Leftover Candy

Hey, remember when people used to write notes on Facebook? Yeah, me neither. But apparently, we did. I thought I'd share a few.

Yes, that means today's blog post is a rerun. Please don't judge me. I'm up in here churning out new material day in and day out, but today I am extremely preoccupied because it's Halloween and I have yet to decide what kind of slut I'm going to be!

It's just so hard to choose from so many slutty options. I think I'm leaning toward Slutty Rick Santorum. I'm also considering a Slutty Chris Christie™ ensemble. I just need someone to be that underdressed storm whore Hurricane Sandy.

(Someone please tell me when Halloween became scary, not based on ghouls and goblins, but based on the serious threat of catching an STD.)

My next favorite idea is to dress as someone who calls in sick to work... and then call in sick to work.

Anyway, I thought I'd gather a few sweet treats from the past for you guys. Don't choke on a razor blade.

Candy Smarts
(originally written September 10, 2009)
Recently I've been receiving a free subscription to Everyday with Rachael Ray. It just started arriving a month ago for reasons that are a mystery to me. I must be the target demographic. Except for one little thing: I can't stand Rachael Ray. Throughout the magazine, the stories refer to her as "Rach." It makes me gag every time I come across that nickname.

The magazine is a mess. It opens with a section called Talk and the background is black with white and multicolored type. I can't even read it because it looks so bad.

Everyday also is suffering from what most magazines have recently come down with: a serious case of the borings. There is absolutely nothing for a reader to sink her teeth into. There are bits and pieces, boxes and bites, but nothing satisfying. My friend Todd astutely calls the contents of current magazines "a meal of hors d'oeuvres."

The October issue is full of Halloween recipes and tips. Page 21 in the section titled "Yum" offers the worst tip of all. Ever.

"One thing that haunts us about Halloween: SAME OLD CANDIES. Shop for treats that will stand out in the candy exchange (like apple cider caramels) at asianfoodgrocer.com."

First of all, you can't find apple cider caramels on that Web site.

Secondly, kids hate that shit.

So here's my advice to you: Fill your Halloween candy bowl with the USUAL stuff (Snickers, Kit Kats, Nerds, tiny Hersheys bars). And have a happy Halloween.

AB4BOOS
(originally written September 27, 2010)

When I first moved to Birmingham, I was stunned at the number of personalized license plates on Alabama cars. I never saw that many in Louisiana. Maybe they are cheaper here. Maybe people are just that devoted to sharing with the world who they root "4". Over here, you are either "4AU" or you are "4UA" and never the 'tween shall meet.

I spend half my drive time trying to figure out the meaning of the personalized license plates that aren't clearly for Auburn or Alabama.

This morning, Jacob and I pulled up behind a car parked in front of his high school. It was a convertible BMW driven by an overweight, middle-aged guy. We didn't see a student get out. We only saw the man sitting in his car. He sat there for a good five minutes, while Jacob finished up his egg and bacon biscuit. The BMW's personalized llicense plate: 4 PLEASR

After a few minutes, Jacob said, "Why is that guy just sitting there?"

And I said, in my creepiest voice, "For pleasuuuuuure."

And then we laughed our asses off.


8th Grade Smartassery
(originally written October 6, 2009)

The other day I received a letter in the mail from Jacob. Students in several classes wrote letters and the teachers mailed them. I love Jacob's letter. It is full of his personality and a not-so-secret message.

Orange you glad I'm a smart ass and not a dumb ass?

Dear Mom, 

At school our team is doing this event called "Can you hear me now?" It's for parents and students to come and learn about each other. It's on October 5 7-8 PM in the cafeteria. It's similar to the newlywed game. (I don't wanna go.) Our school wasted more than $36 making us mail this when we could've brought it home free. 

Love, 
Jacob, your son 

P.S. I don't wanna go.



And now here is an assortment of past costume photos that are incredibly scary (but only because time is going by so quickly and my children are growing up way too fast).

Hope you and yours have a fabulous Halloween!

Modeling for Lowe's Home Improvement.  

Be grateful it's blurry.

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Vodka Cranberry Louis C.K.

Last night I said that it is very important to me that George Clooney never get married because there is nothing less attractive to me than a married man. If he got married, I'd have to change the name of my blog.

But what would I change it to?

Good question. I'm glad you asked.

Vodka Cranberry Louis C.K.

Set your DVR: Louis CK will host Saturday Night Live this weekend with musical guest Fun.

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Clooney Tuesday - Let's Talk About Bill Murray

From Entertainment Weekly: "Daniel Craig, Bill Murray, John Goodman, Hugh Bonneville (Downton Abbey), and Bob Balaban (Moonrise Kingdom) are all in talks to star in The Monuments Men, for which Clooney will serve as star, co-writer, and director. (Cate Blanchett and The Artist‘s Jean Dujardin entered negotiations to join the film earlier this month.)

Based on the book The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History, the story follows a troop of American and British art experts who step behind enemy lines to recover the artwork stolen by the Nazis during World War II. Clooney adapted the script with regular collaborator Grant Heslov (Good Night, and Good Luck, The Ides of March)."

Let's hope it's not anything like Ocean's 12. Man, that movie sucks. I blame Julia Roberts. In fact, I think we could start a national movement in which we constantly use this phrase.

Hurricane Sandy? I blame Julia Roberts.
Economic woes? I blame Julia Roberts.
Just stubbed your toe on the coffee table? I blame Julia Roberts.

Back to The Monuments Men, that cast sounds really promising. Bill Murray makes almost everything* better. So today, instead of talking about George, let's talk about Bill Murray.

If you're on the Internet ever, you've probably seen some stories about Bill Murray and how, if you meet one celebrity in your life, he's the one you want to meet.

For example, this guy met Bill Murray and, instead of taking a simple photo with the guy, Bill agreed to appear in a "movie trailer" with him and his friends:

Kelly Lynch, star of the greatest movie ever made about a famous bouncer, gave an interview recently in which she said that Road House has a special meaning for Bill and his siblings, Saturday Night Live alumnus Brian Doyle Murray and Mad Men star Joel Murray:

"Every time Road House is on and he or one of his idiot brothers are watching TV — and they’re always watching TV — one of them calls my husband and says [In a reasonable approximation of Carl Spackler], “Kelly’s having sex with Patrick Swayze right now. They’re doing it. He’s throwing her against the rocks.” [Away from the receiver.] What? Oh, my God. Mitch was just walking out the door to the set, and he said that Bill once called him from Russia."

Next time you spot Road House on TNT, know that somewhere in the world a Murray brother is making a phone call.

The Internet is full of such stories about the adventures of Bill Murray. There's the time he read poetry to construction workers at a library in New York:

Or the time he did karaoke with strangers. Or the time he showed up at someone's party and did their dishes. There are entire Web sites dedicated to these "No one is ever going to believe you" stories.

According to the team here at Vodka Cranberry Clooney, a movie starring both George Clooney and Bill Murray would be the bee's knees. I'd bet money on it.

*No one can make Garfield better. I blame Julia Roberts.

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Scenes from a Monday Night - Clap Your Hands Everybody

Me: "Can you pour me some more wine so I don't have to move the cat off my lap?'

Jacob: "I don't know how to pour wine."

Me: "Son, do you know how to pour milk?"

Jacob: "Yes."

"OK. Do it like that. But with wine."

Jacob is taking a Forensic Science class.
They're currently studying handwriting analysis. Jacob asked me to give him a handwriting sample. Here's a photo of what I wrote.
I hope he doesn't find out I'm a psychopath.

I told Jacob about my earlier post and Bad Boyfriend Jesus coming to claim his bride.

Jacob said, "That's right. Before you can enter heaven, Jesus must enter you."

Sacrilicious.

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The Perfect Storm of Insanity

Want to feel like the world is scary-crazy? Visit this Web site and read the comments.

Let's talk about this one from Jane: "John, my husband and I will pray for you and your family. Sounds like Obama may cancel voting day.Interesting how Bloomberg is calling for mandatory evacuations and subways are closed and trains will not run. They will have complete control over hundreds and thousands of people.I pray good Christian people will not make rash decisions in this situation.West coast is experiencing earthquakes,also. America is in judgement and I believe we will soon see Jesus coming for His bride. God bless you and thank you for what you are doing to let us know what is happening. Jane"

Holy crap! Jesus is coming for his bride?! It's like The Bachelor: Bad Boyfriend Jesus Edition up in here. Hope you ladies have your opening lines ready so you can get that first-impression rose.

Can I ask a question?

So God is responsible for the hurricane and it's his judgement on America?

But the result of the hurricane is that "they" (I'm assuming this means the damn liberals in charge?) will have "complete control over hundreds of thousands of people" so that Obama can cancel "voting day."

Do I have this right, Jane?

So, um, God is trying to make what happen exactly?

I'm very confused by this. Much like I am confused that God is always using big, swirly storms to punish people for being gay or accepting homosexuality, but he's never using storms to punish people for being murderers or child molesters or adulterers or gluttons or liars or assholes or ignorant racists.

Nope, just people loving each other. Just people being honest and open about who they are. Yep, that really gets his storm-cloud knickers all in a big twist.

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Job Opportunities

"Question: If you dress fancy, you can stand in a public restroom and squirt soap into people's hands and they'll give you money?

- Jacob, on the topic of restroom attendants.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - That's All Edition

Want a $15 T-shirt? 
Last weekend, the kids and I participated in the Out of the Darkness walk to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. It was a gorgeous day and my mom showed up with a box full of T-shirts in honor of Charles.

During the opening ceremonies, people took turns with the mike to share something about the person they were walking for. I asked the kids if they wanted to say something. They didn't. Do you want me to say something? I asked. They said no. A relief. I didn't really want to.

I don't know if the mike wasn't working or most people just didn't hold it close enough, but we couldn't hear much of what anyone said.

I leaned over to my mom and Tina and said, "It's like Forrest Gump during the protest scene. And that's all I have to say about that."

Not a lot of people turned out, but the most important people in my life - my mother and my children and my brother and my two best friends - were there. I got to walk alongside my friend Mark and his excellent wife Carolyn. I got to walk alongside the mother of my friend and favorite "pen pal" Emily.

I realize that the walk is for me and the children and it makes sense for "our" people to be there. We do it for Charles, but we also do it for ourselves.

I was disappointed that more people didn't come out. I had it in my head that I wanted Kate and Jacob to see how many people remember their dad, how many people know that he was important.

I realized, though, that they don't need a crowd to show them that. They know it. They live it.

But we do have a lot of T-shirts left.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Enough Already
You know what might actually be a gift from God?

Male Republican politicians shutting the hell up about rape.

If you ask someone why God allows bad things to happen, they will give you a lovely spiel about free will. I'm very curious about the magical thinking that says a man's free will causes the rape, which leads to his sperm leaving his body and entering a woman's body, but then OH IT'S LIKE CHRISTMAS UP IN HERE, free will is over and it's God making everything happen from here on out.

Or God is only responsible for good stuff and not the bad stuff, but if he is responsible for the bad stuff it's because he "works in mysterious ways" and you just don't understand.

Bad Boyfriend Jesus is my nickname for my faith problem.

After months of reading the daily horoscope in Jesus Calling, I realized it was not making me feel better in the least. In fact, it was pissing me off.

"Trust me. Why don't you trust me, baby?"

"You know I love you. I'm just teaching you a lesson."

"You know everything good you have is because of me. You better not ever leave me."

Yeah. OK, whatever you say, Bad Boyfriend Jesus.

I started to wonder how believing in an all-powerful being who loves you and is sending you super-secret messages is any different from this.

I went through a time when I believed, truly believed, that I was supposed to leave my well-paying job and give up my career and write a book. I thought it was my calling.

Ha!

Now it feels like I was suffering from some form of mental illness.

The worst part of my faith problem is how hard it is to stop waiting for Bad Boyfriend Jesus to prove me wrong.

You are welcome to pray for me if that floats your boat and you're scared of my hell-based eternity. I do welcome all positive energy.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Speaking of the Mentally Ill

Glenn Beck says that God guided Romney to lose the debate to Obama the other night. You can read about it here (if you can stand to read more than a sentence or two of Glenn Beck-style "reasoning.")


“I am to the point that — God is trying to make this so clear to us that if it happens, it’s his finger."

Don't Let the Door Hit You

Sometimes people phase themselves out of your life. They stop inviting you to do things. They leave you out.

My advice to you: LET. THEM.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Suicide Jokes

I have written before about how it annoys me when people are bored so they put a pretend gun to their head. I've written about how silly it is because no one kills themselves out of boredom.

I'm not afraid to admit when I'm wrong.

I have spent a bit of time doing the world's most boring job and yesterday I made my first suicide joke. I was made aware of a mistake I made in a note I'd written.

Later, I told my mom that MAYBE I made the mistake because I was distracted by fantasizing about slitting my wrists to escape this boring effing job.

My mom said, "I'm glad you have your sense of humor."

I told her this is why miserable people are often very funny. Comedy is a shield and a weapon.

But, seriously, can boredom kill you?

Because I'm pretty sure I'm dying inside.

And that is all I have to say about that.

A Gift from GOP

John McCain can never do anything good enough to make up for foisting Sarah Palin on the American public.

This week, Sarah Palin used the phrase "shuck and jive" to describe President Obama.



Is she messing with us?

You know what? Actually I do believe that Palin did not realize how racist that term sounds because Sarah Palin is, quite possibly, the MOST WILLFULLY IGNORANT PERSON to ever spout nonstop bull shit on Fox News.

As for Ann Coulter, that woman knows exactly what she is saying and doing. She is a professional troll and nothing more.

If you are a fan of either of these women, you should seriously rethink your life. You're probably an asshole.

And that is all I have to say about that.

As for Donald Trump? I'll let my friend Christopher Davis share his thoughts:

Dear Media,
Please stop indulging this giant orange headed child's temper tantrums and ridiculous whims. When you televise or print what giant orange headed babies have to say, you give them validity. I expect such bad parenting from his adoptive mother and two fathers at Fox & Friends, but these play dates away from home are embarrassing for you as a media parent who neglects your other newsworthy children. I'd like to say I expect better from all of you, but sadly I don't. So the next time a fat headed, citrus colored, whiny, crass, loudmouthed kid wanders into your yard, do the adult and responsible thing. Much like a parent whose brat is throwing a tantrum in the supermarket cereal aisle, ignore him till he shuts up about the artificial, unhealthy box of junk he wants and give him the healthy bran cereal. It tastes good, it's healthier and like any good high fiber diet, it'll help him to not be so full of shit.
Love Chris

Speaking of Trolls

Within the past year, I read a news story about a man who was arrested for soliciting sex with a 14-year-old via the Internet.

Sometimes his name pops up on Facebook, so I asked someone this question, "Why isn't that guy in jail?"

The story is that his "defense" is that he was just "messing with the police." He knew it was an undercover agent and he intentionally sent gross photos of himself performing sex acts because he's just funny that way.

Um, OK. So, let me get this straight. You're so arrogant that you think it's a good idea to "mess with" the police? In other words, you are "trolling" the authorities online to get a reaction?

"I robbed that bank because I was messing with you, man! hahaha. You totally fell for it."

"Yes, I stole that car, but you know I was just kidding. You are so gullible, officer."

"Sure, I threatened to shoot that guy and showed him my gun, but I was just trying to get a reaction out of you guys. Geez, calm down."

Is there a suitable sentence for being unbelievably stupid?

Never mind, we could not afford the food and housing costs for that many people.

Friends, don't be Internet trolls.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Why It's Better To Own Stuff that Sucks 

Last night, Kate and I went to Walmart to buy a white t-shirt and pink ribbon for a performance Kate is in this evening. While there, Kate left her phone.

Shortly after we got home, we got a call from someone telling us that the phone was in customer service.

Amazing, right? Is your faith in humanity restored?

Oh stop it. Don't get sappy on me now.

As I told Kate, "This NEVER would have happened if you had an iPhone like you want. Your phone was turned in to Lost and Found because you have a crappy phone that isn't worth stealing! Yea! Now, aren't you happy your phone sucks?"

No one around here is getting an iPhone for Christmas this year.

And that is all I have to say about that.

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I Love My Spirit Animal

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Is It Rape? Or Rape-Rape?

I'm wondering if Vegas is now laying down odds on how long a Republican politician can go without talking out of his ass about rape.

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Withholding Judgement Is For Losers: A Film Review

I refuse to withhold judgement so I am judging this movie trailer.

1. Nicholas Sparks is a hack.

2. Isn't this the same plot as Sleeping with the Enemy?

3. A stranger giving you a bike is only not creepy if the stranger is a totally hot guy. Sorry, not hot guys, that's just the way the world works. If you're not hot, keep your free bike to yourself, please.

4. Hot guys are even hotter if their wives are dead. Sorry, wives of hot guys, that's just the way the world works, so could you please die already?

5. If you're going to show us yet another romantic canoe ride, Ryan Gosling better be in that canoe. Sorry, husband of Fergie, you're no Ryan Gosling.

6. Ooh, I have a mysterious past that makes me deep and wounded. Can you see it when I wear my bikini?

7. Oh, it's raining in a chick flick? Time to go outside and make out.

8. Nicholas Sparks is a hack. (It bears repeating.)

Related Links:
A Very Special Lifetime Christmas Movie Starring Me

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Marie Claire, Why Are You Such a Bitch?

The November issue of Marie Claire arrived in my mailbox yesterday. I make fun of women's magazines a lot because they run the same stupid information over and over again and they keep trying to convince average women of middle income that $450 is reasonable to spend on one knit dress.

It is not. It is ridiculous.

This month, Marie Claire is doing its best to teach you dumb broads out there how to get through the holidays. First, they stress you out by telling you how stressed you are supposed to be.

Then  they tell you how to relieve that stress.

Then they tell you how you're beautiful just the way you are.

Then they tell you how to lose 10 pounds because just the way you are is too fat.

This recent issue has the best advice I've ever seen in any magazine for visiting your hometown and acting like the world's biggest bitch. You might think this comes naturally to some people (and, oh, does it!) but other people need a little tip here or there from the wise editors at Marie Claire.

Let's begin with #1:
Your ex-boyfriend is engaged. OK. Obviously, Marie Claire believes you should feel insecure about this because you are *gasp* single! Oh, the horror! So you are going to bring up that you are attending Harvard Business School to impress a guy who could probably give a crap.

Sure. OK. But, um, sweetie, did you really get into Harvard Business School? Because, if not, this is going to be as cringe-inducing as that time Romy and Michelle told their former classmates that they invented Post-Its.

On to #2:
Your "frenemy" had a baby. Marie Claire thinks you should feel insecure about this because *gasp* your sad, empty womb has not housed a precious human life for 9 months of puking, stretch marks, and heartburn. So Marie Claire's advice to you is to make your frenemy feel fat.

Great idea, Marie Claire. This woman just gave birth and probably hasn't had a full night's sleep since the Republican debates began. (Remember that? Remember when people were actually serious about Herman Cain. Feels like a long time ago.) Instead of congratulating this tired woman, you should talk about your job and how you never eat and this means you're just too damn skinny. (In women's magazine world, too damn skinny is code for YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO SKINNY!)

Wow.

Listen, how about you act like someone who isn't a complete bitch and you congratulate this woman and ask how she's doing and coo over her adorable baby? How about that?

#3:
The girl you barely remember has the audacity to "like" things you have posted on a social media site for public consumption! The nerve!

"I'm so busy running two non-profits, I have no time to lurk on Facebook." THIS is what you're supposed to say?

Oh, fuck you.

Unless you actually do run two non-profits, we're right back to Post-It Note fantasyland here. Also, we know you have time for Facebook because that's how you found out all this information about your hometown friends, so shut it.

Side note: People who brag about not posting stuff on Facebook are like people who say they don't like television. Who the fuck doesn't like television? If you don't like television, you're doing it wrong. Turn off  E! and turn on Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Mad Men, Parenthood, Parks & Rec, 30 Rock, The Daily Show, and The Colbert Report.

I know you think you sound intelligent and better-than, but you sound like a pretentious douchebag.

How about this? Even if you don't really remember this person, she remembers you and she is interested in your life. That is a lovely compliment, is it not? How about you treat her with kindness and ask her how things have been? How about you express an interest in someone's life other than your own non-profit-on-a-post-it-note-bull- shit factory?

#4:
You run into the "teacher's pet." (I am starting to realize that I might have aged out of Marie Claire's target demographic. I mean, who even remembers who the teacher's pet was. And who cares?)

So, anyway, you run into someone who dared to do her homework and get good grades. You find out she now works for the President of the United States.

Marie Claire suggests that you act like a insecure dick and try to make this person feel bad for being "chained to her desk."

I suggest you do this:

"You work for the President of the United States!!!! Oh my God, that's incredible! What's it like? Is he nice? Have you met Hillary? What's Michelle like in person? Is she awesome? She's awesome! I know she's awesome! Can you introduce me? Do you get to pet the dog? Have you been in the Oval Office? WHERE IS OSAMA BIN LADEN'S BODY?!"

You do this for a solid ten minutes.

You have no reason to feel insecure and to go around trying to make other people feel insecure.

Going home again doesn't have to be stressful and full of bitchy encounters.

Just be a nice person, for your own sake and for the sake of others. Everyone's holiday season will be a lot better.

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Photoshop Made This Happen

Thanks to the maniacs over on reddit.com, this happened:

Someone took a photo of Mitt and Ann Romney from the debate the other night....

and swapped their faces...

and then swapped only their eyes and noses...

Oh, Internet, you are so damn sick.

Just so you can get to sleep tonight, here's a lovely photo of Ann Romney:

Pretty sure Photoshop helped make this happen, too. Still, it's lovely.

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Clooney Tuesdays: In Which George SingTalks™

Whatever Neil Diamond has, it's contagious.

George caught it during the Mercedes-Benz 26th Carousel of Hope Gala at The Beverly Hilton on Saturday where he was honored for his philanthropic works.

George is doing that thing people do when they really don't want to sing along. They make faces and singtalk. (And not Neil Diamond's version of singtalk™which is completely genuine.) No, this is ironic singtalking.

I totally do that.

I hate karaoke for this very reason, because I can't help making faces to illustrate to the crowd that I know I suck and that I am in on the joke. See? I am laughing with myself, not at myself.

But nobody wants to watch someone sing ironically.

That's why I only serve as a backup dancer. I will backup dance all the livelong day. I may suck at that too, but don't tell my feet!

Happy Clooney Tuesday, my friends.

Related links: Neil Diamond Edition
31 Day Christmas Challenge in 31 Minutes
The Luckiest: A Love Story
Good Times Never Seemed So Good: The Happiness Challenge

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November is LitAgLetWriMo

"What's with the Viking helmet?
I don't think novel-writing is that manly."
- Jacob Mercer 

If you're a writer or you dream of being a writer or you feel you have at least one novel in you, you've probably heard of National Novel Writing Month. It's also referred to as NaNoWriMo. It begins in nine days.

I've been thinking about participating this year. I have a novel idea that is almost fully outlined. I know my characters and what they're thinking. I've always thought it would be fun to participate in NaNoWriMo and just pound out the words as quickly as possible. Don't overedit. Don't belabor the point of chapter one. Move along swiftly and with purpose. Devote time each day to creating your own little world. (If that sounds right up your alley, sign up here.)

As cool as that sounds, I've actually changed my mind about NaNoWriMo.

I've decided instead to dedicate November to LitAgLetWriMo. Or Literary Agent Letter Writing Month. (Yes, I just made that up.)

I already have a book that needs to be published. I've been threatening to set it on fire. I've been threatening to just post it to my blog and say, "Here it is, you fuckers! Just read it for free while I enjoy this delicious bowl of ramen noodles!"

I have been mean to my little book. So I am going to show it some love this fall.

I have taken a significant break from writing the non-responsive bastards of the literary world and it's time to get back to it. Much like dating, seeking an agent is full of hope and heartbreak and people who seriously should have learned how to kiss a long time ago. I mean, what are you doing, trying to swallow my head?!

What? Potential agents don't require a pre-representation make-out session? Uh oh.

This is like that time Joey found out the truth about tailors.

Anyway, I've decided to send out five query letters each week in November.

If you're a writer with a book proposal or a completed manuscript, join me for what is certain to be a discouraging, disheartening, disappointing, dismal month of ups and downs, a month of being ignored by folks who wouldn't know a good book if I came up there to New York and beat them about the head with one.

People like to use the analogy that you can't win the lottery if you don't buy a ticket.

I'm not buying a ticket for the Lotto here.

I am practicing hope. I am putting time and effort into believing in my book. I am putting time and effort into not letting the bastards get me down.

I am lighting a fire.

I am hosting a backyard bonfire where I will burn copies of books by anyone named Snooki or Kardashian or E.L. James.

I am roasting marshmallows over the flames. I am smashing those marshmallows in between chocolate and graham crackers.

I am serving them up with red wine.

Smells like S'mores and hope up in here.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Pathetic Confessions Edition

Confession: This morning I dreamt that Nathan Fillion was my boyfriend. And I kept thinking, "I cannot believe this nice, good looking, tall man is my boyfriend!"

Then the clock radio came on and woke me up and the folks at NPR were making a bad pun about putting on boots and wading into the pledge pool.

I have never been so disappointed at 6 in the morning in my entire life.


Confession: I did not watch the entire presidential debate the other night because my mother called halfway through and I burst into tears. Sometimes your mom calls just when you need to act like a big baby.

I think the gist of my refrain to her was, "I'm just so disappointed."


The following day, in the course of my work for one of my three jobs, I ended up on the phone with a woman who told me about some major health issues she has. I'm going to be vague on the details here, but she is my age and most of us can only imagine what it has been like for her to go through three major life-threatening events. She told me about how she was trying to do something positive for herself, her husband by her side to help her, but it just hadn't worked out.

Then she burst into tears. (As I told a friend yesterday, sometimes a girl just needs a good cry.)

After a few minutes, she started apologizing to me. I said, "Do not apologize. I do not want you to apologize to me. You're disappointed! It's completely understandable. You wanted something good to come out of this and you're disappointed. So you can cry to me all day if it helps."


In the past, I might have called this a God moment. I might have bought into a somewhat narcissistic notion that God was trying to send me a message about being grateful for my health and for all the wonderful things I have.

I don't know that I believe in that sort of thing anymore. It's something I may write about someday, this journey of faith or lack thereof, when I figure out what I want to say about it.

For now, I know that I do believe in our human ability to open our eyes and see what is around us. I believe in listening. More than ever I believe that we could improve our lives and the world if we simply listened to others. Listen. Learn. Love one another.


I don't really have the answers, though. The truth is that when I consider all the people in the world who are disappointed, who need to cry, I can become very disheartened and cynical. I wonder what the point is.

One day, Tina sent me an email about how she'd just seen a woman sitting in a car in the grocery store parking lot and the woman was sobbing.

"There's just so much pain in the world," Tina wrote.


Tina and I email each other almost every day about whatever is going on. We bitch. We make jokes. We send crock pot recipes. Tina sends me songs. I send her names of books. In fact, I'm taking a stack of books to her this weekend. Taking books to Tina is one of my favorite things.

Most importantly, Tina and I listen to one another.


Lately, I've been thinking about the trick to accepting disappointment without allowing it to steal your hope. (In my ongoing inner dialogue, this is where I consider hope's connection to faith. This is where I consider my God questions.)

Hope is a beautiful and powerful thing. It is a joyful thing. It is light against the darkness.

Sometimes it slips away and you're left wondering how the hell you're supposed to find your way in a world that is so full of pain.


Confession: I have not written a letter to a literary agent in six months.

I keep saying that I am only taking a break from the cycle of hope and disappointment. I have to say this so it won't feel like I'm giving up.


Confession: Having Nathan Fillion as my boyfriend is the closest I've come to considering the idea of having a boyfriend in more than three years.

I keep saying that I am only taking a break from the cycle of hope and disappointment. I have to say this so it won't feel like I'm giving up.


Confession: My job at the Phone Call Factory™ makes me feel like a loser. This is unfair to the numerous, amazing coworkers I have. But they are all 15 years or more younger than me so I hope they understand. They're just starting out. I am nearly 40 and have fallen behind. That's what it feels like anyway. A coworker came in the other day and said she saw a photo of me in the magazine I used to work for, in a story where I spent a week at a well-known fitness retreat. She said, "I showed everyone around and said, 'I know her! I know her!'" I wanted to cry a little.

Tina and my mother both have promised to slap me this weekend, Ouiser Boudreaux-style, to snap me out of my little cry-baby ego-fest. Because that's what it is: me and my ego having a little disappointment party up in here. I have cognitive dissonance in that I believe I am worthwhile and talented and kind, while I also believe I am a loser and untalented and a bitch. Actually, all these things could be true at the same time, couldn't they?

Confession: Sometimes I blame Charles.

Confession: Sometimes I wish he was alive so I could yell at him.

Confession: Sometimes I think about how dark it must have been for him at the end and it makes me more determined to shine some fucking light on all the things that threaten my hope or the hope of those I love.

Confession: I curse too much. But you already knew that.


Tomorrow, we're going to walk to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I am in complete love with everyone who has donated and everyone who is participating and everyone who has supported me and Kate and Jacob through kind words and encouragement. This matters. This world is full of pain but it's full of all of us, too. And we all listen and love and learn.

And we laugh a lot.

Confession: That's my favorite part.


My mom ordered T-shirts for us to wear during the walk. She called a few weeks ago and said, "I have an idea that we should put on it the words to the song Charles used to sing to wake everyone up."

So in the morning we'll get up, put on our shirts and we'll walk.

Confession: I think that's a pretty damn good thing.

It's the sort of thing that gives me hope.





Do Your Part
If you'd like to join the Shreveport Out of the Darkness walk or make a donation, visit this Web site. 

If you'd like to participate in the Birmingham walk on November 4, go here.

To find events across the country, go here.

Whatever you do, get up. Get up. The sun is up.

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T.Hanks to Everyone Who Donated

This weekend, we'll be walking to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

I am so grateful to everyone who has donated to the cause this year. Thank you for your support. I can't truly express my gratitude without hugs and kisses and a dance routine, so here is some dancing by T.Hanks just for you.




Related links:
Out of the Darkness

A Life Well-Laughed

Friday's Random Thoughts

Zombies Come With Trigger Warnings

An Enormous Green Rage Monster

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Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid. (Part Deux)

Alternate headline: Attention whore whores for attention

Can we please talk about how two of the four horsemen of the apocalypse are already here and they are butt cheek #1 and butt cheek #2?

What the hell is this woman wearing?

Do you see what I see?

Yes, what we are seeing is Kim Kardashian's ass crevasse.

Why?

I honestly don't understand what's happening here.

If you've read Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart, then you know his novel, set in the not so far off future, features just this sort of fashion:

"We wended our way through a half-kilometer of racks and hit upon the Onionskin outlet... Women, tired and aggrieved, were plowing through the brand's signature transparent jeans, hanging like rigid, empty skins in the center of the Retail space."

As I did a little searching I found a reference to a 1954 work by Philip K. Dick titled Sales Pitch. In one scene a couple is talking about going out for the evening.

"I'll put on my new plastirobe, the one I've never had nerve enough to wear."
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she hurried into the bedroom. ""You know the one I mean? When you're up close it's translucent but as you get farther off it becomes more and more sheer until -"

"I know the one," Morris said wearily. "I've seen them advertised on my way home from work..."

Here's the thing about predicting the future: All you have to do is presume that everyone is going to be unbelievably stupid. We are Idiocracy.

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Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

I'm not telling you who to vote for, but I'm pretty sure if you don't vote for Mitt Romney, his son Josh is going to

fuck

your 

shit 

up.

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Charitable Consumption (Stop Buying It)

No magazine in America is allowed to put out its October issue without having at least one spread devoted to pink shit.

If you are not sick of the color pink by the end of October then you, my friend, are colorblind. Don't worry. You can still live life like a typically-abled person. You just have to put up with people asking you this question again and again, "But what does it look like to you? I don't understaaaaaaand." I do this to my son and my father at least two times a year.

As decreed by the Women's Service Magazines Law of Bull Shit Product Placement, the October issue of O Magazine features two pages of "fabulous, feel-good products."

No, stop feeling good right now. This is horse shit. Let's peruse the lot.

That is a $130 scarf. Make you feel good supporting breast cancer awareness by buying this scarf for yourself? Stop it. You have enough goddamn scarves. Send $130 directly to Women at Risk.

Those are $198 pajamas. Who do you think you are? The Queen of Sheba? You are not. Sleep in one of the 500 T-shirts you have stacked in your closet like a real American, and then send  $198 directly to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.

This is one of a pair of earrings from Kara by Kara Ross. Fuchsia lizard-skin hexagons.

What are you thinking? These are fugly.

And God knows you don't need another pair of dangly, fugly earrings.

Fuchsia, lizard-skin hexagons? Seriously?

No.

Stop it.

You have horrible taste.


If you have $175 to spend on this tacky shit, you can just hand that $175 over to Planned Parenthood.

You're just messing with me now, right? You're going to spend $55 on a box of gluten-free macarons so you can feel good about supporting women's causes?

First of all, stop it with the gluten-free shit. You do not have Celiac Disease. Just shut it. Stop letting women's magazines convince you that you should eat gluten-free crap.

Now, do you have $55 to spend on a box of cookies? You are going to send $55 directly to the Mission Women's Wellness Center  instead and you are going to save yourself 2,400 calories.

Are you the sort of person who likes to have labels on everything she owns? Are you the sort of person who thinks the kind of purse you carry is going to make up for the other areas of your life that are lacking?

Snap out of it.

$358 is a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a purse just so 20 percent of it can go to a good cause.

If you have $358 to spend on a Coach satchel to carry "all your weekend essentials," then you can just hand it over directly to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.

Everyone knows you have enough goddamn satchels.

And you don't need a special purse for the weekend. Please. You're not the heroine of a chick flick getting whisked away by George Clooney to Lake Como. You're going to the grocery store. Get over yourself.

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Clooney Tuesdays - The George Clooney Manifesto

Let's talk about how life isn't fair.

Let's talk about how some folks in Hollywood have completely stolen my blog's founding philosophy and have sold it to Fox.

The George Clooney Manifesto,  a sitcom, is now in development. Here's the story: "Written/co-executive produced by playwright Annie Hendy (The Catholic Girl’s Guide To Losing Your Virginity), The George Clooney Manifesto centers on a single woman who, sick of the “shoulds” and “should nots” of society’s double standards about dating, decides from this point on she is going to act like George Clooney and live life to the fullest."


"Wait a minute. Who elected you leader of this outfit?" "Well Pete, I figured it should be the one with the capacity for abstract thought. But if that ain't the consensus view, then hell, let's put it to a vote."


(Let's talk about how Vodka Cranberry Clooney is a better name because it's more evocative and it involves vodka.)

The show is executive produced by director-producer Mark Waters (Mean Girls and Freaky Friday).

The least these rip-off artists could do is hire me as a consultant or a writer. Pretty please.

I mean, how many times have I written about George? If my labels on the blog are correct, the number is 78. (That seems low considering there are 365 days in a year. But it also seems totally reasonable, i.e. I am not a stalker.)

How many times have I managed to tie George into real-life events and given them a deeper meaning? Like here. Or here. Or here. Or this one.

In fact, I have managed to tie together the zombie apocalypse and George Clooney and everyday stresses all in one post. In this post, I used a term I coined: "The George Clooney Conundrum." I have used the phrase "George Clooney Conundrum" multiple times, in this blog and in my memoir.

See, Annie and Mark, I know how to partner George's name with a big word that seems ultra-meaningful.

And yet, here I am, toiling away in obscurity.

You should hire me, Annie and Mark. If you do, I won't tell anyone that you clearly stole your TV show's guiding premise from a romantic comedy starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis.


I feel like crying.

Let's talk about how my life is going nowhere.

---
In other news, I do not believe stories I read about celebrities, especially when those stories quote other celebrities like all famous people are just hanging out by the lockers after school. So I'm taking this one with a grain of salt.

Clooney got cold feet after he and Stacy celebrated their first anniversary as a couple, so (Julia) Roberts rushed to the rescue.
“When Julia heard that George was about to end the relationship before it got too serious, she told him Stacy’s a great girl, that he should latch on to her, and that he was too old to keep playing the field,” an insider revealed.
“She even told George he should marry Stacy and start a family."

I feel it must be said: No one gives a shit what you think, Julia Roberts.

And one more thing. I have no problem with George continuing to date Stacy Keibler.

But if George Clooney gets married, I will burn down America.


That's all.

Happy Clooney Tuesday, y'all.

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