This world is full of scary people. Anyone who's ever watched Rock of Love on VH-1 knows that. I mean, just the STDs on that show alone could probably wipe out the entire population of North America. And Europe.
But even more frightening than a gaggle of illiterate pole workers trying to win the heart of Bret Michaels are the people I have to deal with on a daily basis. People so reckless, so dangerous, that I feel my life is in constant peril whenever I'm near them. Like true sociopaths, they have no fear. No remorse. No knowledge of their surroundings. Instead, they're drunk on freedom, high on caffeine and in a really, really big, damn hurry to get to the half-yearly sale at Nordstrom.
They're the mothers in my preschool's parking lot.
Each morning, as I'm walking back to my car after dropping off Jack, I find myself the near victim of a ruthless hit-and-run when I have to dive out of the way to avoid a harried woman gabbing away on her cellphone while she zooms past me in her luxury SUV. Last week, I was almost sideswiped by a tennis skirt in a Land Rover. The week before, it was yoga pants in an Escalade. And today, I was nearly nailed by a merciless miniskirt in a minivan.
I'm destined to become preschool roadkill.
Of course, I understand why these mothers are in such a hurry. I totally do. With only four hours to themselves while their kids are in school, they don't want to waste a single minute of their precious time. No, they want to get to where they're going and they want to get there now. And all I am is just one more annoying obstacle standing in their way. (Albeit an obstacle holding up her middle fingers and screaming "Slow the f*#k down, you crazy nutjob! I don't want to die today! I've got errands to run!")
So, starting tomorrow, I think I might wear a bright, orange safety vest and a giant, pink cowboy hat whenever I'm walking through the parking lot. Of course, I don't think it'll make the mothers actually stop their cars for me. But at least they might slow down a little to make fun of my outfit.
(Note: Please excuse any typos as I had to write this on my iPhone while frantically peeling out of the school parking lot in my Volvo SUV. What? There's a sale at Banana Republic.)
Congressman Ben Affleck: Listen, Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe, I'm going to tell you who's behind this conspiracy you've been investigating for two whole hours. You'll never believe it, but it's, it's CRUUU-NNNNCHHH. Does that shock you?
Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe: Yes, it does shock me, Congressman Ben Affleck. But did you know that your wife Robin Wright Penn and I have been CRUUUU-NNNCHHHH for years now?
Congressman Ben Affleck: So that's why I'll never be able to CRUUUU-NNNCHHHH with my pants on again. Now I finally know.
Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe: Yes, and now I will tell you who's behind the murder of your assistant. It was CRUUUU-NNNCHHHHH.
Congressman Ben Affleck: Oh, my God. It was CRUUUU-NNNNCHHHH?
Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe: Yes, and he was working alongside CRINNN-KKKLLLLE.
Congressman Ben Affleck: But tell me, was the evil shadow organization COUGHING FIT COUGHING FIT COUGHING FIT SLUUUU-RRRP involved as well?
Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe: Nobody knows, but I will now tell you the one thing that will make this entire movie make sense--last night, CRUUUUNCHHH CRUUUUKKLLEE murdered SLUUUUU-RRRRPPP RATTLING ICE CUBES SLUUUU-RRRRPPP and that's why we now have to WHEEEEEZZZEE for the rest of our lives.
Congressman Ben Affleck: That's incredible, Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe. I just have one final thing to say to you that will make you feel better about paying $8.50 to see this effin' turkey: Never, ever, everput your trust inCRUUU-NNNNNCHHHH MUFFLED BELCH WHEEZZZEEE again or someone will have to die. Good-bye, Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe.
Chubby Reporter Russell Crowe: So long, Congressman Ben Affleck. Hasta la CRUUU-NNNNCHHH.
Hair that makes you look like a rejected skank from Bret Michaels: Rock of Love Bus
Broken umbrellas
Clinical depression
Stagnant pools of water that will soon reopen as breeding grounds for horny mosquitoes
Pollen
Flash floods
Rainbows
OK, obviously, I'm a little tired today, so sorry about this one. I guess this is what happens when I stay up late watching My Big Redneck Wedding on CMT. What was I thinking? I need a a shower and some medication.
On another note, if you haven't already, please vote to put me, Kelcey, Christy, Jessica and Anna on the agenda for BlogHer 2009 for our panel DYING IS EASY, COMEDY IS HARD. You just have to register with the BlogHer site, then click on the link at the top of the page that reads "I would attend this session." (Even if you're not certain you're going, this is just to put us on the schedule.) Polls close May 1, so thanks for any help you can give us.
And, not to spoil the surprise we're planning for the panel, but know that Kelcey and I have been working on our "Cocktail" routine, in which we throw vodka bottles at each other's heads to the tune of "Hippie, Hippie Shake." Trust me, you won't want to miss it. (We're thisclose to being able to do it without helmets!)
According to a recent article in The New York Times, celebrities are now hiring people to ghost write their Twitter posts. After giving it a few seconds of thought, I've decided that this would be a fantastic job for me. True, I’m a suburban mother who’s completely out of touch with Hollywood, I’ve never seen a Twitter post, much less written one, and I think it’s a little ridiculous to receive 140-character-long messages about how happy Ashton Kutcher is to drink his morning latte, but really, none of that matters much. I still think I'm perfect for the job.
In fact, here are a few sample tweets I've written on behalf of various celebrities. As you can see, I pretty much nailed 'em.
Britney Spears: Hey, y’all! It’s me, Britney! Tough choice--do I want paper or plastic??!? These Wal-Mart questions make my head hurt!! But not enough to shave it!! Ha ha ha!!!
Kate Winslet: Ugh! Out of Swiffer refills. Again!
Ernest Borgnine: Am I dead or alive? I'd really like to know because I have a hot stone massage scheduled for 4 o’clock. Let me know, my peeps! Thanx!!!
Robert DeNiro: Some people just don't understand what "10 Items or Less" means. Jeez! Learn how to count, you dumb humps!
Vin Diesel: What do this? Me punchy keys? Do need kno spell? Twittah? Tweetah? Tweety Burd? He funny! Ugh! Dis hard! Stupid machine from future. Vin no want do no more. Vin sleepy. Spencer Pratt: Good God, I’m such a douche.
Jennifer Aniston: Just signed up with Match.com because I’m 40 & desperate! (Brad sux!!) Meeting blind date "BadBoi304" @ Chili’s tonight! Hope we become good “Friends”! ROFLMAO!
Seth Rogan: Why does a dumpy guy like me make more movies than Daniel Craig who should be in every movie possible just so the housewives of the world don’t riot? Seriously, dude.
Harrison Ford: OMG, am I handsome. So, so incredibly handsome. Even at my age. What the hell am I doing with Calista? She’s got the bodyweight of a toddler. Must rethink. OK, laters!
Miley Cyrus: I'm 16 and dating a hot 20 year-old model! And driving a Porsche! WTF? Don’t my parents realize I’m headed straight for Dana Plato city? Think, Billy Ray. Think.
Larry King: What is this thing? Do I talk into it? Or should I be using dots and dashes? Can you hear me? Who is this? Where am I? Where’s my blanket? Should I type now? Is it an adding mach
Martha Stewart: I’ve just created a lovely spring basket out of the toilet seat covers and tampons I found whilst peeing in the ladies restroom at LAX! It’s a spectacular centerpiece!
Kim Kardashian: I'm more famous for my big booty than the winners of the Nobel Peace Prize are for making the world a better place. Man, I love this country. Ciao!!
Barry Manilow: I love my fans! Especially you,Wendi!! You’re a miracle, a true-blue spectacle & people should stop calling you a f*@*ing lameass Fanilow! Looks like YOU made it, babe!
(OK, this is from two years ago, but I didn't have time to write a new Easter-themed post because I'm too busy sitting in the closet shoving chocolate bunny ears in my mouth. What? There was sale at Target.)
Dear Parents:
Due to some rather unfortunate incidents that transpired during last spring's school-wide Easter Egg Hunt, it has become necessary to take certain precautions this year. Therefore, listed below please find the items that should not, under any circumstances, be used to fill the plastic eggs used for the hunt.
For most of you, this list is simple common sense. However, as we learned far too late last year, there are a few troublemakers among you who apparently find it amusing to go to a divey bar the night before, get "totally sh*tfaced", then "load up the mothereffin' Eastey eggs" so chaos can then ensue the next day at the taxpayers' expense.
We truly hope these inconsiderate renegades will not take this rather nasty route again and instead, fill the eggs with lollipops, sunshine and other items that represent the Spirit of the Bunny. Let's make this a special day for children and parents alike.
NOT TO BE USED AS EGG FILLERS:
Cigarette Butts
Tequila
Lime Slices
Salt
Hair Extensions
Beer Nuts
Cocktail Napkins covered in unemployed men's phone numbers
Lee Press-On Nails
Jell-O Shots (of any flavor)
Tattoo Parlor "Buy One/Get One Half-Off" coupons
"Items" purchased from the vending machine in the ladies' restroom
Chicken
Thank you for your cooperation in this matter. Also, please be advised that this year, we will be conducting mandatory fingerprinting of all parents an hour before the event. Happy Easter and Happy Hunting!
While this was just pure fiction for me, apparently there are some very funny people out there who really are bad eggs.
Yeah, I know. But I totally forgot my license on my kitchen counter. I mean, you don't even know how crazy it was before I left tonight. Had to get the boys ready for bed, pack some lunches for tomorrow, feed the cat who's not eating her usual Friskies and is now demanding that we feed her cold cuts from the deli...and, excuse me, but what's up with that? Stupid cat's eating our mortgage in gourmet poultry. Please. Anyway, it was a complete madhouse at home, so is it OK if I just go inside the bar now?
Can't let you in without some ID.
It's flattering that you're carding me, it really is, but come on. Take a look at me. See? See that? I'm wincing because the music is too loud. I'm carrying hand sanitizer in my purse. For the love of God, man, I'm wearing a stretchy, off-white t-shirt from CHICO'S. Clearly, I'm on the darkside of 21 here, OK?
Rules are rules. Gotta check everyone.
Alright, let's play hardball. Look at my face. Right here. These are CROWS FEET. Yeah, as in "wrinkles that resemble the feet of ugly black birds." And NOBODY under 21 has these babies. Trust me. No-body. Oh, and also--see these two parallel lines running right in between my eyebrows? These furrows that make it look like I have the 405 Freeway on my face? Total 40-year-old magic right there, dude. You can't fake that shit.
What?
Listen, I know what you're thinking, Big Mike. You're thinking "Why doesn't she just shut up and get some damn Botox injections already?" And I hear you. I do. But Botox is just so expensive. Like I really want to pay $300 to put botulism in my face. Well, I kind of do want to pay that, but I can't afford to. Besides, couldn't I just go to a scummy grocery store, pick up a few bloated cans of soup, then open them up and stick them on my forehead to get the same result? Actually, that's not such a bad idea, now that I think about it. I'm so going to Google that later. Do you think it'd be under "natural beauty tips" or "home remedies"? Maybe it'd be on Oprah.com. No, no, Dr. Oz probably wouldn't be down with putting diseased tin cans on your skin, but then again...
Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
What? What was that? What did you just call me?
Um..."ma'am"?
Ah ha! You called me "ma'am"! That PROVES you know I'm over 21 and that you don't really need to see my ID, rule or no rule. Score!
(long pause) If I let you go inside, will you leave me alone for the rest of the night?
