Well, since my good idea didn't mosey on back from where ever it's gotten off to, I'm going to play off Jenny O's idea.
Jenny said that even if she did write her ideas down, it's unlikely that she'd be able to interpret them later.
Friends....this has also happened to me.
I'll share below some excerpts from two notebooks I keep-one in my house and one in my bag-and maybe you can tell me where the hell I was going with them. And if an idea strikes a creative chord in you? By all means, go forth and produce.
1, Tornado on the surface of the sun
2, I don't think Stephen King would like me
3. How the AARP is like the mafia
4. Alien commercials
5. Comma specialist
6. Help me to help you
7. I live with three males. As long as I keep ketchup in the house it's a drama-free zone
8. Bat Cat Rat Hairless Cat
9. Hey you, get offa my Chi
10. Namaste, Bitches
11. I'm not a robot. I just have bad eyesight.
12. My bounce rate in Texas is not good
13. Basically, I'm my target audience
14. Pillow marketing
15. Bed of nails? What's that like.
16. Bruce Springsteen might be Jesus
Any of this inspiring you? Nope? No idea what I'm talking about? Me either!
I think I might be onto something with Bruce Springsteen, though.
Ok, Namaste Bitches
Chicken out
Showing posts with label Bruce Springsteen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bruce Springsteen. Show all posts
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Me: On a Diet
The day before the diet: No sugar, no dairy, no wheat, no problem! It's just 14 days, right? I can do anything for 14 days. That's it! I'm totally going on this diet. Tomorrow. First, I have to watch all the videos about the diet, post them on face book, buy 45 pounds of fresh produce, buy some cute new clothes in my future size and drink all the wine in the house.
Two weeks go by: 45 pounds of once fresh produce are emptied from the vegetable bin.
The day before the diet (take 2): Oh. My. God. These can't be my fat pants. And where are my feet?
Day 1: This is the most boring diet ever. Water. And more water. And celery. Oh, hey, look, a thumb-size portion of salmon and 4 cups of raw cabbage!
Day 2: Dr. Oz is a raging psychopath. Sure, he looks nice. Ted Bundy looked nice. I haven't lost one bloody pound. I hate this diet. I hate Dr. Oz.
Day 3: What I could do is, get tickets for the show, disguise myself as a harmless elderly person, and then when that psychotic bastard makes his entrance, I could leap onto the stage, smash him in the face with my purse, then run up the middle aisle and be out of the building before anyone has time to react. That would show him. Why hasn't someone already thought of this?
Day 4: Or I could kidnap him, tie him up in my basement, and force feed him donuts and wonder bread for three months. Then, when he's fat and hooked, I'll feed him nothing but water, celery, and the occasional 6 ounces of chicken. See how he likes it.
Day 5: I could just eat him...
Day 6: Remember when we could have wine? Remember cheese and crackers? Oh oh oh, remember that chocolate fudge birthday cake that time? Good times.
Day 7: If I were rich, I would buy my own liposuction machine. I'd suck all the fat out of my ass and inject some into my cheeks. Then I'd send the rest to Dr. Oz. In a red wagon.
Day 8: If I were rich and had my own liposuction machine, all of the housewives would want to be my friends, except maybe Lisa Vanderpump. Her house probably has its own liposuction salon.
Day 9: Lisa's liposuction salon probably employs mean, ridiculously attractive millennials who'll make up the cast of the next Bravo reality show, Vanderpump Hoes.
Day 10: I mean Hose.
Day 11: The next person in this house who asks me, "What's for dinner?", is going to get pistol-whipped with this bunch of celery. They'll be like, "Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?", and I'll be like, "Oh, hey, meet my leetle friend! Smack. Smack. Smack." That's what you get for being able to eat potatoes.
Day 12: I could make a documentary about dieting. I'll renovate a Winnebago and travel cross country interviewing people on diets. The cinematography will be stunning; the narrative, life-changing. I'll dedicate it to Dr. Oz.
Day 13: In the movie version of me making a movie, Nicole Kidman can play me. I'll hang out on the set. We'll eat broccoli and chia seeds together.
Day 14: If I film part of my documentary in Hawaii, and I'm invited to a luau, I won't be able to eat anything but the pig. I'll bet that's considered bad form."Oh, hey, Aloha, where's your pig?"
Day 15: It's probably not that easy to get a Winnebago to Hawaii anyway, which is too bad because I LOST 10 POUNDS. I would look stunning in a muumuu. If Bruce Springsteen saw me in a muumuu, he'd probably write a song about it. And sing it at the luau. Then we'd sit in a corner by ourselves, eating all the pig.
Day 16: Mmmmm Wine.
2 weeks later: Whaaaaa? Who inflated me???? And where are my feet?
Two weeks go by: 45 pounds of once fresh produce are emptied from the vegetable bin.
The day before the diet (take 2): Oh. My. God. These can't be my fat pants. And where are my feet?
Day 1: This is the most boring diet ever. Water. And more water. And celery. Oh, hey, look, a thumb-size portion of salmon and 4 cups of raw cabbage!
Day 2: Dr. Oz is a raging psychopath. Sure, he looks nice. Ted Bundy looked nice. I haven't lost one bloody pound. I hate this diet. I hate Dr. Oz.
Day 3: What I could do is, get tickets for the show, disguise myself as a harmless elderly person, and then when that psychotic bastard makes his entrance, I could leap onto the stage, smash him in the face with my purse, then run up the middle aisle and be out of the building before anyone has time to react. That would show him. Why hasn't someone already thought of this?
Day 4: Or I could kidnap him, tie him up in my basement, and force feed him donuts and wonder bread for three months. Then, when he's fat and hooked, I'll feed him nothing but water, celery, and the occasional 6 ounces of chicken. See how he likes it.
Day 5: I could just eat him...
Day 6: Remember when we could have wine? Remember cheese and crackers? Oh oh oh, remember that chocolate fudge birthday cake that time? Good times.
Day 7: If I were rich, I would buy my own liposuction machine. I'd suck all the fat out of my ass and inject some into my cheeks. Then I'd send the rest to Dr. Oz. In a red wagon.
Day 8: If I were rich and had my own liposuction machine, all of the housewives would want to be my friends, except maybe Lisa Vanderpump. Her house probably has its own liposuction salon.
Day 9: Lisa's liposuction salon probably employs mean, ridiculously attractive millennials who'll make up the cast of the next Bravo reality show, Vanderpump Hoes.
Day 10: I mean Hose.
Day 11: The next person in this house who asks me, "What's for dinner?", is going to get pistol-whipped with this bunch of celery. They'll be like, "Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?", and I'll be like, "Oh, hey, meet my leetle friend! Smack. Smack. Smack." That's what you get for being able to eat potatoes.
Day 12: I could make a documentary about dieting. I'll renovate a Winnebago and travel cross country interviewing people on diets. The cinematography will be stunning; the narrative, life-changing. I'll dedicate it to Dr. Oz.
Day 13: In the movie version of me making a movie, Nicole Kidman can play me. I'll hang out on the set. We'll eat broccoli and chia seeds together.
Day 14: If I film part of my documentary in Hawaii, and I'm invited to a luau, I won't be able to eat anything but the pig. I'll bet that's considered bad form."Oh, hey, Aloha, where's your pig?"
Day 15: It's probably not that easy to get a Winnebago to Hawaii anyway, which is too bad because I LOST 10 POUNDS. I would look stunning in a muumuu. If Bruce Springsteen saw me in a muumuu, he'd probably write a song about it. And sing it at the luau. Then we'd sit in a corner by ourselves, eating all the pig.
Day 16: Mmmmm Wine.
2 weeks later: Whaaaaa? Who inflated me???? And where are my feet?
 |
| You can have the fruit. I'll take the pig. |
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
If You Give a Chicken a Glass of Wine
If you give a Chicken a glass of wine she will want a cigarette to go with it.
You will point out that smoking is not healthy for man nor fowl. She will agree with you and thank you for the reminder. She'll have another glass of wine instead.
Ten minutes later she will ask you to drive to the store for munchies. She will load up your arms with three kinds of dip, potato chips, corn chips, Doritos and cheese curls. Just in case, she'll throw in another bottle of Chardonnay. Then she will ask the clerk for some cigarettes. Chickens are impulsive, devious creatures. You know that. What were you thinking?
On the way home the song "Don't Stop Believin'" circa 1981 will come on your radio and she will yell, "This is my FAVORITE song!!". She will roll down your windows, turn up the volume and sing along even though she only knows the first line and the chorus. That second glass of wine is starting to kick in. She will stick her head out of your sky roof and yell, with no particular connection but much passion, "I love you Bruce!!!".
When she comes back inside the car her hair will look like it did in 1981.
Her hair will remind her of blue eye shadow and cute boys.
And she will want some.
At the next stop light she will notice a convertible full of cute boys. She will have her head out of the sun roof, just about to invite them back to your place, when you will pull her back down and remind her firmly that she is no longer 18. Thank God for you.
This will, however, remind her that once she was 18, and she will want to go to look at your old high school yearbook. There, among the corn chips, the dip and the second bottle of Chardonnay, she will be hit by a tsunami of nostalgia. She might weep a little. She will want to get dressed up in old prom dresses.
Once you are both dressed in old prom dresses and blue eye shadow, she will want to take a picture. While you load her selfie onto her Facebook page, she will decide that she NEEDS to hear "Stairway to Heaven", her prom song, and will search frantically through all of your old cassettes. She'll forget about "Stairway to Heaven" when she comes across "Jesse's Girl". She'll once again proclaim, "This is my FAVORITE song" while singing loudly and out of tune, with traces of orange cheese curl powder around her mouth.
Not pretty. And you've been patient. You will suggest watching your DVD of "Flashdance". Chicken will be all for it, but first, she will need to rip up one of your old sweatshirts.
And chances are, if you give her a sweatshirt and watch Flashdance, she is going to ask for another glass of wine.
Chicken out
You will point out that smoking is not healthy for man nor fowl. She will agree with you and thank you for the reminder. She'll have another glass of wine instead.
Ten minutes later she will ask you to drive to the store for munchies. She will load up your arms with three kinds of dip, potato chips, corn chips, Doritos and cheese curls. Just in case, she'll throw in another bottle of Chardonnay. Then she will ask the clerk for some cigarettes. Chickens are impulsive, devious creatures. You know that. What were you thinking?
On the way home the song "Don't Stop Believin'" circa 1981 will come on your radio and she will yell, "This is my FAVORITE song!!". She will roll down your windows, turn up the volume and sing along even though she only knows the first line and the chorus. That second glass of wine is starting to kick in. She will stick her head out of your sky roof and yell, with no particular connection but much passion, "I love you Bruce!!!".
When she comes back inside the car her hair will look like it did in 1981.
Her hair will remind her of blue eye shadow and cute boys.
And she will want some.
At the next stop light she will notice a convertible full of cute boys. She will have her head out of the sun roof, just about to invite them back to your place, when you will pull her back down and remind her firmly that she is no longer 18. Thank God for you.
This will, however, remind her that once she was 18, and she will want to go to look at your old high school yearbook. There, among the corn chips, the dip and the second bottle of Chardonnay, she will be hit by a tsunami of nostalgia. She might weep a little. She will want to get dressed up in old prom dresses.
Once you are both dressed in old prom dresses and blue eye shadow, she will want to take a picture. While you load her selfie onto her Facebook page, she will decide that she NEEDS to hear "Stairway to Heaven", her prom song, and will search frantically through all of your old cassettes. She'll forget about "Stairway to Heaven" when she comes across "Jesse's Girl". She'll once again proclaim, "This is my FAVORITE song" while singing loudly and out of tune, with traces of orange cheese curl powder around her mouth.
Not pretty. And you've been patient. You will suggest watching your DVD of "Flashdance". Chicken will be all for it, but first, she will need to rip up one of your old sweatshirts.
And chances are, if you give her a sweatshirt and watch Flashdance, she is going to ask for another glass of wine.
Chicken out
 |
| This is not Chicken. It might be Chicken's hair in 1981, though. |
(revised from 2011 post: If you give a Chicken a glass of chardonnay)
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