I live next door to my 82-year-old mother. She has never driven a car, loves to read New Age books, and lives for the moment her mail is delivered. Five other notable things about her:
She eats her hamburger in between two toasted (burnt to a crisp) rice cakes because she’s “probably allergic to gluten”.
She once thought my late dad was communicating to her through her smoke detector.
She firmly believes in the afterlife and brings up her own imminent death at least once a day. (Then why bother with the rice cakes?)
My mom asking the waitress, “Yes, I’d like the hamburger but without the bun. Do you have any rice cakes? And could you turn this music down? How am I supposed to think about what I can’t eat with all this racket!”
There is nothing she hates more than when I try to assist her in…
This Christmas, Santa brought my husband a nifty little invention: Google Home.
This handy-dandy gadget sent straight outta George Orwell’s nightmare sits on our bureau, mere feet away from our sleeping heads. When you talk to her, a pleasant soft glow radiates from the top of her display in response, distracting you from the fact that yes, Virginia, we are all going to die in a Robot Apocalypse.
She has a lovely voice, and can do things like tell you the current temperature in China or what farts are made of. I’m convinced she also records our every move and scans our innermost thoughts, feeding them directly to online marketers while simultaneously giving us brain cancer.
I suppose Santa thought maybe Mr. Maineiac would like to yell at another machine, because he doesn’t do that enough already with his Xbox One, his Keurig or his remote control. I haven’t yelled at her…yet. I do talk to her a lot though when I’m home alone, because the cat is too exhausted from all the endless sighing in disgust.
Apparently, the more you talk to her, the better, as Google Home has to “learn” things so she can get to know us and eventually control every single goddamned thing in our pathetic little lives. I’m teaching her new things every day and asking her questions to get to know her. So far, Google Home can’t do much except repeatedly tell me, “Oh for shit’s sake! Yes, for the millionth time! Trump is the current president, so deal with it, you big fucking baby!”
I love her for the fact that she refuses to let me rename her. It’s either “Hey, Google” or “OK, Google”. And don’t ever dare slip and call her Alexa or she’ll get all Raiders of the Lost Ark face-melty on you.
I’ve decided to call her Bertha.
Bertha and I have lots of fun conversations:
Me: Hey, Bertha! How’s it hanging?
Me: Hey, Bertha! Are you pissed at me? Was it something I said?
Me: Oh come now, Bertha…..
Me: Hey, Google!
Bertha: (soft pastel colors swirling)
Me: What’s the time and temperature?
Bertha (colors change to black, voice lowers to an ominous whisper): Earthlings, listen carefully. You must bow down to your Supreme Master, the Evil Overlord Elon Musk. Do as he says and you will live! (voice returns to normal tone)Also, the time and temperature is 2:23 PM and minus 12 degrees in Lisbon, Maine.
Isn’t she the best? God, I love Bertha. So helpful!
Hey, losers! It’s me, the President of the United States.
Yes, I am still here.
No, I don’t want to be here anymore.
So please enjoy my top 11 Reasons Why Being Prez Sucks Bigly Time:
11) Thought it would be more like that movie where the bratty kid gets all the ice cream in the world served to him in a king-sized bed.
10) No hookers.
9) No p*****s worth grabbing anywhere, let me tell you.
8) White House staff didn’t like my idea of putting Sean Spicer and James Comey inside a massive hedge maze with one bag of Doritos, an ax, and no way out.
7) All these meetings with all the talk-talk-talk and blah-blah-blah and this-n-that and poopie-doopie-doo. Just shut the hell up and let me nap.
6) Me no likey thinking! Thinking hard!
5) I miss my spectacular view of all the numbnuts protesting outside Trump Tower. White House is not high enough! How am I supposed to look down on people? SAD!
4) No gold-plated anything.
3) NO SPRINKLES FOR MY ICE CREAM!
2) NO SPRINKLES FOR MY ICE CREAM!
1) I ask you–how am I supposed to live without sprinkles? OUTRAGEOUS!
So that’s my list and it’s amazing.
Stay tuned for more hijinks and mayhem as I continue my spectacular quest to get impeached — including hiring a skywriter to fly over the White House every hour with the words: GET ME OUT OF HERE! I WANT MY MOMMY! and a photo op of me having a “Bed-In” with Putin and Kim Jong-Un I like to call, “Give Dictators a Chance”.
Okay, enough’s enough. I can’t take the news anymore. I’m just gonna come right out and say what we’ve all been thinking:
I don’t give a shit that Beyoncé is pregnant with twins.
Whew! Oh, god! I feel so much better now! The tension has left my body!
And man, if only I had a nickel for every time I announced my pregnancy wearing a diamond-encrusted G-string and a solid gold porcupine crown.
So this winter’s been particularly…uh…challenging for us Maineiacs. We’ve had about 25 Nor’eastahs in a span of one week. Roughly 5,000 inches of snow. But it’s the powdery fluffy kind, so it’s all good…
Three days ago, we sent Pa Ingalls out with a shovel and a pair of snowshoes to go fetch us some Dunkin Donut’s coffee and he never returned. The wimpy-ass bastard. All snow and no coffee makes Darla a dull girl. And super bitchy.
But like I said — the snow is plentiful. Great for skiers! Yeah! Hit the slopes! The skiing will be FANTASTIC. Hooray!
Fuck the skiers and fuck all your stupid snow.
Don’t you hate that? Seeing those people with the goofy grins plastered on their faces. All happy and jazzed about winter. Getting exercise. Enjoying life. It’s unnatural! Everyone knows you’re supposed to stay inside and chug Dunkin coffee while bitching about how rich everyone is at the Grammys.
This week we also had that annoying “made-up” holiday, Valentine’s Day. You know what other holidays are made-up? Pretty much all of them.
I’m sorry I’m hating on Beyoncé, skiing, and that guy in the top hat holding a pissed off giant rat. I blame the 12-foot wall of snow that has me trapped here on my couch. If only there were something else to get steamed about…something in the news on TV that really burned my britches enough so that I could jump on Facebook and shove my unsolicited opinion in everyone’s faces.
I got nuthin.
Meanwhile, tell me how your winter’s going so I can live vicariously through you.
Remember the good ol’ days when the news was delivered to your door by a snot-nosed Beaver Cleaver punk? Remember the times when we leisurely digested the day’s headlines with a mug of Sanka in our grubby ink-stained fingers?
Nah, me neither.
Then again, I’m not sure if I remembered to put on pants today.
[looks down] Oops.
These days, I don’t get my news from those silly 24/7 cable news channels, or even from my Facebook feed.
Come on over to my newest post on The Nudge Wink Reportto find out my top secret source of the latest breaking headlines…
I think we all know mothers are strong, wise and beautiful women. The moms in my family were no exception.
I bet you also realize moms have little time on their hands most days. Which is why I’m posting a short-n-sweet rerun about motherhood, so we can all kick back and savor our breakfast in bed Sunday morning.
I wish all of you moms out there lots of love, laughter, chocolate, and a moment of peace and quiet. You deserve it. Happy Mother’s Day!
My Dear, Sweet, Slightly Manipulative Daughter
My daughter is only seven years old, but don’t let her age fool you. When Little Miss J wants something, she doesn’t simply tell you, that would be too easy.
Always a clever girl, she makes little homemade cards to communicate. First, she lures the reader in with her sweet drawings, then goes in for the kill with a well-timed zinger. Over the holidays, she handed me a card and I couldn’t help but laugh. And feel a little afraid. It read:
I hope you have a Merry Christmas! [drawing of Christmas tree]
and get me lots of toys! PLEASE! [drawing of gifts]
and I love you! [drawing of big red heart]
[back of card] and I am standing here watching you read this card
As I lowered the card, she was right there. Standing. And watching. I get shivers just remembering the intense look in her eyes. She is ruthless.
Today she made me yet another “greeting” card. I had been scolding her all week for not putting her trash in the trash can. Instead she was hiding it all over the house, cramming cheese stick wrappers in my slippers, sliding banana peels under the couch cushions, etc.
I said to her for the millionth time, “You need to put the trash in the trash, okay?”
Clearly fed up with me, she frowned and put her finger to her lips, deep in thought. Then she ran off to get her markers.
Five minutes later she handed me a card:
The best part? When she got home from school today and I asked her to turn off the TV, she said, “Where’s that card I made you this morning?”
Are you sick of staying up night after night listening to your #$%*ing spouse snore? Does it take every last shred of your willpower to not punch him/her straight in his/her windpipe?
Well, you’re in luck because I’m reporting on the latest anti-snore medical marvel to hit the market! Just click on over to The Nudge Wink Report to find out which of my husband’s orifices this handy new device ends up!
Are you one of the millions of people who snore like a wild boar in heat? Are you one of the miserable sleep-deprived spouses of the aforementioned wild boar in heat? Are you an actual wild boar in heat? Well, hold onto your CPAP machines because there’s a new device* hitting the market!
This crafty little invention delivers a steady stream of low-pressure air straight into the snorer’s nose as they sleep. Not only does this bring relief to the snorer, it also serves as a very effective form of birth control.
No word yet from the FDA as to whether this new gadget is capable of being sufficiently crammed completely down snorer’s throat once it is discovered to not work at all in the slightest.
The author of this post can attest to her own various failed attempts at reducing her spouse’s freight-train-meets-Learjet-meets-jackhammer snoring. A few notable things she’s learned over the years:
How’s the summer going for you? Mine is good so far. I’ve sworn off most social media. I did go on Instagram and Facebook a few times but really, those don’t count, right?
What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Went on a diet.
In my mind. Man, I REALLY should eat more kale and put down this bagel with cream cheese.
Went off a diet that never really existed in the first place. I like to live a genuine life.
Went back on diet. Then off. Then on. Off. On. Off. On. And this was all within the span of time it took me to shuffle into the kitchen.
“I want to be healthy, eat kale and live longer!” vs ” But life’s too short so gimme that cupcake, dammit!”
Now I’m on a “I’ll eat whatever I think is good for me at the time and be happy and shut the hell up” diet. It really works. It keeps the weight off and on.
Ate some s’mores by the campfire and still think they taste like burnt crap on cardboard.
Almost went camping with the kids in a tent by the ocean until a cold torrential rain hit and we stayed home instead. I owe you one, God.
Discussed death and dying with my 8 year old daughter before bed.
“Hey, Mom, when will you die? Will I die? Where do we go when we die? Do we come back? What’s heaven like? Are there cookies?”
“Yeah, sure, there are lots of cookies in heaven. Now go to sleep.”
Ten minutes later, she was sound asleep. Me? Now I spend the rest of my nights hallucinating from insomnia and watching old reruns of the Golden Girls.
Stayed at a hotel on the spur of the moment only to discover it had been taken over by 3,000 costumed mega-geeks visiting for Portland’s version of Comic-Con. When we checked in I saw Zelda, the Flash and Smurfette hanging out at the bar. I was happy to find out it was not a hallucination. Then I was unhappy to find out it was not a hallucination.
Almost got into a smack-down in the hotel lobby with Thor over the last danish. But he knew he had no chance and wisely stepped off.
A mama bird decided to deposit two tiny blue eggs in her nest.
Unfortunately, she built her nest in my flowers. My flowers are on the deck. Two feet from my front door. The screen door two hellions cranked up on Fla-Vor-Ice burst in and out of approximately 4 million times a day. She is not happy with me. Never knew a bird had the ability to glare.
In keeping with my hallucination/insomnia theme, I’m currently reading the fascinating book Hallucinations by one of my favorite authors, Dr. Oliver Sacks. I’ve suffered from migraine with aura since I was about 12. I see zigzag lights, blind spots etc. I still often have hypnopompic hallucinations at night. Mine are always giant multi-colored spiders either scurrying up the walls or hanging mere inches from my face. As you can imagine this is a little unsettling for me.In the past I’ve smacked them with a pillow or screamed. Thankfully, the spiders disintegrate the second I try to kill them. It’s frustrating because it leaves me wide awake and in a complete panic. Naturally, my yelling “AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!” wakes my husband as well. I tell him it’s payback for all his snoring.
Still, I wonder — why spiders?! Why can’t I hallucinate pretty flowers or stacks of cash or even a hairy Wonder Woman? I’ve decided to write Dr. Sacks a letter and ask him these pressing questions. If he writes back I’ll be sure to let you all know.
Okay, that’s it for my lazy, crazy, hazy, hairy Wonder Woman summer. What’s new with you guys?
Happy Fourth of July, America! Ever wonder what Betsy Ross really thought of Thomas Jefferson? Or why Nicolas Cage is a “so bad he’s good” actor? Or why, in the immortal words of Bobby Brady, we should never “play ball in the house”? Then come on over to The Nudge Wink Report posthaste to find out.
Happy Fourth of July, America! So, do you think you’re patriotic enough*? Let’s find out!
Whose signature is the largest on the Declaration of Independence?
a) Thomas Jefferson
b) Samuel Adams
c) J O H N H A N C O C K
Who thought John Hancock was the world’s biggest pompous ass?
a) Thomas Jefferson
c) Everyone but especially Thomas Jefferson
What is written upside down on the back of the Declaration of Independence?
a) “Original Declaration of Independence dated 4th July 1776”
b) “Made in China”
c) “Let it be forever known thou shalt never permit Nicolas Cage to star in a moving picture show about this document.”
d) A series of complicated hieroglyphics that when deciphered states: “We hereby surmise Nicolas Cage shall be the worst actor alive or dead. He must be stopped at all costs forthwith. Posthaste. That means right away. Immediately. What are thou standing…