2014: YEAR OF THE DUMPSTER

Yup. 2014, now that it's safely behind me, can be officially declared my own personal Year Of The Dumpster.

Without going into gory detail, suffice it to say that 2014 is one year I will never look back on without cringing in horror. All the rose-colored glasses in the universe could not paint a pretty picture of it (note the charming pink background of the pictured dumpster...see? Doesn't make a difference in perception now, does it?)

From shattered friendships to gutted dreams, broken promises to egregious lies, accompanied by the rudest awakenings possible, I floundered my way through 365 days and somehow survived on the other side, intact but bearing scars that will forever remind me of my own supremely stupid decisions...for I, and I alone, must take 'credit' for making a mess of my life and casting common sense to the wind in the process. I traveled to the edge of hell but I made it back.

"But Paula, we all make mistakes" was the refrain I heard most from well-intentioned people. Yeah, I guess so...but when you make them at a tender age, it's a hell of a lot easier to live with the often disastrous consequences. Making mistakes at a somewhat advanced age is entirely another story, and you don't get a whole lot of time to correct them, so you're stuck with the aftermath and the picking up of pieces that are fragile and don't glue back into place so easily.

What, you ask, could you possibly have done that resulted in such a debacle? I'll never tell. And if I do, some day, decide to pour out the toxic details, it will be under the guise of fiction with an assumed name. (More like science fiction with a touch of macabre, if you really want to know.)

But here I am, in a new locale, far from "home" and on the brink of a brand-new year, and to quote Elton John, still standing. And if "every knock is a boost" then I am way up the ladder and ready to take on anything at this point in time. Why, I almost feel invincible.

So, welcome 2015, and don't expect any Casper Milquetoasts in this corner. I survived your bitch of a now-dead sibling, and I will survive you too.

And, unless I drop dead in the interim, I expect to still be standing 364 days from now...battered, bruised, but intact. So bring it on, 2015, and we'll see who wins in the end! Because "I ain't afraid of no ghosts" and I certainly ain't afraid of you.

PUPPET-HEADS

Forget plastic surgery...is there a New Puppet Head/Face Store somewhere out there? And are women converging on it in droves, stealthily having puppet-head surgery to replace their old faces with new (and not-so-improved) ones?

If anyone caught a glimpse of Bernadette Peters hosting "Downton Abbey Rediscovered" last month, was it as difficult to watch as it was for me? Face utterly frozen EXCEPT for the lower jaw, enabling her lips to squeeze out some words as the rest of her face just sat there, unmoved and unmoving.

"C'mon, Bernadette, you can do it, c'mon, move those facial muscles!"

Don't these talented, accomplished women realize they look just.like.puppets??

Not to mention that it took about 25 Nutrisystem commercials before I realized that their spokeswoman "Marie" was none other than Marie Osmond! Wait...what happened to her old face? Did she exchange it for a brand-new one, discarding all vestiges of her former (pretty) countenance?

We lost Joan Rivers this year, the self-admitted Queen of Plastic Surgery. But at least Miss Rivers was brutally honest about it and poked fun at her own excesses:  "If I have one more face-lift, my belly button will be on top of my head!" Rest in peace, Joan, you truly were one of a kind even if your face was in multiples.

And the last time I saw Cher as a presenter on an awards show, the camera was so far away, I needed a telescope to actually see her face. Cher, the natural beauty with  those adorably crooked front teeth, perfectly fine lips and a nose that needed no improving, had to spoil it all by subjecting herself to an orthodontist, plastic surgeon and fish-lip injections, turning her into just another Hollywood puppet-head. Cher, don't you realize that all those girls who wanted to look just like you back in the Sixties are now IN their sixties and know that you are too? Hell, I'd still want to look like you, minus any and all work you may have had done.

Now I'm not saying that, if I had the money, I wouldn't indulge in a little puppet-headry myself...an eye tuck would be grand so I could wear eye makeup again without looking like the shades are pulled down to my lower lid. And I might even go for one face-lift, if only to tighten up the saggy-baggy look of droopy jowls now plaguing my lower jaw. But I'd definitely stop at one, no more! Who am I kidding? I'm two years away from 70 and have no intention of even attempting to look a day under 50. I always wanted to "age gracefully" but now that the process is in full swing, well...

All of this insanity makes me wonder if Charlie McCarthy had a slew of illegitimate children back in the day who are now invading Hollywood en masse, and avenging old Charlie for any perceived injustices?

Break out the Botox, kids, and have a ball!