Cosmetic Improvements for Muppets

Invisalign

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Invisalift

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Invisawhite

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Invisacreep

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Invisabrow

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Babbling Brooke

My first guest star!!!

I want to be your guest blogger. I know it’s a lofty dream, but call me crazy. Wait, let me take my ex-lax. Ok, now I’m ready.

I woke up today irritable. I felt fat- my pants were too tight. Like stretch at the seams, short in the legs tight. Keep in mind that these were corduroys that I bought while shopping with you, Melissa. I even hazarded to think when I bought them “Huh, I wonder if I should get these in a smaller size, there a little big in the butt.” Thank god I didn’t, because now it’s me who’s a “little big in the butt”. So I get to work today and figure I’ll weigh myself. I mean what the hell, I’m already planning on having a bad day anyway. 10 POUNDS!!! I have gained 10 POUNDS since November. And these are not retaining-water-10-pounds. No. These are Thanksgiving dinner-3 Christmas dinner (divorced family)-whole box of chocolates-steak and potatoes-quitting smoking-10 pounds.

After a day spent grumbling at my desk (while playing Spider Solitaire), I decide I’ll go to the drug store on my way home and get some laxatives. Not to lose the WHOLE ten pounds, just to start it off. So I get to Rite-Aid and decide to buy some nail polish remover too, since only one of my hands is manicured (long story). As I’m waiting in line, holding the remover and the Ex-Lax, I come to a realization. When buying something like laxatives, you have to buy something else too. It’s like that something else somehow masks the fact that you’re buying laxatives, or enemas, or condoms. Lessens it somehow, the fact that you’re going to go home and poop a lot, of have sex with someone who may or may not have an STD. So while I’m standing there thinking about all this, I see a creepy looking couple and their 2 year-old waiting near me at the pharmacy. The son had wandered away, and I heard the father snap at him, and tell him to “get over here”. I looked at the boy, and he was in front of the condom section holding a box of Ribbed for Her Pleasure Trojans. I thought to myself ...

“Now why didn’t your father think of that?”

Belaboring Belated

When is it officially too late to wish someone Happy New Year? It starts to seem out of place after seven or eight days, doesn’t it? I guess at nine days into 2008 I’ve missed the deadline, so my wishes are a little belated.

Speaking of belated, I don’t understand Happy Belated Birthday cards. Are there Happy Belated Easter or Happy Belated Secretary’s Day cards? And why is it Happy Belated Birthday? It’s the wish for happiness that is belated, not the birthday itself. It should read “Belated (sorry, I’m an idiot) Happy (wait, did it suck?) Birthday (nope, no gift)”.

Anyway, what do these belated cards say about us? There’s a whole market for those with time management issues. We’ve got “extended” deadlines and emergency/express/holy–crap-I-can’t-believe-I waited-so-long options for everything these days. Is this what we’ve become? I bet in utopia there are no “belated” cards.

But it seems, Mr. More, that I’m writing a Belated New Year’s post.

It’s not that I didn’t think about it earlier. I had ideas. I thought about 2007 Bloggademy Awards, random commentary, a poem, etc. Sure, I wanted my friend Kim to win “Best Stuntwoman” for her impressive spill down a flight of stairs. But nothing seemed quite right.

So my New Year’s insight isn’t evident in silly awards or a poem or commentary about hopefulness for 2008. It’s not wishes for success and love and happiness, peace and progress and unity. Nope, my New Year’s insight is right here:

That’s right - a grown, educated, seemingly-together adult playing in a giant germ-infested ball pit without a care in the world. I think this expresses all I hope for in 2008 - a carefree, colorful, fun and lively year.

So better late than never…

Belated (sorry, I really am an idiot) Happy (think ball bit!) New (well, sort of) Year!