Marcia Fine's Blog, page 3

Are We Doing the Dirty in Scottsdale?

Scottsdale's ranking as one of the most pulchritudinous cities is plummeting. Even with exquisite flora and the beauty of our desert dwellers our close proximity to Phoenix, which has been ranked high on the misery index by The Wall Street Journal, makes us subject to ridicule. The misery index decides how miserable we are and right now, a lot of people are unhappy. Why? Jobs, business, the heat, the pollution, politics are a few.  Now Forbes has ranked Phoenix/Scottsdale as the sixth dirtiest city in the United States!

That means there's a brown haze hanging over us. I see it happen every winter. The "brown cloud" embraces our Valley from all the cars over populating our roads. The high pollution warnings tell seniors, children and those with respiratory problems to stay indoors. The minute my mother hears that she has a task she needs to complete with urgency.

"Jean, why is the air a hazy color and shimmering? I can't see the mountains and I cleaned my glasses. I must go out today to check out the new rinse for grey hair at Walgreens."

I called Lara—she's the family environmentalist—to get her opinion to see if Scottsdale deserves this dirty ranking.

"Hi Honey! You're up on these things? Your Bubbe wants to go out today. Is the air really that bad?"

"Mom! It's disgusting! Make her heed the warnings. At the very least tell her she has to wear a mask."

"Lara, if I tell your grandmother that she'll want to hold up a store. Or she'll tell me it doesn't match her outfit. Worse, she'll make me wear one!"

"Well, you can't let her out. Today's the driest, dirtiest day of the year."

"Oh, for Heaven's sakes! Who conducts these surveys anyway? I read in last month's issue of Newsweek's The Daily Beast a list of America's 30 Funniest Cities. To my surprise Scottsdale/Phoenix weren't on the list! Results reflected cities with the highest percentages of residents who describe themselves as funny or watch sitcoms and visit comedy clubs. I think it's very funny here. I could write a satire about Scottsdale…not that there's anything to make fun of."

"Mom, you're very funny. Michael and I laugh about your crazy antics with your friends all the time. Whoops. Dad has a droll sense of humor."

"It still baffles me that Scottsdale isn't on this list. I understand how Austin, Texas and New Orleans take the top two spots, but how does Milwaukee rank number seven? Now all we're left with are headless bodies according to the Gus and big snakes that creep into our backyards from the desert. They even caught a bear cub near the library the other day. The residents here may be taking our pollution problems more seriously."

"Mom, since when are you the Scottsdale Ambassador?"

"Since we moved here from Tempe and I schlepped your grandparents here from Florida. She reminds me every day about the cool, ocean breezes. The last thing Scottsdale needs is for everyone to think we are a miserable, dirty, and humorless city. I'd rather stick to the stereotype that we're a bunch of boozing, spray-tanned, BMW driving blondes like on that housewives reality show. Now that I think about it, not sure which stereotype I would prefer. I think I will just stick with Stressed in Scottsdale.

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

My Mother, the Jeweler

After sitting in traffic for 45 minutes—I should have known not to drive north on the 101 during rush hour—I arrived to pick up my mother from Friendly Arms to take her to the doctor. To my surprise my mother came out with a new piece of jewelry.

"Mom, what is that around your neck?" I reached over to hold up her necklace for a closer look.

"Jean, I'm starting a new jewelry line out of all the pills the nurses try to make us take. I made this one myself. Do you like it?"

"This is Viagra! You can't go walking around with this. Where did you get it anyway?" I looked at her with suspicion. Maybe she is having some fun since my dad passed. "I know these aren't prescribed to you."

"How do you know what they are?" She leans in closer. "Is Maury still–you know what I mean?"

"Mom! That's personal."

"Jean, I'm your mother. I've heard everything. What do you think goes on at senior living places? We have a few Lotharios and Jezebels here too!"

"Mom," I say with firmness as I start the car, "where did you get this crazy idea?"

"A lady from California makes jewelry out of her unused pills to help pay for her medical bills. I think it's a great idea. Look at the article."

The car idles as I skim a newspaper article with scalloped edges because my mother cut it out with cuticle scissors. Susan Braig, a brave woman who survived cancer has a lot of unpaid bills. She had unused drugs from her treatment so she designed pendants, earrings and tiaras.

"I've been going around collecting pills from everyone," says my mother.

"Mom, won't the medications leak or melt? You know how hot it gets here." Of course I'm thinking about Bernie, our doctor friend, who will be examining my mother in a few minutes and what he'll think seeing a blue Viagra around her neck.

"Jean, you worry too much. I will wear my jewelry more than I carry my pills around with me. If I need my anti-nausea medicine I can just swallow my ring. Well, you know what I mean. What I really need help with is selling my drug jewelry. Will you help? Your friends, Glee and April, will love this stuff."

I can't believe my mother wants me to market medicinal jewelry. What will she come up with next? More Stressed in Scottsdale!

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

Hello world!

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Bookmark It
























Hide Sites

The Real Housewives of Scottsdale

After a long day of babysitting for Lara while SHE and Gus lounged at Lamar Day Spa, I sat down to relax. If you call preparing a proposal for a client relaxing. I was in pure bliss developing "Equity in the Workplace" when the phone rang.

Glee. Caller ID is a technology advance I enjoy. If I can see the screen without my glasses. What's one more interruption?

"Jean! Jean! Guess who's coming to town?"

"Don't tell me–the circus? The latest hair removal machine? Joe, the plumber? The kids made the downstairs toilet overflow."

"Don't be so sarcastic! This is perfect for you."

Uh-oh. When Glee transforms one of her schemes into something that involves me, I run. Especially since she trapped me at a nudist colony. But that's another story. "Okay, let's have it. What is it?"

I hear Glee gasp a loud breathe. "Bravo's Real Housewives is coming to Scottsdale!"

It's embarrassing to admit I have seen a few episodes of the Orange County season. They were mostly botox parties and spray tans. One trip to AJ's and I can see it live. It really is sexist. No one's a housewife anymore. We're Domestic Engineers and work all day long. Except in Scottsdale. I feign mild excitement."Really?!"

"Yes! It's a spin off. I can't believe they didn't ask me to be a part of the show! I'm so Scottsdale!"

Glee would be perfect for this show and so would April. Glee is outgoing enough, and April, well she already looks the part. As long as I don't get dragged into it. "What does this have to do with me?"

"It's not confirmed but so far Steve Nash's ex, Alejandra Nash, and Dan Majerle's ex, Tina Dwyer, have signed for the show."

"Wait, how are they housewives if they aren't even married? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the show?"

"That's beside the point. Anyway, they are supposedly filming at the Drybar at Scottsdale Quarter. Let's go and be on TV!"

"Glee, you're kidding me. I don't have time for nonsense. My cell phone and calendar aren't syncing and I've double-booked appointments. I'm stressed from going back to a paper calendar. Those parties are VIP anyway. No way we could get in."

"Yes, we will. Brad, my new boyfriend–and don't say a word–his name sounds young but I'm actually only fifteen years older than him–knows a guy who knows the owner's brother. Dress Scottsdale. Got to go, I have to call April to tell her the news!"

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

Misery Loves Company

Dow Jones and Wall Street Journal put Phoenix–yes, I know Scottsdale is a suburb of our big sister–at the top of the Misery Index. It was based on home ownership (prices have fallen drastically with no hope of recovery), gas prices (extraordinarily high, especially in Scottsdale) and unemployment (which means lack of jobs because some of our top business leaders have said our educational system is so poor–it ranks 50th–no one wants to come here). We also have flat population growth. Maury says we're a pariah.



Uh-oh! Maury reads the paper everyday so he has a lot to say about the Misery Index. I'm a Pollyanna who touts that at one point we were ranked the 5th happiest state (if they don't count my mother and her kvetching friends).

At breakfast Maury reads me the article, puts down his bagel and announces, "Jean, we have to move."

"What? Why?" You have to know Glee took me to a new nail salon that uses shellac polish that lasts two weeks. Except if you want to get it off. I am busily trying to peel it away. "Just because a survey says we're unhappy?"

"I can't tolerate the political climate anymore."

"But, Maury, we have our whole family here. I can't leave my grandchildren and my mother."

"The latter is reason to leave right now."

"But who will get her multiple prescriptions for hemorrhoids and take her shoe shopping?"

"Jean, there are some things I can't abide. Between the gun crazies who are passing legislation to carry concealed weapons on campus and being listed as the 20th most corrupt state BEFORE the public learned about the Fiesta Bowl scandal, I've had it."

"But where would we go?"

"Hawaii."

"My mother won't like it there. She only wears muu-muus at home. She says anyone who wears them in public, especially without firm undergarments, should turn themselves in to the Fashion Police.

"I've had enough! We're #22 among fattest places and we don't even rank high for a good slice of pizza! Except for Bianco and no one can get in there unless they wait three hours."

"Maury, none of those are good reasons to move. We have to stay here and fix whatever is making "misery" a popular word. Besides, you're not exactly slim yourself."

"Me?" He says this as he strokes his corpulent belly. "Okay. I could lose a few pounds."

I clear away the remains of his bagel and the nail polish peelings.

Waiting Line at Pizzeria Bianco

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

Gangs of Be-wigged Housewives Invade!

After several weeks of putting off a shopping trip with my mother to Fashion Square, I set up an expedition. What a way to spend my Saturday afternoon! I'd rather be anywhere else.

I picked her up at Friendly Arms and could not believe what she was wearing. Usually she's elegant, wearing a straw hat and matching shoes and bag. That's her generation. Anyway, my mother was wearing a long, dark wig. It was obviously 50 years too young for her.

"Mom, what in the world is that on your head?" I folded up her cherry red walker into the trunk of my Volvo.

"Jean, haven't you been reading in the paper about the burglaries? The thieves target mothers!"

Okay, I have been reading about a gang of housewives who look for busy moms who leave their purses in the car. I get it–stroller, kid diaper bag, cool pack, but why would any woman leave her purse in the car?

"Yes, mom I have, but they're in Chandler. They break into cars at parks and day care centers while the moms aren't paying attention.

"Jean, why would the mothers do that? I always tuck my purse into my armpit. No one wants to grab it from there."

" Mom, what's with the wig?"

"The thieves wear wigs when they try to cash the stolen checks!"

"But you're not a thief."

"I know that but if I look like one maybe they won't be tempted to break into our car while we're shopping. You know they will think I am one of them."

"That is ridiculous. Mom there is no way I am going into the mall with a seventy-plus–I think it's absurd you won't let me say your age out loud–lady in a 20-year-old's wig!"

Thirty minutes later it was apparent I had lost the argument. My mother, her wig and I shopped. Slowly. Very slowly.

While browsing the shoe department at Nordstrom's with my Demi Moore wannabe-looking mother I ran into Glee with a friend. Glee looked fantastic in a tie-dyed turban and gold gauze. It was a bit awkward because my mother was bamboozling the handsome, young sales associate to bring out every pair of black sandals he could find that didn't look old lady-ish.

I moved off to the side so we could be introduced.

"Oh, Jean, I've been dying to introduce you to my guardian angel."

Now, Glee is a bit over the edge on the woo-woo stuff but I'm a spiritual person sometimes so I give her lots of room.

"I am very happy to meet an angel."

Pretty, blond–aren't all angels?–she started to say something but Glee interrupted.

"I just finished taking Doreen's workshop. I have at least three angels. Maybe more."

"Uh, Glee, I think I'd better hear about this later."

"No problem. Isn't your mother hot in that wig? She could use a fashion consultant. I know a good one."

"Of course you do," I muttered.

Who would have thought I would feel stressed at the mall with my mother? Just like a teenager again. I guess her wig aged both of us.

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

Safe Driving Courses for Scottsdalians

After a week of a disagreement with my daughter-in-law over serving the kids non-organic milk while I was babysitting, an altercation with Maury because he refuses to keep a calendar, scheduling a golf game during his annual visit Mayo Clinic and April insisting I could no longer wear my old workout pants with a hole under the right bun, I returned one of my mother's many messages.

"Jean, I decided to drive again."

"Mom you haven't driven a car in years."

"No matter. I want to take it up again."

"Why?"

"So I can transport Selma and Letty for real lunch and shopping."

"But-but you don't have a car."

"So what! I can borrow yours when I pass the test."

Apparently AAA Arizona will be providing safe driving workshops for teens and seniors.  Not exactly what I call school but I can't imagine my mother behind the wheel. I already have enough stress. I caved in and decided to humor my mother and attend the first workshop.

Besides a kid who's texting and swerving and an elderly senior citizen, have you ever watched a Scottsdale babe on the phone, hands splayed so she doesn't mess her nails? Sometimes they can't even lift their hands to the top of the steering wheel because of the ice-rink diamonds.

After 10 minutes with my mother beside me in her silk shantung pantsuit and hat as she dozes off, I realize that these workshops need to be designed to fit the personalities that live in Arizona.

The Snowbird-This workshop will focus on teaching our winter visitors not to stop for green lights and that it is okay to drive more than 5 mph. They'll also learn which lanes to drive in, how to use their blinkers and what to do when there's no snow on the ground.

The Student- Students will learn how to stop texting behind the wheel, make complete stops and look both ways before turning.  They will also understand how to deal with fender-benders when mom and dad aren't around to help.

The BMW-This is for anyone who drives a car that is worth more than the average income. Drivers will comprehend that just because they drive a fancy car, they still have to avoid balancing a Starbucks in one hand and holding their phone in the other. Parking will also be taught since valet is not available at AJ's and the dry cleaners. Yet.

The Cougar Workshop-Cougar drivers will learn to apply makeup before they start their vehicle.  Batting eyelashes at young, fit police officers will not get them out of a ticket. Learn the rules of the road. And try not to wear leopard ever day.

I don't think a 90 minute workshop will cure the bad drivers in Scottsdale. Just know you're taking your life in your hands when you pull out of your driveway.

Bookmark It













Hide Sites

Jean Rubin the Hoarder?

This past week I have finally made some time to do some spring cleaning to relieve some of my stress. Between rearranging furniture and finding random chew toys that Amber leaves around the house (you wouldn't believe some of the places I have found a squeaky toy) I happened to notice I have a lot of magazines and catalogs.

Magazines and catalogs are stashed next to the sofa in the family room, piled up on the desk in the kitchen and, I'm sorry to admit, overflowing in the bathroom magazine rack. Only men do the latter. I don't know any women who have much time to spend in that room. Once, Michael was in there so long a golf ball came through the window shattering glass all around him. He was only ten and came running down the hall with his pants around his ankles screaming about an invasion.

I don't even read all of them. I love The New Yorker and Vanity Fair but they're both so ponderous and intellectually weighty I don't have time for them. Only the postal person is impressed we receive them. I save them all because some day, somehow I'll go on a vacation where nothing buzzes or rings and I'll take the stack with me. But until then I keep looking at the covers with longing.

I just can't throw a magazine out unless I have looked through it, including all the ones that interest Maury–golf, archeology, history, home improvement and more golf. Why would I need to know about fish supplies? I don't even own an aquarium! I definitely won't need to shop for power tools anytime soon.

I also found coupons that are years old. I guess I figured I would use them eventually but never did. Who needs that many coupons? Don't these companies know they are harming the environment by wasting all this paper?

April was telling me about people who never get rid of anything and live in complete clutter, hoarders. It's a serious problem.

"Jean, you're in danger of becoming a television show. I saw one episode of "Hoarders" and the woman couldn't walk in the living room. It was filled with laundry baskets of clothes, cereal boxes and paper towel rolls."

"April, I may not be the neatest person around but I'm not a hoarder…yet. But my mother might fall into that category."

"Start cleaning out. You're in danger. Just save Sky Mall. They have really good stuff."

"No! Maury orders electronics from there we don't need. That's the first thing I have to throw out. Right now!"

She recommended that I should watch a show on TLC, Hoarders: Buried Alive. After one episode I decided I need to recycle all of my useless catalogs. I'm stressed by all the magazines and catalogs and I'm too stressed to throw them out!

When did Scottsdalians become so Rude?

This past weekend the weather was perfect to get outside for some stress free activities. I called April so we could meet Glee at the Scottsdale Art Festival while our husbands enjoyed a round of golf. Glee was engaged to be the actual art display as a favor for one of her artsy friends. We couldn't miss it.

I picked up April who was in her "outdoor outfit." It consisted of Chanel shorts, a glittery T-shirt and cork wedgies. She wore a big hat, Chanel sunglasses and her lips were glossy in the bright sun. I, in turn, wore khaki shorts, one of Maury's "I'm a Melon" Shirts for kids who lose their hair in chemo and very sensible shoes. We looked like we shouldn't know each other.

I haven't been to one of these things in a while. I forgot that it wouldn't exactly be stress free with all the people! After circling for a parking space I finally found someone pulling out. I patiently stopped to wait and flipped on my blinker. Out of nowhere a Scottsdalian in a black convertible took my spot! It reminded me of the rude lady in her Hummer at AJ's.

After parking in a lot that seemed as far away as Tempe, April and I found Glee in dressed in cut-offs, a top tied beneath her bosom, wearing a cowboy hat and sprayed completely in gold metallic paint. She was posed with a piece of hay in her mouth so she couldn't talk to us. It was amazing to see her so still, a tribute to the art of being a manikin.

I was dying for a beverage. Standing in line, my mouth parched from our lack of humidity, I observed I was almost up to the front to purchase a cool refreshing lemonade when a woman with her 5 year old son cut in front of me.

"Excuse me. I've been waiting in line," I said.

"I'm so sorry but my son has been fussy. He's really hot and I promised him an ice cream cone. I figured you wouldn't mind." I couldn't help but notice her lips didn't move when she told me this.

"I WANT MY ICE CREAM NOW!!!!" screamed the little boy.

Great. A line cutter with a screaming child. When did parents get so rude?

Suddenly, the young woman behind me in the line starts chatting away on her cell phone.

"Brittany, it's Tiff. Oh My God! I can't believe Jake broke up with Heather. I mean she had it coming. Ever since she got that awful spray tan I am surprised he didn't do it sooner. I know she's our friend but I am just saying how it is. But don't tell her I told you that."

Is it really necessary that Tiffany has to speak so loudly that I can hear her entire conversation?

I remember reading that Phoenix/Scottsdale ranked the12th rudest city in the country. They blamed it on being too hot to smile.

Go figure. How do they explain why people are rude in 80 degree weather in March? When did Scottsdalians become so rude?

After the Final Rose

I confess to watching the finale of "The Bachelor," a most-un-gratifying pastime. I TIVO it and then watch when Maury's reviewing a golf tournament from ten years ago or repeating the bombing of Dresden from the History Channel.

Not only does Brad have bad grammar (It's "with Em and me." Not "I". I know I'm not the Grammar Police but if you're going to be on a reality show, you need to know how to communicate. Even if it's only giving grunts like the kids on "Jersey Shore."), but he's boring. He speaks in a monotone and she's Barbie. When do they talk about politics, religion and spirituality? What if he likes to kill animals and she supports PETA? Or he's a card carrying member of the Tea Party and she's a Green? When do they get to that stuff?

Also, why don't they have boxes of tissues on a show like this? Wouldn't Kleenex just love the product placement? Why did the dumped girl, who was a bit too enthusiastic for his family, have to slobber down her face, hand and arm before they cut to a commercial? Couldn't someone have just handed her a tissue? Even a crumpled one? As women we always say it's clean but it got wrinkled on the bottom of our purse. In reality only Maury actually takes those from me. Even the grandkids turn up their nose at those. In the last episode everyone cried–the girls, the bachelor, his mother, his family members. It was one wet, sobbing heap.

This romance is staged from the opening of young women arriving in cocktail dresses to the dangerous "dates" the producers put together. My favorite is when they take the bachelor home to meet their families. One time a grandma sans teeth shook her finger at the unsuspecting guy. But finally, who wears a push up bra under her wet suit? Call this the unreality of reality shows!