Hi Worldians,
Hope you've been well. I've been thinking, and similar to Lady GaGa's thoughts, it almost never ends in a good place. At least it ends in a lucrative place for Lady GaGa. For me, it just generally leads to more disassociation.
1. I've been thinking about purses. I don't like any of the names we have for lady bags. Purses, pocket books, bags...these terms are all outdated. Brand a better name. Boots are in this year. Maybe you could call it a BodBoot. A ShoulderSack. OMG there IS no good name for a bag that hangs off your shoulder. That's it. We should just all stop carrying them. Hear Chicken's call for a new social order. I like to call it Occupy Coach. We will camp in front of Coach headquarters until someone comes up with a new name for..I can't even say it....But hey, Who's with me? Anyone? Someone? Please?
2. I've been thinking about head lice. There's a vaccination for Chicken Pox, which you can't even see until it hits you, but no bright-eyed Stanford major has figured out a way to rid the world of these foul, itchy, jumpy little bastards?
3. I used to think that "genius" was all about what you know. Now I think it is all about understanding what other people think they know.
4. I can't buy anything artificially red or blue anymore. Food scientists, are you paying attention? I'm terrified of color additives. I heard they make my kids hyper. I'd probably buy your "energy drink", under pressure, if it didn't look like Smurf ambrosia. Just sayin'.
5. "Just sayin'" is a horrible thing to say. It is crass, it is disrespectful, it is grammatically incorrect and it is sarcastic. And I'm going to stop saying it. Tomorrow. Just sayin'.
6. I'd like to be young or I'd like to be old. Being middle-aged is too close to average.
7. Well. Middle-age can be sort of a fun hodge-podge in this baby boomer age. Who really knows what is normal? It's like jumping down Alice's rabbit hole and meeting Elton John first thing. And he introduces you to his baby. And then Martha Stewart comes along and wants to teach Elton how to grow an organic garden and make his own baby food. Elton is so touched that he writes a song about how Martha is misunderstood and fragile, probably like a candle in the wind, and then Ralph Lauren is inspired to design a whole line of organic clothing, aptly named "Just Martha", and through it all, Yoko Ono maintains that Elton's song is about her. As does Mick Jagger. Then Kirstie Alley loses 60 pounds eating Martha's organic baby food, hooks up with Ashton Kutcher and Miami Vice wear comes back in style, and....well...I could go on and on. It's a confusing age.
8. Come to think of it, Middle-age is the age to be, as long as you live it with confidence.
9. Until the World Ends next year, in which case many of us baby boomers might have a bit to answer for and offering to make the Pearly Gates a little more pearly, if you know what I mean, isn't going to get us far.
10. Unless you are very pleasant, humble and easy to be around, in which case, why wouldn't God want to hang with you? Hey. I learned that in Kindergarten!
I started out with purses and ended with apocalypse. Is there a connection?
Be well, Worldans. To those of my blogger friends facing challenges right now, please know my thoughts are with you, and to those of you celebrating the sweetness of life, my thoughts are with you.
Chicken out
Friday, October 21, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Fun Friday? I'm in.
Hi World,
It is Fun Friday, Follow Friday, and all those other fun "F" words. So here is one of my favorite new videos except I do not believe it is that new since Teenager Who Lives In the Basement cannot believe I've never heard of Epic Rap Battles. But whatever.
I give you...
Shakespeare vs. Dr. Seuss
Who do you think won? I can't decide. Shakespeare is fast, but the Dr. is a favorite in my house. I think Thing One & Two might have given him an edge.
It is Fun Friday, Follow Friday, and all those other fun "F" words. So here is one of my favorite new videos except I do not believe it is that new since Teenager Who Lives In the Basement cannot believe I've never heard of Epic Rap Battles. But whatever.
I give you...
Shakespeare vs. Dr. Seuss
Who do you think won? I can't decide. Shakespeare is fast, but the Dr. is a favorite in my house. I think Thing One & Two might have given him an edge.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Chicken Got Mail or Fan Folly, depending on your perception
Hi World,
Guess what? Huh? Huh?
No, guess!
No, George Clooney did not marry me, he married some other chick, according to Joann Mannix. I know, the resemblence is uncanny.
Alright (rolling eyes) I will tell you. I got mail! Yes! Someone, in an apparently desperate attempt to revive Chicken's flagging career as prolific blogger, actually asked me, Chicken, for advice. Oh the folly. Shakespeare would have a field day.
But me? I'm just wildly flattered. And of course, I have answers. Not only do I have answers, but so does Pearl Annabelle LaFleur. Just this one time, I'm going to post both our answers on this page, but going forward (because I know, based on this audition, that you all will have questions), we will post my advice on this page and Pearl's advice on her page. Two opinions for the price of one and they are both free! And, ah, you know, right, about the tongue/cheek ratio?
First, Lived La Vida Loco writes:
I was cleaning out the spare room yesterday, and came across pictures from my college days. Said pictures present me living my college life to its fullest. Suffice to say, it's not a path I wish my progeny to pursue. Should I shred the pictures or pray that they keep hidden away until after both have acquired their MBA's?
Signed,
(Therapist note: Progeny? WTF is progeny? It is totally obvious to me that LLVL learned some good words in college, if nothing else, and for that, he/she should be commended.)
Dear Lived La Vida Loco:
Yes, I see your problem. I have some questions I must ask. First of all, do you have any tattoos, and if so, where are they located? Second, what are "progeny"? Do they have anything at all to do with parents? Because, generally, I believe that parents are better off not knowing what you were up to while they were paying for your college education. The ones they may not have had access to. And I have to ask, why are you still living with your parents and where are they going to school? Are you paying for it? Is that why you are so concerned? At any rate, a little la vida loco never hurts the old folk. I say order a case of hurricane mix, throw in some mardi gras beads, and throw a themed keg party in their honor. Hope this helps.
And now, Pearl's advice:
Chicken, first of all, quit with the tattoo questions. Not everyone has your obsession with tattoos. Second of all, this reader presents with a legitimate concern. Use your dictionary, Chicken. Finally, obviously, this is a female writer. How many former frat boys do you know with shoeboxes of evidence hidden in their house? Or any concern whatsoever that it might be discovered? Just sayin'.
And LLVL, what were you thinking asking Chicken for advice? Have you seen her graduation picture? Here it is:
Notice anything? Yes, Chicken was absent on picture day. She was living a little La Vida Loca her own damn self. She was probably out getting her right breast tattooed.
But lucky for you, Old Pearl is here, Honey, to help you adjust to No Vida Loca Ever (NVLE) status. Here's what you will need to deal with this situation:
First, take the rosary, the bible, the photo and a copy of your degree. Put them in a battered shoe box marked with your graduation year and labeled "Top Secret". Leave in an obvious location, like the top right hand corner of your closet. Next, gather all incriminating evidence and hope to hell your kids ain't as nosy as Chicken's because otherwise, you've been found out, fool.
Second, either set up your campfire or call Switzerland to find out how to get one of them top secret security box accounts like you see in the movies. I definitely recommend the campfire, because then the fun just keeps on coming. Take your beverage of choice and your incriminating evidence out to the campfire. Pour a drink and toast those photos one at a time. Relive each photo before watching it go up in flames (just like your youth!).
When you are done, write down a few alternate memories in a fake journal, as an additional distraction from the truth device. Consider it a memoir of what might have been, if you hadn't been busy surfing cars an' boys, and listening to the devil's music and whatnot.
Then what you do is you toast some marshmallows and your childrens' futures, knowing your past is beyond progenic inspection, providing you don't tell campfire stories; or talk in your sleep; or have a husband who talks in his sleep; or have parents who talk whenever they feel like it just for fun and revenge. Yeah, that last one's the bitch.
Good luck LLVL. Just know that one day you'll have grandchildren and then? All the fun begins again.
Love,
Pearl
Guess what? Huh? Huh?
No, guess!
No, George Clooney did not marry me, he married some other chick, according to Joann Mannix. I know, the resemblence is uncanny.
Alright (rolling eyes) I will tell you. I got mail! Yes! Someone, in an apparently desperate attempt to revive Chicken's flagging career as prolific blogger, actually asked me, Chicken, for advice. Oh the folly. Shakespeare would have a field day.
But me? I'm just wildly flattered. And of course, I have answers. Not only do I have answers, but so does Pearl Annabelle LaFleur. Just this one time, I'm going to post both our answers on this page, but going forward (because I know, based on this audition, that you all will have questions), we will post my advice on this page and Pearl's advice on her page. Two opinions for the price of one and they are both free! And, ah, you know, right, about the tongue/cheek ratio?
First, Lived La Vida Loco writes:
Dear Chicken,
I was cleaning out the spare room yesterday, and came across pictures from my college days. Said pictures present me living my college life to its fullest. Suffice to say, it's not a path I wish my progeny to pursue. Should I shred the pictures or pray that they keep hidden away until after both have acquired their MBA's?
Signed,
Lived La Vida Loco
(Therapist note: Progeny? WTF is progeny? It is totally obvious to me that LLVL learned some good words in college, if nothing else, and for that, he/she should be commended.)
Dear Lived La Vida Loco:
Yes, I see your problem. I have some questions I must ask. First of all, do you have any tattoos, and if so, where are they located? Second, what are "progeny"? Do they have anything at all to do with parents? Because, generally, I believe that parents are better off not knowing what you were up to while they were paying for your college education. The ones they may not have had access to. And I have to ask, why are you still living with your parents and where are they going to school? Are you paying for it? Is that why you are so concerned? At any rate, a little la vida loco never hurts the old folk. I say order a case of hurricane mix, throw in some mardi gras beads, and throw a themed keg party in their honor. Hope this helps.
Chicken
And now, Pearl's advice:
Chicken, first of all, quit with the tattoo questions. Not everyone has your obsession with tattoos. Second of all, this reader presents with a legitimate concern. Use your dictionary, Chicken. Finally, obviously, this is a female writer. How many former frat boys do you know with shoeboxes of evidence hidden in their house? Or any concern whatsoever that it might be discovered? Just sayin'.
And LLVL, what were you thinking asking Chicken for advice? Have you seen her graduation picture? Here it is:
Notice anything? Yes, Chicken was absent on picture day. She was living a little La Vida Loca her own damn self. She was probably out getting her right breast tattooed.
But lucky for you, Old Pearl is here, Honey, to help you adjust to No Vida Loca Ever (NVLE) status. Here's what you will need to deal with this situation:
- a rosary
- a bible
- a photo of you at bible camp
- a camp fire
- or a high security mailbox (think Switzerland)
- A copy of your college diploma and subsequent degrees, if possible
- A bottle of vodka or suitable substitute
- All the ingredients for s'mores (optional)
First, take the rosary, the bible, the photo and a copy of your degree. Put them in a battered shoe box marked with your graduation year and labeled "Top Secret". Leave in an obvious location, like the top right hand corner of your closet. Next, gather all incriminating evidence and hope to hell your kids ain't as nosy as Chicken's because otherwise, you've been found out, fool.
Second, either set up your campfire or call Switzerland to find out how to get one of them top secret security box accounts like you see in the movies. I definitely recommend the campfire, because then the fun just keeps on coming. Take your beverage of choice and your incriminating evidence out to the campfire. Pour a drink and toast those photos one at a time. Relive each photo before watching it go up in flames (just like your youth!).
When you are done, write down a few alternate memories in a fake journal, as an additional distraction from the truth device. Consider it a memoir of what might have been, if you hadn't been busy surfing cars an' boys, and listening to the devil's music and whatnot.
Then what you do is you toast some marshmallows and your childrens' futures, knowing your past is beyond progenic inspection, providing you don't tell campfire stories; or talk in your sleep; or have a husband who talks in his sleep; or have parents who talk whenever they feel like it just for fun and revenge. Yeah, that last one's the bitch.
Good luck LLVL. Just know that one day you'll have grandchildren and then? All the fun begins again.
Love,
Pearl
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| Don't let your kids see this Chicken out |
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