Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Searching for Cheekbones

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face injections

I never intended to have hyaluronic acid gel injected into my face, but the physician said he could smooth my nasolabial folds. I love it when a guy talks dirty to me.

“How do you know they need improvement?” I cooed.

“Those are your laugh lines around your mouth,” he answered. “You must laugh a lot.”

Well, yes I do. But I’ve earned every line on my face and I was hesitant to try to cover up the damage from six decades of living out loud. And the procedure involved needles. I hate needles.

I was a speaker at the recent Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. The trade show featured demonstrations of Restylane® Lyft with Lidocaine from Galderma. A few women were chosen for the injections, and I obviously appeared to be the perfect “before” candidate. A team of goddess-faced professionals consulted me before showing the tray of syringes and gave me some literature to read.

As noted on the website, the FDA-approved procedure implants hyaluronic acid gel into the deep dermis to superficial subcutis to correct moderate to severe facial folds and wrinkles, such as nasolabial folds, and improve subcutaneous to supraperiosteal implantation for cheek augmentation and correction of age-related midface contour deficiencies in patients over the age of 21. Lucky for me, I was barely over 21.

The demonstration came at no cost, so I decided why not? Like a brave, wrinkled soldier, I assumed the position on the table.

“As long as we’re here, could you perform liposuction my entire body?” I asked.

“We don’t have enough time or big enough equipment,” he answered. What a joker.

The procedure took about 15 minutes. He injected the gel into the lines around my mouth, muttering that he was a great sculpture and I was his work of art. I felt more like a massive lump of pottery clay.

fat face

Then he injected the solution along my cheeks. I’ve been blessed with a round balloon face, so I’ve never seen my cheekbones. I assumed they were in there somewhere. After the injections, I could immediately see the definition on my face. A few more glasses of wine and I would look like Sophia Loren.

A few hours after the injections, I could see that my marionette puppet mouth was less hinged. I could pass for a glamorous 50-year-old. After age 60, it’s all relative.

I appreciate the complimentary lift, and it’s interesting to see the slight contours in my face. I’ve read that some women curtail their laughter so they won’t develop laugh lines. That’s a sacrifice I’m not willing to make. For now, I’ll keep laughing and see if the lines return. We’ll see how interesting my nasolabial folds can become.

 

 

Disclosure: I received the complimentary procedure in exchange for this serious, scholarly post on my blog.

 

 

 

Crushed Kale causes Juice on the Loose

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juice machine

 

A jumbled vision from childhood caused me to fear blenders. I witnessed my mother’s morning ritual of stepping onto a machine in her bedroom, securing a strap around her waist, and then flipping a switch that made her entire body shake like mud in a blender. Since then, I have suppressed these horrifying memories by consuming large bowls of peanut M&Ms and cases of red wine. Even the noise of a fancy margarita machine can throw me into a catatonic panic attack that only can be soothed by a least two of the tasty frozen concoctions.

Fast forward fifty years and I am the card carrying member of the “Tried and Failed Every Diet on the Planet” club. To quote the late, great Erma Bombeck, “I keep trying to go on a diet, and I’ve tried going to the gym. I’ve exercised with women so thin that buzzard followed them to their cars. And, in two decades, I’ve lost a total of 789 pounds. I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.”

In my spare time, that blessed moment between 1:00 and 2:00 p.m., I enjoy watching documentaries on Netflix because it’s easier to justify than watching soft porn. Lately, I’ve been hooked on food films. Now I’m scared to death about all the crap in our food. I grew up on a farm, and we ate our crops and our livestock (except for the horses.) Now, I worry that my grandkids will be polluted and poisoned with the garbage that passes as edible food. I’m relieved that their parents have gardens and limit their access to cookies and candy (except at my house.)

The last documentary I watched was “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead” by Joe Cross. The show advocates the use of juicers, and it shows how obese, unhealthy people gave up chewing and became healthy, happy, productive members of society by drinking juice. For every meal. I immediately put down my box of Girl Scout cookies, mainly because it was empty, and vowed to try this plan. My friend was on the juice diet, and she looked great. (Of course, she was born beautiful, but that’s not the point.)

I had a $100 rebate from purchasing a pair of contacts. I took that with my 20-percent-off coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond and ordered a Breville Juice Fountain Plus. With my rebate and coupon, it only cost $30. It arrived by mail the following week so I stocked up on red beets, kale, celery, apples, cucumbers, spinach, ginger root, lemons, and peppers. It was great fun to watch whole apples and beets instantly whirl into juice. In an erroneous attempt to fool myself, I poured beet juice into a wine glass. Remember how we used to fool our babies by pretending the blob of baby food was on an airplane heading into their mouths? That didn’t work then, either. I regret corrupting my best wine glass.

toilet paper cartoon

After a few days, I was running a small juice factory and also running down the hall to the bathroom. I didn’t dare leave the house. I already knew the location of every public bathroom within a fifty-mile radius from my home, but that wasn’t good enough. I thought about pulling a Porta-Potty on a trailer behind my car, but they don’t deliver and I knew I couldn’t make it to their store. So, I eased up a little on the amount and frequency. Now I only have juice once or twice a week. That leaves plenty of time to consume my other favorite juice. It’s made from fermented grapes and pairs well with a chewy cheese plate.

 

Attend an In-State University to Save Money and Get a Job

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Graduates tossing caps into the air

I’m amused by all the fuss, frustration and foolish angst many parents and students endure as they travel across the country to various colleges and universities in search of the perfect match. In my educated opinion, most 18-year-old high school graduates don’t have a clue what they want to study, so why waste time and money seeking Big Name or Ivy League schools that eagerly take your fortune but don’t provide the stately claims offered in their glossy brochures?

My friend Nancy and I recently attended an elegant cocktail party and it seemed that every parent was discussing the college dilemma and how they were supporting their precious offspring, both financially and emotionally. The host sauntered over to us and began to announce that he had been paying more than $100,000 a year for his daughter to attend a prestigious college “back east.”

“What is her major?” I asked.

“Well, she’s not sure but she’s considering working for a non-profit organization.” He seemed smug in his answer.

Nancy choked on her martini.

“You’re going to spend almost half a million dollars for her to work in non-profit?” she asked. “That’s a noble profession but I think she could obtain a less expensive education.”

I gave her a quick look that implied she should go light on the alcohol.

The host seemed offended by her question and replied with a certain all-knowing attitude. “Well, Idaho just doesn’t offer the educational experience she needed.”

Nancy wouldn’t let it go. I stepped aside and prepared to enjoy what was coming next.

“My two children attended the University of Idaho, graduated debt-free within four years with degrees in business, and now they’re in their late twenties and make more than six figures a year.”

The host stood speechless and then frantically glanced across the room to find a way to escape from our common sense conversation. He spotted a more sympathetic victim and walked away.

Nancy and I exchanged glances and laughed. We’d known each other for decades, ever since we met in Girls State in 1968. She was the confident student leader from a huge Boise high school and I was the goofball from the village of Wendell. We met again at the University of Idaho in 1969 and have remained close friends. After majoring in journalism, we entered the workforce debt-free and enjoyed successful careers in Idaho. We remain loyal alumni and appreciate the skills learned and relationships forged at our in-state university.

 

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Most states have excellent universities and trade schools that offer less expensive choices, especially for the first two years when students take required core classes. Parents who own property are paying the taxes to support those schools, so why pay out-of-state tuition somewhere else? Often, the state universities have excellent job placement records, and isn’t that the reason students attend?

According to financial advice on CNN Money, the tuition, room and board at Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts is approximately $64,492, not counting grants and scholarships. By comparison, the tuition, room and board at the University of Idaho total $19,241, excluding grants or scholarships. The annual in-state tuition is $6,784 and out-of-state tuition is $20,314. In-state tuition at the small community college in Twin Falls, Idaho is only $3,880. Most of the students have outside jobs and places to live, so room and board isn’t always a factor. Here’s a fact to personalize the issue: my brother graduated from Harvard University and I graduated from the University of Idaho. I enjoyed a more successful career and a happier life.

 

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I’ve been the commencement speaker at both the University of Idaho and the College of Southern Idaho. I urged the students not to get or increase their student loans, but I could tell by the groans from the audience that my advice came too late. Student loan debt is becoming a national financial disaster. According to MarketWatch, the $1.2 trillion in student loan debt may be preventing Americans from making the kinds of big purchases that drive economic growth, like houses and cars, and reaching other milestones, such as having the ability to save for retirement or move out of mom and dad’s basement. Updated statistics as of 2022: Total student loan debt is expected to exceed $2 trillion by 2024.

Check recent statistics:

https://mycreditsummit.com/student-loan-debt-statistics/

I know a woman who owes more than $100,000 in student loans and is working on a Masters Degree in Fine Arts. She’s never worked a full-time job and her biggest return on investment will be more debt as she struggles for the rest of her life to make the monthly payments on her loans. The government is a benevolent giver of taxpayer money but demands repayment, with interest. I believe the student loan program is a calculated way to make young people indebted to the government. Students would do better to take a year off from school and work full-time to save money for college tuition. That doesn’t mean they are entitled to a “gap year” to go find themselves as someone else pays their way.

To earn and save money during college, I lived with my parents and worked during the summer and on Christmas and Spring Breaks. I was the first female in my family to graduate from college and did so at age 21. Two weeks after graduation I was working full-time in an exciting career, grateful for the opportunity to do what I loved: write, promote and pay the bills. My college experience gave me freedom and opportunities that changed my life as I focused on one main goal: work at a rewarding job, support myself and use my talents to live the best life possible. Go, Idaho.

Which is NOT a Good Mother’s Day Gift?

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turn body into a tree

 

midlife trilogy

Trying to decide the perfect gift for the mother(s) in your life? You could chose a biodegradable urn that will turn into a tree after death. Or, select three bestselling books that will cause laughter. It’s your choice.

Treat the mothers in your life to the Midlife Trilogy Package for only $30.

Save $7.00 on Three Hilarious and Helpful Bestselling Books

Midlife Cabernet won two national humor awards, ranked #1 in humor sales on Amazon.com, and Publishers Weekly reviewed it as “laugh-out-loud funny!”

Feisty after 45 – The Best Blogs from Midlife Women ranked #1 in midlife sales on Amazon.com and features 45 bloggers from across the country and Canada.

Menopause Sucks – This bestseller offers serious facts wrapped in irreverent humor.

 

You can have personalized, autographed copies delivered free to downtown Boise, Meridian and Eagle, or the three books can be mailed for an additional $10.

Offer ends May 5.

Email [email protected] for details

 

MPP Logo Black

Don’t Dress Like a Yak when Speaking in Public

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yak

If you want to speak in public, there are rules to follow: Pre-check your teeth for broccoli, and tame your irritable bowel syndrome. Remind the audience to turn off cell phones and stay awake because your words could change their lives. Don’t dress like a yak.

This month I spoke at two national conferences and learned the hard way to follow my proven dress code: I should wear black at all times and under all circumstances but throw in a tiny bit of color. Otherwise, I could resemble a large, woolly beast.

At the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, I obeyed my rules. I felt confident in my chosen wardrobe that included a black jacket with a turquoise shell. I was ready to mingle with other speakers and comediennes half my age, and some of us even created entire comedy routines when we met in the bathroom of the hotel. On one occasion, humorists and authors Stacey Lowrey Gustafson and Anne Bardsley posed with me for a festive photo next to the latrines. It was a special moment.

Erma 3 commediennes

More than 350 writers attended the conference, some with an abundant sense of style and a few who didn’t care. I presented two workshops, one on publishing and one on writing humor. Because I’m larger than a bread box but have the same shape, I always wear black. The dark color diminishes my football linebacker shoulders and attempts to hide my super-sized bosom that over the decades has dropped from perky to pendulum. If I know the presentation will be videotaped, I refuse to turn sideways because I will block out any redeemable image. There is a smidgen of pride somewhere buried in that incredible hulk.

For my presentations, I wore a conservative black knit dress and a long black and white tweed sweater. I often felt like a fraud as I encouraged others to have self-confidence and revel in their majesty as I tugged at my jacket to hide the body that longed to be a single-digit size again. But damn, the dessert cart offered cheesecake and it would go to waste if I didn’t have a few samples. And it’s not right to allow a bottle of wine to sit half-empty and forlorn. It must be consumed for the greater good of society.

erma speaker 2016

Two weeks after the Erma Bombeck conference, I spoke at the BAM Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. More than 150 attendees came, and I knew I found my tribe. The first night, I wore a black tank top with a colorful long vest. I took a chance on going sleeveless, but no one vomited. I met some best friends I had know for years only online, including Donna Beckman Tagliaferri.

BAM donna elaine crop

However, for my presentation, my brain left my body as I decided to go with an outfit that broke my rules. I chose a long vest again but the material was in a bulky, hairy knit of cream dappled with brown leather squares. I resembled a yak. I knew I had made a mistake as I lumbered to the podium with Emmy Award winning author and screenwriter Judy Rothman Rofe and dynamo author Janie Emaus. They were dressed in solid colors and both were the size of Thumbelina. I wanted to detour out the side door and join my herd of grazing animals on a hillside far, far away.

BAM panel

Our panel discussion was vibrant and informative, and I was grateful for the table that hid half of my body. We breezed through the presentation and no one stood to yell, “Why didn’t you wear black? You always wear black!”

I continued with the outrageous fashion mistakes when I changed into a Vegas-inspired blouse for dinner. In the photos, the silly top looked like a tablecloth and I resembled a retired matron playing cards on a cruise ship. But my friends didn’t seem to mind because I made them look so much better.

BAM Group

The event was salvaged at a Disco-themed night when I happily wiggled into my black dress adored with sparkles and fat-shaping Spandex. As the music permeated the room, I danced with wild abandon and laughed myself silly as I gyrated to the beat of the Bee Gees and ABBA. The Yak died and I became the Dancing Queen. It was Friday night and the lights were low. I was looking out for the place to go. The dress was black but covered with bling. I raised my arms and sang out loud:

“You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life.

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen.”

BAM dancer crop

The moral of the story is that some of us are too concerned with wearing basic black when we could add some sparkles and go dancing. After an hour of Disco music, no one really cared what anyone was wearing or if they were even human. It was all a matter of “I Will Survive” while “Staying Alive.”

Why Funny is Fashionable

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old woman laughing

 

You know you’re at peace with yourself and the universe if you can enter a crowded social function, scan the room, and then join the group creating the most laughter. After a certain age, you don’t waste time with pseudo-intellectuals, plastic-faced divas, or over-styled drama queens; especially if they’re your relatives. Just trot your sensible, low-heeled shoes over to those having fun and then laugh until you snort.

Over the years, most women have endured numerous charity galas, corporate soirees, and elegant events that required dressing in more than a “This Wine is Making me Awesome” t-shirt, Yoga pants, and flip-flops (my favorite outfit.) In our twenties and thirties, we started preparing weeks in advance; trying on various outfits, scheduling hair and nail appointments, and crash dieting to lose a few pounds. By our forties, the routine became less rigorous unless the occasion was a dinner party with our boss or a romantic evening with a significant other. Usually, those events did not involve the same person.

By age 50, however, we said screw the rules. We gauged the importance of an event by the need to shave our legs or not. What to wear came down to what garment would hide last week’s lasagna binge. There was a time when identical outfits would have caused one of us to retreat to the coat closet and desperately paw for something to throw over our shoulders. Now if I’m attending a fancy function and see another woman wearing a replica of my dress, I congratulate her on her exquisite taste. If she’s over 50, she’ll laugh and say, “Got it on sale for only $150!” We high-five and sashay to the wine bar.

Another scene to avoid forever is the Sugar Daddy with Arm Candy couple. She’ll be giggling about play dates and nannies and he’ll be sweating and adjusting his pacemaker. If the hostess seats you next to such a twosome, feign a sudden onset of gastrointestinal flu and discreetly find another table, preferably with a middle-age couple who are holding hands and laughing. It doesn’t matter if they came together.

High fashion is not my top priority. I usually wear classic, quality clothes that have timeless appeal, such as my favorite 10-year-old St. John knit jackets. They cost a fortune new but I’ve worn them for years and they always look good. And, I’m a strong advocate of the simple black dress adorned with fun accessories. And there is no way these well-traveled feet will ever again feel the inside of a high-heeled shoe. That just won’t happen because high-heels are painful and I choose not to hurt. An elongated calf perched on a $300 strip of leather just doesn’t matter that much.

While laughing with new and old friends at a society event, it’s tempting to sneak a peek at the younger, more perfect women. They arrive with a flair of confidence, pause to pose on their six-inch heels, and jut their tiny, sequin-covered bodies into the spotlight. Yes, they are proud of their flat-stomachs, bobbing cleavages, and toned arms. Their hair, makeup, and nails are flawless, and heads turn in appreciation. I immediately start humming “The Girl from Ipanema.”

When she walks, she’s like a samba

That swings so cool and sways so gentle

That when she passes, each one she passes

Goes “A-a-a-h.”

I never was that woman, not even on my most magnificent occasion. But, I’m finally happy in my own skin, every wrinkled, spotted inch of it. I’d much rather be with the witty group, the ones who are telling humorous stories, and the ones who know that Ipanema Girl someday will be fifty. Then she, too, will know that funny is fashionable.