Tuesday, July 27, 2004

So I Killed A Pop Star,
And How Life Looks Brighter When You're Driving
The Glitter Mobile
With Ronald McDonald & Friends In The Back Seat

I have to tell you, for a while there I was certain all the forces of evil were working against me. I mean, how many spilled cups of coffee can I take and how many post cards from happy, successful men who once called me the "C" word can I get before I start subscribing to Oprah magazine and move to Chechnya to make wooden dolls or learn the Mail Order Bride business?
But things are looking up, mes petits choux. My ducks are forming a row, I no longer feel the need to turn to drugs/Jerry Maguire/prostitution/primal scream therapy for help getting through the day, and somewhere in the distance instead of "Road to Nowhere" I can hear The Talking Heads' "Stay Up Late." The only potential cloud in my I-Can-See-Clearly-Now-The-Rain-Is-Gone sky?
I think I may have killed Mariah Carey this weekend.
Hey, I said potential cloud. I know it could also potentially be My Crowning Achievement. That is if I don't get sent to prison where I will become a mute who can only grimace (why do you really think Ronald McDonald's pal's name was Grimace?) while getting gang banged by delinquent Mariah Carey fans.
The last thing I remember is lying down because I had the Worst Headache Ever. I'm pretty sure that was Saturday. The next thing I know, I woke up today and found an enormous bright yellow SUV with a vanity plate reading "Mariah" in my parking spot, the keys to this monstrosity in my clenched hands. Yeah. Worst Headache Ever will now be known (and referred to by my attorney) as Prelude to Psychotic Breakdown or Emergence of Alternate, Violent, Pop Singer Murdering Personality. Of course, there is another possibility. Isn't there?
I had better go hide. Call me when someone agrees to be my alibi and say we were having tawdry illicit sex at the time of death or Tommy Mottola offers me an award or when dinner is ready.


Thursday, July 22, 2004

The Alien Baby Douche Post of DOOM

My brother just called me because he had a premonition that I was pregnant. What? Good thing I've only had sex while standing on my head, wearing a monkey mask, and humming Celine Dion songs this month and I'm pretty sure I remember from Changing Bodies, Changing Lives that you can't get pregnant that way. Umm. Yeah. So. I told my brother that I had also had a premonition, only mine was that a family member had reported him to the IRS for Tax Fraud and he and his wife were sent to prison for 5-10 with no parole and his children were sold on the black market to recoup some of the money he scammed from the government. I think my brother has been watching too much of that new show Crossing Over Meets The Baby Story, in which dead people come back to meet babies. I'd rather be sentenced to watching a mute LeVar Burton get Jordied in prison nonstop than be preparing to pop an alien baby out of my hoo hoo, thanks anyway!

I know it's been a whole month since I last posted, I know because Boz keeps telling me so, and about a billion people have de-linked me (oh The Horror! Cry for me Argentina!), but you know what they say, when someone doesn't blog for a month it's because he/she found God, got hit by a bus, caught Lyme disease, and/or had a psychotic breakdown Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder. Well. My heart is fonder anyway. And Fred, the man who has been "fixing" my dryer for over a month now and who for some reason can only come over to do it in the middle of the night when I am scantily clad and who says things like "That burning smell, it's ok," I'm pretty sure he's feeling fonder, too. As for the other two of you who still read this, don't make me come to your house with a box of Rice-a-Roni, a plastic spatula, and a wooden spoon, because it won't be pretty.

Two Random Things
That Will Change Your Life Forever.
Especially If You Are Natalie Merchant
Or You Use Moisturizer
Or You Are A Moist Natalie Merchant.

1. Is it just me or is every single Natalie Merchant/10 Billion Maniacs song about child abuse? Maybe it is just me. Maybe it's because I was abused as a child. By Natalie Merchant and the 10 Million Maniacs. Yeah, it's a little known fact that I wrote that song "My Name is Luka."
"No, Natalie, no! Stop, you're hurting me!"

I mean, granted I haven't really listened to many of her/their songs, ok, fine, I've only listened to one and I don't even know the name of it, but it went something like this "doo doo doo, how could you do that to your own flesh and blood, doo doo doo" only probably with out the "doo doo doo's," although honestly my version is much better, but still, I'm on to her/them/you, and yeah, I'll shut up now.

2. With new Dawn Complete you no longer need hand moisturizer, you can just wash your dishes and get the same effect! That's what the woman in the commercial I saw earlier confided to her best friend anyway. What ever happened to women confiding in each other about feeling not so fresh and having slept with each other's husbands? Oh, Dawn, you make me long for the Massengill days. I'm also taking bets on how long until they come out with New Dawn Ultra Extreme Complete and you no longer need to use body soap or deodorant; you can just wash your dishes and get the same effect. Crying. For all humanity. And what is to come. Yes, I am.

Ok, I'm off to take a shower in case I get pulled over for speeding on my way to get an iced coffee, because you don't get verbal warnings if you're freshly showered. Just sex. I think I read that in Changing Bodies, Changing Lives, too. And I think I will call my third book (or child) "Sex and Verbal Warnings."