Home Publishing Not What You Think!

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“How can I get up on our refrigerator like all my friends do?” my youngest son asked me. After admonishing him that household furniture isn’t for climbing on top of, (and shaking my head at other parents’ inability to properly discipline) I realized he was actually inquiring as to how one of his watercolor paintings could be displayed on the front of the fridge!

Along with plastic bright-colored alphabet letters, (even though I have zero preschoolers anymore!) and the tiny nonsense magnetic poetry words (someone recently pushed a few random tiny rectangles together to form the sentence, “I will pour out yesterday after we love today and squirt out tomorrow!”) the fridge spotlighted his five older siblings’ important school flyers, report cards, old photographs, party invitations, announcements, pencil doodles, and yep, tons of really cool student art.

All of this paper paraphernalia was tacked up in such overcrowded disarray, the built-in purified water dispenser was probably anticipating an eviction notice.

But hey, (now that he mentioned it!) it dawned on me that my son wasn’t the only one excluded. Nothing of mine had made it up onto those shiny stainless-steel paneled doors (which I now considered so prestigious, they rivaled The New Yorker. And received more hungry stares a day than a big time magazine’s circulation!) either, and I was supposedly the Queen of this here kitchen. Hmmph. A new career goal was born.

Mustering up my self-confidence, I finally submitted something to The Refrigerator, and here’s what happened.

Dear Author,

Thank you for breaking the ice and trying us with your recent listicle cleverly titled, “Groceries Needed for Sunday’s Bridal Shower.” While we feel it has a certain ravenous charm, the subject matter may not be cool enough for the fresh image our staff strives to preserve. But chill out (and don’t get cold feet!) because we’ve forwarded your piece on to another appliance whose sleek surface we feel may be a better fit.

Cheers,

Frigidaire, side-by-side model #FFPSS2677RF

Next came this.

Dear Writer,

Hey, what’s cooking? I’ve received your work for possible inclusion in our upcoming doorthology. Though I quickly warmed up to the idea of featuring specific food brands, I’m not so hot on possible copyright infringement. Could Betty Crocker sue? That’s the burning question!. At this point in time, I think I’ll pass, but your concept will go on the back burner for a future issue and I invite you to send something else so I can evaluate your range. Piece of cake, right?

Yours Truly,

General Electric Convection Oven

I was feeling truly rejected but he also must’ve forwarded my submission to another colleague because this notice quickly arrived.

Dear Dishpan Hands,

We appreciate you thinking of us as a possible placement for your original endeavor, but currently we’re at maximum capacity and fully loaded with other people’s work.  Try us again during our normal cycle as we often miss a spot and then we might see the glass as half-empty. Future submission guidelines include staying energy efficient and editing out dirty words, as our motto is “Keep it clean.” Hopefully this wasn’t a detergent err a deterrent in your publishing career.

Sparklingly Yours,

Whirlpool 24 Inch Built-In Dishwasher

I gave up all hope and concluded that my writing would never see the light of day on a kitchen display. And that’s when I got the next best thing . . . 

Dear Little Miss Menopause,

Congratulations on taking the plunge with your writing because you’ve just bowled me over!  I’m flushed with pride to accept your recent work and will post it prominently as soon as I get a handle on our next issue, but let’s just say, “you’ll be on a roll now!” I know it stinks, but please keep a lid on your excitement and don’t go clogging blogging about this news just yet.

Have a nice day!

Downstairs Guest Bathroom Toilet

There was only one thing left to do . . . write a
“Dear John” letter to thank him for giving me this porcelain publication promotion.

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This Man Knows Me Inside-Out (and he’s never even met me!)

BLOG_freelancers_H-645x285Not a day goes by that I don’t get an email from this most perceptive, intuitive, and thoroughly insightful guy. An online relationship expert I’ll call “The Love Bug” to protect his privacy here.

How he found me in the first place, I’ll never know — but I’ve been utterly fascinated by his email subject titles. And he apparently personally writes them all JUST FOR ME because my name is always front and center.

Have a look at some screenshots of his emails. First he tells me that I’m dreadful dating material . . .

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But he can hear my sighs!

And he’s “got” me.

Next comes this . . .

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Wow, he really does think I’m the problem. So I read it. And he’s 100% right. It’s an utter fiasco dating myself. I tell myself stale jokes I’ve heard 100 times before, I never like what I order in restaurants, and I toss and turn in bed — plus steal my own blankets.

So then he goes on to suggest . . .

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I guess since I’m a “difficult date” I’ll need to settle for cyber. But it seems I’ve already got “an interesting man” writing to me. Every. Single. Day. “The Love Bug!” And yes, I certainly do know the deal. (And the drill.)

He follows it up with some fascinating questions in his subject titles. Things I’d never dared wonder about before. Like this . . .

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Although I was kinda hoping those two things had been minimized after I had my breast reduction surgery.

And then something everyone should ask themselves at one time or another . . .

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Gosh. We both receive rocks on Halloween night?

Then he just starts shooting out a bunch of (apparently!) necessary advice.

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I quickly solved the “walking all over me” problem by buying an Oriental rug, so guys could step on that instead.

He must’ve approved of that solution because next I get this:FullSizeRender (71)

And here I thought all along that I WAS THE BAD DATE??

Next he sent a surprising revelation that was a bit hard to swallow:

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Why are you even in this business then???

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Not really. But now that he mentions brooms, I don’t like it when men sweep stuff under the rug. In fact I absolutely HATE that behavior. But I should have guessed Love Bug knows me better than even I know myself, because he writes back quickly — this time reiterating the 3 other things he knows I hate besides avoidant men . . .

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But hey, at least he put that comma in-between “hate” and “Stephanie” (see pic above) or else I’d be getting a complex right about now.

Well now it seems he thinks there’s still a little hope for me because he sends this subject title next.

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I decide this must be one POTENT email and I’ll save it for someone super special. Finally I decide upon George Clooney. I forward the above email to my handsome (unrequited) celebrity with a message asking him to merely read it (and then prepare to fall head over heels for yours truly!) but so far it’s done nothing for him. I subsequently also let my mailman get a quick peek at the email and now he’s smiling more often at me, so it wasn’t a total loss.

But apparently Love Bug thought both George and the postal worker were bad choices because I got this:

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And how come I don’t have any recollection of emailing him back??  I am starting to get worried about what else I don’t remember doing!

So I write to him, (this time consciously!) making my case that my mailman was actually pretty nice and now I even get my packages carried up to my front porch!

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“I don’t think so,” I write back. “He’s now taken to sorting all my junk mail and puts the coupons on top! I may just have to play ‘postman’ with him soon!”

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OMG!  I was only joking around! I value old-fashioned letter-carriers who wear uniforms, so sue me. But I can assure you, I am NOT a loose woman. Doesn’t he know that about me already? (Also did you notice he mentions a wife here??? Does SHE know he corresponds with me every day?? Hmmm)

Then the Love Bug does something incredible! He proves to me he’s not like every other man I meet by sending these two subjects back to back!

 

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Wow, I am so impressed with his integrity and humility. So I write him again and say, “All is forgiven. I don’t really think the mailman is all that hot anyhow. Actually I don’t find any male all that hot.

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Honestly, nobody likes a Know-it-all!

And then comes his first astonishing confession . . .

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Seriously?? Well I know it was NOT with me. I would have remembered something like that. I have a friend Tiffany, who also receives this same love expert’s email advice, (so much for my personal name shining in the subject!) so perhaps he cheated with Tiffany? The hussy. Turns out she read the same message and thought it was with me he’d been philandering with.

By then The Love Bug follows this shocker up with another email saying, “just teasing” and actually he had gone all Dorothy on us! He really hadn’t committed an infidelity — he thought he had cheated but then he woke up and it was just a dream he had of being an adulterer, like the tired plot device in The Wizard of Oz. But he did describe this dream in vivid detail to his loving wife who simply said, “That’s nice, honey. Shall we have lamb or chicken tonight?” He then used this entire scenario to illustrate the ultimate trust between a man and woman.

At this point, I am thinking I’ve had just about enough of this guy’s bizarre 6th sense and his other shenanigans as well, so I casually click unsubscribe.

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Alrighty then, do you see what he’s doing here?? He’s projecting how he feels about my leaving his email-subscription list onto me.

So I thought I’d make it perfectly clear who is pulling away from whom just one more time, so I send an email with UNSUBSCRIBE in the subject title.

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Really, Love Bug Sir?!  You’re still doing this reverse psychology thing on me?  Let’s get things straight. I’m pulling away from YOU and YOU’RE the desperate one doing the luring!

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Clearly this is a dig that he is now going to make Tiffany his main cyber gal. FINE WITH ME! So I write back and tell him I’ve had better relationship advice from a lady bug and the only reason I can justify his being “The Love Bug” is because he’s starting to really bug me and he should buzz off!

FullSizeRender (100)Interesting reframe. I insult him and tell him off and he calls it “sharing.” I decide ignoring him is the best plan. He continues to send me emails and finally this….

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Haha! Even my six kids don’t stoop to that dumb tact when they want me to pay attention to them. I ignore some more. He tries flattery.

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And it’s not even Thanksgiving! I write back that I am also grateful for the time we had together and don’t mean to nitpick, but I’m just not feeling it anymore.

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I don’t see any need to defend myself for not liking mushrooms, olives, or him — so I write back saying I actually now have a solid boyfriend and am moving on to home decorating expert email lists.

He tries the “ticking clock” stunt on me.

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Then he tosses out some random Kenny Roger’s poker advice.

FullSizeRenderFollowed by another personal insult because obviously he knows my large bra cup size too.

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Triggered, I quickly fire back that my boyfriend tells me all the time how much he adores my breasts, thank you very much.

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That does it. He’s just begging for it now! I start my own email list regarding, “Advice For Online Relationship Coaches.” I harass him every night before I go to sleep with subjects like, “Hi Love Bug! Do You Know if You’ve Helped a Couple or Just Instigated a Divorce?” and “What Happens When an Email listee Contacts Your Wife and Tells Her She’s The Subject of Much of Your Relationship Advice, Love Bug?”

Finally I can’t resist and send one final email with a subject header that says, “What Do You and Lucy (From the Peanuts comic strip) Have in Common?” In the body of the email it says, “Both of your advice is worth about 5 cents!

I never heard from Love Bug again.

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Hi Readers – – This was a fun blog for me to write, but because the emails were legit, I blocked out any identifying information with those silly hat images. But maybe you recognize the guy’s blue collared shirt?? DISCLAIMER: Before you feel too sorry for me, you might notice the dates of his emails are all out of order. I took them out of context to add humor in this mostly fictional tale where the main point was a woman (me!) thinking someone is writing to her PERSONALLY just because her name is on it, when it’s really sent out to the masses.

Dance Movie Women…Where Are They Now?

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Join us as we pay tribute and catch up with some famous female characters from the classic musical films we’ve all watched zillions of times:

  • Saturday Night Fever               Dirty Dancing
  • Grease                                          Footloose
  • Flashdance                                  Hairspray

Today’s your lucky day because through the magic of blogging, you’re about to listen in on their group therapy session!

Therapist: Hi ladies, how ya been?

Sandy: Who you calling a “Has Been?”  Fans are still Hopelessly Devoted to me.

Stephanie: Relax, Miss Sandra Dee. You misheard. She’s just asking how we are. Personally, I’m just barely Staying Alive.

Therapist: Great! Whether you’re a mother or whether you’re a brother… well I’m sure we’ve all had enough of those lyrics. I was going to have us go around the circle and introduce ourselves, but I think it’s rather obvious who everyone is — except for you there with the leg-warmers on.  And you are?

Alex: That’s okay. Nobody ever knew what my name was in Flashdance either. When they referred to me, they just said, “She’s a maniac, MANIAC!” Mainly I was known by my iconic sweatshirts. I gave everyone the cold shoulder in the 80’s.

Therapist: You certainly did. Please tell me more about how that feels. But first Baby, could you please scoot your chair back further so I can see everyone. Maybe sit closer to that wall?

Baby: Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

Therapist: Hmmm, Paranoia. And Dissociative Behavior talking about yourself in the third person.  I see we’ve got our work cut out for ourselves.

Tracy: I’ve actually already worked hard on myself to overcome society’s criticism about being the fat girl. I’m not ashamed of how I look. I’m just grateful I wasn’t born a negro.

Therapist:  Excuse me!??  Tracy Turnblad! That last part is completely out of character for you!

Tracy:  Sorry, I guess you can take the girl outa Baltimore but you can’t….well the main thing is – I role modeled self-acceptance.

Therapist: And how can any of us really tell when we’ve achieved self-acceptance?

Stephanie: Well you can tell by the way I use my walk, yada yada no time to talk. Music loud and feeling warm, been kicked around since I was born . . .

Therapist:  Really?  You’re amazingly confident even with that kind of child abuse.

Sandy: Me too. I always liked myself just as I was.

Baby: What are you talking about, girlfriend? You purposely turned yourself into a complete slut, forever teaching impressionable young girls that being a goody-two-shoes sucks, and the only way to be well-liked is to put out!

Sandy: Tell me about it, Stud.

Ariel: Yeah…Let’s hear it for the boy!!  Sometimes you gotta cut loose, kick off your Sunday shoes.

Therapist: Please do not remove your footwear here. And I really would like to be the one who leads this discussion.

Stephanie: Wow. Somebody has control issues. And it’s not Tony Manero.

Coco: You know, I just want to belt out one hit song and get some FAME. Okay, I confess…I wanna live forever!

Tracy: Sweetheart, you’re in the wrong room. The Washed-Up Movie Singers Support Group meets down the hall. Sheesh, that Irene Cara is still looking mighty fine.

Therapist: Can we please stay focused? Let’s talk about what dancing did for you ladies. You all have some great moves. What impact did that have on your relationships?

Sandy: Well when I lost the big Rydell high school dance contest, I thought I lost Danny too. After all, he only had eyes for Cha-Cha DiGregorio at that point. But I clung to the hope that “We go together, like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong!”

Therapist: Yes, that makes so much sense.

Sandy: And I’d also remind myself that “We’re one of a kind, like dip da-dip da-dip doo-wop da doo-bee doo!”

Therapist: Very profound indeed.

Tracy: I have a little issue with my femininity. My mother was also a very big woman. But sometimes she was also a big man. She sent me double messages about which gender she identified with.

Therapist: Well, “Big” was the key. And you did the right thing by telling her, “Mama, I’m a big girl now!” without hesitating or missing a beat.

Tracy: Well, you can’t stop the beat!

Stephanie: Beat? Does this mean it’s time to talk about the child abuse now?

Therapist: I’m afraid we’ll have to stop here for this week. But I’d like to go around and hear from everyone what kind of time you’ve had today and please be honest.

Baby: Now I’ve had the time of my life. No I never felt like this before. Yes I swear it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.

Therapist: Well at least you owe me $150 for this hour! Sandy, what about you?

Sandy: You’re a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you.

Therapist: Lot’s of anger there. Maybe if you didn’t always keep that Elvis and his Pelvis so far away from you.

Tracy:  Or maybe if she ratted her hair earlier in the movie. Personally I loved everything about this session. I just wanna let the whole world know I’m still big, blonde and beautiful. And every day should be negro day!

Therapist:  Honey, maybe you should just say, “Black lives matter.” As for the rest of you, if you take nothing else away from this meeting, just remember this one word….

Sandy: Grease is the word!!!

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Wizard of Oz Utilizes Craigslist

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FOR SALE:

  • Beautiful Red Sparkly Shoes, size 8. $15. Or trade for a hot-air balloon ride or strong dog leash?  Beautiful ruby beading. A little scuffed during a house-dropping incident, but plenty of wear left. Great for costume if you’re dressing up as me. Just don’t announce, “It’s too late. There they are and there they’ll stay!” after you try them on —  or some mean, old bitty might follow you around during an entire Halloween party. Contact Dorothy.
  • Poppies: Brightly colored. Some with snowflakes. Excellent cure for insomnia. $4 per bunch. Contact Oz Florist.
  • Farmhouse: $159K. Built 1939, 1800 square ft. 3 BR/2BA comes with pigs, horses, sheep and cows. Broken storm cellar, but house doubles as an airplane. You’ll find a few comps but honestly there’s no place like this home! Contact Kansas Realty.
  • Stallion: $200. Gallops, Trots fine. Will trade for a horse of a different color. See Guardian of the Gate, Emerald City. Bell out of order — please knock.

WANTED:

  • Curtain Panel or Drapes: Fabric that blends into the background so people will pay no attention to it. Large enough to conceal grown man maneuvering levers and switches. Contact ME, because, because, because, because because, because….because of the wonderful things I do!

LOST:

FOUND:

  • Broom: On streets of Emerald City. Must identify or we’re giving it to Burt, the affable Chimney Sweep in Mary Poppins, next soundstage over. Contact any Oz Janitor.

JOBS:

  • Is your fave color yellow? Are you a brick layer with tons of experience with grouting. Apply in person. Just follow the . . . other applicants.
  • Hiring Surgeons! Experienced in both Brain and Heart transplants. Two patients prepped and ready to go. Must fly here as Heart patient sets off metal detectors and Brain patient claims “it’s the last straw” for airport security. Contact Miss Gulch, R.N.
  • Makeup Artist Needed. Tired of green complexion and exaggerated nose. Ready for a whole new look that doesn’t necessarily compel men to pull me into the nearest broom closet, but still bewitching in bed. Also miracle concealer for these undereye bags and droopy chin? Is it too much to hope for defying gravity?  Contact Elphaba.
  • Lyricist: Needed to change words from “Ding-Dong the witch is dead!” to “Knock-Knock and relax, the witch is just injured.” It’s kinda ruining my job security. Contact: Avon Lady.

COMMUNITY:

  • Square Dance Social: This Saturday night, 7 pm. At the end of that famous road. Sponsored by The Lullaby League and The Lollypop Guild.

PERSONALS:

  • Happy Birthday Dorothy!  Love Uncle Henry. PS. Hurry home, Auntie Em is sick. Very sick.
  • Single White Male Fortune Teller looking to meet female psychic or medium. Owns working crystal ball and I’m a Wiz around the house. Contact Professor Marvel.
  • Surrender Dorothy!  From Guess Who?
  • Munchkins — better watch your teeny tiny backs!  Sincerely, Oompa Loompas

 

Betcha you’ve got some other clever ones? Leave me a “Wizard of Oz” Classified Ad of your own below — C’mon, it’s fun!

Throwing a party?  Did you know I’m a retired event planner with some “unique” invitation tips published HERE. Say Hi to me in the comments section over there so I can connect the dots to you back here!

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

 

 

Woman Inserts Herself Into Old Television Shows!

 

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Submitted for your approval . . . One Mr. Henry Bemis, thrilled to be a library squatter with zillions of books to read and nobody to bother him as the rest of humanity is wiped out in nuclear war. While a Ms. Stephanie Lewis simultaneously climbs into her bed, (a mistress upon a mattress) ecstatic for a night without children to disturb her sleep. On this particular evening, menopause strikes Ms. Lewis with a vengeance — hot flashes, night sweats, and a bad case of insomnia wreaking havoc as she also hears loud snoring sounds, though clearly her husband disintegrated. It’s a dimension of sight, a dimension of sound, a dementia of mind, as Ms. Lewis has the sudden realization that no zzzzzz’s await her. In an ironic and eerie twist, Just as Mr. Bemis drops and breaks his precious reading glasses, the camera zooms in on Ms. Lewis catching up on some light chick-lit reading until she gets drowsy. Because anything is possible in The Twilight Zone.

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“Here’s the story of a lively lady who is joining three lovely girls all hair of gold. She’s not their sister, not their mother, because she’s obviously too old! Till the one day this woman invites herself over for lunch, because she knew it was much more than a hunch. And that’s the way Stephanie Lewis moves in with the The Brady Bunch!” Just in time for their 3-part Hawaiian vacation trip (Why not? It’s the most glamorous of their filming locations) Stephanie experiences some strange mishaps due to a Brady Island Curse: A tarantula climbs into her beach-bag. She disappears under the water while surfing.A football gets thrown at her nose. Her hair turns orange. She goes to the prom with Davy Jones. She gets the chicken pox. She contracts laryngitis. She can’t stop exclaiming, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!” even with the laryngitis.

Gilligan’s Island

“The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle. With Gilligan, the Skipper too, the Millionaire and his Wife. The Movie Star, Professor and Stephanie…..here on Gilligan’s Isle!” Stephanie knocked off dear, sweet, little Mary Ann. Was it for her coconut cream pies or because she coveted her flirty shorty shorts?It can’t be both because cream pies = stretchy yoga pants.

Seinfeld

Stephanie celebrates Festivus, calls George Costanza “Art Vandelay” then tells Kramer, “These pretzels are making me thirsty.” She confesses to Elaine, “The Dingo ate my baby.” The show reaches an exciting climax with Stephanie telling Jerry her name is Mulva. Yes, it is an episode about nothing.

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The Fonz admits he has a secret wife named Stephanie whom he hides in a closet behind his leather jackets because she’s uncool.  Surprising the live audience, Stephanie leaps out with both thumbs up, gives a throaty, “aaaaayyyyy!’ then rides off on Henry Winkler’s motorcycle.

Charlie’s Angels

Stephanie spends the entire episode on speakerphone with Charlie frantically pleading with him to let her work in his detective agency but wearing concealer and corrective foundation instead of a bikini. Meanwhile, Farrah Fawcett and Jaclyn Smith beg Bosley to hire Kate Jackson back because she wasn’t such a pain-in-the-ass co-star.

The Flintstones

Wilma, Betty, and newcomer to Bedrock, Stephanie go around shouting “Charge!” (Just because I always wanted to do that.)

The Partridge Family

Stephanie can’t sing and it comes out she’s only on this episode to kiss teen heartthrob David Cassidy and tell him, “I think I love you.”

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Stephanie magically turns into Samantha for a day and points out that two different actors (both named Dick) played the role of her husband Darin, but nobody (except her) seems to notice, care about, or remember the major switcheroo.

Friends

Stephanie and the gang sit around drinking coffee from oversized mugs and reminisce about past Thanksgivings.  When an old boyfriend accuses her of cheating on him, Stephanie cleverly shouts, “We were on a break!!”

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Stephanie, (along with gal pal Ethel Mertz) loses her passport, gets locked in a freezer, sets her watch backwards instead of forward and misses a dinner party, gets a lobster red sunburn, diets down to a size 2 to be in a show, schemes to get her son a raise but instead gets him fired, accidentally overdoses herself on cold medication, thinks her ex-husband is trying to kill her, and pretends she’s fluent in a foreign language so her future mother-in-law will like her. Oh wait, these aren’t Lucy Ricardo stunts, this is Stephanie’s actual life.

So what’s your favorite “older” television series and have you ever imagined being in the cast?

P.S. I am super excited to announce that my very first collaborative humor writing with my real (not fictional) son just got published this very weekend right HERE.

10 Commenting Styles and What They Obviously Reveal About You!

FullSizeRender (31)This blog has not been feeling well lately (mentally) so I took it to a very renowned, highly regarded Blogchologist for a few therapy sessions. It spent some time on her couch while she asked some leading questions, gave it the inkblot test, and then formulated her opinion on every aspect of its personality, including all the comments it has received in the 2.5 years of its existence. I thought I’d pass on her analysis of all your reader commenting styles. For what it’s worth.

The 10 categories and descriptions below are mine, but her feedback is in RED.

  1. THE OVERLY FAMILIAR COMMENTER – Calls me Lil’ Miss, Missy Meno, or just “Hey Steph!” Prone to mentioning childhood memories, inside jokes, sexual asides, or telling me last night’s dinner sucked. These are obviously readers who know you well in real life but are feeling neglected and like they must resort to commenting on your posts to have any significant communication with you. They also are rather possessive and want to make it clear to the rest of your readers that they (and ONLY they) are privy to whether your hair really looks that strange in reality. (I can confirm it does.)
  2. THE CLEVER COMMENTER – Leaves remarks so hilariously witty, my original post seems a tad boring in comparison. Says things like, “Little Miss Menopause, huh? Does that mean you’re taking a short break from guys?  Men – Oh – Pause. Get it? Anyhow, I like your blog, but I’m hoping you’re not just some (hot)flash in the pan!” This type of commenter actually isn’t all that clever. They’re relying on silly humor, with the goal of emulating your redundant, insipid wordplay style so they might catch your eye as a possible future Guest Blogger on your site. They may even go so far as to leave some poison-pen writing in the hopes that you will fall deathly ill and they can log-in, (as you) and take your entire WordPress blog over. Why they would want to waste time doing this, I have no clue – but it might be an improvement.
  3. THE GENERIC WORDS COMMENTER – Always writes, “This was very funny. I liked it.” Even if I’ve written a meaningful post about putting my dog to sleep. Actually I analyzed your entire blog and not once have you written anything that could be called meaningful. Anyhow, this type of commenter feels sorry for you and is just being polite. Plain and simple.
  4. THE CORRECTOR COMMENTER – Their comments contain perfect grammar, punctuation, and are devoid of typos. They’ll point out that I’ve written “hear” when I meant “here.” Or that I lapsed into past tense when I started out in present. In short, if I want to hear from them, I need to screw up. Former English teachers or just extremely anal individuals with tendencies to not see the forest for the trees. If this is a parent and their child brings home a straight A report card, they’ll ask why there weren’t any  A +’s ?
  5. THE TITLE COMMENTER – They’ll leave a quick remark pertaining only to the subject line and possibly the first sentence. Business-like individuals who believe time = money. They have a quota of comments to leave and you’re just another cog blog on the wheel.
  6. THE TIT FOR TAT COMMENTER – They keep track of the frequency and the length of comments I’ve left on their own blog, and then make sure they do something very comparable. If I get too busy, they get too busy as well. These Tits for tat commenters have longterm resentments regarding their mothers for not breastfeeding them as infants.  
  7. THE COMPLEMENTARY COMMENTER – I can do no wrong in their eyes. Every word is a flattering adjective (brilliant & genius!) and the phrase “constructive criticism” sends shudders down their spine. You can spot these People Pleasers a mile away and often they will try to compensate for The Corrector Commenter by saying things like, “I didn’t find your changing from 1st person narration to 3rd person in the middle of a paragraph to be distracting at all.” They have a high need for approval and to be liked by every blogger they meet. Even someone like you.
  8. THE LINK-LEAVER COMMENTER – They’ll say, “That totally reminded me of this!” and then suddenly I have hyperlinks galore. It’s one thing if it’s pertinent, they’re proud of writing it, and they just want to share. But often it’s for monetary gain like for an online prostitute. Your writing could conceivably remind people of hookers, but it’s unlikely since your opening paragraph never has a good hook. Nevertheless, these are the people in society who will drop a piece of trash on the lawn with a garbage can two feet away. 
  9. THE ANONYMOUS COMMENTER – They mysteriously creep into the comments section during the wee hours of the morning and end their cryptic remarks with “Guess Who?” These are the people who keep “Your Secret Pal” notecard companies in business. They’re the ones who donate to charities and need zero credit or accolades. They’re also the guys who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp. And the ram in the rama lama ding dong.  We see these people in our office around age 45 for an identity crisis.
  10. THE NON-COMMENTER – They’re out there because I see their names by the thousands on my follower’s list and they’ll occasionally venture out to click “like” on a post, but never so much as a “LOL” gets typed. They must be very shy. Shy? That’s the least of their issues. These are the most disturbed members of our blogosphere. Often repressed, suppressed, and fraught with sexual dysfunction. Or otherwise suffering from:

Like I said, please take this analysis strictly at face value because personally I think it’s just a bunch of psychoBloggle. 

And now….YOUR comments? 😉

Obvious | The Daily Post
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/obvious/

8 Devious (But Well Justified) Food Tricks All Parents Should Know!

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This is pretty cute, Family Magazine– but you don’t need a masters degree in Art to utilize my simple food tricks below!

The following tricks are divided into two categories, both equally indispensable. The first section is to help YOU eat whatever you want left alone in peace, and sans guilt. The second part is to assist you in getting your children to eat healthier fare. Paradoxical? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely.

FOR YOU:

  1. Bottom’s Up: In private, turn any unfrosted cake, (Bundt, pound or loaf, etc.) onto its side and proceed to ingeniously cut a thin slice from the bottom part for your indulgence. Using dental floss to shave it off is a great help with this feat but buy the unflavored kind unless you like mint with your angel food? Note: You can do this approximately four and a half times before the cake starts getting discernibly shorter and your guests’ brows raise as they begin to refer to it as a pie.
  2. The Latest From Paris: Spooning brownie batter into your mouth is actually more sinfully scrumptious than eating the fully baked confection itself. And virtually undetectable because who has ever seen a tall brownie? You can also just drink batter through a straw like you’re sipping on a luscious thick malt. Betty Crocker would make a fortune if she started packaging brownie mixes that stated, “8 extra spoonfuls included for mom’s sanity” printed under the ingredients.  However if the end result (your baked pan of brownies) drops below an 1/8 of an inch thick, a renaming will be in order. Say confidently at the dining table, “These are NOT brownies. They’re a trendy new dessert craze from France –“Brepes”….a combination of crepes and brownies. Wallah!
  3. Glamorous Goodies: If you’ve already gobbled cookies from a package that you just purchased that very afternoon (i.e. Oreos or Chips Ahoy) and you don’t want to hear “Mom! Who already ate these?” simply arrange the store bought treats on a pretty plate and set it on the table. Bonus points for sliding an elegant doily underneath. To avoid this scenario entirely in the future, buy only bagged cookies so nobody can count up (this isn’t why math is taught!) the vacant plastic slots and calculate how many Nutter Butters are missing.
  4. Caution Signs: Write stern little warnings that say, “Do NOT eat this. I’m saving for tomorrow night’s Bridge Club. Or Mahjong group. Or any other card game that Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz used to play that requires serving impressive refreshments. Warning: At this point you better at least learn about trumping and building walls so you can talk a good game the next evening when you whisk the baked goods off in your car to drive around the corner and luxuriate in solitude.

FOR THEM

  1. Deceptive Desserts:Trying to sneak anything healthy into your children by finely grating it into a sweet batter is so old school. Jerry Seinfeld’s wife did an entire book on this and then languished in Puree Hell. Kids are smart and will suspiciously examine their birthday cake for evidence of carrots or zucchini and give their muffins a watchful eye for applesauce. Anything pulverized will be immediately spat out. So reverse the process. Rather than pureeing the nutritious thing, puree the unhealthy thing and inject it deep inside. Example: Take a carrot, hollow it out and fill with minced or blended Hershey’s chocolate. The child will gleefully delight in avoiding the pureed center of the carrot (thinking that’s the nutritious part you’ve tried to pull one over on him with) and you’ve just scored a kid who won’t be called four-eyes. That is, if you believe old wives’ tales about carrots improving vision.
  2. Freud Who?:Remember Psych 101, Pavlov’s dog, and classical conditioning! Every time the child eats a chocolate chip cookie, ring a bell. The child will soon associate bells with pleasurable taste sensations. But after a while when the child’s guard is down, ring a bell as he eats oatmeal. Then salmon. And why not go for brussel sprouts? “Ring, ring!”  Disclaimer: Future Avon Ladies, playing Ding Dong Ditch, or reading “For Whom the Bell Tolls” may prove traumatizing for him later in life.
  3. What’s In a Name?: Do bizarre things with celery but forget Ants on a Log. That phrase just kills it. Who eats insects? Substitute chocolate chips for those raisins. Then give the kid a further break and swap peanut butter in for the cottage cheese. Relax mom, the original celery is still in the picture. But get a new and improved catchphrase, will ya? How about “Let the Chips Fall Where They May?” or “Chip off the Old Block.” You can do this!
  4. Great Expectations: Refrain from your rehearsed evil “mwahahaha” laugh when utilizing number 4 from the first section above, only with a clever variation. Make a similar sign stating, “Under no circumstances should you eat what’s wrapped in this tin-foil because it’s something very special for the PTA Bake Sale. Attach this sign to your leftover meatloaf, of course. But don’t bother pre-slicing it into cupcake wrappers — they’ll be expecting just that kind of deception.

Good luck and remember that whoever said, “All is fair in love and war” must’ve had to eat too, so he should’ve written a sequel bumper sticker that proclaimed, “All is fair in the Kitchen as well!”

Caught the Pokémon Go craze?  Go HERE to see how I’ve modified it to benefit Jewish (or any!) parents! And watch for my new app being released soon!

“Wow! You Should Be a Guided Meditation Leader!”

images (11)Has someone recently said this to you? It probably means you have that “peacefully enlightened” vibe, a relaxing demeanor, and definitely a comforting, soothing voice. But if you’re really toying with entering the meditation field, you will need to use phrases (ad nauseam!) that could literally make your friends lose their ever-loving mind(fulness).

Nevertheless, if you’re still curious about becoming one, here is a resume of the 9 most important qualities needed to be a Guided Meditation Leader:

  1. The ability to direct people to let themselves “Arrive,” ignoring the fact that they are actually already there, sitting in real upholstered chairs, listening to your droning voice (which should be dripping with butter or honey or something else decadent that none of these people will ever let their bodies ingest) Yes, this ceremonial act of “Arrival” is extremely important, so execute it with pronounced enunciation.
  2. Able to conduct Individual Intention Settings. It’s crucial that anyone who is about to listen to your guided meditation tapes or Youtube videos first set their intention. Warning: A few smart alecs will state, “My intention is not to set any intentions.” Ignore them and do an Intention Intervention instead.
  3. Must possess creativity to command your listeners to breathe-in a large variety of different things. (Although seriously, when did breathing plain old oxygen become such a scarce commodity?) Make certain they’re breathing in something they might potentially want to embody (being mindful not to choke them by telling them to inhale a new Mercedes!) and then direct them to breathe out something else entirely different — preferably something you think they might want to rid their life of. (Hint: If they are listening to you with their children nearby, avoid telling telling them to exhale their ex-spouse!) And then tell them to do it all over again. Sixty. Three. Hundred. Dang. Times.
  4. Be adept at issuing reminders.You’ll want to regularly remind them to notice lots of body parts. “Notice your arms, notice your hands, notice your fingers, notice your ear-lobes (always a fun one!) notice ankles, knees, calves, thighs, etc.”  If they start to notice another participant’s feet, they might have a fetish and become aroused and you should gently guide them back to a state of complete relaxation.
  5. Should have strong observation skills in the area of respiration (you may think the act of observing is similar to the act of noticing, but shame on you — it’s incredibly different!) Say things like, “Observe how your breath flows in and out. Make no effort to change your breathing in any way, simply Observe how your body breathes. Your own body can Observe how much air it needs. Observe in your mind’s eye, your breath flowing gently in and out of your body, etc. Etcetera! As long as you string together certain key words into a fun tongue-twister, nobody will be the wiser that you’re a Guru who just made a boo-boo.
  6. Able to Help Someone Conjure Up a Serene Meadow. This is self-explanatory, but having a vast knowledge of classic Crayola crayons is useful here. Water should be imagined as Turquoise Blue, Aquamarine, Periwinkle, but most likely it’s always Cerulean, while the grass is either Pine Green, Forest Green or Fern. Remind them there’s no need to color inside the lines in their mind’s eye meadow. Ahhh, freedom!
  7. Must Be a Thought Killer. Approach this one gingerly. You can’t let them know you’re straight out of George Orwell’s novel, 1984 with “The Thought Police” so say things thusly — “When your attention wanders, as it will, just focus gently back again on your breathing. Notice any stray thoughts, but don’t dwell on them. Simply let all your thoughts peacefully pass away.” Shouting out “Die, thoughts, die!” might rile up all the gun-control issue folks.
  8. Continuously use the word “Mindful” even when you’re not leading a class. Here are creative ways to incorporate this great new buzzword. “If you don’t stop kicking the back of my seat, I’m going to lose my mindful!” And, “Do you mindful?? I’m trying to get some sleep here and I can’t with your damn snoring!” As well as, “Mindful your own damn business!” And don’t forget to say this to your teen daughter, “I have a good mindful to let you freeze to death in those skimpy shorts.” You can also take liberties with the trendy word “authentic.”  i.e.  “Seriously the price is $85?  Is this just a plain old suede purse or is it genuine, authentic leatherette?”
  9. Ability to Self-Soothe. When you suddenly find yourself out of a guided meditation job because everyone and their bloody Uncle wants to live in the present moment and do this woo-woo work.  But no worries!  With all the skills you’ve just cultivated, you can still use that terrific voice of yours – – as a Phone Sex Operator. Just know in advance that all the cleansing breaths you’ll help elicit from your customers will be the “Heavy Breathing” kind.

Thanks for reading and Namaste! (How the heck do you pronounce that??)

If Your Name is Jack, You Need Psychological Help?

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Therapist: Welcome to the therapy support group for (Barely) Functional, Fictional Jacks. Our first order of business is that we’re a non-smoking building, so Jack Be Nimble, please put out your candlestick.

Jack Be Nimble: I’ll be quick, Ma’am.

Therapist: Thank you Jack. And Little Jack Horner, please join the group, we have a chair for you right here in our circle.

Jack Horner: Sitting in the corner is just fine, Mrs. Jackson.

Therapist: You boys feel free to call me Jacqueline. But Mr. Horner, I do insist you join us. We’ll work on that social anxiety of yours later on, but our focus of the day is on eating disorders, over-exercising, and body dysmorphia.

Jack Spratt:  Nobody here deals with any of that crap.

Therapist: Oh, don’t they now? When was the last time you allowed yourself to eat a little fat?

Jack Spratt: Well I . . . um. . . well you know. I don’t trust our entire Fat system. They claim there are now considered good and bad fats. I figure better play it safe and eat NO fat.

Therapist: Oh nuts! Slice up an avocado, Jack. Eat salmon. You’re wasting away. And your wife, that little heffer, she isn’t helping matters by eating no lean.

Jack Horner: I brought some Christmas Pie to share. I’ll just go get it. It’s in the corner.

Therapist: What a good boy are you!

Jack Horner: What a good boy am I!

Therapist: Yes, Mr. Horner that’s what I just said. But what’s that on your thumb?

Jack Horner: I was born like this. It’s a terrible, hideous swollen purple defect.

Therapist: Oh, it most certainly is not! That’s your body dysmorphia talking, Little Jack Horner. There’s nothing at all wrong with your thumb. You just stuck it into a plum one time too many.

Jack (John Cougar Mellencamp): Little ditty about Jack & Dianne. Two American kids growing up in the heartland.

Therapist: Now is not the time to introduce your girlfriend to us, Jack. I’d like to concentrate on the Jacks who feel they must chronically burn off calories. Jack and his companion Jill are forever going up hills. Jack and the Beanstalk is, well he’s climbing up and down that tall vine so much it would make a golden goose’s head spin. And Jack Be Nimble hasn’t met a candlestick he can’t jump over. It’s textbook ADHD combined with compulsive exercise.

Jack (John Cougar Mellencamp): Jackie gonna be a football star. Diane debutante backseat of Jackie’s car.

Therapist: Ahhh, I see you also suffer from delusions of grandeur, eh? You probably think you’ve got a hit song on your hands.

Jack (John Cougar Mellencamp): Oh yeah…. Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.

Therapist: And some situational depression too.

Jack & The Beanstalk: May I interject something? There’s a grotesque monstrous giant chasing after me because I stole his golden harp. Would that make me a kleptomaniac?

Therapist: Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, has anyone ever given you a paranoid schizophrenic diagnosis, Jack Old Chum?

Jack Spratt: Can we get back to my relationship with my heffer wife? I think we balance each other out nicely in the kitchen — between us both we lick the platter clean.

Jack Horner: Ewwwww, gross!

Therapist: Germaphobe.

Jack & Jill: I don’t suppose you could analyze why every time I take a fall, Jill comes tumbling after?

Therapist: Because she’s co-dependent, Jack. Choose better next time. Now I’m sorry but our time is up for this week. When we meet next we’ll discuss the common unhealthy dynamics in your childhoods since you all shared the same maternal influence.

All Jacks: She did the best she could under the circumstances. We forgive you, Mother Goose.

Receptionist: Excuse me, but your next patients are here.

Therapist:  Yes, please tell the Brothers Grimm I will be right with them. And all their Little Princesses as well.

Dear Readers:  I would love your comments on this piece or the last few in the series I’ve written (Fictional Characters On the Therapy Couch) 

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Poor Jack Nicholson….he’ll be next!

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This Jack really needs to think more outside of the box!

Colonel Mustard & Miss Scarlet See a Marriage Counselor

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Therapist: Just to make it very clear — what happens here always stays highly confidential.

Colonel Mustard: Maybe we can write it on little cards and slide them into a sealed envelope in the middle of the game board?

Miss Scarlet: Oh will you just get a Clue? This isn’t about fun and games. That’s not why we’re here.

Therapist: Well maybe you can tell your husband the reason you ARE here, Miss Scarlet. What’s bothering you?

Colonel Mustard: Wait! Why does she get to go first?

Therapist: Check the rulebook. It’s right there in black and white. Miss Scarlet always goes first.

Miss Scarlet: Yes, that’s just the way I roll.

Colonel Mustard: Well this time, I’m making the first move. You’re just a little slut, wearing your slinky red dress all the time, with your long skinny cigarette holder. I see the looks Mr. Green gives you and I could just kill him for what he’s thinking.

Miss Scarlet: Did you hear that? You’re a witness to his threats.

Therapist: Please leave me out of this dangerous game you people play.

Colonel Mustard: Is it a crime to want my wife to be monogamous?

Miss Scarlet: When we go home tonight, we’ll sit down and talk this over in The Lounge.

Therapist: Wow. I’ve never known anyone with an actual room called The Lounge in their home.

Miss Scarlet: Never mind that. His fly-by-night behavior is for the birds.

Colonel Mustard: You leave Mrs. Peacock out of this. I knew you’d find a way to drag her into our personal affairs.

Miss Scarlet: You mean your affairs. She’s already very involved, I suspect.

Colonel Mustard: You should suspect. Because you ARE the prime suspect.

Therapist: Folks, settle down. My recommendation is you go back home and host a fun Murder Mystery Party. You know, your guests come dressed in costume, you put out lots of . . .

Colonel Mustard: Weapons.

Therapist: I was going to say appetizers.

Miss Scarlet: We’ll need a sharp knife for the cheese.

Therapist: My goodness, what’s wrong with you people? I think no matter how you toss the dice, it’s safe to say your marriage is over.

Colonel Mustard: The romance is dead. She killed it.

Miss Scarlet: You’re the one with the guilty conscience. You should turn yourself in; it would shorten your prison time.

Therapist: But if he goes straight to jail, how would I collect my $200 hourly fee? We could take a ride on the Reading railroad to a bank. Or you can take a Chance from the Community Chest?

Colonel Mustard: Can’t you see her community chest is already on display in that low-cut dress? Listen, I don’t know what game you’re playing right now, but deal us out. There are a million therapists in town. You don’t have the Monopoly on Couples Counseling, you know.

Receptionist: Sorry to interrupt but your next appointment is here, those two inventive male siblings.

Therapist: Please tell the Parker Brothers, I’ll be right with them.

This was the third in a series of shorts I am creating wherein Famous Fictional Couples see a Marriage Counselor.  Stay tuned for more. And please leave me a comment if you’d like to request an iconic pair rush to a shrink!

Bizarre Travel Tips You Won’t Read Elsewhere!

IMG_5408Just returned from the Middle East and because I’m not writing a Travel Blog here, I was going to take all this great information to my grave. But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced there’s one reader out there who can benefit from my strangely comforting travel tips. Are YOU that reader??

Taking the Mystery Out of International Travel!

  1. When in airports that have heightened security, don’t sit around on benches darting your eyes furtively around. YOU know you’re contemplating which Duty Free shop to go drop major bucks in (because you forgot to souvenir shop for your kids) but the armed soldiers in Israel won’t get it. Neither should you have this dialogue. SOLDIER:  State your business for being in this terminal, Miss. ME: Oh, I’m just killing time. SOLDIER: Killing??!  Passport and ID. Now! ME:  Wait, what? That’s just an expression. You know like, “Wait till you hear the huge bomb my ex dropped on me last night!”  SOLDIER:  You’re coming with me.
  2. Try not to walk into open air market places and say, “Excuse me but which aisle would feminine hygiene products be on?”
  3. Don’t finally make it to the Western Wall in Jerusalem, extremely honored to slip a prewritten note of prayer into one of the cracks (because it’s the holiest spot in the country and there’s a direct connection with God there) get confused, and instead slide in your “To-Do” list for when you return home.

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    The Western Wall: Don’t tell me someone else didn’t accidentally leave their grocery list?

  4. As you enter the country of Jordan, never tell the stiff, rigid-looking Border Crossing Guards that you almost named your son “Jordan” but then thought it might sound too girly so you went with “Benjamin” instead.
  5. At the Dead Sea, agree that you WILL float.  Don’t argue with everyone around you that you’re an exception because you weigh too much for this natural phenomenon to work on you. JUST BELIEVE. In fact bring reading material so you can have a photo like this fellow. dead sea
  6. Three hours later when you’re finally satisfied that you can float with the best of ’em and decide to try covering your body with the black sludge that sits on the shores (because it’s supposed to have healing and therapeutic qualities for your skin) don’t go around saying, “Guess I’m just a stick in the mud, eh?” and elbow people roughly trying to nudge a laugh outa them. Saying “Well, here’s mud in your eye!” gets even less of a chuckle.

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    Don’t be afraid to get dirty in Israel

  7. You will encounter co-ed public bathrooms. You don’t need to document this fact with photos. People back home WILL believe you.
  8. Many places will bargain for their wares, but you’re not Monty Hall. Don’t say, “Let’s Make a Deal!  How about I give you some Mickey Mouse soap from an official Disney hotel, a Hershey bar, and I’ll throw in a lock of hair from my firstborn for that Star of David necklace in the window?”
  9. Don’t go to Masada remarking, “Gosh, it looked far more grandiose in the Peter O’Toole movie.” And hiking around Petra asking every tour guide, “Exactly which Indiana Jones movie was filmed here again?” won’t ingratiate you.
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    The Top of Masada!

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    Petra, Jordan where a famous movie was filmed!

  10. Don’t think you’re so clever figuring out that the Med, Red & Dead Seas all rhyme (and you can make money off that) because there’s already a tee-shirt for that.
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    Coffee Mugs exist too.

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    Quick!  Is this the Med, Red, or Dead Sea?  Or is this just a boring beach back home in San Diego???  Could be a prize…leave a comment!

Could Captain Von Trapp & Maria Be Headed For Divorce?

HT_sound_of_music_julie_andrews_sk_150316_4x3_992Therapist: Before we begin I want to stress that anything we discuss remains in the strictest of confidence and will not be spoken outside of this room.

Captain: Or turned into childish lyrics and sung on bicycles. Am I clear?? Tooot, tooooooot–

Maria: Oh spare me your whistle, Captain.

Therapist: Tssk, tssk . . . control issues. So what can I help you folks with today?

Captain: How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Therapist: Hmmm…Anything you want to tell us, Maria?

Maria: Perhaps I had a wicked childhood. Perhaps I had a miserable youth.

Therapist: But somewhere in your youth or childhood, you must’ve done something good?

Maria: Well, nothing comes from nothing. Nothing ever could.

Captain: And that’s just about what this session is worth.

Therapist: Now, now Captain. Your wife tells me you aren’t very supportive of her creative household frugality.

Captain: Ya think? Nobody needs to wear window coverings just to military march around the house.

Maria: But the children. They just want love. Please just love them, Captain. The children.

Captain: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

Therapist: I’m sorry but that’s not a line of yours, is it? It’s not anywhere in my notes. Let’s save the Rhett Butler nonsense for later. He’s my next client, actually.

Captain: I said that to make a point. Sometimes I think she’s crossed over from the Gone With the Wind set – – they also have the Drapery/Dress Recycling thing going on. It’s like she’s taken Scarlett O’hara and Maria Von Trapp and blended them together.

Therapist: Could that be true, Maria? Do you think you have Transblender tendencies?

Captain: Haha, it was just a joke. Let’s get down to the serious issue, shall we? Whenever Maria is unhappy, she threatens to run away — go back to Abbey. Now, I don’t know who this Abbey person is, but I suspect it’s short for Abigail and my wife secretly likes girls.

Therapist: And how does that make you feel, Sir?

Captain: Haha, gotcha again. Kidding!

Maria: Honestly Georg, you’re so juvenile. It’s like I have an eighth child. You are 16 going on 17.

Therapist: Have you ever considered hiring a governess? To relieve the stress.

Captain: Ah yes, some pretty sweet young thing with a penchant for playing the violin.

Maria: Georg!

Captain: Fraulein, you will remember yourself!

Therapist: Who says that anymore? Is that even a thing?

Maria: Well, it’s time for prayers. God bless the Captain, Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Marta, Gretel and . . .

Therapist: Achoooooo!

Maria: Gesundheit and bless you . . . err, I’ve forgotten what you’re called. What’s your name? Well God bless What’s-Your-Name.

Captain: OMG. Look, is there any hope for this relationship? With a woman who has a severe phobia.

Therapist: What are you frightened of, Maria?

Maria: The hills are alive . . .

Therapist: Now we’re getting somewhere. But I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this week.

Captain: Don’t you have any quick advice for her to conquer this fear? We may need to hike through the Alps one day.

Therapist: Of course — here’s a memorable tip . . . Climb EVERY Mountain!

If you enjoy thinking about what happens to iconic fictional couples “after the show” you’ll want to enter this new contest RIGHT HERE so you can write about it and have a chance to win $200! 

Meanwhile, if you just like to read about fictional couples going to a marriage counselor, you may want to read another one I published RIGHT HERE. Please leave me a message there if you enjoy the movie/play Fiddler On The Roof. 

And stay tuned for more information about my newly released collection featuring the following couples having a marriage counseling session with their therapist!  Tarzan & Jane, Peter Pan & Wendy, Lucy & Ricky Ricardo, Mike & Carol Brady, Superman & Lois Lane, Harry & Sally, Charles & Caroline Ingalls, Rocky & Adrienne, The Phantom & Christine, Mr. & Mrs. Howell, Jack & Rose Dawson, Miss Scarlet & Colonel Mustard, The Captain & Tennille, and many more!

 

 

 

 

The Phantom of The Cellphone!

-font-b-phantom-b-font-of-the-opera-fashion-original-cell-phone-case-cover-for“You called three times but didn’t leave a message, is everything ok?” my mother asks. Confession: I regularly hang up on my mom’s outgoing phone message because she gives excruciating instructions on waiting for beeps, admonishes you to speak slowly, enunciate clearly, and requires you to give the date and time of your call. A former teacher, she insists on educating people on leaving proper voicemail.

But on this occasion I’m certain I didn’t call at all, let alone three times. I look at my caller ID log and sure enough I have telephoned my mother thrice within a ten-minute period this morning. The Benadryl I took for a cold must’ve made me groggy and blurred my recall.

A couple of hours later, I receive a message from my old Avon Lady announcing light blue shimmery eyeshadows just came in and how shocked she was to hear from me after more than 30 years. I’m also kinda shocked, envisioning her hobbling up to front porches at age 75, ringing doorbells, gleefully shouting, “Ding Dong, Avon calling!”

Minutes after we disconnect, my long lost Tupperware gal calls, claiming mere moments ago I telephoned her but promptly hung up when she answered. She wants to know if the reason I’m currently reaching out is to schedule a Tupperware party? “Does the word ‘Ziploc’ mean anything to you?” I ask.

What’s the deal with my cellphone and the 1970’s throwbacks? If I’m butt-dialing people, my ass is way behind the times.

Suspicious, I carefully set my mobile device flush on the kitchen table and scrutinize it cautiously as I eat my cottage cheese w/pineapple and lime jello. It behaves itself and doesn’t dial up Dorothy Hamil or Billy Jean King. Just a nondescript, innocent dark screen.

Just as I swallow the last of the curds, suddenly my cellphone emanates an ominous glow and a notification pops up stating, “1 outgoing call.” Seriously??  This was no pocket or purse dial! Paging Rod Serling.

I click on it to see the name Layla Down, a woman I loathe. For one thing, she always asks, “Who died?” just because I wear the color black a lot. And she pointed her finger at my youngest daughter Natalie for the lice infestation in the 6th grade. “Nitty Natty” sticks to this day. I shudder, anticipating what’s next and sure enough, it rings right on cue with the big fat phony Layla on the other end of the line.

Me: Nitty Nat’s mom speaking, how may I help you?

Layla: My, my, what a droll sense of humor you still have. So when’s the funeral? Actually I’m returning your call, Sugar.

Me: Uh, I never called you, Sweet Tart.

Layla: I have proof that you did, Sucralose.

Me: Think again, Sweet‘N Low.

Layla: Better wash your daughter’s hair, Aspartame.

We went on like this until we used up all the sarcastic (saccharin) terms of endearments and began repeating a few. Click. Maybe this was Siri’s revenge for when I let her nearly drown in the washing machine?

During the next week, my cellphone honed its interpersonal skills, not only making random embarrassing calls all on its own accord, (old boyfriends, old dentists, dead people) but it actually started efficiently connecting people together from my online address book via its 3-way conference calling feature!

It introduced my following Contacts to each other:

  • My gynecologist to my Rabbi
  • Dr. Harris, my cocker-spaniel’s vet to Harrison, a cocky Vietnam vet
  • My handyman Richard to Betty, a broken-down divorcee
  • My Weight Watcher leader to my chocoholic friend
  • My divorce attorney to my wedding planner
  • My hairstylist to my friend Nan, the Nun
  • My life coach to my son’s football coach
  • Sherman, a needy guy I dated (and wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy) to Layla
  • My therapist to my Mother (so she could analyze why nobody leaves her voicemail?)

And when I saw the newest popular trend on the market — a clear plastic food storage container (with a burping seal) filled with frosted lipsticks, I knew the Phantom of the Cellphone could take all the credit for striking again. He’d actually gone and hooked up my Tupperware Gal with my Avon Lady. Bravo!

Panties . . . Inciting an Uproar? Or Just Uproarious Laughter?

images (10)Sometimes a mere word can conjure up an image so intense that people become highly distraught. ‘Panties’ is one of those words. The Atlantic magazine is just one of several publications that ran an article going into depth about the controversy that’s ensued over the use of this term. And I’ve actually just spent an hour reading more research on the topic of ‘Panties’ than I think there might be out there for the subject of ‘Insomnia.’ But it didn’t help me fall asleep.

First of all, nevermind that people have such an incredible curiosity about this noun that they actually go onto the Yahoo Answers website (numerous times!) posing the question “Is ‘panties’ singular or plural?” but many psychologists and researchers are actually also making the leap that calling women’s’ underwear ‘panties’ has a direct link to the amount of pedophiles in our country.

But most of the research I came across was official surveys being administered to find out if the population now really detests the use of this word or maybe they’re just lukewarm about it?  Is that a job that someone can seriously be hired to do?  “Yes, I’m here to fill out an application to be a Word Wonderer. Aside from ‘panties,’ I wonder how the public perceives the word ‘spatula?’ And I’d like to put to rest once and for all where we all stand on ‘balderdash’ and ‘flummoxed’ as well. Thank you, and yes minimum wage is acceptable because this is my passion.”

Personally, I used to date a man who told me he thought ‘panty’ was the sexiest word in our language. I just think he was in a college fraternity that conducted one too many panty raids. But interestingly, he couldn’t stand to hear the word combined with ‘hose.’  In fact, if I so much as uttered under my breath, “gosh, it’s too hot today to wear pantyhose,” he went ballistic and insisted they were called nylons or stockings.

Speaking of covering women’s legs with nylons, stockings, or (gasp) the dreaded pantyhose, are you aware that topic in and of itself has hundreds of google searches not only on whether it’s coming back in style to wear (thanks to Kate Middleton) but also whether it’s still a sin to wear them with open-toe shoes.  And folks, brace yourself . . . . but it may NOT be a fashion faux pas any longer.  Now please ignore this entire paragraph but I had to include it because I plan to tag this post with all these words so that the thousands of google searches will actually land on my blog, for once!

Another word that women apparently cannot tolerate is the word, ‘moist.’ You can see the other five cringe-worthy vocabulary words right here, but rest assured that ‘panties’ made it onto this list. Yes indeedy. Clearly the two words strung together in the same sentence could possibly incite a war.

But before anyone thinks they’re gonna be clever in the comments section and tell me to just “put my big girl panties on” and blog about something more significant, I want to defend myself by claiming that words ARE important to me. I often spend twenty minutes just mulling over my choices (eww, mulling? That doesn’t sound too appetizing) in a thesaurus so I can be satisfied that I exhausted all my options for the best and most precise meaning.

And before I enter into a relationship with anyone, I will play word association games with them as a sort of test. Also my favorite oldies song from the 80’s was by Missing Persons, “What Are Words For?” So I feel perfectly justified to “get my panties all in a snit” (Really, snit?? That’s so close to snot! I can’t believe ‘snit’ didn’t make it on the top 6 worst words list!) if someone sings, “You say to-may-toes and I say to-mah-toes, let’s call the whole thing off.”

Call it off? No way! I want to debate about it with you for hours. Let’s call it ‘foreplay.’

Dear Readers — If you’ve ever seen the movie HER, (guy falls in love with his computer operating system) I’ve just written a parody for the fitness company I work for about that time I almost tied the knot with an activity monitor, the little rogue! You can read it HERE and please know that comments left there really help me with my boss – – My Word Slavemaster! Thank you if you can take a moment of your time.

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For Valentine’s Day I Shoved Love Down Everyone’s Throat!

photo-72And it tasted like chalky Pepto Bismo. For a change of pace this Valentine’s Day, I decided to catch my children off-guard with being festive. All it took was sending everyone an “adorable” Valentine’s app and a lot of Splenda packets to conjure up the sweetness in our lives for a day. At least that’s what I thought.  Guess they don’t call them Conversation Candy for nothing! Have a look . . .

Me:

                                                                          photo 4-11

       College Son:

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 Me:

photo 1-16

 College Son:

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 Me:

photo 3-10Then my two younger kids chime in.

Daughter 14:

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 Son 12:

photo 5-10

 College Son:

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Me:

photo 3-12

 College Son:

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Me:

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College Son:

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Me:

photo 3-3photo 3-7

College Son:

photo 4-9Sick of this son’s smart retorts, I send a heart to his twin brother with a love greeting. It was very flowery and lovey-dovey sentimental.

Twin Brother:

photo 1-23

Me:

photo 2-22

Twin Brother:

photo 3-18Finally my 17 year old daughter (who btw takes 45 minutes to decide what she’s gonna wear in the morning) decides to join in . . .

Daughter 17

photo 4-14

 College Son:

photo 4-16

 Me

photo 1-13

 College Son:

photo 5-6

Me:

photo 1-22photo 4-15photo 3-14

College Son:

photo 2-18

Me:

photo 4-5photo 2-9

College Son:

photo 5-4

Me:

photo 1-11

College Son:

photo 2-10

Son 12

photo 3-8photo 2-13photo 5-11

Daughter 17

photo 4-17

Me:

photo 3-17

Daughter 17:

photo 2-19

Me:

photo 4-20photo 5-12

College Son:

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photo 1-17

Me:

photo 2-16

Frustrated, I decide to send the Valentine app to my boyfriend….

Boyfriend:

photo 4-3

Me:

photo 5-3

Boyfriend:

photo 2-21

Me:

photo 1-20

Boyfriend:

photo 2-20

Me:

photo 3-16

Boyfriend:

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Desserts backwards = Stressed.  Of course!  And look — this time playing Scramble was HIS idea. At least this confirms I’m with the right guy.

Hope your Valentine’s Day will be a little more on task than ours! And now excuse me while I eat my own words…

AND IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE HOW I ADVISE OTHERS TO HANDLE VALENTINE EXPECTATIONS AND PRESSURE JUST CLICK HERE!

How To Be “SUPER” Popular At a Super Bowl Sunday Party! (even if you don’t know football)

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HOPE FOR THE IGNORED GUEST!  DON’T BE LEFT OUT ON THE SIDELINES!

1. Don’t make any kind of sandwich stadium, especially not as elaborate as this photo. There will never be enough kudos to compensate you for those tomatoes. Instead, make Guacamole. Just do this. Trust me. Even if you’re out of “Avocados From Mexico.” Use kiwis. These people won’t notice – – they’ll just keep dipping and dipping while hollering at that TV . . . The Big Dips. (Note: Underripe green bananas may also be substituted.)

2. Never say this – – “I don’t know why you folks don’t just record this stuff and watch it later so you can fast forward through all these silly commercials.” Never. Ever. (See #3 below)

3. Football fans are an exuberant bunch. And worse, they know their terminology. Before you attempt to chime in during an actual live play of the ball game, experiment with a silly commercial. Try the following options: A) Boo loudly at the creepy “PuppyMonkeybaby.” B) Shout, “Hold ’em! That’s the way!” to the crane lifting Jeff Goldblum up an apartment building as he sings The Jefferson’s theme song. (yes, seriously!) C) Throw a chip at the television in disgust and say, “Really? You’re eating Doritos at her ultrasound?”

4. Casually introduce conversation with, “So how about that Joe Namath?” If this doesn’t get the reaction you are looking for, tell them you were a cheerleader for your brother in Pop Warner leagues. Note: This will only be effective if you can produce a photo. Still nothing? Remind them you brought the guacamole.

5. Don’t ruin the halftime (that’s fancy for intermission) surprise by announcing in the first two quarters, “Women are from Venus, but men are from Mars….BRUNO MARS. Oh boy. Did you hear he’s joining Coldplay?” However, it’s perfectly okay to speak about the singer 75 cents or a $1.00 into the game. Just not during the first two quarters.

6. If you are tired, don’t be offensive and yawn. Play defensively! Simply look at the clock (lower right hand side of the television screen) and if it says (only!) 2 minutes and thirty seconds are left until the end, you will now have time to play an entire game of Monopoly.

7. Look around for other wives and girlfriends that have that “I’m so bored, I could throw-up” green pallor on their face. Look closely. This could just be the guacamole. Engage them in a fashion review of the game. Tell them you think shoulder pads and tight ankle pants are so 80’s. Or entertain them with something more thrilling … like reading War & Peace aloud. If all else fails, casually remark, “Hey, I know what!! Let’s go in the other room and compose a Match.com ad for ourselves.”

8. You will eventually need to choose a side and root for them. Lemme help you. If you liked the Peter Sellers’ movie series, I’d go with the (Pink) Panthers. If you drive a Ford pickup, then the Broncos are your men. Just don’t cheer for the team wearing the black and white vertical pinstripes — they usually just stand around botching coin tosses and tossing out colored flags.

9. Right about now, you’re probably ready to show off your knowledge and throw out some authentic, sporty vocabulary during the actual game. Wait until the room is in some sort of an uproar over a bad call, then holler, “A noose, a tree . . . let’s hang the referee!” It’s always safe to pick on a man that doesn’t weigh 285 lbs, who carries a whistle, and always speaks in pantomime.

10. If none of this is working for you, continue nodding and being polite, offering all the uptight, nervous pacing men (and other guests who come in late) your spot on the sofa. Do this until every seat in the house is taken and you have to sit on the toilet in the bathroom. Bring guacamole.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

PS.  If you’re still bored watching the game, (and you happen to be Jewish) you can read my monthly humor article  RIGHT HERE. This one is on keeping the Yiddish language alive.  Did you know it’s dying?

10 Thoughts Going Through My Head When You Kiss On The Lips

Kissing-Or-Hugging-For-Social-GreetingWe’re not talking about playing ‘Spin The Bottle’ here. First off, I’m not a huggy type of individual. Therefore those clumsy moments I experience when initially greeting people I haven’t seen in a while (or when I part ways after running into an old friend in the grocery store) rank right up there with the awkwardness of mistakenly walking into a public men’s bathroom.

That’s right, hugging is enough of a conundrum for me. But social kissing on the lips? Just no. And here’s exactly what I’m thinking . . .

  1. You’re a guy and you’re farewell kissing every female in sight at a dinner party whilst your wife stands around obtaining the recipe for Monterey Chicken (just slap some cheese and BBQ sauce on the bird!) from the hostess. I notice you don’t give the menfolk even a cheek peck (something to do with hen-pecked?) so clearly you’re capable of discriminating lip-locking appropriateness. Therefore I ask, “Is your wife happy with you, Sir? Is she really?”
  2. Is this whole thing gonna escalate? Like going to 1st, 2nd and 3rd base? I’m worried next time you’ll sidle up to me from behind, fondle my breasts and whisper “Guess Who?” in my ear.
  3. Was that a tad of tongue or are you just chewing pink bubblegum? Either way….ewwwww.
  4. You’re a woman and we’re just meeting for coffee. Go home and Google ‘People’s Personal Circle of Space.’ Or spin around with your arms outstretched. Get it now? That’s the boundary zone. Violators will be towed.
  5. What? You’re kissing your kids on the lips too?! I dunno. Seriously. I. Just. Don’t. Know. I suppose that’s your own business.
  6. Wait, no it’s not! You’re raising a whole new batch of gratuitous lip-smackers who will show up at future dinner parties, making elderly people like me uncomfortable.
  7. You’re an eligible bachelor so C’mon! I mean it — is this a Come-On?
  8. A man is kissing my husband (if I had one) hello at a Superbowl party. Is He Gay or European? Okay, that’s just my favorite song from the musical, Legally Blonde.
  9. Yes, I know — cultural differences make it okay. But let’s put it to a fair test, shall we? You’re not in your country and I’m not in mine. We’re on another planet. I betcha a bag of Hershey’s chocolate kisses that the handshake wins (hands down!) every time with the Martians.
  10. You may have gotten away with that stealth lip graze when you greeted me hello, (you future Family Feud gameshow host, you!) but rest assured I will sooo vanish when it’s time for goodbyes. Even if I have to duck into a public men’s bathroom.

 

 

 

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??

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.

 

 

 

 

That’s The Way The Cookie Crumbles

cookieThe idea of a holiday cookie exchange conjures up “Fun, Frolicking, Festiveness, and Frivolity” but there’s another reason I will forever call the events I planned the “F-word Cookie Exchange.” I think it will become abundantly clear when I tell you the two groups with which I attempted to organize these recent nightmares. My Writer’s Round Table and my Group Therapy.

Let’s listen in, shall we?

Writer’s Round Table Cookie Exchange

Me:  I know! Next time we meet, let’s each bring a plate of cookies for one of those fun trades, ok?

Member 1: Great, I’ll pick up a variety pack at Costco.

Member 2: Uh…you have to bake to be in a cookie exchange.

Member 1: Really?  That’s funny. You don’t write, yet you’re in our Round Table.

Me: C’mon folks, be nice. This is supposed to be just for fun.

Member 3: Why should I put major time and effort creating War & Peace cookies if someone else just brings Fifty Shades of Grey cookies.

Me: (Trying not to picture a Lady Finger handcuffed to the bedpost) I guess that’s true.  If we wanted store bought cookies, we could just head to the market.

Member 1: I prefer to spend my time using a pen, not a pin.

Me:  A pin?

Member 1: A rolling pin.

Member 3: You could always pick up those pre-made slice n’ bakes and just plop them onto cookies sheets.

Member 1: That’s cheating. And I feel that the Pillsbury Dough Boy is not a fully fleshed out character. What’s his true motivation for squealing when someone pokes him in the tummy? And shouldn’t he have an antagonist?

Me: Okay, seriously???

Member 4: Did you know that Ernest Hemingway adored his mother’s Toll House cookies so much it inspired his book title, “For Whom The Bell TOLLS?”

Me: I didn’t know that. You smart cookie, you!

Member 4: Nah, that’s pure fiction — I just made it up. Pretty good, eh? Don’t steal that. Speaking of, I call dibs on Oreos. Nobody else better plagiarize.

Member 2: You can’t copyright a sandwich cookie.

Me:  You know what?  Let’s forget this whole thing and stick with writing. A cookie exchange was a half-baked idea.

Member 1: Yeah, and you get those by the (baker’s) dozen.

Group Therapy Cookie Exchange

Me: We’ve all become so close and understanding of one another’s issues. What do you say we have a festive cookie exchange next time we meet? Everyone brings a platter with 3.5 dozen, ok?

Mr. OCD: I really can’t think about odd numbers.  Can we round up to 4 dozen? I would feel so much safer if things were even numbers.

Ms. Germaphobe: Can we make a pact that everyone wears gloves while we bake?

Mrs. Agoraphobic: I will only be able to attend if the cookies are distributed in my own home.

Miss Panic Attack: I’m starting to feel quite anxious that I might burn them all.

Mr. OCD: Just check the oven every 30 seconds, like I do.

Miss Chronic Depression: It’s really hard to get motivated for something this heavy. I’ll probably just spend the day sleeping. Although I once tried a cookie recipe called, “Pumpkin, Peanut, Prozac, Percocet Surprise Bites.”

Mr. Low Self-Esteem: My cookies will get pushed to the lonely back row and they’ll all still be there after our meeting. I just know it.

Ms. Borderline Personality: OMG, people! This isn’t all about you. It’s not even about cookies. I’ll confess that I’m sexually drawn to Bakers and Cooks in general and this entire conversation triggers my abandonment issues from the time the Head Chef for Marriott left me alone in Ikea housewares.

Mrs. Binge Eating Disorder:  I would like to graciously offer to bake on behalf of everyone else. I have each and every ingredient to make 103 different batches.

Mr. OCD: Can you round down to 102 batches? I would feel so much safer if . .

Therapist: I’m sorry, but that’s all the time we have for our session today. Good work everyone. Next week we’ll discuss favorite childhood cookie brands. Be prepared to feel a bit unsettled if Chips Ahoy comes up–but I’ll be right here with you the entire time and we’ll walk through it together.

 

 

 

 

12 Potluck Party Personalities! Which One Are You?

potluckThe holidays have officially descended upon us and with this time of year harkens the arrival of the Potluck Party. Whether it be held at the office, school, church, or a relative/friend’s private residence, you’ll likely encounter some variation of the following personas:

  1. Potluck Prepper: Always bringing something to the gathering that requires a ton of preparation time. Proceeds to annoy the busy host in her own kitchen by opening the refrigerator and commenting “sheesh, how do you function in here?” and then thinks nothing of barricading an entire counter with the layout of different toppings as she assembles her ugly lettuce wraps.
  2. Potluck Planters Peanut-er: We get it – – you work, have kids, didn’t sleep, were sick all week, and in general “your time is ultra-valuable” so the can of Planter’s peanuts is your fall-back. But people with nut allergies are not digging it. Switch to beef jerky.
  3. Potluck Patenter: Owns the original copyright, trademark and patent for spinach dip! And thusly, in the name of all holy condiments, will wage a strategic war of subterfuge if you dare bring the same dish as her. Will either: a) rearrange platters so your contribution is in the back row. b) start a rumor that you used expired sour cream. c) offer guests $1 incentive for each bite they ingest of her concoction, $2 per obnoxious lip smack and $5 to the person who loudly declares her The Royal Dip Queen.
  4. Potluck Preliminary Packager: Very worried that she won’t get to bring any of her grub back home at the end of the evening so will prematurely wrap up several servings under the guise that it’s So & So’s favorite thing in the entire world, but they couldn’t come tonight. Let’s call up So & So and just see about that, shall we? The jig is up- – this doggy-bag is actually FOR YOU!
  5. Potluck Plastic-er: Cannot be bothered to transfer the contents out of the carton that it originally came in.
  6. Potluck Pricetagger: Eager to show off what she spent on her gourmet donation. Sometimes unintentionally left on and it’s so mortifying for them to know that there’s a tell-tale red-tag clearance item, they’ll douse it with sauce or frosting.
  7. Potluck Pasta PickerOuter: Brings a spaghetti dish but realizes that there’s inadvertently mushrooms in the sauce! Stands over her contribution for twenty minutes, sifting out every last ghastly fungus, never thinking that other guests might love those disgusting, rubbery toadstools.**
  8. Potluck Prider: Makes a dramatic entrance coming in late and then a huge production setting down her entrée, often simulating a drum-roll and exclaiming, “At long last, the mac n’ cheese has arrived!”
  9. Potluck Puny Portioner: This personality grew up with food rations and even though they knew full well that the host was expecting 40 guests, brings a cheesecake that serves six. Throughout the evening, they are constantly emphasizing how RICH the dessert is, thus justifying their paper thin slices.
  10. Potluck Panic-er: This person lets the whole invitational food farce upset them so much (what can they possibly bring?  OMG!) that days before the event they cancel with a mother-in-law excuse. The mother-in-law passed away three years ago.
  11. Potluck Paprika-er: Has a philosophy that everything looks better with orangish/rust colored sprinkles on top. Will paprika anything from egg-salad to birthday cake.
  12. Potluck Pedestal Presentation-er: Highly skilled in the art of display. Owns the fanciest crystal bowls and sterling-silver footed cake plates. Has a strong believe that the appetite begins in the eyes, which is rooted in the fact that one of his parents was an ophthalmology chef.
  13. Potluck Putrid Prankster: Stays up nights thinking of the dish they can bring that will emit the foulest odor. It will contain limburger cheese.
  14. Potluck Punctuality Person (NOT!): Swears they will be on time but inevitably signs up for an appetizer and then arrives when desserts are served.
  15. Potluck Papergooder:  No matter how many varied food group choices are on the list to sign up for, this person consistently gravitates to either plates, cups or utensils. They simply feel they cannot be trusted with real food.
  16. Potluck Peter Piper Pickled Pepper: “Tongue-Twister” is their name and “burn your mouth off with HOT n’ SPICY” is their game!

4 Types of Potluck Party Planners!

(The hosts themselves can often be categorized!)

  1. Potluck Prayer:  A host that secretly does not want to return dishes and vessels to the guests who brought them and is actually praying that taking them into the kitchen under the guise of “washing them out” will lead to “out of sight, out of mind” and thus increase and strengthen their personal Tupperware arsenal.
  2. Potluck Pretender: Offers to hold a potluck under the guise that it’s laid back and easy. “Bring whatever you want, everything goes,” is their mantra at first.  This should be a red flag that the day before their affair, you’ll get a call where they insist in an ominous tone that five people are bringing brownies and if you do not bring something with protein in it, (preferably steak) you’ll be arrested by the Carb police.
  3. Potluck Piler:  The host who holds back an entire dish for his or her own use because it’s their favorite and they don’t know how to cook it themselves.  These people cannot help themselves.  They spy an incoming “cheese soufflé” and immediately think “I could bring this to Jody’s party this Sunday!” You can easily recognize them because they have bruises on their foreheads from where they slap themselves while loudly uttering, “Would you look at that!  I completely forgot to put out your Velveeta thingy.  But never fear, it shan’t go to waste around here.”
  4. Potluck Passive(aggressive-er):  Starts out choosing a seemingly innocent theme. Either It’s a Small World, Breakfast For Dinner or Finger Foods. As an example of their subversive, covert demeanor, let’s say you bring soup to this last theme above — They will reassure you that all is well, and that they adore chicken broth, then suddenly blurt out, “Well I guess now we all NEED spoons, don’t we?” followed by a loud clattering in the kitchen.

** If you couldn’t tell, the author is #7.

UPDATE!  Here’s a direct link to the following!  Scroll down and please vote for team Hickson!  Right HERE!   NEWS!  I have been participating in a special collaborator phase of an exciting contest called “A Star is Born” (produced by The Neighborhood’s Kendall F. Person) when I was truly honored to be asked to team up with the one and only hilariously funny man, Ned Hickson. The voting will take place in less than 24 hours (!) Sunday, Dec. 6th at 7 pm so just click HERE to support Team Hickson in our humorous antics because updates will be posted frequently and a link to vote will magically appear at 7 pm! 

Kid’s Art Stash in Trash For Cash: Mothers Abash!y


clothesline-artLocal investigators uncovered a major fraud in the world of preschool art last week when it was discovered that a group of elite housewives/mothers bribed their local garbage collector to set up a simulated art museum in the back of a manicure shop. The desperate women generously tipped the city employee weekly for transporting their children’s finger-paintings and paper-mâché trinket boxes into the makeshift gallery each and every time they tossed these lovingly crafted projects into the trash.

Oscar Krouch, city sanitation department employee for over twenty-three years stated, “At first I thought it was a sweet idea. Mothers wanting to make their children feel special. I was all for it.” Pulling out an ugly green finger-knit scarf, he continued, “Then I realized it was just old-fashioned maternal guilt. Imagine throwing away everything your precious kids bring home from school, but not wanting your conscience to bother you. For shame!”

During an interview with the mothers in question, Yolanda, mother of three (who prefers not to give her last name) claimed it all started with good intentions. “During our weekly coffee klatch at Lisa’s house, we noticed her refrigerator bursting at its Sub-Zero seams with scotch-taped rainbow construction paper because stainless steel fridges aren’t magnetic, ya know? Nothing hanging on those doors matched her mid-century décor and she already tried discreetly tossing these projects after a couple of weeks of prominent display, but her only child Leonardo threw a tremendous fit.”fridge

“I can relate to that,” interrupts Brandi, mother of Salvador and Vincent, ages 3 and 5. “I even resorted to Martha Stewart’s time consuming suggestion to take digital pictures of everything before discarding, but my kids wailed, ‘How could you really love us if you’re capable of throwing out things we’ve made with our very own two little hands?’ Our house was being overrun because the Montessori PTA insists on tons of enrichment. I could wallpaper three of my larger walk-in closets with the amount of stuff they were bringing home.”

The mastermind of the entire charade was Kim, (mother of Pablo, Georgia and Andy) who conjured up the clever ruse after a desperate moment during a particularly fruitful Mother’s Day. “A pretend art museum was the perfect solution — a win/win for everybody involved. The children could visit their craft projects once a month during our family day. And Oscar Krouch isn’t so innocent in all of this. He confided that becoming an art curator made him feel important, especially because his own mother always admonished that if he didn’t go to college, all he would ever amount to was a garbage-man.”

In a strange twist, the plot thickened (just like a kindergartener’s poorly executed oil-painting) when Krouch decided to open the “gallery” to the general public, taking in thousands of dollars selling the wayward kiddie knickknacks.

Krouch justified, “I noticed on my garbage route that certain trash cans were consistently filled with store bought birthday or Valentine’s Day cards, machine stamped candles, and placemats made in China. Nothing looked homemade and it dawned on me that some mothers don’t have little artists to deluge them with paintings. Instead they gave birth to mini-athletes or nerds who prefer Bill Nye the Science Guy. I felt bad for these macaroni ornament deprived moms who seemed to yearn for some amateur holiday art to hang in their windows.”LoadmasterElite

Indeed Krouch charged $20 for simple Crayola family sketches, but it was the personal work like the toddler-traced handprints turned into turkeys that fetched huge sums before Thanksgiving. “Believe it or not, mothers couldn’t throw away their little darling’s glittery pinecone art fast enough to satisfy the demand I was seeing from these art-starved moms for Christmas,” added Krouch.

None of this would have come to light if human nature didn’t run its typical course of greed. About a month ago Eileen, mother of Matisse, gleefully threw an entire Nordstrom’s bag full of her son’s art away, never realizing there was a dormant masterpiece lying within. “It was just a sloppy purple sharpie outline of a sprig of grapes I had packed in his Antman lunch box that morning. Not even organic fruit. Suddenly I see the same drawing featured on the 10:00 news with our neighbor’s sports obsessed son identified as the artist. I realized this dishonest mother had purchased my Mattise’s grape portrait from our garbage man, then claimed her son doodled it during a timeout on the ball field. A boy who had never clasped anything in his hands but a football his entire life!”

What does Krouch, the shrewd trashman turned art-curator have to say about this unpredictable turn of events? “I think it’s a classic case of sour grapes. Or possibly The Grapes of Wrath. And you know what they say – One Mom’s Trash is Another Mom’s Treasure.”

Mr. Krouch, are you sure you didn’t go to college??

Little Miss Menopause Reporting. 

(Inspiration credit for this piece goes to one of my favorite bloggers, The Underground Writer, the expert on news story parodies.  Check out one of hers right HERE! )

Should You Have a Soul Makeover?

We have some wrinkle cream for you!

Well then we have some wrinkle cream for you!

Women in our society are in a no-win situation and it’s gotten out of hand. First the media destroys our self-esteems by pointing out all the things that are physically wrong with us. Next the beauty industry and cosmetic surgeons (who conveniently sponsor the media with their advertising!) sell us their expensive solutions to “fix our problems.”

I recently decided to reject this crazy system and focus my time and energy (but not my money, since there’s nothing to buy!) on my inner essence instead. I read books, kept journals, took long walks on the beach and fostered close connections with family and friends. Everything was going swimmingly until last week when I stumbled upon an online website for Soul Makeovers.

Immediately I envisioned “before and after” pictures, along with thunderous applause on the Oprah show as my Spirit strutted onto the stage (doing the Soul Stroll Shuffle?) in updated clothing, hair and makeup. Right? Wildly curious, I called the number.

“Soul By Nicole, can I help you?”

Me: Hi there. I was just checking to see what your gimmick was? Are you selling timeshares in Hawaii or um, sexual favors?

Nicole: No gimmicks. But oh dear, you sound like such a poor lost soul.

Me: Nope! I’ve done my share of soul-searching. I’m good.

Nicole: What about cleansing your soul?

Aha! Here it comes. There’s a battery operated exfoliation brush with expensive soaps! I just knew it.

Nicole: You can start by baring your soul to me.

Ooh! R-rated stuff. See? I told you so! Massage parlor is just around the corner, wait and see.

Me: Well Nicki girl, it’s like this. I’m sure we’d be kindred souls, but I’m gonna pass on all your promotional junk.

Nicole: I’m not selling anything. But confession is good for the soul. And I promise not to tell a living soul.

Alright so maybe I’m too suspicious. Sounds innocent so far. She just wants to have a little girl talk, maybe confide in each other. What’s the harm in that? I told her I was in.

Nicole: That’s the spirit! Let’s meet for lunch. I know a good place for soul food. When did you last feed your soul?

Cleansing and feeding. Now it’s all adding up. Luxury Spa packages! Betcha she works on commission.

At the restaurant, Nicole orders filet-of-sole on an onion roll. I order the salad bowl with an egg roll.

Me: Nice to meet you. I rode the Soul Train here. I thought maybe you’d suggest lunch in Korea?

Nicole looks blank.

Me: (elbowing her) You know, Seoul Korea. Ha-ha-ha.

Nicole: Oh, you’re a droll soul.

Me: Yes, I write humor. Can I pour you some water or should I just pour my soul out to you instead?

Nicole: Let me ask the questions here. I’m taking a poll. What’s your soul goal?

Me: Well I want to be a famous writer. Oh yeah, and I’m trying to get away from commercialism and buying another tube of lipstick.

Nicole: Actually it’s the eyes that are the window to the soul.

Me: Yep. I don’t want mascara either.

Nicole: Have you thought about a soul-mate?

An online dating service. I shoulda known she was a matchmaker!

Nicole: Someone you can love with all your heart and soul. Share a soul kiss with?

Me: I already have a man. Maybe you know him? Old King Cole. He was a merry old soul.

Nicole: Well bless your soul, you are quite the little comic, aren’t you?

Me: C’mon Soul Sister, the jig is up. I don’t have time for this. Let’s rock and roll your soul. Whatcha selling?

Nicole: I’m not the one selling anything. You are.

Me:  Me? What am I selling?

Nicole: It’s obvious you’re a tormented soul. So there’s someone I want you to meet. . .

Lucifer: Name your price!

Me: Why you little devil, you. I wish you would’ve been upfront from the start. I already sold my soul long ago. To become a writer.

"Fetch me Little Miss Menopause!"

“Forget my pipe. Fetch me Little Miss Menopause!”

Adult Preschool?(Puppets, Painting, & Puzzles . . . Oh My!)

photo 3 (1)Simon Says . . .  Adults go to preschool!  Don’t believe me? Last year the very first preschool for grown-ups (in the world) opened up RIGHT HERE.  So I enrolled. And even though some of my classmates’ arthritis seems to have flared up while finger-painting, we have a blast.

Here’s a typical day’s curriculum.

Morning Circle Time: Calendar – Can you actually remember what day it is? Weather- Let’s look outside and talk about rain. Will your bursitis act up? Stretching – Can you touch your toes? Should you??

Song Time: Wrinkle, Wrinkle Little Scar, If You’re Peppy and You Know It, Middle-Age MacDonald Had an Organic Farm, On Top of Old Fogey, Do Your Boobs Hang Low?`

Sharing Time: Swap good dental plans, a referral for a rheumatologist, or an effective eye cream for crow’s feet!

Show & Tell: We’re proud of ourselves! — Susan cut calories and fat from her meatloaf recipe. Carol got new yoga pants. Richard is finding himself in therapy.

Snack Time: Non-GMO kale chips sprinkled with Metamucil and lactose-free skim milk.

Playground Time: Today we’re hanging from monkey bars to tighten flabby arms.

Arts ‘n Crafts: Use Play-Doh to form heel inserts or arch supports, String beads to make chains/necklaces for our reading glasses.

Story Time: Goodnight Prune, Poky Little Progesterone, The Little Pension That Could

Block Time:  Who can build the highest tower with their prescription bottles and diuretic containers?

Nap Time: Bring your own orthopedic pillow.

Nursery Rhyme Time:  Jack & Jill went Over the hill — Mary, Mary, still eating dairy! — Hickory, dickory dock, We can’t turn back the clock.

Closing Circle Game: “I spy with my little eye . . .  some bad hair dye, facelift gone awry, elbows that are dry, someone no longer spry!”photo 2 (5)

In the few weeks since I’ve attended class, I’ve noticed slight changes at home with my own children. Here, listen in and see for yourself.

12-Year-Old Daughter:  (on her cell) Can’t you see I’m on the phone? How many times have I told you it’s not polite to interrupt?

Me: It’s just that I have a headache. Could you keep it down?

12-Year-Old Daughter: Don’t you take that tone with me! You’re just cranky because you haven’t eaten.

Me:  You’re right.  We should go out for salads.

10-Year-Old Son:  When we want your opinion, we’ll ask for it.

Me: (hanging head) Sorry.

10-Year-Old son:  Look at me when I’m speaking to you. If you can get your shoes on before I can count to three, maybe we’ll go for pizza.

Me:  Oh goody.  Can I get a diet coke?

12-Year-Old Daughter:  We’ll see.

At restaurant:

Me: (Checking out some cute guys at the next table) Wow!

17-Year-Old Daughter: You can look at those things, but don’t touch.

Me: (taking out my calorie counter book, kitchen scale, and diet salad dressing in container) I wonder what I can order that’s on my Weight Watcher’s plan.

17-Year-Old Daughter: (to Waiter)  I apologize for her behavior.  She’s special needs.  ADHD. (Annoying Dame Having Dinner)

All in all, I think I’ll stick with my new preschool program because I finally know what I want to be when I grow up . . . a five-year-old.  Hey, it can happen!

Is youth wasted on the young? How long do you give this new business? What’s Your favorite memory from this age?  Or just leave me an original comment.

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

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Come to a Commercial Character Cocktail Convention!

tv-commercial-break-workouts-img-15684 (1)Don’t change that channel!  The guest list is distinctive, the drinks flowing, the rumors flying – – we join our gathering in full swing. Who might you recognize and remember??

Doublemint Twin:  Don’t look now, but I think Colonel Sanders is totally chicken you out!

Sun-Maid Raisin Girl: Oh gawd — not him! That’s not sour grapes.  He’s just so old, I should introduce him to my Aunt.

Doublemint Twin:  How is Jemima these days?  She was always so sweet.

Sun-Maid Raisin Girl:  She got herself in a sticky situation with her gal pal, Mrs. Butterworth.

Doublemint Twin:  I could fix one of them up with my Uncle Ben. He’d love to get married and get rice thrown at him! If they’re not careful, they’ll both end up old maids.

Sun-Maid Raisin Girl: (sniffs) Maid?!  Go ahead — rub Salt in my wounds.

Morton Salt Girl: Ladies, I couldn’t help but overhear my name?

Doublemint Twin:  Oh please, take it with a grain of you know what.

Morton Salt Girl: Let’s dish about Betty Crocker. I heard she has a bun in the oven, doesn’t that just take the cake?

Sun-Maid Raisin Girl: Shhh, she’s coming! Betty! I love the necklace… it’s the icing on the cake.

Betty Crocker:  Oh c’mon, You don’t have to stop talking on my account. I know there’s six layers of gossip tonight. But I thought of a name. If it’s a boy, it’s gonna be Gerber. I always wanted a Gerber baby!

Culligan Lady – – Mind if I join in?  Who’s the father? I hope it’s not some drip.

Betty Crocker: Don’t ask. He’s all washed-up in this town. Did the dirty deed, then vanished faster than you can say ‘Spic n’ Span.’

Morton Salt Girl: (whispering to Double-Mint)  Who’s the Daddy??  Some germaphobe?

Doublemint Twin: Yes, it’s none other than Mr. Clean.ty-d-bolmrclean

Morton Salt Girl: (gasps) Oh! But I heard last week he finally came clean. Admitted he scrubs and scours both ways and then tore off with the Tidy Bowl Man!

Betty Crocker: (cheeks flushing) Why don’t you run off and play with The Little Dutch Boy. Yes, all true ladies. And please no puns about toilet paper. They’re all just tearable! I can’t spare a square.

Mr. Whipple: I disagree, you seem to be on a roll. Let’s keep a soft spot in our hearts for that topic. Meanwhile, I’d be willing to make an honest woman out of you, Betty.  A man always has room for dessert.

Doublemint Twin:  Oh please Sir, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Betty Crocker: Take your hands off my baby bump, Mr. Whipple! If it’s a girl, her name is Charlotte. Please don’t squeeze the Charlotte!

Culligan Lady: Well nice chatting with you all, but I see someone I know. I could sure go for a long, tall drink of water. Hey Culligan Man!

Mr. Whipple: Wow, that’s one thirsty broad!

Coppertone Girl: Hey ladies!  Check-out the guy on the sofa. He’s smoking hot!

Josephine the Plummer: That’s the Marlboro Man.  I’d take the plunge with him any day.

Betty Crocker:  Which guy?  Point him out to me. I always thought the Marlboro Man and I would be the perfect match. I’d love to strike up a conversation.

Coppertone Girl:  He’s the one with the great tan. He’s sitting directly at 9:00.

Madge the Manicurist: Well 9:00 has a 5:00 shadow. And The Marlboro Man can’t hold a candle to The Michelin Man. He’ll drive a gal crazy. Personally, I tire out just imagining it. But you should tread lightly. With him, the squeaky wheel always gets the oil, if you know what I mean. Mmm, oil.  Softens hands while you do dishes.

Betty Crocker:  Oh Madge, you’re so funny. And what’s that you’re dipping your celery in?

Madge The Manicurist:  Ranch dressing.  You’re soaking in it.

Josephine The Plummer: (coughing) Excuse me, something just went down the wrong pipe. But it was delicious. Who’s the caterer?

Betty Crocker: Chef Boyardee.  But I heard that Gorton the Fisherman did the salmon pate.  Now he’s a real catch. I’d fall for him hook, line and sinker.

Doublemint Twin:  OMG Betty, you’ve got your spatula in everyone’s batter.  I don’t think you even know who the father of your little cupcake is.

Betty Crocker: It’s not like I did the whole Geek Squad! Goodness, these rolls are scrumptious, but I daresay the butter has too much cholesterol.

Madge the Manicurist:  Give it to Mikey. He eats everything!

Mother Nature: If you think it’s butter, but it’s not . . . it’s Chiffon!

Madge the Manicurist: It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature. Did you get a facelift?

Mother Nature:  Well, how dare you!

Jake From Statefarm:  Hi, what are you wearing?

Brooke Shields:  Nothing gets between me and my Calvins!

Alfred E. Neuman: (on loudspeaker)  Welcome Everyone. Don’t get MADD at my little announcement but you’re all officially out of work.  Some of you may even be dead. The votes are in and the networks are going with Commercial-Free television from now on.

All Commercial Characters:  Noooooooo!

Alfred E. Neuman: Now see, if you’d been a character in a print magazine (like me!) none of you would be concerned right now.  “What, me Worry?”

Boos and jeers abound as a violent food fight breaks out when Orville Redenbacher brings out the popcorn.

photo (20)And today is my birthday which means it’s time to announce the winners for The Blogcademy Awards!  Thanks to everyone for participating in my yearly event.

The winner for the Best Selfie (with blog in the picture) is Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner and you can see her highly creative Selfie right here

The winner for Best Song is Marissa Bergen and here are her original humorous lyrics!

When it comes to blogging I’m the Cat’s Pajamas
And they call me the Rock N’ Roll Supermama
Cynical sarcastic subtle and sublime
And I got it in the pocket with the fattest rhymes
And if you haven’t got it yet, this is my song
With a guitar and a beat you’ll be singing along
So I know the Bloscar will go to me
Cause I got it when it comes to originality
And you know i got credentials, I come highly recommended
So thanks for the iTunes gift card, I’ll just tell you where to send it.

CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH OF YOU and please email Little Miss Menopause at  thequotegal@yahoo.com with a way to send your prize!

And finally, if anyone can go HERE  to vote for me, maybe I’ll win a silly prize myself.  It takes literally one second. Thank you!

Difference Between 1st & 6th Child’s Baby Memory Book!

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Okay, okay I plead guilty to Baby Book Slacking!  But it was self-defense. Should we put mothers on trial for omitting crucial information from subsequent children’s baby books?  Wouldn’t the father be an accomplice?

So I got a little lazy?  Besides, who really ever reads these books anyhow? It’s not like they’re headed straight for the New York Times Best Yeller Seller list, are they?  Number six child is lucky she got any kind of handwritten documentation out of me at all.  She could’ve just had a copy of the below dog-eared book shoved in a keepsake box (or an empty Lucky Charms cereal carton) along with some loose teeth and a lock of hair. And it could’ve been the dog’s teeth and hair. Give me some credit!images (2)But just for the sheer fun of shaming me, let’s take a quick looksy at the differences, shall we?  Of course, the First page of all Baby Memory Books always starts off with the classic Family Tree. Important stuff!

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PAGE FROM FIRST CHILD’s BOOK!

Above is a beautiful specimen, sure to be treasured through the years.  But nothing beats the creativity of the sixth child’s Family Tree below.photo 1 (5)

As I further compare and contrast books — all information from First Child’s Baby Memory Book will be in Blue Font.  Whereas Sixth Child’s info (what little there is) will be in Pink Font. 

BABY’S NAME:  Benjamin       

SIGNIFICANCE OF NAME:  Your Dad and I bonded over watching actor, Benjamin Bratt in the television series, “Law & Order.”  On our honeymoon, we kissed in front of the Big Ben clock in London!

BABY’S NAME:  Lacey      

SIGNIFICANCE OF NAME:  I wanted to remember my favorite vintage blouse which got ruined when morning sickness made me vomit all over the Chantilly applique collar and sleeves. Tsk, Tsk!

HOW LABOR BEGAN:  – We were shopping for nursery furniture when I felt a mild twinge so we rushed to the hospital. The labor and delivery nurses thought we were so cute and sent us back home three different times until the pains came closer together.

HOW LABOR BEGAN:  At Disneyland, my water broke on Splash Mountain. Nobody would believe me. Your siblings insisted we stay for the Electrical Light Parade. Sitting curbside while writhing in pain, I was suddenly seized by a huge contraction which made me kick an extension cord out of an outlet. The entire park plunged into darkness.

THESE WONDERFUL INDIVIDUALS WERE PRESENT FOR YOUR BIRTH: Nana, Papa, Aunt Carol, Uncle Gary, Great Grandma Ethel, my wonderful obstetrician Dr. Pransky and of course, your Daddy!

THESE WONDERFUL INDIVIDUALS WERE PRESENT FOR YOUR BIRTH:  Pluto and a Dwarf. 

FAVORITE STUFFED ANIMAL:  A darling lavender poodle who sleeps in a doghouse on your dresser.

FAVORITE STUFFED ANIMAL:   A dust bunny who hangs out under your crib.

Time for Baby’s First Hand & Foot Prints.  Awww…. 

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Though not depicted below, 6th Baby does possess a complete set of Hands and Feet!  I thought leaving that to the imagination was a nice touch.

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Yes, 6th Baby WAS nicknamed SpongeBob SquareToes for quite some time.

YOUR FIRST SOLID FOOD:  Mashed banana, rice puree and strained spinach

YOUR FIRST SOLID FOOD:  A piece of What’s His Name’s  bean, rice, cheese and guacamole burrito, french fries, a diet coke. 

FIRST WORDS:  Mama, Dada, light, doggy, ball, cookie, more!

FIRST WORDS:  Help! Valium, postpartum depression, Crème Brûlée, Weight Watchers!

YOU BEGAN TO USE YOUR HANDS AT   6 months      THIS IS WHAT YOU DID:  You reached out tentatively for a colorful rattle shaped like a butterfly!

YOU BEGAN TO USE YOUR HANDS AT   2 years       THIS IS WHAT YOU DID:  You shoved a pen and this Baby Memory Book into my arms and looked expectantly into my eyes. 

Story time together is such a delight. Here are your favorite books and now they’re mine, too!

 Pat the Bunny         Green Eggs & Ham       Where The Wild Things Are!      If You Give A Mouse A Cookie!              

I’m so sick of these stupid books, I’ve taken creative license with the titles. Also, you’re getting more astute and have started wondering why every book consists of only two pages and then we chant triumphantly “The End!” Here’s your faves:

Splat The Bunny        Green Eggs & Scram        Where the Reviled Things Are!         If You think Your Mom is kooky!              

FIRST LULLABYE:  Rockabye Baby, I sing it to you in the rocking chair

FIRST ALIBI:  I couldn’t have sung to you because I became tone deaf. Plus we used the rocking chair for kindling wood during a family camp out.

FIRST OUTING:  We went to the park and you experienced your very first swing.             

FIRST SHOUTING:  You got to listen to your dad and I argue (over emptying the dishwasher) and experienced my first mood swing.               

And the Last Page always ends with such independence!

FIRST WALK:   You took three steps and we all applauded for you!   FIRST WAVED:  You’re off to preschool already – – turned and waved to me “Bye-bye!”  Good job! Where did all the time go??          

There were some “small time gaps” in Sixth Child’s book, but I DID finish the last page:

FIRST JOCK:  You’re a cheerleader now dating the high school quarterback!  FIRST SHAVED:  Your legs look smooth and silky. You’re off to college already?  “Bye-bye!”  Good job! Where did all the time go??

Did I Mention My Invention Convention?

next great ideaIf you can’t be a famous Blogger, you might as well become a well-known Inventor, right? I come from a long line of innovative Idea People. In fact my great, great grandmother was the first person to cook her stuffing INSIDE the turkey at Thanksgiving.  You can thank her for having one less pot to wash each year.

But every time I come up with something mega clever, I Google it and sure enough, someone has already beaten me to it.  And with wild success, I might add.  Are there no more original ideas left?

Complaining to my attorney friend (who always has a runny nose and never any tissues)  that I can’t afford to patent or register/trademark my ingenuity, he told me all I need do is write down my idea, mail it to myself through the U.S. postal service and save the unopened envelope.  He then sneezed and wiped it on his sleeve.  Eww.  I wrote down, “Man’s necktie made out of handkerchief material,” sent it off and when it arrived, I stuck it unopened in my sock drawer.  Easy Peasy, Lemon Squeasy! (I invented that phrase, by the way.)

Before I get to my sock drawer day in court, here are some of the other inventions I’ve had and the people who’ve ruined them.

1.  Prego Poetry: The first time I was “with child,” I decided it would be nifty to market a book of poetry, specifically designed for reciting to a woman’s pregnant abdomen. The book came with a special microphone that brought the words straight to the ears of the developing baby as it was held up like a reverse stethoscope to the mother’s tummy. There were calming and self-esteem enhancing rhymes like, “Dear baby fetus, we can’t wait till you meet us!” or “We hope you’ll be kind, smart and cuter than us, when you decide to emerge from the uterus.” This invention backfired when my ex-husband reported that all his sports-nut buddies used the uterine mic to shout football scores into their wive’s stomaches, startling all the unborn babies, and thus defeating the purpose.

2.  The Tush Cush: When my twins began to toddle around on our hardwood floors, I noticed their little bottoms became bruised from falling down so much. Of course this led to a cute animal-shaped pillow that velcroed onto the rear of baby’s little rompers.  It was my fantasy to sell the Tush Cush to a company called Osh Kosh to softly pad every child’s rear end across America. I could just see my face plastered in every Sear’s catalogue.  Then my 2nd ex husband pointed out that a competitor came up with something brilliant that would pull the rug right out from under me. It was called, “Carpet.”

3. Embracelets: After scratching my daughter on the face with my crystal bangle during a snuggling session, the idea of soft velvet jewelry shields was born. To protect children during hugs. I called these covers, “Embracelets” and though they were kinda ugly, they slipped easily over your wrist to guard against sharp bling. My mother smiled smugly and said simply, “Of course you could just invent removable jewelry.” Darn her!

4. The Zoom Room Broom! A ride-on toy that vacuums as the child scoots it across the floor. Phenomenal!  “Aren’t baby’s afraid of vacuum noise?” my nosy girlfriend Tiffany asked, luckily before I spent hundreds on prototypes. I then switched to the “Crawl-a-Mop” but as you can see below….

Someone always gets there first!

Someone always gets there first!

 

5. It’s High Time You Climb! This was a portable staircase that could hook up to a changing table or a crib so if you had a bad back, you needn’t lift a heavy baby. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but by the time a child can climb stairs, wouldn’t he be using a toilet and sleeping in a regular bed?” asked some know-it-all teacher at my kid’s preschool.

6. The Teddy Placenta – – A cute bear to cuddle with.  Nobody wanted to part with their baby’s precious placenta — they were all saving it for some silly cord blood banking gimmick.

7. The No Crawl In the Stall, Hang From The Wall Shawl – – What holds your baby when you need to pee in a public restroom? (Certainly you don’t want them crawling on that dirty floor!)  A shawl with a large pouch that hangs on the bathroom stall’s purse hook, that’s what!  Okay, so there were a few liability issues.

8. The Why You Cry?An electronic gadget that analyzed baby’s screams and could tell you if he was hungry, tired or sick. Instead it kept reporting, “Nothing is wrong. It’s just your genetics!”

Then came my crowning glory.  I knew this one would make millions!

9. The Activi-Tee – – a blouse for new mothers which had toys, rattles, buttons, and colorful spinning wheels sewn on the front. New mothers wear it to keep their infants busy when they have to sit on their laps for long periods of time, like at a doctor’s office or the DMV (because us moms always have to go to the DMV, don’t we?) or anytime you need to keep them occupied.

I made a sample shirt, gave it to my friend Tiffany (she’s obnoxious but gorgeous!) to wear one morning when she lost her childcare and had to bring her baby to the office. She told me the shirt worked okay, but might need a little work. Next thing I know, there’s a big advertisement in a parenting magazine for MY shirt. It’s MINE. They changed the name to “Busy Bee Tee,” but we all know what’s going down here, don’t we??

I file a lawsuit and rush down to small claim’s court with my sock drawer full of envelopes, triumphantly waving them in front of the judge’s nose (which is runny, btw) as he puts on his glasses and begins to peruse my claim to fame.

Oh yeah. And I bring Tiffany as my eyewitness.

Judge Herb ItAllBefore asks the plagiarizer/thief,  defendant, where she was when she first conceived of this tee-shirt idea. She states, “The DMV.” I snort loudly. Right, like how many moms frequent the DMV?

“It seems the plaintiff is a little mixed up in these matters,” says Judge Herb, wrinkling his brow while holding up my envelopes. “The idea is not to open your self-addressed stamped envelope, read the contents and then write yourself a flattering letter back, complementing your clever idea.”

“I was lonely that day,” I defended. “Haven’t you ever laughed at your own jokes?”

“That’s different. I’m funny.” He frowns. “In this letter here, you even remind yourself to buy more postage stamps and orange juice. And in this letter here, you’ve mailed yourself the Serenity Prayer.” He sneezes – – it comes out sounding like “Fruitcake.”

I wisely decide not to offer him my necktie made out of a handkerchief.

Will HER Endeavor Ever Be As Clever? Never!!

He then asks to see my prototype, which Tiffany had the good sense to wear. She models it, flaunting her well-proportioned body in front of the cute bailiff.

“I’m sorry,” Judge Herb says, “But I think the defendant has built a better mousetrap.” I shudder because I hate rodents.

“But your Honor,” I interrupt. “All she did was reinvent the wheel.”

“Well, at least she didn’t sew two colorful, spinning wheels right over her friend’s nipples!” he points and everyone stares. I look at Tiffany, still parading around the courtroom and she mouths, “Told you it needed some work.”

“I’ve made my decision,” he says firmly, raising his gavel. “You’re a nut who has conversations with yourself via the U.S. Postal Service. You’re menopausal and probably having a mid-life crisis. And you went through all of this just to get some good blogging material, didn’t you??”

“Guilty as charged,” I say as I log onto WordPress and begin to furiously type.  Who wants to be an inventor??  I’m gonna be a famous blogger….

dog toilet

 

 

 

 

 

So that’s my story. What ideas have YOU had that might get you on Shark Tank??

The Blogcademy Awards (The Bloscars!) With a Giveaway Prize!

photo (14)C’mon, admit it.  You just knew you’d find me with this Blog title today, right?  With my love of inventing Blogger Vocabularly (read here) and how I honored the Winter Olympics with “The Writer Olympics” (read here) and Super Bowl Sunday (read here) then it follows there must be an event called “The Bloscars.”

Now let’s walk the Red-Carpet and enter the actual Post to see the grandeur that awaits, shall we?  Beware of the Blogarazzi with their blinding camera flashes, whoops and hollers.  Smile nicely, with that odd, “look over your shoulder at who-the-hell-knows what” type of pose.  Maybe all bloggers should keep looking over their shoulder for the next odd thing to happen to them?photo-217

 THE PRE-CEREMONY TIME WASTERS & A PRIZE!

Welcome! First of all – – instead of Ellen Degeneres and pizza, you’re stuck with me serving Blogdogs on Buns. Children Bloggers get CornBlogs.  Sorry.  I won’t pass a hat around for $ contributions, but please don’t blog one single word about how I didn’t take into account alternative meal options for Blegetarians and Blegans.  We like our blogs meaty here!  i.e. – – “Where’s the Beef  Blog ??”

photo-216Insert your Favorite Opening Dance Sequence Here to the left.  Idina Menzel (pronounce it however you like, but give John Travolta a break- – he’s barely “Staying Alive” since his Saturday Night Fever stint) can also sing “Let It Go” from the animated film, Frozen, which is what happens to Bloggers who refresh their Stats page too much.  Our computer freezes.

And yes, just like last year with Ellen hosting, there will be a Selfie Photo Contest, so let’s take down Twitter…Wordpress!  Not to place any WordPressure on you, but please take a photo of the front page of your Blog the way that it looks on your laptop/computer with you (the proud Blog creator!)  in the photo as well.  Shy, retiring, inhibited, insecure, and/or paranoid Bloggers (that would be me) feel free to just portray your blog alone, without any human in the pic.   Put a link to your photo (Shutterfly, Facebook, any other forum where you can post a picture) in the comments section and the winner (based on the most eye-catching, creative photo) will receive two movie passes. (or the equivalent of such, on a $25 Amazon Gift Card)  Deadline will be this Friday Feb 27th  to post Selfie photos and a winner will be picked and prize awarded on my birthday, March 12th.  Since I will have nothing better to do on that day, other than to sob about not being in my 40’s any longer.

And Now . . . The Blotion Picture Blogcademy Proudly Presents . . . THE BLOSCARS! (think of orchestra rising here)

During the silence that follows each category,  please imagine who would deserve this particular award in your own real life world or Online world that you call your Blogosphere.  I would never be so presumptuous as to start naming Names here!  The idea is to get YOU thinking about the kinds of people (bloggers and non-bloggers alike) that you consciously surround yourself with each and every day.  It CAN make a difference.photo-218

And the Featured Categories Are ????

Best Supportive Commenter:  Who regularly leaves you lots of love?

Best Editor:  Which individual do you count on to give your posts a onceover, so you don’t have blatant errors like “onceover” when published?

Best Original Score UnderScore: (Note: Strikeovers would also fall in this category)

Best Blog Header:  Your eye was drawn immediately!

Best Blog Background:  It compliments, rather than detracts.

Best Song: (Oh!  I feel another contest coming on!)  In the comments section below, please leave the one best song (with either a Title or the well known chorus lyrics) that would best suit your blog.  In other words, you would most want to have this song blasting when someone clicks open your blog.  Give a brief explanation as to why you chose this song. One winner will be announced (same dates given for the Selfie Photo contest above) and awarded a $20 itune Gift Card.  We’re looking again for Creativity here and some Wordplay.  Here’s a not so good Example:  The song “Roar” by Katy Perry should accompany my blog because people always roar with laughter when they read it!

Best Tagger:  Who gets the best traffic from tags?

Best Muse:  Who inspires your ideas?  Which individual do you most find yourself telling to “hold that thought” for a second while you jot something down in your “Blog Notebook”  You do have one of those, right?!?

Best Brusher-Off-er:  Who (in real life) changes the subject the fastest when you bring up your Blog?

Best and Worse Dressed List

Clothing is a huge deal.  I know.  Just not here. And breasts are not going to be mentioned here at all.  If you want to know why, go here.   So alternatively,  there will be no hiring Mr.Blackwell  Blogwell to ogle (blogle) and rave or conversely rant/diss any certain Blogger’sPajamas Attire – – but the following categories will rhyme with the word “Dressed” instead.  You should nod your head right about now and see this as a perfectly “suit”able solution.

Best Jest:  Favorite Non-Serious Blog

Best Guest:  Who regularly has the most interesting Blogger Guests writing for them?

Best Blessed:  Whose Blog seems to have the most Gratitude or Grace?

Best Addressed:  Who takes a Controversial Subject and Nails it?

Best Confessed:  Who takes the opportunity of blogging to bare their soul, show their authentic truth?

Best Assessed:  Who is the Best Reviewer you know.  Books, Movies, Food, etc. Their opinion matters to you!

Best Compressed:  Who can blog in the fewest words you know and still make it work?  Really distill down their ideas so you just get the concentrated bottom line from them?

Best Distressed & Stressed:  Who is always having an issue?  Yes, this could be a Drama Blog, but maybe not?

Best Obsessed:  Who focuses on just one topic every single solitary time, but you love them anyway?

Best Cardiac Arrest:  Who shocks you the most with their outrageousness?

Best Nest:  Which Parent Blogger gets the most “oohs and ahs” because their love of family shines through?

Best Quest:  Who seems to have the loftiest goal or purpose in Blogging?

Best Teenage Blogger who is wise beyond their years:  Hey that doesn’t rhyme?  That’s right, just seeing if you are paying attention.

Best Contest:  Who regularly has Blog Giveaways that excite you?

Best Pest:  Who is that Blogger you wish you could secretly Unfollow?

Best Rest:  Their Blog is where you hang out when you want to unwind and relax.

Best Pressed:  They haven’t been Freshly Pressed, but you think that’s just a matter of time. Either that or they make really good freshly squeezed orange juice.

Best Detest:  Okay, you hate their blog.  You don’t follow it at all, but you’re aware of its presence and you want them to clean up their act.

Best Intelligence Test:  Wow, are they just off the chart smart or what??  Do you even belong there as a reader?  Yep, you do!

Best Request:  They’re the Blog-Pleasers.  They will do what you ask because they want crowd approval.  But do you really know what they’re about?

Best Impressed: They are the equivalent of the  Name   Blog-Dropper who wants you to admire their Blog for the Flash, not the substance.

Best Protest:  They are never going to be happy unless they can keep blogging about how unhappy the world makes them.

Best Mae West:  “Why don’t you come up and see me sometime?”  That’s right, I finally ran out of rhymes that had any connection to blogging! And besides we needed a real movie star right about now.

Along with leaving a comment, Please don’t forget to enter one or both contests above (Selfie & Song) and we’ll see you next year at the BLOSCARS! Also signing up to follow my blog will guarantee you won’t miss the next time I get zany enough to decide to bizarrely tie a Giveaway Contest with a Posting Topic.

A Rose By Any Other Name . . .

hello!When I went to a networking meeting two weeks ago, I reached for a pen to fill out the “Hello, my name is . . . ” tag and instantly wrote down “Rose.” As I slapped “Rose” onto my chest, I thought WTF??

Yes, Stephanie is a three syllable name and does take longer to write down, but huh?!? So without any notice, I was “Rose.”

I was neither flowery nor thorny, and I certainly wasn’t Rose Kennedy . . .  nope. I was feeling very Titanic-y. Where was Jack Dawson?  “I want you to draw me like one of your french girls, wearing this. Wearing only this . . .”photo-74

In about an hour I was yawning, tired — evidently now channeling “Briar Rose” from Sleeping Beauty. But I was excited because I realized from this point on, I could be someone brand new each day!

Here are my results: 

Bernadette — Boy they sure clamoured around me at a cocktail party. (It might’ve been the platter of shrimp I was seated near)  They wanted to know if I spoke French? Finally I ended up giving a few people some legal advice after they twisted my arm and found out my closest friends know me as “Bernie the Attorney.”

Harmony — Barefoot in the supplement section of our local grocery market, three separate people (upon overhearing me answer my cell phone confidently with, “This is Harmony…”) asked me if I could recommend an herb for energy and tranquility.  “Well, if you gotta have both together then it needs to be organic, raw, whole, virgin, bitter, and very very green.” I said, knowingly.  “Vitameatavegamin!   Yes, without question, Vitameatavegamin will let you spoon your way to health. It’s so tasty, too. Just like candy.” Then I winked. There was no question in my mind who I was going to be the next day.

Lucy — As Lucy, I kept wanting to be in the sunlight so the reddish highlights in my dark hair might catch someone’s eye. But nobody really laughed at anything I said or did. Frustrated after telling each stranger my name and asking, “Don’t you love Lucy?” I overate a bunch of chocolate candies, stomped on a few grapes (no wine) and decided to look for Charlie Brown instead. The day was a total bust.  I fell asleep at night to Kenny Rogers crooning, “You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.”

Mary – – This was an interesting pick for a nice Jewish girl. Although I was blessed once by two people as I sat in the Dr’s office waiting room, but in all fairness, I had just sneezed. I also was feeling cranky, grumpy and tired.  It could be the sore throat I’d been battling but quite frankly, I couldn’t stop thinking, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary…”  I needed to do something quickly to cheer myself up, so I began to smile really big and toss my hat up into the air.

 

Wouldn't it great to turn an entire world on with your smile?

Wouldn’t it great to turn an entire world on with your smile?

 

Minerva — Never having picked up a single Harry Potter book (or movie) in my life, I had no idea what I getting myself into with this name. I just wanted to sound smart. But it was too late. At the park, smart alec kids wouldn’t leave me alone. All sorts of questions about Hogwarts and Gryffindor and Muggles. Seriously? In one hour flat the name Minerva was getting on my last nerva and I immediately changed it to. . .

Grace — I resisted an urge to pirouette and arabesque right there in the sandbox, but quite honestly, elegance and class were now my middle name. I told all the confused children that I missed my calling and would catch them later, perhaps in the Royal Opera House and immediately went to a high tea where the waitress curtsied after I signed my name on the check. Perhaps I may have inadvertently scrawled the word “princess” before it.

Bertha— I didn’t think I’d last long as a Bertha.  I answered a few personal ads and nobody would write me back except one man who sarcastically responded, “Boy, I sure dig Bertha.” He asked for my measurements and I replied I didn’t know them, but offered to send him a photo instead. He wrote, “that’s okay, nobody can miss seeing you in Seattle.”  Seattle?  I googled “Bertha, Seattle” and decided that I was keeping this name for the entire day.  I needed to feel down to earth for once.

Mirabelle — I dunno. I always wanted to have “Belle” as part of my name.  Annabelle or Isabelle always captured my fancy, but Mirabelle just suddenly rang a bell.  I went to a different hair salon and wrote my name on the client log. When the stylist called out “Mirabelle” it took three times before I realized that was me, jumped and followed her back to her chair. She looked me over and told me that Mirabelle needed a pixie cut and maybe some spiky bangs. I got panicky and exclaimed, “My name is actually Stephanie!”  She shook her head, laughing. “Yeah, right.” I tossed my long hair indignantly, “Stephanie needs glamorous long curly tresses,” I insisted.  She cocked her head skeptically.  “And maybe some credibility?”  After informing me there was no way I looked like a Stephanie, I pleaded for her to just look me up online, read a few of my blogs, perhaps a Huffington Post.  “Oh,” she said suddenly getting it. “Let’s coax some of those natural gray highlights to show through, dearie.”

Gray? Dearie??  And in that moment, I realized with a long sigh — I would always be “Little Miss Menopause.”

Hey YOU!  What do YOU think is in a name?  Do you get upset when someone can’t remember yours?  UPDATE: As a bonus for leaving me a comment about this piece, if you tell me your first name, I shall tell you what I associate it with.  That’s highly valuable!

Are You Trying To Tell Me Something??

photo (11)We’ve all heard about the witty ways a man has proposed to a woman, like hiring a skywriter to spell out, “Marry me, Sue?” I always await Sue’s hiring a second airplane to quickly fly back and respond, “No. But that was dramatic.” and a moment later, “PS.  And you know I go by Susanne, you cheapskate.”

There’s the inevitable placing a “hamburger bun in a microwave oven” to announce a pregnancy when the in-laws come for dinner. And I’ve seen all sorts of ways to disclose the gender of the unborn child as well — from decorating the room entirely in pink and watching the surprise of your unsuspecting spouse (“don’t you know you should open a window when you paint a bedroom?!!”) to wearing a tee shirt with snakes, snails and puppy dog tails on it. Yuck.

But why stop there?

Creative Ways To Tell Or Ask Anyone Anything!

1)  “I ran over a nail and now I have a Flat!” — Put a photo on Facebook depicting your spouse’s overweight mid-section hanging over a belted pair of pants. Draw a notorious red circle with a slash mark over it (like from ghostbusters) Get it? “No Spare Tire!” Wait on the street to see which of your clever friends comes out to help you or calls roadside assistance on your behalf.photo 2 (3)

2)  “Please empty the kitchen trash to the outside cans!” — Find an old Oscar the Grouch stuffed animal or figurine and lay him on the top of the kitchen pail with a thought bubble that says, “Help me. Please bring me home.”photo 1 (4)

3)  “I don’t want to cook tonight.” — Take a tweezers and carefully remove the old fortune out of a chinese cookie.  Write on a new tiny slip of paper, “Confucius say, ‘Ain’t no food happening here. Come to Hunan Garden!'”  Stuff back inside the cookie and leave on empty plate in middle of table.

4) “Son, please clean your bathroom mirror.” — Write on teen son’s mirror in red lipstick, “Mommy loves her deliciously handsome boy forever!”

5) “I got promoted at the office!” — Get out a large step-stool and keep climbing up it. (Note:  It may be tempting to change a light bulb while you are at the top, but this will send the wrong message.)  You are going for “Climbing the corporate ladder.”photo (9)

6) “That’s it! You’re not doing that to me ever again!”  —  bring home a straw dispenser from McDonalds and make sure there’s only one more left.

7) “I’ve got the flu” — Photoshop a picture of yourself with a lot of rain clouds, a sun, some snowflakes, and a big gust of wind all on top of your head. Put on Facebook. Wait and see who brings you chicken soup first.

8) “Sorry dear, I have a headache so we aren’t having sex tonight like you thought.” — Blow bubbles and keep popping them, looking very regretful.

9) “We’re going to Disneyland!”  You can surprise your child with a special call from Mickey Mouse himself to announce the trip!  Details HERE  But if he hasn’t done #2 or #4 on this list, you might want to proceed to #10.

10) “Ha-Ha, Gotcha! You believed me when I actually made the whole thing up.”  Get out a really thick knit sweater and put it on over your child’s head, stopping right below their forehead so they can’t possibly see anything through it.  After they realize you just “pulled the wool over their eyes,” be sure and blow some more bubbles and pop them ever so regretfully.

11.  “Little Miss Menopause, you’re cruel and your blog is awful. We’re finished!” — Go into WordPress preferences and uncheck the “Follow this blog” box.  Or you could just send me a break-up pizza instead?

photo (8)

 

What are some unusual ways you have announced something?

 

 

 

 

 

How To Be SUPER Popular at the Super Bowl Party! (even if you don’t know football)

Don't Make this!  Nobody is gonna thank you enough for the time you spend on these goal posts!

Don’t Make this! Nobody is gonna thank you enough for the time you spend on these goal posts!

HOPE FOR THE IGNORED GUEST!  DON’T BE LEFT OUT ON THE SIDELINES!

1. Make Guacamole. Just do this. Trust me. Even if you’re out of avocados. Use kiwis. These people won’t notice – – they’ll just keep dipping and dipping while hollering at that TV . . . The Big Dips.

2. Never say this – – “I don’t know why you folks don’t just record this stuff and watch it later so you can fast forward through all these silly commercials.” Never. Ever.

3. Football fans are an exuberant bunch. But they know their terminology. Before you attempt to chime in during an actual live play of the ball game, experiment with a commercial. (see # 2 to grasp the importance of Advertising) Try the following options: A) Clap uproariously at a Clydesdale. B) Shout, “Hold ’em! That’s the way!” to a Victoria’s Secret model. C) Throw a chip at the television and say, “Doritos?! They suck this year! My money’s on the Lays.”  D)  Boo loudly at “Go Daddy!”  They deserve it.

4. Casually introduce conversation with, “So how about that Joe Namath?” If this doesn’t get the reaction you are looking for, tell them you were a cheerleader for your brother in Pop Warner leagues. Note: This will only be effective if you can produce a photo. Still nothing? Remind them you brought the guacamole.

5. Wait until intermission to pass out copies of your latest Huffington Post blog. In case you don’t recognize when that occurs, it will be called, “Half Time.” One whole game = four quarters or two halves or forty nickels. I am still not sure if a Susan B. Anthony silver dollar might fit in with their formula or not.

6. If you are tired, don’t be offensive and yawn. Play defensively! Simply look at the clock (lower right hand side of the television screen) and if it says (only!) 2 minutes and thirty seconds are left in the game, you will now have time to play an entire game of Monopoly.

7. Look around for other wives and girlfriends that have that “I’m so bored, I could throw-up” green pallor on their face. Look closely. This could just be the guacamole. Engage them in a fashion review of the game. Tell them that you think shoulder pads and tight ankle pants are so 80’s. Casually remark, “Hey, I know what!! Let’s go in the other room and compose a Match.com ad for ourselves.”

8. You will eventually need to choose a side and root for them. Lemme help you. If you don’t mind rainy weather, I’d go with the Seahawks. Feeling patriotic? The Patriots are your men! Just don’t cheer for the guys with the black and white vertical pinstripes — they usually just stand around a lot.

9. Right about now, you’re probably ready to toss out some authentic, sporty vocabulary during the actual game. Wait until the room is in some sort of an uproar over a bad call, then holler, “A noose, a tree . . . let’s hang the referee!” It’s always safe to pick on a man who doesn’t weight 285 lbs, carries a whistle, and speaks in pantomime.

10. If none of this is working for you, continue nodding and being polite, offering all the uptight, nervous pacing men (and other guests who come in late) your spot on the sofa. Do this until every seat in the house is taken and you have to sit on the toilet in the bathroom. Bring guacamole.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

PS.  If you’re still bored watching the game, you can read my very first SERIOUS published article on The Huffington Post right HERE.  It’s about divorce.

A Dozen UNIQUE Cell Phone Camera Ideas … Because Life is Meant To Be Hacked

photo (7)I don’t own a regular camera so I was very interested in the unusual ways you can use your cell phone to capture “the moment.” I’ve now thought up ways that even Kodak would consider obsessive.

I know you’ve probably used yours to take inventory of what’s in your suitcase before traveling,  or even photographed your car so you remember where to find it at the shopping mall. Fun times. The attendant loves driving me around in his little security cart playing “Auto Findo” based on the crooked, blurry shot of my license plate adjacent to a trash dumpster. And if I weren’t Jewish I would use it to record where the Easter eggs were hidden so I wouldn’t have stale jelly beans under my television stand when Christmas came around. Don’t think about that one too long. I also don’t fish so there’s no sense in using it to remember which part of a stream the abalone were biting last week. See why I don’t fish?

So now without further ado . . . (and really what IS “Ado?” Can we capture it on film?)

 

Little Miss Menopause’s Unique (but not necessarily useful) Cell Camera Idea List

1)   While at the beach or pool, check out your backside to make sure you’re not getting sunburn. Then photograph other sun worshipper’s backs to prove to them they’ve had enough.

2)  When you loan out a book or a power tool to someone, take their picture holding the item so you’ll remember who has it. Pretty soon word will get out and unattractive friends will stop asking to borrow from you.

3)  Record for posterity the exact level of ice-cream in a partially eaten half gallon container before the babysitter comes over so you have evidence.

4)  Capture the covers displayed on your bathroom magazine rack when you have a clogged toilet so you can make sure and put different issues out next time the plumber visits.

The plumber wishes you would put Playboy out.

The plumber wishes you would put Playboy out.

5)  Snap your last haircut so you can bring it back to the stylist next time and insist she do it the exact same way. Alternatively, bring it to a new beautician and admonish her never to cut your hair like that. Ever.

6)  Take a picture of the hot/cold lever in the shower so you remember how it’s swiveled for just the perfect temperature. Do the same thing with the little dial on your toaster after you’ve crisped the perfect bagel.

This is a shower for Goldilocks!  Not too hot, not too cold -- Just Right!

This is a shower for Goldilocks! Not too hot, not too cold — Just Right!

7)  Take a selfie of yourself thru a peephole of a front door so you know how far back to stand, what angle you should tilt your head, and how widely you should smile to make the best (concavely distorted) first impression.

8)  Click yourself each time you go to a funeral so you’re not wearing the same outfit. Do you want the dearly departed to think you only own one black dress?

9)  Take a picture of your child’s pouting/frowning face so next time you threaten that it will freeze that way, you will be able to illustrate.

10) Keep all photos of you, your friends and relatives (at concerts, parties, vacations) caught blinking and post them all online in an album called, “My New Narcolepsy Support Group.”

11) When your kids ask you to buy certain cookies or a junky cereal that you don’t want them to have, move all of this product aside in the grocery store and take a picture of the empty shelf (with price tag) to show they sold out. “Sorry, there was a big run on Lucky Charms cereal this week, guys.”

12)  Take a selfie both laughing and frowning – decide which expression causes the least amount of wrinkles.  Assume that expression 100% of the time during any emotional outburst.

There you go!  Now you can forget about using your cellphone as a mirror, that’s completely old school.  You have a dozen new ways to make your life more interesting.  And here’s a bonus.  Always forgetting where you leave your cell phone?  Take a picture of the location that you’re about to set it down in. Ta Da!  Don’t think about that one too long either.

Which one is your favorite? How about you?  Any unusual ways you’ve used your camera or video?

*See what I’m talking about on The Huffington Post just today (especially if you need a refresher course in driving!)  Click HERE.

 

The Past Survives from my Vast Lives!

photo-61“Aren’t you curious about some of the unusual things you do?” asked my wacky friend Tiffany last week. (This is the same friend who convinced me to see the Psychic Channeler!)

“Curious?  No.  Entertained?  Yes!”  I hoped that would shut her up because I just knew where this was going.

“Come with me to a therapist who does Past Life Regression.”

“So I can find out the reason I’m afraid of spiders is because I used to be a fly?  No thank you.”

“Please?  She’s offering a great ‘Two for One’ special!”

“Two past lives for one current death?”

“Very funny – – No, she’ll see the both of us for one price.”photo 1-17

I won’t tell you whether or not I went with Tiffany, but here are some connections that seem more than a tad coincidental….

Little Miss Menopause’s Phobias, Quirks & Obsessions Finally Explained!

  •  I don’t like people’s pity and constantly try to cheer others up —  I used to be Eva Peron and sang, “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina” on a daily basis.
  • I dislike playing tag in a swimming pool and get headaches from all the yelling. — I was the girlfriend of Marco Polo.
  • I like to post interesting quotes on my Facebook page and I save all my fortune cookie slips — In 530 BC, I used to be a Scribe for Confucius. I was the one who wrote “Confucius say:” on everything and then added my own interesting advice, like, “If your mother is cold, then wear a sweater for goodness sake!”
  • My favorite meal has always been an Orange Julius with a Caesar Salad.  Wait for it…. yes that’s correct, I WAS Cleopatra.  And Elizabeth Taylor really did get me down pat.
  •  I constantly tell my children to speak up because I cannot hear them. — I was Charlie Chaplin’s mother.
  • When we’re out of cereal, milk, or eggs for breakfast and my kids are starving, (eying the Betty Crocker boxes) I reluctantly will “let them eat cake.” —  I was Marie Antoinette.
  • When lecturing my daughters, instead of saying, “Go to your room this minute, Young Ladies!” I say, “Now listen here, Little Women!”  I was Louisa May Alcott.
  • I don’t use profanity or swear.  My biggest cuss word is saying, “Oh shoot.  Shoot, Shoot, Shoot!”  –  I was Annie Oakley.
  • I made sure to buy all four of my sons their first pair of suede dress shoes, in a lovely shade of blue.  — I was Elvis Presley’s Mom.

You may have guessed by now that I did in fact explore my past lives.  The most interesting thing was each time I was hypnotized and awakened, the first thing I was asked was to look down at my feet and describe what I was wearing. This told a lot about the time and place. Sandals?  An Egyptian slave.  Pointed high heeled boots?  A Victorian Maid.  The last life I was regressed to, I reported wearing these…

Were these even my size?

Were these even my size?

 

Could it be??  Nah.  Although I do have an aversion to hot-air balloons and green make-up.

Now if you want to know who you were in a past life, you don’t have to hang out with my friend Tiffany, you can just click right HERE and tell me in the comment section.

 

 

All That Glitters is Not Gold!

photo-56People despise me. Yesterday I went to my P.O. Box and opened  144 envelopes (addressed to “Little Miss Menopause”) and gasped to find them graced with gobs of glamorous, glinting Glitter. If this was heaven, it sure glistened. In fact, there were enough sparkles for me to make the centerpieces (pictured below) for a big bash I recently threw.  Now if only the rest of the hateful population (the ones I’ve rubbed the wrong way) would send me some sequins, some swatches of velvet and a few glue sticks, I’ll be able to make some “thank you for coming” party favors as well.  photo 2-4With enemies like this, who needs friends?

If you’re feeling a bit lost right about now–you haven’t paid enough attention to the Big News lately.  On Wednesday, a man started a company where (for $9.99) he will Ship Glitter (I made him the custom logo above!) to your Worst Enemies and . . . well you can just read about it here.  But please return to this post and see what I’m planning to send people in the mail.

Yes, messy craft supplies may put some of us in our place, but as a very clever blogger recently reminded me…

“The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword”

photo-58

Therefore here are the letters I plan to write and send:

To My Publisher

“Thank you for submitting your recent rejection letter regarding my novel.  However, I am returning it to you for revisions. It’s just not what I’m looking for at this time. It contains cliches, lacks originality, and is entirely unsuitable for framing.  Therefore I reject your rejection letter. Best of luck in your future writing endeavors. ”

To My Creepy, Inappropriate Male Gynecologist:

“In light of your conduct during my recent Pap Smear Leer, I’ve spoken with your wife so she can schedule your upcoming “Lap Spear.”  You are long overdue.”

To My Female Tenant:

“You are not only Behind on Your Rent but it seems you Rent Your Behind!  Check today’s Craig’s list. ‘Your’ ad is prominently displayed.  Butt don’t be too bummed out about that – – I’m sending you some  ‘Good Luck Glitter’ to sprinkle on that newly backed venture of yours. You’ll be bedazzled  bedASSled.

To My Child’s 4th Grade Teacher:

“Do you remember the parent conference we had long ago, during which you stated my son would never amount to anything because a) getting him to do assignments was like pulling teeth and b) he was a Smart Mouth?  Well, to show we have no hurt feelings fillings, please visit him at his new dental practice. You know the drill.”

To The Beautician who suggested I dye my hair:

“Check the back of your car.  You have a new bumper sticker.  “Gray is the new Brunette!”  You’re welcome!”

To The Department of Motor Vehicles:

“It’s very flattering you read my blog, but I politely decline the license plate you “randomly” issued me… ‘PMS 247.’  Also because I no longer do dishes, you might appreciate my new license on my Mazda now. photo 1-7

To WordPress Bloggers Who Hate Me For Not Visiting Your Blog Lately:

I apologize.  But let’s trade Glitter for Twitter!  Follow me @MissMenopause

and I will follow you.  To the glitter bitter end.

 

Are you a book or movie lover?  See what I did to your favorite classic on The Huffington Post today. Click HERE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Hate Annie and Her Stupid Song!

sunshineYeah, yeah, I guess it’s a given that “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow!”  And then there’s all those Beatles hits . . .  “Here Comes The Sun!” or  “Good Day Sunshine!”  or “I’ll Follow The Sun!” But quite honestly, I am just burnt out!  At this point, I don’t even like Sonny (from Sonny and Cher!)

Apologies to the rest of you who live in climates where you would give anything to sunbathe, but in Southern California, we have had non-stop temps in the 80’s and 90’s since May (when we had the Firestorm wild-fires).  And here it is almost Thanksgiving, so by rights I should be able to choose whether I’d like to roast a turkey in an oven, slow cook it in a crockpot, deep fry it in a pan, or just grill it on the BBQ.  But no!  I can simply barricade a live bird in my backyard, tell guests to bring their own stuffing . . . and Ding! By dinner time, it will be seared enough to gobble down. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but I daresay not by much!

Please don’t leave comments convincing me how great the sun and the heat is because that just confirms why we got a divorce (sorry, that was an aside to my ex-husband who I know lurks here and is a certified sun-worshipper)  The rest of my lovely sun-kissed readers, let me try to explain — I think I have the opposite of SAD (or a summer version of it) where people NEED exposure to sunlight.  I need exposure to clouds.  I equate sun with skin cancer and wrinkles (it also depletes my energy, drains my creativity, not to mention melts my makeup!) and so on Friday, I ran off to Seattle for some much needed “gloom” and rain. Everybody knows that’s the place to escape the sun, right? And since I’ve been here, do you think I have even once sat in front of a fire with a nice cup of cocoa belting out, “Singing In the Rain?”  or  “Gray Skies Are Gonna Clear Up?”  Absolutely not!  It’s been SUN, SUN, SUN  in Washington as well.

But I did develop a nice winter cold and between that and traveling back home, I’m not sure when I will be back to post. I miss all the wonderful blogs I normally visit and I promise to return soon when I’m feeling better and not so sun-damaged.  Meanwhile, please visit an interview that was done with me recently.  Interview With Little Miss Menopause  And on Thursday, I had the wonderful honor of visiting the gifted Vikki Claflin at Laugh-Lines when she invited me to guest post.  Please indulge in her hilarious brand of comedy after reading my short post about email right here:  Female Email.  Lastly, I was thrilled to be nominated for a “Best Comedy Blog Post” by The Public Blogger Awards.  Just click HERE and scroll down to the 6th clown! Winner announced 12:01 am on  New Year’s Eve.  Guess I won’t be kissing anyone for too long at midnight!

And again please forgive me for not “Walking on Sunshine” today, even though I admit it’s a catchy tune — but instead I’m off to write my version of that famous children’s book, “Goodnight Sun!”

Meet Your New Slangologist!

photo-41Why does the X & Y generation get to have all the new, fun slanguage?  They get to say “Totes” and “Probs” and “Adorbs.” But how original is that? Because of their lazy tongues, they shorten or abbreviate a word and then it hits it big time and catches on with the masses.  I can do better than that.  Here, I present some new Words For US and OUR time.  We know who we are!  Please help “spread the word!”

Little Miss Menopause’s Shabang Slang for The Older Gang!

Bodyostasis – – n.  Those rare, fleeting moments when nothing hurts or feels out of whack.

Mattressable – – adj.  A term used for a woman who is easy to sleep with. Not that kind of sleep. Actual shut-eye.  “Cynthia didn’t throw the covers off and on according to her body temperature fluctuation, nor admonish him for breathing, blinking, snoring and she even let him cuddle with her once, therefore Steve deemed her highly Mattressable.”

Menopausability – – n.  You skipped your period! Could a 50 year old be pregnant?  It’s a distinct “menopauseability” since you occasionally still ovulate, but more than likely you’re just starting the change of life.  Relax!  You’ll soon be pushing a walker, not a stroller.

Menobump – – n. Related to above.  Friends will look at your midsection and wonder, “Is she or isn’t she?”  But woe to the man who actually ventures forward and says, “Congratulations!”

Babyboomerbitterbutterbetter — adj.  A feeling of betrayal during all those years you switched to margarine and thought you were eating healthier, only to find out it was actually harming you. Damn the partially hydrogenated process.

Eggoangst — n. Similar sensation to above.  When you hear that eggs have been given a bad rap for years, you mourn the missed omelette opportunities in your 20-30’s.

Cancermonopoly — n. The final conclusion that it doesn’t matter what you eat, there will always be an article saying it’s bad for you. People who fit in this category are fond of saying, “You only live once and I’d rather die young and happy.”

Afeeliate — v. The strong desire to affiliate with other women who feel the same symptoms of aging that you do.  Closely tied to illfeeliate  “Linda wants to illfeeliate herself with other women who feel like shit because misery loves company.”

Repeat-o-mind — n. A brain that fools you into thinking you can still do something just like you used to.  “Rebecca suffered a repeat-o-mind which caused her to go horseback riding with her young adult children.” Ps. Rebecca’s uterus will never forgive her.

Wondertainment — n. When a title of a movie sounds so familiar that you wonder if you’ve seen it before??  “45 minutes into the movie, Trudy realized Titanic was wondertainment.”  Not to be confused with . . .

Onertainment!— n.  An enviable state for people who want to simplify life.  The ability to own just one book, one DVD or CD because each time you hear, read, or watch it, it’s like the first time, brand new and enthralling!

Candleaccountability – – adj.  The crucial earlier moment in the kitchen, when the Cakewalker (one who walks the sheet cake into a crowd while leading off the “Happy Birthday” song) decided that each single candle can represent an entire decade.

This cake simply has no Acandleability!

This cake simply has no Acandleability!

Flipoverbreath — v.  When you insist your husband turn over and face away from you in bed because his exhalations are hotter than a dragon’s.  Calling him “Lava breath” will never earn you the title of “Mattressable” either.

Roomrecall — n.  That magical moment when you remember why you walked into the den in the first place.

Haditallalong — adj.   The realization you get after you ask someone if they’ve seen your glasses and you’re already wearing them or your cell phone which you’re currently talking on.

Namegameblameshame — n.  A syndrome during which you call your adult child by all their sibling’s names first, and even a few names you almost gave them when you were pregnant. Their actual name does come to mind however, by the time they humiliate you by saying, “Hi! I’m Mitchell, your firstborn.  Nice to meet you.”

Agexaggerate — v. Purposely telling someone you’re ten years older than you actually are so you can hear back, “Wow, you look great for 64!”

Doctorson — n.  A physician so young, you could be his mother.

DaughterDr — n.  Girl version of above.

Battersneaker – – n.  One who engages in the act of promising a child they can lick the bowl, but then pretends they forgot and accidentally washed it.

ItemOrigination — n.  Going into a grocery store and buying everything except what you came for in the first place.

Actnesia – – n.  The loss of a skill you were particularly proud of in which you could watch a movie and identify all co-stars by first and last name, cite who they are related to, and give at least two other examples of films your partner has seen them in before.  “Bill keeps very quiet on movie date nights since his recent bout with Actnesia.”

Glutendisputin — prop n.  One who maintains the entire gluten-free industry was thought up by a guy who hated that his mother put whole wheat sandwiches in his lunchbox when other kids got Wonder loaf bread.

Inventionintention n. — Knowing you thought of a clever new product first but were too lazy to do anything about it.  Claims can date back to electricity.

Holipressure — v.  The influence other neighbors can exert on someone who is too old or fatigued to put up X-mas lights or other exterior decorations.  Closely connected to a Reluctoweener — someone who really doesn’t want to dress up for a Halloween party so they just carry a trivial prop. i.e. “Dave asserted he was wearing a Plumber costume because he carried a toilet plunger.”  (In reality though, Dave just had a fear of clogging public toilets.)

Trendependafriend — prop. n. — someone you’ve known for years who makes it her business to ensure you stay up-to-date with the latest fads.  She’s the one who shamed you onto Instagram.  Or she will forward you this list!

Slangshorterm — v.  The tendency to forget all these new and clever slang words the moment you read the next post, thereby reducing the chance they will ever catch on to an older generation who desperately needs new terminology to describe that which there are simply no words for!

If you like this kind of murky, quirky, smirky humor, please check me out (most grateful if you would leave me a comment there!) on Huffington Post today! 

Betcha Can’t Read Just One! (Mmm, Mmm Good!)

Brand Allegiance!

Brand Allegiance!

I think I missed my calling to be in the Marketing field because I’m always thinking up slogans and jingles.  I also feel sorry for Generic store brands because they don’t have any colorful packaging or catchy tag lines.  They’re like the Ugly Ducklings of the supermarket shelves. But I can help these underdog products shine by giving them an edge with a few well placed words.  For instance, Let’s take a plain “No Name” brownie mix. Just slap a label on the package that says . . .

“Now with extra Batter!”  Your batch will bake up thicker . . .  even though you’re a licker!”

Okay so maybe not so much that particular example, (you knew I meant the spoon, right?) but give me a break – – I’ve not had any formal training in this field.

Lemme try another.  How about for a Cab Company.

“Our Drivers Are Always Nearby. We Don’t Condone Taxi Evasion!”

Yep, pure gold.  I think I’m ready to branch out into the actual world now with a little job portfolio:

Little Miss Menopause’s Advertising Promos For Real Life Situations

 

DOG TAG

“If you’re reading this, it means I’m lost.

Maybe there’s a street I shouldn’t have crossed.

But the worst is over ‘cuz now I’ve been found. . .

And you’ve saved me from ending up in the Pound.

So pick up the phone and give my owner a holler

And tell them you read about it here on my collar!”

Would a jingle fit on here?

Would a jingle fit on here?

 

What is this, some G Rated job?  I think I can have some sexier promotional campaigns than that!

 

MALE’S TEE-SHIRT IN BAR

Hey ladies, look my way so I’ll flash you a wink,

I can do so much more than buy you a drink.

I can talk to you and complement and flatter,

But lemme take you home and prove size really does matter!guy tee shirt

GYNECOLOGIST’S SPECULUM

I ‘m cold & metal but actually quite gentle,

Any pain you feel is purely accidental.

If I touch you “down there,” don’t give me a slap,

Just checking that you haven’t been given the Clap.

You might say I’m important and quite ‘instrumental,’

Your doctor owns me outright, I’m not just a rental.

I’ll never be replaced with a cellphone or an App…

Rest assured, I’m the only way to get your Yearly Pap!

I could not bring myself to show an actual speculum.

I could not bring myself to show an actual speculum.

 

So much for sexy.  I think I better go tame again.

 

OUR COUNTRY’S NEW LEADER

I’ll take an oath the day that I become President,

Swear to protect and serve and never be negligent.

You won’t find me surrounded by trauma or drama

Like the guy in the White House now, Barack Obama.

So pick me when you vote in our upcoming election.

P.S.  I could also promise to outlaw Ebola infection!

 

And finally a little advertising buzz to honor the reason we’re all here.

 

 

A WORDPRESS BLOG

Do you have some feelings you wanna express?

Or a bunch of friends you wanna impress?

Pick a theme and make your personal gravatar

Reach for the brass ring, or just grab a star.

You pick your domain name – – we’ll be your Free Host

Say what you wanna say and that’ll be your first post.

But if you ever run dry, don’t write these kinds of silly advertising campaigns

Do that to your followers and watch how quickly he or she complains!

And instead of ever becoming Freshly Pressed . . .

We’ll make sure you get Especially Suppressed!

billboard

That’s right, don’t worry . . I’m not giving up my day job any time soon.

Little Miss Menopause:  Don’t leave home without her.  Please Leave Her At Home!

Would love for you to visit my latest humor on the Huffington Post Comedy Section today.

The Holidays: Let ’em Come to You!

holidaysHave you heard?  You can now talk to Santa Claus from your own living room.  He’ll visit live via the Internet and you’ll never have to leave the privacy of your home!  Listen to my family’s sneak preview of this new service.

SANTA:  Ho-Ho, Santa knows everything.  Have you been good boys and girls?

ME:  You tell me, Mr. Know-It-All Santa.  Have a look at my ten year old’s brand new jeans after he decided to go Knee Sledding.

SANTA:  Ho!  Those ARE some Holy pants!

ME:   And do you see my teenager, who merrily decided to dye her hair purple without my permission? And my eldest son who just crashed our Toyota sleigh? Can you hear my 14 year-old upstairs cranking up Rihanna? No Silent Night here.

KIDS:  Mom!  We thought we were Jewish?! 

SANTA:  Hmm, I’ll tell you what Santa’s little eye DOES spy, Mom.   Tsk, Tsk.   Someone could use a new vacuum, a dust mop, sponges, scrub brushes, Windex, and wow, are those a couple of dead rabbits Santa spots under your dining table?

ME:  Those are Bunny Slippers.  But tell you what Santa – – throw in a weekly maid service, and I’ll Jolly well convert the entire family by tomorrow.  Joy to the World.

BUT WHY STOP THERE?  OTHER HOLIDAY MAKE HOUSECALLS TOO!

VALENTINE’S DAY:  Romance & Intrigue!  To set the mood the day before, a mysterious invitation comes into your inbox from “Guess Who?” with a single rose image and a first clue that says, “To find the desire of your Heart – –  Check out the sale at Walmart!”  On Feb 14th, you follow all the rest of the hundred clues across the entire internet to websites for Hallmark, Lady Godiva Chocolate, Florists, Hair Salons, Spas, Jewelry, Shoe, and Dress shops, your excitement mounting.  By evening, when you are still being instructed (with clever little rhymes) to visit Verizon, the local realtor, supermarket, dry-cleaner, bank, pool and office supplies as well as numerous bowling alleys, you are starting to suspect that you’ve been part of an advertising scam.  But at least you’re too brain dead to care that your real-life sweetheart only sent you a stale Hershey bar leftover from Halloween (see below).  Happy Love Day!

HALLOWEEN:  Peace & Quiet!  A doorbell sounds melodically on your computer so you’re alerted to move closer to the keyboard.  Sweet little “Trick or Treat” exclamations come thru the speaker as two darling 5 year-old twins dressed as Ketchup & Mustard stand before you.  You click on the “Ooh and Ahh” icon and within 3-5 days, a Hershey’s gift card will be delivered from you to their home with a “How adorable you look!” sticker.  No more buying the bag of fun-size Snickers a week ahead of time and having to sheepishly replenish it the night before. . . because you ate them all.  Rest assured, if a large group of overgrown, sullen teenagers (not in costume) should appear, you can dim the monitor light and a 40 pt. font text will appear stating, “Sorry, out of candy.”  A newer addition of this Holiday will include mini-windshield wipers that will cleanse away the egg yolk mess without smearing your homepage.  Boo!

Yeah, it's cute but Whatever.  When you've seen one condiment, you've seen 'em all.

Yeah, it’s cute but Whatever. When you’ve seen one condiment, you’ve seen ’em all.

THANKSGIVING:  No Muss, No Fuss! Your Personal Chef from Butterball, Inc. streams live into your home around 8 a.m. to lecture on Hens vs. Toms, Brining vs. Basting and stuffing the bird vs. stuffing your mouth.  Pop-ups are a new, cool feature of this App – – From pop-up thermometers in the turkey to frequent pop-up windows onscreen, showcasing kids whining to make cornucopias and pilgrim crafts that you can proudly display as centerpieces. Around 2 pm, the screen clouds over and slowly, one-by-one, photos of your entire extended family crystallize – – yes even Great Uncle Milton who smokes cigars has come.  Your sister-in-law announces the entire family is now vegetarian and your cyber experience completes itself with Grandma quoting the exorbitant calories and fat grams in just a tiny sliver of Pecan or Pumpkin Pie.  Happy Gobble Day!

NEW YEAR’S EVE:  Forget Times Square and the ball Drop!   Instead Drop the charges on your Ex, and then Drop the bomb on your kids when you proclaim your New Year’s Resolution is to go to an expensive ski-lodge as an intact happy family.  Suddenly you smile and shout, “April Fools!” as elaborate fireworks explode in the background on the monitor.   That’s right! This Bonus 3 in 1 Holiday App saves you time by integrating New Years with April 1st & The 4th of July.  Happy Combination Day!

I welcome ANY of your comments – – Or if you like, default to voting, Do you look forward to the holidays?  Or dread them?

Should You “Toy” With an Older Woman?

photo-139Disclaimer:  Occasionally I remember why I call myself “Little Miss Menopause” and do a post related to the topic.
There are board games meant for almost all phases of life – – from Childhood to the Thirty Something Crowd.  But why should a certain gender/age group be left out with nothing but “Old Maid” to entertain them?  Here are some newly revamped fun nights around the kitchen table for the 40 to 60 year-old female demographic.  And men, don’t stop reading here – – you may need to know the rules of the game(s)  if you expect to “play.”
MENOPAUSEOPOLY – – The classic game of monopolizing stuff from your opponents as you wearily drag your little pewter token – – a miniature fan, a Naturalizer high heel shoe, haircoloring kit, Prozac pill, a syringe of Botox, an iron and a thimble (see, I told you it would be classic, therefore still Chauvinistic!) around the board attempting to purchase back the properties of your Mind, Body & Spirit that you once possessed control over. Memory Lane, Sexual Drive, Brain Cell Way, Stability Street, Metabolism Court and Smooth Skin Avenue are just some spots you can land on. The Utilities are represented by Energy & Pep and Hydration. Or take a ride on the Wispy Waist-Line Railroad. But if you land on the unmade bed you must go directly to Never Satisfied Husband, do not Pass the Doctor and do not collect your 200 mg prescription for testosterone.
CHEST – – This is a game of the utmost strategy and wits, wherein you move your Queen many various bra sizes around a black and white checkerboard until you capture your current correct cup size which will vary depending on if you just ate a grain of salt or are up ½ a lb. But breast assured, once you do this, you can confidently say,  “Chestmate!”
HOOTS ON LADDERS – – Best if played directly after a good, satisfying game of “Chest.” The object is to walk by a construction crew and if you can still get any man at all, (even the male parrot on the drywall contractor’s shoulder) to wolf-whistle after giving you the once-over, you win! Batteries sold separately.
I APOLOGIZE – – It’s “Sorry” redone with an Anger Management theme. Simplistic little game with easy to follow rules, 1. I yell or throw my estrogen cream at you. 2. I try to atone while making flimsy hormonal excuses. 3. You forgive me. 4. I do it all over again on the next roll of the dice. Once I grovel enough, I graduate to the brand new 12 step game, “I Surrender” which culminates at the finish line where I sheepishly admit that even my Higher Power has no control over my temper during menopause.
AFFLICTIONARY – – Be the first to draw what ails you and let your partner guess before the timer runs out. You’ll sketch a body with sweat pouring out of it and they’ll guess “a bee sting.” You’ll doodle a giant stomach with lots of excess skin and they’ll guess “fallen arches.” At this point you’ll need a new partner. Makes a great party game until you draw your biggest affliction ever…a realistic picture of all the guests attending who have gotten on your last nerve. They guess correctly. And the Party’s over!  Nite, nite!
THOUGHTZZZZZZEE– – Who needs “Yahtzee” when you can noisily rattle 6 dice in a little jar, simultaneously giving yourself a migraine, just to eventually spill them out on the table to formulate thoughts that are so fleeting in your own head, you usually can’t remember them in time to vocalize, write or act them out. But be sure to scream out “Thoughtzee!!” at the top of your lungs so other players will run out of Tylenol and need to borrow yours. Comes with Tylenol PM bonus bottles so you can put the ZZZZZZ part of the game into your sleep.

 

GET A CLUE! – – Oh that Miss Scarlet – – she’s still sexy and hot, especially with this new Night Sweat edition. But watch out Professor Plum and all other male players – – She’ll conspire with her Gal Pals and then the crime will be “a lethal male bashing with Mrs. White, Mrs. Peacock in the Ballroom with The Mouth” – – the deadliest weapon of all.

Miss Scarlet Nowadays??  Oh No!  Looks like my Mother got to Miss Scarlet and chopped her hair off.  Because she thinks "Women over 40 must have short hair."  What do you think??

Miss Scarlet Nowadays?? Oh No! Looks like my Mother got to Miss Scarlet and chopped her hair off. Because she thinks “Women over 40 must have short hair.” What do you think??

TRIVIAL DISPUTE – – It’s the game of Life…in other words who argues it better? The never-ending quest to always be right is the central theme of this fast-paced question and answer card game played in teams. Remind other players (your children) that you could’ve gone to law school if you hadn’t gotten married and devoted your life completely to raising a family. Fight with them over your borrowing skirts from your teenager’s closet. How else are you supposed to look younger? And that if they told you they were staying late after school but you forgot, it’s still their fault for not reminding you. Always remember to play The Guilt Card (find it at the bottom of the deck) and also you have one free, “Because I said so” pass to be used anytime you appear to be losing. Good luck!

TRAGIC 8 BALL – – The Magic 8 ball just as you remember it, but this time you will receive prophetic answers to all your earth-shattering calamities. Go ahead and ask questions like, “Am I destined to have a muffin top in all my jeans or just the Skinny Jeans?” and “Am I wrong for wanting men to suffer through every single one of these 34 symptoms too?” and of course, “Didn’t Heather Locklear look majorly photo-shopped on the cover of this week’s People magazine?” The answers of course will always be “Reply Hazy, try again” because the “Tragic 8 Ball” is now a fifty year old toy and therefore also going through menopause, with brain-fog of its own.

Now, I’ll race ya to the nearest Toys R Us, where thankfully they still have the plain and simple “RandyLand”   Candyland, with no age limit to the fun it brings!

 

Have a favorite childhood game?  How would you give it a makeover for your generation?

 

An Open (Mopin’, Copin’, Gropin’ & Hopin’) Letter to the Internet:

To My Dearest Internet . . .

To My Dearest Internet . . .

Dear Internet,

Some days you’re a treasure I’d never replace – –  just wanna send you a Cyber Hug.

Other days, you’re nothing but a huge disgrace  – – just wanna pull your darn plug.

Without you, I wouldn’t have found a website to meet the Man of My Dreams,

Or discovered that Organic Farm Raised salmon isn’t always what it seems.

Farm raised or Wild?  The Internet has the scoop on which is worse for you!  Oh and google, "blackened lemons" you'll be outraged at what that does to your health!

Farm-Raised or Wild? The Internet has the scoop on which is worse for you! Oh and google, “blackened lemons” you’ll be outraged at what that does to your health!

Thank goodness you give me the opportunity to cleverly Google. . .

“How to find free coupons” so I can actually claim to be frugal.

You’re adorable – –  everyday I can see another cute, little kitten,

Or check out WordPress for new great posts *that’ve recently been written.

But when I look up  *“that’ve”  on the online Webster Dictionary,

to make sure it’s a true contraction, I find out it’s purely *Fictionary!

Oh wait, there’s more! I search and find  *“Fictionary”  is also not a real word?

You’re wasting my time with all this obsessive checking, it’s totally absurd!

But thanks for letting me bank, shop, and rent movies with a click – – so convenient.

Until lotsa time gets wasted when your Password Prompts aren’t very lenient.

The name of my first pet? First boyfriend? First Pimp? Which town did I go to school in?

No, you didn’t really ask me the Pimp question, I confess I was sorta just foolin’!

And you SHOULD Remember them.  But how??  Who was my first boyfriend anyway?  The boy I passed notes to?  The boy I hit?  The boy I kissed?  The boy I . . . ?

And you SHOULD Remember them. But how?? Who was my first boyfriend anyway? The boy I passed notes to? The boy I hit? The boy I kissed? The boy I . . . ?

But then you eagerly insist I type some odd code to prove I’m a real person,

A string of nonsense so hard to decipher, my disdain for you starts to worsen.

Why do you need my information to be so secure, so precise and so exact?

I found out the other day, it’s because people like me tend to get hacked!

Go ahead – – mess up my accounts, my Facebook, blogs, & email – – there’s nothing left,

Before the invention of you, Dear Internet, there wasn’t this much Identity Theft!

Well if they become me, they’ll get my poor memory, my big hair, plus six kids galore,

Come to think of it, even I don’t really desire to be Me anymore!!

But one things for sure, you need to stop making everything be about sex,

In that way, Dear Internet –  –  you actually remind me an awful lot of my Ex.

We can filter our drinking water, our swimming pools, our coffee, and an aquarium.  But can we filter out S-E-X ??

We can filter our drinking water, our swimming pools, our coffee, and an aquarium. But can we filter out S-E-X  from the Internet??

My Ex loved computers and when we divorced, shortly after his move-out evacuation. . .

I inherited his Apple before I knew how to use it – – I call it “Premature iMaculation.”

“Hey! This is Little Miss Menopause’s Ex-husband chiming in, none of this is true,

It seems she writes whatever she wants about me, and her Followers have no clue!”

See Dear Internet?  Even a simple poem that I compose for you is subject to a hijacking.

If I were smarter, I would write on a typewriter – – and just like my Ex, send you packing!

Well it looks as though (at least for the foreseeable future) you’re staying a big part of my life,

But no more Info about Cleaning, Recipes for Dinner, and Sex – – I am sooo NOT your Wife!!

 

Disclaimer:  “Man of Dreams” and “Ex Husband” mentioned without their permission.  They comment here regularly.  Please visit their WordPress blogs as way of compensation for “good-natured” participation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But First . . . Lemme NOT Take a Selfie!

photo-405In Breaking News, the word “Selfie” has now made it into the official Scrabble Dictionary during this recent month of Aug, 2014.  And here to tell us more about the story, as well as some of the history of Selfies is our own Roving, Roaming (and Random) Reporter, Little Miss Menopause.

Thank you, News Room.  The first historical documentation of the word “Selfie” occurred in 1964 when some kid named Ralph turned around and pointed his Polaroid camera straight into his own face so he could see how bright the flash actually was.  Dressed in costume for their annual holiday family portrait, his parents framed the little overexposed, Red-Eyed Santa’s Helper, placing it on the Mantle for all to see. That night when company came for Christmas dinner, they bragged . . .

“There’s our Ralphie in a Selfie as an Elfie on the Shelfie.”

Shouldn't these be called "Woofies?"

Shouldn’t these be called “Woofies?”

But today, as cell phone camera popularity surges, the Selfie has become the sort of photography phenomenon that nobody can escape.  I myself, feel that taking portraits should be something intimate and beautiful that’s only shared between two loving and committed people, the Professional Shooter and the Subject – –  but if our society is okay with Technological Masturbation, who am I to argue?

However, many have not anticipated the newest strict laws sweeping the nation.  The Selfie format will quickly be replacing all prior cases where professional photography was previously used and in some cases, legally mandated.  Examples of this will soon be found in your local Department of Motor Vehicles, Passport Offices, County Jails, and even Playboy Magazine.  So how might these professional photographers (who are soon to become jobless) feel about these laws? Listen to my brief interviews.

First I talked with Dick Handle, Head Photographer at Playboy Magazine:

“I don’t know, Little Miss Menopause.  It’s really not gonna work.  First of all, one of the reasons men buy Playboy is because they know a male is posing these girls – – Guys instinctively know what other men wanna see.  If women take their own Selfie and that becomes the centerfold, it’s gonna be all fashion oriented with close-ups of their purses and shoes.  I don’t know any healthy red-blooded male who wants to see a pair of shoes over a pair of bongos like yours.  Know what I mean, heh heh?”

Um, Sorta.  Additionally, Mr. Handle has these suggestions to share, should the “Do It YourSelfie” laws take effect.

TIPS FOR PLAYBOY CENTERFOLD SELFIES

Bring your own high speed Fan and Favorite Cleavage Faker bra.  Look seductively into the lens, lick your lips, and choose one of the following phrases to shout flirtatiously at yourself, while wolf-whistling:

a)  Show me that sexy little pout!

b)  That’s it Baby, the camera loves you!

c)  C’mon Sweetheart, Arch your back – – close your eyes and say “Super Bowl Sunday.”

photo 1-7

Over at the California Crowded Community Criminal County Concourse Correctional Center where they Charge Creepers with Crimes, I spoke with Melvin Mugsly who asked me to say that last sentence three times in a row, quickly.  Just kidding, he actually asked me if he could comment on what would take place if all Alleged incoming Bad Guys took their own official Mug Shots.  And he doesn’t mean pictures to be printed on Starbucks coffee cups, either.

“So you’re tellin’ me some dude who just got brung in from holding up Bank of America is gonna strut into a booth, with a mirror so they can go all pretty boy and smile nice for their Selfie Booking Picture?  I don’t think that’s right, Man.  They be all slumpin’ down in front of the height wall so they look shorter and shit.  Oh, I get what’s happenin’ now!  This here’s one of them joke shows.  Looky here.  This is Candid Camera, right?  I always wanted to be on that thing.”

Not quite Mr. Mugsly.  However he does bring up a good point.  How will these Selfie 10 Most Wanted Posters hanging on walls in the post office, appear to customers?  Gone will be that fierce, “You don’t want to run into me in a dark alley” grimace and instead, many of them might very well look like our own husbands after they mow the lawn and are demanding sex, eh ladies? (But we all know he’ll settle for a cold beer!)

How do we know he's really not a midget wearing high heels?  Selfie Mug Shots will be very deceiving.

How do we know he’s really not a midget wearing high heels? Selfie Mug Shots will be very deceiving.

Next I chatted with Miss Daisy Driver (no relation to Driving Miss Daisy) at the Department of Motor Vehicles and asked her what will happen when people are allowed to snap their own photo for their official driver’s license picture?

“Well, I really don’t think it’s going to change anything at all.  People are already coming in here and writing the answers to “what should you do when you come to a four-way stop?” on their hands so they can pass the test.  Everybody has the eye chart completely memorized so they won’t have to wear glasses.  Women are constantly fudging their weight on the form.  I don’t see what difference it’s going to make if their Selfie picture actually looks half decent, instead of looking like a mutant squashed alien with limp hair and dreadful skin.”

Before I wrap up my feature story, let me just say that there’s also been talk of Selfies infiltrating into the Baby Photography industry.  Instead of professional grown-ups hiding behind expensive equipment with a black velvet cloth draped over it, exclaiming “Say Cheese!” there will be special toy cameras, perhaps a bit more sophisticated than the one pictured below.  Children will be encouraged to jingle a set of keys at themselves, while making goofy clucking sounds with their lips to coax themselves into their first real smiles.  Asian Child Photographer (and chef!)  Goo Goo Ga-Ga Gai Pan was unavailable for comment.

This has been a special featured story from your Roving, Raving (and Writhing!) Reporter, Little Miss Menopause.  And now. . . Back to you.

photo-403

You Can Go Straight to Heck!

Putting this on a travel brochure isn't exactly going to make Hell the new preferred Vacation Spot.

Putting this on a travel brochure isn’t exactly going to make Hell the new preferred Vacation Spot.

As a freelance writer, I sometimes get approached by companies to write unique brochures or think up clever advertising copy.  But I’ve never had a client’s conference call scare the hell outa me like this one did.   That’s because these fellows were hell bent on . . . (wait for it)  giving Hell a makeover.

The Phone Call From Hell

I answered the way I normally do when my Cell rings.

Me:  Hell–

Dante (Cutting me off) Listen to that boys, she was expecting us!

Me:  Uh, no.  HELL-O?  I was just saying Hello.

Mel:  Whatever.  This is Mel from Hell.  You know . . . Hell Enterprises.   We heard your writing is on fire.  Hot as hell.

Me:  (blushing)  Why you little devil, you.  Flattery will get you everywhere.

Harry:  Yeah, we need a new image.  We’re not profiting in the whole “AfterLife” trend.  We don’t know how to compete with Heaven.

Dante:  That’s right, we can’t hold a candle to Heaven’s slogans.  They’ve got “Heaven Sent.”  And “Thank Heaven.”  Oh, don’t forget “In Seventh Heaven” and “A Match made in Heaven.”

Me:  Kind of ironic you can have a “Helluva” good time in heaven, huh?   But haven’t you ever heard the saying, “Something stinks to high heaven?”  Their reputation’s not exactly 100% blemish free.

Mel:  See boys?  I knew Miss Menopause would go to Hell and back for us.   Got any other brilliant ideas?

Me:  Lemme see if I can work up a nice, new Public Relations campaign and I’ll get back to you.

Harry:  This better not cost too much, ya hear?

Dante:  That’s right!  Give ’em Hell, Harry!

Me: (unable to resist) As far as my rates go, if I do my best work, there could be Hell to Pay.

But Then . . . All Hell Broke Loose!

After the phone call, I froze with fear.  Indeed, if hell froze over, there wouldn’t be a snowball’s chance in hell that I could come up with something to give Hell a positive spin.  What was I thinking?  Maybe the Devil made me do it.

The first thing I noticed when I typed the word on my Smartphone, it would autocorrect “Hell” to “He’ll.”  That got me thinking that tweaking Hell’s name ever so slightly could be just the thing it needed.  Hmmm, “Who the Hill do you think you are?” might just catch on.  What a difference a vowel can make!

But then again, substituting “Hill” might remind people of a “Hill of beans” and “Finding their thrill on Blueberry Hill.”  From that kind of Hill, it would only be a Slippery Slope to marching, “Over Hill, Over Dale…”

Nah, back to the drawing board.

Hell’s Kitchen

I always feel more creative when I take my mind off the subject.  Hungry, I went into the kitchen and ate some deviled eggs.  Then I frosted a devil’s food cake for dinner.  Food wasn’t the answer.  Maybe housecleaning would help.  I ran my Dirt Devil vacuum over the carpet.  I know!  I needed entertainment.  First I danced to “Devil With the Blue Dress on,” then watched the movie, “The Devil Wears Prada.  Sheesh, could “The Devil in Miss Jones” be far behind?

But I knew I needed to keep busy – – after all, “idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”  And what in the Hell was I gonna tell Harry, Dante, & Mel?

SPEAKING OF THE DEVIL . . .

When the phone rang again, I thought I would answer it differently this time.

Me:  Hi Guys, I was just thinking of you. Were your ears Burning?

Dante:  Not funny.

Harry:  So what’s your new plan?

Me: (nervously)  Alright, open minds, right?  You wanna change public perception, yes?  So we need a new Mascot.  The Devil is too Red and Pointy. You want something Rounder, more circular, something kids like.

Some parents feel like they've been through hell after a trip to Disneyland.

Some parents feel like they’ve been through hell after a trip to Disneyland.

MelMickey Mouse ain’t exactly available.

Me:  I was thinking more like a jar of mayonnaise.  And it’s already got your name on it, too!   “Hellmann’s Mayo.”  Whadya think?

Dante:  Where did ya find this crazy broad, Mel?

Mel:  I don’t eat mayonnaise.  And what’s wrong with pointy?  We like those ears and that tail.

The Devil is in the details.

Me:  Okay, but you gotta abandon the Fiery and Forever association.  “Burning in Eternal Hell” doesn’t exactly sell like hotcakes.  Maybe it can be just a temporary thing.  Like it Fades after 10 Washes?”

Harry:  Nobody has to go straight to hell.  They can always take the Scenic Route.

Me: (encouraging)  That’s sweet.  I like it.  But let’s get back to the Sales.  What can be sold?

Dante:  You can always sell your soul.

Me:  Watch that Creep Factor,  Dante.  How about a fun board game with a pitchfork on the lid?  People love to play Devil’s Advocate.

Harry:  Not interested.

Me:  Postcards from hell?  Vacation from hell?   Ooh!  Husbands from hell!  Women seem very attracted to that.  Or a new car called, “Hell On Wheels?”  A brand of bottled H2O called, “Come Hell or High Water?”

Mel:  That all ya got, Kiddo?

Me:  (brightening)  Okay, brace yourself.  The other side uses, “A Stairway to Heaven.” Right?   So we’ll make you guys “An Escalator to Hell.”

After they slammed the phone down on me, I realized I couldn’t do this kind of thing without help.  That was it!    H-E-L-P!

HELP Is On The Way!

It wasn’t a vowel that needed replacing, it was a consonant.

I wrote an entire marketing plan, highlighting the virtues of changing “Hell” to “Help.”  Everybody needs a little Help now and then.  It’s more comfortable giving someone Help than it is to give someone Hell.   Nobody minds asking for Help.   There was a good movie out recently called, “The Help.”  The Beatles even had a hit song, “Help!”  It was a brilliant plan, but would they buy it?

I could get lucky.  This might just work.  I emailed the whole thing off to them.

Days went by and I didn’t hear anything back.  I was getting a bit angry at being ignored.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

I really tried my best and had given it my all.

The Road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

I didn’t want to Battle these guys anymore.

War is Hell.

Hell’s Help’s Angels

When I answered the phone, Dante was singing another Beatles song, “I get by with a little HELL from my friends.”  No, no, no!  Please don’t let this thing backfire.  But his sidekicks sounded enthusiastic. . .

Mel:  You’re a Genius!  Changing “Hell” to “Help” was exactly the push into the public eye we needed!

Harry:  That’s right.  We’ve never felt more loved and wanted.

Me:  Wow, so you like it?

Dante:  Like it??  The entire country is talking about us.  But how did you get so many businesses to put our new slogan on a sign in their window so quickly?

Me:  What new slogan?

Mel:  “Help Wanted!”

How Do You Think “Dear Abby” Got Started???

photo-390Since I began this humor blog back in January of this year (as a New Year’s resolution) I have sometimes been mistaken for an advice columnist.  Don’t ask me how that could happen because I might just tell you.  Anyhow, I have decided that every so often I will run a post containing “The Best Of” questions submitted to me.  Are you ready?  Of course you are!

DEAR LITTLE MISS MENOPAUSE…

 

Dear LMM~

I have this nosy neighbor (think Mrs. Kravitz on Bewitched) who is the only one who offers to help feed our cats and water the plants for free when my boyfriend and I travel.  The problem is sometimes when we return from a trip,  I can tell she has gone through my things.  The last time we went out of town on a cruise I decided to teach this little Snoop a lesson.   I planted a photo of me with her husband (in bed together) prominently inside my medicine cabinet.  The next thing I knew, her spouse had moved out and she won’t speak to me anymore.  I feel horribly guilty.  And our cats get awfully hungry.  How can I let her know it was just an innocent practical joke of sorts, without her blaming me for the demise of her marriage?  I’ve since hidden the offending photo inside my copy of Gone With the Wind.

A Gentle Reader

Which actress did you like best playing Mrs. Kravitz?

Which actress did you like best playing Mrs. Kravitz?

 

 

Dear Gentle Reader (as opposed to a Rough Reader?)

Schedule an immediate trip to Hawaii.  Write an entry in your secret diary confessing that you knew it was the wrong thing to do but you couldn’t resist teaching your helpful neighbor a lesson about privacy and boundaries.  Then describe how you rigged your medicine cabinet, signing off with, “Gosh, I sure hope she’ll forgive me one day.”  Good luck!

Little Miss Menopause

ps.  How did you happen to have a photo of you and her husband in bed together?

 

Dear LMM~

You’re the same age as my wife so maybe you can help.  She says I don’t express my love for her.  I am a busy man with a full time law career and many hobbies like volunteering with troubled youth, yoga and wild game hunting.  I’ve stopped for roses on my way home but she claims flowers just wither and die.  I’ve resorted to other nice gestures too, like complimenting her dress.  But she says, “If you like my clothes so much, maybe you should marry Yves St. Laurent!   She has a lot of time on her hands to worry that we’ve fallen out of love.  Help!

Venus or Mars (I forget which one men are?)

 

Dear Venus or Mars (throw that Planet book away already!)

You’re in luck!  Little Miss Menopause just started supplementing her writing income with what she calls, “The High Tech, Save Your Neck by writing one Small Check” Romance Package.  For one low monthly fee of $59.95 your wife will receive 50 texts a day saying things like, “I like that dress you had on this morning, but I’d rather see it on the floor!”  or  “Roses are red, violets are blue, flowers may wither and die, but not my affection for you!”  But wait, that’s not all.  She will get 10 emails a day containing mushy gushy poetry, old fashioned love letters, sexual innuendo crossword puzzles, custom word searches with all her favorite things, plus intriguing “treasure hunts” that send her all over the internet looking for her complicated clues.   Eight times a day, a new post will show up on her Facebook with photos of exotic locations with “I’d like to whisk you off to this place” messages.  She will be so busy keeping up with all “your” attention that she won’t have any time to nag you ever again.   How does that sound?  You just need to provide me with her email, Facebook name, cell phone, favorite color, her interests/hobbies and her astrological sign.

Little Miss Menopause

Men: Do some woman find this to be symbolic of your relationship together?

Men: Do some woman find this to be symbolic of your relationship together?

 

Dear LMM~

You’re the same age as me so maybe you can help.  My husband is falling out of love with me.  I have noticed all the signs.  Once in a while he brings home a few wilted daisies or says he likes my dress.  You seem so alive and vivacious.  How do you keep the passion in your long term relationships?  Sorry I write to you so often about this topic but it’s very important to me.

Withering in Wisteria Lane

 

Dear Withering in the Fictional Street from that Television Show,

You’re in luck!  Little Miss Menopause has just started to supplement her writing income with what she calls the “Having a Fake Affair will give your Marriage a Prayer, I Swear!”  Romance Package.  For one low monthly fee of $59.95, a “pretend handsome suitor” will send you interesting text messages, elaborate emails your husband could never think of, (no matter what his Yoga position!) plus little Facebook messages (that will have all your girlfriends green with envy) depicting the places he’ll take you to.  All you have to do is act a bit secretive and give vague answers as to where you’ve been all day.  Your husband will become insanely jealous and suddenly lavish you with so much attention you won’t have time to write to me anymore.  How does that sound? You just need to provide me with your email, Facebook name, cell phone, your favorite color, your interests/hobbies and the location that your husband keeps his gun.

Little Miss Menopause

 

Dear LMM~

I live next door to this incredibly kind woman.  She’s always giving good advice, she even offers to care for our pets when we travel out of the goodness of her heart.   I used to have this little crush on Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched and she actually reminds me of her.  She’s a married woman but I noticed her husband suddenly left.  I’ve been thinking of getting out of a relationship with the woman I’m living with before we tie the knot because (and I know this may sound trivial)  she won’t stop playing practical jokes around the house.  I never know what I might come across.  But I could never hurt such a faithful woman after ten years.  What would you suggest?

Fixated With Pet-Sitter and Tired of Sitting on Whoopee Cushions

 

Dear Fixated,

Bewitched reruns play often and that seems like a great compromise.  But you might want to read “Gone With the Wind” for an exciting change of pace.

Little Miss Menopause

Page 69 is especially revealing!

Page 69 is especially revealing!

 

Dear LMM~

I have a hard time believing that the letters you get asking for advice are legit?  C’mon, aren’t you making all these questions up when you run out of topics to post about?  Including this question?  It would be kind of weird if you were really just talking to yourself here.

Skeptical

 

Dear Skeptical,

Every good writer knows that staying within a reasonable word count is important and readers tend to get bored and lose interest  after 1,000 words.  I am sorry that your important question came right at this juncture.  Goodbye.  Note to self:  Buy shredded lettuce and cheese for tacos tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Am I The Only One Having These Thoughts? (And if you are too, does that mean we BOTH need a shrink?!)

photo 2-2I can’t help it.  I go through my day, minding my own business, just trying to accomplish my life goals when these little “nonsense asides” start chatting me up. Like really – – the voices in my head won’t stop prattling on.  So I finally made a list of ’em just to purge myself from this bizarre minutia internal clutter!  (Disclaimer:  It’s also a way to blog about unrelated subjects!)

The Top Ten Unimportant But Incessant Thoughts From Little Miss Menopause

 

1.  ABOUT FOOD:  I am a careful eater and I read labels.  Why is there often a phrase listed under ingredients that states authoritatively,  “May contain…” and then goes on to list things like “paprika, lard, egg whites, yeast extracts, etc.”  What goes on here?  May Contain??  Nobody is sure??  Does a factory worker shout to the Head Cook, “Hey!  Look at that giant black spider on the wall!” And then (when his attention is diverted) stealthily pour a vial of sesame seeds and cilantro in the big vat the cook has been toiling over?  Or quickly cracks a few eggs into the mixture?  C’mon, how do they get away with this nebulous jargon?  There’s no “May”  – – you either are a virgin or you’re not.  Lecithin is either in my beef jerky or it’s not.  One piece of good news – – I’ve yet to see, “May contain giant black spiders” written on any ingredient list.photo-386

2.  ABOUT NON-FOOD:  This thought is related to #1 because I often observe this in drugstore type products like medicines and lotions.  I like to buy sunscreens that only feature two things:  Zinc Oxide and Titanium Dioxide.  Period.  (And yes, I know this causes your complexion to have a ghostly white pallor but I just smile sweetly and explain to people that I’m a Kabuki Dancer and they stop staring.) Now that’s all well and good when I buy the Neutrogena brand and it lists only those two minerals under “Active Ingredients.”  But then suddenly it contains the following things: Alcohol, Cyclomethecone, Ethylcellulose, Retinyl Palmitate, Tocopheryl Acetate, Sodium PCA, Ascorbic Acid, Panthenol, Aloe Leaf Juice, BHT, Benzophenone 3 under the heading of “Inactive Ingredients.”  What’s the deal?  Inactive?  If they’re not doing anything or performing in some way, get them the heck off my skin!  I don’t want some passive, loitering bystander named “Ascorbic Acid” just sitting around viewing everything.  My breasts are not a spectator sport.

3.  ABOUT SHIPS:  How come seeing a model ship inside of a glass wine bottle brings about mystery/intrigue but seeing a model photo-385holding a wine bottle inside of a ship is no big deal.  I really do think of these things.

photo-3844.  ABOUT SHOPPING:  When I go into a fitting room in a department store, there is often a sign proclaiming, “Dressing Room under surveillance.”  (Oh!  So my breasts ARE a spectator sport?)  How is this even legal?  I seriously hope this is just a bluff to scare would-be shoplifters and that there aren’t three men sitting on stools behind two-way mirrors, snickering while holding up signs that say “2.5” and “1.6” after I’ve tried on two different bikinis, completely oblivious that I’m competing in the Swimsuit Olympics.

5.  ABOUT KEYS:   After the above saga in the department store, I often march out in a huff.  Only to realize I’ve left my car keys inside.  The Three Judgey Men are probably now hooting and hollering, “Wait!  She has a muffin top AND she’s hair-brained too?!!”  But get this – – when I go up to Customer Service, she opens a drawer overflowing with people’s car keys and asks me to identify mine.  What the ?  How did the owners of all these car keys ever drive home?  I spy some major status symbol keychains in that drawer. Why isn’t Nordstrom’s parking lot littered with abandoned Mercedes and BMWs?

6.  ABOUT TRAVEL:   I fly on airplanes with a lot of kids.  Flight attendants urge me to put my own oxygen mask on first before I assist my children. By the time I do this and oh let’s say helped my next three munchkins seated the closest, the last three patient cherubs will have turned blue.  Well, at least they will never know I liked their siblings better.

6.   ABOUT DIVORCE:   I’ve been divorced twice.  Both times the legal procedure dragged on a long period before it was finalized.  Over the course of that time, I sometimes needed to introduce these men (that I was separated from) at various events. But there’s no name or term for this status.  You can’t say, “This is my spouse or my ex-husband” because they aren’t either of those things.   We need some new word in our vocabulary for that in-between stage – – I propose it be an acronym since those are so popular now.  How about, “I’d like you to meet my SOB”  (Soon Over Board?  Someday Outa Bounds?)   Wait, I know!  MILF is catchy these days.  MILF = Man I’d Like to Flee!

7.  ABOUT THE INTERNET:   “Poking” someone on Facebook is just an adult version of “Gotcha Last!”  Also a “Mail Daemon” sounds like a supernatural, evil deity and I get spooked when one of these shows up in my inbox.  Speaking of email – – why do so many people nowadays end theirs with “Cheers!”  I understand if they’re British, but it’s definitely infiltrated into American protocol.  Saying “Cheers” is something we do before clinking our champagne glasses.  Therefore, I am going to sign off all my emails from now on with “Bon Appetit.”  Let people wonder.  And salivate.

photo 1-38.   ABOUT WASTE:  I take a lot of walks – – many times  on “Garbage Day.”  It’s not that I plan it that way, but it happens.  And I drink a bottle of water.  When I’m finished, I toss the empty plastic bottle in a neighbor’s trash-can that’s sitting by their curb.  It never fails that I get the dirtiest looks.  Did my personal litter just taint their private, precious rubbish? Ohhh, I get it.  I’m not recycling.

9.  ABOUT TOILETS:   How come when I’ve been alone in my own home for a long period of time, I walk into the bathroom and notice that the toilet seat has been left up.  There hasn’t been anyone here other than me for days!  What’s the deal?  Did I scrub it thoroughly earlier, but I just don’t remember?  Nah – – far more likely that I have a male ghost who can’t hold it.

(Sorry, I lied.  Nine unimportant thoughts, but now a tenth Fairly Significant One.)

10.  ABOUT LAST CHANCES:   Why don’t we ever know or get some kind of advanced warning that something we routinely do will never again be done?  I never thought when I finished the last package of my favorite brand of beef jerky (yes, with the “May Contain” ingredients!) that the manufacturer would discontinue that product the very next day.  I would have savored it more.  I never realized that the last experience nursing my sixth child would be the final time and he would suddenly wean himself and graduate to solid foods.  I would have held a special little ceremony.  And I never dreamed that the thousandth time I said, “Goodbye Dad,* drive safely,” to my father would be the end of my ever uttering those words to him again.   Never take anything or anyone you care about for granted.  Always say “I love you.”

*Written in honor of my beloved Dad who passed away nine years ago on July 11th.  He was my biggest humor writing fan.

So confess — what is your oddest, most random thought??

 

This Text Has Me Vexed And Perplexed!

photo-382A few weeks ago, I let you have a glimpse into the email box of a 50 year old woman – – Me!   It wasn’t pretty.  So I decided that revealing my texts from this past week couldn’t be any worse.  Disclaimer:  I deleted all my complex Sext Texts rejects to this guy, Rex (you should see him flex his Pecs!) so I wouldn’t lose your respects.

Forget Vexing & Perplexing!?  Where is My Sextng?!

 

1.  We’ll start with my 16 year old – – needs no further explanation.

photo 5-1

photo 1

 

2.  My Ex-Husband is still trying to move on.  I once wrote a dating profile for him right here.

 

photo-23

 

 3.  My 21 year-old son 

photo 5

 

4.  In the middle of all this, I had a thoroughly delightful conversation with my younger kid’s teacher.

photo 2

 

5.  And then my own mother. . . she’s 72.  Oh, and we’re Jewish.  Need I say more?

photo 4-1

 

6.  So of course I had to do the right thing.  Hmmph.

photo 3

 

7.  Naturally my “friend” Tiffany gave me lots of “empathy.”  You can read more about Tiffany HERE.

photo 3-1

 

8.   And the other 21 year-old son now.  (Yep, twins)

photo 4

 

9.   My own Mother once again texted (obviously recovered enough to get out and about) so I decided “if I can’t beat ’em, then I would join ’em!”

photo 1-1

10.  And I’ll close with another text between my teenage daughter (miraculously not about shopping) – –  I initiated it this time!

photo 2-1

 

 

So there you have it – – My Racy Text Life.  And how’s yours these days???

 

 

“Is That Even a Thing?” (How To Talk Young Even if You’re Not!)

photo-379“Oh, it’s definitely a thing.”  The first time I heard that, I thought Tiffany, my flirtatious neighbor, was talking about an affair she started with our mailman. Seemed plausible – –  a while ago she confessed she had “a thing” for him ever since he delivered a large package.  Turns out casually remarking,”it’s a thing” has nothing to do with attraction or having sex.  It’s a way of reporting that something is now extremely popular – – a big fad.  In this case, she was confirming that you can order crazy sounding drinks off  a secret menu at Starbucks.     However if it’s such a secret, how can it be so widespread??

“No,”  I retorted to 45-year old Tiffany, who obviously thought she was so young and “with it,” she even changed her name from Theresa.  “You can DO your OWN thing.  Or drink Coca Cola.  It’s the REAL thing.   But nothing at Starbucks can be called a thing.”  She looked at me like I wore bell-bottoms and rode a bike with happy-face stickers on my banana seat.  (I used to!)  And lemme just say that I so rocked that look.

Would you still date me if I dated myself by riding this bike?

Would you still date me if I dated myself by riding this bike?

So I decided to let her know I could use the word “Thing” and be just as far-out as she was.  “Wild Thing….you make my heart sing….”  I crooned.  She stared in a mind-bending kinda way and then said, “Seriously?”

That’s when I knew I should probably brush up on my slang and talk  “hip” in such a way that nobody would ever think I could be referring to my grandmother’s serious injury if she were to fall down the stairs.  God forbid.

Miss Menopause’s Guide To Trendy Talk

(Check it out!  Hint:  That doesn’t mean you need to head to your local library.)

1.  When sitting at a red light that finally turns green, gun your motor, roll down your window to the driver next to you and yell, “We’re good to go!”  Speaking of revving motors, when (or if!) you finally feel aroused enough by your partner – – you can also excitedly whisper, “I’m good to go.”  This is more of a turn-on than pulling out little green flag from under your pillow, waving it and shouting, “Let’s do this!”  But never say any of this  during PDF.  If you don’t know that acronym, you’re beyond my help.

2.  Ever wonder what to say in a quiet elevator?  “How are you today?  Oh fine, thank you. And you?”  Meh.  So passe! (Did you catch that cool “Meh” I just threw in there?  Make good note of that one little word  You’ll see it later on.)  But seriously, as an alternative to finding out how everyone (standing in a crowded, claustrophobic, motorized little box with no place to look but the thing that tells you what floor you’re on, even though there’s only two floors) is doing today – –  just exclaim, while pointing, “Hey! I’m good.  You’re good.  He’s good.  She’s good.  We’re good.  It’s all good.  No worries!”   Note:  Nobody says “Hi” or “Hello” anymore.  For this to come off totally radical, you must start it off by saying, “Hey!”  Also, if you can sing the preceding dialogue, sort of like the old Dr. Pepper commercial, “I’m a Pepper, She’s a Pepper, He’s a Pepper, They’re a Pepper, Cher’s a Pepper, Tony Orlando’s a Pepper” (you get the idea) then you’re one step ahead of the trend!

Would you be the most "boss" in this elevator?

Would you be the most “boss” in this elevator?

3.  After you’re done conducting yourself as elaborately outlined in step #2 above, look down and just barely perceptibly, under your breath, utter the word, “Awkward!”

4.  Here’s a great way to combine two “in” words together into one sentence.   1.  Swag  and   2. Sketch   ~  This works best with artsy, interior designer types.  “Hey!  I just hung some new Swag Drapes.  Wanna come over and Sketch them?”  Have Arizona brand iced-tea ready.

5.  Remember The Twilight Zone?  (My fave episode – – the little girl who fell into her wall)  Well, nowadays you gotta work “In the Zone” into your vocabulary as much as possible.  We’re not talkin’ exploring different time zones and we’re not talkin’ football player end zones.  We’re talkin,’  “I’m totally Zoned Out, man.”  (Note:  Remember to always say, “We’re talkin'” when you’re speaking, just in case they don’t know there’s some totally sweet language coming out of your mouth.)  And now Miss Menopause is going to up your “Righteous, Rad Ratio” so you’ll always be in the Zen Zone.  Say this when someone asks you to do something you’re uncomfortable with (like reblogging this post for instance)  “Gee, I wish I could, but that’s outside of my Comfort Zone.”  Then turn around and tell the guy you just slept with last week, “Sorry Dude.  You’ve just been Friend-Zoned.”  Final Note:  Calling females “Dude” is beyond “Hip.”  Yes, my grandma is still doing fine, thank you.

6.  And now all you athletic types.  Do you bowl?  Play Bocce ball?  After you take your turn, suavely announce, “That’s just how I roll.”  If you’re not into sports, sit back, wrap up a joint of marijuana and state the same thing.

7.  Wanna really be thought of as young?  Start making even more mistakes than normal while proclaiming, “Oops….My Bad.”  You’ll be forgiven every time (without ever saying you’re sorry) – – no matter how severe your menopausal Brain Fog is.

8.  YOLO  =  You Only Live Once.   This is far too simplistic.  Whoever thought it up clearly wasn’t into creative acronyms.  Start some new lingo by shouting, YOLOBOLOPOLO  (You Only Live Once, But Offering Lovers Orgasms Pleases Old Lonely Organizers.” You’ll be especially welcomed, if you shriek this loudly in swimming pools whilst playing, “Marco Polo.”

9.  Here’s how to place your order in that chic new cafe, “I’ll have some Cool Beans smothered in Awesomesauce and make em’ Smokin!”

10.  Randomly mutter the word, “Random.”  This needs zero explanation.  Just do it.  (That’s Nike talk!)

Okay!  There you have it.  I’m even going to give you a little guide to leaving the sickest, baddest, (that means they’ll be good!) comments.

You can comment with the following:

a) Meh.  I am so over it.

b)  I’m down!

c)  I’ll give it a try.  But first….lemme take a Selfie.

BTW, You can comment with other things, too.  And I really hope you will.  So just Chillax!

She's not a Dudette.  She's still a Dude.  But she does need a chill-pill.  You're catching on!

She’s not a Dudette. She’s still a Dude. But she does need a chill-pill. You’re catching on!

 

So . . . The Dog Ate Your Email?

"I'm lost and I have important info!"

“I’m lost and I have important info!”

The glint of something oblong and shiny in the bushes caught my eye as I strolled with my dog through a nearby park.  When I bent to check it out, I was surprised to find an egg.  This wasn’t the Homeowners in my neighborhood’s idea of offering a hearty free breakfast for the residents – – No, this was a plastic remnant from an Easter Egg Hunt.  I shook the contents of the pearly pink shell and it rattled.  Hopefully those are Skittles and not M&M’s, I thought, or the insides will be a chocolate mess (we’ve had 100 degree weather since April) but when I pried it open, instead of the jelly beans, my focus became the note.

Ava:  I hope you enjoy this one last sweet treat from a Nana who loves you!

My writer’s mind went to work.   Was Ava getting too old for egg hunts?  Did she develop a serious case of diabetes?  Was Nana terminally ill?  Was this the one and only egg that contained those loving, parting words from a grandmother to her grandchild and I was the wrong person holding it?

Recently I have been both the sender and receiver of many text messages and emails that were never received.  This is a real problem with technology because you don’t realize your words are not being transmitted and you end up feeling ignored or unacknowledged.

Worse, crucial information that would have impacted an important outcome has gone missing and nobody knows it.

Once I drove two hours to pick up a child who cheerfully announced, “Thanks Mom, but I texted you earlier to let you know I already had a ride home.”

I have lost blogging jobs because I never received an email telling me I needed to submit a sample of my writing before a specific deadline.

I have sent an apology and told someone I loved them dearly only to have them proceed as if we were parting ways.  (Granted that would have been better verbalized in person, but you know us gun shy writers.)

Let’s look at how outcomes in history would be altered if certain communications had come across as they were intended.

 

DIDN’T YOU GET THE MEMO???

 

Dear Prince Charming – – I heard you found a high heel slipper at your ball.  That would be mine!  I’m going through some glandular stuff right now, so I might look a little “different” when next we rendezvous.  But rest assured . . .  that’s MY size 6 Jimmy Choo and there’s no need to send some Duke Dude with a foot fetish throughout your land, searching high and low.   See ya at our wedding!

Drizella

ps.  Beware of sooty-faced Gold-Digger girls with petite feet nicknamed Cindy.

 

Garfunkel,

I’m skipping the Scarborough Fair today.  But I’ve been thinking – – Crooning about “The Sound of Silence” makes no sense. Let’s do the piece in sign language.  Also, “Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water”   –  meh, I dunno – – really?   How about “Like a Bathmat Over Soggy Carpet, I will Lay Me Down?”  And finally, that Mrs Robinson chick is one Hot Mama!  I say we draw guitar picks to see who’s gonna be “Feelin’ Groovy” with her tonight!

Simon

 

photo-374My Darling Barbie – – As much as I love your va-va voom measurements, maybe we should give all the females in this country a break. You should probably start eating.  Outback Steakhouse at 7 pm?

Ken

 

Sonny,

Pick up a Barbie for Chastity on your way home from skiing today.  I’m thinking our daughter should be playing with dolls a little more.

Cher

 

Siskel~

We better give “Terms Of Endearment” two thumbs up.  I’ve heard that Karma can be a real bitch.

Ebert

 

Okay Peter,

Will you just grow up already?  And stop with the Flying Fad.  United Airlines offers round-trips for less than the cost of a Pirate’s Booty.  Besides, we could partner up and have a great career in Peanut Butter.  I promise to split the profits fairy fairly.

Tinkerbell

 

Shalom Dr. Seuss:

It has come to our attention you are planning on publishing a book that might mislead quite a number of children down the wrong path with its title and subject matter.  We respectfully ask you to consider “Green Eggs and Brisket” instead.

National Council of Jewish Mothers

 

Hey Abbott~

I am so over talking about baseball ad nauseam.  Let’s go bowling tonight instead.  How does that strike you?

Finally, "Hu" IS on first!

Finally, “Hu” really IS on first!

Costello

 

To Dorothy (and your little dog ToTo too!)

I don’t mean you any harm.  I’m really a Goth clothing designer and the Ruby shoes are just what I need for this new black gown I’m manufacturing.  The message in the sky was not supposed to say “Surrender Dorothy!” it was supposed to read, “Suspender Dorothy!”   My little fashion tip to you (with all that blue gingham you’ve got going on!)  Sheesh, where is the Giant Etch-a Sketch when you need to fix a Cloud Typo?  See you on Broadway in Wicked!

What a world!

Elphaba

 

Siegfried,

Just watched a Wizard of Oz rerun – – “Lions and TIGERS and bears….Oh My God!”

Roy

 

Adam & Eve,

Forgot to mention that Apples are now on the Dirty Dozen List of produce and should only be eaten if they are certified USDA Organic or with the skin peeled.  To be safe, I’d pass on all of ’em.   And talking Serpents?  In what whose Universe??

Your One & Only,

God

 

Our Beloved Snow White,

We have a feeling you need to study your bible more, particularly looking into the Adam and Eve skit referenced above.  An Apple is always a metaphor for something bad.  We’re working late in the mine tonight and don’t plan on building any glass coffins to stand watch over a maiden, no matter how pale her skin – – So don’t wait up for us.  Sleep well.

The Seven Dwarfs

 

This Easter Egg didn't have my name on it...

This Easter Egg didn’t have my name on it…

Oh, and it was with great sentimentality that I posted a “Lost & Found” notice on our neighborhood bulletin board to see if I could return the wayward Easter Egg to the poor little ill-fated Ava or her affectionate (but not long for this world) Nana.  I left my cell number so they could message me.

This morning an acne-faced teenage girl showed up on my doorstep making sure I knew I could eat all those Jelly Beans myself.   It was too late for her.  She has a full set of braces now.

I never got that text.

How has a lost email/text or missed voicemail messed up your life?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Blog Only a Mother Could Love?

 

Both Mom and WordPress will make you feel guilty that this cake is not very creative!

Both Mom and WordPress will make you feel guilty that this cake is not very creative!

Ways WordPress And Mothers Are Alike:

1. PRESSURE!    WordPress(ure?) sends me these “naggy little reminder” notifications when I have not met my “One Published Post Per Week” goal.  They sound like this,  “Uh Oh.  Have you forgotten something? It’s been a while since you’ve published anything new!”  Yet, just like Mom, WordPress never acknowledges when I’ve far exceeded those expectations (four posts in a week?!)  C’mon a little extra love?  Cookies and Milk before bed?  Grrrr,  Just like Mom – -always quick to point out that one darn B+  even though the rest were straight A’s.

2.  BARE NECESSITIES!    WordPress lets you have the basics for free but you’ll have to pay extra for any custom designs to make your blog uniquely yours.  Mom provided room and board and three square meals a day, but if you wanted to go to Disneyland or shop at Nordstrom, those “life upgrades” were gonna cost ya!

3.  REWARDS!   Remember sticker charts?  If you kept your room clean for a week, you got taken out for ice-cream?  Well, we all know that WordPress offers the chance to be “Freshly Pressed.”  But darn it, I’ve emptied the trash, dusted and vacuumed hundreds of times on my blog . . . and my only reward has been having my allergies clear up.  So WordPress – –  If you’re gonna dangle the “Freshly Pressed Carrot”  – – be clear in the steps we need to take to finally reach it.

4.  SELF-DOUBT!   Before I did anything even slightly risky, my mother had some applicable, yet tragic horror story to deter me or make me think twice about my abilities.  “Go ahead, ride your bike in bad weather.  Lisa Carter rode her 10-speed in the rain two weeks ago and now all that’s left of her is a soggy pair of size 3 Keds strapped to her bike pedals.  Is that what you want??”  On WordPress, when I am just about to delete something, up pops a little window with what I like to call a “Lisa Carter Warning Message,” It says, “Are You Sure You Want To Do That?”photo-359

5.  CONTEMPLATION!    WordPress features “The Daily Post,” which offers different Weekly Challenges. They are fun and rewarding opportunities for writing.  i.e. “Think About a Time When You Did Something So Terrific, Everyone Cheered For You.”  or  “How Has Blogging Helped You Stay Out of Therapy?”  Whereas Your mother issued some Weekly Challenges that maybe weren’t quite as fun or rewarding. “You Just Think About What You Did Wrong and By The Time I Come Back Into Your Room, You Better Have a Handwritten Apology!”   And of course your mom is the one who single-handedly drove you into therapy.

6.  ENRICHMENT!  WordPress offers a variety of themes with lots of ways to showcase your talent.  Some play up your photography skills, others emphasize your writing more prominently.  Still more themes can help you start a business or heighten your salesmanship skills with products.  Mom read books to you, enrolled you in summer camps and gave you voice lessons so you could become a more well-rounded person.  (But I’m still waiting for someone to ask me to play, “You’re a Grand Old Flag” at a social get-together – – My Mom promised me piano lessons would make me popular at parties.)

7.  LOVE!  WordPress gave birth to all the rest of our millions of online Siblings (our Followers!) and helps us stay connected to each other by holding daily Family Reunions (The Reader).  WordPress also encourages our cyber brothers and sisters to continue to offer us support and attention by leaving kind comments.  Sure, there’s gonna be some sibling rivalry reflected in those comments (Mom likes My Poetry Best . . .  so mmmnyeah!) and some “sticking out your tongue” remarks  (Ha Ha, I have more followers than you. Check out my stats.  Made ya look!!) but overall there’s lotsa WordPress Love to go around.

8.  PUNISHMENT!    “You march right into your “Log-In” window, sign on, and write one final farewell post.  And you better make it good because from now on, you’re suspended from all your WordPress blogging privileges until further notice.  You’re lucky I’m giving you a chance to say Goodbye.  Some other Blogging Websites will shut you down for violations you’re not even aware of.  And you lose every single one of your posts! FOR LIFE.   Now don’t you take that typing tone with me, Bloggy Boy.  When I was your age, we had to write in tedious diaries.  With real tiny silver keys. And we had to turn the heavy pages, both ways, with only one finger. Next time you’ll think twice before you disobey Mama WordPress!”

Dear  WordPress – – I hope you enjoyed this post.  Because I did NOT get you a bouquet of roses this year.

Love, Little Miss Menopause

“LOOK MA!  NO HANDS!”

Don't worry - - BOTH hands are on the keyboard at all times!

Don’t worry – – BOTH hands are on the keyboard at all times!