Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Did Martha Stewart Decorate her Cell?


I've been a little sidetracked. We're putting our house on the market this week and it's a hellavalota work. I'll catch up on everyone's blogs, comments, and postings after Friday when we (and that's the royal We) can breathe a sigh of relief. For about 20 minutes, then we'll have to keep our house clean until it sells.

I'll be like Joan Crawford meets Martha Stewart. Following my children around the house with a long wooden spoon "Clean Up That Sock!! Flush that Toilet!! Don't touch That!!" My eyes will be red and glazed. My bangs will be fuzzy and weird. My toenail polish will be chipped. I'll be a mess.

I'm trying to have all the spiritual good thoughts and prayers for a nice family to move in and make my old neighbors happy. I meditate that everything will be fair and just and honest. But then I get yanked by the ankle down into the well of Selfish Thoughts and I don't care who moves in, just as long as I get my money. I said "my" but it's not. It's ours. I'm selfish in the purist sense. For instance, when I take people to the new house, I show them "my" kitchen and "my" bedroom. The curse of a spoiled child all grown-up and trying to be a wife and mother.

Just a couple more days ...

Monday, April 27, 2009

Crying Indians and Smoking Babies

I remember when the giant stores started closing. The Good Guys, an electronics chain, closed first. Like ants at a picnic, we rushed in and bought a giant TV at a pretty decent price. As the days and weeks dragged on, their inventory was reduced to 80's movies, cords to obsolete equipment, and display racks. The security guard checked receipts at the front door with the enthusiasm of a toll booth operator on qualudes. It was depressing.

The Good Guys had paid for a mega sign to hang over their moribund [thank you Merriam-Webster Thesaurus] doors that read "We're Closing" but after time the left side of the sign lost it's will to hang on and flapped down over the "C" thereby leaving an ominous warning of the months to come "We're losing."

Deadly food allergies are on the rise, global warming, crime, oh it's just ghastly. A real downer. So I want to remind you of the advances we've made and how, in some areas, life is a little better than it was.

* When I was a little girl, people used to throw their napkins, wrappers, cups, etc., right out the car window on the freeway. Then some TV commercial with a crying Indian changed the world ... with only THREE CHANNELS! We the People felt guilty and realized we couldn't just keep treating the roads like a dump. In many countries it's still completely acceptable to litter. Here in California, if someone throws a wrapper out the window they'll surely be chased down by a 1963 Volvo with an angry tree hugger inside and scolded for their shit-headism.

* When I gave birth to my son in 1986, they gave me a "smoking room" in the hospital. I'm not kidding you. I shared the room with another young mommy who smoked and, like me, had a cesarean so we were stuck in there for a week. I remember the nurse calling out from the hallway "Put out your cigarettes ladies! I'm bringing in the babies!"

* Here's what I ate for dinner every night when I was little: Fried hamburger patty, white rice with butter, canned spinach. I was allergic to milk so my mom gave me Hi-C.

You have to admit that in some areas life and the planet are better off than they were. Don't buy into the idea that everything is awful all the time. Eat a hot dog and get over it.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Never Answering the Door Again

Ding Dong! I answer the door.

"Is this your lawn?" says the big sweaty man with a beer belly and a wiener dog. He's wiping buckets of sweat from his forehead with a dirty rag while he scans my shabby lawn with disgust.

"Yes." I say flatly so to express my disinterest in anything he has to offer.

"Are you going to keep watering it like this?" He says like a father who has found out his teenager is running the car without oil.

"We're moving." I hope this will make him give up and walk away. I've been dispensing prickly fevered anxiety needles throughout my pores all day and so far it has not worked at all. People keep talking to me.

A long pause. He does not turn and leave nor even step back. He wipes his wet face again and thinks about his next line, which is this. "Why are you moving!?" Not a quizzical small talk question, more like demand.

"Why not?" I said, since it's none of his business.

"Are you moving local?" he blurts whilst still avoiding eye contact and checking out my lawn.

"Yes. In a couple of weeks. So we don't have any money right now."

The man seems irritated at this news. As if I've really let him down. "Where's all your money?!"

"Its at the new house!" I started to feel a little defensive.

"So you've spent all your money on a house in the same place as your old house. [not a question, a recall statement of dismay and scorn]

"Yep." and I stood their waiting with my hand on my hip for his next tactical salesmanship question or perhaps a PowerPoint presentation. But he just turned and walked away. Not a good-bye or a screw you. His little wiener dog followed him.

He hopped into his repainted U-haul truck and left my neighborhood.

The lesson here is: Never open the door for a sweaty man with a little weiner.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Come, Look into my Cave


Having our house on the market is like going to the gynecologist. I have everything all cleaned-up and smelling purty, but there is no getting away from the feeling that my legs are up in stirrups and there are no secrets. It's humbling. No, its mortifying.

I have to invite strangers into my house to evaluate and poke around my cave but I'm not allowed to give any reasons (excuses) for why things are they way they are. For example, if I was the tour guide I would explain that I really meant to buy new pillow cases and no, we did not spill root beer on them. I would explain that the giant TV was my husband's idea and I had to oblige in order to get the sofa that sits in front of it.

It's like filling out a health history at the ob/gyn and there are just boxes to check and dates to fill in. There is no extra page where you can explain that it was the '80's and you are a much better person now. Nor is there a page to stick old photographs of "him" so to prove that you were completely powerless and, if given the chance, most of the women here would have done it too.

Either way, I just don't want people to not say "yuk." Dry rot - crotch rot, it's all the same thing. [Note: I have never had crotch rot] Then, after the nightmare has ended, I'll get an offer on the house or a note from the doctor and it will tell me how I measured up in the world. If I've had any Deferred Maintenance issues. Yuk.

It doesn't matter how many posters you put on the ceiling, I know where I am and I know what's happening.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Shoes + Hair = Everything



Your hair and shoes are the most important part of your outfit. You can be walking around in a purple velour jumpsuit and pull it off as long as you're wearing a pair of Jimmy Chu's and a bad-ass hair style.

The opposite is not true; if you're wearing stupid shoes and have on a normal outfit it doesn't work. Even if you are normally attractive. There will be no chance of getting a job, making friends, or starring in your own t.v. sitcom. Please see example picture.

This is a picture of me with my new bad-ass hairstyle. My photographer is eight years old but she works for sliced apples and potato chips. In other words, it looks better in person. At least I think so, but that might be because I'm posing in front of the mirror so I'm able to make the best face possible while avoiding any neck wrinkles that are similar to a turtle vagina.

Doing my hair and make-up this morning was like a covert operation in an eastern block country. I was sitting in bed, talking on the phone when I noticed the shadow of a man right outside my window. His silhouette was hunched over and he was making his way around all my bedroom windows. The remarkable thing is that my bedroom is on the second floor. That's when I remembered that the painters were coming this morning. I wrapped up in my brown bear robe, black mascara smeared around my eyes like a heroin addict model and ducked into my bathroom. Alas, there was another window in there too. So I gathered my tackle and marine crawled into the closet where I'd be safe.

Considering all that, I think I look pretty good. I might just make the closet my new make-up bunker.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

I Am Not A Chicken!


This month has bad luck running through it like termites in an old house. Seriously, I cannot catch a break. My daughter's coach is mad at me because, although I do appear to have super powers, I have not mastered reading minds ... yet. Therefore I messed up some forms and now I'm avoiding her. I'm getting my daughter carpooled there and back so the coach can't find me. It's not that I'm chicken or anything, it's just that she's old and if I stay gone long enough she'll forget all about me. So, I'm really just saving her life, that's all. I don't want her last words to be "Sharon, you're killing me with aggravations!"

[I would like to make a side note here: Kathy has commented on my comma love and now I'm totally paranoid to use them. Thanks a lot, BFF!]

Then my sister gets breast cancer. The ironic thing is my nickname for her has always been "BT" that stands for Big Titty. I am "LT" - figure it out. So that's pretty shitty, but I don't know what to say so I haven't even called yet. It's not that I'm chicken, it's just that I don't want to remind her that she has cancer or anything. I mean, why bring it up? I just want her to have a nice day.

Additionally, we're getting ready to put our house on the market. Yet the only thing I can think about is possibly offending my neighbors because I'm not using their landscaping company. I'm hiding from them too. I'm not scared of them. I'm not. I just don't want to hurt their feelings, at least I don't want to see it.

I went to a meeting last night and sat right next to a guy who I've been avoiding for months. He's basically a weakling who gets all red-faced and shaky whenever I disagree with him. Which is most of the time because he's so wrong. But I hide from him because I'm afraid of saying something that will be constructive in the development of his spine which has thus far been weak. Every time I'm around him, all I can think of is all the ways I can publicly humiliate him. There's about nine so far.

Oh, oh oh oh. I almost forgot to tell you the Good News! I got my haircut and I don't look like a flight attendant this time! I got a bang job, and a lovely one it was. When I picked up my 11 year old at school she said "Well look at you!" It's one of those kind of haircuts. A little bit edgy/rocker. Too bad I can't show anyone because I'm either hiding in my home office or driving around with a baseball cap and sunglasses.

So listen up. Here's today's Life Coach Lesson:

Don't be afraid of people [or commas] otherwise you'll be wasting a perfectly good haircut.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Feel Better About Yourself in Five Easy Steps!

Feeling bad about yourself? Lost your job? No relationship, or worse, a shitty one? Stop what you're doing and take these five simple self-help steps to improve your self-esteem.

1. Find a spiritual self-affirmation book. Perhaps something with rays of sunlight or footprints on the cover. Say a daily affirmation each day for seven days. On the eighth day stop. Reflect on the past seven days and thank God you're not the kind of person who has to do that shit every single day.

2. Play a board game with a child. It's really easy to win and you'll feel smart.

3. Hang out with people fatter than you. If you cannot find any, hang out with skinny people and visualize them sticking their fingers down their throat and eating snickers in the closet. There, now aren't you glad you're not like them?

4. Stick a dime in someone else's parking meter and save them from a ticket. Leave a note on their car telling them what you've done. Make sure they know that you did it out of the kindness of your heart because you are a selfless and generous person. Then just sit back and wait for your karma reward.

5. Wear a turtle neck and listen to public radio in your car loud enough for people to hear it and think "Wow, she is so evolved."

Have a better day!

Monday, April 6, 2009

My Better Half


That's what I'd name this product and what a great product it is! I'd like to expand it's usages to reflect the needs of the average American. Pay attention China.

1. Qualify for the carpool lane by hanging the arm out the passenger window. Enjoy the looks of horror as the passing car takes a gander at your decapitated friend. "Beep Beep! Outta my way or I'll cut your head off too!"

2. Virtual Mommy. a) Use as a prop to keep your infant in a seated position. b) Great for soft spanking. c) "I'll just lay with you until you fall asleep"

3. Hand-job Vibrator. You would need to install some kind of shaking device in the middle two fingers. [Side note: Spray with Scotch Guard first]

4. Win the Vote: "All in favor? Raise your hand."

5. Depression Therapy: A shoulder to cry on plus you can use the pocket to hold your chocolate covered Prozak candy.

6. Beach Toy: Bury in the sand and yell "Shark! Shark!"

7. Chasing: No special trick, just make a frantic schizo face while you run after people, shaking it above your head.

How much extra for the girl? I have work for her too.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Cesar Chavez Public Library, Arizona


On March 31st I went to the library. I got a front row parking place! I hoisted my laptop mobile blogging office onto my shoulder and forged ahead. "I'm going to finish up my restaurant review" I tell my daughter.

Surprise! It's Cesar Chavez Day!! What does that mean for you and me? Well, it means that you can shake the doors to the library again and again, bang on them, and make faces into the dark building all you want and they will not open. Why? Because they're closed.

Now I don't know Cesar, mostly because he's dead, but also because I'm not a migrant farm worker being exploited by profit hungry landowners. But, and I'm just using my imagination here, I don't think he would want our public libraries closed. I would think he would be a literacy advocate, right? But the banks were open and the post office still delivered my bills.

Dear Arnold,

Please re-open the libraries so I can blog, I mean read library books about Latino heroes and California history. In return for the gigantic expense of operating a library for a whole day, please feel free to close the post office who only delivers bills, irrelevant catalogs for clothing I don't need, and nasty notes on my car that say "we won't deliver mail unless you move your car away from the mailbox." As a side note, can't we have mail carriers who can get out of a vehicle?

Cesar Chavez day should also be a holiday for the banks so we can have an extra day to make our bad checks into good checks. Seriously, isn't that what Cesar would have wanted?

Thank you,
Sharon the Queen Blogger