* Don’t judge me. It can’t hurt.
* For some odd reason, unlike nearly every one of my friends, I don’t need these yet. I feel like the lone eighth-grade girl who hasn’t gotten her period over here. And now I’m certain that between the writing and publishing of this book I’ll be wearing 2.0s at least, because of karma.
* And nothing says “I have deep feelings of attachment for you” like having a full-on, in-person conversation with someone while you are pooping . . . am I right?
* Although my husband insists that it could be done and frequently begs for the opportunity to try.
* He thinks I’m disgusting, too, but honestly, I cannot keep my hands off a perfectly ripe zit.
* I hope she has a pregnancy counter-clause. I’m just saying.
* One can only pray that he means “into a different hairstyle” and not “ever,” because that would just get nasty.
* Seems fair.
* Or a lot.
* Uphill in the snow both ways, damn it.
* By “we” I clearly mean “our husbands.”
* Okay, we don’t always like to cook, but we enjoy good food, and we’re not trust-funders, which means we can’t eat out twenty-one meals a week or hire a private, live-in chef.
* I actually looked up that term to see where it came from. The definition is “a real or artificial egg left in a nest to induce hens to lay eggs there.” This makes it sound like when you sock away money it magnetically attracts more money to come hang out with it, which is hella awesome and now I really want a nest egg, damn it.
* Feel free to check out my Pinterest craft board, aptly called Even Though I Am Not Crafty.
* I probably will never do any of this, but I really like it in theory, so I’m including it. Maybe you’re more determined/industrious than I am.
* As deeply or as often.
* According to Forbes it can buy you an ill-gotten spot there . . . but then you’d be a total douche bag.
* I am currently working on one myself. I’m thinking of calling it Undernourished Female Dog. Has a nice ring, right?
* You may recall from previous books that the man I married is fond of camping—whereas I’m intensely fond of not camping—and is still trying to get me to try something called spelunking.
* This was in the olden days when you only had two sets—your mom’s parents and your dad’s—and not the thirteen you get to acquire today through countless divorces and remarriages.
* And by “other people” I mean “my husband.”
* Let’s all agree to stop using the expression “slept like a baby,” unless we’re referring to a drunken occasion where we piss ourselves, scream and cry fitfully for no apparent reason every thirty minutes, and wake with one of our limbs wedged through the slats of the headboard, okay?
* I smoked it one time, before a Ziggy Marley concert. I passed out cold and missed the show. To this day my husband thinks it is hilarious to point out that I am possibly the only person in all of ever who can say she was too high to go to a Ziggy Marley concert.
* Apparently Zorbing is a popular down under “sport” that involves climbing into a large transparent ball and then being pushed down hills. I do not want to do this, ever.
* Yes, there is one. It’s actually called the Jell-O Gallery, and it’s in Le Roy, NY—also known as the “birthplace of Jell-O”—and you guys, there are people on this earth who do not want to die without having visited it. The mind boggles.
* Although I I do occasionally get recognized on the street and in Costco. Sadly, it’s almost always from the house-flipping show my husband and I appeared on and not from my TED talk or any of my books.
* I once did have the urge to scale things, but it was fleeting.
* I did ask—I have a copy of the letter to prove it. He just never responded. Obviously my letter got lost in the mail. Paul, I totally forgive you!
* Don’t pooh-pooh that if you haven’t done it. That shit is not easy to make.
* I know, this wasn’t very smart, and I’m lucky to be alive.
* I know, this wasn’t very smart either, and I’m lucky to be alive.
* I’m totally going to sound totally old lady here, but the cool kind of old lady who wears skull tank tops and swears a lot.
* Which in the song includes but isn’t limited to a broken keyboard, a skeet blanket—whatever that is—flannel zebra jammies, and a big-ass coat.
* Actually the only Kiss song I really like is “Beth,” because goddamnit that’s a great song.
* Incidentally, the article never once called the Boundary Effect a “widespread middle-age phenomenon,” but have you ever once seen your kids do this? Me neither.
* These are Very Important Brain Parts, and I have no idea what they do because I’m not a doctor or anything. I suggest the Internet if you’re curious.
* White parachute pants with a different colored zipper on every pocket and at the ankles with a matching jacket, because I know you’re dying to know.
* Although if they’d never been born, you’d probably never forget to pick them up from school, I’m just saying.
* I wondered it one time, honey, and we were in a huge fight.
* I’m sorry but Scientology is a total deal breaker for me.
* Not at all a reference to how rabbit meat should be cooked.
* I’m referring, of course, to Manaka Tapping Treatments and colonic irrigation, respectively.
* Which is the definitive last word on pretty much everything, obviously.
* True story: On my daughter’s tenth birthday I asked her what she wanted for her special dinner and she replied hopefully, “Can we please have crap mac and cheese? Everyone else gets it all the time, and I’ve never even had it!”
“Do you mean Kraft mac and cheese?” I asked. [Confused look.]
* Seriously, how awesome is Groupon?
* That’s what a group of gators is called, a congregation. Why each animal has its own troop name is beyond me, but it would make a killer Jeopardy! category. (“What is a shrewdness of apes/a wake of buzzards/a coalition of cheetahs/an implausibility of gnus/a charm of hummingbirds/a scourge of mosquitoes/a prickle of porcupines?”)
* Of course I don’t let her out of the house in it! What kind of mother do you think I am? I do, however, let her do my makeup when I’m going out, because why not?
* I actually have no idea what she’s talking about in that song. Ice climbing? Natural disasters? Did someone die? Break her heart? Still, for some reason that line always gets me. (But don’t get me started on revved up like a deuce.)
* I know, I’m such a hypocrite. Don’t tell them, okay?
* The one where all the office gals gather at exactly eleven thirty to watch the construction worker take off his shirt and enjoy his daily Diet Coke break. It’s on Google, I just checked for you. Shit, how do you get drool out of a keyboard anyway?
* The Internet seems to think that other term for females who love flaming men—the one that rhymes with “rag bag”—is now considered highly offensive and derogatory, which is too bad because it’s really fun to say.
* I can’t say for sure, but I think we can assume they’ve picked up a few tricks along the way.
* The really funny one starring Kristen Wiig as me and Will Arnett as Joe. You do this, too, right?
* In the movie, the dog is a darling little male Boston terrier who is impossibly well behaved and doesn’t leave piss burns all over my grass. In real life, she’s an ill-behaved, hyper black lab who sheds enough fur to build a brand-new dog every three days and whose favorite food is my sparkliest pair of Havaianas.
* Use your imagination, okay? My mother is probably going to read this.
* The les
son being I was right and that you should never give a guy (that you don’t ever want to have sex with) an inch.
* If, like me, you’ve wondered why a small, portable, handheld container was chosen as the underworld’s preferred delivery system, apparently back in the guillotine days, handbaskets were used to catch the severed heads of the mortally wounded. And obviously, since the slain subjects had committed a crime punishable by death, they were going straight to hell. Don’t you feel better knowing that? I sure do.
* Although mine comes pretty close, so maybe I should write a book about it?
* Yes, that’s a thing. And it’s as disgusting as it sounds.
* Try it with me: “Yay! I have cellulite and a ton of debt!”
* If you’re reading this, Brooke Mueller, Denise Richards, or Donna Peele, I’m sorry. Please change that to Jesse James.
* Chocolate can be a metaphor for lots of things, you know. This is about indulging in something not overtly harmful every once in a while.
* I am pretty sure she means shoes.
* Yup, she said totally fucked. That’s why I loved her immediately.
* I realize I should probably call him African American Angel, but I like to think that angels aren’t concerned with race or country of origin.
* On the next non-weekday designated drinking night, of course.
* Fine, I checked. It was pretty ugly—but how would I know if it was uglier than anyone else’s?
* I mean that literally. You should see my ass. I honestly don’t have one. When I turn to the side, I look like SpongeBob SquarePants. I hear there’s a procedure that can correct this.
* I kid you not: I was tanorexic. If you look at photos of me in my teens and twenties, all you see are teeth and the whites of my eyes. But don’t worry; I’m paying for it now.
* Speaking of angles, never let a child take your picture unless you are both sitting nose to nose. Otherwise the view of your face from down there—ostensibly the view he sees all day every day but let’s not dwell on that—is a ghastly stretch of jiggly, wrinkly, turkey-waddle neck skin.
* If you haven’t seen this clip on Ellen, go find it on YouTube this instant. It’s epic. Even funnier is the Auto-Tune version.
* Crippling spinal pain or a youthful visage? Well, duh.
* You know, Botox, which Wikipedia describes as “the most acutely toxic substance known,” but obviously, it’s not that bad because it’s FDA approved, and besides, everyone does it.
I've Still Got It...I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It: Awkwardly True Tales from the Far Side of Forty Page 23