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November, 2013

  1. Happy Pills Guide for Surviving Thanksgiving

    November 26, 2013 by C.

    He really wants to stab his father-in-law with that knife.

    He really wants to stab his father-in-law with that knife.

     

     

     

    The Thanksgiving holiday is quickly approaching. I woke up at 5 am today with the idea of writing  a guide to help you get through this trying time. You’re welcome.

    If you are anything like me having house guests is a form of living hell until they leave. It’s not that you don’t like the visitors; they could be some of your best friends in the world, it’s  just the fact you will be uncomfortable in your own home. I personally hate being uncomfortable, even for five minutes. That is why I have totally eliminated the guest room in my house. It’s now my office, stuffed full of so much furniture that you can’t even put down a blow-up mattress. Yes, I’m a genius…thanks for noticing.

    But it’s too late for you isn’t it? You have a beautiful guest room in your home complete with fresh flowers, cable tv and turn down service. No one can resist that, folks. You’re a goner.

    Well, I have a solution. The trick is to make your guests so uncomfortable they won’t want to stay with you ever again. It ‘s one thing to spend a few hours on Thanksgiving with family, but several days??? “Oh hell to the no” as the late great Whitney Houston would say.

    Tips on Getting Rid of Unwanted House Guests

    1. Follow my advice and get rid of any spare beds. There will be some pushy guests that will say, “I could sleep on your couch.” This is where having a dumb husband is beneficial. You say, “Oh my gosh no, Jim sleepwalks all the time. Once I caught him in the living room urinating on my houseplants; I would sure hate for him to piss on you in the middle of the night.”

    2. Don’t hold anything back. After house guests have spent a day or two with me, I feel like a giant puffed up ball. I am tense all over and in dire need of a massage. Stop holding it all in, behave as you normally would if you were home with just your family. If Jim farts two minutes after dinner every night, tell him let ‘er rip. If you hate wearing a bra past dinner time, take it off and let those babies loose. If someone else is offended, who cares? They won’t be staying with you next year for sure and that is a beautiful thing.

    3. Turn the kids and any crazy elderly folks loose on the guests. Little Bobby wants to put his pet snake on your guest’s pillow? Yes, please. That will be a great surprise in the middle of the night. Your daughter and her boyfriend like to make out on the couch no matter who is around? Let them go at it…nothing can turn your stomach more than young love. Granny likes to pull her pants down to show of f the scar from her latest surgery? No problem. Maybe she will even leave her dentures next to the bathroom sink. The more disgusting, the better.

    4. You are responsible for cooking Thanksgiving dinner for about fifteen family members. Cooking is really not your thing and none of them appreciate it anyway. Grab three or four cheap frozen pizzas and call it good. Those still involve cooking and this will teach everyone to stop picking your house to host your Thanksgiving meal every year.

    5. Turn your Wi-fi off for the duration of their visit. Yes, I know it will be hard on you too, but this will shorten their stay more than anything else on this list. After about ten minutes in your house without the juice, they will rush to you begging for your wi-fi password. Now, watch carefully for the look of defeat in their eyes when you tell them you shut it off to save money and spend more time with your family. Then panic will hit them, “Oh shit, I will actually have to talk to these people and not spend the holiday in a corner of a room with my iPad like I always have!”

    6. Drink lots. This not only will help you deal with being uncomfortable but most people totally hate a drunk that cries for hours because she is not married to Ryan Gosling. Cheers!

    I wish you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving. If these tips don’t work, look my fan page up on Facebook. There will be lots of funny photos and ecards to get you laughing. We all know, if we don’t laugh about our holidays, the only thing left to do is cry and crying is for sissies. Suck it up, buttercup!

     

     

     

     


  2. My Justin Timberlake Experience

    November 22, 2013 by C.

    I would say chicken flavor

     

     

    Once upon a time there was a young man in a boy band and he had hair like ramen noodles.

     

     

     

     

    He had success in his boy band and that led to a solo career. He decided to shave that nasty hair and bring sexy back.

     

    Oh yea...

    Oh yea…

     

     

    We said in unison, “Oh yes, we likey!”

     

     

     

    Then he made appearances on Saturday Night Live as a host and musical guest.

    Dick in a box!

    Dick in a box!

     

     

    And we said, “Damn, this guy can act AND sing.”

     

     

     

     

    Nice tats

    Nice tats

     

     

    So they started putting him in movies.

     

     

     

     

    Oh my!

    Oh my!

     

     

    He was in several movies and life was grand. But he missed the music and got in his suit and tie for us, slicking back his hair and looking all suave and shit. And we said, “Holy Mother of God!”

    You will have to tune in a little longer for the ending of the JT story. I am sure he has more tricks up his heavily starched sleeves. Until then, let me tell you what a great time I had with him last night…

     

    I got to see JT in concert. Simply put, it was amazing. The stage that he danced on moved over the top of the audience which was really cool. Each end has a portion that has a mini-stair case so he can climb higher up into the arena. This was really awesome because of course I was up in the cheap seats (although not so cheap…$110 per ticket).

    He spotted me in the crowd right away. He pointed at me and next thing I know two very scary, large men were escorting me downstairs and eventually behind the stage. One of the many times he popped underneath the stage, he ran over to talk to me and said, “I saw you out there in the crowd in that stunning chili-stained Chicago Cubs sweatshirt, with that adorable rosacea marked face and wind-tossed hair and I said to myself, “Justin, you need to know this girl. And here you are.” He winks, kisses my hand and runs back out on stage.

    I thought to myself, “this is a married man. What am I doing?” Drool began to run down the side of my mouth from the pure excitement of an evening with Justin. I was working quickly to remove the drool from my face before he came back when I heard an annoying buzzing sound going off in my ear. I thought it was part of the show, but no, it was my alarm clock waking me up from Justin heaven. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh…it was just a dream.

    The drool was real. Very real. That’s right, I’m bringing sexy back.

     

     


  3. My Most Personal Story Yet

    November 15, 2013 by C.

    Oh yeahhhhhhhhhhh

    Oh yeahhhhhhhhhhh

     

     

     

     

    Recently I took a writing workshop and the advice I heard most from the speakers was, “write about what scares you”. Supposedly this will be your best work. A thought came to mind and I have decided to share with you what I wrote. I really don’t like to share and I especially don’t like being so vulnerable, but I needed to follow their advice and get this amazing story out in the world. I hope it will change your life.

     

    The day it all started was a cold and cloudy November day. The leaves were turning all shades of orange and maroon, swirling to the ground only to be tossed down the street by the chilly wind. I left the house early that day to get my shopping done before the store got swamped. 

    I had taken the day off work because in a few days I would be hosting a large dinner party for a group of my buddies from college. It would be wonderful to see all the girls again. We had all moved on and made our way in the world but we had always stayed in touch. Our yearly gatherings were a time for reflection and celebration.

    At the store, I rounded the snack aisle looking for my one and only love, Oreos. The shelves had been wiped out. They didn’t even have the gross reduced fat ones. What was going on? I chased down the manager to find out.

    “Oh, haven’t you heard? They have stopped making Oreos for good. We ran out within hours of the announcement,” he said.

    “Ha-ha very funny, now tell me where the hell you hid the Oreos,” I replied.

    “Lady, let go of my neck! I am serious, they aren’t making them anymore,” he said.

    I released my grip and left the store immediately. The thought of no more Oreos was more than I could take. I had to find some. My first thought was to go to a dollar store, thinking that maybe they hadn’t been hit yet. I was wrong. I spent seven hours going all over town to every single place I could think might have some. No luck.

    When I arrived home that evening, I was depressed. Oreos have been with me my whole life, without Oreos I would never have survived my divorce from Bob. I got on the internet and searched, surely I could still buy a package or twenty from someplace.

    EBay was first on my list. A package of regular Oreos was going for $650. Hmmmm, I can’t swing that. I typed in Amazon.com because I get free shipping with my Prime account. Out of stock. What the hell??????

    As a last resort I placed an ad on Craigslist.

    WANTED: SOME DAMN OREOS

    Willing to pay top dollar for a full bag. None of that reduced fat shit please. Text to 417-***-****

    It didn’t take long to get a reply.

    “Meet me on corner of 10th and Virginia. Cash only…$200 for full package of original Oreos.”

    Hot damn! By this time it was midnight and I was desperate. I really needed the $200 to buy food for the dinner party, but screw those snotty bitches; they can eat Taco Bell and like it.

    As I turned the corner onto Virginia, I saw an old beat up gray Oldsmobile. He flashed his headlights at me so I walked over to his car.

    “Get in,” he said.

    What was I to do? I wanted the damn Oreos but I also didn’t want to be molested. Well, he wasn’t that bad looking…maybe I could be molested if I knew I would get my Oreos in return.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, folks.

    “Don’t look at me, just slide the cash across the seat,” he ordered.

    “Not until you give me my cookies,” I replied.

    He rolled his eyes and reached under his seat. It was one of those moments  when you hear trumpets blaring, angels singing, declaring victory was finally mine. All of my hard work had paid off. There in my lap were my beloved Oreos.

    Out of the side of my mouth I spoke quietly, “If I need more, can you help me?”

    “Possibly, but the price will go up,” he replied.

    I nodded and exited his vehicle.

     Once I reached home I was doing a happy dance all the way into my kitchen. I poured myself a tall, icy, cold glass of milk and settled down to eat a few of my favorite cookies. I peeled the top back only to see I had been tricked. That bastard had filled my Oreo container with cheap generic sandwich cookies. Son of a …

    My world went sharply downhill after that. I flew through my savings buying bags on EBay. That wasn’t even enough. I had to sell my home, my car and I lost my job because I would spend days breaking into homes looking for just a couple of cookies. I had become a full-blown Oreo addict and my supplies were very limited.

    I became a prostitute in order to be able to afford more shipments of cookies. There was nothing I wouldn’t do and I soon contracted various deadly diseases. It is now on my death-bed I am writing this story as a warning to the world.

    “What are you writing?” the nurse asked.

    “The story of how Oreos ruined my life. I was unable to function without a fix. Look at me now, I am dying at an early age all because of Oreos,” I replied.

    “Hon, I hate to break this to you, but Oreos have been back on the market for a year now. There was such a reaction to them pulling them off the shelves, they had to start producing them again,” she explained.

    Son of a bitch.

     

     


  4. Truths About Aging

    November 8, 2013 by C.

    aging

     

     

     

    When a person turns 40, their parents or the government should send them a pamphlet with warnings about the horrible things that come with aging. My parents would always say, “Oh, just wait until you get older” but never did they take me aside, grab my shoulders and scream at me, “when you get older you will be so freaking tired you would give up a month of cartoons for an hour-long nap!” That might have gotten my attention.

    So here I am to save the day. I will provide the young folks out there with some truth about aging.

     

    • I cannot remember shit. As in, where I shit last, where I left my car keys or where I hid the majority of the Christmas presents I have bought so far this year. Or I just forget I bought the person a gift and buy another one. By the time I discover this, it is too late to take it back.  I had another really funny example I thought of when I was in the shower, but I have already forgotten what it was. Seriously, this sucks.

     

    • All of sudden you won’t be able to see. It is kind of scary. One day I was looking at some tiny print that I normally would have had no issues reading. I just could not get my eyes to focus on it enough to read it. I was staring at it so intensely, trying to will my eyes to see the print. They did not cooperate. I bought a pair of magnifying glasses the next day and discovered that I had grown a monobrow.

     

    • Your body starts to hurt all over. Knees, feet, back and things you never knew could hurt…like your thumbs. One day you will attempt to do something that you have done every day your whole life and that simple movement (like getting up off the toilet) will cause a shocking, horrific pain you will never forget and just might turn into a nagging injury that never completely goes away. It would be more understandable if you had done something crazy like try to jump your kid’s skateboard over your car, not something so simple. It won’t take long until you are making those grunting noises your grandparents made when getting up from the sofa.

     

    • Hair issues. The men start to lose it and the women start to grow lots of it in places they shouldn’t. Let me give you a personal example. I have two “wild hairs” that have suddenly shown up this year. One grows out of my forearm. It is blonde and I didn’t notice it until it was 6 inches long and curling up like a Susie-Q. I have plucked it out, only to have it grow right back. The second hair grows out of my eyebrow. It too, is blonde and an inch longer than all my other dark-colored eyebrows so it really becomes noticeable if I don’t catch it quickly.  I imagine in ten years my eyebrows will look like this…
    Those could help me fly I bet!

    Those could help me fly I bet!

    • You begin to lose your mojo. If you are single, you have lost your flirting skills and what if it worked? You would have to eventually take all your clothes off and have sex with that person. My legs now resemble a road atlas with all the winding red spider vein highways and interstate blue varicosities. I won’t even mention cellulite or fat rolls. Then there is the act itself. Who has the energy? Totally not worth it. I would rather spend my time pinning crap I will never do to my Pinterest boards. Besides, it will just cause me to throw my back out again. I don’t have time to deal with a bad back when my foot is killing me with all the bone spurs I have grown. If only I could grow tomatoes this well.

     

    So, that is it…your guide to growing older. Moral of this story is to do lots of physically fun stuff while you are young because soon the most physical activity you can handle is going to your numerous doctor appointments.


  5. Louisa May Alcott Saves My Writing Career

    November 1, 2013 by C.

    "Oh how I wish I had a Facebook page..."

    “Oh how I wish I had a Facebook page…”

     

     

     

     

     

    Someone posted this photo of Louisa May Alcott on Pinterest recently. The caption read, “Louisa May Alcott at the desk where she wrote Little Women.”

    So I looked at her desk and I noticed how very small it was. I glanced down at my own desk and it is at least double the size of hers. Of course mine is covered with a desktop monitor, keyboard (that I specifically picked out because of the ease of striking the keys), a giant lamp, piles of small notebooks and about ten various colored flash drives scattered around in the nooks and crannies.

    Then it occurred to me how many luxuries I have compared to Louisa May. Even just having electricity and air conditioning would be an improvement for her. I glanced across my office and there’s Louisa sitting across from me in the chair.

    “What the hell’s your problem? Look at all this crap in here. Tons of books…telling you how to write books, a computer…it is cool in here. What is your excuse for not having written a book yet?” she asked.

    “Listen old lady, there is something called Facebook that has a game called Candy Crush and it distracts me. Not to mention, there is football on TV. Oh yea, you don’t know about TV but it is freaking awesome. There are all these shows to watch and I cannot live without watching The Walking Dead…zombies rule,” I replied.

    “Unless something has drastically changed in the past 120 years, zombies don’t exist, further proving my point that you are an idiot wasting your time watching a show about something that doesn’t exist and cannot exist.  If my buddy Thoreau was around he would beat your ass for all this nonsense,” she said.

    “Thoreau can suck it because he would watch The Walking Dead too if he were alive now. Look, I have this fancy cell phone and I can play games on it and take pictures of the food I am eating and share it on Facebook. I have stuff to do. Important stuff. I am busy. Have you heard of Pinterest? “I asked.

    “You take pictures of the food you are eating???? What has this country come to???? Chanin, look at that photo again. I am writing on a notebook. I am wearing a damn dress that is so tight around my bosom I cannot breathe. You would shit if you had to wear a dress all the time. My desk is tiny. It was 100 degrees that day and my thighs were sweaty and sticking together but I was writing, damn it. So this is the advice I am leaving you…block out the distractions. Go out in the woods with a notebook and a pencil and write. Leave your phone at home. Stop making excuses,” said Louisa.

    “OMG, have you not read my blog??? I HATE BEING OUTSIDE. And bugs…I cannot have wasps around when I am trying to concentrate. I will see what I can do to focus more on writing but you had it easy back in the day because you could only play horseshoes and knit wool shit for fun.”

    So I sat and thought about what the ghost of old Louisa May had to say and finally I had a brilliant idea…

    I can write in my storm shelter.

    No bugs, no distractions. I could leave my phone in the house and disappear for hours at a time. Carry down a snack tray and I have a desk. It is cold down there so I will bundle up. This could work…it really could and all because of Louisa May Alcott.

    Watch out people…I will soon be on the Bestsellers List.