Because Sometimes The Thought Is Worth Sh*t...

This is going to be a VERY SPECIAL Christmas for the men in my life:

International Male.

"They have great side splits" AND are machine washable??!!

You read it right! Go ahead. Browse the site. Do it for Jesus.

Some items are selling out fast.

* Thanks to Hank for this hot holiday shopping tip.

If You Need Me, I'll Be In My Bunker

"Did mom tell you about the WWII bomb shelter on our property?"

And so started the phone conversation I had with my sister tonight.

Here's what went down on Sunday, transcript style:

( A lazy Sunday evening in my parent's household. My sister's friend's Uncle as dinner guest--let's call him SFU...because everyone loves acronyms)

SFU: It's so strange to be here. You know, I almost bought this house in 1978 from Dr. Mona, the old owner, but I decided not to because of the old bomb shelter...wouldn't be able to build on that part of the land and all...

My Dad: The what?

SFU: You know, the WWII bomb shelter?

My Dad: You mean that shack beyond the pond?

SFU: No...the shelter...the underground shelter?? It's just beyond the shack...maybe under it.

My Dad: OH! (Flashback to 1990 when Dr. Mona tells my dad about a bomb shelter, and my father assumes he's talking about a wooden shack because 1) his english not so good, and 2) Dr. Mona is pointing towards the shack)

My Mom: What if there's treasure in there?!?!

My Dad: What if there are dead bodies in there??!

My Mom: What if the dead people were rich and are still wearing all of their jewelry?!

--At this point, my father looks over at my mother in disgust, and SFU takes his leave---

Update: My father still has not located the shelter, but (true to form) has been taking his time collecting "tools" with which to go look for it. The search is to take place tomorrow, and my mother is praying that the poor (dumb) souls who may be stuck in there had a penchant for diamonds.

Oh Bollocks...

First Katrina, then the bombings in Jordan, and now this. When will the bad news stop coming?!

Unless!...'british men in established relationships'....if that's not a call for Chris Martin's sperm, i don't know what is (hmnn. that really made more sense in my head).

It's just like an epic Hollywood love story: There's a serious shortage, and only Chris can save the future of Britain. Also, my parents would like grandchildren and it looks like my older married sister of three years isn't producing the goods. That leaves me. and Chris. Together, we can salvage the future of my family and bring yet another really really ridiculously good-looking supermodel into the world.

Because in these times of hardship, we need hope to help us carry on. And pretty mixed children. Pretty children are key.

Bitter, Party of 1?

My recent pursuit of First Base in the City has led me to a fascinating and enjoyable pattern: dating multiples. By dating multiples, I mean dating several people at the same time. This strategy works a lot like hedge funds. By not putting all of your stock in one man, you can only ever be half-disappointed, at the most. If you're dating three men, your level of emotional risk drops to 33.33%, and so on. This rests on the assumption that only one man can disappoint you at any one moment, which is fair, unless you conference call all of your dates from the previous weekend, or have a "team meeting" around mid-week to check on everyone's progress or something. Believe me, I learned the hard way, no one likes that.

My two main relationships at the moment are with Rod*, the 35 year-old who is terrible on paper but wonderful in person, and Danny*, the poet/bartender who I went out with last Friday and drunk dialed last Saturday. Now, I know what you're thinking. And for the record, I'm not a whore. No one, no not no one, likes to be let down. So, consider me a genius for coming up with this amazing system. And if these two fall through, there is a cute lawyer where I work who has been flirting with me heavily since his arrival from France about 2 weeks ago. Yes, that's right, he's French. And a lawyer. So, there's really no conceivable way he's not an asshole. But God help me, that's my type. In addition, I have agreed to go speed-dating with my recently-broken-up-with friend, Jane*. They apparently have some sort of special speed-dating thing for Indian people, so I can stop disappointing my parents. Love is in the air. Or is that, wait, is that brimstone?

"Maybe If You Made Your Bed More Often, Mommy and Daddy Wouldn't Be Getting A Divorce"

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer. More recently, the reality of my extreme lack of talent hit me like an abusive step-father, and I recognized that this, coupled with my short attention span and very limited vocabulary, would prove a hindrance to my lofty goal.

Then I had an epiphany. More accurately, then I had three beers and a vodka tonic. THEN I had an epiphany. Of sorts. Sitting in the children's section of Barnes and Noble, where I often go just to get away from the crowds and feel young again, I wondered about two things:

1) Has anyone ever been arrested for public drunkeness in a bookstore...in the middle of the day? and,
2) How the hell do Madonna and Jerry Seinfeld both have published children's books? and,
3) Are you kidding me? Madonna?!

I know what you're thinking. The third thought was really more of an extension of the second so it doesn't stand on its own. Oh, and I'm not sure why I go to the bookstore after drinking. That's a question only my psychiatrist and maybe God could answer (maybe God...I still have serious doubts about His so-called omniscience.)

Let's focus here. I had a point. Oh yes! I decided that I didn't have to completely give up my dream of becoming a writer...I could write Children's Books!! Maybe I'll never be in the same league as E.B. White or Shel Silverstein, but with a bit of hard work and maybe some hashish, I bet I could write something at least as educational and clever as Britney Spears' much anticipated book.

So that's where we are now. I'm writing a kid's book. I'd like to draw from my own childhood experiences, but I'm not sure if "Why Mom Keeps Telling Her Friends You Were A Mistake" or "How Chess Club Made Me An Outcast In Middle School" would really make good titles.

Any ideas would be appreciated. One helpful reader has already sent in some good potential titles. Don't let them beat you to the punch. There's a place on the dedication page with your name all over it.