Cause I said so.

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.

Dear Sher,
I've tried every diet known to man and none work for me. Do you have any suggestions?

Dear Porkie,
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.

Dear Sher,
Are you rich or something?

Dear long lost relative trying to score a loan,
Something.

That's a little rich people humor. Actually my cabana boy Tad came up with that while he was peeling my M&M's.

Dear Sher,
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.

Dear Sher,
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.

Dear Sher,
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
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REM is for sissies.

I'm doing lotts of things at 340 in the morning, but sleeping isn't won uf them. Tha'ts cool though. Iv've found that the less I spleep the more creative I am.

in facat, I come up with such good ideaas when I'm runnning on know spellep that i' almosot thinkk I shouldnt slepp ever.

Sure some poe;ple say taaht going woiihtout slepp is somwhow bad for you, bu t I doin't ageree. Humban beingas geta too muc h slpeep thease days. Slpeep, speleep, spleeep is all we do nowww. I rembmeber my fathher tealling me that when he awas a kid he only spleeped free ours a nighta nd he wuaas proud to geti it. DAday isa a smaret guy and iffff he thingks you onley neaeed a fewa houreas eaech nigh#t, it ahs to be treuw.

you knowa, just alsttt weeeek i satyed up untill amlost won in the mroning and i cameee upwith somea preity goued idaeaaaaas. fore explemple i fiigured outaaaaaa wayto make puddingwithougt usinnng any milllek. i reaplaed the milek with cofree kreamer and watere frome the dogss bowl ant itwas ujst as good butwith less fat i thinke I will send teh recpe to marta in jail caus i know apudding is har d to come by onthe inside
but toinight i ahd the vest ideaaaa evear'' i'n going to teaccccccch myself howa to cut the dogsa hair and theam ill sel it on ebaaay to people withoaaat hiare in thiread world cuountries, tahat way i can mbake ltos o f money andd heelp the ahairless chilreqan of south boobwatwa atttt the sama time gots gona love me for tha t adn pllus ill geta biG manshun in haeben pluss m y dogh will lookee gud adn plluss ill save muny@ thaaaaaaaats a damd gud ideaaaaaaaaa thannnk got i didddnt spleep toniehght or elssse id ahave a hiarry dog and theire wouuld be boald headted chilrens eveayrwhre

Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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Dear Sher

Dear Sher,
If you were to divorce Mr. Man, would you get married again?

Dear divorce-chasing attorney,
If I were asked again, absolutely. It's rude to say no.

Dear Sher,
My head hurts. What should I do?

Dear Arnold,
It's a tumor. Seek medical help immediately.

Dear Sher,
If you have a son you call Dog and a daughter you call Kitten, what do you call your husband?

Dear Dr. Doolittle,
Northern Spotted Owl.

Dear Sher,
You've been married before, right? How can you keep getting married when you know it will probably just end in divorce? Aren't you afraid to go through all the pain and the heartache again?

Dear Donnie Downer,
Afraid? Of a little ole divorce? Me? Heck no. (Now you've gone and done it. I'm talking like Huck Finn.)
Listen, marriage is like cheap wine. Sometimes you have to take a swig out of a bunch of different bottles before you find one that doesn't make you throw up on your shoes.

Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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Gotta love it.

After I was tagged by Donna, I decided that maybe I should just stop working for a minute and make a list of the best songs ever sang in the history of the world. I don't know why I'm doing this, other than I will do absolutely anything to avoid actual work today. I don't feel good and rather than go lie down and give in, I sit here "working" so I can feel like a productive member of society... which everyone knows I am not.

And by the way, this is the definative list. These are the absolute best songs ever. Write them down. You'll thank me.

Elton John~ Original Sin
Barenaked Ladies ~ Another Postcard
AD/DC ~ Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
ZZ Top ~ Nationwide
Joe Diffie ~ Tougher Than Nails
Tony Bennett ~ Sentimental Journey & As Time Goes By
Tim McGraw ~ She's My Kind Of Rain
Cathedrals ~ Going Home
Paula Cole ~ Where Have All The Cowboys Gone
Tom Jones ~ Mustang Sally
Cheap Trick ~ I Want You To Want Me
Gavin DeGraw ~ Chariot
Queen ~ Somebody To Love
Macy Gray ~ Relating To A Psychopath
Journey ~ Loving, Touching, Squeezing
Hank Jr. & Sr. ~ There's a Tear In My Beer
Garth Brooks ~ You Move Me
Crystal Lewis ~ My Redeemer Lives
DC Talk ~ Spirit In The Sky (what I want played at my funeral, BTW)
Jo Dee Messina ~ Burn & Bring On The Rain
Guns N Roses ~ Sweet Child Of Mine

There you have it. The best.



Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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Tag. I'm it.

Look what Donna did to me! I will now expose my very soul by answering these questions.

1. Song that sounds like happy feels:

"Jump, Jive & Wail" by the Brian Setzer Orchestra.

2. Earliest memory:

Regarding music? Charlie Pride songs. My Daddy was all about Charlie Pride.

3. Last CD you bought:

Gosh, I can't remember. It's been a long time since I've actually gone to the store and bought one.

4. Reminds you of school:

Elementary School: "Build Me Up Buttercup" by the Foundations. My Step-Mom had that on a 45 and my sisters and I listened to it over and over again.

High School: So many! "I Just Called To Say I Love You," by Stevie Wonder. One of my favorite high school honeys gave that 45 to me with some roses. And of course, anything by Journey was always my favorite song the minute I heard it.

5. Total music files on your PC:

470.

6. Song for listening to repeatedly when depressed:

"I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts is always a good one for me. And oddly enough, "Would You Light My Candle" from RENT. I can't listen to that without singing both parts and immediately feeling better. Go figure.

7. Song that sounds British, but isn't:

"Naked Women & Beer" by Hank, Jr. ;-)

8. Song you love, band you hate:

I can't think of a single one. If I hate the band, I hate the song. I'm an equal opportunity hater.

9. A favorite song from the past that took ages to track down:

"Oh, Elizabeth" by the Statler Brothers. I named my daughter after that song.

10. Bought the album for one good song:

Can't think I've done that lately. I have however gotten married because of one good date. That's the same thing, right?

11. Worst Song to Get Stuck in your Head:

"Honey, you are my shinging star...." They were playing it on sappy commercials for awhile and I nearly had to bang my head on the wall to get it out.

12. Best song to dump a beer on someone's head to, then storm out of the bar?

"Friend In Low Places," by Garth Brooks.

13. Who should do this next?

Becca
Kitten




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I wonder where I left me.

I've spent most of my day doing domestic tasks while thinking deep thoughts. Something about standing in line at Wally World and cleaning the refrigerator clears my head and allows me to ponder the things in this world that need pondering.

Like why I always find hair in my refrigerator on cleaning day. And not long, bleach-blonde hair either. The kind of hair that if found on my baked potato at Shoney's would get me a free meal. Where does this stuff come from? And how does it wind up underneath the vegetable crispers? Makes me want to invest in one of those Nanny-Cams and hide it in a celery stalk. I want to know once and for all if there are disgusting little refrigerator fairies shooting fairy porn when the door closes.

I was also thinking today about my writing career. Career. I like that word. It implies I am actually earning a steady income from putting words on paper. Makes me sound all grown up, too. But, I digress.

I'm pushing the heck out of forty-one now and although my biological clock is set to snooze, my hurry up and become successful clock is ticking like a time bomb. I want to see my name on the New York Times Bestseller List while I am still young enough to go on book tours without the added frustration of trying to figure out how to pack my Depends in my carry on.

I've written for as long as I could hold a crayon. I love to write. I have to write. The problem is, other people do not have to read what I write. There's the rub. If I could possibly persuade some dictatorial government to make my stories mandatory reading for all citizens, I'd be a much happier person.(Note to self: Find out where evil foreign dictators buy groceries and "happen" to bump into them.)

Although these days I write mostly humor and articles about working from home, I have written lots of different kinds of things in the past. Maybe I should drudge some of those up and see how they fly.

For example, there was my "dark" period where I wrote about my life in such a way that any generally happy person reading my work would have been instantly compelled to lie down on the nearest train tracks. I recounted the details of my somewhat screwed up existence on this planet with such stark reality that my own daughter had to wake me up to what I was doing.

"Mom," she said with all the wisdom of a then eighteen-year-old young woman, "even though what you've written is true and even if you were to ever have this book published, no one would ever be able to read it. It's too much to stand."

And that's the name of that tune.

Then there was the time I decided I could just churn out a book according to a formula. I settled on the idea that romance and sex was where it was at and given that I had at least some understanding of those two subjects and felt I was a pretty o.k. writer, I'd just pop out a sexy, love story that would immediately be known the world over as the single best love story in the history of the world. How hard could it be, right?

Way hard.

I wrote some stories and I guess they were fair. The problem is I found I kept killing off my male leads. I'd change their names, the background of the story and before I'd made it half way through my writing, low and behold there was another fictional character carcass lying with little x's over his eyes while my heroine danced around with glee. I have no idea how it happened.

Well, I know the mechanics of the murders. I used pills, rat poison, blunt objects and on one particularly creative occasion, I actually used a stake to end the life of a handsome vampire that was foolish enough to try and court me. What I don't know is why I couldn't help but give ficticious versions of myself names like "Collette" and "Victoria" and then stand by silently as they proceeded to pull black widow acts on all my make believe suitors.

Possibly I have some unresolved anger issues toward men. Either that or I'm not getting enough fiber in my diet.

So here I am, approaching what is known to most as "mid-life" and I'm still trying to find myself both as a writer and a woman. Is that normal?

I don't know. But I do know that when I do finally find myself it will probably be in the last place I looked.

Who knows if I'll ever make it? I suppose some would counsel me to give up. To stop trying to write my way to the top. To give my fingers a rest and just sit back and grow old with grace.

To those people I would say two things.

First of all, I will never give up. If I don't have my work published before I die I am leaving instructions in my will to carve the entire lot of it in stone tablets that will surround my grave site. That way everyone that comes to see me will be forced to read what I have to say about everything from Moon Pies to make-up.

And second, I have no idea who Grace is. Why would I want to grow old with her?

Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.



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