The Onion Presents a Book of Jean's Own!

by Jean Teasdale

  Still feeling indebted to us, though they hadn’t needed to, they invited us to live with them. We politely demurred, saying that our house may be smaller than their new one, but it was home. Besides, it already held so many joyous memories of our now year-old baby daughter, and we wanted to make new ones!

  Just think—none of it would have happened if Rick hadn’t been hired for that assistant-manager job at the tire center!

  Girl Power? Hook Me Up!

  Ah, the teenage years—braces, blemishes, and boys! (And I suppose “bosoms,” too, though I prefer keeping things clean!) I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking they’re years most people want to forget. My adolescence was, er, difficult, you might say. If you asked me what the worst day of my life was, I’d have to say it was one day when I was fifteen, when this bully Wendi snapped my rainbow suspenders against my, uh, bosoms (yeeowch!), someone dumped a fruit cup into my newsboy cap at lunch, I managed to get my perm so badly snagged in the temple piece of my glasses I had to cut it off with my social studies teacher’s scissors, AND the gym teacher forced me to hang off a chinning bar for five whole minutes because he thought I was “faking” the fact I couldn’t manage half a chin-up.

  Also, when I came home, my mom was screaming at my dad about some “tramp,” and I saw my older brother Kevin throw his old Pinewood Derby racer at our poor little dog Curlytop for going wee-wee on the carpet in his bedroom. And no one had made dinner, so I ate a popcorn ball left over from trick-or-treating a month earlier and it gave me a huge stomachache.

  Then, after I fell asleep, I had that terrible recurring nightmare in which my bedroom crucifix came to life, and the little Jesus crawled down the wall and crept onto my bed and pried my mouth open and tried to force himself into it with his cold tiny brass hands. I always woke up before he succeeded, but that dream messed me up for years and years.

  Sounds familiar, huh? Bet you can relate! But things will get better, a lot better, and that’s what I want young, confused girls who happen upon this little book to understand. The pain and hard times don’t last. Not to be a Lesley-Anne Downer, but I don’t understand why some teens tragically decide to end their own lives when they are just a year or two away from co-signing on an apartment lease or buying their very first used car. Or perhaps others would not turn to drugs, or worse, shoot up schools or shopping malls, if they had only realized earlier that they could soon serve on a jury. Oh, and did I mention no more sub-minimum wage? Yep, you’ll be up to $6.55 an hour, just like us mature grown-ups!

  Besides, this is the era of girl power. Because of it, today’s girls are incredibly cool and practically invincible! Boy, do I wish I had some of that girl power when I was young. We had Ms. Magazine, but my mom wouldn’t let me read it because she considered feminists sluts. If I had been born just a teeny bit later, not only would I have known that I could do anything a boy could, but I would wear cute clothes like pink high tops and hooded sweatshirts with a repeating kitty or bunny pattern on them. And I’d probably be able to rap.

  Anyway, for those tween and teen girls who still haven’t plugged into this fabulous girl power, your big sis Jean has a few choice nuggets of wisdom. Sure, I bet you think you’re too smart to take advice from an old lady, but trust me, this wise owl knows what she’s talking about!

  Don’t dye your hair or get your ears pierced. This might sound like a tall order, but trust me on this! It’s soooo important to be yourself. What’s all the rush with looking like an adult, anyway? When I was 15, I was still styling my Barbie head’s hair and playing with my Tree Tots Tree House. Why? Because even then, I knew that the magic of my youth wasn’t going to last, and I wanted to squeeze in as much playtime whimsy as I could. So believe your old pal Jean when she says that adulthood is strictly overrated. Trust me—you’ll have plenty of time for aging, dead-end, no-fun jobs, and quarrels with the hubby. On a related note…

  Don’t starve yourself. In fact, you should eat anything and everything while your metabolism can handle it! Believe it or not, once upon a time big sis Jean could eat her whole basket of Easter candy in one sitting and she wouldn’t gain an ounce. Of course, I was nine at the time! Then, a mere year later, all the puberty hormones kicked in and I was constantly exhausted and my chest budded and it seemed to weigh more than half my previous total body weight. I never really recovered from that experience. So go ahead and indulge, girls! There’s plenty of time to fret about weight and eating habits later.

  Don’t cut your arms and legs with a razor blade. That’s just gross, and it leaves ugly scars. Never harm your beautiful young body! You’ll get stretch marks in many of these same places later anyway, so just consider those your flesh wounds.

  6Don’t kill anyone!!! Seriously, don’t do it! If you do, you be forever haunted by your terrible crime. Not only that, if you kill someone you really hate, that person will dominate your life even more, because you’ll forever be vilified for killing them. Their memory will be inescapable, and it’s all the worse for you if they’re celebrated as a martyr. Whew—I’m soooo glad to get this off my chest! I’ve wanted to say it for a long time. If only I had the chance to tell the school shooters this, maybe they would have left their guns at home! Remember, it’s far better to make a friend than an enemy. Or at least a passing acquaintance that doesn’t make fun of you.

  When boys call you ugly, they’re actually saying they like you. It took me years to realize this. Some boys might come off like disgusting, worthless brutes, but that’s all really just a disguise. In truth, they’re too shy to admit how beautiful you are and how attracted they are to you! Spare yourself years of unnecessary pain and heartbreak by flashing the little stinkers a smile, and maybe even inviting them to your next birthday party!

  Practice kissing your bare hand a lot. Just do this.

  Find a super-good place for your unsent love letters to various teen idols. And consider saving up to buy a sturdy lock box for them. Never, ever risk bringing them to school, either. I don’t know if they still make Trapper Keepers, but if they do, I have news for you: In spite of the illusion of security they foster, Trapper Keepers do not trap written admissions of undying devotion to Patrick Swayze, Matt Dillon, Jack Wagner, or any of the Coreys. Nor do they keep them from being read over the school PA system on Senior Prank Day!

  A Day in the Life of Jean Teasdale

  Ever wondered what I really do during my day? Is my routine anything but? Is it as wacky as one of my columns? Answer: Positively! Take a gander at my typical schedule.

  6:00 a.m. Wake to alarm.

  6:00 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:10 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:20 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:30 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:40 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:50 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:00 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:10 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:20 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:30 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:40 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  7:50 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  8:00 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  8:10 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  8:20 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  8:30 a.m. Awake in panic, because I have to be at work at 9 a.m.!!

  9:05 a.m. Arrive at work, punch in.

  9:15 a.m. Get chewed out by supervisor for being five minutes late.

  9:20–10:59 a.m. Sit around at cash register bored to tears because no customers have shown up.

  11:00 a.m. When about to go on break, customer shows up at register!

  11:10 a.m. Finally able to go on break.

  11:11 a.m. Get my breakfast from vending machine (usually Drake’s Cakes Devil Dogs and Dr. Pepper; Baked Lays and a Snapple if I’m on a health kick).

  11:15 a.m. Glimpse a really fascinating article in Good Housekeeping (specifically, about a revolutionary new treatment for yeast infections).

  11:30 a.m. Yelled at by supervisor to put down Good Ho
usekeeping and get back to cash register!

  11:30 a.m.–12:50 p.m. Sit around at cash register bored to tears because no customers have shown up.

  12:51 p.m. Customer shows up.

  1:00–1:34 p.m. When I’m about to go to lunch, customer finds some incorrectly marked-down clothing. She wants to buy it, but at the lower price. Since I got my customer override privilege taken away the last time I granted a discount, I follow company policy and tell her just because something is tagged wrong doesn’t mean we accept the discount. “Discussion” ensues. “Discussion” ends when supervisor intervenes and gives her the discount anyway, making me look like a royal a-double-s!

  1:35 p.m. Finally able to go to lunch, though I don’t feel like eating.

  1:40 p.m. Feeling a little hungry after all; go to Burger King across street, stand in long line.

  1:55 p.m. My food is finally ready, but have only five minutes left in my lunch break!

  2:00 p.m. Hustle back to work, unable to eat any of my lunch; supervisor gives me the evil eye for almost being late.

  2:00–2:43 p.m. Sit around at cash register bored to tears because no customers have shown up. Suddenly, get a great idea! Want to jot it down in my notebook, but can’t because supervisor doesn’t let me write during working hours.

  2:45 p.m.–2:51 p.m. Try to amuse self by picking out animal shapes on the frost patterns on the store-front windows and imagining them coming to life. It doesn’t really work.

  2:51 p.m. Customer shows up less than 10 minutes before the end of my shift.

  2:59–3:20 p.m. Same customer comes to register to buy $70 worth of socks and a purse. Her Discover card is denied. She insists on going through her eight credit cards until the final one is accepted. It’s annoying, but at the same time I totes relate.

  3:25 p.m. Finally get to punch out.

  3:40 p.m. Get home.

  3:42 p.m. Nuke my Burger King meal (it never tastes as good as it does fresh—why is that?), settle down on couch, and watch my DVR’d soaps.

  5:20 p.m. Decide to spend some quality time with my two kitties. However, as soon as they see Mommy Jean coming, they duck under the sofa.

  5:30 p.m. Take a quick late-afternoon siesta.

  10:00 p.m. Wake up in puddle of drool on sofa as a drunk Hubby Rick bursts loudly through the door with a take-out pizza.

  10:00–10:20 p.m. Late dinner with Rick. He talks mostly in grunts.

  10:45 p.m. As Rick passes out on carpet with an Xbox 360 controller and Priscilla the kitty perched on his tummy, I retire to our waterbed to finally write down that great idea I had at work in my journal. Unfortunately, it has disappeared from my brain.

  12:00 a.m. Fall asleep.

  6:00 a.m. Wake to alarm.

  6:00 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:10 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  6:20 a.m. Hit snooze button.

  Health & Beauty Aid

  I’m an absolute believer in the adage that beauty comes from the inside. After all, it works in my favor. Since there’s a lot of me, that means I have more inside; ergo, my inside must be an absolute knockout! (Too bad there’s no Inside Beauty magazine—I’d probably be its most famous cover girl!)

  I’ve never been one of those gals to spend a lot of money on beauty gunk. For one thing, have you ever visited a makeup counter? Seventy-five bucks for a tiny jar of cold cream? Forty bucks for a tube of lipstick? No thanks, bub! I’d rather spend the money on things that will bring me real pleasure—a pretty doll, a mirrored keepsake box, a plastic chicken that poops out chocolate eggs—than something I’d just sweat off in an hour or two anyway.

  Same goes with perfume. To me, Chanel, Prince Matchabelli, and all those snooty scents take a back seat to the most heavenly fragrance of all—brownies baking in the oven! And the smell of butter, sugar, and vanilla extract mixed together is a close second. I can’t tell you how many times I started to bake sugar cookies, but never finished because I started sniffing the batter, then tasted it, and then—whoops, where did all the cookie dough go? (In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that if a gal doesn’t go around with a faint whiff of shortening about her, she is probably not to be trusted!)

  To acquire that coveted inner beauty I mentioned earlier, first you have to think beautiful, gracious thoughts. I’m forever thinking about nice things, like how pretty wildflowers are, or my stuffed animal collection, or a tropical beach, or my favorite soap hunk-du-jour (Ryan on All My Children, anyone?), or the taste of chocolate! (Mmmmm!) Sometimes during stressful moments, like peak times at work or when I’m stalled in rush-hour traffic, I take long, languid flights of fancy, transforming my dull surroundings with such fabulous visions as floating down a barge on the Nile dressed in linens and jewels like Cleopatra, all the while being fed grapes by Timothy Dalton and receiving a sesame oil rubdown from Kevin Sorbo! (Rowrrrr!)

  Food has a lot to do with beauty, too. They say you are what you eat. If that’s true, then today I’m a pumpkin cupcake, ten Hershey’s Kisses, four large coffees with cream and sugar, half a bag of pretzels, an Orange Julius (I was at the mall), two slices of sausage and pepper pizza, and one Dove Bar! Doesn’t sound so bad to me! I’m sugar and spice—literally! (Yes, I do have Type 2 diabetes. But I take medication to regulate it.)

  Here’s some other simple things us ladies can do to keep ourselves in the pink each and every day:

  First of all, bathe or shower regularly. Once you do that, you’re 85 percent there. Always be sure to wash between the folds, too. They’re practically the most important! (I learned this vital necessity the hard way!)

  Lotion obsessively. It’s the only way to keep your skin baby soft! And don’t forget those elbows! My favorite lotion is Rose Milk, but I also loooove Avon Skin-So-Soft. Not only does it keep your skin from flaking off in clumps, you smell like…well, you smell like lotion! (Also, if you’ve forgotten to wash your folds, it’s a good way to mask the stench.)

  I don’t like to wear makeup very often, because it feels so heavy and greasy on my face. I prefer to let my “natural glow” show through, anyway. However, I do love lip gloss. To me, applying lip gloss is like treating your lips to a scrumptious fruit smoothie, but with none of the pesky calories! My favorite kind is the flavored variety with sparklies in it. When I combine a sparkly peach lip gloss with my peach-colored sweats and my Rose Milk lotion, I feel like a luscious human sachet!

  Beauty also means keeping your body free and unconstricted. I’ve never been one for tight-fitting clothing. To me, a defined waist is a confined waist! Buttons are for the birds—my personal rule is, if I can’t pull it on over my head, then it’s not worth the bother. That’s why it will always be long, baggy T-shirts, sweatshirts, elastic-waist pants, and knit leggings for me—that is, unless Gymboree puts out a collection for adults!

  As for hairstyles, I firmly believe that the simplest ones are the nicest—chuck those pesky curlers and straight irons in the trash! Take my hairdo, for example. I’ve had virtually the same one since middle school! Bottom line, you just can’t go wrong with the classic Marcia Brady look. It’s like growing two curtain panels off your head. What could be easier?

  But I do acknowledge that change can be healthy. I’ll be the first one to agree that there’s nothing wrong with a hair overhaul once in a while. Especially when you’re going through some tough times in your life, or you’re feeling a little down-in-the-dumps. For instance, about thirteen years ago, I was fired from a flower shop. I got home and was loosening my ponytail in front of the bathroom mirror (they always made me tie my hair back so my stray hairs wouldn’t fall in the bouquets). I was having some trouble pulling the scrunchie out. Already feeling dejected and agitated, this pesky scrunchie was getting on my last nerve, so, before I knew it, I grabbed the kitchen shears and started giving myself a haircut. First, I whacked off the ponytail, then began chopping willy-nilly. Then I decided to refine it a little and go for a Winona Ryder pixie look. (It was the ’90s, after all!)

  I was doing
dandy for a while, but then I cut a little too close in the back, the part I really couldn’t see in the mirror, and I could feel a big bald spot. I tried to crop everything a little shorter, but that didn’t work out too well, either. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Hubby Rick’s beard trimmer. I thought, why not? I clicked it to its most powerful setting and trimmed down the remaining hairs, and I trimmed them and I trimmed them, until, before I knew it, I became not so much a Winona Jean but a Sinead O’Teasdale! Well, the stubble looked a little funny, so I put down Rick’s trimmer, picked up his electric shaver, and took care of the rest! (I also shaved off my eyebrows, but I switched to a disposable razor for that.)

  The whole thing was so much fun, I had a major case of the giggles! It was so freeing, too! I got so carried away that I decided to shave off everything else—my arms, my upper legs, and even my little thicket! (You know, where my pretty kitty lives!) The shaver would never be the same again—let’s just say it bravely sacrificed itself in the line of fire! I skipped into the bedroom and twirled around and around in front of the closet mirror, relishing the feel of the cool air against my shaved head and everything else! (While doing this, I discovered that the space between my temples isn’t as wide as my jaw. You sure notice interesting things about your head when it’s hairless.)