InSanity~Normalize, Don't Stigmatize Mentall Illness.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

California Dreamin' ~ Dedicated to the Mamas and the Papas, and to California dreamers everywhere

All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey.
“So you’re going to Berzerkeley?” Jim goaded, when I made my big announcement. My spinning brain didn't process his play on words. “Yeah, you’ll have to come visit me,” I responded. I knew it would never happen but wanted to give him one more chance. Jim and I recently worked together. He had asked me on a date a week earlier, but then changed his mind in favor of a concert with some friends. Thus, another disappointing man episode capped my life experiences in L.A. It was alright. I'd have no ties when I'd make my grand escape. Besides, there were bound to be some nice men in the Bay Area, if only of the “woo woo” variety. I wouldn’t be so likely to get dumped for an AC/DC concert. See ya, Jim. Wouldn’t want to be ya. You know, stuck in LA, and all. Sucka!

And the sky is grey.
I went for a walk on a winter’s day.
It’d been one hell of a quarter of a century thus far. With two family members buried side by side in Hillside’s grassy Mount of Olives, and a recent bout of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome that limited my activity level for months, I was more than ready. Clenching my acceptance letter from the UC Regents, I looked towards a new life in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I’d be safe and warm -
“You’ll freeze your ass off up there!” they warned. So I shopped for a hundred, give or take 98, winter garments. As I threw some of my raggedy old sweaters into the suitcase, I paused. “Berzerkeley?” What am I getting myself into?

You know, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)
But what could go wrong? I was escaping the frenzy of a life I was never suited for: the culture of models with their fake tans and blindingly bleached hair; everyone trying to get ahead of everyone else – whether that be in line at Starbuck’s on Rodeo Drive or the women's bathroom at Wendy’s on Venice Beach.

Oh, the preacher likes the cold (preacher likes the cold)
He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)
It’s a known fact that people flip each other off fighting for the closest parking space at Bally’s Health Spa in Santa Monica. Hello, all you gorgeous and fit people! Do you not see the irony in this?

Oh, California dreamin' (California dreamin')
LA driving is worth special mention. First, it is necessary to say “the” before any name of a freeway in LA. Thus, there’s the 101, the 405, and too many more. I cannot let go of the damn the before giving directions nowadays. Seems you can take the girl out of LA. But you can’t take the LA driving experience out of her. I only wish.

Oh, California dreamin' (California dreamin')
On such a winter's day (California dreamin')
The last time I drove down for Thanksgiving, I made it to the San Fernando Valley in 4 hours. Then, I was virtually stopped for the last 15 miles. At a standstill, I figured I might make it on time for pumpkin pie. (Well, you know that’s all I drove down for, but that’s not the point here.) My gracious sister-in-law had prepared a scrumptious meal and taught the Engels the courtesy of waiting for dinner guests to arrive (a new concept, especially when I was the guest).

If I didn't tell her (if I didn't tell her) I could leave today (I could leave today)
Back to my escape. I finally landed at my destination, eyeing Oakland’s Lake Merritt. It was a proud moment, so I pulled over to take it all in. What a glorious sight! Shimmering diamond specks dotted an expansive, green lake that oozed serenity. The skyline was less intrusive than any I had ever seen. A few drug stores, banks, and semi-high rise buildings guarded the lake. All was quiet and peaceful. Despite what I’d heard about Oakland, I felt certain the church across the way would assure my safety.

I’d be safe and warm -
Oh, California dreamin' (California dreamin')
Home alas! I made it! Life began again in that moment. Something told me not to look down, though. Perhaps it was my inner cynic lambasting my ecstasy with a bit of reality. I somehow knew that if I peered intently into the water, I might see a dead body. Or two. Or three. So I just kept looking directly ahead, and up.

All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey.
On such a winter's day (California dreamin')
On such a winter's day (California dreamin')

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Top 10 Signs The Gal's Just Not Into You

1) She excuses herself to go powder her nose for the next 3 weeks.

2) Curiously, every time you dial the number she gave you, a piercing FAX machine noise shatters your eardrums.

3) She says she hasn’t felt this way since she was stuck with cousin Morty as her prom date.

4) She tells you she wants to wait for the right moment to have sex...with someone else.

5) She cancels a date to watch The Jerry Springer Show in syndication (alone).

6) She cancels a date to watch The Jerry Springer Show in syndication (with Jerry Springer).

7) She introduces you as "Um, what's your name again, dumb ass?"

8) She drop-kicks you across the room, shouting, “Get lost! My ex-boyfriend is here!”

9) She says, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

10) She says, “It’s not me, it’s you.”

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Top 10 Signs The Dude's Just Not Into You

1) He says he's interested.

2) He ends the date at 8:30pm, to get some sleep (alone).

3) When you call, he shouts, "Gotta go. I have laryngitis! I'll call you when I'm cured!"

4) In the heat of passion, he stops to read the Bible.

5) When you return to the table, he’s still rambling about his foot fungus.

6) When the dinner bill comes, he nonchalantly pushes it with his elbow to your side of the table - directing your attention to the delightful view out the window.

7) When you start to move in for a peck, he points upwards and says, “Look over there! Hee hee, monkeys always look.”

8) When the lights go down in the movie theater he finally makes a move – but it’s with the person taking tickets at the door.

9) He claims he can’t kiss you because he might be coming down with juvenile diabetes.

10 ) He says you remind him of his great aunt Bertha in Milwaukee. She's a bit plump and plain, but she's always there when you need her.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Love and Trash

You were unattainable. I was jealous of her for years. Your humble warm persona, creative silliness, and depth of character all added up to the man I wanted but couldn’t have. Things changed quickly. You two made the final break. Still, I didn’t plan on replacing her. It just started happening that night. Those fantasy feelings became realized with every passing moment that we spent talking in a cozy diner, after the others had left.

I’ll never forget our 2am drive to Mt. Diablo, to best view the lunar eclipse. You sang to me all the way there and back, as I faded into and out of a dreamlike state. When we got to the top of the mountain, we reclined on the hood of your car under a blanket of stars. You kept me warm with your arms and lips. We didn’t see the eclipse on that hazy night, but it was so incredibly romantic that I cannot begin to reconcile it with your God damn annoying ass habits!

To be more specific, Kenny, I apparently was unable to properly fold your Triple A map. “It’s all in the corners. You’ve got to line them up just so,” you lectured. It seemed I had been slowing the entire navigation process. Why did you need a map anyway, Mr. “I have an amazing sense of direction and can find my way out of any jungle in record time”? It must have been a fluke, then, when you couldn’t locate your favorite Oakland eatery, so we had to settle for the closest Taco Bell. It could only have been the harsh weather conditions that caused you to become terribly flustered upon driving through the Mojave Desert that night. I just wanted a warm bed to sleep in. Alone. Instead, we were stuck in 3 feet of mud in the middle of the desert, with no cell phone reception nor sign of life anywhere I looked, unless I counted you. You offered no comfort but two stale Oreo cookies that you scrounged from the trunk. (Okay, that was actually rather sweet of you. But you’re missing the point here.)

There’s more, Kenny. Hear me out for a change. You demonstrated moral superiority via a boycott of all products made in Asia. How’s that working for you today? This deemed you unable to purchase anything except USA Weekly. And what a snoozer that publication is! On the other hand, you insisted on my car registration stickers, when the DMV mistakenly sent me a second set. Hmm, morality of convenience is rather convenient. Isn’t it, darling?

What truly tipped the scales was not the night we spent stuck in the mud, nor the map-folding tutorials, nor the boycott of 99% of all products sold in the US. What did it, my former beloved, was that one astonishing moment when you reached into the dark recesses of my kitchen trashcan --I repeat: my kitchen trashcan-- to pull out a recyclable milk carton. You therein marked our demise.

I loved you, but I forgot why. I was spent. I needed to boycott you, not Asia. So, my dearly departed, keep the recyclables. Keep folding your maps with the corners lined up just so. Keep every last version of US Weekly, to help cure your insomnia. Keep it all. Just keep it all away from me, so that I can get back to admiring you from afar, or not.


Miss Robyn (red-faced and panting): I am so sorry! I tried to stop them. I really did. But they bulldozed their way into the classroom. They were in the dressing room (together) since Valentine's Day and overheard me talking about the test. Oy, I am especially embarrassed in front of my Jewish students (Rachel, Copyboy..). Everyone, I'm a nice Jewish teacher, I am. It's meshughenah, it is. Here's our diaglogue and the results:

Millie (left): Did somebody say sex?
Miss Robyn: No Millie. That's test. Test. It's similar but different.
Millie (left) and Gertie (right) together with obvious disappointment: Oohh.

Miss Robyn: Alright, let's get on with it. The Nun Better Award for the highest Choco-IQ goes to 3 girls.
Gertie: Excuse me, Miss Robyn, did you say "get it on"?
Miss Robyn, with increasing irritation and embarrassment: No, Gertie, I said, let's get on with scoring. I mean, let's just do it. Er, here we go.

Millie and Gertie eye each other up and down, clearly distracted and highly aroused.

Miss Robyn, talking quickly given the opportunity: Our star pupils are LifeBeginsat30ty, Rachel (our beloved home-schooler), and Kristy!! CONGRATULATIONS girls. Please come up and receive your award (this token picture of the Nuns).

Audience applauds, whistles, and screams loudly! Principal enters the classroom, concerned about the raucous. He appears to know these nuns. The three tip toe away towards the dressing room.

Miss Robyn: Our next top students are Invisible Seductress-
Millie and Gertie, upon hearing Seductress' name turn their heads in synchronicity: Love her!
Miss Robyn: AND TS Hendrick. CONGRATULATIONS to both of you! You get B's and lots of chocolate gummy bears! TS was first to return his test and received the highest(er) score for the boys. Quite brave to compete with girls in the field of chocolate.

Miss Robyn: Our third set of students get See's. (Really good chocolate, if you don't have these where you live or even if you do). Copyboy and Sarah, that's you. Congratulations!

The rest of you did fail.

*Bell rings.*

Class dismissed.

Friday, February 19, 2010


Settle down, students. It's time to reveal answers to this week's Choco-Quiz. Having perused your answer sheets, I realize that one of three possibilities holds true: (1) This was a very difficult exam, (2) I'm a lousy teacher, or (3) You're an exceptionally challenged group. We'll adopt assuption #1.

Okay, trade papers with your neighbor. Take out your red pencil, and here we go:

1) In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which character jumped into the chocolate river?
B Augustus Gloop! Great start! You all got it right! It's downhill from here, students.

2) True or False, studies show that chocolate is an aphrodisiac. False! Sorry, you all got this wrong. There's no scientific evidence that chocolate boosts sexual drive, but chocolate contains PEA (can you say "phenylethylamine?" I knew you could). PEA is an amphetamine that triggers the release of natural opiates in the brain. PEA levels dramatically increase during sex. But if you want a lot of PEA, cheddar cheese and salami actually have higher levels than chocolate! ..Ghiradelli vs. the O' Deli..hmm..

3) American women buy which percent of chocolate each year? D) 75% Very good, Rachel. We American women have no shame when it comes to chocolate. Do we?

4) Which country produces the most cocoa? C) Ivory Coast Very good, TS.

5) Who consumed 50 cups of chocolate a day to improve his sexual prowess? B) Montezuma

6) People eat the most chocolate (per capita) in which country? C) Ireland! At an average of 19.5 lbs per person, Ireland has the world's third highest per capita consumption after Switzerland (22.4 lbs) and Austria (20.1 lbs). The UK is seventh (17.5 lbs) and the US is 11th (11.6 lbs). You were on the right track in thinking of Belgium, Sarah.

7) Which European country first enjoyed the pleasures of chocolate? D) Spain

8) The French term ganache means D) Imbecile! Very good, TS. It's nice to know you can occasionally score a point by siding with the imbecile.

9) The best way to clean a chocolate stain short of eating it off (I agree with you about that method, Sarah) is C) Rubbing alcohol. Good job, Kristy. You've clearly cleaned a chocolate stain or two.

10) Last but most important of all, this one was meant to be a freebie. I think you must have been anxious to get to recess and declare a tether ball court, though. My sweet hug-a-boo nephew Jeremy is pictured eating Bob's Big Boy Hot Fudge Cakes (ingredients: ice-cream, chocolate cake, chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate). Though he would certainly love Auntie Robyn's double chocolate cream cheese cake without any coaching, he is not yet of age to eat jello shots. Thus, his two favorite foods are B) chocolate and ice-cream. Congratulations to Kristy and Life for taking your time on this one (and getting the answer right, too)! Be it known that there are no alcoholics in my family under the age of 18! PS Did I mention that I really love my chocoholic nephew, Jeremy? Thanks for noticing how darn cute he is.

After recess, I'll announce the grades and winners. There were 3 top scores. * Bell rings * Class dismissed, and check the next post. Run along now.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

One More Day to Test Your Choco-I.Q.!

Okay students, take out your #2 pencils. Shut your books and mouths. It's time for a quiz. NO cheating.

In the comments section, list the single letter answers to the following 10 questions. You will have between 20 seconds and several days to complete this exam. Once I've received your tests, I'll list the correct answers. Ready? Too bad. Here we go:

1) In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which character jumped into the chocolate river? A) Veruca Salt, B) Augustus Gloop, C) Mike Teavee, or D) Violet Beauregarde.

2) True or False: Studies show that chocolate is an aphrodisiac.

3) American women buy which percent of the chocolate purchased in America each year? A) 45, B) 55, C) 65, or D) 75%

4) Which country produces the most cocoa? A) Mexico, B) Brazil, C) Ivory Coast, or D) Trinidad

5) Who consumed 50 cups of chocolate a day to improve his sexual prowess? A) Casanova, B) Montezuma, C) Henry VIII, or D) Don Juan

6) People eat the most chocolate (per capita) in which of the following countries? A) U.S., B) France, C) Ireland, or D) Germany

7) Which European country first enjoyed the pleasures of chocolate? A) England, B) France, C) Italy, or D) Spain

8) The French term ganache means: A) Velvet, B) Globe, C) Cream, or D) Imbecile

9) What's the best thing to use for cleaning a chocolate stain - short of eating away at it? A) Club soda, B) White wine, C) Rubbing alcohol, or D) more chocolate.

10) Pictured above is my hug-a-boo nephew Jeremy. Without coaching, he has declared his two favorite foods are: A) Gerber's blended pork chops and applesauce [Note: said with a Southern drawl], B) Chocolate and ice-cream, C) caviar and anchovies, or D) Auntie Robyn's double chocolate cream cheese cake and jello shots.
Hint #1: See pictures above. Hint #2: I really, really love my nephew.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Red Roses, Bad Dates

"I like red roses," I declared in the midst of dinner. "They're my favorite." It was a natural deviation from our focus on the meal, pasta with orangish-reddish spaghetti sauce. These pronouncements mattered not. I had told Kenny about my affinity for red roses many, many times. He had just handed me an 4-inch tall bamboo shoot from his venture to Truckee. I responded with an attempt at a grateful grin.

My collection of plant "life" grew in our time together to include a baby cactus from Salt Lake City, 6 pink carnations that looked oddly similar to the ones that used to grace his neighbor's front yard, and your basic easy to maintain indoor plant with 3 leaves - the kind for dummies lacking a green thumb. I don't remember the name. I'm sure he convinced me it was something more exotic than "green plant." "Red rose," I muttered, upon accepting this other piece of half-life. Well into two days of failed efforts to grow the damn thing, I added it to my collection in the kitchen trash can.

One day, though, I did come home to a dozen long stemmed red roses. He remembered. My plugs for red roses had alas been effective. But timing was not Kenny's strength. You see, I had ended our relationship the night before. The break-up was incredibly dramatic and tear jerking. I, for one, was calm and collected through it all. So when I came home exhausted by the prior evening, I picked up the bouquet. They are beautiful, I realized. They are red too, and they are roses after all. The note consisted of a seemingly heartfelt apology, a plea for my forgiveness and a new start. I counted 12, a perfect dozen, deeply red, sweet smelling, and in half bloom. A shiny pink ribbon held them together. I decided I would appreciate and maintain them. As I reached for a vase in the upper kitchen cabinet, I noticed a bright red spot of blood on my right index finger. I dropped my head to eye the stems. Thorns! Damn blood-inducing thorns! To the trash they went.

Perhaps I should have seen that one coming. The flowers did lack the eloquence and serenity of your typical red rose. They well represented the end to a sweet, troubled, exhausting romance. "Thanks for the beautiful roses," I emailed. That was pretty much the extent of it.

At 43, I still await the perfect bouquet. I'd settle for one lively red rose that does not draw perfectly red blood at any point.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Will You Be Mine?

Dear You, beloved reader,

Will you be mine? I'm not just asking because I have no other options for Valentine's Day. It's not only because I just spent hours scouring the streets of this fine town and came up empty. Nor is it because I'm desperate. See, I prepared this fabulous Valentine's dinner - spaghetti and meatballs, and garlic bread. For dessert, I've a massive double chocolate cream cheese cake in the oven. I'll even let you try a sliver. Plus, here's an array of cheap, tacky wines to choose from. It's all way too much for just me. Um, I just remembered this picture's a couple years old, so the food may be a bit cold. No worries. I have a microwave. Oh, I don't live there anymore. Don't fret. I'm a quick jaunt across town and easy to find.

So what do you say, gorgeous, bright, kind-hearted you? Please keep in mind that I'm putting my ego on the line here. It's already a delicate, microscopic little thing. So your answer will either cause uncontrollable chronic mania or severe incurable depression. It's up to you. I have faith that you'll make the right choice here.

Truth is, to get a bit sappy, I do like you a lot. You're far superior to all the rest. Well, that's not saying much. But let me break it down here to emphasize your virtues: You never wake me up with your snoring. You never hog the bedsheets or complain that I do. I haven't noticed you leaving your dirty socks on the coffee table. And you never come home to me in a piss-ass mood.

It did take you a while to notice me. (I had 7 followers for the longest time until you found me.) I suppose I can forgive that, being as I'm short and all. You do appreciate me and my silliness, so that's what counts. Our interactions are great. We think alike and have shared interests. Our arguments are rare and short lived. I appreciate that you don't hold a grudge, and you don't seem to notice that I do. You're pretty open minded too, which I like. You're quick witted, another plus.

You came into my life unexpectedly and perked up my spirits. You're very supportive and encouraging. Moreover, you've been following me, and that makes me feel like a cult leader who should be offering you brownies. It also makes me feel special. I suppose I should make you some special brownies.

Just more thing, though. I'll be out of town this weekend, returning on Valentine's Day. If you get here before me, you can find the key under the mat. Make yourself at home. Feel free to bring a date. Oh, and I'll really miss you this weekend.

How about it? Will you be mine? Please say yes. Please say yes....holding my breath until you do.

Milk and dark chocolate kisses,

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The Dreaded Day Draws Near: Heart to Heart to Heart to..etc.

It’s not enough that us singletons survived the winter holidays. We’ve barely had time to catch our breath when we're lambasted by hearts, hearts, and more hearts. They come in all colors, sizes, forms, and substances. Even the visually challenged cannot avoid the abundance of heart shaped containers of chocolates and lesser candies; jelly-belly filled plastic hearts; fake wine bottles filled with candy hearts; hideous looking stuffed dogs and bears holding out bright red furry hearts; enormously obstructive heart-shaped balloons (Ever try to drive with those things in your car?); bright orange heart-shaped cushions; and every garment of clothing imaginable plastered with hearts – bras, briefs, t-shirts, sweat pants, scarves, and ear muffs.

Aah, Valentine’s day. A time to celebrate love and romance. For us singles, opportunity awaits to fantasize about hiding in a cave (together, preferably). Give us some candles and matches, a large blanket or two, and a generous helping of chocolate M&M’s. We’ll be fine. After all, the world’s love-birds have a much greater challenge: find and purchase the perfect chocolate plus another perfect gift; then find and purchase the perfect card, with every syllable appropriately relevant to the nuances of your unique love; have a delectable romantic candlelight dinner, followed by a swift trip home for the most passionate sex you’ve ever engaged in – twice or thrice even. No pressure, no worries. You’ll be cool and suave through it all. It will be an evening your lover with never forget, topped off only by next year’s performance. If there are kids in the picture, good luck getting a quickie in at some point that evening or year. Or decade.

I wasn’t always so embittered. It started in second grade when Danny gave Chrissy the Valentine that said, “Will you be mine?” All I got from Danny was a stupid picture of a red-haired boy holding a baseball. The caption read: “Hey Sport, Happy Valentine’s Day,” He signed his first name on the back. I detected his love in the way Danny curled his "y." But I'm afraid that was it. From then on, I knew this wasn’t going to be my day. I hated sports. Plus, Danny was the boy of my dreams. I got lost in his freckly face, deep blue eyes, and adorable grin. We were going to get married. We’d have kids and a big yellow house with a grassy front yard and climbable apple tree. Being fairly perceptive, even at such a young age, I understood that this lousy Valentine – compared to the one Chrissy got; that b*tch! - was not likely to land Danny and me anywhere near that apple tree.

Still, I’ve braved the day with hopeful anticipation and a fluttering heart year after year. Once I got over Danny twenty years later, I had a crush on Jon. His beaming smile and light mustache, combined with a pleasant disposition, meant Jon was mine in a “4ever, kissing-under-a-tree” kind of way. We’d started the email and phone call thing. Come February, I nervously asked Jon for a date on V-day. Note that Jon and I hadn’t kissed yet, so this Valentine’s date would spark our happy future.

After a nice dinner and chat, we went to his place to watch a Mel Brooks flick per his choice. Hmm, not so romantic, I thought. But he is the one for me, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so I’m easy. I mean, the movie choice is fine with me. Well into the viewing, Jon still hadn’t made a move. I subtly inched closer and closer to him, as we sat side by side on the couch. At some point after the movie ended, Jon finally started kissing me. He really didn’t have a choice then, with no room to breathe. His only means of survival was to share oxygen. My subtleties worked; we made out like bandits for a heavenly 8.5 minutes or so. Suddenly, Jon stopped to feed the dog and send me home.

I suppose I should be grateful that I once sampled the kind of deep, meaningful, passionate intimacy that is celebrated on this dreaded day. I too was in one of those lovey-dovey couples featured on Hallmark cards. People stopped us on the street and said, “You’re so clearly in love. That’s really rare.” Part of the ecstasy is the newness of it all and the syrupy thought: “It’s everything I always dreamed of and more.” We vowed a lifetime to each other, and then it all ended. I’m 4 years older – those being key childbearing years. I’m broke emotionally and financially. The fear of giving my heart and soul again is, well, fearful. The feeling of isolation is, well, isolating. But enough self pity. Sorry. We all know that being broken-hearted is part of the human condition.

It’s like biting into a delectably luscious and beautiful morsel of chocolate – say, a truffle – and realizing, instead, that you are consuming something utterly appalling to the taste, like steamed brussel sprouts without cheese or even a splattering of cheese whiz.

Allow me to conclude by stating that love is worth celebrating – self-love, romantic love, love for children, family, and friends. It is good stuff, really. I mean, you know that. Know that I know that too. It’s just not necessary to shove it in our faces one day a year, thereby overwhelming the loving couples and ostracizing the singletons of the world. Moreover, chocolate must always be seen as a blessing and a gift. So I say to you my dear readers, buy your chocolate now before the prices sky-rocket! Enjoy every morsel of it on Valentine’s Day. Just don’t forget to enjoy all that is sweet all year long.

Chocolate kisses to you!

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Not Just Another Pretty Face

Dear Friends,

I hope this new visual compensates for any less appealing scenes you might be trying to obliterate for all time (e.g., scantily clad but frightening looking nuns hosting an awards show).

I had a very exciting week and can't stop smiling. You'd think I won a year's -or even day's- worth of chocolate. Not quite that exciting. In the midst of the awards rehearsals, though, I received 3 Kick Ass Blogger awards, one from Lisa Marie. We all know and love Lisa for her combined wit plus heart. She's strong in both areas. Lawrence, the Dudemangamer, bestowed the second. Lawrence is young and new in the blogosphere. He writes with soul and purpose. Check out his site. It's well worth a read. My friend, Sarah Landry, was a third bestower. Sarah views the world with lighthearted humor. Her writing's always a treat.

That's all I'm doing with these awards. I'm taking a chance with my life, I realize. It feels one of those chain letters, "Send this to 12 of your closest girlfriends within 2.5 minutes or you'll be struck by lightening." Not that I don't appreciate the recognition. I really do. After all, this blogging gig doesn't pay so well. We've gotta keep each other propped up. But I just don't have it in me to find 8 more folks you don't already know about.

Back to the photo atop, did you notice the name under it? Hint: It's mine. I came home on Monday night to a few copies of the magazine that I was published in, Being Single! I opened to page 22, and, lo and behold, what a steamin' hot babe!

It's a very respectable magazine with a Christian, "sisterly" slant. Nonetheless, wonderful Publisher Bonita Bennett chose to print this Jewish White gal's work. (The Kissed That Saved My Life and The Unforgettable Dating Moment). They took out a "damn" or two, left one "dude" and replaced the other "dudes" with "guys," and tweaked the titles and endings. Otherwise, my writing is untouched. And look at that photo. You need a fire extinguisher to put that Robyn out. Doesn't the picture look fabulous?! I'm still walking on air. If this doesn't get me dates, I don't know what will.

Hint: The photo isn't me.
Hint #2: My fingernail polish is a dull pink, not clear.

Truth be told, I'm not just another pretty face.


Monday, February 1, 2010


Millie (left): Thank you! Thank you! So sorry for the delay. It took a while to strip down.
We were getting hot and bothered in the saintly garb. The long awaited (interrupted by Gertie)-
Gertie: Millie, you bad girl. You said LOONG!
Millie and Gertie giggle together. Hehehehehee.
Gertie, trying to compose herself: Robyn asked us to announce the winner of the 10th Worst Song to Play When You Want to Get Lucky. The girl thinks we know EVEN MORE than she does about how NOT to get lucky. Can you believe her?!
Millie, moving in closer to Gertie and staring deeply into her eyes: No, I ah..Oh, back to the ceremony. In the tradition of all the big shindigs like this, we're going to fill the time with lots of nonsense until the final credits roll out. Then, we'll make the big announcement.

Gertie: Let's look back at this sentimental journey. Shall we? We had 12 voters, a handful of commentators, and 24 ballots. We let people vote as many times as they liked, since there was no shortage of "I Voted for the 10th Worst Song to Play When You Want to Get Lucky" stickers. One singer clearly took the lead. You guessed it, Rod Stewart!
Millie: Boy, I'd like to stew his rod.
Gertie: Millie! You bad, bad girl!

Millie, blushing: I'd like to thank all those who voted, starting with Aion! Aion, you won. Well, almost.
Gertie: Don't be a tease, Millie.
Millie: Sorry Aion. We did hate the lyrics for Rod Stewart's stay with me: "With a face like that you got nothin' to laugh about." I'd stay loyal to the church with that one.
Gertie: I hear you, Millie. My dates used to play that for me all the time. I didn't let them get to fourth, I mean first, base.

Millie: Next, we almost gave the award to The Invisible Seductress.
Gertie and Millie in synchronicity: Love her!
Millie: And that swinging in the car thing (Cheery Pie by Warrant) wouldn't do it for us either, sweetie. But Gertie here was slightly aroused, I mean a-annoyed, by it. 

Gertie: Lisa Marie managed to shock us a bit by suggesting that our Madonna is "like" a virgin. We thought she was a virgin, Lisa, else we might have gone Jewish and all. We've got some thinking to do, Millie.

Millie: Yes, yes. But let's speed it up so we can go back to the dressing room. You know, together.

Gertie: Here we go. I want to thank KrippledWarrior for his random Rosie vote, and Michael for suggesting my favorite music (death metal and hard core grunge. We'll see you at the after-awards rave, Michael!). Thank you, Alice, Kitty, and Blase - nothing blase about him, I gotta tell you. Hubba hubba!

Millie: Plain Ole Bob is one you can always count on. We love you, Bob! That Copyboy sure knows what's wrong. Did you see his profile picture? It's getting really hot in here!
We also thank Rapunzel for rushing from her tower to the polls at the last minute. Thank you, sweetie. Tell that Fishy to quit the Lionel Richie tunes, for your sake. And his.

Cut to final credits.

Millie: Here we go. Really. There was one song that is by far the most repulsive, repugnant piece of ***bleepin bleep**** We will never be tempted again.

Gertie: This is true, dear audience. If you try this one for a "lucky moment," we'll be sure to see you at the convent. Millie, giggly and blushing: And you can share our bedroom with us!

The Winner is, the one and only Uber Grumpy who nominated "I'm a Wanker" by Ivor Biguns.

Gertie: BIGuns. Get it, Millie?! Millie: Stop, Gertie. The curtains are shutting. CONGRATULATIONS Uber!
Gertie: Did you see Uber's photo? I'm feeling temptation come on again.
Uber, your prize is, oh, we forgot a prize.

Don't try this at home, especially not if you're on a date and want to get lucky: I'm A Wanker