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.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
March Madness
In honor of Charlie Sheen, and shameless self-promotion, I have decided to run a contest for the month of March. That’s right, I am gonna bribe you. So what is in it for you? Dignity, a pat on the back, a warm fuzzy feeling? No, none of those things. But, I will be giving away a gift bag valued at over $40 in merchandise! Woo hoo!
I know what you are thinking. I am a poor starving artist, suffering for my craft. How can I afford such an expensive give-away? Ha ha! I can’t. But I hit up my sugar-daddy and he agreed to give me some moolah so that I can bribe, I mean entice, you ungrateful, I mean, lovely folks.
Ok, so here is the skinny . . . All you have to do is leave a comment in the “comments section” and please include your email address. For each comment I will give you one (1) entry in the contest. If you put a link to my blog (http://myfirstlaunch.blogspot.com) on your blog, web-site, facebook page or twitter page--you will get five (5) entries. That is correct, five, like wow, right? Just shoot me an email to make sure I have a way to contact you. You can contact me at: soniatodd@frontier.com or via facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sonia.todd
So, I won’t disqualify you if you write mean, irate, or nasty comments--but I like nice ones better. A friend of mine, who is a shift supervisor at Jiffy Lube, who has a cousin that is a custodian at the courthouse, knows all the legal lingo and he says we have to make it fair. Oh ya, I almost forgot, if you become a follower, you will also get another (5) entries in the contest. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you—five! As in golden rings, fingers on each hand, and the money that Lincoln’s face appears on (it is the five dollar bill right?)!
Maybe you are thinking, ‘I don’t want no stinking gift bag.’ Well, my friend, you would be what I like to call--wrong. This thing is packed, with like, cool stuff. It isn’t something I shelled out a handful of pennies for at the dollar store. This stuff is nice, top-of-the line goodies.! The best stuff that money could buy in a small town, without any selection, or self-respect, and with inflation creeping up, the recession smacking us down, and the U.S. dollar reaching pitiful lows. Trust me, you want it.
Before I forget . . . this contest is only open to legal U.S. residents (I really cannot afford to ship this thing out of the country). Some exclusions may apply. For example, anyone involved in the making of the book, or the movie, Twilight, or any of its ridiculous off-shoots, is ineligible, vampires are stupid, seriously. Additionally, I am not responsible for emails or comments lost in cyberspace. This contest will end March 31st. A winner will be selected at random, on or before April 8th, by scooping a wadded-up sheet of paper with names on it, out of a plastic bag, shoebox, or mixing bowl--depending on the number of entrants.
So there you have it. A contest—Yee Haw! Enter now!
I know what you are thinking. I am a poor starving artist, suffering for my craft. How can I afford such an expensive give-away? Ha ha! I can’t. But I hit up my sugar-daddy and he agreed to give me some moolah so that I can bribe, I mean entice, you ungrateful, I mean, lovely folks.
Ok, so here is the skinny . . . All you have to do is leave a comment in the “comments section” and please include your email address. For each comment I will give you one (1) entry in the contest. If you put a link to my blog (http://myfirstlaunch.blogspot.com) on your blog, web-site, facebook page or twitter page--you will get five (5) entries. That is correct, five, like wow, right? Just shoot me an email to make sure I have a way to contact you. You can contact me at: soniatodd@frontier.com or via facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sonia.todd
So, I won’t disqualify you if you write mean, irate, or nasty comments--but I like nice ones better. A friend of mine, who is a shift supervisor at Jiffy Lube, who has a cousin that is a custodian at the courthouse, knows all the legal lingo and he says we have to make it fair. Oh ya, I almost forgot, if you become a follower, you will also get another (5) entries in the contest. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you—five! As in golden rings, fingers on each hand, and the money that Lincoln’s face appears on (it is the five dollar bill right?)!
Maybe you are thinking, ‘I don’t want no stinking gift bag.’ Well, my friend, you would be what I like to call--wrong. This thing is packed, with like, cool stuff. It isn’t something I shelled out a handful of pennies for at the dollar store. This stuff is nice, top-of-the line goodies.! The best stuff that money could buy in a small town, without any selection, or self-respect, and with inflation creeping up, the recession smacking us down, and the U.S. dollar reaching pitiful lows. Trust me, you want it.
Before I forget . . . this contest is only open to legal U.S. residents (I really cannot afford to ship this thing out of the country). Some exclusions may apply. For example, anyone involved in the making of the book, or the movie, Twilight, or any of its ridiculous off-shoots, is ineligible, vampires are stupid, seriously. Additionally, I am not responsible for emails or comments lost in cyberspace. This contest will end March 31st. A winner will be selected at random, on or before April 8th, by scooping a wadded-up sheet of paper with names on it, out of a plastic bag, shoebox, or mixing bowl--depending on the number of entrants.
So there you have it. A contest—Yee Haw! Enter now!
Monday, February 28, 2011
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?”
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?”
Friday, December 10, 2010
All I Want for Christmas is . . .
I am not one of those people who only wants “Peace on Earth” for Christmas. I know, I said it, it’s out there. Maybe you are that kind of person and so I say good for you, that will leave more presents for me.
Now, don’t get upset. Before you start typing up a tersely worded email and/or bomb threat, let me explain. The whole gift thing was not my idea, blame God, he started it. He is the one who put a spotlight in the sky when his son was born that basically screamed “Hey, he's over here! It’s his birthday, bring him something shiny!” And I have to say, there is a reason why the top three gift-givers at the manger were called “Wise Men.” They brought precious metals, perfume, and Myrrh. No one really knows what Myrrh is--I bet it was the predecessor of the X-Box, but I am just guessing.
And because I am all about tradition I say let us remember the birth of our Lord by giving me something fun and exciting this holiday season. Now, I know it is bad manners to ask for something specific as a Christmas present, and I am sure there is a good reason I get such lame, I mean useless, I mean interesting gifts under the tree. But, as always, I am here to help. I have searched high and low for the best gifts this holiday season and compiled them in a list. Yippee! Now you don’t have to run all over the place finding the perfect present, just sit back, relax and shop from the comfort of your computer.
The Companion Pillow: Ooooh, how I love thee, let me count the ways! It does not snore, fart, hog the covers, complain about cold feet and is always content to cuddle. And as a bonus, it has no head so there will be no dirty looks when I sleep in on Saturdays!
Gluttony Pants: These babies will come in handy around the holidays. Too much turkey, no problem. Just move that button over to "sow" and you can have an extra slice of pie and a candy cane (or two). They come in oh-so-stylish gravy colored brown. Great for hiding stains from falling toffee, crumbs of peanut brittle, spilled stuffing and splashing cider! Every pair of gluttony pants comes with a free napkin and a quadruple bypass at the hospital of your choice!
Shillelagh: Pronounced Shu-lay-lay, otherwise known as a long stick. For a mere $60 you can get a unique, one-of-a-kind gift (the website says "no two are alike")! I will use mine to lean on when I walk, point at things, smack on the ground to emphasize a point, and whack people who cut in front of me in line at Walgreens. Ooooh, wait, stop the presses! I just looked out the window and it turns out I have some sticks in my yard. I guess I already have a shillelagh. My bad.
The Stackmate: This baby will totally come in handy. It allows you to enjoy 12 of your favorite 45's in a row! For those of you that are under the age of one-hundred 45's refers to records. Round, black, vinyl discs that used to play music. I can't wait to get my hands on my own "stackmate!" Of course, it goes without saying, I will also need a time machine to take me back to 1950 so I can pick up a record player and some records!
Circulation Improving Leg Wraps: This will help improve circulation in the legs and keep you from having a heart attack, unless of course you stare directly at them and the screamin' electric blue color causes you to have a stroke instead. They will not "go" with a typical out-fit but they do coordinate with tin-foil hats, facial ticks, and anti-psychotic meds. These booties definately make a statement!
Big Knickers: In the UK they call them big bloomers, here in the U.S. we just call them giant underwear. If I am getting the gluttony pants I am going to need some super-sized undies as well. What is the point of eating until my spleen ruptures if my skivvies are cutting off my blood flow anyway? These things take granny panties to a whole new level. They come in sizes XXXXXXXXXL or big enough to fit a 100" waist. This item doubles as a car cover.
Now that you have my list, go ahead and get crackin! There are only a few more shopping days until Xmas and I can't wait to see what you are going to get me, *wink*, *wink*. If you don't have time to go pick something out, cash and credit cards are always accepted. Baby Jesus and I thank you!
Now, don’t get upset. Before you start typing up a tersely worded email and/or bomb threat, let me explain. The whole gift thing was not my idea, blame God, he started it. He is the one who put a spotlight in the sky when his son was born that basically screamed “Hey, he's over here! It’s his birthday, bring him something shiny!” And I have to say, there is a reason why the top three gift-givers at the manger were called “Wise Men.” They brought precious metals, perfume, and Myrrh. No one really knows what Myrrh is--I bet it was the predecessor of the X-Box, but I am just guessing.
And because I am all about tradition I say let us remember the birth of our Lord by giving me something fun and exciting this holiday season. Now, I know it is bad manners to ask for something specific as a Christmas present, and I am sure there is a good reason I get such lame, I mean useless, I mean interesting gifts under the tree. But, as always, I am here to help. I have searched high and low for the best gifts this holiday season and compiled them in a list. Yippee! Now you don’t have to run all over the place finding the perfect present, just sit back, relax and shop from the comfort of your computer.
The Companion Pillow: Ooooh, how I love thee, let me count the ways! It does not snore, fart, hog the covers, complain about cold feet and is always content to cuddle. And as a bonus, it has no head so there will be no dirty looks when I sleep in on Saturdays!
Gluttony Pants: These babies will come in handy around the holidays. Too much turkey, no problem. Just move that button over to "sow" and you can have an extra slice of pie and a candy cane (or two). They come in oh-so-stylish gravy colored brown. Great for hiding stains from falling toffee, crumbs of peanut brittle, spilled stuffing and splashing cider! Every pair of gluttony pants comes with a free napkin and a quadruple bypass at the hospital of your choice!
Shillelagh: Pronounced Shu-lay-lay, otherwise known as a long stick. For a mere $60 you can get a unique, one-of-a-kind gift (the website says "no two are alike")! I will use mine to lean on when I walk, point at things, smack on the ground to emphasize a point, and whack people who cut in front of me in line at Walgreens. Ooooh, wait, stop the presses! I just looked out the window and it turns out I have some sticks in my yard. I guess I already have a shillelagh. My bad.
The Stackmate: This baby will totally come in handy. It allows you to enjoy 12 of your favorite 45's in a row! For those of you that are under the age of one-hundred 45's refers to records. Round, black, vinyl discs that used to play music. I can't wait to get my hands on my own "stackmate!" Of course, it goes without saying, I will also need a time machine to take me back to 1950 so I can pick up a record player and some records!
Circulation Improving Leg Wraps: This will help improve circulation in the legs and keep you from having a heart attack, unless of course you stare directly at them and the screamin' electric blue color causes you to have a stroke instead. They will not "go" with a typical out-fit but they do coordinate with tin-foil hats, facial ticks, and anti-psychotic meds. These booties definately make a statement!
Big Knickers: In the UK they call them big bloomers, here in the U.S. we just call them giant underwear. If I am getting the gluttony pants I am going to need some super-sized undies as well. What is the point of eating until my spleen ruptures if my skivvies are cutting off my blood flow anyway? These things take granny panties to a whole new level. They come in sizes XXXXXXXXXL or big enough to fit a 100" waist. This item doubles as a car cover.
Now that you have my list, go ahead and get crackin! There are only a few more shopping days until Xmas and I can't wait to see what you are going to get me, *wink*, *wink*. If you don't have time to go pick something out, cash and credit cards are always accepted. Baby Jesus and I thank you!
Monday, December 6, 2010
On the First Day of Christmas . . .
Ahhh the holidays! Food, family, friends, suicidal thoughts . . . This year Christmas decorations were going up before Halloween. I was waiting for the marketing people to put up a nativity scene in October with baby Jesus wearing vampire teeth. If they dressed the Christ child in a diaper and wings, holding a bow and arrow they could leave the whole thing up until February. These days not everyone celebrates Christmas, but most folks celebrate something. That is why I say Happy Holidays; just like the marketing people, I think it is more inclusive and it covers all of them.
No matter what holiday is celebrated though, it seems they all require gifts. That is another requirement of the marketing people. It is like they have a meeting and decide to add another holiday on the calendar. One guy says, “Hey lets celebrate national free to be alive day.”
The other marketing guy says, “Yeah, but it isn’t really celebrating unless they have to spend money, so let’s make them pay for the air.”
And the first guy says, “What a great idea!”
The marketing people want you to panic, which is why they do those countdowns for everything. I will be in the store and see a giant sign “Only 362 more shopping days until Christmas!” What do I do? I panic and I start throwing stuff in my cart. Those guys want me to be in a perpetual state of shopping frenzy. It is enough to drive a person to the edge. I swear I am one Nerf gun away from ending it all! Ok, well maybe not ending it, but definitely leaving a really red welt on my temple. But still, you get the idea!
So anyway, for each holiday I have to do a lot of shopping. I am not a great shopper, but I do my best. Since my husband travels so much, I will sometimes ask him to pick things up for me, which is worse than just going to the mall myself. In my defense, I start by giving him very specific instructions and a list, and have him call me on his cell phone while he is at the store. I also debrief him on the specifics before he leaves the house and try to go over every possible scenario that may occur while he is at the store, but no matter what, I always get a cell phone call like this:
“Ok I am at the store and they do not have blue ones.”
“Well, he wanted a blue one.”
“They have black and red.”
“Are you sure they don’t have blue?”
“No.”
“No, you are sure, or no you are not?”
“I mean they do not have any blue.”
“Did you ask a sales person?”
“No.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
***Noise of me screaming into a pillow*****
“What was that?!”
“Oh nothing. Why don’t you ask a sales person for help?”
“That is ok, I rummaged through the rack and I found a blue one.”
“What kind of blue is it?”
“Blue?”
“Is it seafoam, or teal, or sky blue, or royal blue?”
“Ummmm . . . I know it isn’t navy.”
“Yes, but is it a light blue or a dark blue?”
“Well, it isn’t a bright blue.”
“Do you have something to you could compare it to?”
“You know the stars on the flag? It’s that color.”
“The stars on the flag are white. The background is blue.”
“Ok fine, it is the color of the background then.”
“Alright, I am going to take a deep breath and ask you one more question before I go shove my head in the oven and turn it on broil. You know when you are in kindergarten and you pull a crayon out of the box and it says blue on it? Is it that color?”
“Yeah! That is it exactly. And that was two questions.”
“That is the one he wants. Just go pay.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me to pick up anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you are sure you don’t need me to buy anything else, or yes, you do need me to grab another gift?”
***Noise of me screaming into a pillow*****
So this holiday season, if you see a nativity where the Virgin Mary is wearing a green top hat and a button that reads “Kiss me, I’m Irish” just know that it wasn’t my idea.
No matter what holiday is celebrated though, it seems they all require gifts. That is another requirement of the marketing people. It is like they have a meeting and decide to add another holiday on the calendar. One guy says, “Hey lets celebrate national free to be alive day.”
The other marketing guy says, “Yeah, but it isn’t really celebrating unless they have to spend money, so let’s make them pay for the air.”
And the first guy says, “What a great idea!”
The marketing people want you to panic, which is why they do those countdowns for everything. I will be in the store and see a giant sign “Only 362 more shopping days until Christmas!” What do I do? I panic and I start throwing stuff in my cart. Those guys want me to be in a perpetual state of shopping frenzy. It is enough to drive a person to the edge. I swear I am one Nerf gun away from ending it all! Ok, well maybe not ending it, but definitely leaving a really red welt on my temple. But still, you get the idea!
So anyway, for each holiday I have to do a lot of shopping. I am not a great shopper, but I do my best. Since my husband travels so much, I will sometimes ask him to pick things up for me, which is worse than just going to the mall myself. In my defense, I start by giving him very specific instructions and a list, and have him call me on his cell phone while he is at the store. I also debrief him on the specifics before he leaves the house and try to go over every possible scenario that may occur while he is at the store, but no matter what, I always get a cell phone call like this:
“Ok I am at the store and they do not have blue ones.”
“Well, he wanted a blue one.”
“They have black and red.”
“Are you sure they don’t have blue?”
“No.”
“No, you are sure, or no you are not?”
“I mean they do not have any blue.”
“Did you ask a sales person?”
“No.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
***Noise of me screaming into a pillow*****
“What was that?!”
“Oh nothing. Why don’t you ask a sales person for help?”
“That is ok, I rummaged through the rack and I found a blue one.”
“What kind of blue is it?”
“Blue?”
“Is it seafoam, or teal, or sky blue, or royal blue?”
“Ummmm . . . I know it isn’t navy.”
“Yes, but is it a light blue or a dark blue?”
“Well, it isn’t a bright blue.”
“Do you have something to you could compare it to?”
“You know the stars on the flag? It’s that color.”
“The stars on the flag are white. The background is blue.”
“Ok fine, it is the color of the background then.”
“Alright, I am going to take a deep breath and ask you one more question before I go shove my head in the oven and turn it on broil. You know when you are in kindergarten and you pull a crayon out of the box and it says blue on it? Is it that color?”
“Yeah! That is it exactly. And that was two questions.”
“That is the one he wants. Just go pay.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me to pick up anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you are sure you don’t need me to buy anything else, or yes, you do need me to grab another gift?”
***Noise of me screaming into a pillow*****
So this holiday season, if you see a nativity where the Virgin Mary is wearing a green top hat and a button that reads “Kiss me, I’m Irish” just know that it wasn’t my idea.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I See Naked People/My Eyes Are Burning
Other than politics and celebrities, the evening news is mostly about the recession. Everyone is talking about saving money, or ways to cut back on spending money, or ways to earn more money. As most of you know, I am a genius, and this next idea is going to prove it. Let’s all cut way, way back; all the way back to Adam and Eve. Let’s become nudists!
We have all had to give up things for this economic down-turn. We have had to give up going out to eat, getting new cars, cell phones, cable TV; some of us have even had to give up our homes. I say let’s give up our clothes too! What we all really crave is living in a simpler time, well, now is the chance!
Now, I know what you are thinking, “This is so crazy, it just might work!” Think of all the money it would save if we didn’t have to buy clothes anymore. We would save a fortune in socks and underwear alone! Sometimes the big problems have the simplest solutions, and I can’t think of a simpler solution than everyone just getting naked. So c’mon people, America actually needs the shirt off of your back . . . for reals.
Every movement needs a slogan, so I have been brainstorming and here is what I have so far. How about: “Don’t be loathed, get unclothed!” Or how about: “The economy has flipped, let’s all get stripped!” Or maybe: “C’mon Dude, just get nude!” And lastly: “Get more sun, expose your buns!” Ok, these are just to get us going, once things really take off (pun totally intended), I am sure I can come up with something a little more catchy.
Seriously America, what else have we got to lose? We are running out of things to get rid of in these tough economic times. With most of our money, possessions and our dignity already gone, we have nothing else to lose but our clothes. In case you are still unsure of the nudist movement, I have taken the liberty of making a pros and cons list, so that the decision to go au natural will be obvious.
Pros
Easier to go through screening at the airport, no need for an x-ray and we wouldn’t have to waste time taking off our shoes.
No more sweat shops (take that Kathy Lee Gifford).
I was always told when I give a speech to “imagine everyone in the audience naked” so that I will be less nervous, now, there would be no reason to imagine.
There would now be no reason to “moon” anyone.
Some federal money might finally be allocated for finding a cure for some of the world’s most horrible diseases like: cankles, cellulite, varicose veins, stretch marks, and saddle bags.
People could shave messages and designs into their back hair.
My sisters would stop borrowing my clothes without asking.
Magazines would stop air-brushing cover models because, really, what would be the point?
A woman might finally be elected president!
Snuggies would finally go out of business.
No more surprises on blind dates, what you see is what you get!
Getting a new summer wardrobe would mean buying earrings and/or a new sweatband.
Wicker and leather furniture would finally be eradicated from the Earth!
Everyone could take turns being “streakers” at sporting events.
No more laundry!
Cons
Two words: “snow angels.”
It would be hard to find workers for the deli-counter (Hello! There is a meat slicer back there).
Parent-teacher conferences would be even more uncomfortable.
It would cause malnutrition in those around me.
Law enforcement/police officers—where does the badge go?
I have too much money invested in Spanx and control-top pantyhose to just let that dream die.
Campfires and stray sparks would be a health hazard.
There would no longer a reason to go to Vegas.
Letting people sit on my furniture would be problematic.
I cannot afford that much plastic surgery.
Back Fat/Front Fat.
I would have to shave my legs at least once a month, maybe more often.
Where would I put my change?
The words diarrhea and incontinence would take on a whole new meaning.
I spent, like, ten bucks on one of those clips for my cell phone and I would never get to use it.
Hazard pay, and workers compensation, would go up for welders, loggers, sheet metal workers, and anyone who has to cook bacon.
Accidentally seeing “plumber’s crack” would be the least of my worries.
I would never be able to give anyone a ride in my car . . . ever.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I started spreading the “naked truth” as I like to call it, and my sister, who is anti-everything, had this to say about my idea, “Yeah, but wouldn’t everyone see you naked?”
“Yes,” I told her. “Did you not listen to the entire propaganda, I mean, idea?”
“Yes, I heard you. But I think there is a flaw in your ‘plan.’”
I assured her, “No, way, this baby is air-tight.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, it isn’t like everyone we know is a super-model. All those people that shop at Wal-Mart would now be seen in ‘all their glory.’ Also, have you met my mechanic, Flirty-Bertie? The guy with one brown eye and one blue eye, and both eyes look in opposite directions? Well, people like that would be ‘in flagrante.’ All. The. Time. How would I ever get away from him then? Besides, he is the only person on the planet who thinks of me as a goddess, why ruin the illusion? I am sorry, but I am keeping my clothes on.”
“Well with my new plan maybe your husband would think you were a goddess.”
“There is no way I am going to let my husband see me naked!”
“But I am trying to save America! You know, the ‘land of the free, home of the brave?’”
“No one should be that ‘free’ and no one that is sane is that ‘brave.’”
“I bet John F. Kennedy had the same reaction from his family when he tried to change things too.”
“And, he was assassinated.”
“Yes, he was probably taken-out by his own sister on the grassy knoll wearing his favorite cashmere sweater (without asking) and scuffing up his new leather boots!”
“I said I was sorry! But I am still not going buff!”
“Fine, we all wear clothes! But stop borrowing mine! Are you happy now?"
I am sorry America, another great idea nixed by lobbyists. Well, if we have to buy clothes anyway, I guess we can charge them. Who has the president's Visa? Mastercard? Anyone? I wonder if they can just add it to my national debt tab? I'm coming Macy's!
We have all had to give up things for this economic down-turn. We have had to give up going out to eat, getting new cars, cell phones, cable TV; some of us have even had to give up our homes. I say let’s give up our clothes too! What we all really crave is living in a simpler time, well, now is the chance!
Now, I know what you are thinking, “This is so crazy, it just might work!” Think of all the money it would save if we didn’t have to buy clothes anymore. We would save a fortune in socks and underwear alone! Sometimes the big problems have the simplest solutions, and I can’t think of a simpler solution than everyone just getting naked. So c’mon people, America actually needs the shirt off of your back . . . for reals.
Every movement needs a slogan, so I have been brainstorming and here is what I have so far. How about: “Don’t be loathed, get unclothed!” Or how about: “The economy has flipped, let’s all get stripped!” Or maybe: “C’mon Dude, just get nude!” And lastly: “Get more sun, expose your buns!” Ok, these are just to get us going, once things really take off (pun totally intended), I am sure I can come up with something a little more catchy.
Seriously America, what else have we got to lose? We are running out of things to get rid of in these tough economic times. With most of our money, possessions and our dignity already gone, we have nothing else to lose but our clothes. In case you are still unsure of the nudist movement, I have taken the liberty of making a pros and cons list, so that the decision to go au natural will be obvious.
Pros
Easier to go through screening at the airport, no need for an x-ray and we wouldn’t have to waste time taking off our shoes.
No more sweat shops (take that Kathy Lee Gifford).
I was always told when I give a speech to “imagine everyone in the audience naked” so that I will be less nervous, now, there would be no reason to imagine.
There would now be no reason to “moon” anyone.
Some federal money might finally be allocated for finding a cure for some of the world’s most horrible diseases like: cankles, cellulite, varicose veins, stretch marks, and saddle bags.
People could shave messages and designs into their back hair.
My sisters would stop borrowing my clothes without asking.
Magazines would stop air-brushing cover models because, really, what would be the point?
A woman might finally be elected president!
Snuggies would finally go out of business.
No more surprises on blind dates, what you see is what you get!
Getting a new summer wardrobe would mean buying earrings and/or a new sweatband.
Wicker and leather furniture would finally be eradicated from the Earth!
Everyone could take turns being “streakers” at sporting events.
No more laundry!
Cons
Two words: “snow angels.”
It would be hard to find workers for the deli-counter (Hello! There is a meat slicer back there).
Parent-teacher conferences would be even more uncomfortable.
It would cause malnutrition in those around me.
Law enforcement/police officers—where does the badge go?
I have too much money invested in Spanx and control-top pantyhose to just let that dream die.
Campfires and stray sparks would be a health hazard.
There would no longer a reason to go to Vegas.
Letting people sit on my furniture would be problematic.
I cannot afford that much plastic surgery.
Back Fat/Front Fat.
I would have to shave my legs at least once a month, maybe more often.
Where would I put my change?
The words diarrhea and incontinence would take on a whole new meaning.
I spent, like, ten bucks on one of those clips for my cell phone and I would never get to use it.
Hazard pay, and workers compensation, would go up for welders, loggers, sheet metal workers, and anyone who has to cook bacon.
Accidentally seeing “plumber’s crack” would be the least of my worries.
I would never be able to give anyone a ride in my car . . . ever.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I started spreading the “naked truth” as I like to call it, and my sister, who is anti-everything, had this to say about my idea, “Yeah, but wouldn’t everyone see you naked?”
“Yes,” I told her. “Did you not listen to the entire propaganda, I mean, idea?”
“Yes, I heard you. But I think there is a flaw in your ‘plan.’”
I assured her, “No, way, this baby is air-tight.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, it isn’t like everyone we know is a super-model. All those people that shop at Wal-Mart would now be seen in ‘all their glory.’ Also, have you met my mechanic, Flirty-Bertie? The guy with one brown eye and one blue eye, and both eyes look in opposite directions? Well, people like that would be ‘in flagrante.’ All. The. Time. How would I ever get away from him then? Besides, he is the only person on the planet who thinks of me as a goddess, why ruin the illusion? I am sorry, but I am keeping my clothes on.”
“Well with my new plan maybe your husband would think you were a goddess.”
“There is no way I am going to let my husband see me naked!”
“But I am trying to save America! You know, the ‘land of the free, home of the brave?’”
“No one should be that ‘free’ and no one that is sane is that ‘brave.’”
“I bet John F. Kennedy had the same reaction from his family when he tried to change things too.”
“And, he was assassinated.”
“Yes, he was probably taken-out by his own sister on the grassy knoll wearing his favorite cashmere sweater (without asking) and scuffing up his new leather boots!”
“I said I was sorry! But I am still not going buff!”
“Fine, we all wear clothes! But stop borrowing mine! Are you happy now?"
I am sorry America, another great idea nixed by lobbyists. Well, if we have to buy clothes anyway, I guess we can charge them. Who has the president's Visa? Mastercard? Anyone? I wonder if they can just add it to my national debt tab? I'm coming Macy's!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Be Still, My Beating Heart
I had been having chest pains for four days. I thought it was odd, but I had just gotten some new brassieres so I just made the assumption they were too tight. I wore my old undergarments for a few days but I still had chest pains. As I was clutching my sternum one day a friend said, “Maybe you are having a heart-attack.” My response to that was, “Naaaah.” But inside, I was freaking out, so I went home and took some aspirin.
My insurance company sends me a self-care book every year, to keep me, I mean assist me, from making superfluous visits to the doctor. It has little charts in it to help me in making a self-diagnosis. For example, if I have a rash, the first box of the diagram asks if it is red and itchy? If the answer is no, it asks more questions. If the answer is yes the diagram always recommends ‘go to the doctor.’ I grabbed my book and looked up ‘chest pains’ in the index. Instead of a diagram the page said, “dial 911, or seek immediate medical attention.”
The pain got worse. I went on to read the information about a heart-attack and had to lie down. I read the other things that might cause chest pains, everything from indigestion to a blood clot in a lung. I was sure death was imminent, but just in case, I took more aspirin.
I didn’t tell my husband because I didn’t want to stress him out. I debated about following the advice in my book, but decided on a little more research instead. Hello internet old friend. Every website I came to about chest pains was like a flashing warning, GO TO THE DOCTOR, it seemed to scream. The pains continued.
My husband didn’t know what was going on. He wanted to go out to a nice dinner, I thought it would ruin the mood to mention that I may, or may not, be dying and was in excruciating pain. Besides, if I was going to die anyway, I might as well have some salmon first.
Dinner was lovely, other than me clutching my chest in between bites, it was without flaw. The next day, still more pains. By then my malady had been going on for about four days. I had taken enough aspirin at that point, had I gotten a paper cut, I would have bled to death in two minutes. I had such bad pains that I had to wear, yes wear, a heating pad strapped to my chest. My husband finally noticed something was amiss.
“Are you having chest pains?”
“What gave it away?”
“I think I should take you to the emergency room.”
“Nah, that place is a rip-off. You know they charge an arm and a leg. No pun intended.”
“I am worried about you.”
“I promise I will go to the doctor tomorrow.”
That night as I lay in bed, my chest pains continued to get worse. I started to think, that maybe, I was really ill, that the chest pain thing was really serious. So, I did what all really guilty people do at death’s door, I started to pray. I prayed for my kids and my husband, and for all the people I love, and I prayed for forgiveness. I was crying a little bit. I thought: “This is it, this is how it is all gonna end. One minute you are living and the next you are preparing for your own demise. Cut down in the prime of life. Woe is me! Good-bye cruel world!”
In the middle of my dramatic monologue (I was whispering it to myself—I didn’t want to wake my husband) my youngest son started to cry.
“Mommy, I had a nightmare. Can I come snuggle with you?” he said.
So my littlest boy crawled into bed, snuggled up next to me, with his arm across my neck. Something about that sweet gesture, his innocence, his gentleness or maybe the fact that his arm was directly over my larynx and completely cutting off my air-supply, whatever it was, I fell right to sleep.
The next morning, I sent my husband off to work, took the kids to school and went directly to the doctor’s office. There is something about saying that you are having chest pains that gets those nurses moving, I had absolutely no waiting. The nurse took my blood pressure, my heart rate, and temperature, then she wanted to weigh me. All I could think is what malicious irony that in my last moments of life I have to get on a scale. It is the first thing they do when you come into the world and now the last thing they do on your way out?
Well, dying or not, I have a policy that I must remove as many items as possible to get the number on the scale to a more manageable one. First I set down my purse and took off my shoes, then my sweater, then my earrings. I removed my necklace and rings, and socks. The nurse started tapping her pen when I removed my belt and hair clip and the lint from my pocket. I would have removed my makeup but she said something about getting paid by the hour so I just went ahead and got on the scale.
By the time the doctor came in, I was almost hyperventilating.
“Have you had any nausea?”
“Not until I ate about two bottles of aspirin to keep from having a heart attack. Technically though, it might count as one since both bottles had expired in 2007.”
“Have you had any indigestion?”
“Not until I started reading about angina, arterial fibrillation, blood clots and imminent death.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No. But do you think it is too late to start? I could really use a smoke right now.”
“Do you have a family history of heart disease?”
“No, we are cancer people.”
The doctor hooked me up to an EKG, took blood and x-rays, pressed on my ribs and chest, listened to my heart with a stethoscope and poked and prodded. Finally, she said, “The good news is, you are not having a heart attack. However, your heart is in a state of tachycardia.”
I about keeled over. Note to medical personnel—do not use big words that a lay person would not understand. I am the moron your mother warned you about.
“I have a disease called tachycardia?!!”
“No, it just means your heart is beating rapidly. In fact it is beating at 138 beats per minute. The average person has a resting heart rate of about half that. I definitely would not recommend coffee for you.”
“So I am not dying?!”
“No. Your chest pains are due to stress. I am going to put you on some medication and you need to make some lifestyle changes.”
I stopped listening when she said I wasn’t dying. But I did go on to make some major lifestyle changes to protect myself from another heart scare.
To prevent a heart attack:
1.) I buy my aspirin at Costco.
2.) I have two clothes-irons spliced together making a homemade defibrillator.
3.) I eat a heart healthy diet except for special occasions, PMS, the weekends, when I am with friends and family, and daily between the hours of nine a.m. and three p.m.
4.) I don’t smoke or sniff the clothes or belongings of those who do smoke.
5.) I drink plenty of water (do melting ice cubes in a glass of Chardonnay count?).
6.) When I get stressed I calmly take a deep breath, sit down, relax and have another slice of cheesecake.
And I always, always, always remember to take my medication . . . so hopefully my husband will never have to come home and find my lifeless body with two irons burned into my chest next to a four-foot bottle of aspirin.
My insurance company sends me a self-care book every year, to keep me, I mean assist me, from making superfluous visits to the doctor. It has little charts in it to help me in making a self-diagnosis. For example, if I have a rash, the first box of the diagram asks if it is red and itchy? If the answer is no, it asks more questions. If the answer is yes the diagram always recommends ‘go to the doctor.’ I grabbed my book and looked up ‘chest pains’ in the index. Instead of a diagram the page said, “dial 911, or seek immediate medical attention.”
The pain got worse. I went on to read the information about a heart-attack and had to lie down. I read the other things that might cause chest pains, everything from indigestion to a blood clot in a lung. I was sure death was imminent, but just in case, I took more aspirin.
I didn’t tell my husband because I didn’t want to stress him out. I debated about following the advice in my book, but decided on a little more research instead. Hello internet old friend. Every website I came to about chest pains was like a flashing warning, GO TO THE DOCTOR, it seemed to scream. The pains continued.
My husband didn’t know what was going on. He wanted to go out to a nice dinner, I thought it would ruin the mood to mention that I may, or may not, be dying and was in excruciating pain. Besides, if I was going to die anyway, I might as well have some salmon first.
Dinner was lovely, other than me clutching my chest in between bites, it was without flaw. The next day, still more pains. By then my malady had been going on for about four days. I had taken enough aspirin at that point, had I gotten a paper cut, I would have bled to death in two minutes. I had such bad pains that I had to wear, yes wear, a heating pad strapped to my chest. My husband finally noticed something was amiss.
“Are you having chest pains?”
“What gave it away?”
“I think I should take you to the emergency room.”
“Nah, that place is a rip-off. You know they charge an arm and a leg. No pun intended.”
“I am worried about you.”
“I promise I will go to the doctor tomorrow.”
That night as I lay in bed, my chest pains continued to get worse. I started to think, that maybe, I was really ill, that the chest pain thing was really serious. So, I did what all really guilty people do at death’s door, I started to pray. I prayed for my kids and my husband, and for all the people I love, and I prayed for forgiveness. I was crying a little bit. I thought: “This is it, this is how it is all gonna end. One minute you are living and the next you are preparing for your own demise. Cut down in the prime of life. Woe is me! Good-bye cruel world!”
In the middle of my dramatic monologue (I was whispering it to myself—I didn’t want to wake my husband) my youngest son started to cry.
“Mommy, I had a nightmare. Can I come snuggle with you?” he said.
So my littlest boy crawled into bed, snuggled up next to me, with his arm across my neck. Something about that sweet gesture, his innocence, his gentleness or maybe the fact that his arm was directly over my larynx and completely cutting off my air-supply, whatever it was, I fell right to sleep.
The next morning, I sent my husband off to work, took the kids to school and went directly to the doctor’s office. There is something about saying that you are having chest pains that gets those nurses moving, I had absolutely no waiting. The nurse took my blood pressure, my heart rate, and temperature, then she wanted to weigh me. All I could think is what malicious irony that in my last moments of life I have to get on a scale. It is the first thing they do when you come into the world and now the last thing they do on your way out?
Well, dying or not, I have a policy that I must remove as many items as possible to get the number on the scale to a more manageable one. First I set down my purse and took off my shoes, then my sweater, then my earrings. I removed my necklace and rings, and socks. The nurse started tapping her pen when I removed my belt and hair clip and the lint from my pocket. I would have removed my makeup but she said something about getting paid by the hour so I just went ahead and got on the scale.
By the time the doctor came in, I was almost hyperventilating.
“Have you had any nausea?”
“Not until I ate about two bottles of aspirin to keep from having a heart attack. Technically though, it might count as one since both bottles had expired in 2007.”
“Have you had any indigestion?”
“Not until I started reading about angina, arterial fibrillation, blood clots and imminent death.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No. But do you think it is too late to start? I could really use a smoke right now.”
“Do you have a family history of heart disease?”
“No, we are cancer people.”
The doctor hooked me up to an EKG, took blood and x-rays, pressed on my ribs and chest, listened to my heart with a stethoscope and poked and prodded. Finally, she said, “The good news is, you are not having a heart attack. However, your heart is in a state of tachycardia.”
I about keeled over. Note to medical personnel—do not use big words that a lay person would not understand. I am the moron your mother warned you about.
“I have a disease called tachycardia?!!”
“No, it just means your heart is beating rapidly. In fact it is beating at 138 beats per minute. The average person has a resting heart rate of about half that. I definitely would not recommend coffee for you.”
“So I am not dying?!”
“No. Your chest pains are due to stress. I am going to put you on some medication and you need to make some lifestyle changes.”
I stopped listening when she said I wasn’t dying. But I did go on to make some major lifestyle changes to protect myself from another heart scare.
To prevent a heart attack:
1.) I buy my aspirin at Costco.
2.) I have two clothes-irons spliced together making a homemade defibrillator.
3.) I eat a heart healthy diet except for special occasions, PMS, the weekends, when I am with friends and family, and daily between the hours of nine a.m. and three p.m.
4.) I don’t smoke or sniff the clothes or belongings of those who do smoke.
5.) I drink plenty of water (do melting ice cubes in a glass of Chardonnay count?).
6.) When I get stressed I calmly take a deep breath, sit down, relax and have another slice of cheesecake.
And I always, always, always remember to take my medication . . . so hopefully my husband will never have to come home and find my lifeless body with two irons burned into my chest next to a four-foot bottle of aspirin.
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