More, More, More

Has it been a weirdly long week?  Not a bad week, but a long week?  On Tuesday I told Mark that he had better get his library books together for school, to which he answered that library was on Thursday.  I knew that but honestly thought it was Thursday.  Wednesday I was planning for Friday, which I thought was the next day.  The fact that it’s the third of May is not helping matters either; I feel like I’m in a weird time warp in which I don’t have any idea what day, month, or year it is.  I realized this morning that there is only seven weeks left of school, which was shocking.  Time is slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, my kids are getting older and I’m getting older too, and the cat’s in the cradle with the silver spoon.

Speaking of getting older, I received – completely unsolicited – a copy of More magazine in the mail.  More!  The magazine for mature women.  I was very startled to see it in my mailbox, with my name and address on it, being I didn’t subscribe to it.  I realized this must be some kind of promotional item; perhaps since I actually have a subscription to the mature suburban Canadian women’s magazine Canadian Living I am actually on some kind of mailing list.  For mature women.  More magazine!  I scoffed a bit, picked it up, and then realized that I really am this demographic now.  Much more so than, say, Cosmopolitan.  Not that I’ve read Cosmo in years – I know all the sexy tricks, Cosmo.  I don’t need any more lists. – but it is a little startling when you realize that you’re more More than Cosmo, is all I’m saying.   

Anyway.  It’s Friday.  I’ve been busy in the kitchen all morning, preparing for some girlfriends to taste test some new recipes.  I’ve also been doing a little bit of taste testing myself, in other words, I’m feeling a bit FULL.  There’s not much that I love more than preparing desserts and appetizers for my open-minded girlfriends, while singing along to the station that plays all the ballads from the 1970s.  Cause I’m easy…I’m easy like Sunday morning. 

Segueing right into the eighties, I was heading into the grocery store (because where else do I go?) and I saw this amazing license plate.

If that doesn’t immediately make your day just a little bit brighter, then I don’t know what will.  That is the single greatest license plate/ car combination ever, better even than 1Bruce1 or HotCarl.  I wondered who owned this fantastic vehicle; perhaps a sexy, hirsute, moustachioed man.  I was not at all disappointed when the owner approached:

I kid.  I did not see the owner, mostly because I felt it might be weird and stalker-ish to stand at the car waiting for someone to bring out their groceries.  I did keep looking for Hawaiian shirts in the Co-Op, but alas, none were to be found. 
I have only ever seen one episode of Magnum PI.  I know!  You would think that I would be more up on that, but you would be wrong.  I’m sure there are reruns playing somewhere but I seem to be too busy these days watching and re-watching Mad Men episodes and making Tom and Lorenzo-like notes on the fashions.  How did Betty become so frumpy?  Is Megan wearing hair extensions?  Is it weird to have a crush on Henry Francis?  He’s wearing a Christmas sweater!  What is WRONG with me?
But back to Magnum.  My husband watched it a lot in the eighties, and every time he hears Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight he says “Best. Magnum. Ever.”  Then he explains the plot to me and I think it sounds interesting and maybe I should watch it, and then I end up wondering if I could wear a gypsy scarf as a headband like Megan did that one time or would that look weird.  So I will probably go through my entire life without actually watching Magnum PI but still enjoying photos like this:
Remember back in the day when men didn’t shave and/ or wax their chests?
Somewhere hidden in a family album is a photograph of my mother in the late eighties, standing next to a life size cardboard cutout of Tom Selleck.  If I didn’t think my mother would disown me I would blow it up and frame it, or at least post it here.  However, I like to maintain good relations with my mother and so I will leave that photo where it lies.  My mother is a big fan of the moustachioed man, given her penchant for Tom Selleck and the famously stached Sam Elliot.  But I shall not make fun of her mature women fantasies because I picked up a copy of People at my hair salon and flipped to the men who were deemed to be “Sexy at (fill in the age decade)”.  I realized that the only appealing demographic was the Sexy at Fifty category.  HENRY FRANCIS?  I guess I am ready for More magazine after all.  


  1. I feel like if I start commenting on this post I might never stop. Maybe I should riff off your post on a post of my own, which at least would get me a post, since I’ve been rather scattered about posting lately. I’ll just say that I’m pretty sure that, except for a wild few weeks in my teens, I think I’ve always been more MORE than COSMO.

  2. I stood right next to Sam Elliot once. Once I’d seen him in person, I totally get the lust. He is a damned attractive man, up close. RAWR.

    Just reading the headlines on Cosmo when I’m standing in line makes me head hurt. The slang I’m not up on! The promised sexy secrets! (we all know one of them involves playing around with our boyfriend’s ass, right? Always with the surprise buttsex, is Cosmo. Never advisable without talking it through first. Just sayin’.) The fact that the cover models are all barely-legal former Disney Channel stars! I daresay “More” is right up my alley, these days. Certainly I am way too old and world-weary for Cosmo.

  3. Like Bibliomama, I’m afraid that if I start commenting with particularity on this post, my comment will go on forever because so. many. things. Will summarize: Car = I love an amusing license plate/car combo, I love Mad Men, I love Tom and Lorenzo, Henry Francis/Roger Sterling = YES, Cosmo makes me feel like an old lady, and finally, clearly, I’m in the More demographic now. I could pretend I’m not, but if I’m being honest with myself, I am (see earlier point about Roger Sterling).

  4. My OB looked exactly like Tom. Seriously. He wanted so badly to deliver Chunky because I was the first with an artificial disc to have a baby. Well he went on vacation and gave my uterus explicit instructions not to crap out the baby until he returned.
    He didn’t.
    I was all worried so my brother went and bought a fake mustache and broke into my house and stole ER scrubs. He showed up around midnight and security thought he was actually Dr. Tom. Fucking hilarious.
    I love Canadian living. Won’t lie.
    I’d like to hit up a taste testing party. Where do I get the invite. Oh I have to host it? Fuck that.

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    Golf and women’s mode for too time intensive has been considered an oxymoron. It goes from being a major rrncident to a cereals new exciting thrill.

  6. THAT IS THE BEST MAGNUM EVER!!! Seriously, I totally think of Magnum PI when I hear that song too. Your husband is alright.

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