Stephanie Dolgoff, blogger and author of  “My Formerly Hot Life,”  posted my story on her blog last Friday about a business associate that guessed my age a WHOLE YEAR older than I am. C’mon, ladies, we all know, especially when we get into our 30′s and older, that we want to look younger. I was convinced that I looked 27. Hell, when I’m glossed up rocki’ a cute headband, I would swear up and down I should be on “Gossip Girl.” That is, until this unnamed associate had me sprinting to the bathroom mirror and realizing all the sun damage on my forehead. At the end of my 15 minute session of finding every flaw on my face, I was convinced I was Courtney Love’s twin when she emerged from rehab last year.  

Anywho… the moral of this story is… when you’re over the age of 27, don’t let anyone guess your age.  Click here to read the rest of the story!

GYNA GALS!! Remember my little contest? Well, after purchasing an economy size package of Depend and wetting myself, I was able to narrow down the Three Winners! It was hard – you gals out there have slap-ass funny stories. I was just laughing, wetting my pants and slapping my ass simultaneously for an entire month. My boyfriend thought I had Turrets.

The three lovely ladies won a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life” which reached #32 on the The New York Times Best Seller List! Congrats, ladies! Embarrassment and bounce-back WELL DONE!

The next three days, I will feature each winner’s story! Our first story is from Leiah in Lake Charles, LA, a little lady that went from 26 to 92 in a mark of a pen thanks to our responsible voter registration system. ENJOY!

I recently wrote a blog post regarding not being very thrilled about getting yet another piece of mail that should be delivered to a person of more advanced age than mine. The day after receiving yet another letter asking me if I was aware of the potential changes to my Medicare benefits I remembered where this all began.

My nephew Christopher was in kindergarten when his baby sister was born. My sister-in-law asked if I would take her place at the Tiger Cub Mom & Me camp-out and, of course, I agreed. I picked him up early that Saturday morning and we headed north to the Boy Scout campgrounds. It was mid-October in Texas so temperatures in the high 70s were not out of the norm. We pitched our tent, hiked, did whatever crazy badge stuff he needed to do, finally ending the evening with a campfire and then heading to bed…as much as a sleeping bag on the hard ground can be considered a bed.

Have you ever heard what they say about weather in Texas? If you don’t like it, wait a minute it will change. It did. When we woke up the next morning it was in the 40′s. The 40′s!! I had no cold weather stuff with me. No jacket. Nada. I was in a T-shirt and jeans. And miserable. Thank the Good Lord above we only had to stay there until after breakfast and a SHORT pack, den…some kind of wild animal group meeting, then we were free to go. Oh, I forgot…there was no hot water there at the camp. Only cold, frigid, liquid icicles dripping from a shower head that had about 7 openings…not that I know that for a fact because I refused to stand under what had to be the original idea behind the waterboarding technique. We packed up and headed home as quickly as we could so that I could warm up and finally take a shower.

I brought Christopher home and then headed to my parents house. I came in, dropped off my bags and headed straight to the shower. An extremely nice, long, hot shower. When I got out, my mom told me I had gotten a phone call while in the shower…and then started laughing. Here is the telephone conversation as my mom told me:

Mom: Hello?
Caller: Is Leiah there?
Mom: She’s unavailable right now – can I take a message?
Caller: Oh no, she’s not sick or anything is she? Is she doing OK; will she be available later?
Mom: If you must know, she’s in the shower. She just got back from taking her nephew camping.
Caller: Oh. {crickets}……This is the Jefferson County Democratic Party. We were calling all our senior citizens to see if they needed a ride to the polls next week.
Mom: Senior citizens?
Caller: Yes ma’am.
Mom: I think you’ve got the wrong person. She’s only 26
Caller: Really? We have her birth date as 10/22/00…she’s not 92? Well, I’m sorry to bother you. Enjoy your day and don’t forget to vote!

92?!?!? Yep, they forgot to enter the year I was born when they printed the new Voter Registration cards that year. Can you imagine the thoughts going through that person’s head when they heard that the old lady they thought was 92 had taken her nephew camping?

Ever since then I’ve gotten AARP information, Medicare junk mail, scooter information and any kind of ‘old people’ junk mail showing up in my mailbox. I guess by the time I finally do partake in these services, there’ll be some crazy math going on.

Victoria… that naughty little vixen…. sometimes she’s not so Secret. Our next winner of the “Age, She’s Such a Beotch” story contest with three winners receiving a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life”, is Kelly.  Not only did Kelly have enough emotion with gravity trying to death-grip her boobs, she also had to deal with a unwanted man having a front seat to it all! 

Ladies, let’s support Kelly… literally…read this in your push-up bras. I’m writing this with no shirt on and sporting some lacy lock and lift action.  Kelly, you now have the floor as my boobs have cleared it…

As I enjoy my late twenties, I have noticed my body beginning to change, things are starting to sag and move south.  Now, I have lost a significant amount of weight in the past year – probably about 15 of those pounds from my breasts. I’m not making excuses for my sagging breasts; only trying to justify a portion of their current position with my weight loss.  I’m a woman of good sense, so I know part of it is the gradual approach of the big 3-0.  To remedy this very physical and obvious maturation of my body, I decided to venture into the push-up bra sector of the world.  Mind you, I have had breasts since I was in the second grade.  I have very distinct memories of my mother crying as I tried on training bras.  Because of the longevity of the relationship between me and my breasts, they have had ample time to grow and have always been on the larger side.  My excitement to enter the land of push-up’s was heightened by the idea of thin pretty straps and beautiful lace details that the full-figured section could never quite offer.

I  had recruited my sister to join me on the breast relocation project.  We started at Victoria’s Secret because my sister loves their push-up bras.  We barrelled through the store, on a mission, scooping up every fit of push-up and headed to the fitting rooms.  So, if you have ever traveled to push-up land, you understand that there is a very fine line between beautifully elevated breasts and the dreaded double boob.  With the bras that we thought might work, I tried on a t-shirt over each for the ultimate test.  My assistant, my only sister, was of little help.  She purchased her breasts back in 2003 after the birth of her second son.  Hers are destined to always be a comfortable chin rest whether they are in a bra or not.  Confused as to how a push-up bra should fit a natural breast, my sister ran out and retrieved the nearest saleswoman to help us decipher the bra fit.  What my sister returned with was a snotty 21 year old who has yet to see the flip side of perky breasts and looked at me with a bit of disgust as we explained the situation.  She quickly suggested that I try a few of their fuller coverage bras since I seemed to have ample breasts.  I had to re-explain to this 21 year child that it was the height of my breasts that I was concerned about, not the fullness.  As we sat and discussed (my sister poked and prodded my chest to see if the bra actually fit correctly), a male voice chimed in.  In the midst of the already perplexing chaos, I hadn’t noticed that the fitting room door was completely open. In the reflection of the mirror across from the door was the image of a man in his early fifties sitting comfortably in the husband/boyfriend chair with a perfect view.  He assured me that my breasts were beautiful for a 30 year old and to enjoy them while they were at their current elevation.  His vote was for the bra I was currently wearing.  Stunned and in shock, I quickly shut to door, regrouped and yelled to him behind door, “Sir, I appreciate your compliment, but I am 28, not 30.”

Needless to say I left Victoria’s Secret without that particular bra, but with the two runner ups. Oh.. and with my sunglasses on so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the older male stranger that experienced the entire debacle with me.

The final winner of the “Age, She’s Such a Beotch” story contest with three winners receiving a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life”, is Kim.  Her story proves that men’s chauvinism can still cause us embarrassment, then we bounce back and remember they are the gender that shifts themselves in public and think no one saw them.  Mamas… don’t let your babies grow up to be Joaquin Phoenix.

Here I am at one of the best street fests in Chicago, Retro on Roscoe, with my younger brother and a couple of his friends.  Retro is great because it tends to be a little bit of an older crowd no 20 something’s getting under my feet.  Here we are, enjoying a few drinks having a great time, I’m checking out the scenery – very nice – when I turn to see my brother talking to a pretty good looking guy, we’ll call him random guy – RG.  I’m half eavesdrop, half paying attention to one of the girls with us when the friend turns to me. Wow, really cute, and he starts making the idle chit chat.  I think it’s going well and he looks a bit older than my brother, which is even better.  We’re having great conversation, laughing , witty banter and then it happens. “So are you Joe’s younger or older sister?” Now make no mistake, I look good for my age, but there should be no question that I am older than my brother.  ”I’m his older sister.” That should be it, right?  Move on, next question, right? NO!  “ Oh really,”  look of utter shock  ”by how much?”  I pause, partly because it’s difficult to do math after 4 drinks and partly never really paying attention to my brother’s age. “You don’t know?” he says getting anxious.  I look at my brother, “How old are you, again?” then back to RG,  “Oh, yea, there’s 6 years difference between us,” and before difference has left my lips, he has his back to me excusing himself to get another drink!  Nice! REAL NICE!!! Way to be subtle! 

It took me aback for a second, but like any smart 40 something , I promptly sprung back and yelled to him to,  ”You can get us all a drink… we’ll be right here.”  He brought back the drinks, but that’s the last contact we had that day. Upon discussing, and laughing about this incident with my brother, he said “he didn’t leave that fast….well, yea, I guess he did, but he’s like 33.”  And I thought Cougars were in…