Tag Archives: Humor

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?

 

I’m Normally Not Such a Busybody!

photo 1-3Today I got bored  eavesdropping on other people and decided to tune into myself for a change.  My Body, to be exact.  It has a lot to say.  So, won’t you join me and we can listen in together?

Body Language

Left Breast: She hates us. Have you read this?  It’s her “Breast-O  Manifesto.” It’s only a matter of time before she tries to shrink us again with Reduction Surgery. I say we Kill her first. Wage a Preemptive Strike.

Right Breast: I’m cold and feeling a bit “nippy” right now.  I’ll read it later when my goosebumps are gone.

Left Breast: But we must stay abreast of this woman’s body hatred before it’s too late!  The Abdomen alleges that war was declared over bathing-suit season and the oblique muscles were nearly Crunched to death.  Doing 100 a day.   We can’t be stupid about it, either. If we strike aggressively with Breast Cancer, everyone will know it was us. Let’s think about using a couple of Hit Men. Literally – – A stealthy pair.  But not breasts. . . a pair of Hands.

Right Breast:  No, not the Hands, although God knows they have too much Time on them.  Let’s keep this a female thing.  I’ll speak with the Cervix and the Uterus to see what their entire region’s thoughts are about waging a “Woman problem” type of attack.  If it’s done discreetly, there won’t be any eyewitnesses who can finger the Vagina in a line-up.

Eyes:  Someone mention an EYEwitness?   Make no mistake, we see it all.  There’s no lashes aflutter here.  Our gaze is piercing.

Ears:  Piercing!  Seriously?   She shoulda listened to that mother of hers who said, “If God intended for you to wear earrings, you woulda been born with holes in your head.” Ouch!! But nobody hears anything anymore.  It’s all that rap music.  Hey Four Eyes, you got nothing to complain about.

Eyes:  Who you calling “Four Eyes?”  We look at the world thru a new lens now.  It’s a Contact sport these days, E.T.

Ears:  Oh yeah?  Well what’s with the “E.T?”  It’s Eustachian Tube to you.    Just don’t go around saying “Piercing” when you don’t know what it really means.  Stick to keeping your eyes peeled.

Eyes:  Well I never!  That’s some way to refer to the “Window of the Soul.”

Ears:  LOOK whose talking!  Some body organs can be so touchy.

Left Hand:  Did someone say “touchy?”  I didn’t want to let that one slip thru my fingers. My biggest complaint right now is that she keeps letting her 12 year old daughter do her manicures.  Do you have any idea how sick of blue sparkles I am?

Elbow:  Obviously the Left Hand doesn’t know what the Right Hand is doing.  Look!  It’s completely polish-free!

Right Hand: (sheepishly)  Peeled it off.  I go to a 12 step-program for that.  I’m a Peeler.   It’s a bad addiction.

Elbow:  Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. You just need to apply a little elbow grease.  Besides, we all know who has the worst habits around here and makes your fingernails so raggedy and jaggedy.  Our Biggest Offender.  Just can’t stop biting and nibbling. No Siree.

Nose:  Please keep it down.  As you’re all aware, I have to reside just above our Biggest Offender and you took the words right outa my . . .  Well, let’s not even go there.  Saying her name will surely only make her ______ water even more.   And then there will be more food shoveled in.  And I’m not talking Food for Thought, either.  So don’t bother mentioning this to The Brain.   All the problems that chatty body part brings to the rest of us just sets my teeth on edge!  I’d really like to put a zipper on it when she shoots her ______ off like that.   And if another morsel goes in anytime soon, we’re all gonna pay through the nose.  It doesn’t make any scents, I tell you!  But I apologize for getting my nose outa joint over this whole issue.

Eyes:  That’s right, you don’t wanna cut yourself off just to spite your face!  And we shouldn’t be looking down our nose at anyone else either.  Just keep yourself to the grindstone, eh?

Abdomen: But it’s true – – The nose knows!  I’d rather have butterflies in me than some of the stuff that passes through those lips.  I simply cannot stomach it anymore.  I’m all tied up in knots.  And really, do you see our Biggest Offender ever paying the price for its own actions?  Doing any exercise at all?  It should put it’s money where it’s _____ is.  Because a moment on the lips is forever on the hips.  And I speak for the Hips because they’re exhausted from the Stair Climber she made them endure just this morning.

Thighs: Oh C’mon, Little Tummy.  You can’t speak for Hips.  You know Hips, Butt and us Thighs operate as a complete lower body team.  And quit standing up for the Nose.  You don’t have a leg to stand on where this issue is concerned.  Nobody pays thru the nose.  It’s the limbs who pay.  It costs us an arm and a leg when she goes on one of her fitness kicks. We thought we’d fully recovered once Suzanne Somers retired that crazy contraption from infomercials. But nooooo, then she had to go and take up jogging.  There’s no relaxing now.  Jeeze, we can’t even get our “foot in the door” at Massage Envy.

Nose:  Wow, you sure put your foot in your MOUTH with that little speech.  OMG.  I said it.  I just slipped.   I said that body part . . . I’m so sorry.

MOUTH:  That’s right, Nose.  Someone sure has a big MOUTH around here.  And I’ve heard everything now.

Elbows:  Well, shut my Mouth. As I live and breathe, you took a break from the chewing. And the spewing.

MOUTH:  What’d I ever do to you?  You’re perfectly slender.  There are no exercises for an elbow to do.   And it’s not like I’m spewing bad nicknames at you – – like Muffin Top or Thunder Thighs.   Why you’re practically her favorite body part.photo 2-9

Elbow:  Listen to this.  As if butter wouldn’t melt in your _____.  Quit foaming at the ______, Oh, forget this.  I’m gonna go rub Elbows with the Knees.

MOUTH: Alright, alright everyone.  Right now, it may look as though I’m the culprit.  But I’m no Motor Mouth.  I speak in turn. It’s true I might be a Smart Mouth, but at least I wasn’t born with a Silver Spoon.  I don’t talk out of both my sides.   But nothing leaves a bad taste in me more than being talked about behind my Back.

Back:  Don’t even start, you spineless wimp.  Just Back off.

MOUTH:  Alright, alright.  I know when my back is against the wall.  It’s true.  I DO wreak havoc on y’all.  Sometimes I say things I don’t mean.  I can’t take them back.  Then I eat to numb the pain.  But it’s not like when we were younger.  Nobody’s washing me out with soap anymore.  Nobody’s fixing my meals and monitoring my Sweets.  I’m on my own.  It’s a lot of Lip Service, I tell you.  Not to mention when tragedy befalls us all, I’m the one tries to keep a stiff upper lip. 

Feet:  That’s a whole lotta tongue-in-cheek.  You don’t have to just grin and bear it.   It’s not your fault, Mouth – –  so don’t get cold feet.

Back:  Think on your feet, Man.  We’re trying to get Mouth to wipe that smile off her face.  And own up to things.

Feet:  Look, Mouth is just a mouthpiece.  I don’t mean to be punny, but it’s our Sole Soul that’s got some issues that are more than just skin deep.  Yet for now, she manages to stand on her own two feet, keeps her feet planted firmly on the ground, and last I looked, she’s not six feet under and doesn’t have one foot in the grave either.  So just give her a break.   She’s just eating.  And speaking.   If the shoe were on the other foot, wouldn’t we all just want to put our best foot forward?   I’m just sayin’.

Brains:  Honestly I’ve racked myself for days now.  And I know Soul has done a lot of deep searching as well.  But until we join forces together for an entire Mind, Body, Soul connection, we’re never going to be anybody.

All Together:  We don’t want to be just Any Body.  We want to be Somebody.  Somebody special.

Neck: Then why don’t we stop focusing on ourselves and start Sticking our Neck out for others?

And that’s when I really began to listen more intently  – – because I knew that at last . . .  the right questions were finally getting asked.

Sorry, the rest of the conversation is kinda private – – After all, in the end – – we all must answer only to ourselves.

photo 3-4 But if you’re still only into “The Physical,” here you go – – have a listen below!

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

Mel:  Mickey 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!”

Blogging For Fun & Profit! $1 Per Pun? C’mon . . . Get Off It!

My conference badge and blog biz card. I ordered them for free, thus the cupcake motif.

My conference badge and blog biz card. I ordered them for free, thus the cupcake motif.

The big Buzzword at the recent 2014 BlogHer conference was “Monetize!”  There was a distinct glamorization of those “Professional Busy Career Bloggers” who earn dollars versus the rest of us “Hobbyists” who play a couple rounds of “Bloggy” in between washing and drying the dishes.

Everywhere you looked in the Grand Ballroom of the Convention center, you’d spy hundreds of circular white-cloth tables filled with starving writers, (and not necessarily for scrambled eggs!) confidently passing their Blog’s business cards to one another, along with the butter.

An empty table at lunch? They must all be out making lotsa money on their blogs!

What? An empty table at lunch? They must all be out making big bucks on their blogs!

“Don’t ever write for free!”  OR  “Make your words work for you!”  AND  “Your Blog is Your Goldmine!” were quotes tossed around in every lecture, workshop or keynote speech, as we women linked arms and nodded passionately, our self-esteems and sense of worth skyrocketing in a frenzied crescendo with every success story told. If a picture is worth a 1,000 words, what could each 1,000 word post on our blogs be worth??

We were then unleashed into the Expo arena where hundreds of sponsors and vendors in colorful booths promised us lots of Swag.

“But how many pairs of velvet Drapes can I possibly hang up in my living room?” I asked my newly introduced blogger friend.  Swag?  Maybe they would teach us how to walk and talk cool?  After all, possessing “Swag,” was something my teenagers always aspired to have.  But it turned out “Swag” was none other than “Stuff.”  Lotsa stuff.  And there were even “Swag Hags” — women who hoarded all the free products, prizes, samples, and merchandise they could Snag into their Swag-Bag so they could Brag, which was actually kind of a Drag.

The idea was to hype these products/companies on our blogs so everyone profits.

Somebody got addicted to "wheel spinning."

“Somebody” got addicted to “wheel spinning.”

You could spin a wheel to "Win Swag!"

You could spin a wheel to “Win Some Swag!”

This is unnecessary Swag for someone who bites their nails when nervous.

This is unnecessary “Swag” for someone who bites her nails when nervous.

“But I don’t want my “Once Upon Your Prime” site to turn into a commercial advertisement?” I lamented to my new dollar-eyed friend who suggested discreetly weaving a promotion into one of my typical daily posts.  Oh sure . . .

Hey Readers! Today I woke up with a “Sorry Dear, Not last night, I had a headache,” pounding in my forehead. But thank goodness on my night table was a bottle of Tylenol Extra Strength caplets – – the painkiller hospitals use most.  “All day strong, all day long.”  Next I slid into my Levi jeans because quality never goes out of style.  Then I proceeded to pop some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls into the toaster since nothing says lovin’ like something from the oven!

Um, No thank you!

Instead I set about thinking up alternative, creative ways my everyday writing could make some money.  The best place to start was close to home.

 Little Miss Menopause’s Ideas of How to Monetize Everything In Sight With What You Write

1.  Grocery lists.  They can have a catchy title, a byline, a tell-all exposé  kinda feel, with an unpredictable twist ending!  i.e. . .

Walmart’s Worthwhile Witticisms

by Little Miss Menopause

  • 1/2 lb Wild caught salmon (Mercury in our fish supply is killing America’s Families!)
  • Loreal Preference Fade Defying Hair Color (Friends speculate – – Can Botox be far behind for this mundane housewife?
  • Chips Ahoy cookies (Can I fool the PTA into thinking they’re home baked?)
  • Kitty Litter (and our cat died 8 years ago . . . how’s that for a cliffhanger??)

2.  The scrawled messages I scotch tape to my kids sandwiches when I pack their backpacks. 

“Have a great day and good luck on math test!”  Copyright 2014  $12.95

DAUGHTER:  Mommy, why is there a price tag on the note you wrote along with my peanut butter & jelly?

ME:  Sorry, Sweetie.  But haven’t you ever heard, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch!?”

3.  Love Note to my Guy Traced in the Dust on His Car Windshield

BOYFRIEND:  “How come it says “Simon & Schuster’s Brand New Release” after “I love you” on my Honda?

ME:  Oh I get it.  You’re implying my stuff isn’t good enough for a big, traditional publishing house?  I should just stick to a small press.

BOYFRIEND:  Publishing?  Huh?  And why are your romantic sentiments a dollar cheaper in Canada than the USA?

ME:   Aha!  I see.  You think I should just give it away for free, don’t you?  “A man will Never buy a Hardcover book if he thinks he can keep getting paperbacks from his local librarian!!”

(Looks suspiciously at me, as if he knows I’m rehearsing for a soundbite.)

BOYFRIEND:  (sidling up to me) Well, can she be the kind of librarian who whips off her nerdy glasses, let’s down her prim hairdo, then becomes Va Va Boom Sexy Lexi and jumps my bones?

ME:  Never mind that.  My writing is worth a lot. You’ll see.  And who the hell is Lexi??

4.  The Baby Scrapbook I Diligently Kept.  Hey, it didn’t write itself, ya know?  My firstborn was a colicky character, therefore this was an amazing Best Yeller Seller with five subsequently written Page Turning Sequels.  You’ll simply drool (just like the six-month-old protagonist did!) over the “Learns to Crawl and Walk Early!” chapters.  Ladies Home Journal says, “This is a Must-Have series for anyone’s private bookshelf collection!”

5.  Any Recipes (that I haphazardly jot down onto note cards and manage to file) for fowl.  Top dollar for all my Rock Cornish Game Hen, Buffalo Chix Wings or Grilled Chix Tenders recipes.  Hey, we’re talking Classic “Chick Lit!” here.  Well-read females ages 28-42 eat this stuff up!

6.  All hand-written notes to teachers – – (Market as Tear-Jerker Mysteries)

Please excuse Eliza from P.E. today as her menopausal mother washed her white gym shorts with the red bath towels.

7.  All letters cleverly composed from the Tooth Fairy, Santa Clause, Easter Bunny, and any “Congratulations on Your Straight ‘A’ Report Card, You Just Earned a Trip to Disneyland plus $10 a week extra allowance!” greeting cards. (market as Fairytale, Fantasy, Folklore, and the last one as Humor. Note:  Distribute “Buy one, get 2nd half-off!”coupons under pillows and X-mas trees.

8.  All Forms I tediously fill out daily – –  This includes all paper work given to me on Physician Clipboards, Insurance Claims, Income Tax Filings, Driver’s License Applications, Job Resumes and Sweepstakes Entries – – From here on in, these get touted as my newly released Suspense/Thriller/Horror novels.  Stephen King has nothing on me, baby!  (Bonus Section will include dedications and acknowledgments. i.e.  “The author wishes to thank Dr. Spanky, the best gynecologist ever, for always warming his speculum.”

9.  Misc Notes:  Clearance Sale! New markdowns on all written material that gets tacked on my front door for Gardeners, Babysitters, Neighbors, and the Postman!  UPDATED SPECIAL:  I will be holding autographed signings Monday Nights at Barnes & Noble bookstore for my highly acclaimed, “Sorry I hit your back bumper.  Can you call me so we can settle this for cash?  My husband will kill me if our premiums go up” Post-It Stickies.

10. Witty Facebook/Blog Comments & My Funny Texts:  These go for a premium now.  Have you any idea the time I spend leaving remarks on my friend’s Facebook alone?  Sheesh!  My brilliant Op-Ed pieces will go for top dollar.  But day-old, “Nice pic” Or “Many happy returns” snippets are now 25% off.  As for the days when I opt to text you – – haven’t you heard?  I’m a Syndicated Texter now (read here!) and it’ll cost you $19.95 for the first 40 characters.  PayPal will be graciously accepted.

But just as I gleefully began to add up all the money I would be raking in from the above 10 Real Life-Writing Monetization Ideas, I encountered a major glitch in the system. Family and Friends have now informed me of THEIR new policy — For anything I write from here on in, a steep Reading Fee will be instituted.   Seems they think their time is worth something, too.  Hmmph.   I guess we’ll just always be a Break-Even Household.

Tempting, very tempting....

Tempting, very tempting….

At night, signs like this appeared by the elevators, inviting you to "After Hours Parties." I was afraid I would stumble into the "Twilight Blog Zone" so I went straight to my room instead.

During BlogHer conference evenings, signs like this appeared by the elevators, inviting you to “After Hours Parties.” I was afraid I would stumble into the “Twilight Blog Zone” so I went straight to my room instead.

 

My Submission blown up pretty big because it was 1 of 25 Voices of The Year in the Humor category.

My Submission was blown up pretty big because it was 1 of 25 Voices of The Year in the Humor category. Thank you BlogHer!

 

Everyone else had nice, classy blog biz cards.

Everyone else had nice, classy blog biz cards.

I'm 5 ft. 6" so this thing was definitely tall. To ship it home cost hundreds of dollars. :-( It coulda made a nice doggy barricade.

I’m 5 ft. 6″ so this thing was definitely tall. To ship it home cost hundreds of dollars. 😦 It coulda made a nice doggy barricade.

 

The Doctor Is In – – But I’m Out… (of my mind!)

formeAll my adult life I have dealt with a debilitating disorder – – it’s called, “Tell & Show Syndrome.”  Someone will TELL me about a new rare disease and WHAM! – – all the signs of it SHOW up throughout my body.

To say I am highly suggestible is an understatement.  I can read an article in a woman’s magazine entitled, “10 Symptoms You’re Too Shy Too Discuss With Your Male Doctor (But You Should Before It’s Too Late!)”  ~ Immediately I have all 10 plus 4 bonus ones the author wasn’t imaginative enough to think of.  Fear and panic overtakes all my shyness.  I’m gonna grab that Male Doctor right by his shirt color – – I might even consider going to Second base with him for a Second opinion.

I do have a regular physician I call several times a week, and I’m sure the nurses give him messages that go like this – –

“That hypochondriac lady (who resembles a very menopausal Amy Winehouse, minus the tattoos) is on the phone again.  Today she claims when she walks, it feels like thumbtacks/paperclips are poking her feet. Should we advise her to proceed directly to the local office supply store?”

Instead I go to my beloved online medical information mecca – – “The Web MD.”

First of all, it never occurs to me that the word “Web” in their name is a subtle symbolic tip-off that I should stay far, far away.  Let’s think about this, shall we?  Who has webbed feet?  Ducks!  And what do ducks say?  “QUACK!”  Hello??

But this does not deter me from typing, “thumbtacks sticking feet” into the symptom-checker box and obtaining The Diagnosis From Hell.  Four horrific diagnoses, actually.  One relates to my Brain, one relates to my Heart, another to my Lungs, and the final one to my Stomach.   Interestingly, none of the diseases have anything to do with Feet. And all are extremely fatal.

Having gotten C +’s in my Deductive Reasoning classes in high school, I know it isn’t possible that I am afflicted with ALL four of these maladies. That’s only logical, right?  So which one should I eliminate?

Next I do what I always do at 2:00 in the morning – – I log onto a hospital patient message board and post about my situation, asking if someone “out there” has ever experienced a symptom like this but everything turned out to be completely fine?   I stare for hours at my computer screen waiting for anyone to give a reassuring response.  And then it dawns on me . . .

The reason nobody can answer my question.  Everyone who had this same problem has already died.

Should I start writing my Obituary or my Will first?  And Guardians for my precious kids!  Why, oh why couldn’t my ex-husband and I ever agree who to name as caretakers in the event of our deaths??   His sister puts ketchup on eggs, doesn’t believe in orthodontia, plus Danielle Steele is her favorite author.  So what?  I shoulda let all that go.

“Please God,” I bargain, “I know last week I hated this world and said I’d rather be dead than go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my expired driver’s license.  But I promise to find gratitude and renew my zest for life – – just please don’t let me expire!”photo 2-3

There’s nothing left to do.  Except find a brand new doctor who hasn’t heard about my “Boy Who Cried Wolf” past.  My previous doctors have issued, “WARNING: Circus Side Show Freak” bulletins about me to the medical community at large, so this will be no easy task.

Finally I show up on the doorstep of an office in a faraway town.  I watch as their “The Doctor is in” sign lights up.  I’ve always believed first impressions are important so here is how I fill out the paperwork on the clipboard.

 New Patient Form:

NAME:  (circle one)  Miss/Mrs./Ms    I’m divorced so technically it’s “Ms.”  But please call me “Miss” as in “Little Miss Menopause.” Although Mr. may be a distinct possibility these days – –  can you check my testosterone level?

AGE:   I just caught a glimpse of you at the reception desk….I could be your mother big sister.

REASON FOR TODAY’S VISIT?  Look at me!  Isn’t it obvious?  I just need the Dr. to confirm how much time I have.

WEIGHT:  Who cares at this point?   Just order me a size 8 burial gown.  And yes, I’m banking on the fact that loss of appetite will kick in soon with this particular disease.

PROFESSION:  Writer  (Pssssst!  Hot tip:  Publish this form.  Everyone knows a deceased author’s last work commands a high price.)

EVER SKIPPED A PERIOD?  Yes, but I’m working diligently on eliminating my run-on sentences.

WHOM CAN WE THANK FOR REFERRING YOU?  You mean blame?

PERSON TO CALL IN EMERGENCY:  Um…my two ex-husbands will deny knowing me.  Let’s see….My kids will just ask, “what’s for dinner?”  Oh, don’t call the neighbors, they’ll tell you I should have been deceased 8 times already!  Hmmm,  I think you might call Mabel, my hairdresser.  But when you say, “Died”  – –  you better spell it.  She’ll think you mean Clairol Nice n’ Easy Deep Burgundy Brown.

I’m interrupted by the Doctor, who calls me in.  He listens to my heart and pronounces it steady and strong.  I resist the urge to ask when he’s last had his stethoscope calibrated.  I describe how I feel  (this time likening it to feet stabbed with steak knives) but he cuts me off before I can get to the Web MD part.

DR:  Have you ever heard of Transient Paresthesia?

ME:  Oh no, Dr.  Not that!  I don’t even ride a train or bus!

DR:  Not “Transit.”   Transient, meaning Short-Lived.

ME:  Good Lord, you mean I’m gonna go even quicker than I thought?

DR:  Where ya headed to?

ME:  Aren’t I dying?

DR:  We all are.  But I think you’re gonna survive this one.  Transient Paresthesia = Limbs falling asleep.

As I depart, I glance over my shoulder to see him sketching a big-haired woman with the caption, “BEWARE OF CREATIVE BLOGGER WITH TOO MUCH TIME ON HER HANDS….She needs to be cut off ASAP!!”   He then posts it on the WEB MD  website!

photo-392

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blunt? Bland? Blatant? Blissful? What Blogger Style do you fall in?

Pen and Ink or Calligraphy Blogs like this are coming back in vogue, so you should strengthen your fingers!

In exactly one week I will fly out for the big BlogHer conference.  Always nervous in new situations, I call a phone number for general questions and (supposedly) if I tell them my interests, they’ll make sure I’m seated with like-minded people.  Like-minded people?  I don’t mind people, but I don’t exactly like them either.

Hello!  This is BlogHer and you’re on speakerphone with Blanche and Blaire.  We’re The Bloggsey Twins!

Me:  Hi!  My name is Stephanie.

Blanche:  Oh.

She sounds disappointed.

Blaire:  Never mind her.  Stephanie with an S?   We were expecting another group of bloggers calling from Biloxi.  Blanca, Blythe, Blossom and Blinda.

Me:  You mean Belinda?

Blanche:  No, she dropped the ‘e’ to make it work.

Me:  I see.  Well, it’s really Blephanie.

Blaire:  Bl-awesome!  What can we do for you?

Me:  I was hoping to find out exactly what will happen this weekend and maybe sit with women I share common interests with.

Blanche:  You’re interested in blogging, right?  You’ll be just fine.

Blaire:  C’mon Blanche.  Seat her with the “Need to Knows.”

Me:  The Who?

Blanche:  We try to group by personality types.  The “Need to Knows” are control freaks and like to have an advanced detailed agenda.  And obsessively clean.  They could literally eat off their toilets.

Me:  Oh definitely don’t sit me with them, please.

Blaire:  Well, describe your blog.

Me:  I write humor.

Blanche:  Oh, A Niche Bitch.  Put her with the Niche Bitches.

Me:  Well I don’t confine myself to only humor.

Blaire:  Well, lemme ask you this….Do your readers ever find themselves NOT laughing?

Me:  Mostly all the time.

Blanche: (whispering)  Shove her in the back row.  I just saw her Gravatar photo.  Nobody will ever be able to see anything over that big hair!

Just then I hear another voice, whom they introduce as Blabette.  She offers to send me their “Blow by Blow, Blogger Blorganizer” which outlines their odd assessment of the different Blogging personality classifications.  This is what I see:

CATEGORIES OF BLOGGERS

The Blogcrastinator —  They will find every reason in the book to justify not having anything to do with Blogging.  From housework to headaches.  They’ll even post about why they cannot post.  The really desperate ones resort to citing “Sexual Conflict” as their excuse.  (Note: Because they talk a good Blogging game, they make good Phone Call Receptionists for BlogHer)

The “Don’t Applaud Cuz I’m a Fraud” Blogger – – Don’t believe in themselves and are petrified that others will find out they’re masquerading as Bloggers.  They generally blog about vacuums because they think they suck.  If they get a nice comment, they go all Sally Field.  “You don’t hate me.  You really don’t hate me?”

The Blah Blogger – – Wishy-washy, afraid to make a statement, and begins every sentence with “Perhaps.”

The Bloggert Braggert – – Lists all their many Chain Awards prominently in their Menu and conducts surveys or takes requests on what you would like to see next on their blog.  Their ABOUT page reads like an acceptance speech at The Oscars.  (Note: Don’t seat near the Fraud Bloggers)

The Frogger Blogger – – In an effort to not be boxed in, they jump all over the place with subject matter.  They also leap to conclusions, choose green as their background color, and beg to be kissed.

The Blues Blogger – –  Their keyboard needs Prozac.  Their followers are suicide hotlines.  They categorize and tag their posts, “Armageddon, Cancer, Save Your Soul.” And that’s on an upbeat day.

The Bloated Bladder Blogger – –  Hypochondriac writers.  A scintillating post for them would be “Candid Conversation for Convincing, Cajoling, Coercing, Coaxing a Companion into Colonoscopy!”

The Badger Blogger – – They miss that Persuasive Essay assignment from high school.  From fashion to politics, they are correct and you WILL see it their way.

The Voluminous Vaguely Visual Blogger – –  “A picture births a thousand words.”  They insert media graphics and pray the photos will tell their story for them.

Note:  All other Blogger Types not mentioned above, we’ll just stick on the outdoor lawn with speakers.

Not seeing myself described here, (although Colonoscopy is a frequent request I’m asked to write about!) I call back in a panicky sweat.

After I hear my “Bosom Blogger Buddies” identify themselves once again on speakerphone, I practically hyperventilate . . .

Me:  Hi again, it’s Stephanie with a Bl.  I was just thinking – –  Couldn’t I just sit with you nice ladies?  What category type do you both fall under?

Blanche:  Oh, we’re in a league all our own.  But, unfortunately we’re not able to attend the BlogHer conference.

Me:  Why not?

Blaire:  Blanche here has too much housework and I’ll be having a migraine and a sexual conflict.

Disclaimer:  The above represents absolutely nothing accurate from the real life BlogHer committee, staff, judges, attendees or keynote speakers.  I’m sure they’re a lovely group!

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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?