I feel your pain. Do you feel mine? I bet you do. Yes, I refer to that niggling noggin splitting pain, that bone gnawing anguish, that teeming existential angst we experience whenever we face The Ugly Truth.
You know what I speak of, for like my humble self, you too are a highly discerning individual. Intellectually aware, artistically appreciative, cultivated, indubitably enlightened to a “T.”
Kindred souls you and I, we folks of gentle nature, we who cringe at double negatives and dangling participles as if they were sidewalk spitting or public urination. (They might as well be, you say!) We, who are dumbstruck by blatant ignorance as if it were a whack to the side of the skull by a cricket bat; we who recoil as garish tattoos and vile body piercings mar the landscape like graffiti violates a beautiful city’s grand architecture. […]
#RHOBH is cutting the cast by one member. The vote is in. Adios Adrienne Maloof.
And take your Maloove Hooves with you! Don’t let the limo door hit you on the way out.
2 – HOMELAND
Only enough chill meds for poor Carrie to take a magic pill every other day. Prescriptions are expensive even when you squeeze them from your sister the shrink. […]
It’s season 3 of Bravo’s RHOBH and don’t ya jest love it?
Like most truly cheesy TV, “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” is provocative, potent, and chock full of teaching moments.
We are now blessed with 7 RHOBHs: Lisa Vanderpump, Adrienne Maloof, Kyle Richards, Kim Richards, Taylor Armstrong, Brandi Glanville, and Yolanda Foster.
BTW their combined ages are over 320 years.
SO they certainly can teach us a thing or two… or 7. […]
“Watching TV can lead to fatigue. The rapid cuts and edits shift your orienting response into overdrive, which leads to fatigue.” Phooey, I say!
What causes fatigue? Working a job in your kid’s classroom!
It’s elementary, my dear room mother
Dear Ms. Yokelclinger,
I’m happy as Planter’s Punch you are my kid’s teacher this year. I look forward to working like a dogbreaking labor laws volunteering tirelessly in the classroom. After a seemingly endless summer keeping my kids entertained, hydrated, fed, culturally stimulated, lathered with sunscreen, and blooming like buttercups, I’m really thrilled to tears to be your complete and total slave parent helper.
Because I am deliriously dedicated to my child’s education, I will be on call 24-7 should you need anything. I love to stay up ’til 4:00 a.m. doing my own work so during the day I can organize your friggin’ field trip to the friggin’ moth museum, construct the goat cart for the Kwanzaa harvest, and cook 15 dozen gluten-free, apple crumb cupcakes for Earth Day.
How precious it is that you observe so fully every idiotic holiday known to mankind and that you do it via artsy fartsy crafting. Martha Stewart would be proud of your intent, but disapproving of the grossly inferior quality you inspire.
Because I’m not fully satisfied by the joy of supervising my kids’ tedious home work, running migraine-inducing carpools, making “healthy” lunches my kids won’t chuck in the nearest dumpster, snack preparation, clothing coordination, and insisting upon occasional baths… I give myself to you.
As your unpaid assistant, I will not expect any perks, nor will my child receive any special privileges like a pass on a particularly pesky pop quiz or those God-awful push-ups in gym class. I will not, for a moment, resent your generous benefits, union protections, plum pension, or the ultimate gift – the gift of time – yes, every summer off.
If for some reason you can’t reach me (say, around mid-November or early December), I’ll be in Rehab.
“… in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” – Benjamin Franklin, 1789
7 SIGNS
1. Loss of appetite. Your insane food cravings for salt and sweets no longer compel you to stick up a gas station or shoplift Snickers bars at a 7-11. “The Hunger Games” is merely a movie you wouldn’t watch for all the cat food money in the free world.
2. Gravity has won. You have more wrinkles on your neck and chin than the average pug.
3. Sex. Your orgasms “don’t bring home the Gold.” You know what I mean.
4. You don’t LOL when you watch “Portlandia.” You don’t know what “Portlandia” is. You don’t know what LOL is.
5. You stalk babies in the grocery store and insist upon conversing S-L-O-W-L-Y with them while the poor mother – who’s typically had five decent hours of sleep in the past fifteen months – is passing out from politeness.
6. Changes in Urination. You constantly have to – or are – peeing. This could merely be due to menopause or to post childbearing bladder stretch syndrome, as evidenced in the family car trip “The Griswolds Got Nothin’ On Us” by Dawn Weber at Lighten Up!
7. You forget to breathe. Like all the darn time. Especially when you’re fussing a blue streak ’cause your panties are in a twist… which is unfortunately most of the time. Less hot air anyway.
Bonus. Social Media Withdrawal. You no longer share those important life events with the online world, such as “Had a yummy dish of tapioca pudding today” and “Went shell collecting with Geezer” and “I saw a puppy today. Don’t you love puppies?” Your last tweet is “Helgrghhrrrposht!” Your last Facebook post is prophetic, “That’s odd. My fingers and toes are berry blue and ice cold to the touch. Maybe I should google that…”
I’m just dyin’ to hear… ho,ho… how will YOU know… death is near?
No octogenarians or curmudgeons were harmed in the writing of this post.
Here’s the answer to the burning question: “Why Do Olympians Wear that Colorful Tape?” It’s not for decoration! Article by Lauren Hansen on mentalfloss.com
Martha Stewart has a very entertaining and informative YouTube Channel, check it out!
