Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Menopause Sucks Less – 14 Years Later

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My daughter and son assisted with the premiere party for “Menopause Sucks” on August 8, 2008.

 

Menopause Sucks premiered in Eagle, Idaho on August 8, 2008. The event remains one of the highlights of my long and festive life.

I was divorced, and my son and daughter helped me organize the premiere party at Seasons Restaurant (now known as Bacquet’s French Restaurant.) My 15-month-old granddaughter attended as a special guest. I worked on the final edits of the manuscript while waiting for her to be born.

Prior to Menopause Sucks, I had written and published The Red Tease – A Woman’s Adventures in Golf and two children’s books. The Red Tease won the bronze medal for humor from the Foreword INDIES Book of the Year program, and the award helped me obtain a literary agent.

My agent, Andrea Hurst, secured my contract with Adams Media, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, for me to coauthor Menopause Sucks with bestselling author Joanne Kimes. We worked on the manuscript for several months, sending chapters back and forth, and laughing at every exaggerated description. We included factual information approved by medical professionals and added our own creative humor. We never met in person. The book continues to sell in paperback and eBook formats.

Publisher’s Author Photo

Here are some excerpts from Menopause Sucks.

“Warning: Over 38 million women are going through menopause, and some of them are really irritated. If you’re one of them, you know that it’s a crying shame that you could live to be 100 but only twenty of those years come with youthful vigor, shiny hair, smooth skin, multiple orgasms, and a flat stomach. To understand what is happening to your mind and body, just put down that shotgun and find a cool spot to read the book Menopause Sucks by menopausal maniac Elaine Ambrose. You’ll find answers and laughs as you learn about hot flashes, incontinence, hair loss, age spots, flatulence, mood swings, and hot sex after forty. This isn’t your mother’s medical manual.”

“While it is better than dying too young, living past forty often comes with unpleasant and bewildering challenges. For the most part, every single symptom of menopause is caused by one reason, and one reason alone: hormones. It seems that your body makes several different kinds of hormones that love to cavort through your body and play havoc with your sanity. Two major players are called estrogen and progesterone. In medical terms, estrogen is produced in your ovaries and acts as a chemical commander in chief, telling your female body what to do. In not-so-medical terms, imagine a teeny tyrant running through your brain yelling, “Grow pubic hair now!” “Ovulate from the left ovary!” or “Make that boob bigger than the other one!” As with most power-hungry rascals, estrogen likes to change the rules every now and then just to confuse you.”

“As perimenopause begins, your ovaries are tired of taking orders, so they decide to reduce the production of estrogen. “Attention All Sectors. Estrogen is leaving the body. Farewell party at noon in the pituitary gland.” Then all hell breaks loose and you start to experience symptoms of perimenopause. The fact that you live through this chaos is definite proof of your magnificence. A lesser species would have become extinct millions of years ago.”

“It’s a rather cruel trick of nature that you could be raising teenagers and caring for aging parents while your Generalissimo Estrogen is barking orders at your female parts, your Busy Bee Progesterones are frantically fixing up the uterus for the Sperm and Egg Combo, and your Naughty Testosterone is working your libido like a tigress in heat.”

My son managed the sales at the premiere party.

Since 2008, I’ve written or published 18 more books, moved six times, and met a cute guy I call Studley. Due to a recent heart attack, my projects have been postponed, but ideas for future books continue to swirl in my brain and beg to be written. The proposed title of my next humor book is Midlife Reboot – Stories of Revival.

 

Reading excerpts from “Menopause Sucks”

 

 

 

 

 

Friends from college and work attended the premiere party.
My 15-month-old grandbabe was an honored guest at the party.

 

 

 

Menopause Still Sucks after a Dozen Years

By

Elaine Ambrose, author, “Menopause Sucks” – 2008

I hosted the premiere party for Menopause Sucks twelve years ago on August 8, 2008 in Eagle, Idaho. I was divorced then, and my children helped me organize the event. The book was cowritten with bestselling author Joanne Kimes, and my literary agent was Andrea Hurst. The publisher was Adams Media, an imprint of Simon & Schuster. Since then, I’ve written and/or published 14 more books, two grandbabes were born, I met a guy I call Studley, and we moved to a golf course. Menopause sucks less.

Here are some excerpts from Menopause Sucks.

Warning: Over 38 million women are going through menopause, and some of them are really irritated. If you’re one of them, you know that it’s a crying shame that you could live to be 100 but only twenty of those years come with youthful vigor, shiny hair, smooth skin, multiple orgasms, and a flat stomach. To understand what is happening to your mind and body, just put down that shotgun and find a cool spot to read the book Menopause Sucks by menopausal maniac Elaine Ambrose. You’ll find answers and laughs as you learn about hot flashes, incontinence, hair loss, age spots, flatulence, mood swings, and hot sex after forty. This isn’t your mother’s medical manual.

While it is better than dying too young, living past forty often comes with unpleasant and bewildering challenges. For the most part, every single symptom of menopause is caused by one reason, and one reason alone: hormones. It seems that your body makes several different kinds of hormones that love to cavort through your body and play havoc with your sanity. Two major players are called estrogen and progesterone. In medical terms, estrogen is produced in your ovaries and acts as a chemical commander in chief, telling your female body what to do. In not-so-medical terms, imagine a teeny tyrant running through your brain yelling, “Grow pubic hair now!” “Ovulate from the left ovary!” or “Make that boob bigger than the other one!” As with most power-hungry rascals, estrogen likes to change the rules every now and then just to confuse you.

As perimenopause begins, your ovaries are tired of taking orders, so they decide to reduce the production of estrogen. “Attention All Sectors. Estrogen is leaving the body. Farewell party at noon in the pituitary gland.” Then all hell breaks loose and you start to experience symptoms of perimenopause. The fact that you live through this chaos is definite proof of your magnificence. A lesser species would have become extinct millions of years ago.

It’s a rather cruel trick of nature that you could be raising teenagers and caring for aging parents while your Generalissimo Estrogen is barking orders at your female parts, your Busy Bee Progesterones are frantically fixing up the uterus for the Sperm and Egg Combo, and your Naughty Testosterone is working your libido like a tigress in heat.

Need more sassy information? Read the book! I have some and would love to autograph one and send it to you for only $10. Email me at Elaine@test.elaineambrose.com.

How to Survive Menopause without Getting Arrested

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Approximately 6,000 women enter menopause every day in the United States. That means by Friday, we could populate a small town with sweating, crying inhabitants with indigestion and hairy toes. By the end of the month, we could have a city the size of Gilbert, Arizona with 180,000 women helplessly hurled into hormonal havoc. Get out of their way because some of them are in a testy mood.

It’s a crying shame that we could live to be 100 but only twenty of those years come with youthful vigor, shiny hair, smooth skin, multiple orgasms, and a flat stomach. Only the strongest species on earth could survive hot flashes, incontinence, hair loss, age spots, uncontrollable flatulence, and erratic mood swings after forty. Someone give us a crown and a plate of cookies!

While it is better than dying too young, living past forty often comes with unpleasant and bewildering challenges. For the most part, every single symptom of menopause is caused by one reason, and one reason alone: hormones. It seems that your body makes several different kinds of hormones that love to cavort through your body and play havoc with your sanity. Two major players are called estrogen and progesterone. In medical terms, estrogen is produced in your ovaries and acts as a chemical commander in chief, telling your female body what to do. In not-so-medical terms, imagine a teeny tyrant running through your brain yelling, “Grow pubic hair now!” “Ovulate from the left ovary!” or “Make that boob bigger than the other one!” As with most power-hungry rascals, estrogen likes to change the rules every now and then just to confuse you.

As perimenopause begins, your ovaries are tired of taking orders, so they decide to reduce the production of estrogen. “Attention All Sectors. Estrogen is leaving the body. Farewell party at noon in the pituitary gland.” Then all hell breaks loose and you start to experience symptoms of perimenopause. The fact that you live through this chaos is definite proof of your magnificence. A lesser species would have become extinct millions of years ago.

But why not make it a multi-generational issue! It’s a rather cruel trick of nature that you could be raising teenagers and caring for aging parents while your Generalissimo Estrogen is barking orders at your female parts, your Busy Bee Progesterones are frantically fixing up the uterus for the Sperm and Egg Combo, and your Naughty Testosterone is working your libido like a tigress in heat. Don’t give up! Soon, these symptoms will pass and you’ll be too old to remember anything.

To survive the physical and mental annoyances that assault your body and mind during menopause, here are some helpful suggestions that have absolutely no basis in medical fact:

  1. Take all your pointy-toed shoes and line them up in the driveway. Then drive over them several times before you throw them away. Your feet will feel fabulous and you’ll get rid of some latent aggression.
  2. Cool your steaming head with a boxes of frozen diet food that have been languishing in your freezer for the past ten years. You’re never going to eat them anyway so you might as well put them to good use.
  3. The next time a telemarketer calls, start explaining your ailments and frustrations in graphic detail. Don’t stop until the caller starts to cry. Then hang up.
  4. Feeling lonely? Email your friends that you’ve decided to give all your money to that nice young man who emailed from Nigeria. Then sit back and wait for them to scurry over for a visit.
  5. If you experience uncontrollable urges to shop and eat (and who doesn’t), just blame it all on menopause. You can shop and eat for less than $30 if you wander through the aisles at Costco and feast on all the free samples. Then buy a case of wine, a huge jar of chocolate covered peanuts, and a twelve-pound pie and then call your friends over for a party. To be prudent, don’t forget the year’s supply of toilet paper.
  6. Symptoms of menopause can make you forgetful and absent-minded. Write your kid’s names on their foreheads with a Magic Marker Pen so you don’t have to go through the irritation of memorizing their names every day.
  7. Menopause can make you magnificent! That’s baloney, but claim that as your mantra if it makes you feel better. Remember, this all will pass someday and then you’ll be too old to care anymore.

The main goals of surviving menopause are to stay alive and to sleep with both legs under the covers. If we can achieve these noble visions and avoid arrest, we’ll laugh all the way to bingo night at the Senior Center.

 

 

 

Adapted from the book Menopause Sucks by Joanne Kimes and Elaine Ambrose.

Published by Adams Media.

Midlife Dating: That Hot Feeling Isn’t Always Menopause

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greek wedding

Nothing screams “pathetic loser” more than being a middle-aged divorcee alone at a festive party where beautiful couples are trading sloppy kisses and giggling like demented clowns. There’s not enough spiked punch in the world to soften the pain of pretending it doesn’t matter. Many of us graze along the buffet table hoping the crunch of nachos will be louder than the boisterous laughter of young lovers, and then we migrate to the bar because all we get to take home is a headache.

We never intended to be divorced at midlife because we were programmed to believe the happily-ever-after deceptions that provided easy and convenient endings in fairy tales. But according to a recent study by Bowling Green State University in Ohio, the divorce rate among people age forty-six to sixty-four has grown more than 50 percent. Almost one-third of baby boomers are single, either by divorce, separation, or having never been married. Some are attracted to the single lifestyle while others would trade their original Beatles record collection for some hot passion.

I have several friends who have been married to their first husbands for more than thirty years. They’re happy and comfortable and couldn’t imagine dating at this stage of life. And if something drastic happened to their husbands, at their ages they would rather join a cloistered convent than get naked in front of another man. They wouldn’t want to worry about unpredictable, middle-aged dilemmas such as the sudden crazy mood swings and chronic irritable bowel syndrome that could make for an awkward first date.

A few years ago, when I was divorced and my children were grown, some friends invited me to dinner. They just happened to have a recently divorced guest who was visiting from another state. I never turn down a free meal, so I agreed to join them. I met him and instantly felt a connection. He was in his fifties and ruggedly handsome. At dinner, our knees touched under the table during the salad course. We laughed at silly jokes during the entrée, and by dessert, he was feeding me bites of cheesecake. I felt like a goofy teenager.

This marvelous man met all my requirements: He was middle-aged, single, and didn’t wear white socks with sandals. (At my age, you can’t get too picky.) As an added bonus, though, he was smart, employed, passionate, spiritual, and he wanted to know about my children. It was like winning the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, the lottery, and top-shelf wine at happy hour all at the same time.

We spent four days together, often to the chagrin of his abandoned hosts, and then I took him to the airport. It was a scene out of Casablanca, complete with winter fog and drama. He held me close and whispered, “We’ll always have Boise.” Then he tipped his hat, sauntered through security, and hollered, “Here’s looking at you, Kid.”

I drove home, wondering if he remembered my real name wasn’t Kid. But it didn’t matter. I was smitten, and it felt good. To paraphrase a quote from the movie, of all the towns in all the world, he walked into mine. He called when he landed at the next airport and was about to change planes. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,” he said.

“Say it again,” I said, “for old times’ sake.”

And, yes, at that moment we were Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman but without the horrible Nazi and depressing farewell-forever scenes.

We enjoyed a long-distance relationship over the next few months. Then my more-than-significant other, whom I appropriately named Studley, got a job in Idaho, and to show my ultimate commitment I willingly made some room in my closet. We married on the Greek island of Paros on my birthday so he only needs to remember one important date. We daily express our total gratitude about receiving another chance at love, and it’s a powerful feeling. Now, when I experience hot flashes, I know it’s not just menopause. Thanks, Studley.

 

 

(This blog contains excerpts from my book Midlife Cabernet.)

 

 

Midlife Cabernet: Let’s Talk about Chin Hairs

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The world is under assault from wars and rumors of wars, illness, crime, weather calamities, and Internet photos of Walmart shoppers. But what really causes anguish to most middle-aged women is to discover coarse, industrial-strength hairs on their chins.

These unwanted and unsightly growths often are strong enough to be woven into nets to transport military tanks. And they usually erupt in two seconds and protrude six inches before we’re even aware they are fouling our faces. That’s why we always carry lighted mirrors and pliers in our purse, right next to the flask.

In my book Menopause Sucks (gratuitous plug) I wrote that untended black hairs on your chin will make you resemble a Chia pet, and you’ll need to bribe your grandkids for a hug. Blame the problem on hormones and genetics. These two culprits – along with politicians and bad lighting – usually are responsible for most of your problems.

You can’t do a darned thing about heredity. If your ancestors came from the Scandinavian countries, you may never need to shave your legs and you could have a full beard of fine fuzz and no one would notice. However, if your people came from southern Europe, you’ve been shaving since you were ten years old and have a five o’clock shadow by lunchtime. You like to eat meat, and sometimes you cook it first.

As for the hormone issues, you can control them with proper medication, meditation, and massive amounts of Merlot. Hair follicles are extremely sensitive to imbalances of hormones, and your internal estrogen and progesterone factories are rioting and sending baffling signals to the hair growth office in your brain. Then the hair on your head begins to fall out until your once-thick pelt resembles a dog with mange. Don’t worry; the hair will reappear on your chin and toes. This causes stress, and stress exacerbates hair loss. At this stage, the quality of life depends upon your sense of humor and your motivation to get out of bed.

During menopause, you may notice other changes to your hair. My hair was wavy, so to get the popular straight styles I would curl my hair around used orange juice cans, which made for a troublesome night’s sleep and a sticky buildup on my Herman’s Hermits pillowcases. After I entered menopause, I started growing someone else’s hair. It’s dry and thick in the back and so thin on top that my head often shines like the Chrysler Building. I’m giddy to wake up every morning and still have hair to comb. My doctor said it was thyroid issues but in my age-induced confusion I thought she said hemorrhoid problems. That cream didn’t help my hair at all.

To fight hair loss, you can try several products that are available without prescription. These topical ointments take at least six months to activate, so you have time to enjoy other symptoms of age that include hot flashes, mood swings, incontinence, memory lapses, weight gain, sleep problems, and adult acne. The fact that we survive at all is a true testament to our strength, resolve, and refusal to quietly go away.

For middle-aged women, every day brings new opportunities for humiliation, the kind that comes when you sneeze, fart, and wet your pants at the same time, usually in a business meeting. This week I was preparing for a dental appointment when I noticed a mini-redwood growing from my chin that had the dangerous potential to distract the dentist as he was using sharp tools in my mouth. The stubborn hair was rooted in my ribcage so I attacked it with tweezers until there was a huge, bloody hole in my chin. I slathered on some Bag Balm to stop the bleeding then applied perfume to hide the ointment’s pungent smell. I hurried into the office and plopped down on the dental recliner. That’s when I noticed my black boots didn’t match. I didn’t need the laughing gas.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2008 Basel Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon from Walla Walla Valley. This estate vintage is $40 a bottle and is full-bodied with a touch of cinnamon and flavors of dark fruit. After a glass or two, you won’t care if your chin hairs are long enough to braid.

Midlife Cabernet: Kegels, Incontinence, and Crazy Caballeros

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There is a reason most middle-aged women don’t ride on galloping horses, jump on trampolines, or finish a set of jumping jacks during exercise class. We wet our pants. Throw in a simple sneeze and it’s all over, literally.

Even after years of faithfully doing Kegel exercises to strengthen pelvic floor muscles, we remain a bit fearful of spontaneous activities that require bladder control. We wouldn’t dare wear white pants to jump rope with our grandkids, and lifting a sack of potatoes could ruin a good day at the market. For the two bored and bewildered men who may be reading, a Kegel exercise involves stopping and starting urination. Tighter pelvic muscles help in other areas, too, but we’ll discuss that another time.

According to the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality, 35 percent of American middle-aged women experience urinary incontinence. That’s more than 10 million people you should avoid sitting next to at a comedy show.

Most comedy clubs have easy access to the women’s bathrooms because we love to laugh without needing to wear Depends. I’ve seen live shows by comediennes Rita Radner, Joan Rivers, and Stacy Dymalski. After the performances the women in the audience stampede to the restrooms like herds of wildebeests, ever ready to fall over the cliff of death rather than suffer the total humiliation of wet pants. We diligently face the issue now, before we’re spending our last days in some care facility where we won’t give a damn anymore.

As I discussed in my book Menopause Sucks, the reasons for bladder control problems include pregnancy and childbirth, urinary tract infections, disease, some medications, injuries, and yep, old age. Doctors recommend several remedies: cut back on caffeine because it acts as a diuretic, always carry protective pads, schedule regular restroom breaks, consider hormone creams, try biofeedback techniques, use a support device, or ask about the 300 surgical options available to treat incontinence. There is always the Chinese therapy involving vaginal weights which gives a whole new meaning to the term Chinese Take-out. Finally, talk with other women who are successfully dealing with the issue. Prompt a lively discussion at your next society luncheon by asking, “Do you wet your pants every time you sneeze, cough, or laugh?”

We’ve all read articles about amazing middle-aged ballerinas and gymnasts who still can run and jump like manic gazelles, but they probably never gave natural birth to anyone larger than two pounds. My children came with a force so powerful it should have been studied by NASA. And those industrial-sized cherubs altered every surrounding organ in their quest to leave my body. Even after female surgery I still don’t trust a good belly laugh without checking for the nearest exit.

On a recent vacation in Mexico, my adorable husband Studley surprised me with an excursion to ride horses on the beach along the Pacific Ocean. He’s heard my legendary stories of riding in the Gooding County Fair and Rodeo, and he knows I was a gallant barrel racer. His eyes positively glowed when he told me about the impending ride. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it had been more than 25 years since I last rode a horse, and wouldn’t new jewelry be just as exciting?

We arrived for our ride and were handed huge lead-lined goblets of beer from a battered keg marked Cerveza Pacifico. Our horses eyed us with despair but we quaffed our beers and wrangled onto the saddles. The first hour was fun as we galloped along the beach with our singing guide. Then my body realized it had endured all the fun it needed. By the second hour of trotting and galloping in the saddle, my bladder declared mutiny. I had to go NOW!

A few scraggly bushes offered the only privacy, and I had a real Charley horse in my leg. I knew that if I got down there was only a 20 percent change I’d ever get back up on the horse. So I meditated and practiced the Kegel exercises as Studley and the crazy caballero hooped and hollered on their rides. My horse was clearly irritated and commenced to relieve himself regularly, as if to mock my dire situation.

After what seemed like two weeks, we finally returned to the corrals. Both men had to help me down and I waddled to the nearest fly-infested relief station as my horse eagerly trotted away. I’m sure the horses gather at the end of the day to commiserate about their riders.

“I suffered through a total jerk today. He kept kicking my sides to make me gallop and you know how my bursitis is acting up these days.”

“Well, I carried a soggy sissy who was afraid to let me run freely.”

“Some day we’ll blow this gig and settle down on some lush farm in Kentucky.”

I truly appreciate my husband’s loving gesture, but I’ve hinted that for our next adventure we could attend a romantic musical at a fancy place with plush velour seats, a selection of fine wines, and several clean bathrooms reserved for women over 45. I hear a boisterous chorus shouting, “Amen, Sister!”

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2012 Caracter Cabernet Sauvignon from Argentina. We enjoyed this inexpensive wine on our vacation. It tasted better than the flat beer from the battered keg.