Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Day 4: Antigua 12/23/08
(Our porthole was just to the right of tug.)
What a backwards, smelly, craptastic, third-world, hell-hole Antiqua is!
We had high hopes for the place when we stepped off the ship. Passengers were greeted by an ultra-groovy steel-drum ensemble but that's where the fun ended. Once through security, we were set upon by men in blue shirts who were waiving what appeared to be Waffle House menus in our faces. Turns out the men were taxi drivers and their pursuit of us was Paparazzi-esque in nature. I felt like Britney Spears on her way to the grocery store.
A simple "No, thank you" was not the answer they wanted to hear. I tried "We already have a tour booked" (even though we didn't), but that would only work in the short-term. Miserable, menacing woman asked to braid my hair. The raw sewage odor emanating from the harbor was overwhelming when combined with the humid air. White tourists, filled with guilt, plastered smiles on their faces and pretended not to be intimidated by the hostile Antiguans.
I think the Safety and Security Guide handed out by the Welcome Center summed it up best, "Remain alert, maintain a low profile and trust your instincts."
We trusted our instincts and hightailed it back to the ship for a mid-morning workout. We claimed we would head back on shore later in the day for a Wadadli-- the local brew-- but secretly we knew we wouldn't. Antigua is best enjoyed from the safety of a 90,000 ton vessel.
The gym on the Serenade of the Seas is state of the art, manned by two super-buff European dudes named Hans and Franz or Bjork and Fork. After our run, it started to rain, making us even happier about our decision to skip Antigua. The only thing worse than being scared is being wet and scared.
Several hours of eating and napping later, we were dressed in our nighttime casual-wear taking advantage of the bars, casino and nightly shows. The midnight "Dancing Under the Stars" event was moved indoors due to high winds-- 48 MPH winds according to the in-house television channel. We climbed to the top deck and momentarily panicked when we realized we looked like Jim Cantore reporting from a hurricane. I guess there's a reason the women at the Weather Channel don't wear skirts.
That night I couldn't sleep. The rocking made me feel like I was 16 again and experiencing drunken bed spins for the first time. At times, the surf covered our porthole-- and no, that's not a euphemism. It must have been the Anitgua Gods seeking revenge for dissing their island.
What a backwards, smelly, craptastic, third-world, hell-hole Antiqua is!
We had high hopes for the place when we stepped off the ship. Passengers were greeted by an ultra-groovy steel-drum ensemble but that's where the fun ended. Once through security, we were set upon by men in blue shirts who were waiving what appeared to be Waffle House menus in our faces. Turns out the men were taxi drivers and their pursuit of us was Paparazzi-esque in nature. I felt like Britney Spears on her way to the grocery store.
A simple "No, thank you" was not the answer they wanted to hear. I tried "We already have a tour booked" (even though we didn't), but that would only work in the short-term. Miserable, menacing woman asked to braid my hair. The raw sewage odor emanating from the harbor was overwhelming when combined with the humid air. White tourists, filled with guilt, plastered smiles on their faces and pretended not to be intimidated by the hostile Antiguans.
I think the Safety and Security Guide handed out by the Welcome Center summed it up best, "Remain alert, maintain a low profile and trust your instincts."
We trusted our instincts and hightailed it back to the ship for a mid-morning workout. We claimed we would head back on shore later in the day for a Wadadli-- the local brew-- but secretly we knew we wouldn't. Antigua is best enjoyed from the safety of a 90,000 ton vessel.
The gym on the Serenade of the Seas is state of the art, manned by two super-buff European dudes named Hans and Franz or Bjork and Fork. After our run, it started to rain, making us even happier about our decision to skip Antigua. The only thing worse than being scared is being wet and scared.
Several hours of eating and napping later, we were dressed in our nighttime casual-wear taking advantage of the bars, casino and nightly shows. The midnight "Dancing Under the Stars" event was moved indoors due to high winds-- 48 MPH winds according to the in-house television channel. We climbed to the top deck and momentarily panicked when we realized we looked like Jim Cantore reporting from a hurricane. I guess there's a reason the women at the Weather Channel don't wear skirts.
That night I couldn't sleep. The rocking made me feel like I was 16 again and experiencing drunken bed spins for the first time. At times, the surf covered our porthole-- and no, that's not a euphemism. It must have been the Anitgua Gods seeking revenge for dissing their island.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Day Three: St. Maarten 12/22/08
Walking along the streets of downtown Phillipsburg is like trying to run across the lanes at the Indy 500. Apparently, the slow island life doesn't apply to moving vehicles. But, at least the locals are polite enough to beep before they run you over. Although there is a possibility that they were honking at my big ass. It seems my large posterior is very popular in the Caribbean.
St. Maarten is 2/3 French and 1/3 Dutch but the 350-year-old Concordia Agreement makes it easy to travel and do business between the two countries. Many of our fellow Serenade of the Seas cruise ship passengers bought into the notion that the French side is superior so they hopped in cabs, completely bypassing the section ruled by Holland. While they said the excellent food and shopping was the reason for their excursion, I suspect they all just wanted a glimpse of full-frontal nudity on one of the many French nudie beaches.
But, hey, the beer is cheaper on the Dutch side and we saw naked boobies anyway.
We made our way over to the Honky Tonk beach bar where our Dutch bartenders served us $1.00 Caribs. I hadn't had a beer since being diagnosed with GERD two years ago, but, man alive, there is nothing better than downing an ice-cold lager while staring at beautiful blue water. So I packed lots of Omeprazole and Ranitidine, cracked open a bottle of brew and hoped for the best. It was worth every gas-inducing and acid-inducing gulp.
The beaches are within walking distance of the port, although some folks opted for the $6.00 water taxi. We had this incredible knack for not wearing bathing suits when we needed them and wearing bathing suits when it was completely unnecessary. So, we hustled back to the ship and changed into our beachwear.
For $10.00 US you can rent two lounge chairs and an umbrella. Ironically, we sat near a French family who was consuming McDonald's like peasants who had just stormed the kitchen of an aristocratic family.
Beer on the beach was $2. Do they think we're made of money?!
Nearby, a Caribbean band entertained a group of touristas dining at an outdoor cafe. My state of beach euphoria was momentarily interrupted when I realized they were playing the theme from the Brady Bunch. "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," the lead singer yelled when the song was over. Yes, Virginia, there is a dominant American culture.
St. Maarten is 2/3 French and 1/3 Dutch but the 350-year-old Concordia Agreement makes it easy to travel and do business between the two countries. Many of our fellow Serenade of the Seas cruise ship passengers bought into the notion that the French side is superior so they hopped in cabs, completely bypassing the section ruled by Holland. While they said the excellent food and shopping was the reason for their excursion, I suspect they all just wanted a glimpse of full-frontal nudity on one of the many French nudie beaches.
But, hey, the beer is cheaper on the Dutch side and we saw naked boobies anyway.
We made our way over to the Honky Tonk beach bar where our Dutch bartenders served us $1.00 Caribs. I hadn't had a beer since being diagnosed with GERD two years ago, but, man alive, there is nothing better than downing an ice-cold lager while staring at beautiful blue water. So I packed lots of Omeprazole and Ranitidine, cracked open a bottle of brew and hoped for the best. It was worth every gas-inducing and acid-inducing gulp.
The beaches are within walking distance of the port, although some folks opted for the $6.00 water taxi. We had this incredible knack for not wearing bathing suits when we needed them and wearing bathing suits when it was completely unnecessary. So, we hustled back to the ship and changed into our beachwear.
For $10.00 US you can rent two lounge chairs and an umbrella. Ironically, we sat near a French family who was consuming McDonald's like peasants who had just stormed the kitchen of an aristocratic family.
Beer on the beach was $2. Do they think we're made of money?!
Nearby, a Caribbean band entertained a group of touristas dining at an outdoor cafe. My state of beach euphoria was momentarily interrupted when I realized they were playing the theme from the Brady Bunch. "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," the lead singer yelled when the song was over. Yes, Virginia, there is a dominant American culture.
Day Two: St. Thomas 12/21/08
My husband said that he wanted to walk up to the first person he saw in St. Thomas and ask, "Do you know where I can buy some jewelry?" just to watch their head explode. If jewelry stores were watering holes, every man, woman and child on this island would be an alcoholic.
At the port of Charlotte Amalie, you can hit three jewelry stores on the way to the jewelry store. We stopped at what appeared to be a non-jewelry store to buy some water only to be asked on our way out if we wanted to look at some earrings.
As far as jewelry is concerned, I own a sport watch from Walmart, a wedding ring from JC Penney and the holes in my once pierced ears closed up long ago. Walking me through the alleys of St. Thomas is like taking a vegetarian on a tour on New York's meat packing district.
But since I have a vagina, all the storekeepers were convinced that my genitalia needed a matching tennis bracelet. So we were harassed and harassed and harassed. I looked down at my ten dollar timepiece and decided it was time to head back to the ship.
As we were fleeing Mainstreet, we stopped to listen to some beautiful singing emanating from a local church. We were spotted by a well-dressed older man who motioned for us to come inside. I declined, fearing that he just wanted to sell me a diamond broach.
We continued on, following signs for the Butterfly Farm but, upon closer inspection, it looked more like the Butterfly Industrial Park.
Suddenly, it seemed like a perfect day to read by the pool.
The port at St. Thomas was the prettiest of all our stops so sitting back with an adult beverage and taking in the view was not a bad way to spend the day. At sunset, we purchased even more libations and said goodbye to the sun as our ship pulled away.
These ships are truly engineering marvels yet every few minutes I would wonder quietly why we weren't sinking. But I had to remind myself that man was sailing the seas long before he was driving or flying so, the Titanic notwithstanding, it may be the safest way to travel.
On night number one, we participated in the mandatory evacuation drill which made me feel a little less anxious about our journey. Apparently, the other comics don't often sail with a significant other because the second life jacket was covered with several inches of dust. Had it been a real emergency, I would have put in on without cleaning it first but since it was only a drill, we took the time to beat off the dirt. I was still covered with gray matter when it was over.
When we were close to open water, the giant 90, 000 ton vessel stopped and turned around so the bow would face the open water. In other words, the Serenade of the Seas was doing doughnuts in the Caribbean. Way way way cool.
At the port of Charlotte Amalie, you can hit three jewelry stores on the way to the jewelry store. We stopped at what appeared to be a non-jewelry store to buy some water only to be asked on our way out if we wanted to look at some earrings.
As far as jewelry is concerned, I own a sport watch from Walmart, a wedding ring from JC Penney and the holes in my once pierced ears closed up long ago. Walking me through the alleys of St. Thomas is like taking a vegetarian on a tour on New York's meat packing district.
But since I have a vagina, all the storekeepers were convinced that my genitalia needed a matching tennis bracelet. So we were harassed and harassed and harassed. I looked down at my ten dollar timepiece and decided it was time to head back to the ship.
As we were fleeing Mainstreet, we stopped to listen to some beautiful singing emanating from a local church. We were spotted by a well-dressed older man who motioned for us to come inside. I declined, fearing that he just wanted to sell me a diamond broach.
We continued on, following signs for the Butterfly Farm but, upon closer inspection, it looked more like the Butterfly Industrial Park.
Suddenly, it seemed like a perfect day to read by the pool.
The port at St. Thomas was the prettiest of all our stops so sitting back with an adult beverage and taking in the view was not a bad way to spend the day. At sunset, we purchased even more libations and said goodbye to the sun as our ship pulled away.
These ships are truly engineering marvels yet every few minutes I would wonder quietly why we weren't sinking. But I had to remind myself that man was sailing the seas long before he was driving or flying so, the Titanic notwithstanding, it may be the safest way to travel.
On night number one, we participated in the mandatory evacuation drill which made me feel a little less anxious about our journey. Apparently, the other comics don't often sail with a significant other because the second life jacket was covered with several inches of dust. Had it been a real emergency, I would have put in on without cleaning it first but since it was only a drill, we took the time to beat off the dirt. I was still covered with gray matter when it was over.
When we were close to open water, the giant 90, 000 ton vessel stopped and turned around so the bow would face the open water. In other words, the Serenade of the Seas was doing doughnuts in the Caribbean. Way way way cool.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
If This Boat's A-Rockin'
I'm still rocking back and forth ever so slightly. It's actually making me kind of nauseous. According to the crew, we had a rough sailing week. For seven straight days I couldn't walk a straight line. I kept yelling my favorite movie line, "Serpentine, Shelley, serpentine!"
But I did notice that babies don't cry much on a ship. They must love the constant motion. I wonder if all the wee ones are screaming their over-sized heads off now that they are back on dry land?
All I know, is that if I get stopped by the cops today, I'm going to have to opt for the breathalizer because there is no way in hell I could pass a regular sobriety test. "Yes, officer, I can close my eyes and touch my nose but only if you want me to puke on your shoes."
But I did notice that babies don't cry much on a ship. They must love the constant motion. I wonder if all the wee ones are screaming their over-sized heads off now that they are back on dry land?
All I know, is that if I get stopped by the cops today, I'm going to have to opt for the breathalizer because there is no way in hell I could pass a regular sobriety test. "Yes, officer, I can close my eyes and touch my nose but only if you want me to puke on your shoes."
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Back On Dry Land
I left the ship this morning with tan lines, a $220 bar bill (paid, of course) and an intense desire to return to the sea in 2009. Oh yeah, I am a complete cruise convert.
I'll be posting pics and text about our trip over the next day or two but first we have to have a belated Christmas with ham and presents and all of the other merry stuff.
I'll be posting pics and text about our trip over the next day or two but first we have to have a belated Christmas with ham and presents and all of the other merry stuff.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Ghost Of Christmas Blogging Past
Since I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload from the ship, I decided to re-run some of my Christmas-themed postings from last year.
Baby, It's Cold Outside
We Do Christmas Right
Santa, No Means No
White Christmas
A Very Philly Christmas
Oh Holy Night
I Simply Remember My Favorite Things
Gift Buying Guide For Men
Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah!
Baby, It's Cold Outside
We Do Christmas Right
Santa, No Means No
White Christmas
A Very Philly Christmas
Oh Holy Night
I Simply Remember My Favorite Things
Gift Buying Guide For Men
Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Bon Voyage!
Friday morning, we fly to San Juan, Puerto Rico where we will board the Royal Caribbean Serenade of the Seas (Not to be confused with the Marinade of the Seas which smells like Italian dressing) for a seven day cruise. Ports of call include St. Thomas, St. Maarten, Antigua, St. Lucia and Barbados.
This will be my husband's second time performing on a ship. I'm not working but this will be my first time out in the middle of the ocean. Since I'm not a fan of water or small spaces, I'm a little nervous about this vacation.
When hubby informed me of his plan (the Irony Light was flashing) to lean over the bow of the ship and yell, "Top of the world, ma!" I laughed hysterically. In an effort to quote Leonardo DiCaprio from "Titanic" he accidentally quoted Jimmy Cagney from "White Heat." I may make him do it anyway.
Here's what he really wanted to say.
Here is what he's going to say.
This will be my husband's second time performing on a ship. I'm not working but this will be my first time out in the middle of the ocean. Since I'm not a fan of water or small spaces, I'm a little nervous about this vacation.
When hubby informed me of his plan (the Irony Light was flashing) to lean over the bow of the ship and yell, "Top of the world, ma!" I laughed hysterically. In an effort to quote Leonardo DiCaprio from "Titanic" he accidentally quoted Jimmy Cagney from "White Heat." I may make him do it anyway.
Here's what he really wanted to say.
Here is what he's going to say.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Christmas Cards
In years past, we've made our own Christmas cards, but this year we decided to let the fine fine folks at Walgreens do the work for us.
While it certainly isn't our most clever card, it is kind of cute. Although I'm not sure if the people on our mailing list really want three pictures of us in Hawaii.
I still have a few envelopes left to address but I doubt I'll get this task completed any time soon. I can only hope the recipients think Mele Kalikimaka means "Happy New Year."
While it certainly isn't our most clever card, it is kind of cute. Although I'm not sure if the people on our mailing list really want three pictures of us in Hawaii.
I still have a few envelopes left to address but I doubt I'll get this task completed any time soon. I can only hope the recipients think Mele Kalikimaka means "Happy New Year."
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Mark Of The Devil
This morning we shopped at a mid-century antique store in downtown Raleigh called Father and Son. Among the Franciscan Ware pitchers and Herman Miller chairs was a barf bag from the 1972 horror movie "Mark of the Devil."
Billed as "Positively the most horrifying film ever made," this "rated V for violence" flick included the aforementioned barf bags with the price of admission.
When I was seven years old, I accompanied a group of fellow second-graders to the Midway Movie Theater in Philadelphia for a matinee screening of the beloved Disney film "Bambi." While we anxiously awaited this classic animated feature, some sick bastard in the screening room decided to show the trailer for "Mark Of The Devil" as part of the previews. Some kids screamed. Others cried. I really could have used one of those barf bags.
When Bambi's mother died we couldn't have cared less. We had already been to hell and back.
Today's parents would have sued or at least alerted the media. But 1970's parents just looked at it as a great story to tell.
For years, images from that film haunted me. Now they're back. I guess I won't be sleeping for a week or so.
Billed as "Positively the most horrifying film ever made," this "rated V for violence" flick included the aforementioned barf bags with the price of admission.
When I was seven years old, I accompanied a group of fellow second-graders to the Midway Movie Theater in Philadelphia for a matinee screening of the beloved Disney film "Bambi." While we anxiously awaited this classic animated feature, some sick bastard in the screening room decided to show the trailer for "Mark Of The Devil" as part of the previews. Some kids screamed. Others cried. I really could have used one of those barf bags.
When Bambi's mother died we couldn't have cared less. We had already been to hell and back.
Today's parents would have sued or at least alerted the media. But 1970's parents just looked at it as a great story to tell.
For years, images from that film haunted me. Now they're back. I guess I won't be sleeping for a week or so.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Bye Bye Bettie
The notorious Bettie Page passed away yesterday. Her enduring pinup photos remain powerful to this day. When I adopted a Bettie Page-esque hair style three years ago (quite by accident), I inexplicably started getting hit on by straight women and gay men.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 21
I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)
Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.
Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.
Maggie Gyllenhaal
Accepted: Does she take it to the dry cleaners or the pound?
Rejected: "It's not murder if you just take their tales."
Evan Rachel Wood
Accepted: The next night she wore her tinfoil pantsuit.
Rejected: Is she going to the Gothscars?
Charlie Sheen
Rejected: Wearing one and a half men's outfits.
Rejected: Hawaii 5-No.
Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.
Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.
Maggie Gyllenhaal
Accepted: Does she take it to the dry cleaners or the pound?
Rejected: "It's not murder if you just take their tales."
Evan Rachel Wood
Accepted: The next night she wore her tinfoil pantsuit.
Rejected: Is she going to the Gothscars?
Charlie Sheen
Rejected: Wearing one and a half men's outfits.
Rejected: Hawaii 5-No.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Christmas Mid-Way Point
How can it be 65 degrees outside when only 72 hours ago it was, as my husband says, "Son-Of-A-Bitch" cold? In a cruel irony, the rain is keeping us from enjoying these December tropical temps. Although the gloomy lighting is showing off my Christmas tree perfectly. Luckily, after two weeks indoors, it's still far from being a fire hazard.
I went shopping with my brother and sister-in-law last night for his annual toy drive. I'm brought into the process for my expertise on little girl gifts: princess costumes, purple ponies with braidable manes, fake food, shiny purses. Apparently, all little girls want to grow up to be either Stepford Wives or Bareback Riding Strippers.
At 11:30 last night, we decided to bake oatmeal raisin cookies but we forgot to halve the recipe, so now we have 60 cookies (oops, 54... we ate three a piece before bed) which must be consumed. Saying that oatmeal cookies are good for you is like saying french fries count as a vegetable serving.
I'm exhausted after a weekend of entertaining and being entertained. Friday I met a friend in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania for a little Christmas shopping and then came home and drank Manhattans until after midnight with a different set of friends. Saturday we cooked dinner for family and then on Sunday dinner was cooked for us by yet another group of fine fine folks. I think I'm going to have to enter a Christmas rehab program.
Now today, I must finish my shopping so I can ship my dad's presents out to Arizona before he leaves for his Christmas cruise. Usually, each year, I manage to buy him that one perfect gift that will blow him away or make him tear up. This year... nothing. I'm stumped. I suppose I'm blanking because I can't live up to last year's gift when my husband converted all of our old home movies to DVD complete with an all-star soundtrack. (One of the videos has been viewed almost 4,000 times on YouTube.)
It's no wonder I drink during the holidays.
I went shopping with my brother and sister-in-law last night for his annual toy drive. I'm brought into the process for my expertise on little girl gifts: princess costumes, purple ponies with braidable manes, fake food, shiny purses. Apparently, all little girls want to grow up to be either Stepford Wives or Bareback Riding Strippers.
At 11:30 last night, we decided to bake oatmeal raisin cookies but we forgot to halve the recipe, so now we have 60 cookies (oops, 54... we ate three a piece before bed) which must be consumed. Saying that oatmeal cookies are good for you is like saying french fries count as a vegetable serving.
I'm exhausted after a weekend of entertaining and being entertained. Friday I met a friend in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania for a little Christmas shopping and then came home and drank Manhattans until after midnight with a different set of friends. Saturday we cooked dinner for family and then on Sunday dinner was cooked for us by yet another group of fine fine folks. I think I'm going to have to enter a Christmas rehab program.
Now today, I must finish my shopping so I can ship my dad's presents out to Arizona before he leaves for his Christmas cruise. Usually, each year, I manage to buy him that one perfect gift that will blow him away or make him tear up. This year... nothing. I'm stumped. I suppose I'm blanking because I can't live up to last year's gift when my husband converted all of our old home movies to DVD complete with an all-star soundtrack. (One of the videos has been viewed almost 4,000 times on YouTube.)
It's no wonder I drink during the holidays.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
A Day Without A Gay
Tomorrow is "Call In Gay Day" for the millions of working homosexuals interested in protesting Proposition 8. It's kind of like "Take Your Daughter To Work Day" only your little girl is a lesbian and she's staying home instead of tapping pencils on your desk for eight hours.
Concocted by a Los Angeles based comedian, (as a former Los Angeles-based comedian, I know this is not a good sign) this "Day Without A Gay" is meant to illustrate how much gays and lesbians contribute to American society. Not only are homosexuals supposed to stay home but they are also encouraged to keep their wallets slammed shut.
Okay. I must now take a deep cleansing breath.
WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RECESSION, YOU MORONS!
Why don't you just declare it "Call In Selfish Day" or "Let's Make The Dow Drop Another 1,000 Points Day" or "Mommy, Why Does My Letter To Santa Say Return To Sender Day?" Couldn't they have come up with some sort of protest that would actually help the economy?
Plus, ill heterosexuals all across this great land of ours will now drag their sick asses to work tomorrow, infecting all of the other heterosexuals and closeted homosexuals with their coughing and wheezing which will lead to billions of dollars in lost productivity when they all stay home on Thursday and Friday.
Will the non-gays go to work because they're afraid to be thought of as gay? Hell no! The non-gays will go to work because they'll be afraid of being thought of as a worker who would stay home to protest a failed ballot initiative, because staying home may lead to their firing or, at the very least, a bad performance review. And they would be afraid of this because WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RECESSION, YOU MORONS and they don't want to lose their steady paychecks.
Instead, homosexuals should go to their respective jobs tomorrow wearing "I'm A Proud Gay Worker" T's and then afterwards hit the surrounding malls and restaurants sporting "I'm A Proud Gay Consumer" sweatshirts. If business owners see a flood of gay patrons, perhaps they'll vote differently in the future.
In the meantime, I'm going to declare tomorrow "Call In Marvin Gaye Day." It'll be my way of uniting heterosexuals and homosexuals who just want to stay home mid-week for a little sexual healing. (Wednesday is historically known as Hump Day, after all.) I figure that by 1 PM everybody will be back at work with plans on staying late. The economy will be boosted by sales of pay-per-view porn, take-out Chinese and over-priced flowers from local supermarkets.
Plus, since the boss will also be getting laid, there won't be any fear of retribution.
My plan is a win-win, proving yet again that I am a uniter, not a divider.
Concocted by a Los Angeles based comedian, (as a former Los Angeles-based comedian, I know this is not a good sign) this "Day Without A Gay" is meant to illustrate how much gays and lesbians contribute to American society. Not only are homosexuals supposed to stay home but they are also encouraged to keep their wallets slammed shut.
Okay. I must now take a deep cleansing breath.
WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RECESSION, YOU MORONS!
Why don't you just declare it "Call In Selfish Day" or "Let's Make The Dow Drop Another 1,000 Points Day" or "Mommy, Why Does My Letter To Santa Say Return To Sender Day?" Couldn't they have come up with some sort of protest that would actually help the economy?
Plus, ill heterosexuals all across this great land of ours will now drag their sick asses to work tomorrow, infecting all of the other heterosexuals and closeted homosexuals with their coughing and wheezing which will lead to billions of dollars in lost productivity when they all stay home on Thursday and Friday.
Will the non-gays go to work because they're afraid to be thought of as gay? Hell no! The non-gays will go to work because they'll be afraid of being thought of as a worker who would stay home to protest a failed ballot initiative, because staying home may lead to their firing or, at the very least, a bad performance review. And they would be afraid of this because WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RECESSION, YOU MORONS and they don't want to lose their steady paychecks.
Instead, homosexuals should go to their respective jobs tomorrow wearing "I'm A Proud Gay Worker" T's and then afterwards hit the surrounding malls and restaurants sporting "I'm A Proud Gay Consumer" sweatshirts. If business owners see a flood of gay patrons, perhaps they'll vote differently in the future.
In the meantime, I'm going to declare tomorrow "Call In Marvin Gaye Day." It'll be my way of uniting heterosexuals and homosexuals who just want to stay home mid-week for a little sexual healing. (Wednesday is historically known as Hump Day, after all.) I figure that by 1 PM everybody will be back at work with plans on staying late. The economy will be boosted by sales of pay-per-view porn, take-out Chinese and over-priced flowers from local supermarkets.
Plus, since the boss will also be getting laid, there won't be any fear of retribution.
My plan is a win-win, proving yet again that I am a uniter, not a divider.
Monday, December 8, 2008
70 Year Old Indian Woman Gives Birth
Yes, because what India needs is more people.
According to the Telegraph.co.uk...
Isn't this like strapping a souped up engine on to a buckboard and having it compete in the Indianapolis 500? Oh sure, it might finish, but who really wants to see it happen?
Shouldn't we at least draw the older parent line at post-menopausal women? Can't we all agree that it's nature's way of telling a woman that her baby factory is being retooled?
As you enter your golden years, you should be clipping coupons for your own diapers, not your infants.
I'm sure this little girl will be dearly loved by her parents who waited 50 years to have a child. But is it fair that she will be wiping up her parent's drool only a few years after they stopped wiping up hers?
If your life expectancy expires prior to your child entering puberty then I suggest you give up on your baby dreams and pick up a new hobby. I hear bocce ball is fun.
According to the Telegraph.co.uk...
Rajo Devi, who married 50 years ago, gave birth to a baby girl on November 28, and is now thought to be the world's oldest new mother.If this trend continues, the traditional 50th Wedding Anniversary gift of gold will have to be replaced with binkies, budgies and sippy cups.
Dr Anurag Bishnoi, a doctor at the Hisar fertility centre in Haryana state, said: "Rajo Devi and (her husband) Bala Ram approached the centre for treatment and the embryo transfer was done on April 19.Forget about the embryo transfer, these doctors need brain transfers. The only surgery that should be done on 70-year-old ovaries is removal. And I say this as a woman who, in 27 years, will have 70-year-old girlie parts.
Isn't this like strapping a souped up engine on to a buckboard and having it compete in the Indianapolis 500? Oh sure, it might finish, but who really wants to see it happen?
Shouldn't we at least draw the older parent line at post-menopausal women? Can't we all agree that it's nature's way of telling a woman that her baby factory is being retooled?
As you enter your golden years, you should be clipping coupons for your own diapers, not your infants.
I'm sure this little girl will be dearly loved by her parents who waited 50 years to have a child. But is it fair that she will be wiping up her parent's drool only a few years after they stopped wiping up hers?
If your life expectancy expires prior to your child entering puberty then I suggest you give up on your baby dreams and pick up a new hobby. I hear bocce ball is fun.
Hello Goodnights
My husband and I will be performing at Goodnights Comedy Club in Raleigh, NC this week, December 11-14. We've promised to keep our shows semi-clean so as not to offend the many corporate Christmas parties that will no doubt be in attendance. Tell your friends.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
A Mel Torme Christmas
For the second year in a row, Mel Torme's Christmas album has been our music of choice for the holiday season. Nobody sings Yuletide classics quite like Mel. Not Bing Crosby, not Andy Williams and certainly not Wham.
Here is Mr. Torme singing a duet with an obviously inebriated Judy Garland. Her mangling of the lyrics is priceless. Torme remains jolly as he watches the song he wrote butchered by a drunken legend.
They just don't make Christmas specials like this anymore.
Here is Mr. Torme singing a duet with an obviously inebriated Judy Garland. Her mangling of the lyrics is priceless. Torme remains jolly as he watches the song he wrote butchered by a drunken legend.
They just don't make Christmas specials like this anymore.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
We're A Couple Of Misfits
So far this week I've watched Shrek The Halls, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer and the last half of both "Elf" and "A Christmas Story." All I have to do now is catch about 35 minutes of "It's A Wonderful Life" and my Christmas holiday will be complete.
Out of all of them, Rudolph-- or RTRNRD as the texters would say-- is still my favorite. Although, the older I get, the more Santa makes my blood boil. I just want to yell at Mrs. Claus, "Stop following him around with a bowl of food and start threatening to crush his Christmas balls!" Seriously, in this version, Santa is a major jackass.
Plus I can never figure out why "Dolly For Sue" is on the Island of Misfit Toys. Her "noncomformity" is never identified. Is she a hermaphrodite? Bi-polar? Does she shoot jelly out of her baby area?
Of course, my two favorite characters are Herbie-- who is also called Hermie-- the Elf and Rudolph. Their duet of "We're A Couple Of Misfits" has sort of become our theme song here in the McKim/Skene household. In fact, we call our production company "Independent Together."
I just wish CBS would put "Fame And Fortune" back into the broadcast. That was our song of choice 20 years ago. But after two decades of "failing" in show business, "Misfits" seems more appropriate.
Out of all of them, Rudolph-- or RTRNRD as the texters would say-- is still my favorite. Although, the older I get, the more Santa makes my blood boil. I just want to yell at Mrs. Claus, "Stop following him around with a bowl of food and start threatening to crush his Christmas balls!" Seriously, in this version, Santa is a major jackass.
Plus I can never figure out why "Dolly For Sue" is on the Island of Misfit Toys. Her "noncomformity" is never identified. Is she a hermaphrodite? Bi-polar? Does she shoot jelly out of her baby area?
Of course, my two favorite characters are Herbie-- who is also called Hermie-- the Elf and Rudolph. Their duet of "We're A Couple Of Misfits" has sort of become our theme song here in the McKim/Skene household. In fact, we call our production company "Independent Together."
I just wish CBS would put "Fame And Fortune" back into the broadcast. That was our song of choice 20 years ago. But after two decades of "failing" in show business, "Misfits" seems more appropriate.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
What's In A Name?
There are silly band names and then there are stupid band names. The Electric Prunes is a silly band name. Ned's Atomic Dust Bin is sillier still. But naming your band The Muslims might be one of the stone cold stupidest band names in the history of stupid band names.
Muslims, as we have discovered in recent years, don't have much of a sense of humor when it comes to their religion. Moderate Muslims will protest by writing harsh letters or holding press conferences. Islamic Fundamentalist will issue fatwahs or stab you eight times and then decapitate you while you're riding your bike to work. (Theo Van Gogh, anyone?)
Moderate Muslims will accept your apology. Islamic Fundamentalists will accept your apology and then fly a plane into a building.
Perhaps "The Muslims" should have gone all out and called their band The Fabulous Mohammeds or The Butthole Allahs or the Jackson Five Pillars of Islam. If you're going to offend, you might as well offend big. Go down in flames both literally and figuratively.
Alas, The Muslims the band have thought better about their moniker. According to their My Space site, they've changed their name to The Soft Pack.
Maybe I can get one of their old T's on Ebay?
Muslims, as we have discovered in recent years, don't have much of a sense of humor when it comes to their religion. Moderate Muslims will protest by writing harsh letters or holding press conferences. Islamic Fundamentalist will issue fatwahs or stab you eight times and then decapitate you while you're riding your bike to work. (Theo Van Gogh, anyone?)
Moderate Muslims will accept your apology. Islamic Fundamentalists will accept your apology and then fly a plane into a building.
Perhaps "The Muslims" should have gone all out and called their band The Fabulous Mohammeds or The Butthole Allahs or the Jackson Five Pillars of Islam. If you're going to offend, you might as well offend big. Go down in flames both literally and figuratively.
Alas, The Muslims the band have thought better about their moniker. According to their My Space site, they've changed their name to The Soft Pack.
WE HAVE CHANGED THE NAME OF OUR GROUP TO "THE SOFT PACK". Working on new material and firing on all four cylinders, we feel strongly about this one. It's a new chapter in our lives and hopefully yours.Translation...
The band formerly known as The Muslims currently have soft packs in both the front and the back of their pants. Since going into hiding would affect our ability to tour and being dead would affect future recordings sessions, we have decided instead to change our name to a phrase which best represents our current mood. Unfortunately, The Freaked Out Lads Who Are Being Torn A New One By Record Executives was already taken.
Maybe I can get one of their old T's on Ebay?
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
20th Wedding Anniversary
Today is our 20th wedding anniversary. But it's also Britney Spears' birthday. (Yikes, she was only seven when we got hitched!) In these hard economic times, I'm sure you'll have a difficult time deciding whether to send an over-priced greeting card to us or to the Britster.
Britney celebrated her birthday on Good Morning America. We celebrated our anniversary by sleeping until Good Morning America was off the air.
Britney celebrated her birthday on Good Morning America. We celebrated our anniversary by sleeping until Good Morning America was off the air.
Monday, December 1, 2008
If The Shoe Fits
I love shoes, but I'm not one of those Imelda Marcos types who has to build a separate wing just to store an immense collection of footwear. Nor am I a Carrie Bradshaw wannabe who looks at a pair of heels and delivers the emasculating line, "Hello, lover."But a great pair of stilettos does make me walk taller both literally and figuratively.
I am particularly fond of inexpensive shoes... not cheap shoes, mind you, but good shoes at an incredibly discounted price. I purchased my last two pair of dressy shoes for a total of $16.00. The Italian leather black and white heels were found at a Goodwill on one of my many road trips and the Anne Klein wedges with the ankle strap were on the Marshall's Clearance rack.
Both pairs garner high praise from both men and other women.
So, when I found myself drooling over the shoes in the above photo while reading a magazine at a local Hair Cuttery, I was quite surprised. Shoes usually don't speak to me unless they are doing a duet with a 75% off sticker.
Immediately after returning home, I hopped on to the White House/Black Market website to see how much they cost. My heart sank when I saw the $100 price tag. When I noticed the 25% off cyber coupon I felt a little better. But 75 bucks is still more than I've ever spent for a shoe not made from Gortex. To another woman it might seem like a bargain. To me, it was a gut-wrenching decision.
My husband said, "Don't sweat it, kid." I'm not sure if he was trying to sound like Carrie Bradshaw's Mr. Big, but he convinced me to pull out my credit card and make the commitment.
They arrived today. They're beautiful... and they're too big.
This afternoon we drove to the nearest WH/BM store to see if I could exchange them in person. They only had the size I had already ordered plus ones which were even bigger.
So, it was off to the post office to return the merchandise. On the form, I requested a 7.5 instead of my usual 8.
I felt good, until I went back on to their site and discovered the item is now being listed as unavailable. Apparently, I'm not the only chick with good taste in shoes.
I know it sounds silly, but I'm devastated. Not only because I probably won't get the shoes I want but mostly because it took so much out of me to order them in the first place. Spending that much money was a big deal for me. Having it all go wrong will probably prevent me from ever doing it again.
I suppose there is still some hope that I will get what I ordered. But now I'm afraid that my current teary state will prevent me from loving them the way they should be loved, even if they do arrive in the mail.
We'll see what happens. But I do know, if they offer me credit or a refund, I'm taking the refund. With my old shopping methods, $75 will buy me a whole closet full of shoes... and a new winter wardrobe.
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