Still Winning (or, The Blob,part 2)

There has been a lot of activity here… last week I had a friend use my camera to take a photo of me to use for my headshot. I needed one for my stand up comedy promotions. I really really really hate getting my picture taken. Really.

We went outside, it was freaking cold, as it is December in Michigan, and the wind was blowing. Awesome. My eyes began tearing immediately, my nose running, my hair flying all over, so I looked like Medusa with a severe sinus infection.

Out of the thirty or so photos she shot, I narrowed it down to one. As I looked at it, I became once again aware of these goddamn wrinkles under my eyes.


I am (vaguely) aware that I am getting a bit older. But (son of a bitch) when did all of these assholes decide to move in and put up freaking condos on my face???

So I did what any other slightly hysterical, not willing to admit she was aging, woman would do.

I went to the store and bought some fairly expensive wrinkle shit and slathered it on. All over my face, my eye area and my neck.

I awoke this morning to discover that it had worked…especially well on my neck. A small miracle.

Please prepare yourselves for some heavy sarcasm.

I looked in the mirror this morning and nearly screamed. My neck now looks like a goddamn turkey’s. It is red and blotchy. Apparently they were serious when they suggested that I test that cream on a small area. I thought they were just erring on the side of caution, and I was in a wrinkle panic.

It looks like I am slowly being strangled by a red blob…which is threatening to take over my face.

Mighty damn sexy.

The good news–now you don’t even NOTICE my neck, eye, or face wrinkles. The glow from my neck completely distracts the vision from that.

So in that sense, I suppose, this expensive shit worked. Still WINNING here!

On this note, I am off to the gym…to face the stares and field the questions…I think I will say that I was visited by a demon in the night that tried to strangle me… and that only my SUPERIOR FORCES OF GOODNESS managed to keep me and my family alive.

So there.

Peace people.



The Turkey Trot

Happy post Thanksgiving everybody. I enjoy the holiday as I get to spend time with all my children. It is a lot of work, with all the cooking. We make pretty much everything from scratch, and the kids help out. It’s chaos in the kitchen.

When we finally sit down to eat, I’m exhausted. I have a couple (or three) glasses of wine–hey it’s a holiday, and I generally end up with a mad case of the giggles from fatigue and alcohol.

Afterwards, when the dishes are finally washed up, my daughters and I go shopping. For the record, I believe that businesses should be closed on Thanksgiving. However, my daughters are not home all that often, and this is one way we can spend time together.

It is also a way I get to embarrass them in public.

Anyone that is a parent knows that this is an essential parenting skill, passed down from generation to generation. It’s tradition. It doesn’t matter how old the child is-my oldest is 27, my youngest is 12-we parents must uphold this time honored tradition as a means of keeping our sense of humor, our sanity, and of keeping our children in line.

My parents embarrassed me terribly. One of their favorite things to do was to pick me up in their motor home (good bye to my college money…hello to their travel dreams…) in front of my junior high, which was embarrassment enough. But not for them. To add insult to injury, my father, in a flash of comedic brilliance, installed a musical horn. Those bastard parents of mine would begin playing it–over and over and over–to announce that they were there to pick me up. Judas Priest. I wanted to freaking die. The look of complete insane happiness on their faces when I angrily stormed to the door, yelling at them to stop, for the love of god, stop playing the horn..I swear they had horns growing out of their heads.

It was absolutely brilliant and I am considering getting such a horn now to torture my own children with.

Since I don’t have one I have to do the next best/worse thing. It is well known that I will break into dance ANYWHERE. I must admit that this (blank) Christmas music does cut into my groove. SIGH. However, there are a few holiday songs that have a beat, and hey “Santa Baby” is a bit sexy, and well, after a few drinks, I’ve been known to slink a bit to the song. There are some stores that buck the holiday music thing (Hallelujah!) allowing me to fully get into the music. To say that my children are less than amused would be an understatement. WHICH IS AWESOME.

I will put on silly hats, I will talk to strangers, telling them that yes, that sweater looks either amazing, or sister, no, take that right off and try that one over there. I give unsolicited advice. Shopping on Thanksgiving is one big party, as most of the people in the stores are also buzzed (one lady approached me as I was trying on a sweater, and started asking me questions–she thought I was an employee–she was clearly very drunk, and I was like “DUDE! I don’t work here!” We cracked up and I pointed her in the right direction…)

We were standing in line, around 1am, and I noticed all these small children. Toddlers and babies. I loudly said “Who brings small children to a store at this time of night?” My oldest daughter punched me, and pointed out that directly in front of me was a couple with an infant in a stroller… I started giggling… oops… guess I shouldn’t have said that out loud… but really, who does that???…

Finally, my oldest daughter broke and scolded me. She told me to straighten up and behave. I convulsed into laughter, collected myself, and told her that listen, it was late at night, I was overly tired, I had wine on board, and that we were having fun. I said that she needed relax and learn how to have more fun.

I think if you’re going to drag me out shopping all night long, you kind of deserve a little public embarrassment.

I also want all of my children to learn to have fun. To be silly, to be lighthearted, to laugh maybe a bit too loudly, to spontaneously dance, to sing along with the car radio at full volume.

They don’t know that as I was doing all of this during our shopping expedition, I was thinking about my sister in law, dying of breast cancer. My best friend’s son, who nearly died on Thanksgiving a few years ago. My good friend, also recently diagnosed with breast cancer. My good friend who just lost her brother. My friend who just lost her husband. My friend who’s son is very ill.

They don’t know how fragile life is. They don’t fully understand how quickly it can be taken away.

We need to laugh while we can. We need to love while we can. We need to dance while we can.

And be thankful each day for those we love and the ability to do all of those things with them.

Peace people.




Scary Stuff…(Happy Halloween…)

Dear gentle readers, I was going to write to you about my vacation with my children to Orlando.

Instead, I feel the need to tell the tale of this very scary Halloween…

I took my autistic son, dressed as the Joker (of course) up to the elementary school in our neighborhood for the Halloween party tonight. The weather here in Michigan is crappy–rainy, cold, windy….trick or treating is not good. The party is the one thing that makes up for it, pretty much every year.

I arrived at the party and my son began gorging on donuts and cider. My younger son strolled in with the neighbors. All was good in the hood.

Or so I thought.

The photographer approached us and my son asked him what he was dressed as. He replied that it was a winged suit. What it was, in fact, was a base jumping suit–hand-made with plastic tarp.

He proceeded to inform me that he actually sold these suits on a website for much cheaper than a “real” suit “as let’s face it–the end result is the same.”


I said oh, you mean that they are jumping to their death???

He replied yes, and this was a much cheaper alternative.

Holy shit! (y’all!!)

I suggested to him that he have a link to life insurance on his website….as a potential kick back. He said didn’t think that base jumpers could be insured…perhaps mortuary services?? I said that he might be on to something….

It’s not ghosts that I’m afraid of.

It’s weirdos like this.

Weirdos that want to profit off death, and are employed around young children.

None of the other parents picked up on this creepy dude’s creepiness. AWESOME.

I wanted to scream “there is a man in a hockey mask–and he is taking your kid’s picture!!”

The potential creepazoid was cleverly disguised as an everyday photographer.

Well played, freak. Well played.

I’m totally using this in my act.

Happy Hauntings.

You might be an asshole if…

IMG_1182This blog is under construction. Just so you gentle readers know. I’m trying to get the visual aspect of it under control..trying to make it look professional. So bear with me.

I went to the gym this morning for a kickboxing class…and when I walked out to my Mighty Explorer..this is what I found. You know, you might be an asshole when you park like this. Please note that I am centered in my spot. Mr/Ms Asshole not so much. A gentleman drove by in his car, rolled down the window and shouted out that he didn’t think that even I could fit in that space between the two vehicles. Well, I’m glad I was able to make somebody laugh today.

I managed to squeeze sideways and jump in. I used my superior (cough cough..)driving skills to back out and not scrape the Asshole vehicle.

And I pondered the idea of citizen Asshole tickets. Kind of like a citizen’s arrest…but for being an asshole. For example..a ticket for douche bags that park like this, or talk loudly after midnight in hotel hallways or pull into the parking spot you were clearly waiting for, as you had your turn signal on for twenty minutes, waiting for the person to pull out…wouldn’t it be nice to give them some sort of Hey! You are an incredible ASSHOLE! ticket?


And now I have that asshole song from “Frozen” running through my brain (Let it go, let it go…) Fine. I’m letting it go.

But I’m still saying there is a great possibility that the driver of that car parked so poorly is an asshole driver. At the very least a jerk.

Mutter mutter.