“Do my worst, eh? Smithers, release the robotic Richard Simmons!”

October 31, 2005

When my daughter invited her best friend (who happens to be Jewish) to come to the Halloween party at our church, and I assured her hesitant parents the only religion she would be exposed to would be a prayer over the food, her father said to me, “I guess it’s all right… as long as you don’t try and convert her.”

Of course I responded with, “Curses! My secret plan to bring your daughter unto Jesus has been foiled! And it was all falling into place, too!” channeling the always amusing and deliciously evil Mr. Burns. No, really. I find myself very amusing, you see. I may have cackled a bit and rubbed my hands together in maniacal glee. Perhaps. It’s all a blur now… I’m just saying it’s a possibility, okay?! Gosh! Let it go.

Imagine my surprise when they looked at me in unadulterated, wide-eyed alarm. It was at this precise moment that it occurred to me that perhaps it was time for me to hone my Bullshit Detection skills.

Because apparently her parents actually did believe that celebrating a secular holiday in the gymnasium at the local church– wherein young revelers dress up in spooky disguises, visit carnival booths, take part in cake walks, scream themselves hoarse in Spook Alley, and finally round out the evening by trunk-or-treating in the parking lot– really WAS a prime opportunity for proselytizing unsuspecting Jewish children and ripping them forever from their faith in living a religious life in accordance with Scriptures and rabbinic traditions. You know, what with the candy and the cookies and the makeshift baptismal font standing at the ready in the far corner of the gymnasium and all?

Huh. Say it with me now: Awkward.

I am happy to report, however, that in the end I was able to talk them around and they did allow their daughter to attend the Halloween party with Hannah. Fortunately I had the good sense to keep a close watch over the girls, and except for this one tricky moment when a few overzealous Christians attempted to convince her that the baptismal font was a dunking booth, the evening went off without a hitch and she was returned home safe, happy, and admittedly a tad sugared up, but as far as I could tell still totally Jewish.

Mrtl’s Motif Monday and my 15 Minutes of Fame

October 31, 2005

I am heretofore still an untapped talent. It’s a crying shame, really. But in honor of Mrtl’s Motif Monday, click here for my shining moment in the spotlight, my 15 minutes. Which, incidentally, only felt like 12 or something but whatever.

Random Thoughts on a SLOW Friday

October 28, 2005

— I am still loving my job. Like, seriously LOVING it, which is a first, I tell you what. I can’t believe I was teaching English to those wacky, moody teenagers for all those years when I could have been doing this. Take THAT [insert karate chop here], stupid college advisor. YOU SUCK, Dr. Fitzmaurice!

— I am loving the whole soccer mom thing. I am a soccer mom. A SOCCER MOM! Who would have guessed? I don’t drive a minivan or SUV with a My Child is an Honor Student! bumper sticker, nor do I wear big hair and religiously attend PTA meetings. But I do drive my daughter to soccer practice every week! Except for yesterday because I totally forgot.

— Um, let’s see… I’ve finally figured out how to program music in my iPod. Woo! Yay, me! Now if I could just figure out how to download my pictures to it, I’d be golden.

— I’ve lost some weight recently, which has caused one of my coworkers to dub me “Calista.” You know, as in Calista Flockhart? Whatev. This, in my opinion, is 1) pretty damn rude, and B) so 90’s of her. I mean Good God, woman! At least pick someone current, like an Olsen twin or Nicole Ritchie! Geez. Hello?! It’s called pop culture, people! *snap* *snap* KEEP. UP.

— In honor of the season, I have attached a picture of my children in their Halloween costumes. Because it’s friggin’ cute, okay?! GOSH!


— Huh. Apparently, I totally need to straighten the painting in my front room.

— Alli is concerned that her Disney Belle (from Beauty and the Beast) costume may be too immodest– or risque, if you will– because quite a bit of 6-year-old shoulder is exposed. Here is my concern: how is this modesty-obsessed child the fruit of my loins? Me! Lover of mini skirts, bikinis, and inappropriately lowcut shirts (I’m talking back in the day, not now, geez…)? Is it possible she is a changeling? Switched at birth?! Good freaking heavens.

— Incidentally, Alli is also concerned about Hannah, who she is sure will be forcibly ejected from the church Halloween party tomorrow night. You know, because she is the devil? Well, not the Devil, just a devil. A super cute one! Just wanted to clarify. This was Hannah’s own choice, by the way. The Fairy Princess thing was tired, she told me. Well, not in those exact words. That would have been weird. But kind of funny, right? “Hey, Mom! Being a fairy princess is wack, yo?! I wanna be LUCIFER!” I have assured both girls that if anyone tries to kick out my cute little devil, all she has to do is start damning them all to hell, and they will SO leave her alone.

— Hannah suggested I be a Smartie Pants for Halloween, which would entail taping a bunch of Smarties packs all over my jeans. She’s a keeper, that one. I am seriously considering it, although I am afraid the candy may attract all the toddlers in the room, who will spot the goodies and attach their slobbery selves to my legs, rendering me immobile and unable to participate in the annual Donut Bite contest. Which would be tragic.

— Although I personally think a Naughty Pilgrim costume would be hella cute, I don’t think people would care for it at the church Halloween party. Eh, whatcha gonna do?

“Sweet dream baby, how long must I dream?”

October 27, 2005

If it is wrong of me to fantasize about buying, oh, say three dozen Krispy Kreme donuts only to strip naked and roll around in their sticky, glazed goodness, all the while shouting “Mwah ha, ha, ha, ha! They’re MINE! All MINE!! Mwah ha ha!” and shoving as much gooey pastry into my mouth as is humanly possible when one is rolling all around in said Krispy Kreme donuts, oh, and without gaining even an ounce of weight (due to the aerobic nature of the fantasy, naturally), then baby… I SO do not want to be right.

That being said, I’m friggin’ hungry, y’all.

Who is the sucker now?! Huh?!

October 26, 2005


Let’s face it, gals. Guys use ’em. And I’m thinking either there are some desperate, seriously stupid women out there, or men just have not figured out that we KNOW.

“We have a connection, I can feel it.”
translation: “I want to get in your pants.”

“Do you know karate? ‘Cuz damn it honey, your body is really kickin’!”
translation: “I want to get in your pants.”

“I think I could fall madly in love with you.”
translation: “I want to get in your pants.”

“Hey, I lost my phone number, can I have yours?”
translation: “I want your phone number so I can call you, take you out, and get in your pants.”

“Hey baby, there’s a party in my pants and you are invited.”
transla— okay, that one is not so much a line as it is a reason to slap a guy upside the head.

But the following line– which was once used on an actual date I went on with an actual guy who actually thought it would lead to some actual ACTION– is quite possibly the Stupidest Kissing Line EVER.

(Disclaimer: The following interchange occurred when I was young and naive and new to the dating game, so don’t hold my voluntary participation against me, mm’kay?)

Let me set the scene:
Dorky Date and I were just at that awkward “will he or won’t he?” moment at the front door, after a fun-filled night of bowling. I had never been bowling before. I bowled a 33. Shut up. I am not the most gracious loser, I will admit, but my date beat me by, like, 200 points! And gloated! GLOATED, y’all! (Guys, do not gloat if you want action. Heed my words.) And besides the gloating, the boy owned his own pair of (fugly) bowling shoes, a circumstance which I found sort of skeevy.

“Have you ever had a lollipop kiss?” Dorky Date asked.

“Um, nope,” was my terse, hopefully off-putting reply.

No such luck. Dorky Date leaned in close to my face, as if to kiss me. A half-inch from my lips he stopped and whispered, “Sucker.”

Okay. Sort of amusing, right? And his dorky lips did not actually make contact with my own reluctant ones, so BONUS!

I laughed gratuitously, thanked him for the date, and was about to escape into my house, when he stopped me.

“Have you ever had a Coca-Cola kiss?”

I’m thinking, Buddy, you are pressing your luck, but whatever. Humor him, I thought, and soon he will go away. Maybe Carson was still on…

“Can’t say that I have.”

He leaned in and I waited for the punchline.

CONTACT! He made actual contact with his dorky lips! And his dorky tongue!

I pushed him away, and gave him my best What the hell do you think you are doing?! glare, but he was impervious.

“The ‘real thing,'” he drawled, and, I kid you not, WIGGLED his eyebrows at me. WIGGLED them! I did not even think that was literally possible! But it IS!

Looking back, I see this was the perfect opportunity for The Sneer, but all I remember is rushing into the house and slamming the door.

Yep. Stupidest. Kissing line. EVER.

Let this be a lesson to us all.

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