What is it about this crazy camel that makes me laugh my head off every time I see the commercial? I think it’s because we’ve all worked with this guy. Plus, you know, talking animals are funny. Plus it’s about time camels were associated with a product that doesn’t kill people. Yeah, I think it’s all of that…
Happy Hump Day, and enjoy this fun remix!
It’s that time of year…the time when traditionally I rotate from my spring/summer wardrobe into my fall/winter wardrobe. It occurs to me that this year, my wardrobe is…not really a wardrobe.
I’m not a stay-at-home mom; no carpools or PTA or other parents coming by for playdates. All of those events would be good reasons for me to wear actual clothes. Nope, I’m a stay-at-home writer. I realize that my “wardrobe” consists of flannel pants (OK, OK, pajamas) and big oversized t-shirts. Now that cooler weather is upon us, the only thing I need to add is a hoodie (we used to call them sweat jackets) or fleece, if I’m feeling particularly Aspen. Thick white socks and/or animal slippers complete The Look. I may actually own more animal slippers than the normal adult woman really should. On the other hand, when did I ever say I was normal?
I used to be reasonably pulled together. Nice suits and adorable shoes and whatnot. A black blouse and crisp chinos for those days I embraced “business casual,” which was not often. By 7:00am each day, I was made up and tucked in and ready to face the world. Sure, I was lacking in the silk scarf department, but only because I could never get one of the things tied so it looked like anything other than limp spaghetti.
Now? “Dressed up” is when I put on shoes! But, I figure, this is my new life. It’s all about the creative process, or some crap like that. Then just for a tiny distraction I watch Bethenny while I’m having breakfast, and there are segments on “Keeping your man faithful” and “Rekindling the romance,” neither of which involve animal slippers and hoodies. There’s talk of lingerie, and I’m pretty sure they’re not referring to the flannel variety.
Oh boy. I start feeling less womanly. Was Dan more attracted to me when I dressed up every day and worked from 8:00am to 9:00pm? Hard to say, because I never saw him. He says he’s much happier now that I’m not working like a maniac all the time, but maybe he left out the part where he would appreciate me wearing something other than flannel once in a while. On the other hand, he’s Dan. There could be flames shooting out of my ears and he probably wouldn’t notice, so he definitely doesn’t notice what I’m wearing day to day.
After careful consideration I decided to carefully consider it some more. If I’m wearing oinking pig slippers next time I see you, try not to judge.
In case any of you out there are thinking about writing a book, I can now tell you that even if you are an amazing writer with a sparkling wit, it’s a rough road. Now imagine how much harder it is for me!
Even with a book about breast cancer, during breast cancer awareness month, a girl can’t get any attention. There’s just so much information out there…but then again there are so many media channels. Just as I’m consoling myself that there must be lots of delightful and charming authors out there who wrote a funny book about breast cancer, I tune in to one of the morning network news shows to see what riveting topics might have pushed my book to the back of the line.
This is when I see it; a 4 minute segment about a woman who is addicted to going to a Dry Bar and having her hair blown dry. Yep. Blow drying addiction. This makes me feel like crap because, really? And I can’t get 30 seconds to plug my book? Sigh. There’s the inevitable adorable baby story, adorable animal rescue story, blah blah blah. Nothing that I find to be nearly as interesting as myself.
But there’s still hope, because I sent a copy of my book to Andy Cohen, with a really clever little note about how much he and I have in common. For example:
We’re nearly the same person, right? Separated at birth practically. So I send off my book and adorable note to Andy, c/o Bravo TV, and then I wait by the phone. Because Andy is going to call me any minute. Well, to be more realistic, Andy himself probably won’t call. It will be an assistant of some kind, someone who wears a headset and runs around telling people they’re late all the time. The way I see it, in no time at all I should be relaxing in the green room, nibbling on snacks and waiting to make my big debut.
Four full days of sitting by the phone. On day five, my package came back, “Return to Sender.” Unopened. My clever little note still nestled inside my book. No green room, no assistant, no Andy, no debut. And me with a pair of Louboutins on layaway. Just $10/week for the rest of my natural life.
Don’t cry for me Argentina. Just get me some publicity.
I was recently diagnosed with a mild case of sleep apnea. Sleep apnea can be dangerous in the sense that one stops breathing periodically while sleeping, but sometimes breathing is overrated. Like when you’re too sleepy to tell the difference.
But as usual some fussy doctor got after me about my need to breathe at all times, and subjected me to a sleep study. Luckily I was able to do the sleep study at home, but I had a weird computer thing attached to my head all night. They make you wear this to bed and then wonder why you can’t get any sleep!
Sadly, it looked like I was going to have to wear one of those crazy mask things every night, but CJ, Dr. Smarty Pants, told me about a dental appliance that might be a good alternative for me. My other Dr. Smarty Pants (unrelated) approved said dental appliance and CJ made one for me. I guess I didn’t realize how the whole thing would come together until it was finally ready:
So, the top tray locks into place with the bottom tray. My mouth is locked shut when I wear it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it has a little key so that it can be adjusted just so for me. To recap, each night when I go to bed my mouth is locked shut, and Dan has the key. Go back and read that last sentence, and remember to congratulate Dan next time you see him. OK, technically I don’t need the key to unlock it, but what if I did? I’m not sure how locking my mouth shut helps me breathe better, but you know me, a cheerful disposition at all times. So I just grin and bear it. Well, I can’t grin with that damn thing in my mouth, so I begrudgingly bear it.
On the bright side, I may have stumbled on a truly revolutionary new diet plan.
Honestly, if I wasn’t so completely mentally stable, I might be a little paranoid about this whole thing.
I have learned a lot about metastatic breast cancer over the last couple of months, and I know that pink ribbons and awareness aren’t everything. However, a mammogram did indeed catch my cancer when it spread to my lymph nodes, and this is a good time to remind anyone who is overdue for a mammogram!
And a replay from last year…
Folks-it is October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I am very well aware of breast cancer–stealthy miserable thing snuck up on me 3 years ago. It’s a very quiet kind of menace; just kind of sidles up to you and tries not to be noticed.
One mammogram was all it took to uncover the thing. Just a couple of quick snapshots and bam! A picture really is worth 1000 words. But I added a few words just for good measure:
“On November 19, 2009, about two weeks after my 45th birthday, I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma, a common form of breast cancer. The first thing that struck me was that Invasive Ductal Carcinoma would make an awesome name for a band. My second thought was that this whole cancer thing was going to get me a lot of attention and sympathy.”
There you go, that’s exactly how it played out. One little mammogram and suddenly I’m receiving gifts, cards, flowers; meeting charming surgeons with British accents. All expense paid retreats to the hospital/resort and spa, time off of work. Puppies, rainbows, unicorns. OK, well maybe not all that, but still.
I love a great picture of myself, and I have never been so grateful as I was for those pictures; they literally saved my life. Make your appointment now! My wish for every woman out there is that she gets her picture taken and it is unremarkable, blah, boring, run-of-the-mill. Nothing special whatsoever. And while you’re at it, a single click a day helps ensure that lots more women have access to mammograms. Set it as your home page and build 2 extra seconds into your day. http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/clickToGive/home.faces?siteId=2
As long as we’re talking about it, it wouldn’t kill you to browse my breast cancer gift registry at Tiffany’s. I chose a lovely tennis bracelet that no one bothered to get me. It’s never too late…
Happy October!
I love fall, and especially love Sundays in the fall. Every fall Sunday for as long as I can remember has been punctuated by the sounds of pro football. I like football; I don’t know a lot about it but I know enough to follow along and yell at the players and the refs and eat junk food. And I know that I was born into a diehard Washington Redskins family.
But now there are some things interfering with my enjoyment of Redskin games, and it’s not what you think. First, the name. I know a lot has been said and written about whether the name is or is not offensive. My thing is, if Native Americans say that they find the name offensive, I trust them on that. I feel like they are the best judge of what they find offensive, and I don’t think it’s just that they’re holding a grudge about the whole stealing their land and obliterating their culture thing. But if they were, it would be understandable.
Of course during the government shutdown the joke going around was that the team was going to have to change its name because so many people found the name “Washington” offensive. Womp womp.
Now add to that the “Pinkwashing” of October. Enough has been said and written by people who know a lot more than I do about the issue. I personally am super-aware of breast cancer, especially since I had it. I may have been too modest to mention that I wrote a book about my experience. But I did. Write a book. In case I forgot to mention it.
Anyhoo, when I’m watching football in October, I’m seeing a bunch of huge sweaty guys swathed in pink. Pink socks, pink shoes, pink mouth guards? I half-expected to see frilly lace at the top of those pink socks, but I guess that wouldn’t be for a cause; it would just be weird. I think that now not only is everyone aware of breast cancer, they are also aware that there is a reason that no football team in the history of the game has ever chosen pink as one of its team colors. Not hot pink, not pastel pink, not mauve or dusty rose or bubble gum pink. Just. Not. Pink.
I have a limited attention span, so thinking about the team name and seeing all this pink is plenty to distract me. Now add to that the fact that my team has a player named Pierre. I’m not even kidding. Pierre. I hate to stereotype, but I don’t picture anyone named Pierre playing American football. When I think of someone named Pierre, I think of him sipping an espresso at a sidewalk café in Paris. Quite possibly wearing a pink tie or pink pocket scarf or something. I do not picture him wearing shoulder pads and pink socks and not-too-daintily tackling someone.
Then again, maybe we’re on to something here. We’ve got the pink, we’ve got the French influence…I think The Washington Pink Poodles has a nice ring to it…
With all credit due to my friend (who can out herself if she wishes!), I feel compelled today to tell you the story of Tappy McSnapperson. Apparently, my friend, let’s call her Laurie, was already in the 10th circle of hell. She was in the waiting room at the dentist’s office with a bunch of whiny kids and even whinier adults. But she tuned all that out. She’s used to all that because she used to work in a law firm.
Then along came Tappy. Tappy, wearing flip-flops. Flip. Flop. Flip. Flop. Flip. Flop. And so on. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it turned out that Tappy was also chewing gum like a heifer, cracking it with every chomp. And so the character was born; Laurie dubbed her Tappy McSnapperson.
I think we can envision all kinds of adventures for Tappy! Madame McSnapperson in Paris, reminding the French why we Americans are so annoying. Tappy goes to Hollywood where she is immortalized with a flip-flop print, including a piece of gum stuck on the bottom, in the sidewalk. Tappy Does Toledo (this is a family-friendly blog, so enough said). Tappy joins a sorority, and just when you thought those Kappa Kappa girls could not possibly be more annoying; picture Tappy in her pink and green super-cute culottes (remember those?) hazing new pledges.
And merchandise? Oh baby! Naturally, the Tappy McSnapperson “action figure” with mouth that really chews! The inevitable Tappy bobblehead. The McSnapperson McMeal at Mickey D.’s; comes with small fries, a drink, and a big blob of bubble gum. Then of course the animated Saturday morning show, Tappy’s Town!
Bottom line, it’s Tappy’s world; we’re all just living in it.
By request, here is a transcript of our heartwarming “presentation” Saturday night at our 25th Anniversary party. Vow renewal as only we can do it…
Jill: This is going to be a little bit like the Oscars, in that I wrote some horrendous jokes and “one-liners” and Dan has no choice but to read them. So no matter how charming or talented he might be, he will be sinking like the Titanic under the weight of my bad writing. Give them an example honey.
Dan: When Jill asked me if I wanted to renew our vows for our 25th anniversary, I said anniversary? I thought 25 years was an expiration date! Ba-dum dum
Jill: We have reflected on the vows we took 25 years ago, and realized they were in Hebrew so we have no idea what we promised. Really, it could have been anything. So on this momentous occasion, and with the benefit of 25 years of experience, we have each looked back fondly on the last 25 years, and come up with the ideals we think will get us through another 25 years.
Jill: My dearest Dan: I can’t believe it’s been 25 years. We were so young; we had no idea what challenges we would face together. Could we have imagined that one day I would be bald and boobless and you would need a man-ziere and have a full head of hair? We’ve been through thick, thin and thicker again, but if you stop introducing me as your first wife I’ll stop asking you if an outfit makes me look fat.
I also want to apologize for the fake-out when I told you that I cook and clean. I had really good intentions. And now that we know what’s really important in life, I have just a few simple requests. Do you promise to unblock Nordstrom.com from the firewall, to let me sit in “your” chair, to let me watch Bravo TV 24/7? Do you promise that we will always stay in hotels with turndown service, that you will stop eating expired food, and that you will give me 75% of the Tivo storage?
Dan: I promise to take you Jill, aches, pains, bad knees, half-deaf, half-blind and refurbished, for another 25 years. I promise that together we will build and grow our squirrel kingdom. I vow that one day we will gaze into each other’s eyes over a candlelit dinner and not bust out laughing. And I have a few simple requests. Do you promise to never eat life forms higher than a bi-valve? Will you at least consider the fate of the silkworm before buying a silk blouse? Will you allow me to name our next batch of cats?
_______________________________________________________________
I promise to spend the next 25 years writing better jokes for our 50th anniversary!
Today is National Metastatic Breast Cancer Day. I don’t think there is a cheerful greeting card that celebrates this day, so thank goodness for Ann Silberman who can not only explain the significance of the day, but can do it with more humor and grace than I could muster in a lifetime. Valerie Hoff, also an Ann Silberman admirer, has some important stuff to say too.
We survivors really appreciate all the Pinktober activities and fundraising. But it’s only part of the story. I have been educating myself on “mets” and you know my dumb ass is just a little slow to catch on…but I’m getting there. I have faith that all of you will grasp it much more readily.
Today I step back and let two amazing women make you laugh…and cry…and do both at the same time.
Today Dan and I celebrated 25 years of uninterrupted, wedded bliss. Psych! I have no complaints, and if Dan knows what’s good for him, neither will he. I have opined on the keys to a successful marriage before, here and here, but as a public service I will reiterate the most important points.
And on that last note…what a surprise I had this morning when Dan gave me pretty much the best anniversary gift ever. Andy Cohen bobblehead!! Score! I’m telling you, it just doesn’t get much better than this. My Andy bobblehead has moved into first place in my heart, soaring past my Darth Vader bubble gum machine.
I bet you are all waiting with baited breath to hear about our romantic evening. Well first I spent the better part of the afternoon at Dulles airport. We are thrilled that our friends are here from Munich, but their plane landed at 3:00pm and they didn’t clear customs until 4:30. That’s a long time standing around arrivals waiting to do my infamous slo-mo run and fake cry greeting. You know what though? I think it was worth the wait. I was almost able to work myself up to a fake tear.
On the other hand, international arrivals is a pretty good spot for people watching. First, and no surprise, people annoy the hell out of me. I am 5’3” on a really good day. Why does the guy who is 6’5” insist on standing directly in front of me? And then there are these idiots who bring their small children to arrivals and say “watch that door, Daddy will be coming through it any minute!” But 45 minutes later, when Daddy still hasn’t appeared, that kid is going to be a whiny weepy mess. And maybe that’s what you signed up for, but I did not.
At any rate, by the time we got to the car we’d all about had it, so we headed to our favorite little romantic dinner spot…Uno’s. The wine, the candlelight, the delicate sauces…what an evening! And Dan, proudly telling the waitress it was our 25th anniversary. Then telling her he’s furloughed and he’s a contractor so he’s not even going to get back pay. Then brazenly asking for a break on the check, under all of the circumstances. Ahh, that’s my Dan. I know that all is right with the world when he’s talking and I’m praying for a hole to open up beneath me before I die of embarrassment.
On the other hand, Uno’s comped us a pizza, and our dear friends are here to celebrate with us, so…it was truly an evening to remember. Can’t wait to see how our 50th turns out!
