Notes on my next stand up routine
I am a bit nostalgic for the 70’s, a time when cops didn’t bust you for possession of weed, they simply re-possessed your weed. The 70’s were great, you could have all the sex you wanted without fear of any hideous sexually transmitted disease. Well, there was that genital wart scare in 78 but the doctor assured me they weren’t warts, they were just calluses. Well, obviously, if I was smoking weed in the 70’s, I am probably about middle aged. Now, being the middle aged lady that I am, I made a conscience decision not to use gratuitous cussing. I wouldn’t say cock if I had a mouthful. Actually, being middle aged isn’t so bad, except for the spinal disintegration, liver spots and the realization that I am actually older then the character Ethel Mertz. I think I may even be Edith Bunkers age but I‘m not sure. At least I don‘t have Oprah arms or the dowagers hump. Have you heard of that one? It’s a collection of fat located on your back right about the same place a bison keeps its’ fat store. If you still don’t know what it is, just ask your mother in law.
One bad thing about being middle aged is that there are so few legal ways to amuse ones self. I can get creative though. Once a week or so, I go to Wal-Mart, find a guy shopping alone, wait until he isn’t looking, toss a douche bag in his cart, get behind him in line and wait to see the look on his face as the cashier scans the douche bag. I slay me. I used to get the biggest kick by taking a piece of thread, stick it in my husbands nostril while he’s sleeping and twist it around until he awakens. That’s what he gets for snoring. Sometimes, when I am all alone, I sit on my couch and interview myself. I find me a fascinating interview!
I’ve been watching those judge shows lately. That Judge Judy is a bitch! “You madam, are and idiot and a whore.” Actually, she’s usually right, you just expect a little more respect in a court room. She’s right because who is usually suing whom? Women who move men into their homes, take them shopping for new wardrobes, co-sign on a new car for the guy, give him the PIN number to her ATM card and give up all the free sex he wants. In my day, we made them vow to support us for the rest of our lives, listen to us whine, stop screwing every other woman he sees, and if he does see a good one, he best get whiplash turning his head in the opposite direction, he better remember anniversary’s, even the stupid ones like our first date, read our minds, buy our tampons and THEN we only give it up when we want to. Nowadays, at the very least, four long island ice teas and it’s a go.
I am from a land they call Chicago. And yes, I know the difference between a Yankee and a damn Yankee. I even know the difference between a northern fairy tale and a southern fairy tale. In the north we start ours by saying, “Once upon a time“... In the south, they start them “You all listen to this shit“....I firmly believe we need Ebonics for Yankees. Shortly after I moved here, I needed some guitar strings and the only road I knew was 41 so I drove up and down 41 looking for a guitar shop. I couldn’t find one so I eventually stopped to ask for directions and a sweet old lady in a luggage shop was telling me which Waffle House to turn at when the guy behind her started looking confused. Finally he asked the old lady, Where are you sending her?” “Firestone”, replied the old lady. “Firestone?” asked the guy. “Yeah, she wants a gud tar shop.” Let me rephrase that, GEETAUR shop.
My husband wouldn’t appreciate this at all. He has a Van Gogh’s ear for comedy. But, if you see a middle-aged white guy with a spare tire, don’t say a word. I recently found out he was smarter than I had thought. He told me he thought I should initiate sex more often. Turns out he was right. The mailman delivers to the door now.
There’s a new reality show called Mr. Personality. Women choose a date from a group of blue masked men. Monica Lewinski hosts it. What perfect casting, I don’t think she ever saw her lovers’ face either. There are some men that need a mask, is it me, or is Fabio one ugly SOB? Yeah, he’s got a great body but that doesn’t make up for his butt ugly face. And since when did people have to be all buff to have a good body? I remember when all you had to do to have a good body is NOT to have a bad one.
Why is it that when you ask a man what he is thinking, he says nothing? How do they do that? I’ve been trying for decades. Actually, I recently accomplished it. I thought about absolutely nothing. It scared the bejeesus out of me. I was afraid my brain would stop and never start again. There are so many things that bother me and keep me thinking constantly. I have many questions. Why don’t they put that anti-bacterial crap where it belongs? On Edible Underwear. They make ear muffs, why not nipple muffs? A good Chicago winter could destroy a few good shirts. Anyway, I value my nipples far more than those funky looking ears.
In my real life, I am a nurse and I work with the elderly to make myself appear younger in comparison. And ladies, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that breast implants remain in place for decades. The bad news is that the breasts themselves do not. The poor old guys are confused enough already; they don’t need this kind of puzzle.
Speaking of four breasts, Melissa Etheridge has just asked her girlfriend to marry her. They celebrated their engagement by eating out. That’s what you call fine diving.
No post to my blog would be complete without telling you more about my husband. He is a self-made man who worships his creator. A self-made man who is a classic example of unskilled labor. He’s a man with no enemies but intensely disliked by his friends. He’s a man who loves nature in spite of what his has done to him. I don’t know the technical term for his problem but the common description is delusions of adequacy. But there isn’t anything wrong with him that re-incarnation wouldn’t cure. When he moved from Arkansas to New York, he lowered the IQ in both states. He is a reminder to the ladies that you never know what will come up out of the ground when it rains.
One bad thing about being middle aged is that there are so few legal ways to amuse ones self. I can get creative though. Once a week or so, I go to Wal-Mart, find a guy shopping alone, wait until he isn’t looking, toss a douche bag in his cart, get behind him in line and wait to see the look on his face as the cashier scans the douche bag. I slay me. I used to get the biggest kick by taking a piece of thread, stick it in my husbands nostril while he’s sleeping and twist it around until he awakens. That’s what he gets for snoring. Sometimes, when I am all alone, I sit on my couch and interview myself. I find me a fascinating interview!
I’ve been watching those judge shows lately. That Judge Judy is a bitch! “You madam, are and idiot and a whore.” Actually, she’s usually right, you just expect a little more respect in a court room. She’s right because who is usually suing whom? Women who move men into their homes, take them shopping for new wardrobes, co-sign on a new car for the guy, give him the PIN number to her ATM card and give up all the free sex he wants. In my day, we made them vow to support us for the rest of our lives, listen to us whine, stop screwing every other woman he sees, and if he does see a good one, he best get whiplash turning his head in the opposite direction, he better remember anniversary’s, even the stupid ones like our first date, read our minds, buy our tampons and THEN we only give it up when we want to. Nowadays, at the very least, four long island ice teas and it’s a go.
I am from a land they call Chicago. And yes, I know the difference between a Yankee and a damn Yankee. I even know the difference between a northern fairy tale and a southern fairy tale. In the north we start ours by saying, “Once upon a time“... In the south, they start them “You all listen to this shit“....I firmly believe we need Ebonics for Yankees. Shortly after I moved here, I needed some guitar strings and the only road I knew was 41 so I drove up and down 41 looking for a guitar shop. I couldn’t find one so I eventually stopped to ask for directions and a sweet old lady in a luggage shop was telling me which Waffle House to turn at when the guy behind her started looking confused. Finally he asked the old lady, Where are you sending her?” “Firestone”, replied the old lady. “Firestone?” asked the guy. “Yeah, she wants a gud tar shop.” Let me rephrase that, GEETAUR shop.
My husband wouldn’t appreciate this at all. He has a Van Gogh’s ear for comedy. But, if you see a middle-aged white guy with a spare tire, don’t say a word. I recently found out he was smarter than I had thought. He told me he thought I should initiate sex more often. Turns out he was right. The mailman delivers to the door now.
There’s a new reality show called Mr. Personality. Women choose a date from a group of blue masked men. Monica Lewinski hosts it. What perfect casting, I don’t think she ever saw her lovers’ face either. There are some men that need a mask, is it me, or is Fabio one ugly SOB? Yeah, he’s got a great body but that doesn’t make up for his butt ugly face. And since when did people have to be all buff to have a good body? I remember when all you had to do to have a good body is NOT to have a bad one.
Why is it that when you ask a man what he is thinking, he says nothing? How do they do that? I’ve been trying for decades. Actually, I recently accomplished it. I thought about absolutely nothing. It scared the bejeesus out of me. I was afraid my brain would stop and never start again. There are so many things that bother me and keep me thinking constantly. I have many questions. Why don’t they put that anti-bacterial crap where it belongs? On Edible Underwear. They make ear muffs, why not nipple muffs? A good Chicago winter could destroy a few good shirts. Anyway, I value my nipples far more than those funky looking ears.
In my real life, I am a nurse and I work with the elderly to make myself appear younger in comparison. And ladies, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that breast implants remain in place for decades. The bad news is that the breasts themselves do not. The poor old guys are confused enough already; they don’t need this kind of puzzle.
Speaking of four breasts, Melissa Etheridge has just asked her girlfriend to marry her. They celebrated their engagement by eating out. That’s what you call fine diving.
No post to my blog would be complete without telling you more about my husband. He is a self-made man who worships his creator. A self-made man who is a classic example of unskilled labor. He’s a man with no enemies but intensely disliked by his friends. He’s a man who loves nature in spite of what his has done to him. I don’t know the technical term for his problem but the common description is delusions of adequacy. But there isn’t anything wrong with him that re-incarnation wouldn’t cure. When he moved from Arkansas to New York, he lowered the IQ in both states. He is a reminder to the ladies that you never know what will come up out of the ground when it rains.
posted by Meg Kelso | 5:27 PM
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