Next weekend is the First Annual Lip Sync Showcase. I have to prepare a number. What song would you choose? I’ve been profoundly contemplating my choice. I’m not sure what to perform. As a fan of Lip Sync Battle, I’ve been paying close attention to what works and what doesn’t. Nobody wants an earnest lip sync situation. The song must be worded with a wink. There are some obvious go-to’s. I want to avoid those. No Gloria Gaynor. No Madonna. But you don’t want to go too obscure or dark. It’s preferable when everyone in the audience knows the words. Speaking of audience, the selection must hype the people. I know a kid who insists on karaoke-ing Happiness is a Warm Gun, and it is such a bummer every single time. Don’t be that guy. An upbeat song choice is key, but you don’t want to go too corny either. I’m auditioning a few different ditties – and there’s choreography to consider. I gotta get to werk. And for those of you participating, I look forward to experiencing the full gamut of magic you have to offer.
I’m not a huge fan of the air kiss. To me, it smacks of insincerity, but I’ve accepted it’s part and parcel of a standard greeting for certain people, and therefore cannot be entirely avoided. Outside of Italy, how am I supposed to know if we air kiss one, two, or three times? You treble kissers must have strong and nimble necks. There is one particularly ferocious air kisser, who doesn’t seem to understand the “air” part of air kisser. On a weekly basis, she plants a fat, glossy, wet smooch on my cheek. I feel the gooey gloss on my cheek after her lips depart. This is often before I have to teach class, so I’m always paranoid that I have lip prints on my cheek. I love her, but too much moisture, hunny. If we must touch upon greeting socially (which as far as I’m concerned we don’t), I prefer handslap over all other available options. Obviously, a firm handshake is the only appropriate contact for business situations. That’s where many of us could use some work, the handshake department. With some folks, it’s like yanking a sad, little limp dick.
When should we complain? That’s the question of the moment. In 2015, We are already mired in passive aggressive energy courtesy of the Year of the Sheep. That means we are all in for a lot of subtle bitching both serving and getting served in the complaint department. When you are as critical as I can be, there are always areas of dissatisfaction. When is it worth it to express that dissatisfaction and expect a meaningful response?The following unsatisfactory situations recently occurred. Which would you complain about and which would you just suck up without complaint?
1) I visited a waxer. After less than 15 minutes on her table, she declared me “finished.” She did not remove enough hair to actually clear my bikini line. The line between the crease and the thigh still had hair. She did not even go a quarter of an inch inside the crease. The treatment cost $37 for a “classic bikini wax.” Request more removal or leave hairy and dissatisfied?
2) I checked into a hotel room and hair from the last guest was all over the floor and bathtub. Criticize housekeeping or clean up the mess?
3) My dentist urged me to spend big money on a bite analysis and revision. After thousands of dollars my bite still didn’t feel right and my teeth uncomfortably bumped together. Furthermore, at my last cleaning, the technician didn’t polish my teeth. Fuss or suffer?4) My neighbors are door slammers. Bitch to the HOA or endure the clamor?How did you answer to each of these scenarios? Here are my answers: 1) didn’t request a waxing revision; 2) hate-cleaned it myself; 3) made him fix it (I basically paid for a chunk of his kid’s college last year for what I spent in his office); 4) haven’t notified the HOA….yet.
Well kiddos, I made it a month without smoking grass. I can hardly believe it myself. There have been some trying times. I managed to avoid puffing at a party, during relationship duress, and through several sleepless nights. After I made it through the physical detox, a new set of psychological challenges emerged. What surfaced was a deep well of seething rage that I’ve been spouting out in every direction at anyone who even slightly annoys me. It’s fair to say that without weed, I’m a total cunt. All my physical symptoms have diminished. No more sharp pains between my ribs. The wheeze is gone, as is the choking feeling I experienced around my throat. My moods, however, need regulation. For quite some time, I’ve been using ganja like some people use lithium – to manage moods. While I was aware of my dope dependency, I didn’t realize until I quit that I arrested my emotional development by using instead of feeling. Now, at this late stage in the life game, I’ve got to come up with new ways to cope with the depressing state of the human condition. I’m far from figuring out a consistent solution, but I’m working several different angles – yoga, meditation, and therapy, to name a few. Some days these methods are effective, and I can self-soothe my frustration. And some days I yell “fat boy” at my neighbor for continuously slamming his door like an obnoxious idiot. I’m not proud of the way I behave when I get aggressive with others, but I’m working on it. I also wonder if I will ever be able to successfully reintroduce miss maryjane back into my life in a similar fashion to the relationship I have with alcohol – which is I can take it or leave it. I don’t crave booze. I can have a Scotch occasionally with friends and go months without a drink. It is this relationship of non-attachment that I strive for in every area of my life.
After hate-reading Frankel’s latest relationship advice book, I word-snacked on Giuliana Rancic’s Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney’s 32 On-Screen Rejections. I know, my literary predilections are so intellectual right now. Due to extremely low expectations, I enjoyed Giuliana’s book more than I thought I would, especially her recounting of pulling a bitch out of class and beating her ass in the high school hallway, nearly choking out her college boyfriend, and confirming Jerry O’Connell is an epic social-climbing douche. You can take the girl out of Naples, but not the Naples out of the girl…Now I’m thoroughly enjoying the illuminating Is Gwyneth Paltrow Wrong About Everything?: How the Famous Sell Us Elixirs of Health, Beauty & Happiness by Timothy Caulfield. In my line of work, someone is always bragging about improving themselves with the latest cleanse, juicing, or ridiculous beauty treatment. We’ve all fallen prey. Caulfield debunks the efficacy of a number of diets and beauty treatments by exposing the utter lack of scientific basis behind most of the shit celebs shill. The hyped Dr. Junger Clean Cleanse promoted by Gwyneth Paltrow is apparently total bullshit. Facials and facial acupuncture have no merit. Adrenal fatigue is medical fiction. According to this book, most of what you spend your time and money on has absolutely no bearing on your health or beauty. It is both depressing – when considering how much money and time I’ve wasted on bunk beauty bullshit, and refreshing – in knowing how much money, time, and energy I’ll save moving forward by sticking with what really works. And what is that you ask? There are no secrets. It’s all stuff you’ve heard before. Eat a diet comprised of at least 50% fruits and vegetables. Wear sunscreen. Sleep. Beyond these basic time-tested truths, science suggests very little else has any impact on your beauty or health at all.
Best wishes to my longtime friends Michael and Ryan who recently became engaged in gay Paris! Wishing you two the very best as you continue your celebration in Rome! I’m thrilled for you both as you embrace this lifelong commitment. Better you than me, gentlemen; better you than me.
Sending big love to my favorite mommy-to-be Wendy. I so enjoyed serving as your pregnancy bitch and taking a culinary tour of Oakland County. I can’t wait to meet little Tova. May her arrival be swift and painless.Happy housewarming to Katie and Broc who recently purchased their first new home together; may it shelter you from the storms.
As you already know, Bethenny’s got a new book out called I Suck at Relationships So You Don’t Have To: 10 Rules for Not Screwing Up Your Happily Ever After. Let me ask you this, would you trust a cookbook written by someone who can’t cook? No? Well then don’t bother with this overindulgent mess of a relationship advice book. Bethenny has no business giving advice on the topic of relationships. She’s destroyed or failed to maintain virtually every relationship in her life – parents, friends, and lovers. It’s not like she’s been through it and come out the other side healthy and healed. Bethenny’s still duking it out in court with her opportunist of a soon-to-be ex-husband. Most of the advice isn’t bad per se, it’s just self-evident and obvious. Examples include: make your own money; listen to your gut; and don’t waste time on relationships that are going nowhere. No shit, Skinnygirl.I wish she would have written on topics on which she is more qualified to pontificate. I’d rather read How to Bust Balls and Not Give a Shit, or Enjoy Your Wealth without Longing for a Man.Get yourself an accommodating cabana boy and quit your boofuckinghooing, Frankel.
You read it right. I quit Mary Jane. It has only been 7 days, but the first week is the hardest, right? (Fuck, I hope so.) I’ve been smoking grass for 20 years. I’ve had a hardcore daily habit for at least 10 years. Bong hits for breakfast; bong hits for lunch; bong hits before bed; that was the routine for a decade. Since I was a high-functioning addict, I managed to graduate university and law school with high honors, and pass the bar on the first try. I was able to hold down professional jobs stoned. Nobody knew or they didn’t care. I’ve driven everywhere stoned. I’ve engaged with parents, professors, bosses, and law enforcement high. During virtually all my interactions with friends and lovers, I’ve been under the influence of our green leafy friend.While universally supportive, the first response most of my friends had when I told them I quit was, “why?” I found this question interesting, since my friends know gawddam well that I’m probably the biggest fucking stoner they know. Isn’t it obvious why? Let’s start with the sharp pain in my ribs that felt even more intense and persistent after a day pulling tubes. The wheeze I developed with a quick intake of breath was certainly cause for concern. Top it off with a tight uncomfortable choking feeling around my throat and thyroid. Physically, my body has been saying “stop” for some time. Well, enough is enough. I’m a grown-ass woman. Beyond the physical ramifications, I don’t want to be enslaved or addicted to anything. Addiction robs you of freedom and self-control. Whether I’d like to admit it or not, many of my decisions were motivated by a desire to serve my addiction. What a waste of time, energy, and money.I ain’t gonna front like it has been easy. This week, I’ve been a really big bitch. My fuse is short. I’m impatient. I’m annoyed. That’s because I’m having to cope with those unpleasant feelings I’ve been avoiding for the past 20 years. Sleeplessness, mental confusion, and lack of appetite haven’t helped my mood. I’m sweat detoxing and stink. It’s really not a good look – except for those 5 lbs I’ve lost just in time for my trip to Grand Cayman.Look, my ex would get really sanctimonious and judgmental every time he quit weed, and then like clockwork three months later he’d be asking me for the bong. I’m not about that hypocritical bullshit. What you do with your body and your life is your business. However, if you are contemplating a change in your life – whether it be smoking, drinking, eating, or whatever your addiction, I encourage you to get a hold of the situation. While difficult, it isn’t as hard as you think. All rationalizations and expensive rehabs aside, for most (who don’t require medical supervision to detox, eehhm alcohol and benzos) it really just boils down to a decision to quit. Quitting requires courage, fortitude, and commitment, but once you do, you’ll not only be free of your addiction, you will know what you are made of for the rest of your life.
Call ’em biscuit heels (™ MWY). Call it flip-flop feet. Dry, cracked, nasty-ass feet are unacceptable. There are numerous foot creams on the market, but I haven’t found one that has the power to truly remove thick callouses. Momentary softening, maybe, but true dead skin removal requires a more powerful product. I don’t like going to get professional pedicures. I think it’s gross. Pedicures make me uncomfortable, and I don’t really like nail polish. I certainly would never let a pedicurist razor my callouses off in such an unhygienic environment. We’ve all heard the horror stories of fungus and worse that you can contract from pedicure tubs. What is a flaky footed fucker to do?
Procure a high-grade glycolic peel designed for the face and apply it to your feet. Try Skin Obsession 30% Glycolic Acid Chemical Peel. Now, if you use this stuff on your face you might burn, redden, and subsequently peel. The effects are less drastic, but still meaningful on the feet. Make sure your feet are clean. Do a test patch. Don’t accidentally get it in your eyes. Have a baking soda and water mix handy should you need to neutralize. Soak a cotton pad in the acid and thoroughly wipe the bottom of your clean feet before bed. Concentrate on areas of thicker skin. I don’t even feel a tingle when I apply 30% glycolic acid solution to my feet, so I don’t bother neutralizing. If you feel burning you may want to use the baking water and soda to return the normal PH of your skin. Use your judgement. This shouldn’t hurt. It will remove those stubborn callouses like nothing else I have found. Keep the biscuits at the Cracker Barrel, ya’ll.