Sunday, September 14, 2014

Can We Talk?

As you all know - on September 4, 2014, Joan Rivers went to that giant comedy club in the sky. She was 81, lived an amazing life, and yet it seems like she left us too soon. She was caustic, vulgar, shocking. She was kind, generous, comforting. 

I was lucky enough to see her live show just about a year ago at a local casino and wrote about it in my blog ( I Love Joan Rivers). 

Whatever the outcome of the investigation into her death is, it won’t change the fact that she has left us. I have nothing pithy or witty to say. There is absolutely nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said. So in tribute, I will share a few of my favorite Joan Rivers quotes.

‘She doesn't understand the concept of Roman numerals; she thought we just fought in world war eleven.’

I said to my husband, ‘My boobs have gone, my stomach’s gone, say something nice about my legs;’ he said, ‘Blue goes with everything.’

‘Not one woman was ever made love to because she cleaned the linoleum.’

‘Yesterday I had a hot flash so bad it melted my IUD.’

'My parents hated me. All I heard growing up was why can't you be like your cousin Sheila? Sheila had died at birth.’

A ‘New Yorker’ tribute cartoon by Benjamin Schwartz

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Git Aft Yer Keester 'n Read This, Ya Scurvey Rascal

Ahoy me buckos!

Natterin’ like a pirate day be S'tember 19th. Tis just around t' corner me hearty! To celebrate t' day, I be recyclin' a post from last year. Sit aft on yer keester in yer comfy sweat pants. Swill a cup o grog and have ye a read ya pompus webwenches & scurvey cockroaches!


Click here for 'September 19th is International Talk Like A Pirate Day!' READ ME!

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Did I Mention Feet Are Gross?

I was sitting at my desk at work. My nose was firmly scrapping the grindstone when I felt it. A slight disturbance in the aura of the office. I told myself to ignore it. It’s just me and Ida in the office. As long as the place wasn’t engulfed in flames, and she didn’t have an uzi, I was fine.

Tapping away at the keyboard my nose began to itch like there was an imaginary spider web I had inadvertently snagged. There was an…odor. At first I thought it smelled like crackers. I shrugged it off. I could deal with stale saltines. But the stronger the odor got, the more repugnant it became. The smell morphed into crackers soaked in sock sweat, wrapped in raw cow hide.

Foot odor. Those of you who have visited my blog in the past, know how I feel about feet (read Feet Are Gross).

I had my hand over my nose and mouth when I heard the clicking. Clicking and cracking. It sounded like…no it couldn’t be…someone cutting nails! I grabbed my ‘WTF’ embellished mug and walked to the cooler.

There was Ida, in her cubical with her bare feet propped up on her desk. Picking and cutting her toe nails. And in between her foot fondling, grabbing chips out of a bag and popping them into her mouth. The same hands that she was fondling her feet with! The same hands that she used to touch her keyboard, the phone, the papers I had to sign. Jesus in a jetpack, what filthy ring of hell did I fall into?

A toe nail flicked over the cubical wall. The thick teal hued crescent lay before me. I couldn’t hold my breath and gag at the same time, so I ran out for a walk.

Upon my return the odor had subsided. There were papers lying on my desk. Papers I needed to sign. Papers touched by Ida’s skanky foot odor encrusted hands.


I let them stay where they were and went home. It was Friday, maybe by Monday her caustic cankerous foot crust will have evaporated off of them...Or maybe they will accidentally fall into a metal trash can and spontaneously combust...

Monday, June 30, 2014

The Bitch Of My Resting Face

‘Do you want to talk?’ ‘Are you mad at me?’ ‘Did you try some prunes?’ ‘Are you riding the crimson wave?’ ‘Christ on a cracker she’s in a foul mood - RUN!’ ‘What a bitch.’

In my lifetime I’ve heard many of these comments (except the last one because most people think my being a curmudgeon is adorable). They come from well-meaning people who want to help and up their karmic score at the same time. The thing is, there is usually nothing wrong. These people just had a glimpse of my…‘resting face’, also known as ‘Bitchy Resting Face’.

You know the one. You’re reading or looking off into space and all of your facial muscles relax (and maybe slide off of your skull like cheese sliding off of a pizza). There it is. The face that will be your death mask. If eyes are the window to the soul, then ‘bitchy resting face’ is the weathered window frame that falls out once you put an air conditioner in it.

‘Bitchy Resting Face’ is a term made popular by a Funny or Die video of the same name ( Since its release, the term has whole heartily been embraced and people have acknowledged their ‘disability’.

My concern is, now that the term is out there, people will assume that my sarcastic ‘you’re a fucking moron’ face is actually my bitchy resting face! I’ve spent years honing my face into a sharp sarcastic instrument. I’ve worked hard to look hostile! Able to wither the lamest of verbiage with just the twitch of an eyebrow. Adept at warning the biggest of block heads ‘Don’t even think of sitting next to me dumb ass. Seriously, you are the ass of the dumb.’

If people stop taking me seriously saying ‘she just looks like that’, how do I continue to provide the public service of letting them know they’re imbeciles? Christ, it's like saying I have facial Tourette's Syndrome! Ahhhhh!

What about the people who have ‘crazy serial killer eyes’ or ‘under your skirt picture taker arm’? Do they get a free pass too? Because I’m pretty sure that serial killer eyes belong to a serial killer and the guy whose arm hangs low and tilts to the side just took a picture of your tighty whities.

So remember readers, our efforts to be politically correct can sometimes do more harm than good. If the stranger you say hello to says 'drop dead', chances are they mean it. And If the person you consider sitting next to looks like they will cut you, don’t be surprised when they do...

Sunday, March 30, 2014

My March Madness

I took most of the month of March off. I foolishly thought that if I actually relaxed, my funny would kick in and I would start writing posts that are somewhere near the works of genius produced by the writers of 'The Daily Show' or Bill Maher’s 'Real Time' (like their politics or not, you have to admit the writers are quite witty).

Sunday, March 2, 2014

'Hair' Brained TV

It's one of those ‘at home’ days where one does laundry, cleans a little, and catches up on TV.

Bored, I flipped through the multiple political talking head channels. I landed on the History channel and was frozen in place.

WTF is that!

It was a head of a different nature. Its smarmy snake eyes vacantly stared out through the television and instantly mesmerized me. I had no power left in my thumb to click on another channel. It was too late, I was stuck there. My mouth hung agape and I could feel the drool pooling in the corner of my mouth.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Saturday, February 8, 2014

February the 14th

Can you feel it? The air is charged with a tension produced by millions of single people dreading a ‘pseudo holiday’ created to make them feel even more alone than they already do.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Morning Intercourse

I’m one of the millions of people who had to look for a new job at an age when it’s not easy to find one. Without going into the depressing (dismal, dispiriting, bleak) details, the end result is that I am now employed (yay me), just grossly under employed (sigh…fuckin’ a).

Sunday, January 26, 2014

A Tale Of Ghost Ships And Cannibal Rats

The playwright George Bernard Shaw said, 'You don't stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.’ 
I’ve been feeling very old lately and need to start laughing. Just when I was about to put my hair up into a bun, start sporting ‘Depends’ and buy a new rocking chair, I caught a story on the news that made me laugh. Not a maniacal crazy lady laugh (that's for special occasions), but a ‘wow that’s weird’ laugh.
On the evening news, I caught the tail end of a story about a rat-infested 'ghost ship'. How do you get rid of a bunch of ghost rats? Ghost cats? I fired up the laptop and started searching. Oh! A ghost ship WITH rats…silly me.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Going With The Flow

I bought two boxes of 36 count tampons at the drug store this morning. The cashier jokingly asked me if I had a lot of daughters at home. I smiled and said, ‘yeah, daughters’.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Shovel Snowverkill

I'm sure you've realized by now that I'm a curmudgeon. A crabby, perimenopausal, ‘you kids get off my lawn’ screaming, sourpuss. I wasn’t always this way. It took a lot to kill my dreams and stomp out the optimism. But here I am. Gotta love me! 

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Say It Ain't Snow!

'Dashing through the snow,
My back wheels begin to sway,
O'er the bank I go,
Screaming all the way!
Sirens start to blare,
Making spirits dark,
What fun it is to drive and skid
In ice caked snow tonight...'

Thursday, December 12, 2013

While My Vagina Gently Weeps

Sniff, sniff...blow...

Did you read my post A Vagina Monologue?

Sharon Osbourne now says that she lied to us! That whole vagina tightening thing? Never happened!

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Christmas Reality Style

WTF, how is it December already? I still have furniture on my deck! I still haven’t raked the fall leaves (LOL, as if I would ever rake leaves). I still have rotten, grinning, gourds on my step. How did it sneak up on me? 

About Me

My Photo
A writer exercising the writing muscle.