“Could it be this way? On the back? Never mind, don’t call her, I found it. It was on the back. I followed the arrow.”
Sometimes I feel like an idiot when I’m with people who have more power than me. I don’t mean someone like Hercules (though he probably would make me feel uncomfortable; the age difference alone—a few thousand years, I’m guessing—would make it hard for us to find things in common to talk about), I mean someone who has power over me. I mean policemen. I mean policemen who pull me over when I’ve been speeding.
I get nervous, so I try to lighten things up by using humor. And you know what? I’m always amazed that people (and by people I mean policemen) don’t have the same sense of humor that I do.
For instance, I was pulled over in Los Angeles last week. I was driving—I was speeding. It was obvious I was speeding; I was going very, very fast. So, this policeman pulls me over. He comes up to the window of the car and says, “You know why I pulled you over?” And so I said, “Because of the dead bodies in the trunk?” To make a long story short, he didn’t see the comedy in my remark. Like I said, no sense of humor.
Do you ever lie to a policeman when you get pulled over for speeding? If you look real good that day, you might think you can flirt your way out of the ticket. But, unfortunately, we usually don’t dress anticipating a traffic ticket. We’re usually wearing some horrible outfit that we just threw on to go out and buy some Häagen-Dazs ice cream. But, we try flirting anyway, and nine times out of ten we end up feeling like idiots (the tenth time we feel even worse).
“Hi, I think Nehru jackets are sexy—don’t you, officer? HA, HA, HA. Well, anyway, listen—you know what happened? And I think you’ll find this funny—well, not funny, but, well … Anyway, okay, I was in my house and I got a phone call from my mother. She said, ‘Ellen honey.’ That’s what she calls me. Well, that’s my name—not the honey part—Ellen. Honey’s just an endearing term. You can call me Ellen Honey. Anyway, she asked me to ‘rush’ over—that’s the word she used, ‘rush.’ I said are you okay? She just said, ‘Hurry, please, hurry.’ That’s what she said, ‘Hurry, please.’ Well, you heard what she said. Well, you didn’t hear her, but you heard me saying what she said. Anyway, I just hung up. I said, ‘Okay, bye.’ First I said okay, bye, then I hung up really fast and threw this horrible outfit on—because I was naked—doing some aerobics. I like to keep in shape. I’m single so I feel it’s important to look my best for men because that’s my job as a woman to look good. Because that’s important, being single and a woman. I date a lot of guys; I’m not seeing anyone seriously at this particular time, not that I just go out with anyone—that would be trampy—I have to know a person fairly well first before I would go out and I don’t think it should always be the man that pays for the dates. I find it’s hard to meet decent people. Well, I’m shy—normally. You’re easy to talk to though. I don’t know what it is about you, there’s something very special, unique. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Anyway, woo, it’s hot today, isn’t it?”
Then you bat your eyelashes in what you hope is a sexy way. Then the policeman hands you the ticket and drives away. Then you feel like an idiot for the rest of the day.
Another thing that we do that can make us feel like we’re not only idiots, but crazy idiots to boot (to boot is human, to forgive divine) is talk to ourselves. It’s hard to walk down the street these days without hearing somebody talking to themselves. In fact, it’s safe to assume that anybody you see walking down the street is talking to themselves. Sometimes people walk in groups of two or more to disguise that they’re each having their own individual conversations, but they don’t fool me.
“You crazy people are talking to yourselves!” I yell out at them.
But, trapped in their own tiny little worlds, they never hear me. Or maybe they don’t hear me because I’m in my car with the windows rolled up. Either way, it’s safe to say that something is going on.
Though most people engage in what scientists call “Talkee to Selfee,” I never talk to myself.
“Oh, yes I do.”
“Oh, no I don’t.”
“Oh, yes I do.”
“Oh, no I don’t.”
“Oh, yes I do.”
“Oh, no I don’t.”
Author’s Note: This conversation was supposed to go on for another ninety pages, and in my mind would have gotten funnier and funnier (I swear, after fifty pages you would have just been screaming with laughter) and, at the same time, fulfilled my obligation to turn in a book of at least 60,000 words.
My editor tried to convince me that this wasn’t a good idea. I said, “Is too.” He said, “Is not.” I said, “Is too.” He then said he wasn’t going to fall into that trap and that furthermore, none of those words would be counted in the 60,000 that I owe him.
“Why?” I asked. He replied something that to my ear sounded like, “Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah …” This would have gone on most humorously, but my cold-hearted editor said he wouldn’t count any of the blahs as words either.
Finally, when my editor was unable to convince me to change what I saw as my personal vision of what this book should be, my editor’s lawyers tried a different approach—something about breach of contract and wanting their money back, I think. Well, we all had a good laugh, after which I completely caved in.
So back to the story, which, in case you forgot, is about talking to yourself.
“Oh, yes I do.”
“Oh, no I don’t. Hey, go behind that door.”
“Okay.” SLAM!!!! “Hey, you fooled me. Let me back in.”
“No, I’ve got a book to write. Leave me alone.”
“Okay. Sorry. Good-bye.”
Now where was I? Oh, right. Though most people do talk to themselves, a lot of people don’t. But don’t get me wrong, they would like to learn how. So, for their benefit, I thought I’d jot down a few words on how they can join the majority and learn the art of self-conversation.
The main advantage of talking to yourself is that sometimes you’re the only person who wants to talk to you. Unfortunately this could be because you are extremely boring. If that’s the case, then talking to yourself can be a benefit to both you and the outside world—sparing others the expense of listening to you and your mundane ramblings.
Other times, you are the only person available to talk with. Maybe you’re in solitary confinement or stranded on a desert isle, or, in the worst-case scenario, mistakenly buried alive. But, luckily for you, you’ve been buried alive with this book—even though it may be difficult to turn the pages. Also, the lighting probably isn’t that good.
Then again, when you’re buried alive, eye strain is probably the least of your worries.
Some people need a crutch in learning to talk to themselves, so they talk to their television sets first. If for some reason you feel that talking to a TV is less insane than talking to yourself, then more power to you. If you’re not sure how to begin talking to your TV, here are a few sample starter phrases:
“Oh boy, this is going to be fun fun funny.”
“Look out behind you!”
“I think you’re lying. I don’t think it’s going to rain tomorrow. What do you say about them apples, Mr. Weatherman?”
“Oh yeah, laugh while you got the chance, you criminal scum. Because I got the feeling that in a few minutes that laugh is gonna be wiped off your face by Barnaby Jones, P.I.”
After you’ve gotten the hang of talking to your television you can begin the weaning process by moving on to talking to your radio. If you already sing along with your radio, this will be especially easy for you; though you may want to switch from a music station to talk radio—which, I should note, was specifically designed for people who talk to themselves. If you already sing along to talk radio, well … I don’t know what to say. You�
�re on your own.
From there on, the weaning process will be easier and easier for you. You’ve already moved from talking to your TV to talking to your radio. You follow this by talking to your toaster (“Oh yes, make it brown and crisp, just the way I like it.”), then to your toast, then your pen, then your pencil, then your eraser, then you talk to a tiny piece of lint in your pocket, and finally you’re ready, willing, and able to talk to yourself.
Remember, a person who talks to herself is a healthy person. There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, there was a survey done on people who talk to themselves.…
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Yes, there was. Hey, how did I get back in here?”
“I had a key to the door, ha ha ha.”
“The survey said that 90 percent of all people talk to themselves.”
“I’m crazy. I’m just making that up.”
“Oh, no I’m not. I read it; it’s healthy.”
“I’m just saying that because I want to feel better about myself.”
I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to stop right here. I and myself have an appointment to go to couples therapy to try to work out some of these issues. In the meantime, good luck in talking to yourselves.
ellen’s sure-fire
cures for the
things that ail ye
Contrary to what you may have heard, I am not a doctor. I do not play a doctor on TV (if you think that I do, then you either have some sort of attention disorder or you’ve been watching the wrong show). I have not even played “Doctor” for a very long time—at least fifteen years … okay, ten.
I do not own a stethoscope. Your medical insurance, no matter how good, will never cover anything that I do. If you were to see me on the street and yell out, “Hey, Doc, how’s it going?” I would walk away without responding (thinking to myself that you either mistook me for somebody else or were potentially dangerous). I cannot legally prescribe drugs.
I have no medical training whatsoever. Since I was raised a Christian Scientist, in high school I was excused from all science classes; I wasn’t supposed to learn about the human body. On the plus side, I never had to dissect a frog. (I don’t see why anybody has to dissect a frog these days; I know I’d be upset if a giant frog came to earth and decided that he wanted to dissect humans, and I bet that nine out of ten Americans would agree with me in regard to the giant frog. The tenth guy … well, he’s the kind of person that, if you happen to see him walking down the street, it’s probably best that you avoid eye contact.)
The negative side of being excused from all those science classes was that for the longest time I didn’t know anything about the human body at all. When my stomach hurt, I said I had a stomachcake—I didn’t know it was stomachache. While that sort of mistake is cute in a four-year-old, in a teenager it raises a few eyebrows. There are still parts of the human body that I’m just learning about now (internal parts—I know the outside really well; I know my hands, my legs, those ten little things at the end of my feet, and everything else).
All that being said, despite my lack of even the flimsiest credential, I have some advice on how to cure some common ailments that might bother you. I know nothing about nothing, but these are things that have either worked for me occasionally, or things that I’ve never tried, but feel strongly enough will work nonetheless. I think that you’re going to find them extremely useful.
Hiccups
We get hiccups when our esophagus and trachea get into a fight over who is better friends with the gallbladder. When you divide the word hiccups into two parts, you get hic and cups. If there is any significance to that, scientists have yet to find it—though, to be fair to scientists, they’re probably not looking very hard.
CURES FOR HICCUPS
While holding your breath (or the breath of the person standing next to you), swallow three thousand times. Immediately shampoo your hair, but don’t use conditioner. Repeat.
Hold a kitten on your lap and pet it gently on its little head while singing any song by Air Supply (except from their first album).
With your head bent to a thirty-five-degree angle, bite on a slice of lemon with one eye open and the other closed. If you have an additional eye, do whatever you want with it (your eye, not the lemon).
Start hopping for approximately five minutes, scream as loud as you can, “Hey Mr. Tally Man, tally me bananas!” then do a backward flip. This should only be done if you have plenty of room.
Wearing nothing but a Viking helmet and snowshoes, watch reruns of Dynasty.
Call up Tokyo and order Moo Goo Gai Pan. When the delivery man comes, tip him generously. If you live in Tokyo, then call up Belgium and order anything except sweet potatoes.
The Common Cold
Research shows that the common cold is not as common as most people think it is—it’s even more so!! It’s so common you wouldn’t be out of line to call it a floozy. A lot of so-called experts have a lot of so-called cures for the so-called common (so-called) cold. Mine are better. And I should know; I’ll have had my current cold for three years this March.
CURES FOR THE COMMON COLD
Starve a cold, feed a fever. Punch a cold in the stomach, kick a fever in its ass. Strangle a cold, tickle a fever with an ostrich feather. Throw toilet paper at a cold’s house, make a fever sit on a whoopie cushion.
In treating a cold remember the three C’s: Cheese, Cheese, and Cottage Cheese (actually those are four C’s).
While sitting in an icy, cold bath, smoke a carton of menthol cigarettes and eat plenty of—you guessed it—cheese.
Only eat solids, avoid all fluids (except for liquid cheese).
Steal the bedding from a hospital, wrap yourself in it, and pretend to be The Mummy.
Drive your car while sitting in the passenger seat. Oh, did I tell you, I put a bomb in your car, and it will go off if you drive under fifty miles an hour. What do you do? What do you do?
With unwashed hands, touch your eyes, nose, ears, tongue, and throat as many times as you can in one minute.
Tease your neighbors hamster. If your neighbor doesn’t have a hamster, then tease your neighbor’s ferret.
Walking Pneumonia
I don’t know who had the bright idea of teaching pneumonia how to walk, but I’d like to find that dunderhead before he decides he wants to teach it how to drive. Some people don’t know how to leave well enough alone. I’m not trying to imply that regular pneumonia is “well enough,” I’m just saying … Well, I’m sure you know what I mean.
CURES FOR WALKING PNEUMONIA
Sit down!
Headaches
A lot of people will tell you that if you have a headache, you should take an aspirin or some other type of pain reliever. What they don’t tell you is that aspirin and its pals cost money. You have to invest something like two dollars. Sure, my book is $19.95, but look what else you’re getting … Okay, let’s get past the money and change the subject.
A lot of people will tell you that if you have a headache you should pinch that little flap of skin between your thumb and forefinger. What they don’t tell you is maybe you don’t feel like pinching that flap, or maybe you’ve been dieting so you don’t even have a flap anymore. I’ll tell you one thing. I wish I had never written this paragraph, because now I’m starting to get a headache.
CURES FOR A HEADACHE
Pummel a bag of chattering teeth, rubber chickens, and other joke items with a shillelagh. If you don’t own a shillelagh, then either borrow one from a policeman or rent one.
Set your clothes dryer for an hour, sit on top, and “ride ’em cowboy!”
Pinch the flap between your neck and your waist.
When your neighbors aren’t home, sneak into their house, fix yourself a drink, then see if they have anything weird in their closets. If they’re gone long, take a nap on their new couch.
Eat pancakes and keep eating them until your headache goes away.
Go to the nearest high scho
ol and take the SATs again.
Pretend to be Swedish for a whole day. This might not cure your headache, but it’s bound to be a lot of fun, by yimminy.
Sit as close to your television as you possibly can and watch any Ernest movie. Either that or go to an ABBA concert. It’s your choice.
I think that I have proved conclusively that I am not in any way, shape, or form in the medical profession. If you persist in thinking otherwise, then there is a good chance that you are, if not completely insane, more than halfway there. And don’t go giving me any of that “Laughter is the best medicine” business. If I get strep throat, I’d much rather take penicillin than watch a lot of Benny Hill reruns.
the last
chapter
I really feel that this is a complete, well-rounded, fleshed-out piece of work—an eclectic book. A little something for everyone in the family to enjoy. And if it were up to me, I’d say “The End,” but it seems that contractually I have not fulfilled my duty—the lawyers have reminded me that the book must be at least 60,000—that’s sixty thousand—words.
“Wow,” you say. Or maybe not—maybe some of you said “wow” or simply thought it in your head. Those of you who did not react at all surely have no concept of the pressure to write that many words, for that is a whole lot of words.
In conclusion (and, just between you and me, in order to get the law off my back), I’d like to say a few things that perhaps I neglected or merely didn’t expand on or go into detail about. For instance, I have enjoyed writing this book over the past year. It’s been a learning experience that I shall never forget. My one regret is that I don’t know how to type so I did not use a computer. I have written the entire book in longhand, and I’m not positive, but I believe my right arm is now considerably larger than the left—because I am right-handed.
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