The End of 2012…Thank God.

This year has been a tough one.  A really tough one.

I could sit here and rehash it all, but I am not going to.  There’s been a lot of loss this year, both in the physical and emotional sense.  It’s been a tough one, I’m not going to lie.  It seems to happen every other year or so, which still makes me more fortunate than most, but definitely not as good as others.

But yes, this was a hard one.  I could barely catch my breath from one tragedy before there was another.  It just seemed to run, non stop, in waves.  My stress and frustration levels were at all time highs for most of this year, especially the latter portion, from July forward til now.

Things aren’t perfect.  They never will be, nor do I expect them to be.  I just want it to slow down some. Allow me to breathe a bit.  Throw the curve balls a bit more slowly this year.  Give me a chance to recover from one thing before you hit me with the next.  I am only human and while my shoulders are broad and my back is strong, there is only so much pain one person can take at a time. 

Yet, I always feel that the new year should not necessarily be a time to reflect back. I am a firm believe that old acquaintance SHOULD be forgotten and never brought to mind.  It’s the past.  There’s nothing you can do about it save to learn from it and move forward.  I am not the same woman I was five years ago, five months ago or even five minutes ago.  We are all works in progress, constantly evolving, growing and changing. 

I was trying to think of what my key word for 2013 would be; the word that I would think to when trying to plan my life course for this year.  Last year, it was “promise”.  I made some promises to myself and for the most part, I kept them.  These are not the same as resolutions, which I feel are silly contracts we make with ourselves and usually, they are preordained to fail.  My key word is just a reminder to hold certain things dear to me.  The promise of happiness.  The promise of extracting the negativity from my life path.  The promise to remember that tomorrow is another day and all the disasters of one day don’t necessarily carry over into the next. 

This years word is “transform”.  There are a few things that I would like to transform about myself, but I would not be so bold as to make myself promises I don’t intend to keep in the form of those horrible resolutions.  The root word of resolution is resolve and let’s face it, sometimes the resolve just isn’t there.  We are stronger some days than others.  It is widely believed that if you make a resolution and then, fall prey to the opposite of whatever it is you resolved to do, you have failed.

I, for one, am not about to set myself up for failure. 

So, transform for me, will be a slow process of change.  Changing the things that I CAN change while knowing that certain things will always be out of my control.  I can transform how I choose to react to things and not feel as though I have failed if my transformation does not immediately become a learned behavior.  I am going to take it easier on myself this year.  I am not going to cause myself hurt, pain or anxiety.  I have had quite enough of those self destructive passages in previous years.  I have extracted most of the people who cause my mind agony from my life.  While a few still litter the wall of my Facebook page, they are not there in copious amounts any longer…and the “delete” button remains a close few inches away from my fingertips should I need it.

What I won’t transform, however, are the things that others may perceive as my flaws. I will NOT transform my personality.  I am brash, crude, sometimes obnoxious, definitely crass…but it walks hand in hand with something else that I am and that is well intentioned.  I don’t mean harm.  And, when I cause it, I am also versed in the art of apology.  I have discovered long ago that a weak person does not apologize.  An even weaker person will not accept them.  This is not to mean that if I accept your apology, that I still choose to associate with you or keep you in my life.  I have only chosen to forgive your transgression.  Be grateful.

In the days of old, most transgressions of others would have landed you with a five knuckled greeting to your jawbone.  I have “evolved”, which I believe was my word of 2008 or so.  Maybe 2009.

In closing, new year, but not necessarily new me.  Just some “transforming” to do.  A little housecleaning in the spiritual sense.   Some adjustments to make as I get closer and closer to the person that I want to be.  Baby steps have gotten me through the first 46 years of my life, so I don’t suppose I will be making any giant leaps any time soon.  Change should come slowly…not like a huge 20 foot wave crashing in on you, but rather, a little trickling of water through the rocks and stones of a constantly running stream.  It should come slowly, gently, softly.  Resolutions, to me, are those 20 foot crashing waves.  Some survive them.  Some don’t. 

I’m not willing to find out the hard way.

Happy New Year to all of you.  May lucky number 2013 bring you all the joy and peace that you could possibly handle…and then some.

And, in keeping with tradition of blog posts gone by, I leave you with this:

Tradition started the first year I blogged, December 2005.  Why stop now?


Getting through…

My friend, Robin, pointed out that I wrote a comment  on a blog post regarding the death of my friend, Derek.   The comment was “Why do people come into our lives if it is only their intention to leave?” She said that comment shredded her, as she often feels the same way.  I tried to back my thoughts up to five years ago, in reflection of why I might have said that.   It was a comment made in the midst of grief, but it is a question for the ages.  Why do people come in, allow us to get attached to them and then, suddenly, they are erased from our lives?  Death, estrangement or just a simple case of growing in different directions.  People that you love just sometimes…go away.

I told her, people come into our lives to teach you lessons.  Lessons that are either great or small.  Everyone has an expiration date in the lives of others.  Whether it is due to physical loss or emotional detachment, we all run our course.  There are friends I needed long ago that I just don’t need any longer.  They were there for their reason at the time.  To support me, to love me, to be by my side while I went through something or for me to be there for them.  People I thought would be in my life forever suddenly vanished.  But, when I look back on it…it was a moment in time that bonded us.  Something we shared.  Something that we related to and we needed each other to figure out the equation.  Once the problem was solved…it was time to move on, for both of us…or just one of us.

But when one is not ready for that sudden absentia, it leaves pain in its wake.

And questions.  Lots and lots of questions.

I am no stranger to loss.  I have lost a great number of people in my life from death.  I have lost a parent.  I have lost a child.  I have lost friends who I thought I could never survive without.  I have lost pets who were like children to me and I grieved them more ferociously and vehemently than I have some actual human family members. 

It’s never an easy process.   Ever.

I have become nearly superstitious when it comes to death.  I won’t let any one leave my house without saying “I love you” before they go.  We could be in the middle of a heated fight…and if they leave my home without a hug or a kind word, my stomach always knots up.  I think, I am going to lose them now.  Now that we parted harshly, those words will be the last words we ever speak to each other.  I think this is because my last words to my friend Derek were “I’ll see you tomorrow…” when he asked me to please come out and hang out with him, and then, tomorrow never came for him.  Or, perhaps because the last words I ever said to my father were “I hate your fucking guts.  I never want to speak to you again.”

Guess what?  I didn’t ever get to speak to him again.  He died a week later.

So, it has become a life mission of mine to make sure that I never part harshly with any one.  I don’t think my heart could take another memory of someone leaving this world with the last thing having been said between us being something cold or hateful.  It’s a huge burden to live with and a bigger one to die with.  I find myself apologizing and justifying constantly to people who no longer walk this earth. 

“You know I didn’t mean that, right, Daddy?”

“I should have come out to see you, Derek.  I should have found a baby sitter.  Maybe you would still be here, if I had.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you goodbye, Snoop.  I’m sorry I was too busy to kiss you goodbye.”

I keep hoping for validation in a situation where I know I will never get any closure.

Of course my Dad knows I didn’t mean that.  I was a teenager.  19 years old.  I was angry with him because I needed help with something and, in form with the lousy father he was, he didn’t come through for me.  I think now…who really owes whom the apology?  Why aren’t YOU sorry that you didn’t do what I needed you to do for me?  Why was I constantly put in the position of begging you to be my father?  Why am I making myself feel perpetually guilty for saying such a terrible thing to you before you died.  I didn’t kill you.  YOU killed you.  YOU chose to get into a car, loaded up on drugs and alcohol, careening into an oncoming truck, potentially robbing the driver of that car of being a good dad to HIS four children.  He was probably a great dad, just out for the day, driving to or from his job so he could get home to his wife and kids that he valued.  YOU, Dad, were the bad guy in this scenario…so why am I feeling guilty?

Because words spoken cannot be unspoken.  Simply put, you can’t un-ring a bell.

And of course, Derek has forgiven me a million times for not having a baby sitter to go out on other nights.  So why is this one eating me up…getting the best of me?  Because this particular night…he killed himself.  How could I have possibly known that your request for my time was to be spent talking you out of ending your life?  You were a drug addict.  You put those drugs in your body.  You chose to take more than your body could handle.  You died.   I have to continue living knowing that if something would have changed that night, it could have altered the course of your life.  You might still be here. 

Then again, you might not.  And, as I always said, you were dying since the day you were born.

Only this time, you took my heart with you.

Why am I angry with myself, when you chose to make me walk in the pain of losing you over what I will only ever believe could have been “fixed” had I just been there.  Why shouldn’t I be mad at you, Derek, for causing me this never ending grief and turmoil over those last moments?

Why?  Because you’re not here.  I am.  And you can’t blame something that no longer exists.

So, how do you get through the guilt?  You don’t.  No matter how many times people say, “don’t blame yourself”, it’s hard not to.  It’s hard to gloss over the obvious…that the last things you said to these people are what you are going to have to live with.  It’s strange.  Most of us don’t even recall on a day to day basis what the last thing someone said to you was.  But, let that person die…and suddenly, you have no recollection of anything else but that.  I can scarcely remember any other words uttered between Derek and I, or my father and I, save for those last words.

Why do I only dwell on the fact that the day my precious dog, Snoop, passed away, I was too busy with work to give him a little pat on the head before he went to the kennel?  We were leaving for vacation that afternoon…and I was so busy playing catch up, I just yelled out, “Bye Snoops!”   I never got up from my desk to give him a hug and a kiss. 

And now, he’s gone too.

I can flip the switch on this, you know.  I can remember my best friend Norman dying.  I held his hand.  I kissed his lips, dry and cracked as they were, as he lay in a hospital bed while the leukemia ravaged his already small, frail body. He knew I loved him desperately and he said to me, “I’m not afraid, you know.”  I said, “I am.”  He said, “Don’t be.  It will be grand.  Gay pride day in Heaven, can you imagine?”  The vision he conjured in my mind of angels in rainbow wings and gold lame loin cloths made me laugh out loud.  He laughed too, and that laughter is what I remember.  That, and my husband leaning in to kiss him goodbye.  I will always remember those moments when I think of Norman. 

Then, there’s my grandmother.  I can remember stroking my grandmothers hair just a mere few months ago, her telling her that she loved me so much and patting my cheek.  I knew at that moment, I would likely never see her again.  She was so sick.  The dementia and the Alzheimers were eating her mind and body away slowly.   But I was there.  I held her.  She knew she was loved…and she was able to let go.  She usually asks me when I leave, “are you coming back soon?” to which I always reply, “Of course I am, silly.  I love you!”  But this time, she didn’t ask me.  She just smiled at me and went back to sleep.  Maybe she knew she was leaving…maybe I did.  I pulled a flower hair clip from my own hair, and put it in hers. 

Maybe that was our goodbye. I don’t know. 

The mind chooses to remember what it chooses to remember.  Sometimes it is terribly cruel.  Other times, it is graciously merciful. It shames me to say, I barely remember my son, those last moments before I had to hand him away.  I barely remember his face.  I don’t remember the smell of his hair or the feel of his fingers wrapped around mine.  There was no time to remember.  No time to ingrain that moment into my memory.  And, ironically, I find that to be both cruel and merciful. 

So, how do you get through the anniversaries of the deaths of those we love?  How do we stop the self fulfilling prophecy of relegating yourself to a life of wallowing in guilt and anguish for the things we did or did not do while that person was still alive? 

The truth is, we don’t. 

We make mountains out of molehills in our minds.  And, on the opposite end of that, we make molehills out of mountains…just so we can cope.  We have to force ourselves to cope in the best ways we know how.  For some, it helps to allow yourself a day of grief.  It almost feels contrived.  I felt great yesterday.  I will feel great again tomorrow.  But, right now?  Right now all I feel is pain, devastation, anxiety and the ever looming fear that I will add something else I said to that list of regretful final words. 

It’s truly a source of anxiety for me.

The other night, on Facebook, my son wrote a status:

“I don’t think I can deal with this.  Please tell me this isn’t happening again.”

I read it at 3 am and immediately, I flew into panic mode.  To hear your teenager say, “I don’t think I can deal with this…” conjures up every news article we have ever read as parents of teens taking their lives over things that would scarcely disrupt the life of an adult.  I knew from that statement, something had happened between him and his girlfriend.  Did she break up with him?  Did she cheat on him?  Hurt him in some way?  Is he REALLY not able to deal with it?  Am I going to go to bed tonight and wake up in the morning to a phone call that he was found hanging in his closet, a note to his girlfriend on his bed and his Facebook page open to a status that says, “goodbye”?  Sleep was done for me at that point.  It wasn’t going to happen.  I was FAR too afraid that if I go to bed, when I wake up in the morning, I will hear those words that no mother ever, ever, EVER wants to hear.

I’ve already heard them once before.  I couldn’t live through it a second time.

Admittedly, I panicked hard.  I called his fathers house, where he was staying, at 3 am and crying into the phone, begged my ex husband to please, go check on him.  Make sure he’s asleep. Please watch him.  Please keep an eye on him. 

Because in my heart, the terror of “last words” looms large.

It is terrible to be a slave to what if’s and what could be’s.  Yet, I still find myself scared to death of those last words before someone leaves the house, hangs up the phone or walks away from me.  It is my own cross to bear, my own personal problem that I have made into a much bigger monster than it honestly is.  But, when you are living a life that includes a lot of loss, you can’t help but feel that way sometimes.  Especially after a fight with someone. 

So, ridiculous as it may be…I make sure that I tell everyone how much I love them.  It’s really something we should practice any way, the fine art of letting the people in your life know how much they mean to you.  It should not take estrangement or death for those words to finally find their way to your mouth.  It should not take fear.  Instead, it should be part of living.  Nothing is more important in this world than the love we take and the love we make.  Nothing.  Mistakes become regrets very quickly and while I know I can’t walk around 24/7 telling everyone what they mean to me, I can make sure that the people who are in my life daily know how well loved they are…so that if their time should come, or mine…we all can remember that our last words were “I love you”.

They say that there are some things that should just go to the grave with you.

“I love you” should always be one of those things.

song inspiration
“it’s only love. it’s only pain.  it’s only fear that runs through my veins…
it‘s all the things you can’t explain, that make us human.

RIP Derek Wollen, the inspiration for this post…and the pain that accompanies it.
August 25, 1980 – November 15, 2007  i miss you so much.  so, so much.

And to Debra Wollen, who left to find her son on November 24th, 2007. 
A mothers love leads to a mothers death.  i pray you both found each other…and peace.

Baby, it’s cold outside…

Baby, it’s COLD outside.  And what does that mean to me?

Usually nothing, as I live in Florida, a winter challenged state down south that doesn’t realize that some of us totally live and die for boot season. It’s everything!  As a native New Yorker of 30 plus years, it is very hard for me to adapt to the fact that there is virtually, no winter in Florida.  However, I don’t let that stop me from being the perfect snow angel once the first cold snap hits.  While I understand that some of you won’t see 62 degrees as a cold snap, this is what I have to live with.  But, you lucky snow bunnies! YOU do not!  And here are the MUST have staples to make your closet a winter wonderland.

One of the most figure flattering pieces you can own is a structured blazer.  For those of you old enough to remember the 80’s, you will recall that the blazer was a staple.  Why?  Two words for you.  Shoulder.  Pads.  Those wild winged shoulders made even the thickest waist look whittled down and oh so slim.  While sadly, the shoulder pads have died with the career of most 80’s bands, the structured look of a well fitted blazer has not.  It is still the best article of clothing for layering, and carving a waistline into your figure.  With skirts, jeans or even leggings, this is the number one piece that any frosty fashionista should have in her closet.

Another hot trend for winter?  The perfect “bow blouse”.  Once upon a time it was a SERIOUS no no for a busty girl to wear a bow blouse.  However, that “rule” has gone out the window along with no white after Labor Day.  Bow blouses are the perfect statement piece for work or for play.  They provide an extra touch of warmth by tying up near a normally exposed neckline.  They can go from the boardroom to cocktails with a quick change of your shoes.  From pencil skirts to pencil thin jeans, this style transitions easily, while making sure you look a perfect mix of modern and classic.  Try one in a deep jewel tone like emerald green or sapphire blue to really put the pop in the winter blahs.

Finally, my favorite new trend for winter is so inappropriate here in Florida, yet I wear it with a look on my face that says, what?  Have you never seen a wide brimmed, floppy suede hat in Fall before?  Yes, wide brimmed hats are back in.  While I have not seen them in at least 4 decades, I personally couldn’t be more thrilled to see them back in style!  Pay you no mind, my petite princesses, to those who say hats should not be worn by the under 5’5 sect!  A wide brimmed hat puts focus back on the prettiest part of you:  your exquisite face!  It ensures that people look you in the high, streamlines your jawline (perfect for those of us who may have an extra chin…or two) and really makes your look stand out in a crowd.  Make sure not to go “summertime straw hat” big for Winter as it will throw your look off balance.  Pair it with a poncho or bat wing top, a long pendant necklace and a pair of flat suede boots for winter for that dreamy, easy 70’s vibe. 

If  it isn’t cold where you live, don’t despair!  It doesn’t mean you can’t wear your favorite winter trends. Just stay away from the over the top winter trends, like furry mittens or thick cashmere scarves.  For those of you whose weather goes from 80 to 18 degrees in the course of a month, then you already know that layering is the key!  Whatever the weather, you will be winter wonderful all season long.  Remember, personal style is an individual as a snowflake.  Each one is unique, so experiment with different looks and trends.  Blend them until you find something that really gives you a signature look all your own.

What’s your favorite tried and true trend for looking like the perfect snow queen all season long?

The Fashion Prediction Issue Circa Spring 2012

Every once in awhile, I get a link in my email from Refinery29, an amazing fashion website.  I tend to hang on to the link of what the “fashion predictions” are for the upcoming year to see if I was right about what I think about it or wrong.  I took some notes back in January about each one of the pics in this slide show and boy oh boy, I am in the WRONG industry.  I called this in the air.

These people should truly look to hire me because boy, did they get it wrong.  Wrong.  WRONG!

So, allow me, now that we are 4 months into the new fashion year, to go through these slideshows photos with you, step by step and give you my time proven wisdom before you end up walking out your door looking like a hot old mess.  I can’t have that. I have to be seen with you people.  I refuse to be seen with you if you look like an extra in a Whitesnake video some 20 years after the fact, okay?

This is for your benefit.  What can I say?  I’m a giver.  Let’s begin.

‎1) No. Just no.

2) These do not look good on large breasted or thicker girls. IF you are either of those, do not. If you feel you must though…do it with leggings only. Great look on girls with less shape, gives you some hips if you don’t have any.

3) My best friend is going to laugh about this one. She’ll know why. If you are going to pull of the Betty Page look, please, don’t go the daisy duke, cover me in cherries and cutesy accessory overload. Betty Page did not do that. She did it with class. Look towards Dita Von Teese for the RIGHT way to do Rockabilly with style or you will look like a pornographic anime character.

4) These are fun and will have to hit up our resident glitter bomber, The Jewelry Whore, Herself, to order some in. These are great to trade with friends, very easy to make. I think we should all make shoe themed ones and secret squirrel them to each other in the mail! fun!

5) Thank goodness the days of “just got out of bed” head are over. I have always done “coiffed” whether it was trendy or not, because if you are going out, you should always look “done”…not like you were attacked by a pack of rabid dogs midway through getting ready.

6) OMG. No. Never. Please. Especially if you are over 30. The only time this look is acceptable is if you are at a baseball game and even then, it is still sort of “iffy”.  Please.  Proceed with extreme caution.

7) I have to admit, if these come back into style, I will actually buy a pair…so long as they are glammed up. These were very popular in the 80’s and I loved the added height. However, they must be loaded down with bling.  Get yourself a glue gun and a clue. 

8) IF you are going to do this look, please…do it with stilettos. If you look at the model, it looks like she has 20 feet of torso, and stumps for legs. This is a cute look if you pair it with one of your mans dress shirts, a skinny belt and a chic little fedora. Make it girly with some chandelier earrings or a long pearl necklace…but seriously. Stilettos. Flats will make you look like you have a penis. (refer to model…again).

9) I know we are getting mixed messages here. The shoe designers are screaming COLORS COLORS COLORS! POPS OF COLOR! at us. The runways are screaming NEUTRALS NEUTRALS NEUTRALS. We, however, being the savvy bitches we are, know we can color block our outfits and then, pair a nude shoe…OR, neutral outfits with a colorful shoe. IF you are going to do neutral on neutral…be careful with your whites. Ivory plus cream plus beige can potentially just make you look like you don’t add bleach to your laundry and your whites are dingy. You will end up in Glamor magazine as a “don’t”. Trust me. Lastly, do NOT go all matchy matchy on me.  Try to make it a cardinal rule NOT to match your handbag to your shoes unless your shoes or bag have multiple colors and you are matching a solid to the pattern.  That’s fine.  Do not do solid and solid matching.  Please.  I admit, every once in awhile I take leave of my senses and I do this.  I wholly expect the Fashion Police to jump out of the bushes like Ashton Kutcher and give me a Rodney King beat down when this happens.  I would have earned it if that happens…and so will you.

10) Dear God. No. No.For the love of all things holy…Just No. Especially if you are under 5’5. Also, if you feel you must do this to yourself…if your self loathing runs that deep, please, be kind to yourself and pair with a sandal of the wedge variety. If I see any of you in these with Ugg boots, you will be de-friended immediately. That is all.

So there you go, Bitches. Fashion done right by the Goddess of Glam.  No need to thank me. I am simply here for the benefit of the universe…to keep you fashionable, on trend and most of all?  Keeping you from embarrassing yourself and me.  Trust me.  It’s for your own good.  I may be fat and forty (five) and all, but I know of what I speak.  

Aaaand…you’re welcome.

February Fantasies…

So much has been going on since last year.  So much, in fact, that I haven’t had much time to write in my blog.  And yet, here I am on a Friday night/Saturday morning, 5am in fact, writing with no real goal in mind.

I’ve been working a lot, doing what I love most in the world.  Marketing.  I have been parlaying my social online activities into a job and so far, it’s been pretty successful.  I have an expanding client list, which is always a good thing.  Paychecks are nice.  They allow me shoes.  Lots of shoes.  Not like I couldn’t have lots of shoes before…but there is something liberating about not having to justify my shoe purchases to my husband.  Mind you, he doesn’t inquire.  He frankly couldn’t care less about my shopping habits.  I just always feel the need to explain them away. 

“Oh, these? Yeah, I got them on sale for $blah blah and then I had a Groupon which got me $blah blah off and then, there was an online code for free shipping so they finally came out to $blah blah.”

He always says the same thing.

“Babe, you don’t need to explain these things to me.  If you like them, buy them.”

*sighs*  Never an argument.  Sometimes, I wish he would pull a Ricky Ricardo on me.

“Ceeeeeeee Peeeeeeee!?  ‘Ave jew bin spending all our moneee again?  Ees dat what jew are do-eeng? Jes?”

“Oh no, Hotband!  I deedn’t spend all jor moneeee again!  I got a YOB!”

“A YOB?  Where did jew get a Yob?  Oh Ceee Peeee!  Jew ara bad bad wife! Ay carramba!”


(Those of you under the age of 25 will not even remotely get the I Love Lucy references.  Please exit to the left. I have no use for you whippersnappers.)

5 am is a bad time for me to be awake.  There’s lots of infomercials on at 5am.  Lots.  Generally there are two different categories of infomercials.  Things relating to exercise…and everything else.  Things relating to exercise are safe.  NO danger of me ordering that P90X or the Insanity Workout in the middle of the night. (Although, I really want that T-shirt…but according to the commercial, you have to “earn” it.  Screw that shit.  I’ll just buy one.  My body will reveal the truth.  I didn’t earn anything but 5 pounds from the cheese danish I was eating while watching these morons lift chairs over their heads while grunting like wart hogs having coitus.)  It’s the “everything else” that scares my husband.  Everything else includes:  The Instyler.  I really want that fucking thing.  I want to make barrel curls, roll curls, mini flips or straight hair that is polished by the rolling/brushing action.  And ooh…it comes with a second mini rotating Instyler for when I want a tighter curl!  It just may be the most perfect styling tool ever invented!  They said so, so it must be true!

The Instyler: Part hair brush, part masturbation tool.  The possibilities are endless.

Next on my infomercial list?  Wen Hair Care.  Yes, I love Alyssa Milano.  She’s named after my favorite cookie.  (Mmmmm…Milano’s.  Double chocolate please.)  But the Wen Hair Care System says that I don’t have to wash AND condition my hair any more because the non-lathering magic unicorn jizz in the bottle will magically make my hair stunning and glorious just like Alyssa’s.  When I pump a dime size blob in my hand and comb it through, little fairies will dance around my skull, infusing my head with nourishing fairy dust and encasing each strand in their special fairy saliva.  It will be magical!  And all the worlds problems will cease to exist because MY hair will shimmer, shine and bounce.  Presidents and Kings will bow to my whim because my hair is ethereal! 

Chaz Dean: Creator of Wen.  Advocate of the Instyler for off label purposes.

Next on my wish list?  Set It…and Forget it!  Not only is the product awesome, but the name is genius! As a matter of fact, I want this to be my motto in life!  Everything should be that gimmicky.  Work:  Do It…nah, Screw It!  Marriage:  Wed Him…then Bed Him!  Having Kids:  Have Them…then spend the next 18 years of your fucking life biting your nails down to the nub worrying about the dumb little shits turning your hair prematurely gray and gaining 30 pounds in the process.  Hm, okay.  Not everything can be that catchy.  But seriously, how awesome is the concept of slapping some food in an oven and then, leaving it?  You know, while you go out to dinner, because you totally set it…and then, forgot it.  I can see this thing playing a real important role in my life. “Yeah, babe. I did make dinner.  But I forgot it.  Go look in the amazing peek a boo window! It’s in there!  Now, where shall I put these leftovers?”  Everything in life should be so easy.

These chickens are 5 days old!  I totes forgot about them!  

This next one just makes my heart go all aflutter.  It’s the Slap Chop. Waaaaaay before the Shake Weight commercials were around to bring joy to your soul as you diddle your skittle or choke your chicken (you know you do), there was Vince slapping his way into your life.  Vince would slap chop any thing you put in front of him.  Tomatoes?  He’d chop them.  Hard boiled eggs?  He’s gonna slap ’em for ya.  Baby fingers?  Yep, them too.  No more need to put your children in time out.  Just put their little chubby hands on the counter and slap, slap, SLAP your way into obedience!  Vince had no shame.  Not even a few domestic violence charges, drug arrests and prostitutes would stand in the way of Vince slapping his way into your dreams.  I have to be honest…when my grandson was born, I had a fantasy that consisted of Vince in Mohel gear bursting into the labor and delivery room, scooping up Liam and just slap slap slapping his brand new little penis into circumcision submission.  Sadly, my daughter wouldn’t allow me to make this happen.  Something about wanting him to stay out of therapy and actually be able to use his penis some day.  Pfffft.  Wuss.

Hava Tequila.  It vill dull zee pain!  I vill slap slap slappa da penis!

As Vince says, “I can’t do this all night”.  The fantasies are simply endless.  I love me some infomercials.  I probably could go on and on all night…but alas, I have a feeling that this last one just might make Saturday night grandkid sleepover night come to an abrupt halt.  Besides, I have a Pampered Chef chopper.  It doesn’t have the same ring to it.  “Let me Pamper Your Penis”.  Hm.  Maybe I’m wrong about that.  Of course, my all time favorite infomercial is for the Shake Weight.  The male or the female version…which really only boils down to whether you get a pink Shake Weight or a gray Shake Weight.  But I love watching the burly guys on the men’s commercial do the jerk off motion with a straight face.  You know that commercial was made to be soft porn for the gay community.  No straight woman finds that remotely attractive.  Same with the women’s commercial.  You know that straight men who can no longer see their porn channels through the squiggly lines jerk off to the women’s Shake Weight commercials.  Sure, there is the obvious “hot chick holds on to pink phallic thing and jerks it up and down” thing.  But, if you look PAST that to the woman’s chest…you will see tons of jiggling boobage.  That’s where the action is, Kats and Kittens.  They found the jiggliest boobies they could find on 90% perfectly toned women.  I think they probably crop in the jiggle bubbies off of fat chicks and insert them into the videos.  Regardless, I don’t care how it happens, just that it happens.  Plus, infomercials, unlike regular commercials, are 30 joyful minutes long.  Plenty of time for info induced orgasm to take place. 

Now, it’s 6 am.  I totally ruined my alone time with my infomercials.  I think I shall turn in and have sweet dreams of violating Vince with my Instyler, lubing it thoroughly with some Wen and then, listening to Ron Popeil saying “Shove It…You Will Love It” as I burrow it into one of Vince’s orifices. 

A girl can dream, can’t she?