Posted today under pen name Bunny McGillicutty on The Dandy Goat
In an unusual show of unity, House Republicans joined Democrats in a 421-2 vote to pass the Trump Aversion Therapy Act, which would allocate $300 million towards the rehabilitation of Trump supporters using the controversial Trump Aversion Therapy technique.
The measure’s sponsor, Rep. Richard Whiteman (D-Ohio), said the bill would provide cash incentives to those willing to be rehabilitated.
Details of the therapy have not been released, but sources confirm Continue reading
I had the house to myself yesterday so I made a video.
I am writing to you with actual pen and paper because I keep waiting for you to return my calls and texts and I can’t figure out why you won’t respond.
What went wrong with our relationship, Scott? Did I ask for too many changes? Was I too picky, or did you just get bored?
I heard horror stories of construction projects going unfinished and contractors disappearing, but Scott, I never dreamt it could happen to us.
I look back fondly on our first meeting. I remember I got your number from my friend Natalie. My husband and I needed a kitchen remodel and she said we would “just love you.”
And we did love you, Scott. We did. I could tell immediately that you shared our vision for our new kitchen. You were so enthused and eager to please.You didn’t care that we wanted to convert from electric to gas. You weren’t put off by our request to add a window. You said all the right things.
Remember how we shopped for granite? I can still picture you in the store (oddly in slow motion) sharing your expertise and wisely talking us out of the “cheap stuff.”
The first few months of demo and constructions went so well. But then, something changed. Something went awry. I should have picked up on the signs. When the wrong cabinets were delivered you didn’t apologize and offer to fix the problem. No, you implied that they were exactly what I ordered.
Really Scott? Any idiot could tell the difference between Caramel and Honey Spice. Did you think I was a fool? Did you think I just wouldn’t notice?
My mother needed her Christmas card list updated because – well there’s no gentle way to put it – because her friends keep dying. Since I printed her address labels the year after my dad died, the maintenance of her Christmas card list is a job that now belongs to me.
I thought it would make things more simple if I printed up a paper version of the labels and sent it to my mom so she could make her corrections and mail it back to me.
But no, she insisted we do it by phone. This morning she called with her changes. I held my copy of the printed labels while my mother held hers, and we proceeded to discuss each and every one of the 45 names listed, whether they needed changing or not.
Mother: Mrs. John Bonham, yes that’s right because John died two years ago so it is correct it’s just her. And okay Mrs. Richard Burke, that’s good, that’s still correct. Mrs. Jill Carlin, yes that’s fine.
Me: Mother, can you just tell me the ones that aren’t correct? Perhaps that would make things go quicker?
Mother: Oh, okay, you prefer to do it that way?
Me: Yes, yes I would.
I’ve signed on to do book reviews for the New York Journal of Books. Here is my first! It’s on Aasif Mandvi’s essay collection, No Land’s Man
Perhaps you know Aasif Mandvi from The Daily Show. I didn’t, however. Because I rarely watch The Daily Show. I know I shouldn’t admit that. It make me unhip. I always intend to watch it, but then I forget. Anyway, I had never heard of this guy before. Which is probably good because that made me unbiased, right?
Let me know what you think. By the way, writing in the third person is hard, it turns out.
No Land’s Man by Aasif Mandvi
If you are looking for behind-the-scenes dish about The Daily Show, you won’t find it in Aasif Mandvi’s collection of essays, No Land’s Man. But what you’ll find instead are fascinating and funny tales about Mandvi’s childhood, South Asian family, and acting career—all told with rich description and an engaging, self-deprecating humor.
Mandvi, the “Senior Muslim Correspondent” for The Daily Show, begins his story with the realization that even though he had just completed a one-man show, “Sakina’s Restaurant,” about being an immigrant in America, the experience left him with a greater desire for more self-exploration.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
Is it time for the holidays already? No. It’s Bulky Item Trash Pick-up week!
I can hardly contain my excitement whenever I receive the postcard from the rubbish company announcing that we can put our oversized trash items at the curb and they will magically be picked up. No questions asked. No extra fee. What a wonderful thing!
It’s so satisfying getting rid of old stuff. I find it truly liberating whenever I purge these unwanted items from my home. I like to put on my gardening gloves and drag to the curb those miscellaneous pieces of lumber, errant cement blocks, and rusted pieces of patio furniture that have been stacked up next to the trash cans. And something about them being labeled as “Bulky Trash” makes them even more repellent.
Go away bulky trash! I banish you from our home!
I look forward to this week for another reason too. I am, apparently, a bit of a scavenger. Okay, some might call me a dumpster diver. Whatever. Guilty as charged.
Here’s a humor piece I wrote that was in the Feb/March issue of Working Mother Magazine. I wrote it last year when I was trying to talk to my daughter while editing the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction ceremony. Now, I’m in the edit bay on another Rock and Roll Hall of Fame show! Oh, and my daughter thinks she should get half of the money I earned for selling the article.
(Post Featured on Freshly Pressed!)
There is a single word in the English language that has the power to ruin my whole day. That word is Ma’am.
I could be having a perfectly fine day – a great day even – the kind of day where my car starts on the first try, my kids get off to school without a ton of screaming and, when I check myself in the mirror I actually think, “Hey, I don’t look half bad.”
Then I stop by the local coffee place and the hipster barista dude, the one who wears the gross earring gauges, hands me my non-fat latte and says, “Here you go, Ma’am.”
Ah, come on. Really? Did you have to?
Of course I politely say “Thank you,” back to the little whippersnapper, but in my head I’ve added a very irritated, “Don’t call me Ma’am, d#$%khead.” Continue reading
I’ve never understood how otherwise sensible people let themselves get carried away with cosmetic procedures. Can’t they see there’s a point where they start to look worse instead of better?
I suppose they begin by wanting a minor fix and then, pleased with the results, opt for another . . . and another . . . and another, until they run out of money or end up on one of those plastic surgery victim websites.
It’s the addictive nature of it that’s kept me away from plastic surgeons and dermatologists alike.
Until now. Continue reading