15 Minutes of Fame

Recently, I read a news article about a woman who was angry because she saw a picture of her mother on the people of Wal-Mart dot com. Now I can understand why she would be upset, I have had to deal with seeing my family on milk cartons, flyers at the post office, and episodes of COPS, it is no fun to be left out. Especially, with every Kardashian, from here to eternity, parlaying one scandal after another into a lucrative career of doing nothing; it is hard for a person to get their fair share of the spotlight.

That is why I have created the list below to help you out. For those of you that would like to see your image on a low-budget website, potentially with your face partially obscured, here is what you must do.

Ways to Improve Your Chances for Getting on "the People of Wal-Mart Dot Com"

1. Buy your clothes there.
2. Make sure the clothes that you buy there don’t fit.
3. Gain 600 pounds.
4. Pick a theme for the top half of your body, and a different theme for the bottom. Options include: pirate, zookeeper, plumber, Leprechaun, working girl, chimpanzee, satan worshipper, trapeze artist, village idiot and/or plus-plus-plus-plus-size model.
5. Let a small blind child do your make-up and hair.
6. Stop taking your medication.
7. Bring your pet goat, pig, or armadillo shopping with you.
8. Wear a hospital gown and accentuate it with a nice set of pearls.
9. Celebrate “Dress like you slept in a dumpster day.”
10. Select attire that emphasizes body hair, cellulite, large scars, scaley rashes, and fat rolls.
11. Spend your federal assistance check on discount body piercings.
12. One word: Spandex.
13. Two words: Small spandex.
14. Undergarments should be worn on the outside of clothing.
15. Let your adult diaper peek out the top of your mini-skirt.
16. Show your cleavage: Front and back.
17. Gold teeth paired with a Muumuu can be very sheik.
18. Bring your children with you and go ahead and let them off their leashes.
19. Forget “bringing sexy back,” let’s bring polyester back.
20. Head-to-toe pleather.
21. Think convicted felon meets hillbilly, meets gangster, in a cat suit.
22. Have “Michelin 85 max psi” tattooed on your spare tire, and then show that baby off.
23. Why limit yourself to one toupee? Two are twice as fun.
24. Wear a custom t-shirt that says something witty like: “Still have half the brain cells I started out with” or “I can count to twenty if I take my shoes off.”
25. Take out your teeth and throw on that foxy, leopard-print house coat, you are going out in style now.

Hopefully this list has helped you realize your dream of getting your photo on the internet. Now get out there and grab your chance at fame! Don’t worry I am right behind you, I just need to get my camera.

Tit for Tat

Recently I was contacted by a woman named Linda, who sent me this message: "Is it bad luck to have your husband's name tattooed on your body? I would be interested in your insights on this matter.” Now, I have never answered a reader’s questions before. But since I really am an authority on everything, I thought, what the heck.

Well Linda, if you need an opinion on matters of the heart and body art, you have come to the right place. I am not sure if luck has anything to do with it. I think you should be asking yourself if it is really a good idea. There is a good chance a spouse’s name will change, especially considering the high divorce rate among carnival workers. With that being said, I know that it is hard to talk people out of doing seriously deluded things once they have their mind made up.

I would recommend testing the relationship with a rub-on tattoo first. If the union lasts longer than the rub-on art then you’re golden. Ok, well maybe not. But, at least you have a good idea of tattoo size and placement.

Now let’s skip to the part where the relationship goes south. I have never met anyone who has gotten a spouse’s name tattooed on their body where the relationship didn’t end up in the crapper. So what do you do after the fact? How do you salvage your body art? How do you salvage your dignity? There are several things you can do.

You could go the traditional route and have the name tattooed over with an elaborate tiger or dragon or mermaid.

You could find a new spouse with the same name as your ex.

You could find a song with the name in it and write the lyrics around the tattoo. Names that work well with this method are: Sarah, Gloria, Lola, and Carrie. Names that do not work well are Habib, Juan-Carlos, William Robert Petit III, or Lashonda.

Add words after the tattoo, like “May they rest in peace” or “Clips his toenails in bed” or “Has a hairy back,” etc.

It can be covered up with a big band-aid or a cast.

Have the tattoo artist make a censored bar to hide it.

Think product placement. Advertisers want new outlets for their products: "Ben" can become "Ben & Jerry’s." "Tim" can become "Timex." "Joe" can turn into "Joe’s Crab Shack," etc.

Get up every morning and scribble the name out with a sharpie.

Create a diversion by writing something around the tattoo. "Sue" can become “Dr. Suess,” for example. When people ask about your smokin’ tattoo, tell them he was your favorite doctor.

Take the spouse’s name and invent a word. Say your ex is named "Stan," change it to Flackistance. Come up with a bizarre definition and use it as a talking point to meet new people.

So Linda, I have given you several useful tips, but what if you have your spouse’s face tattooed on your body? Add horns and a mustache, of course.

What if you have “Mom” tattooed on your body and you break up? Well, this is more common than you think. First off, if you are breaking up with your mom you have more issues than even I can help you with (cue banjos). Just stick to unfriending her on facebook.

So there you have it. Live and let live. Love and don’t commit to a tattoo. Just get a T-shirt that says “I’m with stupid.” Or, carry around a vial of blood or a lock of hair, those things can be used much more effectively.

Come back next time when I answer the question, “How do I train my husband to put on pants and stop eating macaroni from a pan held over the sink?”

Conjunctivitis Bananas

I think that most clerks and cashiers at the grocery store hate me. I don’t know why it is, but I have mostly come to terms with it. When I go to the grocery store I stick with cashiers I am familiar with, if possible. I don’t care if there are 40 people in the line, I select a clerk that I know isn’t going to throw my eggs down the conveyor belt or smack gum and roll their eyes at me.

Once, my husband convinced me to go through the express lane with an untested clerk because we were only purchasing two items. I was reticent, but I gave in. I had high hopes for this new clerk because she was youthful and fresh-faced and smiled at each customer. I first noticed something amiss when she spoke to the customer in front of me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong until she rang up my purchases. The total was $4.87 but what she said was, “Fo Abee Sebum, Pees.”

“Pardon me?”

“Aye Sethd, Fo Abee Sebum,” she repeated while spraying me with spittle.

I stared at her blankly, still unsure of what she said and wondering what to do next.

That was when my husband jumped in with a five-dollar bill while I wiped saliva off my face and purse. It was when she handed him the change and said, “Hab a nithe day” that I noticed her pierced and swollen tongue.

I understand the challenges of a new piercing; the redness, the inflammation, the pain, the fear of being choked to death by your own engorged appendage . . . all I am saying is, if you can’t be understood, or speak without showering your audience with discharge, you might consider piercing some other body part, like an eyebrow, for instance.

Like I was saying, I think it is better to go with the evil that is known. Every time I deviate from my regular clerk or attendant I ask God why he is punishing me? Once when I was in a hurry, I selected what I thought was a short lane at a local grocery store.

As luck would have it, not only had the printer run out of paper, but it was shift change time. So as the one cashier was changing the register tape, her replacement came up rubbing her itchy, swollen, and oozing eye and said six words I will never forget: “I think I have pink eye.”

I had a backlog of customers behind me and one in front of me, and was therefore trapped. My urge was to grab my groceries and run, but I was stuck in the narrow lane and couldn’t have escaped without trampling innocent bystanders.

“Maybe its allergies,” the first clerk said.
“Yeah, but it really itches. And something is coming out of it.”
“That is too bad. Have to tried eye drops?”
“Yeah, but now I think my other eye is swelling up too.”

Aaaaack! My brain was in panic mode as I prayed that the first cashier would stay on until after my provisions were rung up and that the second cashier would go nowhere near my perishables.

“Well, the tape is all ready to go. Let me look at your eye. Oooh, it is red and gummy. You should see a doctor.”
“Yeah, maybe after work today. I wouldn’t want to hold up the line. Ha ha ha.”

Then ‘typhoid Mary’ grabbed my bananas and started to scan them. I am a germaphobe and don’t like viruses on my fruits, I consider it a matter of personal taste. That is why my motto is: stick with the cashier you know. And, if all else fails, it might be time to plant a garden.