Monthly Archives: January 2016

The Death of The Garage Sale

Make-money-selling-clothes-onlineGoodbye to Rummage Sales and Farewell to Estate Auctions! The cellphone has killed them off! That’s right, of all the free Apps you can download, there is none more ingeniously convenient than the one that allows you to make an appointment to invite local strangers to your home, knock on your door and promptly hand you cash for your trash, err I mean your used items.

I got so excited when someone told me about these apps (with names like Close 5, Nearby, and Shop/Swap/Plop/Drop (okay, I made that last one up) that I downloaded ten different ones.

It didn’t take long to notice that the same adverbs were repeatedly used to describe all aspects of my neighborhood’s resale merchandise. Everything was “Gently” worn or “Lightly” used or “Gingerly” sat upon. Where were all the items that had the living crap beat out of them, like the junk I needed to get rid of from my basement? “Designer Heels Slightly Walked In!” Seriously? Nobody tiptoed gracefully around our home in their sneakers. No, they stomped and romped, scuffed and roughed until a pair of Keds had zero treads and was reduced to mere threads.

Even the garbage collector would turn their nose up at our offerings and Goodwill would remind me that the emphasis should be on the word, “Good.”

Nonetheless being a writer, I caught on quickly about how to profile my stuff so I could competitively advertise with the best of ’em. For instance – – My great Aunt Martha’s badly scratched chest (but she once had a nice set of bosoms) with six drawers (stuck in the “pulled out” position) and made of pinkish particle board instantly became:

“An artistically etched antique rosewood bureau (french words always add class!) containing a half dozen open display shelves to showcase your negligees!”

when I got through listing the ad. My cellphone buzzed with interest and a full price offer was promptly made.

I learned two words to include in all my little ads that are guaranteed to elevate anything old, outdated and ugly into something special.  “Vintage” and “Retro.” Why my own face, eyes, hands, complexion and butt can’t be described similarly is beyond me but regardless, I’m grateful for the inanimate object glorification these two terms provide so that I can get top dollar for my great Aunt Martha’s hand-me-downs.

I also take a tip from real marketers and list many of my items with exciting tag lines like, “Brought back by popular demand!” (this was written about my king-sized mattress) or “Buy this and get another one free!” (I use this with things that normally come in pairs, like gloves and bookends.) But my favorite tagline is, “Help me remove the excess Junk in my Trunk!”

Meeting the suckers  people in the flesh who were about to fork over their hard-earned cash for my old shlocky wedding gifts (forget that the ink on my marriage license has long dried up, hell our divorce decree is completely yellowed from 20 years of being framed and hung on a sunny wall) was a fascinating experience. We are talking highly motivated buyers here.

After going to the trouble of borrowing their friend’s large SUV vehicle, programming my address into their GPS, then standing awkwardly in my living room while my six kids watched hopefully, praying this purchase would put them firmly into Disneyland territory, (and knowing they could run into me again in our local grocery market) were these strangers really going to say, “On second thought. That’s the grossest thing that’s ever been born into the second-hand consignment market. I’ve changed my mind. Goodbye!”

No Siree, baby!  If these people bid on something online, you can consider it SOLD! (Too bad online dating doesn’t work that way.)

However imagine my surprise when last week, I read the description of a piece of furniture that I just knew I had to have. It was an “armoire!” It was teakwood! It had ample storage! It was a “Designer’s Delight!” So I raced over to the address with the money I had just obtained from selling my mattress burning a hole in my pocket, jogged up their driveway, pounded excitedly on their door — only to look past the expectant eyes of their darling children and see that it was my old great Aunt Martha’s cruddy chest, with a new coat of paint on it.

“Well, hope you have fun at Disneyland, kids!” I said and handed over a crisp $100 bill.

Tomorrow I’m putting an ad up in Craigslist.  It will be for a Garage Sale so I can properly palm this thing off onto somebody else the old-fashioned way.

 

 

 

 

10 Reasons People Won’t Leave You Voicemail!

  1. cell-phone-messageThey are convinced you’re not really as busy as your message claims and will just keep calling back as many times as it takes until you pick up. And you will, won’t you?
  2. You have a completely boring and unimaginative outgoing message. It mentions your name, gives the number they just dialed (even though they can plainly see it on their own cell-screen) and discusses the sound of the beep. Dullsville.
  3. They suspect you replay their messages at important board meetings, incessantly rewinding the part where they clear their throat, while your coworkers get hysterical.
  4. TEXTING. Nothing more needs to be said. Okay, here’s something more: Phones are no longer fun if you must use them for the original purpose they were invented for.
  5. They have low self-esteem and don’t think their voice is recording-worthy.
  6. It’s going to be a highly personal and private message, perhaps even sexual in nature, and they don’t want anyone else to accidentally overhear it. They don’t even want you, the person it’s intended for, to listen to it.
  7. It’s totally a misdialed, wrong number — but they can’t wait for the beep because they’re late for a date with another hot little number.
  8. They’re vindictive and take great pride in getting back at you for stating they should speak slowly and distinctly, spell their last name, and heaven forbid you requested they leave the date and time of their call.
  9. They presumed you would certainly pick up (at least for them!) and are caught off guard, unprepared to state the reason for the call, which truthfully is — there is no legitimate reason for the call. But now that you’ve rejected them by not answering live, they’re going to torture you with an “Unknown Number” that lingers in your caller ID log for weeks, along with a long, deadly silence. Take that!
  10. It’s an old lover from your distant past, calling every so often just to hear your recorded voice and reminisce in their mind’s eye about that night on the dance floor when you pretended you knew the words to The Macarena, (You do know the meaning of the English translation, right?) or whispered together in a glitzy discotheque, “Do The Hustle!” And then actually did it. Together. Wasn’t that a lovely, innocent time in your life? Why don’t you pick up your own cellphone and call this person back so the two of you can stroll down memory lane. And if you get their voicemail, you know what to do at the beep . . . hang up!

And here’s my little New Year’s gift to you so that you’ll get more people who WILL leave you communications in a recorded fashion. Simply Click  HERE and pick your favorite snippet to use as your new outgoing message.

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I Still Hate Hugging!

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This is okay. Crazy, but okay.

This is an encore presentation of last year’s blog in honor of our (obviously still going strong!) wretched holiday on January, 21st.

I’ve stayed indoors all of today. It was National Hugging Day!  Are we serious here?  I also despise St. Patrick’s Day because it’s the one other holiday that encourages public touching. From the moment I step out of bed, I use a green toothbrush and dress like an asparagus from head to toe so there will be no mistake. I’m literally a live Female Leprechaun standing before you, folks.  I was never one of those sly minimalists who tried to trick people into pinching me so I could say, “Aha! Betcha didn’t know I have green-trimmed socks!”

But National Hug Day has taken things too far. Ask people who know me. I have been against the concept of embracing for a long time. It’s not just in public that I abhor it, and not just with complete strangers.  Although you should see my reaction as I walk down the street in a college town and some sucker student stands on the sidewalk with his sign, “Free Hugs.”  (I used to think this was a fraternity dare, but now I think it’s how they penalize pupils who have low GPA’s)

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This is also okay in my book.

But intimate relationship hugging is not for me either. First of all, that “Circle of Personal Space” (that none of us want to have invaded) stays up 24/7 for me.  It doesn’t take a break. There’s never a sign around my torso stating, “Personal Circle out to lunch, back in an hour.” C’mon friends, if you approach me with open arms and observe a sideways ducking maneuver, I haven’t just walked into a spider web, I do NOT want your limbs thrown around me.  A hug is just a strangle that hasn’t completed itself yet.

The thing I fear most is that some politician will decide if “National Hugging Day” is good, having a “National Cuddle Day” will be even better. Hugging, you can at least hold your breath and count to three and it’s usually over.  Cuddling is absolutely just the PITTS  (Prolonged Intimate Touching Torture System) in my opinion. Tell me you enjoy falling asleep with your mate’s hot breath on your neck? And those little involuntary twitchings and jerkings, just as you’ve crossed “leg waxing” off your mental to-do list for tomorrow and are finally slipping into those theta brain waves? And their inhales/exhales. You always gotta try and synchronize yours to theirs and when you finally match up perfectly, they’ll hold their breath and sputter.  No thanks.photo 1-20

On one of the many websites you can google today, to find more info about this holiday, (though why would you want to?) I found 10 reasons why today is supposedly good for us.  I’ve allowed myself commentary in BOLD font below.

Little Miss Menopause’s Input on “Their” Justification on Why National Hugging Day Came Into Existence

1)    Hugs make us feel “happy”! When we hug another person, our bodies release oxytocin, a hormone associated with “happiness,” according to scientific studies.  This is also released during breastfeeding and orgasm, but do we have National Days for that?

2)    Hugs alleviate stress! Just as a good hug increases our oxytocin levels, it decreases our cortisol or “stress” levels. How is stress alleviated when all you can think about is “Can they feel my stomach protruding?  Will their perfume/cologne set off my allergies?  And WHAT is that in his pocket??”

3)    Babies need hugs as much as water and food! According to researchers at Harvard University, hugs help promote normal levels of cortisol necessary for child development. Agreed.  I vote to change it to “National Hug an Infant Day.”

4)    Hugs make us better students! Students who receive a supportive touch from a teacher are twice as likely to volunteer in class.  And are ten times as likely to have a father who will see the school district in court.  And what exactly will the students volunteer to do?  Go first in dissecting a frog so that they can put their recent hugging trauma in perspective?

5)    Hugs improve our game! Scientists at University of California, Berkley discovered that the more affectionate members of a team are with each other, the more likely they are to win. Please stick to ass slapping.

6)    A hug a day keeps the doctor away! A hug stimulates the thymus gland, which in turn regulates the production of white blood cells that keep us healthy and disease-free.  And apples were removed from the prescribed “One-a-day” list because?  Don’t tell me hugs have fiber now.

7)    “A hug stops the bug!” Researchers at Carnegie Mellon proved that individuals who were sick and received hugs had less severe symptoms and were able to get better quicker. C’mon. That’s just absurd.  They simply couldn’t find anything else to rhyme with hug. (But I can – – “Give me a smug shrug instead of a hug, ya big lug!”)  Everyone knows there’s no better way to spread germs than bodily contact.

8)    A hugging heart is a healthy heart! Research from University of North Carolina showed that a good hug helps ease blood flow and lower cortisol levels, which in turn help lower our heart rates.  See? Still needing to resort to making up medical facts to defend this day.  If this is indeed true, why don’t surgeons have a couple of hearts snuggle up together in an incubator prior to transplanting one into their patient during “Open Hug Surgery?”

9)    A hugging couple is a happy couple! Couples that experience their partners’ love through physical affection share higher oxytocin levels.  Again with the oxytocin bit. Does this Stepford Wife below look happy?  Look closely.photo 1-19

10)    Hugs let someone know you care without having to say a word! So does a well-written Hallmark card.According to Dacher Keltner, professor of psychology at University of California, Berkeley, we can identify love from simple human touch. Well I’d like to suggest they study how much love a big VIRTUAL hug can communicate!

Am I alone in feeling that hugs should be reserved for your worst enemies so you can measure how large to dig the holes in your backyard that you’re gonna bury them in?  Who did you allow to hug you today??

How Being Obsessive (and taking acting lessons!) Ruins Sex Roleplaying!

role-playing“A French Maid? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And clean your own damn apartment with that fru-fru feather thingy!” I said, slamming the door. That was my response to my college boyfriend’s suggestion on how we should spice-up our sex life.

Why did he need me to pretend to be someone else? How insulting! Truth be known, if you were shy like me, fantasy role-playing felt super awkward. Fast forward to a time I got involved in community theater and suddenly I saw “risqué make-believe” in a whole new light. The stage-light, that is. Oscar winning performance, here I come!

The following are highlights from some of the meatier roles I’ve sunk my teeth into over the years. (Note: I mostly had the same male co-star.)

Lonely Housewife and Repairman (okay, nothing was actually broken and The Maytag Man seemed too predictable, so I suggested he be a chimney sweep instead.) As he surveyed my filthy fireplace with his poised broom, I sashayed in wearing a negligee, holding graham crackers and a wire coat hanger with a white cottonball on the end (my marshmallow-roasting prop). “Would you like S’more?” I asked, fluttering my false eyelashes. He stammered, “Some more? I haven’t even had any,” then abruptly lunged for my breasts. “Cut!!” I yelled. “Just a minute, Buster. You forgot to say ‘Yet.’ Your line should be, I haven’t had any YET.” I angrily tossed a handful of black soot into his surprised face while humming, “Chim Chim Cher-Ee” from Mary Poppins and exited stage left.

Hitchhiker On The Road: (The street we chose was very realistic, although I got a lot of gawking from other motorists (I should probably mention that unbeknownst to boyfriend, I had decided to roleplay a Hooker-Hitchhiker.) I giggled when I saw the limousine slow down, wishing I were a fly on the wall when my guy directed the unsuspecting chauffeur to pull over. “What’s your name?” my boyfriend’s eyes widened with surprise at my black lace stockings, as he asked the question we’d rehearsed. “What do you want it to be?” I breathed huskily, sliding in next to him in the backseat. “I appreciate this whole seduction thing you got going on here, but let me give you a tip. I’m a sure thing,” I loudly continued. The limo-driver stared at me in the rear-view mirror. For extra measure I added, “In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight.” Driver’s jaw dropped, finally recognizing I’ve been quoting Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman. But slow Boyfriend still clueless so at the red light I directed my next line toward the front seat. “I was in here yesterday. You wouldn’t wait on me. You people work on commission, right?” Driver nodded. “Mistake. Big mistake. Huge mistake. I have to go shopping now!” I flounced out of the vehicle, leaving both men staring after me flabbergasted.

High School English Professor:  Crossing my 45-year-old legs while perched atop my desk, I observed him excitedly eyeing my short skirt as it rose up my shapely thighs. Perfect! And now for his assignment. Conjugate the words “fellatio” and “cunnilingus” into verbs for all 6 tenses, including singular past perfect in both the active and passive voices, then write me a 65-page essay on why oral sex was banned in the middle ages. Cranky without my morning coffee, I promptly headed to the teacher’s lounge, (my kitchen) leaving him to ponder how such a wild sexual fantasy could turn out so grueling and possibly lower his GPA.

Innocent School Girl: Aha! Same boyfriend (as above) thought he could outsmart me into having sex, this time turning the tables with a role-play reversal that put him in charge as the teacher. But when he leered at me I let out a piercing scream, kicked him in the groin with my little white patent-leather Mary Janes, and proceeded to report him to Child Protective Services (and the PTA) using my cellphone.

Sexy Nurse in All White: While I fastened my satin garter belts, my  very male “patient” sauntered in and started inadvertently sneezing, which wasn’t in our script. Pulling out a thermometer, I lectured, “Sorry, but I’m in my best friend’s wedding this weekend and can’t risk getting sick. I’m not touching any part of you until you get a flu shot, buddy. Understand?”

Porn Star: He finally got wise, appointing himself Executive Producer in this next roleplay so he could unleash my wannabe acting skills on a real “casting couch.” At my audition, he gave me a lengthy screen test, had me pose for racy photos, then directed me to read my lines extra seductively. But just as I was actually getting turned on, contemplating if my Adult Film Star name should be “Anita Diamond” or “Candy Barr,” he hollered, “Quiet on the set!” That was my cue to inquire if I had gotten the part?  “Don’t call us. We’ll call you,” he responded. Next thing I knew, a gorgeous, busty blonde bombshell strolled in, just as a giant metal hook yanked me offstage. Obviously my boyfriend had enough of my role-playing shenanigans and called in my understudy. Hmmmph. Lights, Camera, but no action.

Are you ready for your close-up? Do you think role-playing is sexy or just silly?

You can hate me here but please LIKE me on Facebook? Click HERE

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/obsessed/

 

 

This Blog Hijacked By Truth-Tellers!

08DISRUPTIOINS-master67517-Year-Old: “Is Truth-Tellers even a word?  Maybe she won’t approve of our using this post title?”

Oh, just get over it!  Who really cares what our mom thinks?  The whole point is we’re sick of being her blogging subject matter and we’re not gonna take it anymore.  So while “Little Miss Menopause” (Geez, I can’t stand that name! It’s a good thing she didn’t start blogging when she was 13, she’d be known as “Little Miss Menstruation!”) takes a writing break (we’ll reveal what she’s really up to, lollygagging around) we took this chance to sneak into her log-in and tell it like it really is. Anyhow, that’s what she gets for making her password be all our birth-weights.

12-Year-Old: Really? We’re gonna tell people everything. Even THAT stuff?

17-Year-Old: Nah, we won’t disclose that. We’ll let her boyfriend spill about how she looks in bowling shoes.

14-Year-Old: I’m digging this whole revenge thing. Remember when she fabricated our entire Disneyland trip and then The Huffington Post went and published it?  Like she’d actually ever go on any ride faster than an escalator. Ha!  Serves her right for passing off fiction as our family outing. And I’m also doing this to get her back for that time I had lice!

17-Year-Old: Ewww, don’t blame our mom for your own bad hygiene!

14-Year-Old: She didn’t have to write about it.

Quit your arguing. As the firstborn, I’ve given our crime a lot of thought. We need to get in, get out, and get back to not doing our household chores so she won’t be suspicious. That’s precisely why I think writing a list is our most efficient way.

6-Year-Old: Yeah, Mom loves list posts!

Get it through your head — we do not care what Mom likes. This is OUR retribution.

10 Strange Things You’d Never Guess About Little Miss Menopause (ok, maybe you would!)

 

  1. Her hair doesn’t always have that big, wild, 80’s windblown look. When she rides in a convertible with the top town, it finally looks normal.
  2. She always runs the faucet full blast, coughs loudly, or stamps her feet so nobody can hear her using the bathroom.
  3. She’s convinced there’s someone around who is intent on listening to her peeing.
  4. She marks a line on the ice-cream carton, trying to catch our babysitter in the act.
  5. She’s actually the one who binge eats the Rocky Road.
  6. She has a temper and once threw her perfume against the wall, which broke the glass and splattered/spattered Chanel No. 5 all over our furniture. When she goes out fancy, she has to roll around on our couch to smell nice.
  7. She’s obsessed with the differences between the words “splattered” and “spattered.”
  8. Before she writes an actual blog post, she scribbles notes on her checkbook cover, doodles on a tissue box, and writes nonsensical things on the family calendar. Later, when she can’t read her own writing, she’ll walk around the house asking us, “Can you make out what it says on this old napkin?”
  9. She’ll flirt with magicians so they’ll divulge their secrets because she can’t stand not knowing something.
  10. Her idea of flirting is just plain odd because she tries to wink one eye but instead it just looks like. . .

Boyfriend:  Hey, it worked on me. And what are you kids doing on your mother’s computer anyhow?

17-Year-Old: She hardly writes anymore, so we’re hijacking her blog and setting her readers straight.

Boyfriend: But your mom’ll be absolutely furious!

6-Year-Old: Yay!  She’ll throw her perfume bottle again!

Boyfriend: Can I have a turn? I’d love to conspire with you six kids against your mother so maybe you all will finally accept me! I’ll do “Two Truths & A Lie.”  Your mother loves that game.

For the last time, we DO NOT CARE what our mom thinks! Go crazy, man.

Two Truths & A Lie

  • When we eat out in restaurants, Stephanie always asks for everything to be served “on the side,” so now they bring out her order in a Bento Box. Even when it’s pizza.
  • Stephanie parades naked around her home unabashedly 24/7 but always keeps her hands tightly hidden inside thick gloves. God, I’d give anything to get a glimpse of those fingernails of hers.
  • Stephanie loves to pretend someone else is writing her blog when it’s actually just really her. She gets the biggest thrill thinking she can pull one over on her readers. In fact, she doesn’t even have a 6-year-old kid.

6-Year-Old: Hurry up and log out now!  I think Mom’s coming in here. I don’t hear her stupid Days of Our Lives soap opera blaring on the television anymore!

That’s not her soap opera, silly! She’s reading her writing aloud again, doing different voices for each character because some movie script guru told her to do that when she went to her “How to Write a Screenplay” conference.

Boyfriend: Is that where she really was?  She told me you guys were at Disneyland and one of you had lice and . . . That does it!  I’m through with all this nonsense. I’m posting a picture of how she looks in bowling shoes.  In fact of all of you scoundrels.  I just don’t care anymore. Such a game-playing family I got mixed up with….

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Ex-Husband: Hello! I’m actually the one writing this whole thing. And believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg.  Do you like it? Maybe I’ll come back again tomorrow because The real Little Miss Menopause is trying to earn some money writing stuff like this OVER HERE.