Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Vegas Baby!


So, the hubster and I just returned from Las Vegas. We had a splendid, romantic, relaxing and rather entertaining time.

Over the years, Las Vegas has been popularly known as: "The City of Lights", "Sin City", "The Entertainment Capitol of the World" and people from all over the world know the phrases "Viva Las Vegas!" and "Vegas, Baby!"

After spending 4 days walking around and viewing the scene, I have a list of new nickname/slogan suggestions for Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce to consider for their next marketing campaign:

Viva Las Is-It-Hot-Outside-Or-Am-I-Menopausal?!

What-Day-Is-It City

The Yard Long Frozen Margarita Capitol of the World

Bankruptcy, Baby!

Viva Las I-Can't-Feel-My-Ass-I've-Been-Sitting-At-This-Nickel-Slot-Machine-Six-Hours!

Crabs, Baby!

The-Price-Of-This-Dinner-Entree-Must-Include-A-Hooker City

The City of Mile Long Cab Lines

Viva Las Herpes!

The Mexican-Hooker-Card-Flicker-Dude Capitol of the World

The City of Missing and Exploited Kneecaps

Grandpa Needs a New Pair of Depends, Baby!

Viva Las I-Just-Lost-My-Kids-College-Fund-At-Blackjack!

Just-$100-More-At-Black-Jack-And-I-Can-Win-It-All-Back, Baby!

The City of Light Wallets

Monday, May 12, 2008

Tylenol PM Hangover


I took Tylenol PM last night due to a migraine headache and I was "hungover" from it half the day. The stuff works by knocking you out like an Evander Holyfield punch to the jaw...or four.

One minute you're writhing on the sofa with a pain in your head that feels like Rosie O'Donnell has taken up residence in your frontal lobe...you're watching late late night infomercials about colon cleansers because you can't sleep and even the prospect of lifting your thumb to the remote control to change the channel seems pain inducing... and the next you're waking up 6 hours later with a kink in your neck from Hell, a pool of slobber under your cheek the size of Loch Ness, your children poking you with sharp objects to see if you're still breathing and a fog in your head that just won't go away.

If you've ever had pain so horrible you've begged someone to knock you out -- Buy a bottle.

I propose the following name change for this product:


I mean...what do they put in this stuff, anyway?

Rohypnol?

Chloral hydrate?

Liquid Lawrence Welk reruns?

Monday, May 5, 2008

Oh, HELL-to-the-NO!!!

Call me immature... Call me petty... Call me anything... but call me a DIVA.

Today, I was a vengeful prankster and I got this stranger at the supermarket but gooooood. Yes, I'm 42. Yes, I'm usually considered a respectable and kind person. Yes, I'm above this kind of behavior. But I am also only human and sometimes people really need to get exactly what they have coming.

This afternoon I went to the store to pick up some groceries. After circling the parking lot 4-5 times looking for a spot that was closer than 3.5 miles to the door, I spotted a mom heading to a mini-van with 3 kids and a shopping cart full of food. The parking stall was two from the front of the store and I didn't even need to draw a handicap placard with eyeliner on the back of a baby wipe to get it.

I just had to wait patiently ...and if I haven't mentioned it before, waiting patiently is NOT one of my virtues.

I pulled into the aisle, put on my blinker and waited...and waited....and w.a.i.t.e.d. Anyone who is a frazzled mom or has waited for a frazzled mom who has just dragged 3 hungry kids through the store at the end of the day knows it can take a decade to buckle all three angels into their car seats, load the 10 bags of groceries in the trunk and then stand outside the car with a wad of kleenex until the urge to start sobbing stops. But I digress. It must have been a good five to seven minutes of just sitting there waiting, but the spot was worth it!

In fact, it was such a great spot that I heard angels singing and harps playing as she backed out and the spot became VACANT. I was preparing to drive my SUV into the blessed parking stall when a woman in a HYBRID buzzed straight into it before I could scream Biofuel.

I sat there with my perfectly glossed lips hanging open while she nonchalantly got out of her car. I pulled up behind her, rolled down my window and said, "Excuse me, I was waiting for that spot for at least five minutes!" She looked at me like I suddenly sprouted a second head and says, "Really? Maybe you should buy a bigger car so people can see you... something that guzzles a little more gas... like a TANK!" then she jogged past me into the store.

Say, WHAT??!!!

At that very moment people all over town were checking the news for a warehouse or forest fire because the sheer volume of billowing smoke churning out my ears was suffocating.

Pardon me, but as a mom of three, I need a car that can actually fit three car seats without stacking my kids on top of each other like little freight containers.

After finally sandwiching my car between twin diesel trucks at the far end of the parking lot, I marched into the store to confront this sanctimonious broad and settle the score. I held my cell phone in my hand with my finger on my husband's speed dial number (in case I needed back up or bail money) as I marched up and down the aisles in search of HER.

I spotted her self-righteous hair in the "feminine and reproductive" items aisle and I suddenly decided marching up to her and screaming her weave off her head was so 10 minutes ago.

Moments later, I silently followed her to the checkstand and watched as she glanced up from the National Enquirer she was flipping through only to notice the cashier staring at her and the box boy snickering into his apron as he bagged 20 bottles of lube, 10 tubes of vagisil, a case of contraceptive sponges and a dozen pregnancy tests. Oh... and 5 boxes of Ex-Lax, a six pack of toilet paper and a plunger.

As she turned and caught my eye -- while I stood basking in the glow of the rush hour shoppers smirking, pointing, and giggling in her direction -- I saw a look in her eye that could have melted steel.

I walked out the door, RAN to my car and laughed all the way home.

My bad?

The Diva

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Letter to Maxi Pad Company


Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always Maxi Pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. My favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from 'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't.

Well, my 'time of the month' is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.'

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you flipping kidding me? Does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Kmart armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, if you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put Down the Hammer'?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, because I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.

Always.

Wendi Aarons Austin, TX