And the Verdict Is...

The Slowest Moving Day EVER!!!

This is officially the slowest moving day in the history of slow moving days. I am awaiting final word on whether I got the big, corporate job. Any minute now my new iPhone 4 will ring, and on the other end will be Lauren from HR giving me the good word. Or not. Gulp.

She'd better do it soon. I no longer have any finger nails to bite - they've been worn down to disheveled nubs, and my stomach has more knots than a sailor rope convention. I've already drafted the thank you note to my would be new bosses, thanking them for their faith in me, and ending it with a sign off along the lines of, "You won't regret it." It's waiting in my "drafts" box, waiting to be sent, waiting to see if my future is about to get a whole lot better. I know how it feels. I sense it's getting as impatient as I am, seeing as I wrote it 4 hours ago. It was cathartic at the time, but now I think it will just make it even more depressing if I don't get the job and I have to erase it. Oh God - imagine if I sent it accidentally?

OK, must go back to watching the clock. I still have 8 strands of hair to pull out and a hang nail I can torture. Stay tuned...

On Line Dating Deal Breakers

After having several friends, and friends of friends, and brothers of friends, and passing acquaintances regale me with their personal triumphs in the world of cyber love, I've finally put my giant ego aside, and taken the plunge into on line dating.

Yes, sort of gone is my previous notion that only losers and desperate fuglies pay $20 a month to be set up with perfect strangers. After all, if I'm a member, surely there must be someone else of equal quality roaming the endless supply of profiles in search of THE ONE. In the meantime, I've become quite expert at weeding out the misfits, miscreants, and miserly misogynists with swift aplomb. Here are my on line dating deal breakers:

* Guys with eye patches.

* Guys who have their shirt off in 50% or more of their photos. Yes I get it. You have a 6 pack. But can your washboard abs hold a conversation, pay the mortgage, and do the laundry? Next...

* Dudes who have no children but make sure to include at least one photo of them holding somebody else's baby. Simply stating you WANT children is enough. I don't need photographic evidence.

* No profile photo. Just what are you hiding, anyway? I'm gonna HAVE to see you at some point - might as well get it over with now. And if you think filling out your album with sunsets, dogs and a photo essay of that biking trip you took through Tuscany last year will suffice, you've got another thing coming. I've only rifled through that bore fest to see if there's any photographic evidence of YOU. If not, enjoy your continued existence as the Invisible Man.

* The "Lonely" guy. Yeah. Sign me up for that one. Please. I want nothing more than to fill the empty void that is your life.

* Right Wingers who hit me up even though my profile clearly says no Republicans. I believe in gay marriage, pro-choice and strongly support the Arizona immigration embargo. Still wanna take me home to mom?

* The geriatric contingency. Despite stating that my preferred ceiling age is 45, getting "Winks" and emails from the 65 plus set is understandably annoying. I get what's in it for you. Can't say the reverse is quite as clear. And I refuse to hear the "Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was 70" argument. Call me crazy but I'd like to think the father of my children won't be sharing the diaper supply with our off spring.

* The perpetual "Winker". You "wink". I "wink" back. You "wink" again. I begrudgingly "wink" back one final time, hoping you'll elevate things to an email. You opt for the "winking" trifecta. I block you. Twat.

* Bad grammar/spelling, etc. Call me an asshole but if you can't discern between THEIR/THERE/THEY'RE, think the concept of punctuation is for perfectionists, and possess inferior spelling skills to an 8 year old Eastern European immigrant, I suggest you move on. If I'm questioning your ability to fill out a check properly, me thinks this does not a good match make.

* The out-of-the-gate flirt. At least call me once on the phone before you start asking me what I'm wearing for Christ's sakes.

Why Aging Doesn't Suck, Reason #8 - Kathryn Bigelow

Because at the age of 58, she was the first female director EVER to win an Oscar for her heavily male-skewing, war epic The Hurt Locker, beating out heavy weight contemporaries like James Cameron, Jason Reitman and Quentin Tarantino.

Because in the same year, Time Magazine named her one of the most influential people in the world, after three decades as one of the few women at the helm of major motion pictures (Point Break, Strange Days, K-19 The Widowmaker etc). It's also worth noting that not one of her films is a romantic comedy.

Because she's maintained a healthy, collaborative friendship with her notoriously difficult ex-husband Jim Cameron, claiming they are now such good friends they often swap scripts and early versions of each other's movies. Remarkable given they both run in the same insular, cut throat, world where Hollywood directors often compete for the same tiny pool of financing and accolades.

Because she said this, "If there's specific resistance to women making movies, I just choose to ignore that as an obstacle for two reasons: I can't change my gender, and I refuse to stop making movies."

I Wanna Be A Gibson Girl

I often wonder what sort of stance I would've taken had I been a young, woman kicking around during one of history's more oppressive times. Would I have been courageous enough to harbor jews during WW2? A suffragette marching for the right to vote? Outspoken enough to take on family in my fight to marry for love, not political ambitions during the Valencian Renaissance?

While I'll probably never know the answers to these questions, save for a sit down with a past life regressionist, what I do know is that I would've been a Gibson Girl.

The Gibson Girl is that ass kicking independent chick who roamed the US in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, forging her independence from mundane house-wifery and life-long servitude through pursuits like tennis and golf. And she was a uniquely fashionable bitch to boot. Yes this is a girl who used sports and personal style as a means of self expression and freedom. And for those of you who know me and know me well, this will ring eerily familiar.

She's currently on display in the fabulous American Woman exhibition at The Met in NYC - see my own personal photo above - a MUST SEE display of all things feminist through the ages. Thumbs up to the ladies who came before us, and who continue to march to their own drummer.

Delayed Gratification is the Sign of Maturity

"Patience is a virtue."

So on and so forth...

Rumor is the above lessons get easier as one ages. So how come I'm still waiting for relief? I find myself on the precipice of a life altering career opportunity, awaiting word from my potential, new employer that will undeniably alter the next chapter of my journey on every conceivable level - geographically, professionally, personally, romantically, quality of life. EVERYTHING. It is the dream. With only a few days to go until I get the official word as to whether the job is mine, I find myself enduring excruciating, painful feelings of limbo, and stagnancy. The fallout of being unable to move forward of my own accord has made me hate where I am right now in such an intense way, it's all I can do not to walk into my current boss's office and lay out everything I can't stand about the job, about him, his lack of integrity, his inability to see my value and talent, and how the cynical negativity I have to endure on a daily basis affects my organic, state of being which is in direct opposition to his. I'm Tigger to his Eeyore. It seems that the contrast between what my future could look like, and where it's currently at has suddenly caused me great discomfort in my previously well-worn skin. And as a 40 year old woman, shouldn't I be able to kick back and await the natural outcome without feeling this way? Delayed gratification/maturity/patience/virtue etc?

I so much want to be the guru of grace, the poster child of tranquility, the meditative master. Instead, my stomach is in knots, I have to hold back the urge to throw down with my colleagues, and I am consumed with the notion of what I will do on the off chance it doesn't happen. Except that logically I know it will. My potential new employer has pretty much laid out that I am indeed their girl. Corporations are slow moving trains and waiting out their internal machinations and protocol while due diligence is being conducted up the yin yang, is a torture I wish on no human being.

So I ask the universe what the gift in all of this is? Is this part of my growth, another lesson in a long line of things I am destined to master? Perhaps this limbo is a little taste of having to manage my natural desire to move at lightning speed. After all, if I am to hold a senior executive position at a major corporation, the rate at which decisions are made will be out of my hands so I had better get used to that now. Then there's the little matter of "self soothing", something I haven't had to do for a while. My current situation is a fresh, daily reminder that working gracefully through uncomfortable feelings and trusting the old adage that "this too shall pass" is a treasured skill set I can apply to all aspects of my life.

I am most certainly being stretched and tested. While there are moments I literally want to crawl out of my own body and find a new one (one that has a firm handle on my imminent future), I have to remind myself that this is why I am here on this earth - to be stretched and tested. The disguises in which that comes is often surprising and strange and unexpected. But who I am to tell the universe how to manage its' affairs?

In the meantime, Monday - the day of reckoning - is just around the corner. I can make it until then. Heck, I have no choice. However, what I do with the time between now and then IS my choice. I get to define who I am in all of this. So I'll redirect my thoughts to only good things, keeping those trusty endorphins coursing through my veins with some good exercise, and continue to contribute positively at work despite wanting to hand in my notice RIGHT NOW. That I can control.

Maybe just intuitively implementing this gentle plan in the interim IS actually embracing delayed gratification in a more mature way. It's entirely possible I mistook this all to mean that those who really crack the notion of patience, have a great time along the way and thus don't feel the crawling out of their skin phenomenon as I have. As I'm mulling it over now, I'm not so sure that's true. Maybe those "masters" do in fact want to jump off a bridge but have found their own, gorgeous brand of "self-soothing" in order to cope with all the waiting. I am happy to now have some sort of game plan in place, and optimistic that I am on my way to joining the ranks of virtuous patience like the rest of you adults.

That's a Deal Breaker Ladies!

Remember your glorious twenties when almost nothing was a romantic deal breaker and physical attraction, a few drinks and one random thing in common was enough to get the relationship party started?

Well not anymore ladies. This 40 year old broad now has a laundry list of uncompromising, game enders. Without further ado, here are my deal breakers...

* Nose hair. There are tools for these, dip shits!

* Ear hair. See above.

* Over 40 and never been married. I refuse to be anyone's matrimonial litmus test. And anyway, what the hell have you been doing all these years?

* Freelance ANYTHING.

* Hummers. I might give one but I'll NEVER be seen in one. Which brings me to my next point...

* Deniers of global warming. There are no words...

* Renters. To paraphrase Simply Red, "If you don't own by now, you will never never never date me..."

* Staunch Republicans. Sanctimonious bigots need not apply.

* Fast food regulars. I don't DO paper napkin dispensers and neither should your heart.

* Hunters. The next time shooting a defenseless animal makes you feel like a man, do me this solid - hold up a ruler to what I can only imagine is your teeny, tiny penis, measure it and post the results on your Facebook status.

You Stylish Bitch You - Kathryn Hepburn

This bitch wore pants, button down shirts and sneakers when such things - especially within the Hollywood studio "factory" that systematically pumped out generic, actresses ad nauseum - was considered the ultimate, feminine sacrilege. Hepburn often attended high powered meetings in mens suits, claiming they were merely "comfortable", and refusing to mirror the choices of her contemporaries, who were saddled with sky high girdles and invasive, garter belts.

Her powerful bosses at RKO went so far as to commandeer Hepburn's slacks...a transparent, ploy to force her into wearing a skirt. Unfazed, Kate strolled the studio lot in her underwear. Her stance clear and obviously permanent, the pants were eventually returned. By doing what came naturally, Hepburn's public mutiny became a high-profile example of independence and individuality. As Kate the Great once said:

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."

Such was her radical influence and freedom-infused style, Hepburn was awarded a highly coveted accolade by the Council of Fashion Designers of America in 1986. Her impressive flare still carries on to this day with actresses like Cate Blanchett carrying the torch.

Why Aging Doesn't Suck, Reason #99 - Kimiko Date Drumm

Because after coming out of a 12 year retirement this year, Kimiko is already the world number 72 on the WTP tennis tour.

Because the 39-year-old Japanese athlete then went on to became the second oldest woman to reach the second round of the 2010 French Open after a formidable win over former world number one Darina Safina. With a calf injury.

Because she ran the London Marathon during her retirement from tennis.

This Week's Merit Badge of Honor Goes To...

FRIDAY JONES!!!


For taking the taboo art form of tattooing, and bringing it to 5th Avenue, the word's most expensive street. This, after following a nagging suspicion twenty years ago that lawyers, doctors and fancy people might just like to express themselves in the same way military men, gangsters and blue collar workers have for decades. And boy was she right. She now counts Angelina Jolie, and Uma Thurman among her clients.

Why Aging Doesn't Suck, Reason #6 - MARIAN SELDES

Because she's still the Grande Dame of the Great White Way at nearly 82.

Because she opted to attend her BFF Angela Landsbury's 3 hour Broadway Revival shortly after breaking her shoulder, instead of going to the hospital. It would later be replaced by a titanium model such was the severity of her injury.

Because she's about to receive a Lifetime Achievement award at this year's Tony Awards after a stage career spanning 6 decades.

How Old Are You?

I've been trying to recall the exact point at which the question, "How old are you?" became an all out intrusion, a dreaded invasion of privacy so oddly disconcerting, I'll do almost anything to avoid it. Gone are the days when age was a non-entity in my life, a mere number hidden in the depths of much more important things like current boyfriends, the latest career milestone reached, apartment hunting, fights with girlfriends, shopping sprees, bars, nightclubs, boys, and full scale immersion in whatever pop culture mania had taken hold at the time. I hate that I hate this question so much. But why?

At some point, probably around the mid-thirties, "How old are you?" becomes the mortal enemy. As the forties are clearly on the horizon, an internal shift takes place, forcing one's hand towards taking a soulful inventory of all the things that simply aren't working. Unrealized dreams and goals still not attained become glaringly obvious, renting the apartment you've loved for years now feels like a second-tier option compared to buying - for isn't that what proper adults do? Certain friends suddenly feel like heavy baggage and the need to replace them with new, more evolved versions becomes readily apparent. Single-dom and the question of children are carefully scrutinized; Why am I still single? What's wrong with me? Do I really believe in marriage anyway? Can I give up a life of independence for a child at this late stage in the game? As a result, age, particularly as one hits 40, becomes a sort of unspoken benchmark for certain events to have taken place. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. And when they haven't, admitting you are not in your still-acceptable-to-be-a-fuck-up twenties and thirties, age becomes the villain in a gal's life story.

I know why revealing my age can be a painfully awkward experience. You see, I got a late start in my career. I flailed around for years having grand life experiences like fronting a rock band, modeling, acting, living in Europe, living in a squat, living with boyfriends, just plain LIVING! After finally settling on a career in Hollywood at 30, I didn't land my first real TV job until the age of 33 though it wasn't until I hit 36 I realized I had found my calling and really went full steam ahead. I've not looked back since. Now the vice president of a major production company, not to mention having created, directed, written and produced numerous movies, and tv shows, the realization that I just turned 40 still manages to creep into my head, telling me none of it is good enough.

As a bona fide perfectionist, my mind loves to entertain such unproductive thoughts such as, "If only I had started in my twenties, I'd be so much further along," or "If I was 30, my credits would be much more impressive. But at 40? Not so much." The latter stems from people often assuming I'm much younger than I am - and I wonder if they feel a sense of disappointment upon learning I am in my fourth decade of life, and therefore not nearly as accomplished as they thought I was. I've even (gulp) LIED about my age, just so as not to disappoint. Not all the time, but every so often. And that's too often, damn it. All this dramatic, self-destructive talk, and carrying on instead of honoring just how far I've come in a few short years - and my career trajectory shows no signs of slowing down either. In fact, my entire life's journey to get to this point has been rather miraculous actually, and yet I've still let turning 40 negate that.

As I re-read this passage, I am slightly ashamed to be so shallow and defined by what others MIGHT think. The truth is, I have no idea, and my accomplishments are my accomplishments regardless of my age. In fact, isn't there some sort of special accolade for having the balls to pursue one of the most competitive career tracks known to Western civilization well into my thirties? Shouldn't I embrace the fact that despite so much of my industry's need to cater to the 18-34 set, it's actually a blessing for someone my age? After all, I have been there, done that and moved successfully to the other side, garnering wisdom, and perspective into that (thankfully) bygone era. I can authentically attest to those experiences through my craft, and able to offer guidance in a way a writer/producer straight out of film school couldn't. This all sounds fine but when you work in an industry that worships youth, it's hard to admit the truth sometimes. Case in point...

Years ago, Riley Weston, a TV writer posing as a teen was hired for JJ Abrams' college-set drama Felicity - she was in fact 32. When the powers that be found out she was lying, they promptly fired her, complete with public humiliation, and a send off that branded her as permanently "black listed" from Hollywood. As far as I know, she never worked again. True, Riley lied. While I get that dishonesty is a surefire way to sour any relationship, I got the distinct impression the Fox executives were more disappointed she wasn't a teen prodigy who was still in the collegiate trenches, not that her pants were on fire. Let's be clear here. Hollywood is a town where lying is as de rigueur as oxygen, as commonplace as valet parking, and palm trees. So to use that as the reasoning behind the packing slip especially when she was consistently delivering the creative goods, well... I just didn't totally buy it.

The piece those Fox executives missed was that she was in fact the absolute perfect age to write about the college experience. She had already been through it, and not that long ago. She came out the other side with battle scars and insight in tact, with stories, characters and her own unique set of experiences to bring into the writer's room. But she wasn't 18 as she claimed. Wisdom be damned!

I've decided enough is enough. And I want to clarify that I don't always lie about my age. Just once in a while, in a pinch where I think a career opportunity might be in jeopardy. "You're only as sick as your secrets" some wise soul once said. Part of writing this blog in the first place, is to FULLY embrace my age, to document it for better or for worse, and to ultimately celebrate it in all its glory. The more we women talk about it, share our shame of aging in a culture that fears it more than death, and then come together to turn Madison Avenue on it's ear, the better chance we have of mitigating the damage to our self-esteem. I'm changing the dialogue, right here, right now. May we all endeavor to be more conscious of how we talk about other women, how we secretly judge each other, and worst of all constantly comparing ourselves. I for one, promise never to lie about my age again.



If all of this is merely pipe dream, there's always Paris. The French are known to hold a special kind of adoration for older women (Ines de la Fressange anyone?). Madison Avenue might have created this mess we're in, but we can get us out of it.

Good Art

French designer Vanessa Bruno and fellow Parisian actress/model Lou Doillon, pair up in this short film to celebrate what I can only describe as freedom, joy, and pure expression. It has nothing to do with age perse, and everything to do with the fact that when I watch it, I feel happy. What are you doing today to bring joy into your life?

See it now...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yjHou0TiDU

You Stylish Bitch, You - Carine Roitfeld

As the Editor of French Vogue, it comes as no surprise that Carine kills it in the personal style department. What makes her exceptional is that she consistently pulls off the same trends, and influences her younger counterparts do, and yet still manages to feels age appropriate - which is 56 for the record - and even outshines the models who adorn her magazine's pages. Love this bitch.

Quote of the Day - Simone de Beauvoir

"The torment that so many young women know, bound hand and foot by love and motherhood, without having forgotten their former dreams."

The Ladies of Mad Men

Though technically all 20 and 30-somethings, the ladies of Mad Men are an in-your-face reminder of just how far we've come.

Questions for the Queen

Do you ever have a good old-fashioned, ugly cry? Do you do silly dances when nobody's looking? Have you ever watched a romantic comedy? What's your favorite sitcom? Who is on your list of five celebrities you wish you could have sex with? Beatles or Rolling Stones? Do you have one frilly pair of undies you save for special occasions or are they all waist high and elasticated? What song are you most likely to karaoke? Edward or Jacob?

Quote of the Day - Madeleine Albright

"There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women."

Why Aging Doesn't Suck Reason #29 - Kim Gordon

Because at 57, she is still married to her rock star husband (and band-mate) of 26 years, an accomplishment of epic proportions in any realm, let alone the music world.

Because she was a female bass player in a non-mainstream band at a time when Madonna and Cyndi Lauper reined supreme, and inspired a new generation of girls to pick up the guitar and play, maaan.

Because she's an artist, musician, actress, clothing designer, and mother who continues to defy perceptions of women at every stage of her enthralling career.

Because Sonic Youth is still a tour du force and continues to be one of the most influential bands of the past 20 years.

The Only Child Dilemma

At 40, a currently single and motherless woman thinks two things when it comes to the possibility of having children; how many do I really want at this late stage and how much time do I actually have in which to do it safely?

There's a fight to be had for having just one. The fact that even if I met the father of my child today, I'd still want us to take the time to really get to know each other first. You know, actually be a proper couple before kids enter the fray. Perhaps not as important but still a point for consideration is that I'm an only child myself. I know what that looks like, with all the inherent challenges and pluses it encompasses. In short, I know how to do that. Well... as much as anyone can know how to raise a child without having actually done it. However, being the sole product of my parental loins is also the reason I'm seriously pondering the idea of a second one, should I have bestowed upon me the luxury of time.

Being an only child is a burden and a blessing. I was indeed an equal product of that dichotomy. The blessings are exactly what one would expect – lots of attention, an independent streak caused by having to entertain and take care of oneself for hours on end, especially when both parents work full time. Not to mention studies show that only children mature emotionally at a much faster rate. This prepared me well for the unorthodox and rather grown up adventures I would later take at a young age, like moving to London on my own as a mere teenager.

However, the burdens run aplenty too. Being an only child often comes with the suspended belief that the kind of focused attention one received growing up, will have some sort of real world application later on. It doesn't. It's a shocking realization that the entire world does not indeed revolve around you, and as a result, major shifts, attitude adjustments and a surrendering of that particular brand of narcissism must follow if one is to forge quality friendships, working relationships and fulfilling romantic encounters. Easier said than done, I can tell you.

Perhaps the most daunting burden of all, at least in my case, is that you become your parents equal, their “friend”. Therapists call it “triangulation” which sounds pretty cool in theory; you’re not treated like a kid, they talk to you like a proper adult etc. Ask any child and they'll tell you the last thing they want is to be talked down to like they're a miniature moron. In essence you're one of them which, in it's finer moments, seems like the holy grail of child/parent dynamics. And in some ways it is.

The sinister underbelly of this dynamic leaves said child feeling like they have to manage situations well beyond their maturity level, leaving many aspects of childhood in the dust. You see, my parents shared with me their marital woes, thinking I could handle the truth of their precarious marriage. For the record, they broke up twice though I am proud to say ultimately worked it out. In fact, they felt like I would actually BENEFIT from knowing the truth, so tight knit was our family. However, the damage was done. Having the familial rug pulled out from under your feet is a big burden to bear when you're still too small to ride a roller coaster. I felt compelled to pick sides and tried to hold it all together when they weren't able to. I couldn’t of course, and that made it all the worse. I was the only witness to their chaos, the moral compass in a sea of turmoil but was equipped with none of the emotional intelligence or life experience to guide the three of us through the murky waters safely to the other side. As an only child, there were no siblings to share the burden with, no other little beings with which I could seek refuge or parcel out some of the pain. I took it on, did my best until eventually they evolved past their own "stuff" and created a safer space within which to raise me for my remaining years under their roof.

Despite the tumultuous times, there was an undeniable bond, a thread of goodness that balanced out the bad. They were there for everything I did. 10 years of playing competitive sports – which meant exhaustive practice and game schedules, tournaments on weekends and major holidays - choir performances, acting auditions, parent teacher meetings. They played endless hours of board games on the floor, and created the most magical holiday celebrations a kid could ask for. We always had dinner together, went to the drive-in movies, and engaged in real conversations about life, books, art, movies, life, sex, drugs, alcohol - anything that seemed important at the time. Mum would read books with me for hours. We’d take turns reading chapters from the likes of Judy Blume and Roald Dahl, until we'd literally fall asleep on my bed. Dad would painstakingly teach me how to hit a slap shot,or sit down with root beer and pretzels as we watched the hockey game Saturday night. He could have done that with his guy friends. But he did it with me.

My parents never questioned my curiosity about the unorthodox things I was intent on exploring. I was never a traditional girl, something that hasn't changed even today. For some reason, they made that ok. Though it is my belief they would have treated all their children in the same manner, the fact that I was their sole focus has certainly contributed to my success in life, as both a career woman and a well-developed human being. They didn't have to spread their attention, time, energy and resources on anyone other than me. And if I don't mention the fact that I was never allowed to be a spoiled brat, my mother will kill me. I tried once, around the age of 5, to throw a temper tantrum in a supermarket, an outburst that was swiftly thwarted and never attempted again.

We've talked about what our house would have been like had I had siblings. It used to be hard for me to imagine ever sharing my parents, "I would've eaten them alive." But now I wonder how I might have developed differently if I did have a brother or sister. Would it have mitigated some of the pain along the way? Might I have appreciated their company in times when none of my friends were available? How fascinating would it have been to see another extension of my parents living and breathing in my midst? And who would they have become, despite being from the same environment? I'll never know the value of having someone who knows the ins and outs of my family the way that I do. There's no one else to keep the memories alive.

It would be really nice to have that bond now, that impenetrable connection and link to another human being, especially once my parents eventually pass on. I think it might be nice to experience that through my own children. I'd like to give them that. If I have time. If I don't, well I certainly know how to raise just one. And that will be just fine too.

Why Aging Doesn't Suck Reason #77 - Sam Taylor Wood

Because her directing career is just getting started at 43.

Because she looked cancer in the face, and beat it. Twice.

Because she is engaged to the 19 year old star of her directorial debut, is pregnant with his baby, and makes no apologies for choosing happiness over conformity,“The amount of men I know with the same age gap that we have — how come no one says anything about that? It’s totally sexist. I try to ignore it. In my life, I’ve never really listened to when people start forming opinions on how you should be doing things.”

The First Ladies of Television - 2010

Holly Hunter, Glen Close, Julian Margolis, Lauren Graham, Diane Sawyer, Katie Courig, Sally Fields, Calista Flockhart, and Rachel Griffiths, Tina Fey and Jane Krakowski,Mariska Hargitay, Kyra Sedgwick, Sara Silverman, Barbara Walters (everyone on The View except that Republican blonde fuckwit), Meredith Vieira and Ann Curry. Need I go on?

This Just In...

Magazine Scientists have just discovered new, cutting edge technology that allows editors to transplant the body of a 26 model onto the face of a 48 year old actress. Imagine the possibilities. And the eating disorders. And the self loathing. And so on... And so on...

Why Aging Doesn't Suck Reason #29 - Helen Mirren

This one requires no words. Except to say she's 65.

Literary Musings

Intellectually, we understand aging. So why does the first wrinkle or gray hair send us into an emotional tailspin? As smart women who were raised to believe that success and happiness are based on intelligence and accomplishments, many of us never expected to feel this deeply about a seemingly superficial issue. But let’s face it, we do!

While individually we were taught that beauty is only skin deep, our youth-obsessed culture reinforces the myth that beauty is our currency, our power, and what makes us female. These conflicting messages leave many women feeling trapped in a web of confusion. Do we grow old naturally, since our looks don’t define us, or do we fight the signs of aging, since beauty and youth are prized so dearly? Whether we focused on our looks or barely noticed them, our changing appearances strike at the core of who we are. FACE IT is a psychological guide that provides a path out of this surprisingly difficult predicament. It helps us strike a healthy balance between letting our looks matter and accepting that they change—between holding on and moving on.

As models turned psychotherapists, Vivian Diller, Ph.D., and Jill Muir-Sukenick, Ph.D., have had the opportunity to examine the world of beauty from two very different vantage points—one where looks are all-important and the other where they are often viewed as irrelevant. This unique perspective helped them develop a six-step program that starts with recognizing “uh-oh” moments, examines the emotional impact of aging on self-image, and ends by suggesting innovative ways to approach beauty throughout life, so you can enjoy your appearance—at any age!

Late Bloomers

"There is no use trying," said Alice. "One can't believe impossible things." The Queen replied, " I dare say you haven't had much practice. When I was your age, I always did if for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." - Lewis Carroll

A psychic in my early twenties told me I'd be a late bloomer in both love and career. This made no sense to me at the time; I had always been the youngest person in the room (neophyte journalist at the magazine, the Doogie Howser of my professional improv troupe, etc.), no matter what I was doing. At the time of the reading, I was on my second serious, long term relationship, convinced he was THE ONE. So the idea that I would find the two most important things known to man kind late in life, seemed unfathomable. However, time progressed and I soon found myself the same age as everyone else in the room. Now I'm almost always the oldest. Damn - when did I become the elder statesmen? I liked being the prodigy so much better. Or at least my ego did.

Eventually I discovered my true path - producing/writing/directing tv and movies - in my 30's though I had circled the entertainment field in various forms since I was a kid. OK so late bloomer in career - check. And here I am at 40, very much single, dating and wondering when the hell I get to take myself off the market. Late bloomer in love - check. I need to find this woman and ask her what stocks I should invest in.

So she was right - I'm a late bloomer! SO WHAT? I'm a late bloomer because I've been busy my entire life trying things on for size, experimenting with curiosities that piqued my interest, and playing outside the lines. I never followed the beaten path. Ever. I played hockey at a time when girls didn't do such things - so much so the local newspaper printed a full page spread on my ice-bound adventures. I quit school at 16, went to London on my own for the summer, loved it, went back permanently and lived there for years, again, on my own. I fronted an indie rock band, modeled, acted, wrote for noted music magazines all over the world and essentially walked through any interesting door that opened, never questioning where it might take me. Logic would dictate I had no business pursuing any of these things for I did not have experience, education or even rudimentary knowledge of the very things I was embarking on. Not many people would start a band only knowing three chords on the guitar. Well, I did and ended up being pretty successful I might add. And I'd do it again now if a similar urge struck me.

Looking back, it's easy to say I took those kinds of chances because I was young. It's not nearly as difficult to do when there's not much at stake. "You can always come home," Mum said, if it didn't work out. The thing is, I never did come home. Well once, briefly when I finally got tired of the dreary, limitations of the UK not to mention all that bloody rain - and had to press reset on my life for a minute. But I was soon out the door again and off on the next adventure. Of course that safety net lessens as the years progress, (parents get older, you have a family of your own who depend on you, and of course the humiliation of having to ask for help over the age of 30) making it even harder to entertain the notion of moderate change, or heaven forbid, a self-imposed exile from your life. However, it doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.

Indeed that sense of adventure gets knocked out of us when we turn a certain age. What that looks like is different for everybody but seems to land somewhere in the region of 35. You know the drill - "Reality sets in." Or, "I just had to finally grow up." These are the biggest lies you will ever tell yourself. Believe me when I say, they will kill your insides and rip out your soul. I'm 40 and I still take chances. ALL THE TIME. I believe in trying new things. I believe in taking risks on a regular basis. It's good for the brain, the soul, and the holy ghost. Initiate a sense of adventure into life's often dull and dreary proceedings, take your daily routine by the gonads and pinch them hard, until it brings tears to the eyes. I'm not suggesting giving up all sense of responsibility, a steady pay check or leaving the life you've painstakingly worked to build. It doesn't have to be "Eat, Pray, Love" for God sakes. But what about injecting one new thing into your weekly grind?

Learn Spanish, mentor an at-risk teenager, take apart a car engine and put it back together, I don't care. Just don't buy into the notion that as we get older, it gets harder to learn. I started playing tennis less than a year ago, and it's changed my life. As a former athlete who accomplished many, many accolades in pretty much every sport I tried, it was not easy to put my ego aside, and stand beside 8 year olds who hit the ball better than I did. But I was curious, and interested and tired of the sports I had been playing all my life. So I started training with a coach, a couple of times a week. When I wasn't dreaming about hitting the perfect kick serve, I would watch endless hours of my favorite players on TV, even attending tournaments all over the world just to get my fix. Hour after hour, week after week I slowly started becoming a better player.

My brain engaged, my body lithe, the ego firmly in check, I am fast progressing into a real tennis player. What's almost as rewarding as now being able to beat folks who have been active in the sport 10 times longer than I have, is that I had the courage to look stupid for a while. I hate being a novice in anything, but had I listened to that 40 year old logic whispering in my ear, "Oh you really have to start when you're young. It's just too hard to build muscle memory at your age," I would have missed out on what I can genuinely say is the love of my life. It seems like I am in good company. 47 year-old, actress Elisabeth Shue has forgone her illustrious movie career to pursue her goal of being the only women over 40 to receive entry into a professional womens tennis tournament. It looks like she's going to do it, too.

My "reality check" still hasn't kicked in because I won't let it. Better yet, I've managed to find an incredibly rewarding career along the way, one that all these adventures has prepared me for, maybe even more so than the folks who followed the tried and tested path. As far as love goes, all those fumbled dalliances, failures, lessons, therapy and moments of pure bliss have brought me to the point where I actually feel like I have something real to offer. I recently asked a girlfriend whose marriage is struggling, "If you were to meet your husband now, would you still marry him?" She didn't even stop to pause, "Absolutely not." I think, at 40, it's less likely I will mutter those words to her on my 10th year anniversary.

There are no rules, kids. Just ask Julia Child, Agatha Christie, Madelaine Albright, Hilary Clinton, Amelia Earhart, and Helen Mirren - just a small sampling of fabulous women who found their calling later in life. If you're still not convinced, pick up NY Times best-selling author Amy Cohen's book "The Late Bloomers Revolution".

So how about starting your own, personal revolution?

"Elizabeth Hurley, Aging" - The Daily Beast

Wrinkles are now officially headline news. Here's hoping tomorrow's front pages read, "Research now shows that after the age of 40, penises shrink an inch in size every decade."

Quote of the Day - Emma Thompson

“Blokes can have various false starts and start over again.” She describes a male friend who at 52 is about to have his first child. “That is open to them and that makes a difference in your mental state. In you’re 30s [as a woman] you’re thinking, whatever relationship you get into, is that going to be the one, or what’s the point in having it? Men have much longer,” she says. “Women have to make these decisions earlier on.”

Dressing Your Age

The fashion media are designed (no pun intended) to tell us what to wear, how to wear it, and where to go once we're in the perfect outfit. Fine. That kind of harmless and fluffy advice I'll happily sign up for. But when they take the position of knowing better than I do, what I should and should not wear depending on my age... well, I draw the line there.

The worst offender is Harpers Bazaar who run a regular feature called "Fabulous At Every Age". It details how to wear current trends, broken down by each decade - from the 20's to the 70's. Ladies of every age are represented, as the editors and stylists feverishly wade through the latest and greatest fashion has to offer, spelling out what is age appropriate and by omission, what isn't. As expected, 20 and 30-something girls are permitted to sport short hems, frilly carefree frocks, and given free reign to be as wild and eccentric as they want. Meanwhile, the rest of us mere mortals stand by and watch as the clothes just get plain dowdier and dowdier as the decades increase. Sorry but the likelihood I will ever wear a Chanel brocade jacket carries the same odds as finding a fully in-tact, snow cone in hell.

The sub text is clear - it's the older ladies that need guidance for youth holds no bounds. Just for the record, not all offenders are middle-aged and older. Someone (Harpers Bazaar, perhaps?) please tell my youthful counterparts that just because they're 21, doesn't mean they look good in ANYTHING. Have some taste ladies. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

While I agree that not all women have the necessary filter to make smart fashion decisions on their own, I still resent being told I can no longer wear certain hem lines, or rock edgy wares just because I'm not fresh out of high school. Sure, if you're 50, a studded, leather jacket and thigh high boots might not be the best course of action. But heck, if you can rock it, why not? And anyway, isn't that a matter of taste and style, not age? You be the one to tell Kim Gordon to trade in her Daryl K for Ann Taylor - here's hoping you get a solid, tongue-lashing in return. I for one refuse to picture Chrissie Hynde and Debbie Harry in J Crew or Anthropologie, and I'd rather die than have Susan Sarandon tuck away those magnificent breasts of hers, just because she's past the 60 mark. Which brings me to another train of thought...

Edith Wharton wrote in The House of Mirth,"A woman is asked out as much for her clothes as for herself." I believe this to be true. However, I refuse to be taken hostage by it. I've never taken into account what a man thinks is sexy, and I'm sure as shit not going to start now. There's a difference between feeling sexy and dressing sexy. If a woman gushes pheremones because of the way a pair of torn,skinny Acne jeans and a military-inspired jacket makes her feel, well don't think for a minute her date isn't going to pick up on that too. It has nothing to do with fuck-me-pumps and a mini skirt and everything to do with authenticity. If being in your 40's means being more comfortable in your skin,shouldn't your choice in clothing be a natural extension of that too? And don't we all want a man who values that over come-hither clothing?

I attribute my methodology in large part to my fabulous mother. One of the most stylish women I know - she outdid Twiggy in the sixties, Annie Hall in the 70's, Norma Kamali in the 80's, and continues to forge her own uniqueness at 62 - she once asked me if I dress for men or women. Even at the age of 16, I understood the relevance and weight of this seemingly innocuous question. I replied without hesitation, "WOMEN!" I have never cared for men who ogle, and I certainly don't want my fashion mood for the day dictated by what they think is hot. If it's converse I want to wear, it's converse I'm gonna wear. High tops, black, full of holes and totally punk rock. They've been a wardrobe staple since I was 12 and I'm not gonna change now. No, I would much rather walk by a group of cool girls who ogle my STYLE, not my ass.

Yes, it's my fabulous mother who taught me to match my socks and shirt at the tender age of 2, and let me work my own fashion sensibilities even when it was simply the coolest running shoes, scratch and sniff t-shirts, and Vidal Sassoon jeans. Self expression was the name of the game. Always was, still is. Men, or boys were never a factor. The fact that most of them always went for the girls with long, flowing hair and pretty dresses (and for the most part continue to do so) was never a game changer for me. I'm still the same rough and tumble tomboy I was back then, only now I mix my converse with Prada and Jil Sander. I'm age appropriate because I wear what I like. And I had great training.