No, don’t need it, don’t want it and not hoping to get the flu, you see. It’s not even that effective and last year not only did I get sick but the half-wit who thought she was a good candidate to give flu shots, hit me with an 18 gauge in my bony arm … crack (head).
So I stomped my foot, yelled Nooooo! Big Pharma! Not scared of biologics! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!
Now my husband has it or maybe even smallpox, the plague or the consumption and it is a guarantee that he will die. He always does. Every year. Every time he gets sick.
He’s one lucky man to still be alive. He’s not even a vampire.
We will keep you informed as to the development of this horror movie because winter is indeed coming.
I try to avoid one thing at all costs, every day, every hour, every minute. And no, it’s not Costco.
It’s those dreaded annoyances called feelings. I vehemently hate the Hallmark channel. So unrealistic, full of the pseudo- cheerful people who despite their sad lives and the dreary weather somehow still believe in the Christmas spirit, the goodness of others and Macy’s.
People need to stop wasting time on emotions.
Do I hurt your feelings? If I didn’t mean to, I don’t see how that constitutes a reaction on my part. Watch Hallmark’s ridiculous sap story of the day and eat chocolate, drink wine, cuddle your dog- whatever you do to raise your oxytocin levels and deal. You’ll be fine.
Whenever I’m feeling sad, I consider some important things. The most important part is your mascara. Do you love it? Is it waterproof? Is the scary clown look your go-to aesthetic? No ? Then suck it up. You are not sad, you are fine.
Also, go to the mirror. Look closely at yourself. Now- be sad. How do you look?
Remember this, if you have a round face, crying will make you look like a puffer fish. Not a good look for anyone. You are an ugly cryer – so stop.
So out with TV’s glorified idea that Christmas is not Christmas if you are pitiful, alone and drinking hot tea with your thirty cats.
So that’s it, really. I can’t stand the Hallmark channel. It doesn’t mean I’m heartless. I’m just not going to sit in an old, fat guy’s lap and whisper what I want for Christmas in his ear ( except for one time, don’t judge – I see you behind me ).
It just means that good mascara is hard to find and I don’t like clowns.
I wrote a sweetly sentimental piece about being thankful but I’m not posting it. I shouldn’t have to tell anyone that every day has something in it that we should be thankful for. Also, I don’t like sappy. I like sarcastic. Tastefully sarcastic. Because I’m always socially and ethically conscious.
Before we get to the festivities, I’m proposing a drinking game. One shot for every time my mother talks about her online dating, herself or anything relating to her proclivities as of late. My husband is going to need a lot of alcohol but sadly for him, we live 2 1/2 hours away and I need a designated driver.
Mom is always late. Today, she will be even later because she has wasted the morning on the phone with her latest interest. I know because I called her three times to ask if she had sage. Three times. She ignored me, pretended that call waiting was not happening and she never knew she had a daughter who needed her. Right now.
It’s like I don’t exist Except for subjects relating to her looks, her life and that kind of thing, mom is a vacant space.
This is my latest favorite text from her. I thought my answer was spot on. I mean, when you wait until the 11th hour …. what can you expect?
Good advice, isn’t it? I think so. So over the river and through the woods, to my brother and his family’s house we went. I spent several hours trapped on a trampoline with my tyrannical twin nephews, aged 6. After the discovery that Aunt Amy could jump was made, the party was on. I had forgotten how weird boys were. Somehow, I felt right at home. We even formed our own club called the “Weird, Annoying and Dangerous Dummies Club .” To join our club, you had to do something that was fittingly dangerous. I don’t know what I did but I guess being barefoot in skinny jeans and a cold shoulder shirt (that my nephews put hot wheels down the sleeves of) was enough to guarantee my acceptance. I felt guilty by hanging with the kids and avoiding the adult conversation but…
Fast forward to the early afternoon. Mom is late. No one is surprised but low blood sugar has caused temporary insanity and a bit of unhappiness so I immediately go back to my happy place – the trampoline.
Everything I missed about childhood and holidays I rediscovered between fart jokes, googling monkey butts and chalk drawings on the driveway ( no one was fooled by our faked crime scene). My nephews are really smart and better company than most adults. They didn’t care how I looked, were never critical except to tell me I was a bad artist, and very informative. I never considered that some Pilgrims might have eaten fish ( if they lived by the ocean and didn’t like turkey ).
And just like that, this became a “Why I am thankful ” post. Because, after all, Thanksgiving – duh.
I have every book on Feng Shui written. They usually sit prettily on the coffee table, never opened unless it’s while I am feigning royal indifference and superiority over the peasants that have come to call.
When you enter my front door, it hits you like the most abysmal wave of desolation. The sad,
dismal fact is that the chi is all off in my house.
I consulted my books while doing yoga and envisioned an early start to what will never happen: A peaceful mix of yin/yang/jasmine and this gem that was inside my mass- produced, stale, tasteless fortune disguised as a cookie.I think it said .. “Don’t poison the sweet little heathens and you will be blessed with leftover candy. “ It might not have said that exactly but something of the sort.
I was in need of a chakra adjustment. If the energy screamed in horror now, what would the aftermath be?
It was time to cleanse these walls.Time was of the essence. I was Rose on the Titanic and we were sinking into the freezing water … And there was no room for Jack. My aura was off.
I love Halloween so much I wish it was all year long.The start of the holidays is on Friday, October 13th this year. Yes, I know that Halloween is meant to be celebrated throughout the entirety of October but I’m a procrastinator.
Since this day is the bane of all that is unholy, evil or somehow unpleasant, I needed to do whatever it took to keep the hexes away from me.White Sage has not mentioned anywhere in Eastern Culture to my limited knowledge ( if it is, please let me know… I dislike being ignorant. )
I cleaned my house with it anyway while chanting the Roman Catholic Exorcism prayers. At least that is what I call them. Thank you, Google.It worked satisfactorily even if it did leave a nauseating stench.It also produced quite the nasty headache/ nausea duo that wasn’t dissimilar to a hangover.I had to consider that I had stirred up something Bad since I I was afflicted by the worst stabbing pain in both temples. Or maybe it was too much red wine the night before.After much consideration, I rearranged the living room by leaving the cobwebs in the corner where I found them.So I may hurt my finger, nearly broke a toe; the dog’s back and left leg had a nearly catastrophic event truly worthy of a Friday the 13th and almost caught the neighborhood on fire with a vile, smelly, smoking stick of superstition.I still haven’t achieved inner balance, relaxation or flatter abs or the name, brand or color of the perfect red lipstick.
I did put flowing water in the entryway of my house – facing north. It’s supposed to bring wealth, prosperity and happiness in through the mouth of the Chi, which is, of course, the front door.Let the fun ( if you say so )begin! Please send me your holiday pet peeves, drunken office party horror stories, kissing cousins, and of course – in-laws from hell coping mechanisms and sanity savers.
Great titles begat great works. I’m still working on the great title and waiting for my inspirational masterpiece to appear from the lake like Excalibur. In my case, it’ll be more like the Monty Python version and wayyy less like the historical classic.So far, these are the only ideas I can think of for a bestseller.
- Insane with Writer’s Block
- No Expectations
- OCD and the Lipsticks That Love Them
- The Day That Smelled Like Cat Urine and Bad Decisions
- Dear God, Please Don’t let the Pilot Be Drunk
The other night while filming my new video on YouTube (that I appropriately called) “Shopping with Ambien,” I had an epiphany of sorts. Of course, I’m joking. I don’t have a YouTube channel or Ambien. My therapist cured me of those bad habits( another joke- you can laugh .)
So -my half-asleep self-was pondering the whole “life after death ” conundrum.
While most people ask the noble but boring questions like “Why am I here… What is my purpose in life … What are the winning lottery numbers ?”
I want to know “Who let the dogs out ?” and “If there was a spirit world, would my ghost dogs still know me? ”
As I was saying, in between the insanity and string theory of insomnia, I see this infomercial.
You can call a psychic and get all the answers you want for a small fee.
If you aren’t satisfied and if it’s not the best reading you’ve ever had, it’s free!
This girl says so and I think she looks trustworthy.
If you can get your fortune with a money back guarantee, what do you have to lose? This is better than drunk girls predicting the weather using body parts, my daughter with her ridiculously expensive Tarot cards(that she can’t read) and your grandma’s age-old wisdom. It has to be true because I saw it on the internet.
Psychics and mediums are nothing new. I impose no judgments on trying to exploit a vulnerable person’ weaknesses for money. I have one little problem, though. No one ever never asks the REAL questions – to anyone interesting. Like ever.
People, Uncle Bob, has no clue where the money is, he doesn’t care if you have unresolved guilt because you let him choke to death on a Fruit Loop and he also wishes you had something better to do than making him talk through a Parker Brothers game in a dark room.
Uncle Bob is trying to enjoy the afterlife, floating down the Styx and revel in the experience of just being dead.
Since it’s almost Halloween, I’ve decided to have some fun and help you poor, misguided souls out. I’m sure that, just like me, you want the important answers.
Like Diane Sawyer, Barbara Walters and Oprah, I want the life-changing information.
So here’s what I would ask if I could from some of my favorite people in history.
Things that matter, subjects that will shape the future.
I have been preparing these questions for the majority of my life so I’m excited.
- Alexander Hamilton, we’ll start with you. What were you thinking?
The Reynolds Pamphlet was so extra that you should have owned a chewing gum factory.
2. AaronBurr, no questions for you. I just wanted to say that you suck. Luckily for the rest of us, Leslie Odom is hot. Thanks for making the insufferable at least attractive.
3. Anne Boleyn. I have some profound, soul-searching questions for you but I can’t remember what they were off the top of my head.
4.Marie Antoinette, I’ve always wanted to know if you had neck problems (from your elaborate hairstyles) before you lost your head and if the guillotine was somehow therapeutic. Also, did you say “brioche” or “cake” when you started a revolution?
5. I almost forgot my favorite occult obsessed, lovable crazy house builder – Sarah Winchester. No questions for you either.
Just wanted to say I love you, Sarah. You set the standard for HGTV. I bet you were fun to hang out with, too You know, riding shotgun in your carriage.
So there you have it. None the wiser but with the knowledge that sleep-writing isn’t advisable either.