A Random Grab Bag

Although I usually try to write about just one thing a week, today’s post is going to be a little different. The reason for this is because some shit be goin’ down round here.

(Well, not really. I’ve just been dying to write “shit be goin’ down” because whenever I try to say that phrase, someone usually kicks me in the shin and tells me that I really, really need to stop doing my Samuel L. Jackson impersonation because at this point, I’m just embarrassing myself and my family.) (Which is ridiculous because it’s not like I’m doing it while wearing a Kangol or anything.)

Anyway, in no particular order, here are a few random things:

1. In my Vegas post last week, I put up a picture of myself “clubbing.” Two of my neighborhood friends saw that photo and commented on how amazing my skin looks compared to what it apparently looks like in real life. See?

Peaches and cream, baby. The good news is I’ve now decided to share with everyone my closely-guarded skincare secret! Just follow my simple, inexpensive regimen and in no time at all, you, too will look youthful, frisky and be able to successfully flirt with the 17-year-old bag boy at the grocery store who’s really hot even though he has a raging case of teenage neck acne and an 11 p.m. curfew and calls you “Lady ma’am.” Ready?

Step One: Upload a picture of yourself into Paintshop Pro.

Step Two: Set the “skin smoothing” feature to “Max.”

Step Three: Repeat with every single picture of yourself from the past 20-30 years until absolutely no photographic evidence exists that makes you look a day older than Miss Justin Bieber.

Don’t believe me? Then just look at the very same picture of me in Vegas before I retouched it:

(Sorry. I know that was a cheap laugh.) (But I still don’t know what happened to my hat.)

2. Also after my Vegas post last week, I got a very nice email from someone in “Barry Manilow’s camp” (!) who told me that Barry doesn’t mind people taking pictures of him at his shows at all. He also said he hoped that I was enjoying my Manilow wine glass, and I assured him that I was enjoying it at least once a day. Twice if I have cramps.

3. Over the past month, quite a few people have found my blog by Googling the phrase, “Hellraising Butterball.” I do not know why this is, and I also don’t know if I should be flattered, offended, or hiring a personal trainer to do some intense work on my abdominal region. What I do know for sure is that “Hellraising Butterball” will definitely be the name of my possible new fashion line for bitchy, rotund poultry lovers. (Available at fine retailers everywhere.)

4. Last week, my wonderful friend Kelcey from Mama Bird Diaries was basically attacked by some unknown blogger (let’s call her “Peaches”) who claims that Kelcey is killing feminism because she uses her blog to write humorous parenting stuff rather than how to make sweeping social changes. And although I think Peaches is a freakin’ nasty nutjob, it still made me wonder if I, too should be writing less about my cat, and more about how to make society a better place. So from now on, I will only be writing about important global-y things.

OK, here I go…making society a better place…what should I…how can I…Oh, I know! We should always…No, no, I mean “never”…No, not that either… People need to not touch…No…Maybe people need to dance like….But why can’t we all…Just stop eating…

Oh, f*ck it. Just follow the Golden Rule and don’t be a jerk.

I’m sticking with the cat jokes, Peaches.

5. Recently I went to a cocktail party with some women from my neighborhood, and found out the next day that I’d somehow been coerced to sign up for the Danskin triathlon in June. (This is why you NEVER trust women who carry bottle openers in their purses. They’re wily, those women.)  But while I’m a bit (a lot) horrified that I’ll have to run a 5K, and bike 12 miles without the assistance of an illegal substance, at least my friend Chelsea will be doing the swimming portion for me. And that’s good news because, as my dear husband tells me, I look like I’m “battling a sea monster—and losing” whenever I try to swim.

In all honesty, I was actually sort of excited about the triathlon team because they were going to let me name us the “PTA SLUTS,” but now some of the women are having “issues” about their children yelling that name at the finish line. (I don’t know why—it’s not like they haven’t heard that phrase before at home.) Therefore my team is now trying to decide between my other name suggestions, including: “BLOOD, BATH AND BEYOND,” “SWEATIN’ FOR BOTOX,” and “TEAM EDWARD.”

I’ll be sure to let you know what name we pick so you’ll be able to identify me when I’m being carried away on a Danskin stretcher in my padded bike pants.

You know, after the shit be goin’ down.

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