I've been working a lot, doing what I love most in the world. Marketing. I have been parlaying my social online activities into a job and so far, it's been pretty successful. I have an expanding client list, which is always a good thing. Paychecks are nice. They allow me shoes. Lots of shoes. Not like I couldn't have lots of shoes before...but there is something liberating about not having to justify my shoe purchases to my husband. Mind you, he doesn't inquire. He frankly couldn't care less about my shopping habits. I just always feel the need to explain them away.
"Oh, these? Yeah, I got them on sale for $blah blah and then I had a Groupon which got me $blah blah off and then, there was an online code for free shipping so they finally came out to $blah blah."
He always says the same thing.
"Babe, you don't need to explain these things to me. If you like them, buy them."
*sighs* Never an argument. Sometimes, I wish he would pull a Ricky Ricardo on me.
"Ceeeeeeee Peeeeeeee!? 'Ave jew bin spending all our moneee again? Ees dat what jew are do-eeng? Jes?"
"Oh no, Hotband! I deedn't spend all jor moneeee again! I got a YOB!"
"A YOB? Where did jew get a Yob? Oh Ceee Peeee! Jew ara bad bad wife! Ay carramba!"
(Those of you under the age of 25 will not even remotely get the I Love Lucy references. Please exit to the left. I have no use for you whippersnappers.)
5 am is a bad time for me to be awake. There's lots of infomercials on at 5am. Lots. Generally there are two different categories of infomercials. Things relating to exercise...and everything else. Things relating to exercise are safe. NO danger of me ordering that P90X or the Insanity Workout in the middle of the night. (Although, I really want that T-shirt...but according to the commercial, you have to "earn" it. Screw that shit. I'll just buy one. My body will reveal the truth. I didn't earn anything but 5 pounds from the cheese danish I was eating while watching these morons lift chairs over their heads while grunting like wart hogs having coitus.) It's the "everything else" that scares my husband. Everything else includes: The Instyler. I really want that fucking thing. I want to make barrel curls, roll curls, mini flips or straight hair that is polished by the rolling/brushing action. And ooh...it comes with a second mini rotating Instyler for when I want a tighter curl! It just may be the most perfect styling tool ever invented! They said so, so it must be true!
|The Instyler: Part hair brush, part masturbation tool. The possibilities are endless.|
Next on my infomercial list? Wen Hair Care. Yes, I love Alyssa Milano. She's named after my favorite cookie. (Mmmmm...Milano's. Double chocolate please.) But the Wen Hair Care System says that I don't have to wash AND condition my hair any more because the non-lathering magic unicorn jizz in the bottle will magically make my hair stunning and glorious just like Alyssa's. When I pump a dime size blob in my hand and comb it through, little fairies will dance around my skull, infusing my head with nourishing fairy dust and encasing each strand in their special fairy saliva. It will be magical! And all the worlds problems will cease to exist because MY hair will shimmer, shine and bounce. Presidents and Kings will bow to my whim because my hair is ethereal!
|Chaz Dean: Creator of Wen. Advocate of the Instyler for off label purposes.|
Next on my wish list? Set It...and Forget it! Not only is the product awesome, but the name is genius! As a matter of fact, I want this to be my motto in life! Everything should be that gimmicky. Work: Do It...nah, Screw It! Marriage: Wed Him...then Bed Him! Having Kids: Have Them...then spend the next 18 years of your fucking life biting your nails down to the nub worrying about the dumb little shits turning your hair prematurely gray and gaining 30 pounds in the process. Hm, okay. Not everything can be that catchy. But seriously, how awesome is the concept of slapping some food in an oven and then, leaving it? You know, while you go out to dinner, because you totally set it...and then, forgot it. I can see this thing playing a real important role in my life. "Yeah, babe. I did make dinner. But I forgot it. Go look in the amazing peek a boo window! It's in there! Now, where shall I put these leftovers?" Everything in life should be so easy.
|These chickens are 5 days old! I totes forgot about them!|
|Hava Tequila. It vill dull zee pain! I vill slap slap slappa da penis!|
Now, it's 6 am. I totally ruined my alone time with my infomercials. I think I shall turn in and have sweet dreams of violating Vince with my Instyler, lubing it thoroughly with some Wen and then, listening to Ron Popeil saying "Shove It...You Will Love It" as I burrow it into one of Vince's orifices.
A girl can dream, can't she?