I can’t smile without you

There is something deeply soul satisfying about blaring Barry Manilow at inappropriate volumes on your car stereo. I really can’t put a finger on why I am absolutely tickled when I listen to Mr. Manilow in my car, sun shining, windows down, and with the bass treble pumped way up. Maybe it’s because I’m a good couple of decades short of his target demographic. Maybe it’s because if you check out the rest of my music catalog this one sticks out like a sore thumb. But if I really put some thought into it, I would say that it’s the twisted irony of pulling up next to an SUV with chrome spinners, my car pulsating with radio waves as I turn my head slowly to the right looking punk driver next to me in the eyes and give a nod to my apparent superiority. Yeah, that’s right bitches, Manilow is in the HOUSE and then I gun my engine and peel away as fast as I can because Manilow is badass.

How does the defendant plead?

Four weeks ago I was implanted with this Mirena thing. And I was told “Oh side effects are rare, yo.” (my OBGYN is very urban chic). What are these elusive side effects you ask? I’m so glad you asked. Side effects apparently are increased abdominal pain, the ability to never be anywhere without a tampon, weight gain, acne, raging mood swings, complete loss of sanity, inability to stop yourself from telling the apologetic counter girl at Panera that it’s ok that she gives your change back in all singles because you and your husband will be going to a strip club later, and the increased desire to run people down with your car as you will never ever stop PMSing again for the next five years. The odds of experiencing any of these individual side effects are about 3%. The odds of experiencing all of the side effects together at once are probably somewhere around 0.05%.

Professional failure #274

During a short stint as a copy writer while employed by my very first Advertising Agency, I was assigned the creative task of coming up with a tag line for a Hair Replacement company that was to be run on the ad boards in the NYC subway system. I submitted over 30 tag lines, #1 was: “Wigged out by hair loss?”

Shortly thereafter I was given a lateral promotion the web department, apparently that department was in desperate need of my creative genius.

How Many Licks Does It Take To Get To The Tootsie Roll Center Of A Tootsie Pop

Actually, the new experiment is: How many bites does it take for a PMSing woman to eat a 14oz bag of peanut M&Ms:

A one… a two… a thrrrreeee… *burp*

Three. Imagine that.

April showers are actually tears pouring from my eyes

To say that April was one of the worst months of my life might just be a bit of an overstatement considering that I’ve had some real doosies in my day. But I want to give it its due because it really was kind of crappy. Especially the last 7 days or so. I mean, there’s the whole price of gas thing, and the shitty economy thing which then leads to the whole downfall of the wedding industry thing, which in turn affects my life in much more direct way than I ever thought it would. Aside from all of that, I’ve been hormonal and cramping for 5 straight weeks, got a horrible Brazilian bikini wax which simultaneously burned and stuck my cheeks together with extraneous wax that this woman-who-is-not-my-regular-esthetician missed (I will NEVER cheat on you again Shannon. I have learned a very painful lesson), I have a rash that makes leprosy look good in comparison, Hooper chewed up two dog beds and a t-shirt in day care, a horse kicked me and then bit me both in the same day, and now I have my period accompanied by some of the most excruciating blinding pain I’ve ever had in my life.

But, at the very least, I made it to Jersey and back without having one single emotional breakdown. That’s gotta be something, right?

That Thing You Do

So there’s this *thing* we like to do. Actually, it’s really more of a thing that Sean likes to do and I just like to listen (or talk over this *thing* when other people are listening because I’m always going on and on about how great it is and oh! Sorry, are you trying to listen? Anyway… isn’t this great… wauh wauh wauh wauh wauh). That *thing* is Sean’s radio show (Wednesday mornings from 6am to 9am) (stop complaining, you all have to get up early for work anyway, unless you’re on the west coast and if you are, uh, sorry)

Myself, as portrayed by a slab of tofu

Do I at least score points for being able to recognize my own faults even though I leave them to fester? 

I this afternoon I had to call an old friend to ask him how to make Rice Krispy treats. It was the equivalent of Picasso asking someone how to complete a paint-by-numbers. (Yes, I did just compare my culinary abilities to Picasso, why do you ask?)

More than you bargained for

To the girl who’s finding me with the search “how to check for an IUD if you have nails.” Honey, you do it the same way as if you don’t have nails. Maybe a little more slowly.

Good luck. 

IUD, TMI, LMNOP

On the same kind of line that I told you about getting my lady parts waxed, I figured I would share with you my IUD experience this week (“share,” of course, is code for “I have no filter” so suck it up). Hey, I’m nothing if not a good old-fashioned public service announcement or a suitable substitute in case any of your parents didn’t sign the permission slip for you to learn about sex ed in the 5th grade.

One thing that regular readers know about me is that I’m not a mom. That fact right there is what distinctly separates this blog from the endless sea of mommy blogs and I would like to do my best at keeping any reason for me to start a mommy blog at bay. This means, of course, that I should probably be a little more attentive about active birth control options now that my husband is no longer intimidated at my threats to break out the baseball bat if he’s thinking about trying anything kinky. (This is where I tell you that I went off birth control pills 6 or 7 years ago because my sister’s hair dramatically fell out several months after she was taking them. Yes, that’s right; I have forgone birth control and risked pregnancy for years because I am too attached to my hair. Extreme selfishness and vanity also happen to be high on the list of why I shouldn’t open myself up to an “oops” situation.)