Out with the old, in with the ...

2006.

Can you even believe it? Unlike many of you, I did manage to keep all last year's resolutions, so I'm pretty stoked about that. I think I should become a motivational speaker.

"Set the bar really low." How's that for motivation?

This year I will do exactly the same thing. 'Why mess with success' is what I always say. Ok... what I really always say is, "What have I told you about touching me there, Mr. Man".

Here are the OCD Chick's resolutions for 2006.

1. Use the words "spectacular" and "flabbergasted" for no good reason at all as often as I can every single day.

2. Fashion a rudimentary effigy of Angelina Jolie and poke it once in the lips with a red hot pin every Sunday afternoon. Twice on Tuesdays.

3. Teach Tanner the Amazing Four Pound Yorkie to climb all over everyone that comes into our house and lick them repeatedly on their noses while they try to swat him away like he's Tanner the Amazing Four Pound Fly.

4. Spend as much money as I can on more Michael Buble music and find new and spectacular ways to lie to Mr. Man about said money. Periodically bend at the waist while contorting my face and throw in vague references to feminine products and Midol to shut him down.

5. Every time I run into them, hug my friends from the heroic and thankfully back at home 891st until their heads pop off or until it borders on unhealthy and slightly uncomfortable for anyone watching.

6. Increase my divinity consumption. I love that stuff and yet I eat it only on rare occasions. What's up with that? With a name like divinity, it must be good for me.

7. Stop telling people who email me asking to buy my book that in fact I do not have one. Instead, start asking them to send me $21.99 and then pretend their book got lost in the mail. Damn postal service. Their incompetence leaves me flabbergasted.

8. No more square dancing. The rising cost of poofy skirts has forced me to this sad end. Do-si-do on, Brother. Do-si-do on.

9. Get in touch with my inner child by climbing a tree just like when I was a little OCD Chick. (Note to self: Google the location of the Keebler Elves. If I'm going to climb a tree, I prefer to climb one that has tiny men inside baking me cookies.)

10. Start my own Partridge Family fan club. Design club sashes complete with a system of badges members can earn and petition Congress to replace the Eagle with the Partridge. Send David Cassidy's attorney a lovely nosegay in an effort to persuade him to drop the restraining order.



Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

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Nog me, Baby one good time.

Ho...ho...and ho again! It's almost here!!!!

I was lying in bed last night contemplating, which I often do. The difference is, last night I was holiday contemplating, which is contemplating with a Christmas theme.

Here are the top ten things about which I spent the night ruminating. (Please hum "Oh Christmas Tree" quietly while reading...just like in the Christmas Charlie Brown special.)

10. What is a merry gentleman and why are they dismayed?

9. Who first came up with the idea of putting rum in raw eggs, calling it 'nog' and drinking it? I'm gonna say it was a college freshman and he did it as a means of gaining entry into a fraternity during pledge week.

8. I have decided a completely under appreciated and under used word in our language is "Wassail". If I were still popping out kids I'd have a boy just so I could name him Wassail. I simply cannot believe there is no one in the phone book named Wassail Zappa.

7. Are there really men alive who will actually purchase a Swiffer as a Christmas gift and if so, are their wives actually having sex with them? Is this a chicken or the egg kind of deal? Did the wives of the Swiffer givers stop having sex with them and that's why they're getting cleaning products for Christmas? Or did the Swiffer givers stop getting sex because they give their wives Swiffers? It's a conundrum.

6. Why do we murder a tree in the spirit of the Christmas season, bring it home, stick it in a tree stand in front of our living room window so all our neighbors can see it and then decorate it with sparkly lights and ornaments? I am very thankful we do not do the same sort of thing in the spirit of hunting season. Sort of gives a whole new meaning to the term "deer stand" doesn't it?

5. How does Santa get all those presents to all the kids all over the world in one night anyway? I suspect there is a world wide release of some sort of noxious sleeping gas that knocks us out for days at a time and we don't even know it. If Bin-Laden ever finds Santa's secret lab, we're screwed.

4. Why does Mr. Man believe me year after year when I say we shouldn't buy each other Christmas presents when what I really mean is, he should buy me something sparkly and expensive that comes in a tiny box? Geez. How many Christmases does a girl have to secretly cry in the shower before her husband figures out he's killing her a little each year? (That wasn't pathetic was it?)

3. I was told once when I was a little Southern Baptist girl that every Christmas at exactly midnight animals can talk. Each year I try to stay awake to ask the dog why he enjoys eating cat poop, but thanks to the Santa gas conspiracy, that question remains unanswered.

2. We say "Happy Birthday", "Happy New Year", "Happy Thanksgiving" but we say "Merry Christmas". I think to keep that special Christmasy feeling alive, we should start wishing people Merry things throughout the year. How do you feel about, "Merry tax return", "Have a Merry divorce" or "Wishing you a very Merry root canal"?

1. More than anything this Christmas I would like to deck my halls as per the song, but I have no idea what that means. Do you deck the halls in your own home and if so, how does one deck? I only actually have one hall in my house, so do I go ahead deck it or does protocol dictate you must have more than one hall in order to deck appropriately? All I know is that decking halls must be barrel loads of Christmas fun as people who do deck are inspired to sing, "Fa la la la la, la la la la".



Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.



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Afraid and shy....

Tonight I'm sitting on a big pile of perfection, Baby. No...not a comfy chair or fluffy sheep. Just sitting on a perfect night.

Outside my window the first snow of the season has covered the land of Milo and RV's, my son is in bed dreaming of a school cancellation and Michael Buble is on PBS making my heart go pitter-patter. I swear on all that is good and decent, if he showed up at my door right now and sang "You Don't Know Me", I'd bake him a ham.

That's what the kids today are calling it, right?

Lord have mercy kids. He is all good and nothing nice. Even if he is twelve...and a half.

It's been a busy couple weeks. One of the companies for whom I work decided it would be a good idea to have Santa come visit and allow all the little milo children to sit upon his lap for free pictures. We did two sessions and photographed roughly 300 kids. Santa made it through the ordeal with a dry lap and only a couple sharp kicks to his shins.

As jaded as I thought kids today are, I was in for a shock. I could see them as they walked in the front door and I would say a good 90% of them had the same look on their little faces as I would have had I walked through the door and seen Elvis sitting there. It was a combination of joy, fear and complete awe. I honestly thought some of them might fall unconscious.

The very first little boy we photographed was about nine or ten years old and he was probably the most memorable as well. "I'm here for my little brother," he said. "He wanted to tell you what he wants for Christmas, but he can't come so he sent me."

The sound of hearts melting all across the building was darn near audible.

"That's awfully nice of you," said Santa. "But what about you? What do you want for Christmas?"

"Good grades. Just good grades."

I don't think I could have 'aaahed' louder if he'd said world peace.

Then there was the screamer. Of course, we had lots of screamers. Lots and lots of shrieking, screaming, freaking out kids. But this kid was the screamingnest of all the screamers. I would imagine he'll someday make his living doing sound bytes for slasher movies.

Did you know that screaming kids are not unlike dominoes? When this child started to wail, every child in a three block radius started to scream in a most unholy way. By the time we could shoot them with darts dipped in St. Joseph Children's Chewable Valium, it sounded like Santa had gone on a rampage and was killing kids as fast as he possibly could while others looked on.

Can you say Excedrin?

Thank goodness most of the kids were exactly the opposite of the screamer. Typically when they realized they were in the presence of the great and powerful Santa Claus, they were struck speechless.

"Timmy, all you've talked about all day is telling Santa what you want for Christmas and now you can't say a word!" Mom's prodded and coached in an attempt to try to get their children to say something to the man in red...anything at all.

Santa would ask what they wanted and they'd shrug their shoulders and look at their shoes. Before they left I'd try to whisper that it was OK they didn't say anything because the big guy already knew what they wanted. It was my personal little effort to cut down on therapy later in their lives.

And finally there was the kid that I'm pretty sure was a plant sent there just to make us happy. He had only one request and when it was his turn to sit on the man's lap, he practically sprinted to get there.

"What do you want for Christmas?" came the standard question.

"I want a BB gun, Santa!" he said with a gleem in his eye.

In unison every adult in the place shouted, "You'll shoot your eye out, kid!"



Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.



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Say my name.

Dear Sher,

What's going on with you? You're not writing very much any more.

Dear Person who can read and wants to read what I write,

What's going on with me? Let's see. Ummm.... on Saturday I made a huge pan of brownies with melted candy bars in the middle for Mr. Man and my son. Turns out neither of them had any intention of being around much this weekend so I may or may not have consumed a full 3/4 of the pan myself.

Regarding my writing, or the lack of it as the case may be: I'm still writing as much as I ever have. I'm just doing it in invisible computer ink.

Dear Sher,
Do you believe in Santa?

Dear Santa,
Of course I believe in you. I also believe in the Great Pumpkin, the Tooth Fairy and Elvis. However, I completely hate the Tooth Fairy and you can tell her I said it the next time you see her. What the heck is her problem anyway...leaving my best friend Adina like $5.00 under her pillow for a dinky little tooth and I only ever got maybe .50 on a good night. She's a stone cold snob.

Dear Sher,
How's your friend the evil red-headed Berta Lou? Is she still having problems with her iron?

Dear Concerned Reader,
The evil red-headed Berta Lou is all good. The problems with her iron don't matter any more as she has discovered permanent press.

Dear Sher,
Your life could be a sitcom.

Dear new best friend,
Thanks. Your life could be a menu. (I have no idea what that even means.)

Dear Sher,
I wanted to tell you I think you're funny. I found your site while I was surfing and I spent over an hour reading. I nearly peed my pants. I emailed all my friends and told them they had to read your blog, too.

Dear new best friend who just bumped the other new best friend for top position,
We're best friends 'til the end now. BFF, baby. I would totally loan you my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans if you wanted.

Let's do the Billy Bob and Angelina thing. Put some of your blood in a vial and I'll wear it around my neck and I'll send you a vial of mine. You may be surprised to see that my blood looks remarkably like cherry Kool-Aid, but seriously...it's my blood.


Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.



Visit Ms. Crazy On Her Face Online