No one gets near my inbox without a ring. Or a canned ham.

Dear Sher,
I LOVE YOU!!!! AND MISS YOU. I STILL CANT HELP TO SAY YOU ARE SOOO FUNNY.

Dear Excited CAPS LOVER!!!!
I love and miss you as well and I still can't help to say you are soooo right about me being soooo funny. (Who are you?)

Dear Sher,
I really enjoy reading your columns on Sanity Central. I'm also a humor writer, with a column called Airing My Dirty Laundry, and I wondered if you'd like to exchange links. Check out my columns at JackiePapandrew.com and, if you would, let me know if you'd like to do a link swap. Thanks!!
Jackie Papandrew

Dear Jackie,
Consider yourself swapped.

Dear Sher,
Hello! I was doing some research on column writing on the net a few months ago and found you. I so enjoy your writing. My favorite has to be the one concerning the strange guy who you unsuspectingly opened your front door to find standing on your porch. I laugh everytime I read it. Just wanted to say thank you for making my days a little better. Be well.

Dear Person whose days are a little better all thanks to me and why wouldn't they be,
I see that guy like every week or so in my town. Freaks me out every time. As I happen to believe that no one crosses our path by accident and that every one who continues to show up in our lives for no good reason is actually there to teach us something, I guess I should just face him and figure it out, huh? (I seriously need to stop reading so many books by the Dali Lama. I can't even squish a spider now.)

So long as I'm all philosophical, you should know I also believe children are our future. Teach them well and let them all be gay. Wait a minute. Let them Tangueray. Ummmmm. This is awkward.

Dear Sher,
Having just found your web site and read a lot of it, you definitely get my vote as the next Erma Bombeck. Love your work.

Dear Guy who loves me,
Was that a proposal? If you've really read a lot of it, you know any string of nouns and vowels strung together by a man in any form... be they words in an email or drunken declarations of love right before they pass out and pee on themselves... I consider to be a legal and binding proposal of marriage. I'll see you in June, 2029, Sport. (That's the next husband opening I have. Booked solid 'til then.) xoxoxoxoxo

Dear Sher,
Why aren't you writing? Too busy for us?! Hope everythings okay and look forward to your next column!

Dear Nosy Reader,
You remind me of Darla in "Finding Nemo" who shook the life out of the plastic baggie holding Nemo and screamed, "WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?".

I haven't written because the letter "e" on my computer was in the shop and I couldn't afford the outrageous cost of repair, OK? Happy now that I'm all embarrassed?

Good, good stuff.


Copyright © 2004-2006, 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

They crawl in like a cock roach...wearing a scarf.

I have been so menopausal lately, I am just one hot flash away from spontaneously combusting. In fact, so sad and angry and moody am I as of late, my pharmacist actually hugged me the other day.

Personally, I think he was just trying to control where my arms were so I wouldn't punch him in his pestle.

The only reason I didn't is that my pharmacist is my go to guy for creating the pretty pills that keep me from swearing at everyone I meet and running over puppies. Bio-identical HRT, Baby. It's the only way to fly.

However, from time to time something in my rickety body goes hay wire and the HRT needs to be tweaked by said drug guy. That's when I want to set ant hills on fire and knock old people down. I am both angry and sad at the same time, which means that even though I will derive crazy pleasure from knocking a walker out from under somebody's grandpa, I'll cry about it later.

Add to the mix the fact that it's been a ragged week from hell like no other and you can begin to understand why I'm damn near teetering at my very wit's end. Between the hormones, the Hashimotos and the added bonus of finding out someone I've known for awhile hates me with a white hot hatred typically reserved for someone who has killed a member of your family, I am as close to making the news as I've been in awhile.

And not in a good way, either.

Yesterday I decided that what I needed to make me feel all better was a couple knitting needles, some yarn and a desire to make a scarf for no good reason. I rushed to Wal-Mart and purchased these the keys to my happiness and mental stability.

Long, gold needles. Long, purple needles. Deep red yarn so soft it nearly melted in my hands. I bought it all and rushed home all a tingle with excitement. I would make a scarf so fabulous that everywhere I wore it people would stop me and ask where in the world I found such an unbelievably stylish and crazy gorgeous scarf and when I modestly told them I made it all by my little self, they would beg.... no plead desperately with me to make them a scarf as well.

I thought about all the scarves I would make for the people in my life who do not secretly hate me. Sort of a reward for not wishing I were dead every time they see me. The more I thought about handing scarves out to people like the Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou and Deputy Pretty, the faster I drove home to get started.

For the first time in weeks, I actually felt super-dooper happy. Perky, even. The kind of feel good that makes normal women use made-up words like super-dooper.

God bless knitting needles and yarn.

Before sitting in my favorite chair to commence the knitting-palooza, I popped some jazz in the stereo, lit a candle and wondered how it would feel to make it to the final three on "Project Runway".

"Sher, I don't know how you do it, but there is something so magical about your scarves," Heidi would say. "Even though you have not actually sewn any clothes since you arrived, I think you might actually win this contest."

I picked up my shiny, aluminum knitting needles, wove the yarn expertly through my fingers, and began clanking and clinking those things around so fast I think it's quite possible I threw off some sparks. Heidi was right. It really was magical.

I stopped for a second to survey my work and I suddenly realized something very important.

I can't friggin knit!!! I do not know how to blankety-blank f#$%#^# KNIT! What the hell was I thinking? KNIT??? How serious a hormonal imbalance must I have to suddenly make me think buying some girlie crap and a book telling me how to make something with the crap was gonna be anything but a fiasco?

I wanted to storm to the kitchen and take an extra helping of estrogen in hopes of snapping me back to reality, but due to my doomed knitting attempt, I fell to the ground like a rodeo cowboy had hog tied me with red yarn. Somehow I had managed to string red yarn from head to toe and more importantly, wrap it around my ankles and legs.

If Jerry Lewis were to have done a movie about knitting, it would have looked just like this. That thought, the image of Jerry as the Nutty Professor with the big teeth and glasses, "knitting" at the speed of light only to wind up covered in yarn made me laugh so hard, I nearly forgot about what a crappy week this one has been.

Thank you God... for Jerry Lewis, for knitting needles and yarn, for pretty little pills and hugging pharmacists and most of all, for people who do not hate me.

I wish I'd written this song. I think it's beyond brilliant. "Hate Me" by Blue October.


Copyright © 2004-2006, 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