Don’t let sleeping blogs lie, either. It’s time to blow, err blog everyone’s mind with your fantastic writing. But that means getting your blog out there beyond just WordPress. I’ve learned that blog promotion isn’t just optional, it’s obligatory oblogatory! But you know me, I’m not going to just repeat all the traditional, conventional ways you’ve heard before to make your blog’s presence known. Click HERE to read my ten UNIQUE tips which are featured on a very wonderful site called Mostly Blogging. If you don’t — well it just might always be a “blog eat blog world” out there for you, my friend.
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Could Captain Von Trapp & Maria Be Headed For Divorce?
Therapist: 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!”
The Phantom of The Cellphone!
“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!
The 6 Stages of Blogging We All Recognize and Relate To!
Yes, we’re familiar with those famous 5 stages of grief and loss (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) from our psych 101 classes, but did you know there are specific phases you pass thru when becoming a blogger too?
DENIAL— Oh c’mon, it’s not like it’s an official blog that I care about. I mean it was never an intentional goal. WordPress was free and I thought to myself, ‘who writes anything down with pen and paper anymore?’ So a pretty little text box happened to pop open and I typed some thoughts into it to reread when I needed help falling asleep. One day, my children got into a wrestling match next to my computer and one of them bumped my hand on the mouse and it clicked “publish.” That’s all it ever was. I’m an Accidental Author. But if you like my posts, then yes, I am a Certified Blogger.
ANGER – Those other bloggers think they’re all so smart. What is this, high school all over again with those same exclusive cliques that think they can exclude me and ignore my very existence? So what if I don’t fit in with the “Mommy Bloggers” the “Food Writers” or the “Politics Penmanship People?” I don’t need a special Blogging Tribe anyhow. All those fancy fake Followers and their “maybe I’ll drop-in and check out your blog some time” phoniness, and those other designer name-brand Commenters? I’m just as good as them, they’ll see. Soon they’ll come begging for me to stop moderating their comments and post them immediately because my blog will be the happening hangout for the In-Crowd, baby! I’ll show them, I’ll show everyone.
BARGAINING — Hey fellow blogger! I was thinking you could write a guest post on my blog because well, because you’re so utterly fascinating. And just perhaps (because you have an established online presence) maybe some of your fans would stick around and read some other stuff that I’ve written? How does that sound? Hello?? “Dear Humor blogger, this post of yours is just hysterical! I’m reposting your link everywhere, tweeting it, pinning it, stumbling it, tumbling it, mumbling it, fumbling it, jumbling it, bumbling it, and yes even sharing it on Facebook. Plus printing it out on cocktail napkins for my next dinner party. Isn’t that nice of me? I’m just naturally generous in that way. My blog? Oh, well if you insist. It’s really not necessary but I think having a nice balance of give and take is what makes the blogosphere go round, don’t you?” Dear God – – If you just let my stats go over 20 views today, I’ll bring my entire family to church this weekend. Even though we’re Jewish.
FEAR — I just know that last post I put out there was the stupidest thing ever written in the history of blogging-kind. Oh my god, what was I thinking doing a shtick called The Bloscars which was supposed to be a parody of “The Oscars?” Nobody is even entering my contest and I’ll be laughed out of the Blogosphere. Not because I’m so humorous, but because I’m a fool and I never think before I impulsively click “publish.” And there’s no taking it back now, that sucker got forwarded to both my subscriber’s emails. There goes my one chance to turn blogging into a lucrative writing career and now I’m getting old and I’ll have to go back to waitressing and be one of those women with varicose veins and support hose, with a name-tag that says, “Flo” and who shouts, “Put Adam & Eve on a raft and wreck ’em!” to a cranky chef in Mel’s Diner.
HOPE — Someone just commented that I made them laugh so hard, they need a Depends undergarment. That’s pretty gross but very flattering! Oh my god. Maybe they are an agent. Or they have an Uncle who is an agent. You never know. Just think, they read my post and then exclaimed, “Those words! That grammar and punctuation! I must have more! Who is this person? I’m gonna find them and make them THE NEXT ERMA BOMBECK!” Gosh, I really need to put my contact info on my blog. I could miss being discovered all because I’m paranoid that a telemarketer will call me up and try and sell me a magazine subscription to Good Housekeeping. Why, I could be the actual author of the article featured on the cover of Good Housekeeping. I love Good Housekeeping. And poor telemarketers are only doing their job. That’s it, I’m putting my phone number on my blog in a prominent place right now.
ACCEPTANCE – – You’re a blogger too? There suddenly seems to be a lot of us out there now, aren’t there? I guess I’ve resigned myself to realizing that it’s highly competitive and it’ll never be much more than a hobby. Hmmm, well it’s fun, right? Of course right! We can form a support group for realistic bloggers who came to terms with their mediocrity. But we still get to go to blogging conferences. Hey, that’s it — we’ll meet in real life! Wouldn’t that be something to tell our children? Your parents met at a Writer’s Retreat where daddy got the wrong badge and went around all weekend with people calling him, “Little Miss Menopause.” And when he returned it to your mommy, we fell in love instantly. Hey, that’s kind of a unique story. It would make a great novel. And it will get adapted into a screenplay like Gone Girl. A romantic comedy, I think they call that a rom-com? We’ll be famous, but don’t worry because I’ll write a humorous acceptance speech for The Oscars so they won’t play us off with music like they did to Leonardo Dicaprio. Eh, The Oscars or The Bloscars, what’s the difference?? The latter is far more clever and unique. (Yep, there’s soon to be a 7th stage of blogging called, “Cockiness”)
REMINDER: TODAY’S THE DEADLINE TO ENTER THE BLOSCARS AND WIN AMAZON GIFT CARDS!
The Bloscars (Oscars For Blogs!) Are Back! (With Giveaways!)
C’mon, admit it — You watched the Oscars ceremony last night while obsessing aloud, “Why can’t Little Miss Menopause do her Bloscar awards just one more time so I can win something??” This will be the 3rd year in a row I’ve featured a giveaway and you can ask the past winners if it’s worth their time to enter. But when you ask them, remind them that their Amazon gift card prize can also be used to order my book, Lullabies & Alibis just as easily as some ugly household decor item.
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, “looking 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?
THE CEREMONY FLUFF, TIME WASTERS & A PRIZE!
Welcome! First of all – – instead of Chris Rock selling Thin Mints and other assorted Girl Scout Cookies, you’re stuck with me selling my home baked Bloatmeal, Blog Newtons, SnickerBloggle, and Tollhouse Blocolate Blip Blookies. Sorry.
Inject your Favorite Opening Dance Sequence right here to the left. Bloggers usually have two left feet so we’ll just insert a 405 Error message over this part.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we need to talk about how it was mainly white people who got nominated for awards for the last two years and why people of color were snubbed from The Oscars. This will conveniently lead to our next contest — The People Of Collar Contest! That’s right! Collared people will never be excluded from The Bloscars! As proof of that, we’re having a separate honorary category. So to win this one you need to feature your favorite button-down shirt (sorry no tees, tanks or camisoles) and show off that gorgeous, freshly ironed, starched collar. Winner chosen for creative display of a collared shirt and will receive an Amazon gift card to buy a non-geeky shirt! Deadline and instructions are the same as the below Selfie Photo Contest.
And yes, just like when Ellen hosted the Oscars, 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 Author!) 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 below 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 March 7th to post your Selfie photos and a winner will be picked and their 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! (Imagine an orchestra of keyboard typing in unison rising in crescendo 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.
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 the spelling of “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 and People of Collar 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’s Pajamas 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 Freshly Pressed: And if they never got Freshly Pressed, then they should;ve been. But did you know it’s too late now? They’ve changed that here on WordPress. You can nominate yourself now. Check it out!
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 of the contests above (Selfie, Song or People Of Collar!) and we’ll see you next year at the BLOSCARS! Also if you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Barbie Became Jewish (besides having her Barb-Mitzvah) or you just enjoy my bizarre humor, please go RIGHT HERE and leave me a comment. But if you do leave a remark, pretend you don’t know me and that I’m not offering prizes on my blog so the editors will think I have lots of legit fans. 😉
Panties . . . Inciting an Uproar? Or Just Uproarious Laughter?
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.
How To Be “SUPER” Popular At a Super Bowl Sunday Party! (even if you don’t know football)
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?
I Still Hate Hugging!
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)
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.
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.
10) Hugs let someone know you care without having to say a word! So does a well-written Hallmark card.According to Dacher Keltner, professor of psychology at University of California, Berkeley, we can identify love from simple human touch. Well I’d like to suggest they study how much love a big VIRTUAL hug can communicate!
Am I alone in feeling that hugs should be reserved for your worst enemies so you can measure how large to dig the holes in your backyard that you’re gonna bury them in? Who did you allow to hug you today??
How Being Obsessive (and taking acting lessons!) Ruins Sex Roleplaying!
“A French Maid? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And clean your own damn apartment with that fru-fru feather thingy!” I said, slamming the door. That was my response to my college boyfriend’s suggestion on how we should spice-up our sex life.
Why did he need me to pretend to be someone else? How insulting! Truth be known, if you were shy like me, fantasy role-playing felt super awkward. Fast forward to a time I got involved in community theater and suddenly I saw “risqué make-believe” in a whole new light. The stage-light, that is. Oscar winning performance, here I come!
The following are highlights from some of the meatier roles I’ve sunk my teeth into over the years. (Note: I mostly had the same male co-star.)
Lonely Housewife and Repairman (okay, nothing was actually broken and The Maytag Man seemed too predictable, so I suggested he be a chimney sweep instead.) As he surveyed my filthy fireplace with his poised broom, I sashayed in wearing a negligee, holding graham crackers and a wire coat hanger with a white cottonball on the end (my marshmallow-roasting prop). “Would you like S’more?” I asked, fluttering my false eyelashes. He stammered, “Some more? I haven’t even had any,” then abruptly lunged for my breasts. “Cut!!” I yelled. “Just a minute, Buster. You forgot to say ‘Yet.’ Your line should be, I haven’t had any YET.” I angrily tossed a handful of black soot into his surprised face while humming, “Chim Chim Cher-Ee” from Mary Poppins and exited stage left.
Hitchhiker On The Road: (The street we chose was very realistic, although I got a lot of gawking from other motorists (I should probably mention that unbeknownst to boyfriend, I had decided to roleplay a Hooker-Hitchhiker.) I giggled when I saw the limousine slow down, wishing I were a fly on the wall when my guy directed the unsuspecting chauffeur to pull over. “What’s your name?” my boyfriend’s eyes widened with surprise at my black lace stockings, as he asked the question we’d rehearsed. “What do you want it to be?” I breathed huskily, sliding in next to him in the backseat. “I appreciate this whole seduction thing you got going on here, but let me give you a tip. I’m a sure thing,” I loudly continued. The limo-driver stared at me in the rear-view mirror. For extra measure I added, “In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight.” Driver’s jaw dropped, finally recognizing I’ve been quoting Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman. But slow Boyfriend still clueless so at the red light I directed my next line toward the front seat. “I was in here yesterday. You wouldn’t wait on me. You people work on commission, right?” Driver nodded. “Mistake. Big mistake. Huge mistake. I have to go shopping now!” I flounced out of the vehicle, leaving both men staring after me flabbergasted.
High School English Professor: Crossing my 45-year-old legs while perched atop my desk, I observed him excitedly eyeing my short skirt as it rose up my shapely thighs. Perfect! And now for his assignment. Conjugate the words “fellatio” and “cunnilingus” into verbs for all 6 tenses, including singular past perfect in both the active and passive voices, then write me a 65-page essay on why oral sex was banned in the middle ages. Cranky without my morning coffee, I promptly headed to the teacher’s lounge, (my kitchen) leaving him to ponder how such a wild sexual fantasy could turn out so grueling and possibly lower his GPA.
Innocent School Girl: Aha! Same boyfriend (as above) thought he could outsmart me into having sex, this time turning the tables with a role-play reversal that put him in charge as the teacher. But when he leered at me I let out a piercing scream, kicked him in the groin with my little white patent-leather Mary Janes, and proceeded to report him to Child Protective Services (and the PTA) using my cellphone.
Sexy Nurse in All White: While I fastened my satin garter belts, my very male “patient” sauntered in and started inadvertently sneezing, which wasn’t in our script. Pulling out a thermometer, I lectured, “Sorry, but I’m in my best friend’s wedding this weekend and can’t risk getting sick. I’m not touching any part of you until you get a flu shot, buddy. Understand?”
Porn Star: He finally got wise, appointing himself Executive Producer in this next roleplay so he could unleash my wannabe acting skills on a real “casting couch.” At my audition, he gave me a lengthy screen test, had me pose for racy photos, then directed me to read my lines extra seductively. But just as I was actually getting turned on, contemplating if my Adult Film Star name should be “Anita Diamond” or “Candy Barr,” he hollered, “Quiet on the set!” That was my cue to inquire if I had gotten the part? “Don’t call us. We’ll call you,” he responded. Next thing I knew, a gorgeous, busty blonde bombshell strolled in, just as a giant metal hook yanked me offstage. Obviously my boyfriend had enough of my role-playing shenanigans and called in my understudy. Hmmmph. Lights, Camera, but no action.
Are you ready for your close-up? Do you think role-playing is sexy or just silly?
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This Blog Hijacked By Truth-Tellers!
17-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!)
- 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.
- She always runs the faucet full blast, coughs loudly, or stamps her feet so nobody can hear her using the bathroom.
- She’s convinced there’s someone around who is intent on listening to her peeing.
- She marks a line on the ice-cream carton, trying to catch our babysitter in the act.
- She’s actually the one who binge eats the Rocky Road.
- 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.
- She’s obsessed with the differences between the words “splattered” and “spattered.”
- 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?”
- She’ll flirt with magicians so they’ll divulge their secrets because she can’t stand not knowing something.
- 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….
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.
Once Upon Your Prime 