Housekeeping Tips from Celebrities

April 22, 2019 By

Cleaning the house concept: hand holding a yellow sponge wet with foam on a black background

Gwyneth Paltrow

At our home, we only use all-natural, paraffin free, non-toxic cleaners made from starfruit and the bark from aspen trees, squeezed with a press and mixed with turmeric.  Sometimes we just take a moment and drink the solution as a colon cleanse. My child, Apple, is always asking for it as a refreshing hydration boost. When dusting shelves, take a towel that is slightly damp with lime-soaked mineral water and wipe your forehead with it, because #selfcare while housekeeping is important.  ALSO gobblygook beep boop sea lichen.

Editor’s note:  We think Gwyneth may have had a small stroke and some of her words weren’t making sense there at the end, but we believe it may have been because she hadn’t eaten in four days except for seven mushrooms and a rose pedal, which she said was for her complexion?

Cardi B

Here in my motherf**king house we don’t clean s**t because we have a mother**king girl that comes to the f**king house and cleans the f**king s**t around here and if you don’t like that you can *********

Editor’s note:  We were unable to transcribe the entire statement because it seemed to just be a run-on sentence there at the end full of expletives.  Literally one after another like a strand of f-bomb pearls, and we believe she may have used all of the words in her brain in the first sentence.  We gather she doesn’t like cleaning?  Does she like anything?  Does she know more than seven actual words? We don’t know. WE NEVER KNOW WITH THIS WOMAN.  

Martha Stewart

I pride myself in a clean home.  I always say to my daughter Alexis, “you must keep your home tidy and neat and always scrub with a toothbrush in the tiny crevices.”  She understands that perfection is the standard and that hasn’t hurt her one tiny bit in life.  Marie Kondo is a slob and frankly, a bad example.  We aren’t friends. Cleaning is not about joy, it’s about being able to eat off the floor.

Editor’s note:  We here at the publisher’s desk laughed and said “ha ha yeah right like you can eat on your floor” and she proceeded to eat a dinner of duck confit with braised chard and rosemary potatoes on the porcelain bathroom tile and now she’s kinda our hero? We’re so sorry, Marie.

Lady Gaga

I love to clean.  You simply take a dry cloth and wipe down the grammy.  See here, how I’m holding up this grammy to the light and it sparkles?  If there is any dust that collects on your grammy, just continue wiping it down and keeping it in a case, and if you need to clean the house you simply put the grammy in one hand and thank the academy and with the other hand you call someone and say “hello this is Lady Gaga I won a grammy” and they will come over with something like buckets and brooms I don’t know let’s talk more about how to dust this thing.

Editor’s note:  She won a grammy.

Lin Manuel-Miranda

Alexander Hamilton
My name is Alexander Hamilton
And there’s a million thing I haven’t done
But just you wait, just you wait

I can clean the dinner plate

Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide
Left him with nothing but ruined pride, something new inside
A voice saying, “Alex you gotta wash that tub”
So he retreated and cheated and started to scrub

Editor’s note:  We are no experts, but this appears to be the song from Hamilton with words changed.  All he did was dance around and wave his hands in the air, so we aren’t sure if he was saying the founding fathers cleaned their houses or whether he actually does or whether this was all just an analogy for a larger truth.  It can be interpreted several ways.  He’s a genius.

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Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

A Mother’s Contract *not legally binding in all states

March 21, 2019 By

 

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WHEREAS a mother forms human life completely inside of her own body but for a man’s sperm, eats chicken fingers due to raging salty cravings, and pushes a life form out of a small crevice that was formally used for recreational purposes;

WHEREAS a mother is responsible for the training, nutrition, and education of child (except for when mom has a Migraine or the child’s being a real pain); and

WHEREAS child doesn’t really care and simply wants mother to take him/her to soccer practice and allow for sufficient time on Minecraft,

NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the mutual covenants and conditions herein contained, the parties agree to the following:

Section 1: Term

This contract shall be in effect upon the uncomfortable screaming event that when child made its debut breathing air (“Child’s Birthday”) and shall last until the mother’s death and/or until the child says “my therapist says you are toxic and I need to cut you out of my life” (“Termination Date”).

Section 2: Duties of Parties

Duties of Mother:

(1) Mother shall hereinafter and at all times love child except from the ages of 12-15 when the mother shall simply tolerate and barely like them on certain days they aren’t yelling “for heavens sakes mom please don’t drop off us off so close to school” or crying about pimples / premenstrual cramps;

(2) Mother shall cook for children daily and/or buy them food and/or simply set out plates of crackers and cheese and say “it’s this or starvation, kiddos, because it’s been that kind of day;” and

(3) Mother shall drive them places, listen to their daily stories, ensure they do just enough chores to hear them complain, punish them when appropriate, and say “I understand this is hard for you” when they say “you really are the most strict and cruel parenting figure that has ever lived.”

Duties of Children:

(1) Attend school (sometimes)

(2) Eat mom’s food (unless it’s meatloaf, fish, olives, or anything with “that gross cheese in it”)

(3) Play videogames

(4) Complain

(5) Half-ass their chores

Section 3: Compensation

Mother gets paid only in sticky valentine’s cards that say “I love you, mommy!!” as well as cold eggs and some barely toasted bread covered in butter the children bring on a tray into her bed on Mother’s Day.  No one will remember Mother’s birthday, any important event in her life, and will let her sleep in on weekends except the times they knock on her bedroom door at 7 am to see if they can use the ipad.  However, Mother shall receive a coupon for a “free foot rub” that no child ever intends her to cash in on.  When they are teenagers they will mutter “yeah, you too” when she says I love you, which in a way is a form of emotional payment.

Section 4: Incentive Payment

There will be a one-time payment when children grow up and have their own children, which will make them realize how hard their mother worked and how patient she was, and will say “wow mom, we never realized it was this hard” as Mother visits and helps fold burp pads, going the grocery store and preparing seventeen freezer meals.  This is the extent of the payment, this weak acknowledgment of not realizing a Mother’s true worth, but it’s something?

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties have executed this Agreement not under sound mind or body because if Mother knew all the terms of this agreement she would never, ever sign it.  And yet here we go.

 

__________________

Mother’s Signature

__________________

Just include an image of child’s footprint out of craft paint and stamp it here, because that makes a lot of damn sense

 

 

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Filed Under: Humor, Motherhood, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

Using Words Wrong to Save Time + Words

March 12, 2019 By

“At a recent round table meeting of business executives, & long after formally introducing Tim Cook of Apple, I quickly referred to Tim + Apple as Tim/Apple as an easy way to save time & words. The Fake News was disparagingly all over this, & it became yet another bad Trump story!”

-President of the United States, The Donald, Man of Few Words

We need to cut the President some slack. He’s running this nation.  He’s a very busy man, and cannot be bothered with things that take time PLUS contain words.  That’s a lot to deal with.  I mean it’s Monday.  Tanning day.   Hamberders.  Hungry.

Okay, sure. It actually takes longer to create an online rant on twitter using your thumbs on an outdated apple phone (see above / contact Tim Apple) indicating why you didn’t say this one word by instead using fifty-two words, but he has his reasons!

We all need more time plus less words.  Let’s try this at home:

Let’s go grab lunch at the French bakery=                 LUNCH FRENCH

I’ve had a headache since Tuesday=                          HEAD TUESDAY

What a cute blue dress your kid is wearing=             BLUE KID

It’s like an entirely new (nonsensical) language!  Look at all those words we saved!

 

THANK YOU, MR. PRESIDENT.

 YOUR IDEA STUPID

(short for “thank you for your helpful idea which makes us better people and less stupid on all fronts!”)

Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,

CEO Sarah Smith Speaking to her Board Members the way she Speaks to her Children

February 20, 2019 By
45739276632_5e8aeb734d_zJohn, board member.
The way he is holding his hand to his face is patronizing.
He gets what he deserves.

SARAH SMITH: This meeting is called to order at 6:07 pm.  It would have been called to order at 6 pm but a certain board member (AHEM) didn’t seem to make it on time due to “traffic.”  Brenda, how many times do we need to talk about taking responsibility and leaving time to cross through town in a motor vehicle?  Many times. I’m starting to think you don’t respect our fellow board members time.  Maybe you want to sit outside in the waiting area of our boardroom and think about how to respect our friends here?

BRENDA: But there was an accident on I-10! I think someone died and they diverted all the traffic for five miles!  I also had to pee but held it in the entire time and I’m literally about to explode so the board meeting wouldn’t be delayed until 6:09!

SARAH SMITH: Brenda, we aren’t victims here.  We don’t play that whole “oh it’s not my fault” card. That language is not acceptable. Here at Incom, we value responsibility and taking control over our actions, not blaming other people. Mkay, Brenda? See you in twenty. I’ll set the timer.  Okie Doke. Now that’s out of the way, today we are going to discuss our company’s financials. We are in a wee bit of a pickle here, folks. It looks like our CFO did a little willy nilly with the numbers and well, he’s off to the Barbados so we need to sort this little issue out.  We have, let’s just say, a situation at hand and we need to pull up our big boy and girl pants and fix it!  Okay?

JOHN, BOARD MEMBER:  None of that made any sense.  Please stop using the word “pickle” in a sentence. What actually happened? Did he embezzle money?  Will that affect the stock price?  Is he fired?  Are we going to seize his computer?

SARAH SMITH:  We don’t like to tattle on people, John.  It’s not my place to go into details about an employee of this company —

JOHN:  Yes, Sarah.  It’s your place.  We are members of the Board of Directors and we need to know what that piece of shit did with corporate money.

SARAH SMITH:  I don’t like your tone, John.  That kind of language is not appreciated here nor is it acceptable.  Please hand me your phone.  If you can’t be respectful to others, you have lost phone privileges for the duration of this meeting.

JOHN:  I AM A GROWN-ASS ADULT, SARAH.  YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY MY PHONE.

SARAH SMITH:  Whoopsie daisy. Looks like someone will be joining Brenda out in the hallway for a little bit of a timeout!  We’ll see you in a little bit, Johnny!

*John storms out the door, throwing his board packet in the trash can.

SARAH SMITH:  Well!  Some people just can’t understand that my rules keep everyone knowing their boundaries, which makes everyone feel safe.  He’ll appreciate this someday when he has his own Board of Directors!  Now if you will all pull out your minutes from last time, we need to approve them and get a motion for approval on the record.

DEB, MANAGER:  You can’t just drop that information on us about the financials and move onto the approval of minutes.  Can you please elaborate on the financial issue you mentioned just moments ago?

SARAH SMITH:  We need to work on your patience, sweetie.  All in good time.  Sarah knows what’s best and in what order to present things.

DEB:  I’m not sure why you’re referring to yourself in third person.  If we can just get back to the massive financial crisis that would be great.

SARAH SMITH:    You have the right to know what I tell you that you have the right to know.  My, my, Deb.  You used to be the good one. Now you are being a LITTLE BIT DEMANDING and I don’t like it.  Be a sweetie and pass me a cookie from that tray?

DEB:  I am not your servant. Is this because my last name is Rodriquez?

SARAH SMITH:  I’m needing a little Sarah time right now. You members are driving me crazy.  Does Incom not see all the hard work I put into this company and this Board of Directors, day in and day out? Does no one recognize what I do?  Do you think these minutes type themselves?

DEB: No, your secretary Marie types them.  You literally just returned from vacation yesterday.

SARAH SMITH:  You know what?  Screw this.  I’m getting a pedicure and busting out my sippy cup with “wine time” on it.  You people go ahead and just try to run this company.

DEB:  I did run the company. You reported me as a “litigious Mexican” to HR and ended up taking the CEO spot and I was downgraded to manager, and I have to sit through this terrible meeting listening to you talk while my employment lawyer prepares my racial discrimination lawsuit and I’m only still working here because the company is afraid of a retaliation claim.

SARAH SMITH: I think I used the word “Hispanic.”  To be fair.

DEB:  HOW IS THAT REMOTELY FAIR?

BRENDA, PEERING IN:  Is my time up yet?  Can I come back in?

SARAH SMITH:  I don’t feel that anyone recognizes me.  I don’t feel heard.  Being a CEO is hard work.

MARIE, SECRETARY, CRACKING DOOR OPEN:  Sarah, your kids are calling.  Something about a fever.

SARAH SMITH:  Who has time for that right now?  Tell them I’m in a board meeting for heavens sakes.  They can leave a message.

 

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Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized

NPR On-Air Personality Job Interview Questions

December 27, 2018 By

NPR headquartersWhere the magic happens.  I hear they have chamomile tea

  • Do you have a voice that is soft and spreadable like butter from grass-fed cows?
  • Are you able to keep a straight face when reporting on the President, the President’s tweets, the people who work for the President, the President’s choice of hair or skin color, or the fact that the President may pout, punch other world leaders, or whine?
  • Do you consider all things?
  • Do you ever use the words “scrupulous” or “colloquial” or basically any words that normal people with an 8th grade vocabulary have never heard of?
  • Do people naturally smile and have a trance-like appearance when you open your mouth and speak, especially when you are discussing a war-torn country in a far-off location or economic woes in Detroit?
  • Are you totally comfortable talking about stories of seeming insignificance, like the third-generation carver of burled-wood tables in Virginia?
  • Can you pretend everyone else is lovely when we all know they are not?
  • Do you have a name that is unique and special like Garrison, Dina, Ira, or Neal, or a last name that’s gross?
  • Are you okay with asking people for money for months on end even though it’s just a radio station they can turn off at will?
  • Do you feel that a mug is ever an appropriate incentive? What about a t-shirt with an elitist quote?
  • Do you support a self-supporting, insular mindset where most people drink tea rather than the country’s more common and pedestrian coffee?
  • Speaking of tea, do you drink organic fair-trade tea from India? If not, what’s wrong with you?
  • Have you ever lived on a prairie, and if so, did you have a home filled with suitable companions?
  • Are you inspired and uplifted by stories about rare ants found deep in the woods of a forest in a country whose name nobody can pronounce but you?
  • Speaking of that, can you pronounce all words in the history of the world and in various languages with the correct accent?
  • Are you okay with umlauts?
  • If we have any further questions, we’ll be sure to ask you quickly and efficiently via telephone before you hypnotize us with your melodic and uplifting voice. Also, we kinda want to punch you in the throat.  Nobody really cares about ants that much.

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Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

An Open Letter to Parson Brown

December 11, 2018 By

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Dear Rev. Brown,

I’m sure you recall last Winter, when we first met.  It was in the lane, where snow was glistening.  You may have believed it was a beautiful sight and we were happy that night. But you know what? I can honestly say it the worst time of my life. I was taken advantage of with a broken-down car and was not fully aware of that one night’s long-lasting implications.  It was the moment I met Ted, who coincidentally is now my husband.  And it’s all your fault.

I was just passing through the woods on my way to the airport.  Detour signs led me deep into the forest. My car skidded off the road and out of nowhere came a man who walked up and offered to help.  He handed me a flask of whiskey, and I drank it.  What was I supposed to do? It was seven degrees outside with a negative wind chill. Reverend – I should have known better. This is 2018. Who is out at night walking in a Winter Wonderland? I looked around me because I was scared, but gone away was the bluebird.  Instead all I saw were new birds.  They appeared to be crows, who peered at me with their steely death-filled eyes.  I should have seen that as a foreboding sign.

As we walked, we came to a meadow, where Ted said we could build a snowman.  Who wants to build a snowman in a blizzard with a stranger?  I just wanted my car fixed!  I was beginning to think he slipped something in the whiskey.  All of a sudden there you were, this fat white guy with a large nose and a top hat standing there asking if we were married.  I was like “no, man” and at that point things got really hazy.  I think someone said they’d get the job done in town, and I was like “FINALLY” since that’s a fairly new Saab. Now I realize it wasn’t the car you were talking about.

I think Ted must have been sitting home alone before we met, conspiring and dreaming by a fire, to make this all happen. I mean, normal men don’t walk around in forests with laced whiskey unless it’s pre-meditated.  Did he put the detour signs there to force me off the road?  Had he been stalking me?  He kept going about the stupid snowman again, this time pretending it was a circus clown.  I think even in my altered state I realized Ted was mentally ill.  Now, there is no doubt.  The other day he said he liked to frolic and play the Eskimo way.  An Eskimo?  We live in Massachusetts, not Greenland!  This is getting worse by the day.  He’s a psychopath and needs medication.

Look, I’ve been trying to contact you for a while. I’ve searched all the seminaries and they have no record of you. I’m beginning to think you’re not a real preacher after all. I need to contact you to see how to annul this marriage since it was based on false pretenses.  If annulment isn’t possible, we are getting a divorce.  I can’t take it anymore.  I come home from work every night and I have to listen to Ted yelling at the television and ringing those stupid bells. Sleigh bells ring, am I listening? How can I not? The tinkling and jingling is giving me anxiety. That’s not snow glistening, it’s tears filled with hidden rage!

I’m done with this whole game.   You can take this Winter Wonderland and stick it.

Sincerely,

Susan White

 

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Helpful Recipe Ideas for Parents with Annoying Teenagers

November 27, 2018 By

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You can see leaf veins on these suckers so don’t tell me algebra homework is hard. 

(1)  When You Want to Kill That Kid Vegetable Soup.  This involves a great deal of chopping.  You take a large knife and slice through various root vegetables like carrots, turnips, onions, and extra celery since it makes a satisfying bone-crushing sound.  This way you don’t cut through actual parts of people you are supposed to love and care for but are instead raging against the shallot.  Murder those red potatoes, people.  They don’t bleed.  Chop away on the cutting board and when the kid comes in and to ask what’s for dinner, they will see the murderous and slightly crazed look on your face with a large knife in your hand and quietly slink back in their rooms until dinner is ready.

(2)  Talking Back Biscuits.  These are a light and fluffy way to start your morning when the kid says “YOU SAID YOU’D WAKE ME UP MOTHER” and “WHY DO I NOT HAVE ANY SOCKS THAT ARE CLEAN.” Like their socks are your problem.  Then you catch them saying “oh shit, I have a history test today and I didn’t study” so you add extra salt to the dough to match their mouth. When they eat them and say “gross, I don’t like so much salt” you can say “welcome to my world, kiddo” and “try some jam with that.”

(3)  Crappy Attitude Casserole.  With teenagers, they come home ecstatic and happy and talking about the school dance with glee or they look like someone pulled out all their wisdom teeth without anesthesia.  If you are unlucky enough to catch them on a bad day, make a dump casserole of all the leftover vegetables with rice and a can of creamed soup, cover with cheese, and bake for 30 min.  When they ask what’s in it you can say you just vomited all your problems into the dish and maybe they can chill out asking you what’s in the casserole because IT’S BEEN A ROUGH DAY OKAY? and you’ll match their sour attitude with the almost moldy broccoli you chopped up and threw in underneath the cheese.

(4)  Incessant Chatter Chowder.  When your daughter comes home and wants to tell you all about how this other kid got together and how the rumors are that the first kid actually hooked up with this girl at a party but then this other friend got involved and he’s a little weird, you know, and by this time you just turn on the hand mixer and begin to wave in their direction and mouth the words “I can’t hear you” because you’re just trying to make this lovely dinner for everyone that involves loud noises and creamed soup to drown out their obnoxious stories about teenagers almost kissing under bleachers.

(5)  Slow as Molasses Cookies.  These cookies are full of a gooey sweet substance that takes forever to pour out of the jar, just like when they have missed the bus and you need to drive them in but suddenly they sit on the floor “putting on their shoes” but they are laughing and somehow magically creating a snapchat story and you walk in front of them and wave at them like OMG WE HAVE TO GO I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL DRIVER and they look at you like “what is your problem” and proceed to lace their sneakers like they win a prize if they can draw out this process until Christmas.  Sprinkle sugar on the top of the cookies just before you put them in the oven, just like when you say “I love you!” right when you drop them off after yelling at them in the car for twenty minutes.

(6)  Stinky Pasta.  This is a crowd-pleaser with a cream sauce out of limburger cheese and that is served over fettuccini noodles and sprinkled with basil, which basically smells like how a teenager’s room smells.  You tell them to shower but it’s like they are allergic to water or soap but instead cover up the stench with some cheap perfume from Bath and Body Works that doesn’t smell at all like strawberries despite the label.  They walk out of the house and you have to air the place out for an hour and you think “at least the basil in this pasta recipe actually smells good.”

(7)  Phone Addiction Applesauce.  Teenagers think applesauce is just for kids, but it smells lovely to cook apples with cinnamon and then puree them until they are soft and smooth, just like how their minds are mush after staring at their devices for a solid seven hours on a Saturday.  When you tell them “hey, kiddo, how about reading this classic novel to give your brain some activity” they say “I’ll tell you classic, how about Mario Brothers” and you end up eating all the applesauce and watching cartoons alone wondering why you even try.

(8)  Tired Tuesdays.  You cook no food and say “there’s always cereal” because your kids are exhausting and you are tired of their smells and their talking and their attitude problems and you just don’t understand how come they can’t grow up and get a job already.  Then one of your teenagers is sad because some boy dumped her and she says “Mommy?  Can you make me a grilled cheese?”  Her cute little pimply face reminds you of all those nights you stayed up with her until 3 am with a fever and rocked her and there’s so much love pouring out you in that one moment that you say “YES OF COURSE I’LL DO ANYTHING MAYBE YOU WANT FOUR TYPES OF CHEESE ON IT AND I’LL HEAT UP TOMATO SOUP WITH THAT?” The teenager smiles in that sly way that says “ha ha – I’ve still got it.”

Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

Partner Workout Day

February 6, 2018 By

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I haven’t worked out in a while.  The last time I went to the gym my instructor was pregnant, and this time she was stressing about her kid’s college applications.

To be fair, I’ve had stuff going on.  I got married and moved and have been cooking for seven instead of three.  I am launching a new company, I’ve been running a law practice, and I’ve been doing lots of writing, sleeping, and eating snacks.  But mostly I’ve just been watching Netflix.  I hate working out.  The only thing worse than working out is working out the next time. That being said, it feels good AFTER you work out, similar to the feeling after you leave the hospital or after someone stops punches you repeatedly in the stomach while calling you Mandy.

Upon my epic return, all I wanted to do is hide in the corner, run on the treadmill, listen the instructor’s guidance in stoic silence (except for the necessary gasping of air), burn some calories, and complain about it later. I was proud of myself for showing up and fitting into my work-out bra, which was indeed a miracle of science.

The way this gym works is that they give you a little preview of the workout, which is like showing you a play-by-play of how you will die, then they turn on the music and give you a little peppy high-five as you walk in the work-out room. The instructor says “Welcome!” and “Glad you made it!” while I mutter “it’s better than dying from heart disease.”

I prefer Treadmill Number 8.  It’s right below the heart-rate monitor screen and I can see it without my glasses. So I give people a look that says “I will cut you” if they take my precious Number 8 or inch towards my Number 8 or act as if they are coveting Number 8 in any way.  But I realize I’m a stranger here and they simply don’t know.  Okay, I’ll give them this.

So here I am, waiting for class to begin.  Then, out of the blue, the instructor says something that I wasn’t expecting and rocked me to the core. The words slid out as if it was nothing.  Like we desire social interaction while wearing spandex.  “IT’S PARTNER DAY, EVERYONE!” she yelled.  Why she yelled it, I have no idea. Calm down. And what fresh hell is this partner-day nonsense.  I panicked.  I looked around and everyone is like “Whoop!” and giving each other big smiles on a Tuesday and I’m standing there in my ill-fitting sports bra like “this is the thanks I get for coming to the gym today?”

A short woman standing next to me named Stacey (could have been a fake name, hard to say) looked equally petrified so I just sorta shrugged and said “hey – wanna partner up?”  She nodded in despair and we trudged into the room together like sad little turtles.

The first order of business was to get on the treadmill and be the pacer, meaning you had to run half a mile and then tag your partner to switch with you.  You want to be fast and competent and show your partner that you’re not a lallygagging lazybones. Despite my unhealthy competitive spirit, my heart rate was raging against the machine.  I ran only a quarter of a mile and then said to Stacey “it’s cool – you really don’t have to listen to what they say.” I figured I’d give her permission to slack off. She said, to my great surprise, “I never listen and I’m actually more of a walker.”  I then realized we were kindred spirits, this other lazy person and me.  So the rest of the hour we’d walk past each other and say little things like “well this is ridiculous” and roll our eyes at each other.  After the class she said “I really don’t think I’m supposed to be in the red zone the whole time” and I was like “you’re just an overachiever” and we laughed and laughed like we were always meant to be pudgy and slightly terrified work-out partners.

I think the lesson of this story is that (a) maybe you should just stay home and (b) working out is awful; but (c) if you work out with a partner you should totally pick Stacey (or whatever her real name is).  But mostly it’s a lesson that people generally do a little too much high-fiving.  I would go into more detail but I’m late for my work-out class.  Today is “leave everyone the eff alone and just lift weights day,” which is my favorite class of the year.

Happy American Heart Prevention month, everyone!

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(threew’s).flickr.com/photos/cumidanciki/5163310087/in/photolist-8SgjcH-8Sgjwn-owzvqk-S7j7De-5osALY-SSEfNX-canpFA-8SjqBd-SPahFb-FxngsX-cansiS-p5UJ57-c8x1YN-RCJp58-cant1q-pk8rah-4HjHun-ehzwCR-dPFfXw-9sdfhX-75XhJt-7N3fwq-g9giVA-canoC7-53LFKJ-pBCysV-edGF6R-c8wuVq-TrZbtD-auo7zn-s85Vbh-9QxFLR-4GXcBN-8sGSM1-SLzCrt-qpxq5b-Sd9hh4-cqsfHj-dhP33i-6K51KM-pnTWU6-8r4WEb-a2cjpo-drEG3-75mypy-7vcp2u-RK7LuQ-oo9uYA-bqFowP-bkXDA6

 

Filed Under: Humor Tagged With: , , , , ,

Tales of a Spa Pedicure

December 12, 2017 By

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I took my daughter to a spa for a pedicure.  It was one of those all-natural, all-organic, you go home smelling like cloves type of places. We sit down in our pedicure chairs and I tell the man who’s doing the pedicure to cut my nails short. He had platinum blond hair and was wearing one necklace with a bright red tassel and another with a skull and crossbones.  Not a super relaxing look, but maybe the remains of heads without skin is comforting to some people.

“What did you say?” he asked.  You would have thought I asked him to cut the heads off babies.

“CAN YOU CUT THE NAILS SHORT,” I said louder.

“We don’t ever cut the nails,” he says.

I dramatically looked around, as if to show him visually by the sweeping of my eyes that we are in a ROOM WHERE NAILS ARE TAKEN CARE OF.  Isn’t cutting the nails part of it, or do natural organic people walk around with curled up talons?

How exactly do you respond to this? It wasn’t said with hesitation, like “well we usually do, but right now all our nail cutting devices are in the vinegar wash.”  It was a solid no, like when my kids ask “do you like this Taylor Swift song” or “are we ever going to Disney world.”

The guy must have felt bad because I looked forlorn, so he raises a piece of aspen bark tinted by the Colorado sun and dyed from lingonberries that he called a “nail file” in the air and says he’ll use this to file them down.

I stare at my toenails and realize that he’ll have to rub that thing against my toes until he makes fire to make a dent in the actual length of my nails, that are currently long and luxurious and would win a beauty contest in some countries.

“Don’t bother,” I said.  “I’ll cut them at home.” He smiles at me, his platinum blond hair bobbing.  He mixes something green and something white, tells me he’s about to rub green tea extract and salt on my feet, and I lay back and try to relax.

I look down again when he gets to the painting. He tells me he’s from Dallas, which is boring so we stop talking.  The woman who is working on my daughter’s nails is from Palestine and has this beautiful face and I keep asking her about her country and her opinions on things and what she thinks about America and I kept apologizing how our President acts.  My guy from Dallas with the aspen bark file realized he was losing ground so he just said nothing, his skull necklace swaying back and forth as he wrapped hot towels around my calves.  Apparently natural organic spa people have nothing against towels being heated to a very high temperature, but honestly that seems cruel.  Towels have feelings too.

When I got back home, I cut my nails.  I didn’t save the remains in an urn. I didn’t hold a vigil to the lost.  I just chopped them off and gave them the respect they deserved, which is none.  Because they are toenails.

Next time, we are heading the nail place around the corner, where they just consider nails a virus that must be eliminated and you an annoying customer they want to get rid of. There, I feel like home.  There, things make sense.  They dig into your cuticles and chop off everything they can see.  Occasionally they apologize when they hurt you and you make a whelping sound.  There is no clay mask or extract.  They use cheap lotion and don’t talk to you.  You just get in, read trashy magazines, and get out.

That’s my kind of spa.

 

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photo:

(threew’s).flickr.com/photos/155794369@N08/35295186882/in/photolist-VLV4oS-bGwsci-dJYyeb-9Jq9WX-dJT7oZ-9JthkA-dLLXyi-9JqrwT-rx7F1Y-9JsBFU-69mK11-YCCFQY-BJrFp-snYzWH-X6ei3z-Y4zVU3-5yqwJG-deEZ9v-FLuWoR-BJrM1-EWeSg-a21NZN-QzRyc8-YCCKrf-YFfWDF-NdN7h8-6iak9t-na63Q6-69mFHq-9Jq7cB-cAh6mC-deFhX2-9JpQR4-75x7kU-9Jq57P-9JtgAf-EX8YNb-5kZPCz-4HLFL1-5kZNMz-jD6wXa-f43rDG-BJrJU-9Jqg4t-66KQqL-9Jqoxx-8PMXdp-vJyKV-DcfKz-4rc9aX

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Martha Stewart’s Guide to Unclogging a Toilet in Six Easy Steps

June 15, 2017 By

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(1) Invest in the Proper Infrastructure: The key to success is a properly-designed toilet. I recommend those made by craftsmen in Portugal, where the ceramic is air-dried in the sun and there is a hand-carved seal of approval for quality. They may be more expensive, but my general rule of thumb is to pay five times more for all things.

(2) Buy Better Cleaning Products: A toilet should be cleaned every 6.2 hours, by the hired help of your choice. I only use Martha Stewart Toilet Bowl Cleaner, which is all natural and non-toxic. I know this because my grandson drank some, which made my daughter Alexis freak out and call Poison Control. Their response was, “Haha! That stuff is nothing but distilled water and a few drops of peppermint oil! That kid could drink the whole bottle and be fine!” They sure are a jolly bunch.

(3) Eat More Greens: A clogged a toilet is often diet-related. One’s body cavity residue should be a nice, smooth, sorbet-like consistency. To obtain this result, simply consume six to seven servings of organic kale prepared in a coconut flax backwash mixed with ginger. My hired help often comments on how bright and cheerful my excrement is. They love working for me, and cleaning my ceramic toilet is their favorite job. That’s what they say right before I pay them.

(4) Eliminate all Plungers: If you are using one of those terrible rubber toilet plungers, you should discard it immediately. They are harbingers of bacteria. You should instead purchase a wooden toilet stick made from light Walnut with an attachment that crawls through the pipes, thoroughly cleansing the porcelain. It has little web-like hands made from groupings of crushed diamonds that rotate using small gears. You can special order these from my favorite clock-maker Bernard in Connecticut.

(5) Stay at One of Your Other Properties: If all else fails and the above steps don’t work, which is surprising if you’re eating that much kale, it’s time to call your driver and take a trip to another one of your various properties. There is no use living in a house if you have sub-par toilets. You might also reconsider the very purpose of your life.

(6) Last Resort: Call a licensed, professional, organic, all-natural plumber. I’ve heard they are named Bob. At least that’s what is printed upon their shirts. Perhaps you can locate Bob through your various media connections. You shouldn’t be there for this – I recommend leaving town so that you don’t have to know what’s happening inside your home. Perhaps you should do some traveling. I recommend Portugal. They make excellent toilets.

 

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*this is not a real photo of Martha Stewart’s bathroom.  She did not actually write this. It’s satire. If you think she did, you need to move to Portugal.

photo:

(threew’s)..flickr.com/photos/133418222@N05/17783481078/in/photolist-GXMTy-pripqq-t6sZmJ-t6AB4H-dxjy5C-t6sZwo-JHzg8-dDcb2o-to8giK-tnMCqf-G1LGuT-dxjy5N

Filed Under: Humor, Uncategorized Tagged With:

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