide open, so if you are a parent and you have a friend contemplating having children you should try to talk them out of it. Tell them in gut-wrenching detail about the sleeplessness, the years-long house arrest, the rounds of flu, the vaccination worries, and the overall complete subjugation of your needs in favor of the child's.If you succeed in talking your friend out of it, then you have done the world a great service. The last thing the world needs is more unprepared or ambivalent parents.

Only those who welcome these sacrifices with open arms are ready for parenthood. I think the same thing about owning a dog, by the way. So many people buy dogs and have children for the same reason: to get love. In fact both are about giving love. I think a person should have children when his heart is overflowing not craving.

Q. What are your pet peeves when it comes to modern parents?

A. I am militant to the point of frothing when it comes to maternal abandonment of children from birth to about five. And by abandonment I mean spending a single night away from them, unless it is an absolute necessity, such as when the mother is giving birth to another baby.

I know I am in a tiny minority here, but I think leaving a young child without its mother is playing Russian Roulette with a kid’s sense of well being for the rest of his life. Many parents think nothing of taking a few days off, or even a whole week, from parenting. They fuck off to Europe or Mexico, and, after they get back, all they talk about it how hard it was for them to leave the baby, how they worried so, but that they knew it was so important for their marriage, and, thank God, they had their sister/mother/nanny to take care of the baby.

In their narcissism, it becomes all about them and their fears, worries, and needs, without a moment’s concern for the psychological well being of the child. And there is no one to correct them, because the child cannot speak, or, if he can, he is reassured, smooched, and gifted into silence. Any damage that has been inflicted goes underground. But not forever.

Premature separation from mother can be devastating. Even apes show lowered serotonin levels when separated from their mothers! Why do we think we are any different? Can you imagine what it is like for a small child to reach for his mother night after night and find her absent? What does this tell this child about his importance in the world, his self-worth, and his mother’s priorities?

Who knows, maybe your kid is resilient and it won’t damage them, but you are playing Russian Roulette, all the same, and you will not know if the bullet was in the chamber for years to come.

Just so you don’t think I am singling out mothers, I think it’s crummy when fathers take off, too, but there is no doubt that the maternal bond is far more powerful. I do not travel. and am entirely entwined in my boys’ daily lives, and yet when they are in distress, she is their only true comforter. She is the only one whose physical proximity heals all wounds.

There are as many bad parents as there are bad actors and bad drivers. Everyone thinks that the bad parent is the other guy. Even when we make stupid mistakes, we console ourselves with “Well, I did the best I could.” One thing is crystal clear to me: if you are going on vacation without your small children, you are not doing the best you can.

Q. What do you consider graceful aging?

A. Understanding that your job is to help the younger generations grow up, not to upstage them. Living from the knowledge that you had your turn; now it's theirs.

Q. Finally, what do you consider ungraceful aging?

A. Chopping your face up with a scalpel, injecting fat into your face, sucking fat from your thighs and stomach, dying your hair in an egregious way, appropriating the slang, fads, and fashions of the next generation, and having sex with people young enough to be your kids.

Peace out, yo.

Allison Burnett is a novelist and screenwriter, living in Los Angeles. His first novelChristopher was a finalist for the 2004 PEN Center USA Literary Award. His latest novel,Undiscovered Gyrl, was published this summer by Vintage Books. It is a must read and you should buy it immediately at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Undiscovered-Gyrl-Vintage-Contemporaries-Orig/dp/0307473120/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1250271119&sr=1-1

Please also visit Allison’s website: http://allisonburnett.com/

Thanks Allison, and I must admit to agreeing with 99.9% of the above. Readers, we welcome your comments - agree, disagree, violently agree or disagree, approve or disapprove, violently approve or disapprove. Bring it on!

20. To paraphrase Catherine Deneuve: You have to choose your fanny or your face

It's one thing to be in shape, but quite another to be a silhouette. And by the way, this applies to men as much as it does to women. At least three shows on T.V. this past week featured guys in their 40s who used to be hot, but have now become manorexic. What happened? Am I just old-fashioned for preferring my men not to have an eating disorder?

Actually, I dated a guy when I was in my 20s who, after every meal, would get up from the table and disappear to the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes. It took me years until I put the pieces together and had that "Oh, yeah!" moment. It wasn't as pervasive then, though he would look in the mirror and proclaim how fat he was (which even in my denyeverylittlebadthingabouttheguyI'mseeing frame of mind was a jump out), but I just chalked that up to his being an actor. Hey, I thought I was fat too. What girl in her 20s didn't?

To stay on point, though, Catherine Deneuve was right. Once you get to a certain age, and of course that varies, you need a few extra pounds. People argue about this because of all the options there are now that didn't exist when Ms. Deneuve made that statement: Restylane, Botox, surgery, etc., but the options can be dangerous. Of course, a little here and a little there is fine, it's even refreshing. But the problem is, people do too much of it.

Did you know that, according to some studies, forty-two percent of girls in 1st - 3rd grade want to be thinner, and eighty-one percent of 10-year-old girls have restricted their food intake so as to be thinner? It's not just girls; boys account for five - ten percent of anorexia and bulimia cases. I find that horrifying.

I also find it horrifying that if this keeps up, in 40 years Western Civilization is going to look like the set of the movie "Brazil". And yes, this is the second time I've used that reference in recent history, but is there a better one?

19. As hard as it may be, don't be bitter

There's nothing graceful about being bitter. It's also completely understandable if you are. Life can be hard, disappointing, not what you thought it was going to be, painful and at times dull (though I welcome the dull moments, frankly).  You get to a certain point and if you're not where you thought you would be, it can be infuriating. What happened? What didn't happen? What did I do wrong? What wrong was done to me? Relationship failures, career letdowns, family issues, and of course these days the horrible economy and devastating state of the world. It's truly enough to drive you insane or, become bitter.

Here's the thing, though: Don't. Don't let yourself become angry and spiteful and hateful. It's the most aging and unattractive quality you can have. Despite how you look to the rest of the world, it feels horrible to be that mad. And if you have kids, look at the message you're sending them: I didn't get exactly what I want, so I'm going to stomp my feet and hate the world. Guess what that's going to do? One of two things: either they'll grow up and feel the same way about life, or they'll grow up and pity you for having behaved that way. Either scenario, it ain't pretty.

I'm not saying this is easy. I'm not saying I haven't had my moments of being pissed off and feeling sorry for myself. More than I care to admit, to be honest. But it does nothing for my life, it does nothing for my outlook on life, and it certainly doesn't change anything. All it does is take away the light at the end of the tunnel, add some wrinkles, and increase my chance for an early death.

Life might not be exactly what you want it to be, but if you're too busy being mad about that, you've no chance to change it. 

As my friend told me, "The windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror". 

18. Be as you want to be seen.

Does that make sense? I've been "lecturing" here for the last few months about aging gracefully, but really, that can only happen if you want it to happen. Growing old is a part of life, but growing up and accepting that can be difficult - at least, for some people. I do know others who handle it beautifully, though most of them don't live in L.A. This is one of the hardest places in the world to get older. I'm sure if everyone over a certain age (particularly women) could be put to pasture,  it would happen. There'd be a big "old" ranch in Death Valley. Cruel, cruel, cruel.

That aside, aging is inevitable. No Botox, Restylane, face-lift, Porsche, young boyfriend or young girlfriend is going to change that. It doesn't mean grab the "Mom jeans" and ignore the roots of your hair, or start wearing gray pleated pants and  let your beer belly grow. Conversely, it also doesn't mean competing with people half your age. There's a balance. 

There's a reason for cliches, and "Age is a state of mind" is one of those that ring true. Regardless of an anonymous comment to one of my recent posts, and despite the title of this blog, I don't spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about my age. Actually, I think I look and feel better than I ever have - though I do miss my 20-year-old skin and not having to work to stay fit. 

Living in Los Angeles, though, is hard - and being single over 35 is even harder. But if you can "be as you want to be seen" (and in my case that's more than simply how I look, it's also attitude, kindness, graciousness) then it will weed out a lot of people. Did you really want that middle-aged divorced guy in the Ray Bans, Panama Hat and concert tee who's got 750 women friends on Facebook? Or the woman who looks like she stepped out of the movie "Brazil"? I don't think so.

I told my son last night to move forward, don't listen to anything unless it's constructive, and fight the fight no matter what. 

The same advice can be given for aging gracefully. It's not impossible, even in Los Angeles.

17. Some things to avoid if you were born before 1977

Clubs (as in, nightclubs): Once in awhile, of course, it's fine - if you're with a group and it's spontaneous and you want to dance. But an every night type of thing? No. Club days are over. Make room for the young. The older people did that for you when you were starting out, now it's your turn. Move over. Go home and watch "Mad Men" or catch up on that stack of New Yorkers.

Cocaine: Not much to say about this, except...Ew.

Skateboards: I've said this before, but it warrants another mention because today I saw a guy who was pushing 50 skating down Abbot Kinney. I was worried and embarrassed for him.

The Zooey Deschanel haircut: It looks really cute on her. She's adorable. She's young. She can pull it off. We can't.

Sideburns: Aside from being supremely unattractive, it reeks of pretentious hipster and that truly is a mission only for the young.

Standing in line at Undefeated for the newest pair of kicks: (or even referring to them as "kicks") Come on. This is a no-brainer, but I swear I've seen guys out there that are days away from collection a pension.

Kabbalah Red Bracelet: This has nothing to do with age, it's just annoying. Yet another "spiritual" fad. In the 18 years I've been in and out of L.A., I'm guessing there's been as many celebrity spiritual fads. It's tiresome, it's not believable, it's identity-less. Keep your spirituality to yourself. It's meant to be private, not shared with the rest of the world simply to prove you're deep.

If anyone has any more to share, feel free to comment. Once again, I don't mean to be harsh but sometimes you've gotta be cruel to be kind...

16. Do what you have to do to hold it together for the kid

Remember the days when crazy was interesting? There was a time I did my best to embellish my childhood, making it seem as nuts and dysfunctional as possible. Here's a recurring question in this blog: What was I thinking? And it's accompanying answer: Clearly I wasn't.

I rushed off to therapy when I was 20-years-old. Not that I didn't need it, but to be honest, I think my main motivation was because I thought it was "cool". It was cool to be traumatized, and if there was a label, I put it on myself. I'm not kidding. Looking back, I'm shuddering not with shame, but pity for my young self.

But I digress. This is now and what I believe now is that it's likely most people have a level of depression. At least, most people who can afford it. That is, Upper Middle Class in a First World country. Some real, some indulgent.  There's a lot to be depressed about, truthfully. We live in a world filled with poverty, sexual deviation, child abuse, drug abuse, lack of health care, obesity, starvation, disease, uneducated morons, violence, war, racism, classism, sexism, religious fanaticism, dwindling water supply, general malaise and stupefying denial. Not to mention personal problems: divorce, job loss, loneliness, too fat, too thin, not thriving in your career, unresolved childhood issues, illness, family dynamics and countless other day-to-day things that make up a life and cause stress.

So you're depressed. I am too, if not actively at the moment, have been and am sure to be again. When I was younger (pre-kid), I indulged myself. I took to bed, chain-smoked, slept all day, called in sick to work, rented sad movies and cried, bored my friends with hours of self-pity on the phone, and fed into the wounded narcissism. Hey, I was young and Upper Middle Class in a First World Country - what else was I to do? (Not to mention, I had some real issues going on.)

These days, because I'm a mom, I choose other ways to deal with my stuff when it comes up. Not getting out of bed and crying all day when there's someone who needs a meal or a ride to school is no longer an option.

There are a myriad of options out there and no reason to judge oneself with what they choose (unless it's, you know, the meth pipe or the daily bottle of Popov). Lately, I've been trying long walks and exercise and watching Vanguard journalism to check myself and remember that I'm UMC in a FWC. If I needed it, though, if things got really bad and I legitimately could not get out of bed - then I'd hit the shrink and get a prescription. I don't understand the prejudice against anti-depressants. I think shaming anyone for anything (unless it's Phillip Garrido or Josef Frizl or...) is such a small-minded way to live your life. But that's a rant in a different direction.

The point is, get some help. Not just for yourself but for your kid, because you know what? Some behavior is learned and unless there's a genetic pre-disposition for it, depression can be mimicked. 

Do you want for your kid what you have? I certainly don't. 

To prove my point...

That's me, second from left, at 23. I was wearing almost the same shirt I'm wearing below. I was also wearing paint-splattered torn jeans. Guess what? I bought a similar pair about six months ago. When will I learn?

15. Find that line between age appropriate and old...

(Age appropriate? Hmm...boat-neck shirt I wore in my 20s and pigtails. You tell me.)

I think about this a lot. Earlier I was looking at The Sartorialist (if you like fashion, check out this blog http://www.thesartorialist.blogspot.com/) and loving on the way these girls dress. I actually found myself thinking about what was in my closet and how I might throw something similar together to get that "whimsical" uncontrived look. Of course I just randomly paired those early 2000 Marc Jacobs flats with that tattered denim shirt, leggings and vintage scarf. I don't have to take a moment to think about what I put on, it just comes so naturally to me!

Please. There are days when I wish I didn't have to leave my house for what I believe to be a lack of anything acceptable to wear. I have never been smart about what I buy. I've always bought with my heart and not my head (much like I've lived the rest of my life), so therefore my closet is a mess of paint splattered jeans, flannel shirts, beautiful uncomfortable shoes, nonsensical skirts, expensive dresses that I rarely have occasion to put on (unless playing dress-up for someone), and lots of t-shirts and sneakers that I am way too old to wear.

Which brings me to my point. What is that fine line between dressing your age without dressing "old"? As a guy, if you're sporting a backwards flat hat (earlier blog) and skinny jeans and you're over, say, 34 (I think I'm being generous), you really do look like an idiot. Sorry, but true. And if you're a woman over 34 and wearing short cut-off shorts and gladiator sandals -- well, same story. It doesn't matter if you look amazing for your age; this is L.A., most people d0. It's about using your instincts and your inner elegance and doing the right thing. 

I violate my own rules all the time, and I have my moral compass in the form of an 11-year-old in the next room to remind me on a daily basis where I'm messing up. Clothes have been a hard one to give up. I read recently (and this is a loose memory) that we stop emotionally aging at 24. True or not, it makes sense to me. I still eye the latest fashions and the cute 20ish boys as if I belong there. I still feel the same wounds, the same joys, the same desires. 

But, I'm learning: just because you can doesn't mean you should.

A repost...Don't dance in front of your kid!

I've been asked to re-post this; while it's true that it's easy to scroll down and find it, my friend pointed out that new visitors to the blog might not do so, and another friend said they hadn't seen this one at all. So, since it's a favorite I'm going to repost it.

I also want to add one thought about why kids don't like their parents to dance in front of them. I touched on this in the comments section, but I want to elaborate. Dancing sexualizes a person (I mean, unless you're square dancing at Gilley's or doing the Polka at a relative's wedding) and for a kid, that's almost as bad as dying or showing up to school naked. A subject to never, ever even think about, much less have to witness when Mom or Dad are grooving to Shuggie Otis or Lil' Wayne.

Unless you're part of the Bolshoi Ballet or Alvin Ailey or some other company where you're making the big bucks, don't do it. No exceptions. NEVER dance in front of your children. I speak only from experience, from the horrified expression on my son's face when I dared to even tap my finger on the steering wheel of my car when "Juicy Fruit" or "Dancing Queen" came on the radio. Even worse, a pop song from his world (see above video). There's just no living it down. I remember seeing my dad dance when I was 10 or 11. It was summer, it was our annual neighborhood picnic, he'd had one too many Busch beers and he started to bust a move to a Mac Davis song. If I'm relaying this story now when I barely remember my childhood, then that explains the impact.

Trust me, DON'T DANCE IN FRONT OF YOUR KID.

14. If your kid gets in trouble, be there - NO MATTER WHAT!

This means without judgments, preconceived notions, whatever the crime, protect your kid. Chances are, it's a minor infraction: she stayed out too late with the hottie high-school wrestler dude, or Junior couldn't resist the captivating band girl and it's probably going to be okay. There's something much better about them now than us at their age, or certainly than me at their age. I had no identity and followed whatever path of trouble that called my name (or, sadly, didn't call my name but rather a name I thought meant for me...). Still, I managed to make a life, grow up, try stuff out, then have my own kid. But those early "getting in trouble" years still haunt me. I now know that it wasn't cool for my friend's dad to hang out with me in their dark apartment (which I thought was cool since I'd only ever known people with houses) and play Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while passing me a joint. It took many years for me to admit - hey, that was off.  His kids were long gone and I was still sieving seeds from the crease of Boston's More Than a Feeling.

Somehow, though, I escaped that life, which is another story for another time. But I'm heading with my son  into the years of adolescence, puberty, hormones, nuttiness, mistrust - and I hope to WHATEVER that the foundation my son and I have built over the years will power us through and he won't have to go seeking some loser old dude rolling joints and waxing poetic about Phoenix or Jay Z or whoever it might be to catch the seeds, as it were.

At least, I hope he can ask me about that stuff.

13. If possible, have your shit together before you have the kid

Yeah, that's me talking to myself. The other day I was taking my son to shoot hoops (okay, play basketball) and he said "We've lived in a lot of different places". I stopped dead in my tracks (metaphorically speaking, I was driving) with yet another observation on my kid's part that I was as flawed as I know I am. Of course, that's not his intention or even his thoughts - yet. I have no doubt that he will share his mom stories with someone later in life. Hopefully, he and I will have communicated enough throughout his life so he will not have to spend money on therapy and instead can just share childhood anecdotes with his friends and lovers (how I hate that - please, someone, find a comparable word), but that's likely just rose-colored dreaming on my part. 

As we all know, anyone can have a baby. But...are you prepared? Do you want to give up your life and freedom? Are you ready to sacrifice, lose your perspective, be irrelevant, then wave bye bye and wonder what the f*** it was all for? Like, that's IT??

When my son made that comment the other day, instead of getting defensive or shrugging him off like may have happened to me when I was his age, I looked at him and said, as hard as it was, "You're right. Your dad and I took many years to figure out we weren't right for each other, and you had to pay the price for that. I'm sorry".

My son looked at me, and said "It's okay, I can deal". 

The question is: can I?

12. If your kid is going to Coachella (or any other hipster festival) - STAY HOME

This doesn't apply if you're chaperoning, but if you are, then hang back and stay out of your kid's way. 

There's not much worse for a child than having a parent that parties at the same party. Remember that scene in A Walk on the Moon (probably not as well I do, having seen it at least 5 times) when Anna Paquin's character runs into her mom (played beautifully by Diane Lane) at Woodstock? Her mom was making out with a guy (a "guy"? Viggo!) who wasn't her dad, and she was stoned. Not pretty. Let that be a guide. 

Save that reservation at the Ace hotel for another weekend, a weekend when your business will truly be your business. 

Let your kid be the kid for Coachella. 

11. If you were born before 1985, please refrain from using the following words or phrases:

Yo, Whatup, Word, whassup, niiice, sweet , clean, tight, sick, aight, fresh, crib, kicks, that's so obama, epic, blaze, roll, mad, deep, roll mad deep, skrilla, spit some game at, props, give props, get props, emo, active, beast, the bomb, da bomb, chill, hot, that shit was crazy, that's mad devious, dope, fat, gangsta, 'kward, baked, stripe, khue, rad, ill, holla, dude...

10. Don't get bombed in front of the kid...

...or drunk or stoned or however you want to put it. There's just nothing that makes this alright. We've all slipped up at some point and had too much to drink. When you're spanning 20 or so years of drinking, the odds are you've worn a lampshade or over-shared with a semi-friend or woken up with that guy/girl who was a lot cuter at 2:00 a.m. (or so I've read about in books and seen in movies!).

But now you've got kids. This is no longer an option. Sure, it's fine to have a glass or two of wine with dinner but when it becomes a bottle or two long after the last dish has been put away (or not put away, depending on the kind of drunk you are) then it's time to sit up and take notice. Change your ways. Look in the mirror. Do an about-face. (You get the point).

Truly, this is a no-brainer, but we've all forgotten on occasion and the look on Junior/Juniorette's face when the apologies abound in the light of day is one of the most sobering moments in a parent's life. And there are parents who have more of a "live and let live" attitude than I do. We've probably all heard the refrain, "When I was a kid, my parents did ________ and I turned out fine". Well, I suppose that's one philosophy and it also depends on how one defines "turning out fine". I'm not so sure I fit that bill, but I'm harder on myself than I should be. Besides, isn't the cycle of life that we want better for our children than we had, whatever that may be? 

Perhaps topping off that glass can wait for Mommies' Night Out or Poker With The Guys (yes, I've stereotyped the sexes). 

Or, as my brother puts it, "Bar time".

 

 

9. Ipod+bad rapping= no no!

When this song came out, I was flitting from one club to the next in downtown NYC. It was the days of Deep, Soul Kitchen and Nell's on a Sunday night. I thought I was so f*****g cool with my Def Jam bomber jacket, fat sneakers and bamboo earrings. But the truth is, I looked like a poser. I'm a white girl from the Midwest. What was I thinking? Well, there it is - I wasn't thinking. I was young, I was searching, I was in the thick of the coolest thing in the country.

But it's 20 years later. I'm not on the cutting edge of anything (even using that tired cliche proves my point) unless you count subscribing to KCRW and shopping at Trader Joe's. 

I love music, and I manage to stay current. Occasionally, though, I'll take a trip down memory lane.

I've learned it's best to keep that to myself, at least when singing along.

8. Rein in the self-righteous indignation in front of the kid

This is a big one. It's also not terribly funny and I struggled with blogging about it. But it's important for me to not only point the finger elsewhere, but also take myself to task.

I learned this lesson the hard way, and I know that this event will be a "jump out" for my son when he looks back at his childhood. Just as I remember my parents not allowing me to go on a class trip in 8th grade, so will he remember his mom's self-righteous indignation resulting in getting kicked off a plane on the way to Spring Break when he was in 2nd grade.

Here's what happened. The irony of this story is that the night before we were leaving, I'd gone to see "Friends With Money" and horrifyingly related to Frances McDormand's character and thought "I'd better watch my Ps and Qs" (well, it probably wasn't as platitudinous as that). Just because I think things would work much better my way, I wasn't running every single business on the planet and it was possible I looked like the jackass and those other people might have some clue as to what they were doing.

But twelve hours later I forgot all of that. Twelve hours later I was on an overcrowded plane. Southwest had changed their policies without alerting me (what?!), and I'd ended up in Boarding Group C. Inching our way to the back of the full plane, immediately paying the price for carry-on overpacking, there were no two seats together. I looked around, panicked (with my 8 -year-old and my abandonment issues) and wondered how I'd get through the flight 16 rows away from my son. I saw the harried flight attendant, and asked her gently -- okay, my version of gently -- if she would mind making a request to the rest of the passengers to switch a seat with a mom and her son. 

Here's what happened next: no one heard her announcement, I asked her to repeat it, she berated me in front of the other passengers and my son for not having "wakened up early enough to get to the airport on time", and a nice woman near us offered up her seat. This mercifully put my son and me one row apart, both of us in aisle seats. I got us situated, seat belts fastened, cream cheese on his bagel, and then I stewed. I sat in my seat boiling, repeating her chastisement like a mantra in my mind. And that was the moment, that life-changing moment we've all faced, the moment in which I could have made an out-of-character decision (remember? last night? "Friends With Money"?) and I didn't. Instead, I got up, walked to the back of the plane and told "Amber" that I "didn't appreciate the way she spoke to me in front of my son and the other passengers".  I said my piece, then sat down in my seat, ready for the flight.

The next thing I knew, my son and I were being escorted off the plane to the terminal, where the FBI waited with questions. "Amber" had decided to exert her power, and linked the word "threatened" to me. That's all it took. We were banished, our luggage brought to us and our flight cancelled.

In the end (phone calls, tears, my son's father demanding restitution, etc.), we were on a flight out the next day, apologies from the airline overflowing and only mild schedule irritations on the other end.

However, I knew that my self-righteous indignation, whatever its roots, caused the Event. Maybe it was time to look inward. 

Maybe it was my business that needed some overhauling. 

In response to a comment from "Anonymous"...

Does this work for you?

7. Don't introduce your booty call to your kid

It's okay to have that person you call when you get a little lonely or have had too much to drink (or both). But your kid doesn't need to meet them. Don't fool yourself - those feelings you're feeling are hormones, not "this is my future, this is my soul mate". That's fine. Really. All that puritanical nonsense is just that - nonsense. Sometimes we need what we need, when we need it. But what our kids don't need is to meet our late-night friend. We don't have to use our children to justify our actions. If the day comes that booty turns into love, then by all means figure out a way for Junior to adjust.

But seriously, what's the likelihood of that happening? Until it does, have fun, be safe and lose the guilt!

I broke my own rule...

...and wore a hat I favored in my 20s. Guess what happened? It blew off about a mile from the coast when I was fishing on Saturday and immediately sunk.

I think that's what one calls "eating one's words".

5. Either turn the hat around or take it off.

You're not 12. You're not in a garage band, you're not in middle school, you don't look hip. You look like an old dude who thinks he's gangster. 

Please, let's start again. Change out the flat brimmed hat, put on a nice shirt, shave and smile. Then let me know if anything has changed. I think it might. 

A moment of tribute...

So, I just came from happy hour with a couple of friends (who suggested my happy hour knowledge should be a blog on its own, but that's neither here nor there at this moment) and it was pointed out, with a kind of "ahem", that maybe I was being a little harsh. Looking over this blog, I can see how that would be construed.  Aging in Los Angeles is not pretty, it's unforgiving, and when you find yourself single - in whatever capacity - over 35 (or even 32!), it's an uphill battle to maintain your sanity and your dignity. It's impossible to compete. And truly, that's the point of this - DON'T COMPETE! Be yourself. Be your age. Be graceful. 

Having said that, I must talk about Tony Alda, who died today. I didn't know him as well as a lot of people, but the time that I did spend with him was special. He had a way of making fun of me (note: the above photo where I'm tilting my head to get the "best angle") that almost no one was able to get away with. When he laughed at me, it really was "laughing with me", as cliche as that sounds, and he'll never know because I never told him how much that meant to me. Tony didn't get to "age cringelessly" because he was young when he died today, but he was graceful and loving and an amazing presence in the world.

He will be missed.

Now this is aging gracefully...

Of course, they are all movie stars...but so are the others I posted pictures of. What's the major difference? 

In a word: Acceptance. These four women are all examples of accepting who they are, and as closely as I peer, I don't see an orange spray tan on any of them, nor would I guess that any of them are borrowing their daughter's clothes.

4. Ease up on the Spray Tan

Okay, I know that a spray tan is only the tip of the iceberg with Donatella - but it would be a start. There's just no reason to be that...orange. There is nothing youthful about it, it doesn't scream "I've been in St. Bart's for the month". It just sends a sad message that a tan equals youth. And it does! That is true! A tan recalls summers squeezing lemon juice into your hair and rubbing baby oil onto your legs and belly. But those days are over. The sun's rays are poison, and looking that tan naturally is a sure death sentence. Looking that way because of a spray tan seems desperate. I'm sorry, but that's the word. Desperate and - and here's where I understand some angry reaction - old. The whole point of this blog is to find ways to look great without looking desperate, and there's just no getting around the fact that the tanner one looks, the older they look. You are defeating your very objective! While spraying yourself orange to maintain a youthful glow, you're only succeeding in calling attention to your no longer smooth, plump skin.

My advice? Sunscreen, hat, and Retin-A. 

3. NO HAIR EXTENSIONS

So, look. I get it. Long hair is the desired look. Men, for the most part, respond more to long hair than they do to short hair. I've recently let my hair grow and it's the longest it's been since I was a teenager. I know I'm on borrowed time until I reach "that age" and then I'll be on my own list if I don't cut it into that sort of sassy appropriate length, and I don't mean the 90s Meg Ryan cut. I mean the quiet, not-calling-attention-to-myself cut; the cut that speaks in hushed tones and offends no one.

But, extensions...sigh. No. Let me say that again: No. In particular, the extensions that all the Housewives of Orange County had a couple of seasons back, and the same worn by Daryl Hannah to the left. It just reeks of impostor hair, there's not a smidgen of subtlety and it doesn't add youth, in fact quite the opposite. It screams of desperate need to hang onto what once was.

I will say that extensions have come a long way. Some time ago my friend took me to a salon on my birthday and ordered up the long, wavy blonde extensions for me. Extensions were in their rookie season, and I was newly drafted. I was excited by my new flowing locks, and later that night at dinner on a first date, I habitually played with my hair as I modestly flirted, and the next thing I knew, I'd taken an entire chunk of hair from my head. I don't mean a strand, but rather a handful. I don't remember how my date reacted or how things ended. It's highly likely I went home with him to assuage my embarrassment. But the point is, the hair world has come a long way and yours can be made to look very natural and even quite pretty. 

But the ironed out blonde pasted to the face and hanging to mid-breast? Please. Give it up. See what you've got under those extensions, take that leap and perhaps, if not fully jumping in, at least putting your toe into the realm of your age.

2. DON'T DRESS LIKE YOUR KID

A general rule of thumb is, if you wore it when you were a kid or a young adult, you shouldn't be wearing it now. If you have your own kids, that should go without saying. Sometimes, though,  the lines get blurred and we slip up. We're only human and it's natural to want to hang onto our youth. I know that I still feel like I felt when I was 18. My instinct is to grab that worn out vee neck tee and lock eyes with the hottie 20 year-old who works the juice bar at Whole Foods. But you know what? He'd feel sorry for me. It doesn't matter that I look fairly okay for my age. I am my age. There isn't a boyfriend jean or even a boyfriend in the world that will change that. 

Years ago my best friend at the time (I'd say BFF, but that topic will come later) and I rented an apartment above our landlady, who was probably 80 at the time. She wore cha-cha heels, tight pants and a boa around her neck. With a full face of make-up, she'd walk - rather, strut - the streets and smile at the young guys in the neighborhood. They were naturally horrified, but I had a certain empathy for her plight. I pictured myself at her age, not immune to dewy youthful skin and hopeful smiles - both of which I had at the time. However,  I somehow knew that even though our bodies cooperated with time and gravity, our emotions and egos remained spry and expectant; it's simply up to us to figure out a graceful way to deal with it all, and that doesn't include wearing tattered mini-skirts and gladiator sandals.

1) NO SKATEBOARDING IF YOU'RE OLDER THAN 30

 Thirty might seem kind of strict, but the truth is, once your sperm count begins to dip, you need to start being concerned about the rest of your body. Not only do you look ridiculous on a skateboard, but you're endangering yourself and the other kids at the skate park. Yes, if you're still skating in your 30s, you're a kid. 

Just so you know, and this isn't meant to be harsh but rather to help you - the other kids at the skate park don't think you're cool. They feel a bit bad for you. Life is meant to go in stages, and by now you should be focusing on your career and your family. If you don't yet have a family, it's time to start thinking about that. If you don't want a family, it's still time to settle down. Get off the board, go to work and join the in the ranks of grown-ups.

What it's about...

Have you ever felt your face flush when you've seen that guy in his 50s on a skateboard wearing an ironic concert tee? How about that mom in her 40s with the spray tan, a face that doesn't move, and jeans so tight and so low you have to force yourself to look away? Do you remember the times when you were a kid and your parents did something that humiliated you, something as innocent as saying hello to you in front of your friends? Your parents were probably wearing simple cotton khakis or an LL Bean skirt and Tretorns; imagine how the children of the dad on the skateboard and the mom in the spike heels feel?

This must stop. Dads don't get to "pound me some fist" with their son's friends; Moms are not allowed to borrow their daughter's Current Elliot jeans. Your children are not your friends, they are your children. You do not need to outnumber them in Facebook friends or out tweet them on Twitter. If you're going to the same concert, hopefully it's because Bob Dylan reaches across the generational divide and not because you're both partying at Coachella.

The truth is, you're too old. It's embarrassing and a little bit sad, but it's not too late. It may take some hard work, some changes in the way you think, some grief as you let go of the old to make way for the new. The good news is, you'll act your age and gain the respect of your children. You'll realize that the looks you've been getting are not because you're so hot, but because you're so wrong.

This guide will get you right again.