Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Are You KIDDING Me???!!

I am semi-retired from blogging, but every so often something happens in the world that begs for comment.

Actually, there have been many things going on in the world that have been begging for comment, and I think I should be congratulated for my self-restraint. 

But for those who miss my caustic wit, I would like to go on record with the following opinions:
  1. Donald Trump is a moron;
  2. Who is probably laughably under-endowed;
  3. And that may be the only thing Marco Rubio ever got right in his whole life;
  4. Whoever is counseling Hillary on her wardrobe needs to be fired;
  5. Immediately.
In a previous post, I had something (not positive) to say about Hillary's ruffles.  I'm still gagging.

But this:  THE JACKET.  I'm talking about that fiasco she wore in New York in April, which only today has been brutally dragged across my radar by some sadistic journalist seeking fifteen minutes of fame on MSN.com.

Armani.  Twelve thousand, four hundred, and ninety five dollars.  Good.  Lord.  Giorgio, how could you?  And I wear your glasses.

I mean, even if it were the most amazingly beautiful jacket that was and ever will be conceived by a human mind, WHICH IT IS NOT, nothing nothing NOTHING justifies the expenditure of $12,495 on a jacket.  Nothing.  Unless, maybe, it would save your life if you - for some reason - were suddenly dropped off on Pluto.  Granted, one could conceivably mistake Iowa for Pluto, especially after conversing with the residents, and this may well be where Hillary got off-track.  But she's had enough time to recover.

I'm going to make this short and sweet:  Hillary, remember that tabloid-fodder photograph of you swilling beer out-of-the-bottle in Colombia with your Secret Service homies?  The one where you looked sweaty and had your hair in a ponytail?  THAT'S YOUR LOOK.  Trust me.  Had you adopted this from the get-go, Bernie Sanders never would have had the chance to take up residence in the small corner of the American psyche that loves hedgehogs.

As a woman, I would really like to bask in these historic times, and I am somewhat disappointed by your choice of an ill-fitting, "Want some coffee, Bill?", Technicolor dream coat that literally screams "buzz kill".  But I am absolutely appalled at the price tag, as any right-thinking female would be.  Ask Angela Merkel.  

On second thought, don't.

Here's my advice.  

First:  Get rid of your wardrobe.  All of it.  Now.  Stop giving SNL ammunition.  I hope the results of that six-figure wardrobe rehab, to make you more relatable (Spell Check says that's not even a word), still have the tags on them.  I know you didn't go to the stores and shop for yourself.  Make the guilty party take it back.

Next:  Exempting your lingerie and shoes, please limit your shopping to:
  1. Goodwill;
  2. H&M;
  3. Denver Kush Club.
Voila!  Instant relatability.  It's not too late.  And the best part of it all?

The only accessory you'll ever need is a bottle of beer. 

Monday, March 28, 2016

Underemployed Is the New Organic - Available on Amazon!

Drum roll, please.

My first book is (finally!) available on Amazon.com:

Underemployed Is the New Organic

Just the paperback, Kindle version to follow in a few days.  Also available on Amazon Europe.

Tell all your friends!  Brag about it to your kids!  Tell a Kardashian, if you know one.

Of course, as soon as I approved it for publishing, my husband found a mistake in the text.  Which he thought was very funny.  I did not.  But I'm consoling myself with a half a bottle of prosecco, and I'm sure I'll get over it.

Free copies to all my followers here, upon request.

Now I will start on the second book, "Pass the Vodka", which will be a collection of more essays from this blog.  I am still naive enough to believe that this will be easier to edit and publish than the first one, now that I know the drill.

But I am also old enough to know better.

Thank you all for your patience and support.

And for telling me that I make you laugh.

Friday, March 18, 2016

Girl, Please.

So the other day I'm checking the Missouri primary results and...

...Oh. My. God.  What are you wearing?

Ruffles.  Ruffles?  RUFFLES???  Are you KIDDING me?

At least they look like ruffles.  They could be some other form of bunched-up material that doesn't do you any favors.  And they are dark blue.  Your fashion consultant (who should be fired immediately) probably convinced you that dark blue ruffles were "serious" and "presidential", yet at the same time "youthful" and a little "fun" and she (I say "she" here because no man - straight, gay, or indifferent - would allow you to show yourself in public wearing blue ruffles) was wrong.  Terribly.  You might be able to get away with white ruffles.  I'm not sure.  Check with Christine Lagarde.  

At least you spared us the horror of pink ruffles.  But...really?  

Hillary.  Call me.

We've got to fix this thing before it goes any further.  Enough with the Munchkin outfits.  Don't even get me started on the one with the big white rectangles standing out in high relief on your hips.  Your hips, girl!  Your.  Hips.  Who told you that was a good idea?  And why do you still speak to that person?  You're a gazillionaire and can not only afford gorgeous clothes, but you can also hire some brilliant fashionista to tell you how to wear them.  Don't tell me you don't care.  You've GOT to care.

Because as far as I can tell (and I really, really, REALLY hope I'm wrong), you are all that stands between us and Donald Trump.  Trust me on this: A good outfit will atone for the sins of a lifetime in the minds of Average American Voters.  It doesn't make me proud to say that, but the truth is they're more interested in Armani than Benghazi.

Since I brought up the subject, I should say a few words about The Donald.  Just in case I am ever in a position to say, "See?  I told you so."

At first I was as appalled as the next person about the man.  His hair alone raises questions about his sanity.  And I was more than appalled.  I was suffering from a full-blown case of "Trump Anxiety", which is a thing now, according to psychologists.  I recently read that our species has not evolved to the point where it can handle low-level, long-term stress.  As a result, humans react to ALL stress like they're being cornered by a bear. 

Which describes exactly what I was feeling and I found myself in the throes of an obsession, spiraling out of control.

Until I realized that Donald Trump is just Your Uncle Bob.  You know, your lard-ass Uncle Bob who belts his pants below his gut, bosses everybody around, bullies children, believes in right-wing conspiracy theories, and compulsively forwards stupid emails (do not give your email address to Your Uncle Bob) in the hope that SOMEHOW your brain will stop functioning normally and you will give them serious consideration.  If you are an intelligent and emotionally sound person, you only see Your Uncle Bob on holidays, and only because you feel sorry for your aunt.

In this way, Donald Trump is merely representative of a familiar - though, I grant you, repulsive - American archetype.  He is not the anti-Christ, counter-intuitive as that may seem.  But just remember this:  If Donald Trump gets into office, life will become one very long, very painful visit from Your Uncle Bob.   

Give that some thought.   

Before you vote.

For myself, I am firmly relegating all thoughts about Donald "Uncle Bob" Trump to the newly-created corner of my psyche which I have designated the "Zone of Avoidance", a phrase borrowed from the science of astronomy.  What this all means is that I can, using the process of creative visualization, send the mope into virtual exile on the far side of the Milky Way Galaxy.

And hope he falls into a black hole on the way.


Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Gotta Love It

Do you know why I love Angela Merkel?  Because she's attempting nuclear fusion, that's why.

Just sayin'.

I really need a Twitter account.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Help a Sister Out!

I am in the throes of getting my book ready to go to press.

It's been coming along quite nicely, thank you.  I've had a terrific editor who - having once worked for the Red Cross and is therefore used to catastrophes - has gotten me under control.

That being said, I can now say with some confidence that turning a blog into a book is no easy process.  I would advise any of my friends and followers who have the same idea to first make sure they have no weapons in the house.  And then move to a state where marijuana is legal.

Complicating the project is the upcoming United States presidential election, which my friend Jan refers to as the "clown car".  Trust me, there is no more of a buzz-kill to the creative spirit - or any other human activity - than Carly Fiorina.  Maybe Donald Trump.  For sure, Sarah Palin (in a very good impersonation of a college student on her first bender) introducing Donald Trump to a room of rabid, foot-stompin' yahoos.

Donald Trump.  A man who can't handle Megyn Kelly, for chrissakes.  This is a man who's going to take on Kim Jong-un?  Try to write something fun and witty with THAT scenario running through your head.

It's enough to envy Matt Damon on Mars.

So here's the help I need: Reviews.

I am now working on the cover design and need some reviews from people who have read my work.  The book is also called Underemployed Is the New Organic. 

Yes, I can pay my relatives and probably will, but if any of my dear friends from the blogosphere could take a moment and send me a line in Comments?  I would be very grateful, plug your blog, and maybe fly out and buy you a cocktail.

When I'm rich and famous, of course.