Day 5: The Empty Bottle

Do you ever get into that mood when you're relaxing at home and once the clock strikes that magical number you've designated as "drinking time" (as if drinking before that time would signify you might have a drinking problem) - so you get your alcohol of choice out...and you know in a few minutes you will be easin' on into your "happy place" -- so you start pouring and there's about seven drops left in the bottle?

 

Well, this blog isn't about that time.

 

It's about marketing genius.

 

And, because my time is limited (there are other blogs to read, after all) I'll stick to a couple of my favourite things:  alcohol and cussing.

 

Now, the art of using a nasty word in your brand name is nothing new...I'm sure that's how "Spencer Gifts" got started in their niche market in the mall, selling anything remotely vulgar or remotely vulgar sounding.  Does "Spencer Gifts" even still exist?  Oh, who cares.

 

As far as alcohol goes, "Fat Bastard" wine comes to mind...but I've never tried any.  It seems to have been named with the full intention of sticking lousy wine in a bottle and naming it something, hoping that people would buy a bottle to share with other equally silly friends...who snicker at the mere mention of a naughty word on the label.  Do wine people really do this? 

 

I haven't a clue.  But a vodka company undoubtedly tried to capitalize on their name...with titillating ads such as this:

 

 

...and this: 

 

...and even this:

 

 

So you're probably asking yourself, "What kind of stupid idiot buys a bottle of vodka based purely on its crude-sounding name?"

 

 

 

Ummm...I have no effen clue.





Now go on over to "We Work for Cheese" to read all the other fantastic writers doing their take on today's prompt, "The Empty Bottle"...I am sure they put a better spin on theirs than I did mine.

 

Hash Tag...and I'm IT!

#

Yeah.  I don't get it either.  Apparently a whole bunch of people...or maybe it's just my friends...don't as well.

# has always been either a number sign or a pound sign to me.  In fact, if you call the base to refill your prescription, it will go through a whole series of prompts telling you to "enter the last four digits of your social security number...followed by the pound sign" and then "enter the numeric portion of your prescription...followed by the pound sign".  It does not tell me to enter a hash tag sign.  Because up until 26 August 2007, it wasn't.  Then some guy named Stowe Boyd decided, probably under the influence of a lot of alcohol (most stupid things people do, were), to call it something else.  How he managed to get everyone to follow suit is beyond me.

It's kinda like those sayings which, long before the Internet, managed to circulate around from person to person, and show up in our American lexicon.  Face it, someone came up with things like "Going to hell in a hand basket."  Why a hand basket is beyond me as well...because if I'm going to go to hell...I hope they deliver me in something larger.  Getting into a hand basket would be a hell of a feat of manual contortionist dexterity, I tell you.

But, back to hash tags. 

I went on my Facebook (yes, it's my Facebook...it was invented solely for my amusement and entertainment) the other day and asked people what they were and what do you use a hash tag for.  Why you use one.  What happens when you type one and click on it (because they become blue when you type them on Facebook...and therefore "clickable").  And, if no one had previously commented on a hash tag I just "invented", would it be mine forever, like when you register a .com name.

Again, I was met with shrugs and gasps and other things you cannot see when you're on the Internet, so you have to invent acronyms to convey these things...like "SMH" and "ISMSRN" (which hasn't been invented as I just coined it).  So, I decided to take a look.

Apparently Facebook recognizes hash tags but they only work from a computer and not a "mobile device"...which I think is code for "cell phone".  It was probably coined by that Boyd guy on 1 May 2009.  It seems everyone who said anything remotely new is now listed on the Internet so you can make sure when you say it, the proper person gets the nod.  Again, a nod you can't see...which, btw is as good as a wink to a blind horse.  (BTW is another acronym...probably credited to yet another person...and probably erroneously...like Christopher Columbus discovering America.)

But I'm digressing once again.

Anyway...the first hash tag I claimed in the vast Internet wasteland was "# IHateHashtags", followed by "# Mariann" and "# Pomtini" because "# MartiniTime" was already taken by someone.  Then I started getting really giddy thinking I am, sometime in the future, going to be contacted by people with gobs of money, buying them from me for astronomical sums...like they did for "Drugs.com" and "Sex.com".  I was, for all intents and purposes...getting extremely fond of all things hash-ish...and  hoping to make an Internet score of monumental proportion...so I just kept clicking away.  My newfound love was indeed the drug I was thinking of.  And anything that I thought of...well, I hash tagged it.

One of my friends remarked that, for a person who thought they were stupid, I was certainly hogging them all.  So...let it be formally known, that I invented the word "Hashhog" - followed quickly by "Hashhogging" and "Hashhogger" - and I have all three of them with a little pound/numeric/hash tag sign in front of them...out in Internetland, to prove it.

After making a few more I decided to stop, fearing for a backlash from Facebook...which is nothing like a blackslash...so please don't confuse what I say.  The Internet knows what I say...so I can always look it up and throw it in your face later. Anyway, I stopped because I didn't want to get put on "Facebook Probation" for a week like I did those couple of times before - for "over-friending".  I was being cautious and prudent-like...best not jump on the hash bandwagon only to get thrown off before my hash world-domination comes to fruition.

And honestly...I still don't know what I've done, if it will make any impact, or if anyone out there will ever visit my vast hashdoms...which is not the same as a hash den...but probably would give me the same heady delight...say, if someone out there offered to buy one of them from me for a couple million. 

So let it be known that I am focused on a mission to claim every single word combination left to claim -- that can be formulated in the spaces they allot (and there has to be a limit because one of my other friends tried making a long hash-string of words, but it didn't work).

In the meantime...start using the words "hashhog" and "hashhogger" -- and don't forget to join me for drinks at # Pomtini and drop me a line at # Mariann...because...well, someone hash to.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

Well, all this month I am challenging myself to start writing again by attempting to do a blog every other day. Yes, I've seen people do that "blog a day" thing - but I don't like being a sheep...so I decided "every other day" would be much, much, much more original.

I must admit that I used to have some belief in myself that I could write a book...but upon going to Barnes & Noble the other day, I have decided I have no chance in hell as everyone has a series and no one writes just one book at a time anymore. You have to have a set - and they have to be all about sex and clowns and vampires and horror...and basically, I've had the life sucked out of me by a clown I used to have sex with and I don't want to relive that horror by writing about it over and over again.

So, here goes my feeble attempt at writing again. Bear with me...I might take a few tries to get back in my stride, that is, if I ever had one.

(Some of the blogs this month were thought of quite a while ago...but I thought I would write them anyway.)

The Times They Are A-Changin'

So, I laid in bed again until the sun was set. This is nothing new as I'm not a morning person...which baffles most people altho I haven't a clue why. I can totally understand someone going to bed at 8:00 and waking up at 4:00 regardless of the a.m. or p.m. factor.

The only problem I have with it is that other people like to phone me up whilst I'm in my Ambien coma...and then they expect me to carry on a normal conversation which they expect me to remember later. I pretty much answer the phone with a disclaimer, "Hello...uh...since I'm Ambien right now, could you possibly call back later so I can have some idea of who you are or what we just said...or just leave a message on my answering machine?"

But, most times they won't understand, and they keep on talking altho it is clear to anyone listening to me...that I am not listening to them. Now I know I am prone to droning on and on and rambling - but usually not rambling incoherently like I do when I take my Ambien. Then, when I call them later (usually doctor's offices) they act like I should remember my conversation - but they are well aware of what Ambien does to a person...and I find that disconcerting as I am entrusting these people with the welfare of my health.

Anyway...I do digress...

...another problem with waking up much later than everyone else has to do with the time change. Why they still flip-flop the clocks back and forth is beyond me. Supposedly it was because of farmers and the daylight and their sheep being startled when the sun set earlier (like who hasn't used that excuse with the sheep...am I right Scotland?)...or something dealing with their crops and plowing.

But, as I get no sunshine in my body because I see no sunshine...I am left probably feeling like I do because of a huge lack of Vitamin D in my body. Truth be told I could easily be a vampire if it wasn't for that whole biting the neck and drinking blood bit...not because I dislike the taste of blood - I find it kinda tasty, at least my own...but I would be all germaphobic and would have to wait until the tests came back and by that time my victim would be long gone and I'd be toast as the only time the doctors ever call back is during the daytime.

But...honestly, why do they need to switch the clocks around anymore? They've found (the same "they" as always - "they" know stuff we don't) that losing that hour makes people more prone to health issues, causes more traffic accidents, and makes everyone pretty unbearable for half the year. And just when everyone is getting back to normal...they switch it again and everyone is off kilter again.

The strange thing is that not everyone observes it...and you could be working in a place up the road that doesn't...and just think how incredibly annoying that would be half the year. Also, why does Alaska even use it? Isn't it dark half the year there anyway? How would they even know what time it was by looking outside? Why would they care? They could shave off three hours and no one would be the wiser...and it's not like they are plowing a whole hell of a lot of crops in Alaska with the no hours of daylight...unless they are a big mushroom producer (because mushrooms grow in the dark), which they aren't...and I know this because "they" have told me that Pennsylvania is the mushroom capital of the US.

Heaven help me...I know trivia about mushroom production...and with that, seriously, I need to catch up on some sleep. That was sleep, not sheep...so don't you all try to blame it on the Ambien as we are on MY time now and I know what I'm saying even if you don't remember what I've said.

Prom...iscuous?

I'm sitting here watching the film "Enchanted" on The Disney Channel and there's this commercial that comes on talking about high school proms. And how people wait four years for it to happen and only three people enjoy it and blah blah (I stopped listening at this point) and then this one girl comes on and says something like, "C'mon...when do you ever get to ride in a limo...that's something you remember your entire life!"

So...I thought about my prom. I didn't go to my prom, per se...but I did go with my boyfriend at the time to his senior prom...when I was a junior.

I sat and I sat and I tried to remember if I rode in a limo or not. For the life of me I can't remember what we rode in...I don't even remember much of the prom. And it's not because I have a bad memory. Seriously, I have bowel movements which have been more memorable. How incredibly sad is that?

I remember who I went with...and I remember (sorta) who I went home with. I didn't go home with the same guy. How even more incredibly sad is that? Boy...I must have been a jerk...perhaps I just blocked the whole sordid thing out of my mind. Who knows. All I know is I went to the prom with one guy...got into an argument with my date...danced with another guy...and came home with him. Did he go to the prom alone? What happened to the guy I went with? Did he go home alone? Did he end up going home with the guy's date? Most people don't buy one ticket to the prom...and now I'm actually wondering.

All I know is that there were no "detours" on the way home. Nothing worthy of any circa 1980s "coming of age" teen movies. Nothing "Porky's-ish". Nothing "Revenge of the Nerds-ish". I've never seen "Pretty In Pink" but I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was nothing like that, either.

But I do remember every single guy thinking he was "going to get lucky" after the prom. Some rode on down to the shore (the very same Jersey shore on the show) and rented hotel rooms. And I always thought "How could anyone's parents be 'okay' with that?" Furthermore, how did that conversation take place?

"Hey, Mom, Kevin asked me to the prom!"

"That's terrific, honey! Have you guys thought of a really good place to go to 'do it' afterwards?"

"What, Mom?"

"You know...it's an unwritten law...you get taken to the prom...you have to 'put out'. (Insert little knowing laugh here.) You didn't know that?? That's how we got YOU!"

"Oh, Mom...that's wayyyyy TMI."

"What's TMI, honey? 'The Mating Instinct'? Because if that's what it is...yeah...your father and I really went at it like 'bunnies in an Animal Planet documentary' when we spent the nite at this seedy little motel in Seaside..."

"Ewwwwwwwwwww...Mom...seriously...wayyyyy TMI!"

"Yeah...that's EXACTLY what I told your father after the THIRD time..."

"MOM! Seriously...that's disgusting. How can I EVER have a good time at the prom NOW?? All I'll be thinking about is...ewwwwwwwwwww...you and DAD! Ewwwwwwwwww!"

"Yeah...okay honey...you just keep remembering that...especially AFTERWARDS." (Insert evil grin here.)

Well...my daughter's not going to the prom this year...but I'm sure I'll "remember" something "really special" to pass along to her to make her enchanted event even more memorable when it rolls around. ;)

Chasing Dummies aka "The History Channel Jumps the Shark"

(Bear in mind I was going to submit this last week only I didn't get around to it, i.e., didn't write anything other than the opening four paragraphs.)


How appropriate is it that I'm writing a blogumn about The History Channel "Jumping the Shark" right smack in the middle of "Shark Week"??

Okay, granted "Shark Week" is on another channel, but still.

What can I say about The History Channel that hasn't been said by me before? I love this channel...or should I say, I "loved" it.

The other day, I'm going through the "scrolly guide" as I call it, trying to find out what's on. It's a fairly simple task as there are less and less channels I seem to watch.

A typical night on the sofa for me goes as follows...

Computer on, various stages of dinner preparation, some wine or a Martini on the table next to me and both my television and TiVo remotes located and within reach.

Yep...check, check, and more check.

Now it's time for me to check what's on...and this is how I systematically do it:

Step 1: Channel 65 - TCM. Any old films I care to watch? No? Proceed to "Step 2".

Step 2: Channel 58 - The History Channel. Some interesting show or documentary on? Something besides gangbangers in jails or trucks on ice would be nice. Nope.

Step 3: Channel 51 - National Geographic Channel (I refuse to call it "NatGeo" - nope, that's almost as silly as changing "SciFi" to "Syfy"). Eh...saw everything already...twice.

Step 4: Channels 401 and up - aka "All the Movie Channels I Pay for and Only Watch 'Kate & Leopold'...93 Times as Everything Else on Sucks". Nope. I'm not going to watch "Thinner" for the eighth time and I can't watch "Busty Cops and the Jewel of De" because: 1) I have kids, and; 2) I think I already know the plotline. Noticing that "Spanking the Monkey" is on yet again, I snicker for the umpteenth time about it and keep on scrolling.

Step 5: Channel 140 - BBC America. Nothing on and I'm not too keen on watching "Top Gear" and "Doctor Who" isn't on until the series starts up again in the fall. I'd watch "Being Human" just for the eye candy factor of the vampire guy, but you see one episode and you've seen them all - at least for me, as I'd still only be staring at the vampire guy and not paying any attention to the show. Move on.

Step 6: Repeat Steps 1-5. Over and over and over again all night long.

So, the other day I notice a new show on The History Channel: "Chasing Mummies". First off, I LOVE Egyptology...if there's a documentary with a pyramid, Pharaoh, or mummy...oh yeah, I'm there.

And joy upon joy, the guy who's hosting is foremost Egyptologist, Dr. Zahi Hawass! Oh, this will be great! He did for Egyptology what Carl Sagan did for astronomy.

"It's about time they put something interesting on" I think to myself, and I actually gaze upward and away from the computer directly in front of me. I mean, c'mon, there's only so many times I can check my email in one day and I've way since surpassed that number.

Granted, only a true Egyptological connoisseur would probably know this guy - but I've seen him on numerous documentaries over the years and I happen to know this guy is brilliant. He didn't become world-renown for nothing and now he'll become a staple every single week in my very own living room! I am, honestly, in my glory.

I catch on to the premise of this show quite quickly and it seems hokey but, what the heck, it's MUMMIES! Basically, a camera crew tags along with Dr. Hawass and a couple of archeological students as he goes around showing them stuff and quizzing them about what they're seeing.

Now, I never studied Egyptology. I did, however, Google what credentials you have to be in order to be an Egyptologist as I was hoping I could still be one. But, it's really quite an undertaking and one should probably not start whilst in their mid-forties (okay, smarty pants, I know...but I Googled this a few years ago). You can check out the daunting mass of stuff you have to study here (I'll wait while you go read it): Egyptologist

Done?

Okay, I'll continue. So, after studying all the studies you have to learn and gathering all the expertise you have to possess when you come into (and onto) the field, you'd figure someone would at least have a small practical grasp on Egypt-like stuff -- or at least be able to pronounce a two-syllable word, right?

Wrong.

Someone who runs things over at The History Channel must have figured for "comedic affect" they should throw in a totally inept female student and for even more "comedic effect" the camera crew should also participate in the show and talk a lot ON camera. There's the camera director guy, an affable fellow by all outwardly appearances, but I was under the impression this show might be about a guy who holds a doctorate in Egyptology showing me interesting things on camera whilst the camera crew remains BEHIND camera.

Silly me.

So, what we have here is a very skilled Egyptologist, a bumbling airhead (think Suzanne Somers from "Three's Company") and a camera director and his crew getting in on the antics, kinda like "The Keystone Cops".

While this alone was quite enough for me to make the "WTF?" face, they decided a bit of Jerry Springer was what this show really needed.

And when I say "bit" I mean a "big dollop of".

Dr. Hawass, whom I have always respected before, either had been in the sun too long or he's been sniffing way too much mummy dust lately. This guy has taken "insane God complex" to the nth degree and added a bit of annoying on top of it. Oh, did I just say "bit" again? Sorry. See above statement.

He is yelling at the students, yelling at the camera guys, demeaning the students, demeaning the camera guys, yelling some more and then saying how much he knows and then demeans everyone some more. All the while he's doing this the cameras are rolling and we never really get to find out just how much he knows as he only spends about two minutes showing anything of interest.

One episode I saw had him yelling at the airhead student (sorry, not to demean her some more, but seriously, my cat knows more about Egypt than she does) because she couldn't hold her bladder on what turned out to be a much longer than "five-hour pyramid crawl-thru" to view five burial chambers. Not only was this girl terribly afraid of going further up, she did after all, have Dr. Hawass constantly yelling at her and reminding her of the plain fact that "every single expedition he'd been on...he never knew if he was GONNA DIE or not!" And if she wasn't going to risk her life that day she had no business choosing this field and she certainly wasn't going to be on any future "chamber of secrets" missions with him.

She had a mini-panic attack (understandably) and then she mysteriously (but predictably) showed up after the others crawled on further. Then, Dr. Hawass spent pretty much the next half hour chastising the poor girl for peeing her pants. "How dare you desecrate this sacred place!" he bellowed relentlessly at her. Then the camera director guy had his own panic attack and the next thing I knew - the credits were rolling.

Now I've never been on an archeological expedition, but if I'm going to go hang out in 120 degree heat in tiny little confines of burial chambers for five-plus hours I'd figure one would have to hydrate constantly. And when you hydrate constantly your kidneys do this thing...and then your bladder does this thing...and they don't exactly have public restrooms on "Burial Chamber #3" level, so I'd figure perhaps wearing a Depends-type undergarment would be of common, or at least practical, knowledge.

I tried watching a second episode the following week, but I had to turn it off. Dr. Hawass had them all sitting around in his hotel room or somewhere on big comfy chairs, which didn't seem remotely Egyptian to me, screaming at them some more in another of his previous episode-like egotistical rages.

Sigh.

Seriously, "History Channel" people, it's time to change the catch phrase from "History Made Every Day" to "History Made Unwatchable Every Day".

And, unfortunately, in my opinion, with this series debut, they officially "Jumped the Shark".

Theories About Doctors and Spies

Well, here I will sit all weekend long watching my "Doctor Who" DVDs I rented from Netflix...I also have seven hours and five minutes of "Doctor Who" shows I TiVo'd as BBC America had the good sense about them to have had a marathon last week (some tonite as well)...unlike a certain SyFy channel who couldn't bother to continue with their great tradition of back-to-back "Twilight Zone" episodes for days on end.

I asked my son to come out of his room last nite to talk about what to have for our 4th of July dinner. I'm not too sure if I will grill anything and Alex doesn't want to be bothered with the grilling chore at all; as manly a task as they lead you to believe it is. My daughter's been wanting me to make Beignets, so I guess at one point that will happen...I've only put off making them enough times that my Cafe Du Monde mix is now out of date...but since it's just basically flour and yeast...I'm willing to bet the yeast doesn't know if it's May 30th or July 3rd. Yes, I'm crazy that way...stand back...I'm a risk taker for sure.

So, because "Doctor Who" was playing, my son opted to sit down as well and, after watching the David Tennant "Doctor Who" episodes for a bit, he concluded Tennant was indeed better than the new one...altho the new one isn't bad. Mr daughter is a Tennant girl as well.

My thoughts? I'm still a Tom Baker Doctor kinda girl...and therein lies my theory.

My theory is that you like the Doctor you grew up with. Just as with James Bond...most people will tend to tell you the one they liked the best...was the one they grew up with. I liked the nice campy Bond of the 1970s...yes, don't start throwing rocks at me just yet; I can't help it, I like Roger Moore. I never thought Sean Connery was sexy until he was much older. Pierce Brosnan is hot...and the new Bond, Daniel Craig - eh...he reminds me of a much older Jason Bourne.

But back to The Doctors...I grew up with the toothy, maniacal, long-scarfed Tom Baker who elevated the show when he took it from the original droll military episodes each week and morphed the regimentation of the weekly array of Colonels and upper crust "old chaps" into something else entirely: being silly and fighting a whole different type of monster. When Baker left, a series of other doctors came and went...hardly catching a moment's glimpse of my attention until David Tennant.

David is THE best Doctor to have come along in ages. And now, his reign is no more and his replacement is this little wisp of a bow-tied man-child as the displaced Gallifreyan Time Lord. In fact Matt Smith is indeed the youngest Doctor they ever had. Matt had some big shoes to fill, but he seems to be filling them and running in them extremely well. The only issue I have is with his companion. While Amy Pool is awfully cute and makes nice eye candy for the gents...the show is being "Always About Amy" or "The Amy Show" and I don't like that. She should NOT be the most sought after possession in the whole universe. Time to give more air-time to the Doctor in my opinion. He is, after all...The Doctor.

And then it got me thinking last nite watching one of the David Tennant vs The Master (oh, how I love John Simm as The Master) episodes....that secondly to Bond's, "Bond, James Bond" phrase...announcing that you are "The Doctor" holds about...or dare I say perhaps more, distinction.

So, those of you who are familiar with both shows..."James Bond" and "Doctor Who"...who would you rather be? A time lord who saves the world or a spy babe magnet, who also, ironically, saves the world?

And which "Bond" and which "Doctor Who" do you like best? How about "Doctor Who Companions" vs "Bond Girls" for that matter...which one will always hold a fond place...in your...heart?

Okay, I've Had It!

I have had it with "staycations".

I also refuse to say the word "staycation".

I will, however, as you can plainly see, type the word "staycation" over and over again throughout the body of this blog.

I have nothing against people making up words...I love to make up words and have made up my fair share of them, many times by accident, but mostly on purpose. I saw Snoop Dogg on television once and he said he loved to make words up...hence all the "fo' shizzle" talk. Hey, I'm for it. But when you have a whole society who is saying words like "fo' shizzle" and mistakenly say "pizzle" (yeah, look that one up) trying to be cool, it's time to step aside -- as you aren't.

It's like people who say "bling". "Pardon me, would you have any Grey Poupon? And by the way, nice bling there on your Rolls."

See? It just doesn't work...so stop it already!

Now we have a whole nation who can't get through ANY holiday without saying the word "staycation" at least twice in any one news broadcast...or online newspaper. The airwaves are replete with "staycations". I'm sure any minute now the Go-Go's are thinking of getting back together in the studio to take this opportunity to cash in on changing up the lyrics to their "Vacation" song. In fact, if I remain very quiet, I swear I can hear it in some commercial right now.

Do I?

No.

Will I?

Probably.

I'm not even going over to YouTube as I'm sure it's been parodied there at least 20 gazillion times already by all too eager people willing to do anything to get featured on tomorrow's "Good Morning America" show.

So, I'm calling for a world-wide media ban of the word "staycation". I'm sure there are other words which can get the same point across just as "cutely".

Let me think...

The British probably go on "holistay" instead of "holiday". Or do they do that already? No...I will not Google...will not Google...will not Goo...

...but I will Google "vacation" to see what other words I can begrudgingly massacre in the name of journalism and colloquial catchetudeness.

Break: Hmmm...I guess no one probably wants to go "spring steak"...or "spring stayk". Oh, that one doesn't work at all...forget it.

Trip: Well, people used to take acid trips back in the 60's without ever leaving their houses...but I don't think we should bring that up here, although I guess, technically, it would apply.

Rest: "Rest" sounds more like something you do after you die than during vacation...being "laid to rest" and all. "Oh, look at Bob in this beautiful antique vase all cremated and stuff...well he certainly "urned" this well-deserved rest." Okay, scrap this one, too.

Retreat: I never heard of anyone going on a retreat refer to it as a vacation. I believe msn's thesaurus is wack...but I could possibly use it this way: "Our house was being retreated for fleas and we had to vacate the premises when Terminix tented it."

Leave: I think this is more of the military variety - "shore leave" and "LWOP" and all...Leave Without Pay...ing Anything on a Hotel "LWOPAOAH"...aka day-trip. Nope. That sucks even more than the other ones.

Escape: I never heard of a vacation referred to as an "escape"...and had it been synonymous with it, Steve McQueen's film, "The Great Escape" would have come off looking more like a Chevy Chase film than what it was. "National Lampoon's Great Escape" -- "National Lampoon's Christmas Escape" - eh...has some promise...especially with that methane gas escaping scene and all. But it really is far fetched. Oh, wait...if it's "far fetched" then it IS perfect...for a National Lampoon movie but not for a catchy new wordism.

Holiday: See above.

Well, there you have it. I've completely exhausted my online thesaurus' word bank and nothing has the same ring (not of the bling kind) or appeal as "staycation" - but at least I'm trendy nowadays. And when people ask me where I'm going for vacation I can appear green and hip...and no one has to know that I'm really not going anywhere because I have no money...

...and that's fo' shizzle.

Cougar? I Didn't Even KISS Her!

Cougar—A Cougar is a female, usually between thirty and fifty years-old, who enjoys the sexual company of younger men. Cougars are only usually interested in men under the age of twenty-five.

Well, I guess I could possibly fall into that category if: 1) I was attracted to 20-year-old guys; and 2) I'd enjoy sexual company of them. As it stands I'm about as asexual as I am apolitical. (I know...line forms to the right, guys...what a catch, huh?)

Anyway...

...the male equivalent, I'm guessing , would be the "dirty old man" or "that creepy old dude".

Now, I know it's nothing new for older men to have younger girlfriends, but in my opinion:

1) If you are the guy - other than sex, what's the point? It's not like you can reminisce about the "good old days". But maybe that IS the thing. It's that age-old problem: "My husband/boyfriend never talks to me." Well, this is an excellent way around that, isn't it, guys? Hmmmmm...there might be some logic in this thinking after all.

2) Why would any hot, young chick want to see an old naked guy? I've seen one. Trust me, it's not that pretty...nor is it remotely comical enough to lend itself being seen on a routine basis. Face it, even the best joke gets stale if you hear it a couple times.

But, while I can't relate, personally, with a man's point of view, I can relate to a woman's. There's a couple things I'd like to get off my non-plastic chest (the last of which would be my bra) about this whole "Cougar" phenomenon.

No, seriously women. Think about it. We are vain creatures...you can fess up...it's true. The guys all know anyway. They're worse than us...but that's another blog.

As vain creatures we buy all sorts of things to make us look attractive. We endure 3 and 4-inch heels, that only a handful of people can actually gracefully walk in. C'mon, you know what I mean...and those of you who can't, you know who you are. If it weren't for the fabulous outfit you got at the mall and the impeccable nails you just had done, that hunched over bent-kneed walk you're sporting looks less than runway and more like "run away!" It's a pretty spot-on impersonation of that large striding Bigfoot sighting caught on film...and walking like that or a mountain goat coming down off the cliff side isn't that becoming. If you're doing that, you might want to rethink that heel size.

But I digress once again.

Lipsticks, hair dye, haircuts, manicures, tanning beds, facial creams, eyebrow and bikini waxes, palates, thongs, and push-up bras...are only a small sampling of the things we do to keep up our appearance...but it's inevitable, we WILL age. Gravity happens. "Perky" is not a word you will ever hear describing anything about you once you are on the "slide down side" of forty, unless you are Katie Couric - and even then it's said in a condescending tone.

Why then...WHY...would you subject yourself to the humiliation of some 20-year-old guy seeing you "sans" clothing?

You girls all know you play a certain game when you get in the bedroom and it's not the one the boys think. You've practiced it in countless mirrors...you got it down to a science...it is a science - the science of looking better than you do. You pose yourself in certain ways in certain lights...candles and darkness are your friends...and a couple well-timed Martinis don't hurt, either.

And when you're alone...you have another game you play: you lift your head and angle your face just so in order to take all those photos you take of yourself. You experiment until you get it right. You might even have collagen or Botox injections in all the right grooves...you might even have a boob job, but do you want to see something which will stop you right in your Jimmy Choo Cougar-tracks? If you don't have some surgical interventions...go grab a couple tissues.

Now go and grab a hand mirror outta the bathroom. If you have one with the regular mirror on one side and the magnifying one on the other side...all the better. Now hold it up to look at your face - you still look pretty hot, right? Now, holding that same exact mirror - bend forward at the waist so your face is now facing the floor.

Scary, huh?

Now, take that same mirror and lie, face-up, on the bed. Whoa! Instant face lift...a good 10 years shaved off without any surgery...maybe 20 comes off if you HAVE surgery.

But, unfortunately for all us ladies, there's not too many legitimate jobs which require you to lie flat on your back all day. So, this is why my next piece of advice is one I'm sticking to.

I don't know about you, but I certainly would rather be the better looking naked one out of the pair of us. Maybe that's why I was never attracted to those Chippendales guys...I don't want to compete with someone whose body looks better than mine. I already have a complete lack of self-esteem...give me the most out of shape guy (well, maybe not THE most out of shape guy) with a brain. Sixty? Fine. 40? Eh. 20? Hell, no! I'm not incredibly vain but I'd also like to keep those last three shreds of confidence that I do have.

So, me...a Cougar? Nah, more like a gray panther.

(Originally written, but not published, approximately three years ago.)

"Hey, let's talk about sex!"

Give me any woman and ten minutes...and it will lead to sex.

Well, not actual sex, mind you, but the conversation will eventually end up with us talking about some facet of sex. I'm almost convinced I've had more sex talks than Dr. Ruth and Dr. Laura Berman have...COMBINED.

There's something about complete anonymity which people seem comfortable enough about, to start spilling out their most private details right there at the card, produce or coffee section in the supermarket.

These are women of all ages - all ethnicities and all social statures. For some reason I must come across as a great sex therapist, as this has been going on with me for ages. Maybe it's my talkative nature, maybe it's my ease to listen and actually pay attention at the same time...maybe it's just that a whole lot of women like to talk about sex with complete strangers. Who knows?

All I know is that 98 percent of women out there (based on my "research in the field")...are not at all satisfied with their sex lives and/or their partners. Oh, they all go home and act like they are...or maybe they don't; but if it's any indication of the information I've been told, women clearly aren't in happy relationships...sexual or otherwise.

"Why do these anniversary cards have to say, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me?' or 'You make my life complete.' or 'You're the best husband a wife could ever wish for!' ...why can't there just be generic 'Happy Anniversary' cards without any sentiment on them, whatsoever?"

Oh yes, I've been privy to that conversation a zillion times. Do you know how incredibly hard it is for these women to actually pick out a card? There's not many "un-sappy, un-gushing, un-laden with sexual innuendo" cards to choose from. And the ones that do fit that bill...look like "Here, Bob...you shoulda bought this yourself and saved me the trouble." Nothing in between. But I guess Hallmark wouldn't make too many sentimental brownie points if they had the "Andy Rooney Line of Anniversary Cards"...

"Whatever happened to our marriage? How come you don't do anything nice for me anymore? You don't think socks just pick themselves up DO you? Oh yes...all the waitresses in the best restaurants LOVE to be reminded that you could BUY the whole bottle for the price they charge for two glasses. Class like yours only comes with age...and we've been married HOW LONG, again??"

Those Hallmark gems aren't in the aisle you'll be looking thru. You'll be finding couples who look nothing like you holding hands, hiking; in a yacht, cuddling beneath a starlit sky, and for some reason - worshipping the game of golf.

Pay attention next time you go card shopping...on the surface it looks like it's only a sea of blank faces faced with the daunting task of choosing "just the right card". But...look closely...their apparent blank gazes twitch and grimace...and do that "eye roll" thing...and if you're very quiet, you can even hear a little whimper sounding like "yeah right" spoken under their breath. And these are the people I speak to because you can always spot them...they are there, and by the third or fourth card (like that third or fourth drink)...they're willing to open up to anyone who will listen.

It's really quite disconcerting when you come to think of it -- a whole slew of people so dissatisfied with their lives, secretly confiding in someone they know they'll never see again about a topic they probably rarely ever talk to anyone else about. It's sad that they're pouring their hearts out to someone who really doesn't matter to them...about something that...really does matter.

Apparently it also matters to over 50 percent of Americans...as they wind up divorced. Many get divorced, directly or indirectly, because of sex: the lack of it, the incompatibility over it, the infidelity because of it...the list is literally endless. And the stigma attached to talking to someone in a clinical setting about it...is most likely the key factor as to why so many women are tight-lipped about it.

Except, of course, when they run across a talkative perceptive stranger in some beauty salon, TJ Maxx, the doctor's office, Fresh Market, or any store with a card aisle.



(Originally written, but not published, about three years ago.)

Prelude To Some Blogs

My next series of blogs (don't get bent out of shape...I am not doing another three-parter on Sea Monkeys)...will be older ones. Not that I've posted them before...but they remain old, nonetheless.

A little back-story if I may...

A while back I took to carrying around this brown, faux-leather notebook in which I would write when I had to sit waiting in doctor's offices and whatnot. I even half-convinced myself that I would look massively impressive and "writer-ish" like Johnny Depp did in "Finding Neverland". And anyone who was fortunate enough to glance in my direction would automatically think of Depp's portrayal of J.M. Barrie...and be stricken with the worst case of awe he ever experienced (good thing they were at the doctor) in his entire life. Imagine me...a budding Oscar-winning, future Pulitzer Prize-winning, AND former Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest-winning (yes, that last one already happened - go read my side-bar) writer, sitting right there next to them and they'd not even know it! Oh, they'd sense it alright as I had, clutched in my hand, a highly elaborate "look at me...I'm someone important" pen...and no one need ever know I purchased quite a few of these for next to nothing when the Office Max store up on the bypass went out of business a couple years back.

Yes...while I basked in the glow of my pseudo-self importance - in the end I probably just came off looking like an aging buffoon who hadn't yet realized you could email people instead of write them. So much for instilling people with a sense of "awe". Awesome? No. Awe-kward? Yes.

Then I misplaced this notebook for a time and only found it the other day. While it is true that common sense dictated I could just pick up another one at TJ Maxx and start anew, which I did; the new ones, equally majestic as those "on sale" pens, just didn't hold the same kind of magic to me, so I decided I'd start bringing a book along to read instead. Yes, I traded writing for reading...but the arithmetic undoubtedly came out the same: I still probably looked like just another old ailing chick sitting in a doctor's office.

As far as these blogs (or very short stories, as I like to call them) go...I was thinking about just scrapping them all, but then I figured I'd use them and let everyone know why they might seem out-of-date...as "I do believe" they have some worth.

So, there -- I've said it...and with further delay, I present to you...some old blogs.

Monkey Sea Monkey Two

Okay, I've kept you all on the edge of your seats for a while now. And when I say "you all" it's not like the Southern "y'all"...it's more like the collective three of you who read my blog. But...the anticipation is going to be partly over soon...and soon you will know what I mean by "part"ly over.

The last blog I left you wondering about my Sea Monkey nurturing - will they hatch? Will they grow up and build a castle? Will they cling to the edge and die...or will they just sit on the windowsill totally forgotten as easily as I tend to forget about watering plants?

Well, first...yes, they did hatch. I had a bunch of those little squirmy things the size of microscopic lice in my Sea Monkey habitat. They really paled in comparison to the huge things my backyard pool grows in the off season...and speaking of comparisons...

...let's compare what the instructions for Sea Monkeys say vs what they really mean, shall we?

Sea Monkey instructions are a wonderful study of contradictions of sorts...as they rather are written with failsafe legal loopholes built in.

Apparently the Sea Monkey folks decided long ago that there's nothing more detrimental to the Sea Monkey business boom than a class action law suit filed by disgruntled Sea Monkey owner lawyers. Yes, when you stipulate that these things have an "Amazing 2 Year Warranty"...you have to, 1) Be able to stand behind it; and 2) Be certain that the majority of Sea Monkey owners are going to lose interest in these things in a fortnight.

Now I'm not claiming to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier nor the sharpest tool in the box, but I'm certainly not one fry short of a Happy Meal, neither.

If, for some reasons my little denizens of the sea fail to hatch or I fail to feed them or my cat drinks the water out of their bowl or whilst in the throes of wild monkey sex (not to be confused with Sea Monkey sex) knock the bowl on the floor and they all die...the fine folks at the Sea Monkey headquarters will send me a water purifier packet, a packet of Sea Monkey egg pouches (valued at the astronomical sum of $6.00) absolutely FREE! They will also send me the "Official" Sea Monkey Handbook (an additional $3.00 value)...also absolutely FREE! And all this will be sent to me FREE of charge if I send them a self-addressed stamped envelope and $3.00 for handling. Heck, that's a deal - as I incur absolutely NO SHIPPING CHARGES! How great is this??

But...even while I realize by doing the above I would have already paid the shipping charges...I have to wonder...so the instructions that came with MY Sea Monkeys were the...what?? UNofficial Sea Monkey Handbook? Certainly I must have been gypped with my original purchase not to have a genuine handbook. What I have is a measly 8 1/2 by 11 inch instruction sheet. Granted, it IS printed on both sides...but the more I look at it as I type this, the more I think it's not even a full 8 1/2 by 11. Seriously...what a letdown.

This flimsy excuse for a handbook goes on to try to convince me that I am to be congratulated on "becoming the owner of the most fantastic pets to ever live and breath!" Yes..."live and breath" is what it says...as apparently I can't hold any claim that they really aren't at all in the same league as my cats...as, well...my cats "breathe". Danged loophole again.

They further tell me that I'll have more fun with them than any sea creature I've ever owned. I don't know about you - but I've owned fish. Fish are pretty boring. They might be nice to look at, but it's not like you can pluck one out of the bowl and sit with it on the sofa. At least not without it smelling after a bit.

These little flecks of sea things will also reward me "with endless hours of pleasure and enjoyment" - and unlike make-believe toys, pet Sea Monkeys are really alive and ready and eager to put on a show. And unlike the insane lady who felt compelled to feed her Tamagotchi while driving...you probably won't kill a cyclist if you're too busy sitting at home, mesmerized, watching your Sea Monkeys.

I have to give the writers of the instructions some credit as they stopped short of saying they are the "Doctor Who of the millennia" - but they might have well said it with this ludicrous statement, "Sea Monkeys are real Time-Travellers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future!" Hmmm...perhaps they can get Tom Baker to smile his toothy grin and hold up a packet of eggs and a TARDIS-like container to put them in. Hey...anything's possible - plus he probably hasn't been doing anything lately anyway.

But, wait...I gotta ask...aren't these things just brine shrimp? Once and for all...they aren't brine shrimp! Stop already! They are a "species" of brine shrimp...but they are unique. Not only do they claim to have unlocked the secrets of their life cycles - they've also hinted at creating some mutant sea thing: A hybrid they've crossbred (not unlike England's "Royal Family") but now they will grow larger and live longer than any "natural" variety of brine shrimp. Oh, yeah, they're royal for sure. In fact they mention something about Egyptian Kings in the literature they provided. So, chances are good my Sea Monkeys are blue-bloods -- you know...if they had blood.

My amazing two year warranty eludes to the assumption that my Sea Monkeys live at least two years...but just how long DO these things live? Well, according to my UNofficial 7 3/4" x 11" paper (yes, I just measured it), due to "new computer-driven processing technologies and ultra-pure, non-toxic chemicals, twice as many Sea Monkeys instantly hatch, grow larger and live longer than ever before". Wow! That's a mouthful...and impressive. But wait...just how long DO these things live? Apparently my instructions were not only written by Sea Monkey biologists but political biologists as well!

Now I know everyone is going green...and so's my Sea Monkey water...but that's for the next blog (yes...it's going to be a three-parter, folks). Some of you out there might be wondering..."Mutant royal brine shrimp? Just because they're hybrids...doesn't make them ecologically-friendly, ya know." But, let the fine folks at the Department of Sea Monkeys in Maryland assure you these things are really safe. So safe they can make this disclaimer: "Sea Monkeys are in no way harmful to humans or the environment. If they somehow find their way into natural water ways or sewer lines, they simply will not be able to survive."

So relax, everyone...if I "somehow" FLUSH THEM DOWN THE TOILET, they won't come out as giant alligators on the other end.



(Speaking of ends...stay tuned for Part 3 of my fantastic foray into the fascinating...oh, forget it...just stick around and read my last part when I write it, later on this week.)

I Just Don't Get "It"

My mother used to say "every generation seems to think that they were the first to have sex"...which she might have a point about, as it seems the more things change, the more they stay the same...well, except for more daring displays of sex as these generations go on. The Romans had their orgies, the Victorian times had their "gadgets" (oh, don't let them fool you...they did have sex back then, contrary to what Queen Victoria's history would have you believe), the 20's had Flappers, the 50's had Monroe, the 60's had the pill, Masters and Johnson (I think there's a couple puns there somewhere) and Woodstock, the 80's had big hair, and we have the Internet.

And splattered all over the Internet now are 237 reasons why people have sex and according to this article people are coming up with even more they left out, and AOL's main page the other day had a survey asking what was our worst reason we've rationalized to "get any"...then to top it off they gave us their choices to vote on.

Now there's no denying that sex sells...we've been using sex to sell everything...literally from head to toe. From Herbal Essence Shampoo's apparent orgasmic properties (yes, yes, YES!) to 60's Noxzema shaving cream commercials with a sexy blonde Swede compelling men to "take it off, take it all off" to Joe Namath having Farrah Fawcett slather lather on his face whilst crooning "Let Noxzema cream your face...so the razor won't" (then afterwards telling her "you've got a great pair of hands"), to Joe Namath, yet again, in Beautymist pantyhose. You know, it seems old 'Broadway Joe' scored more passes off the field than on if these 1970's commercials of his were any indication of his sex life.

And then there was that "All my men wear English Leather or they wear nothing at all" men's cologne commercial when I was young. Come to think of it, when I was a kid there were a lot of sexy ads on television...but then again we had to, we didn't have the Internet to get our info. If you were a kid and wanted to look at naughty photos, you did what everyone else did: got out the Sears catalogue and turned to the underwear section.

Ah, yes, the bygone days of my youth...and most people look back on theirs with genuine fondness. How many times do you think back of how things were so great when you were a kid? Or the stories your parents told you when they were young...or your grandparents lingering on tales of what they did when they were children. Well, I've come to the conclusion that while every generation needs to have sex to get to the next generation, life was indeed better without sex. This is also why people want to live vicariously through their own kids when they have them...oh think about it...those glory days of youth. Where would innocent Ralphie, of "A Christmas Story" fame, be if he wasn't mesmerized by that "soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window"? If he truly KNEW about sex, that leg lamp just wouldn't have had the same intrigue...face it.

So, while a lot of us are indeed curious and read online articles about who does "it" and where and what they say to get "it" and wonder why they do "it"...stop complaining about not getting enough of "it" and just remember how uncomplicated and fun life was before you did. Then go and tell your kid a "When I was your age we didn't have...." story and be sure to smirk a lot...they'll really wonder what you are up to. And only you'll know "not much".