In case you’d like to know how it’s going…

I owe an apology to several of my dear friends for the crazy voicemails, e-mails, texts, poorly wrapped packages on doorsteps, and maybe one partially assembled IKEA dog food dispenser for that friend who has a baby but no dog. You see, I had a few nights without sleep.

It’s not often that I suffer from insomnia. Occasionally, however, a goblin lands his antiquated treadmill in the middle of my brain and runs on that rusty bastard all night. Then I get a little crazy.

If I run errands on day four of goblin-induced cracked-outedness, it goes a little something like this: I decide it’s a good idea to go to K-Mart. There’s a young man there wearing a wolf t-shirt, skinny jeans, a bondage belt and Birkenstocks (that part is completely true). I wait in line for fifteen minutes to buy eight items. The cashier doesn’t apologize for removing five years from my life. I’m certain it’s a conspiracy between corporate America and patriarchal society to hold women down. I’m tempted to take off my bra and catch it on fire, but I realize I forgot to put on a bra before I left the house.

I think I see that the chick from Clarissa Explains it All in the parking lot. Holy crap, she has a lot of kids. Oh, that’s not Clarissa unless she’s suddenly become Asian. I spend five minutes thinking about TV shows that aren’t on anymore. Two full minutes are devoted to Rocko’s Modern Life.

My car is hot. I drive to Plum Market. I walk in and shout “I’ll never be what you are to me and what I am to you is a lie!” Someone in an apron offers me a cool glass of water and a strawberry. John Cleese steals my water. I kick him in the shins because that is how I deal with hurt feelings. I am asked to leave Plum Market for kicking John Cleese in the shins. I discuss the merits of low-residency MFA programs with the security guard who removes me from the store. We agree that I am not in a good place to make any life-altering decisions.

Next I go to Kroger. They have a Starbucks there. I suggest someone open a Chipotle within the Starbucks. The barista doesn’t seem interested. I’m certain my idea would change the path of his life. Is this what it is to be an ineffectual intellectual?

Long story short: I need to sleep more and there may or may not be a homeless man in my trunk. I’m afraid to look.

Reinvent Yourself, Gurl

Don’t fool yourself. We are each getting older every single day, every single second. But no need to stick your head in the oven! There’s a way to avoid this aging thing. Madonna’s greatest lesson is this: reinvention keeps you young, or looking like corseted- gristle. Either way, you’ll be fabulous and grabbing dancer’s crotches!

Here are a few suggestions on easy reinvention:

Pretend to be a doctor. All you have to do is memorize Web MD. You don’t even have to memorize everything. Just enough to sound official. A lot of medical words sound the same. Then, like magic, you’re a doctor. No big deal. People will believe you. You never hear anyone ask, “Are you really a doctor?”

The tricky part is when people want prescriptions. Keep a drawer full of candy and vitamins, along with empty pill bottles and a label-maker. Tell your customers (you can call them patients) you have your own pharmacy in your office so you can pass the savings on to them. You care, after all. You are a doctor! And never, ever forget to demand to be called ‘Dr.’ whatever. You didn’t spend all that time in fake doctor school to be called Mr. or Ms.

Develop a fake accent. This one is super easy. It doesn’t even matter if every person in your life knows you’re from Detroit. This is the improved you, after all! And when you meet someone new, spout off a fictitious hometown and make up slang from your chosen country. ‘How’s about we toss a doolie to the slatso after a coupla hops?’

Start quoting the movies incessantly. It has to be enough that it becomes your thing. It will be amusing for some people, the people who like to play along. Most people will be really annoyed by it. Doesn’t matter. It’s the new you, baby! Here a few to get you started (a list within a list, provocative):

Fight Club: ‘I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise.’

The Big Lebowski: ‘He treats objects like women, man.’

Super Troopers: ‘Say car Ram-Rod.’

The Ladies Man: ‘Say, sweet thing, can I buy you a fish sandwich?’

Goodfellas: ‘What do you mean funny, funny how?’

I could write an entire post on just this subject. I should stop now in case I run out of material at a later date and actually need to write an entire post on this subject.

Start practicing pakour. Warning: if you’re over thirty you’re likely to break some shit with this. Upside: when you’re over thirty they give you better pain meds. Here’s the deal with pakour. It’s a martial art and method of transportation (multitasking is an A+) in which you jump from building to building all Crouching Tiger-style except you fall down because you haven’t been training since birth. Don’t let the potential for injury deter you. You’ll be a fabulous Hidden Dragon when you’re in traction.

Never underestimate cruise-wear. Changing your wardrobe is a painless path to reinvention. We’ve all seen middle-agers in school-girl clothes and it’s pretty gross. Cruise-wear is a fantastic way to tell the world, ‘I’m fabulous and on the move to the captain’s table!’ Just throw on a white pencil skirt with a gold cabled belt, a gold lame zippered jacket, and purple pumps. Need something more casual? Four words: purple nylon sweat suit. Girlfriend, it’s shuffle-board time! You’ll still look younger than Lindsay Lohan.

Tattoos are cool. If someone says they’re not, it’s because they’re lame. So let’s say you’re about 45-ish and really need this reinvention. Tattoos and/or piercings are definitely a smart thing to do. And don’t give me this ‘what about when I get old they’ll look gross’ bullshit. Guess what? Your skin will look wrinkly when you’re old no matter what. At least make it nasty and interesting. If you don’t want to truly commit, shave your head and get a bare-head tat. Make it a giant teddy bear with the words ‘free hugs’ beneath.

Learn how to love. Have you ever truly committed to anyone? Something tells me you haven’t. Nothing says ‘I love you completely’ like full-on stalking.

Make a mixed CD and write the words ‘Love Me or I’ll Kill Myself’ on it. (Looking at you CH.) Sneak the CD into your paramour’s home when he or she isn’t home.

Get your love interest’s face tattooed on your stomach. Then say, ‘Now it’s like you’re in my tummy’ and giggle. Say ‘Just kidding, silly,’ and make a plate of extremely meaty nachos.


There are lots of ways to make yourself a new you. Whatever you do, don’t age gracefully.

Gotta go, my hemlines aren’t going to raise themselves!

Synopsis of Fifty Shades of Grey, by someone who’s never read that book

This is how I think it goes from what my friends have told me, crap I’ve read here and there, and the reviews on Amazon.

“Hello, are you Mr. Grey? I’m Anastasia.”  Ana gasps and her cheeks flush red beneath her alabaster skin. Holy crap he is hot.

“Yes,” he barked. “What are you doing in my office?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a virgin. I’m here to interview you for something.”

“Oh really? That’s great because I’m older and pervy. Do you like handcuffs?” He barks again.

Ana’s knees go all wobbly and she falls down.

Mr. Grey extends a smooth yet slightly work-calloused hand. “You can call me,” pause, “Christian.” The name escapes his manly throat breathily as he assists her to her wobbly yet mousy shoes.

He looks to her shoes and chuckles. “We’ll be exchanging those for heels. You know how heterosexual men feel about their lover’s footwear.”

“Oh Jeez, did you say ‘lover’?” Ana feels titillated. Oh, quadruple crap.

Christian’s lips quirk up, because that’s a thing that happens. He stands her upright and steps away. “I have mommy-issues. Please, please, tell me you have daddy-issues.”

“Oh, I do,” she murmurs.

He, ya know, spanks her because that’s what goes on all the time right there.

Christian says, “Ana, let me dress you just like straight men always dress their women.”

Ana bites her lip and nods, then falls down, because apparently she’s quite clumsy.

He touches her nose with his long index finger and she stares into his intense gray eyes (what a coincidence that his last name is Grey, right?) and they do it and she plays the submissive and falls down some more and then she like learns how to take the power back or something and he gets over his mommy-issues and she did it! She changed the bad-boy billionaire and they get married and live happily ever after because that’s what every woman all over the world really wants.




An episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, from someone who’s never seen that show

Here’s the set-up: the small one with the douchebag baby-daddy is sitting on a fancy sofa with a homely toddler in preppy clothes. The one who looks like a sasquatch comes in.

“I don’t know why everyone keeps saying I’m fat. I’m a size 8!”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Kolonoscopy. My feet are swollen to the size of pork tenderloin and that guy who keeps knocking me up won’t rub them because he’s asleep.”

“You mean he’s not working!” Klown-Face shouts.

The audience goes “oooooooohhhhh” because no one saw Klown-Face enter the room and she’s all uptight about everybody working.

“Don’t give me any crap right now, Klown-Face,” Korn Nuts says. “I’m minutes away from pushing out another bastard kid and I don’t want your drama.”

“Mom, Korn Nuts said ‘bastard’!” Klown-Face runs from the room and Kolonoscopy laughs until she farts.

Mom enters the room. “Girls, are you being mean to Klown-Face? You know she’s my favorite and I won’t let you sleep here if you make her mad.”

“Yes, Mom,” they both say and roll their eyes.

Olympic hero Bruce Jenner enters the room and everyone gasps.

“Sorry, Bruce. It’s still scary,” Mom says.

“Yeah, yeah. Where are Klondike and Krispy Kreme?”

“Who?” Mom asks.

“Your other daughters,” Bruce Jenner replies or asks. No one is sure because of the position of his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah. I think they’re at a party. Or a bikini shoot. Or maybe a bikini porn party. I’m not sure because I’m a cool mom.”

“Korn Nuts, you just peed your pants!” Kolonoscopy says, laughing once again until she farts.

“No dumbshit! My water broke. Bruce Jenner Olympic Hero, please go wake up my pink-clad baby-daddy.”

“It’s only noon, Korn Nuts. He’ll be angry.”

“Just do it, Bruce Jenner Olympic Hero,” she growls, baring her tiny teeth.

“That’s right, Bruce Jenner!” Klown-Face shouts. “Wake up that lazy douchebag or I will!”

The audience “oooooohhhh’s” again because they didn’t see her slink back into the fancy sitting parlor.

“Oh gawd, Klown-Face. Do you have to butt-in all the time?” Korn Nuts asks.

“Get it, butt-in? Cause you have a huge ass?” Kolonoscopy says.

“Shut up, Kolonoscopy!” Klown Face shouts and pushes Kolonoscopy onto the lush carpet.

“Stop it, bitches! I’m about to have a baby! Go get Douchebag, Bruce Jenner Chronically Surprised Olympic Hero!”

Bruce leaves while Klown-Face and Kolonoscopy wrestle on the floor. There’s a lot of hair pulling and butt jiggling. Bruce returns with a sleepy Douchebag.

“What’s going on, Babe? You know I don’t get up until 1:00.”

“My water just broke. Our next somewhat wanted baby is on the way.”

“Why do I smell pee?” Douchebag asks.

Then Korn Nuts realizes that she really did pee on the couch and they all have a good laugh. To make Douchebag forgive her for waking him up an hour early, she buys him a Bentley and they cruise slowly in front of homeless people.