You probably don’t have enough time to get waxed or even read your daily horoscope, so why spend time with me?

Bet you wasted more time buying another black sweater you didn’t need at TJ Maxx this week. I’m not selling anything. I have no advice on skin care, where to find a good guy, what to make for dinner for 10 in 10 minutes, how to get your preschooler into Harvard, or how to have hot sex with your husband even after you’re married.

What’s left? Real life.

I wonder…

Is anybody besides my two BFF and Debbie, my dental hygienist, ever going to read this blog or even know about it?

I wish I had a lot of followers like Beyonce. If you have a lot of followers, it means you’re somebody really special, like Beyonce,  or have done something really reprehensible like most politicians.

When I mentioned to the checkout girl at Shoprite I was doing a blog, she asked me why. I told her I was spending too much time eating and watching Netflix. Also because my husband has heard everything I have to say a million times, he doesn’t put on his hearing aids unless we have company.

Also since I’ve heard his jokes two million times and listened to him complain about the price of gas on Rt. 31 every day for 30 years and to his distress at not being able to find any good Chinese food in New Jersey, I hoped to have a new conversation with someone. Anyone. Please?

Welcome to my world

Nobody has an uneventful life but some people have a relatively simple life. Some things happen but not much. I wonder if they know how lucky they are.

I have an up and down life but I’m not manic depressive or bipolar.

Vincent van Gogh was manic depressive. Catherine Zeta-Jones is bipolar. I’m not like either of them. I’m just a Gemini.

The Story of My Life (and my hair)

Because I was born with red hair I was nicknamed Ginger. Then I got another nickname: Gingy.

I have no pictures of my hair or me until I was 13 because my family fell apart.

At 14, I dyed my hair blond using peroxide. It turned orange and green from the sun. Every time my friend Dora saw somebody with a really bad dye job she’d say, “Gingy, almost as bad as you.”

Who is that person with brown hair? This is my high school graduation hair.  I had eyebrows then.

I like this picture of me because it doesn’t really look like me. I had a boyfriend that summer. It was taken in Woodstock but not the year of that big deal festival.

I thought if I cut my hair short I’d look like Audrey Hepburn. I didn’t.

Then I thought if I went to the beauty parlor (that’s what we used to call it) and they teased and sprayed my hair I’d look like Jackie Kennedy. I didn’t.

When I had children, I didn’t care about my hair. I had six children in seven years. I lost teeth and hair but I kept that husband (for a while).

When the children got older I wanted to look younger so I became a blonde. I don’t know if real blondes have more fun but I do know that faux blondes like me spend too much money on their roots.

When I got older I was too old to be a blonde so I got a blue hair dye at Walmart and did it.

Now I wear scarfs and hats.

You’re just a button click away…

and I’d love to hear from you.

About your world, your family, your joys and frustrations, growing up, growing older, even recipes—even though I stopped cooking–by request— years ago.

Hope your day turns out as well as I hope–but doubt–mine will.  Goodbye until next time.

Ilene (Gingy)