So I'm sitting around, chillin' with my homies and buying various and assorted chafing dishes online when I decided maybe I should try to drown my lack o' estrogen induced depression by answering a few emails from my fans.
Ok, I lied. I don't have any fans and I have never in my life known what a chafing dish is, although it sounds like a thoroughly unpleasant piece of china.
Here are some emails from people who are not my fans. Or even real people.
I've tried every diet known to man and none work for me. Do you have any suggestions?
Clearly your first mistake was trying every diet known to man. You need to try a diet known to women. Personally, I am on the world famous, "Happy Diet". If it makes me happy, I eat it.
The main reason I am successful with it is because my family is in complete support of my being on the Happy Diet. They fully realize that when I am denied certain foods, such as Moon Pies and Chunky Monkey, I am not happy. And you know what they say....
When Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody stupid enough to go anywhere near her without a piece of chocolate dangling from a fishing pole to distract her while someone shoots her with a tranquilizer dart.
Are you rich or something?
Dear long lost relative trying to score a loan,
That's a little rich people humor. Actually my cabana boy Tad came up with that while he was peeling my M&M's.
If you were trapped on a desert island and you could only have one thing with you, what would it be?
Dear Survivor contestant,
My cabana boy. No way I'm going to be stuck on a desert island AND have to eat unpeeled M&M's, too. They give me gas.
I really want to be on the Oprah show. Do you have any crazy ideas I could try to get her producers to notice me?
Dear Oprah groupie,
I always have crazy ideas. That's why they increased my dosage of the little pink pills.
The Oprah is a tough nut to crack, but based upon my training and experience as an Oprah watcher, I think you should try the following:
First, become a wildly famous movie star. Next, wash off all your make-up, don't shower for about three days and then slam sixteen beers and four tequila shots. When you are so drunk that you can't remember how to spit, jump behind the wheel of your Mercedes and plow into a church full of homeless veterans who are giving blood to raise money for toys for tots and the tsunami victims, thereby getting yourself arrested.
As soon as your mugshot is plastered all over the major networks and The National Enquirer and you are sentenced to twelve hours community service in the Hamptons, The Oprah will call.
Once you're on, don't forget to cry softly and talk about the fact that your dog never loved you and you were only drinking that night because you are so tired of living with your secret shame of having one leg 3/4 of an inch longer than the other one. She loves that stuff.
I think my boyfriend might be cheating. How do I find out for sure?
Dear Pathetic Whiner,
If you think he is, he probably is.
To be sure though, here is something simple you might try. Throw a big CSI theme party and invite everyone you know to come dressed as their favorite TV detective. Rather than having music or entertainment, hire a polygraph examiner and three or four burly bouncers that will spend the evening physically forcing guests to submit to a poly. You'll find out rather quickly whether he's being unfaithful. You can also find out what your friends really think of your guacamole dip.
Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.
Visit Ms. Crazy On Her Face Online
Blog Search Engine -Search Engine and Directory of blogs. Looking for blogs? Find them on BlogSearchEngine.com