Top 5 Reasons I’ll Never Run For Office

Presidential candidates are sharpening their knives, honing their wit and polishing up their toothy smiles. With a possible Romney/Bush/Palin ticket, what could possibly go wrong?

I have no desire to run for office. Zero. Zip. Nada.

I’ve been watching the hilarious sitcom, Veep, where I’ve learned all kinds of ways to insert swear words into everyday conversation. And although I could @$%&ing excel at that type of linguistic behavior, Veep also demonstrates the backbiting, power struggles, insecurities and hypocrisy that exists in today’s political landscape.

veep

(These people are horrible. But it’s fiction, right? Right?!?!)

So (not that I was considering it), here are the reasons I’ll never run for POTUS, mayor, the library board or PTA hospitality chairperson.

1–I’m too thin-skinned. A boy in third grade told me I ran like a girl. I couldn’t imagine a more hurtful insult. Of course this same boy threw earthworms at my face, broke my pencils in half and pulled my pigtails. I’m pretty sure he loved me. But negative comments REALLY make me feel bad. And I don’t hear a lot of compliments or praise coming from political opponents.

2–I have no patience with whiners. Ask my kids. You whine, I stop listening. If my constituents call about potholes, the height of their neighbor’s garage or the price of Girl Scout Cookies, I’ll calmly hang up.

gscookie

(Yes, they are hideously expensive. But they’re also unhealthy, fattening and addictive!)

3–I can’t make a decision. Don’t ask me what movie I want to see, what restaurant I want to go to, what my favorite book is or if I’d rather be on a beach or in a luxury hotel. The answer is I don’t know! It’s all good!! So when it comes to voting on bike lanes, economic development or elephant sanctuaries, I don’t know!

4–I hate meetings. All politics seems to be is a bunch of meetings. Just give me cement shoes and throw me in the Great Salt Lake. Listening to politicians bluster and brag is the tortuous equivalent to a dentist’s drill boring through my eardrum. Plus I can’t sit still. Plus I can’t resist making smart-ass comments. Plus most meetings are a complete waste of time. (Sidenote: Read How to Survive a Boring Meeting.)

5–I don’t have nearly enough money. The average income for congressmen living in Washington, D.C. is around $190,000. And that’s in American dollars! But. It cost them millions of dollars to buy their way onto Capitol Hill. Lobbyists aren’t cheap, you know. I don’t have wealthy friends willing to open their wallets to sponsor my doomed run for office. I don’t even have friends willing to post bail. I need to get new friends.

Just to reiterate. You will not be seeing a Peri for President campaign anytime soon. Not even for @$%&ing Girl Scout cookies.

 

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More Proof Our Parents Tried to Kill Us

For those of us raised before intrusive regulations, FDA labels, auto safety campaigns, no-smoking ads and boring playgrounds, we lived in a fairytale land of denial and luck.

In a previous blog, Proof Our Parents Tried to Kill Us, I addressed the dangerous foods our parents unknowingly (they say) fed us, that should have landed us in a 10-year coma.

Here is more proof our parents tried to kill us.

  • Bike helmets were non-existent. In addition, we were encouraged to ride bikes without holding on to the handlebars, while standing on the bike seat and carrying our younger siblings. If we fell, “Well, maybe you should practice more, dummy.”
  • Lawn Darts were a common weapon our parents used to distract us from begging for food. “Go play lawn darts. I just sharpened them up for you.”

 lawndarts(Basically throwing knives at each other.)

  • EVERYTHING was sugar-coated, from breakfast cereal to toothpaste.
  • It didn’t happen often, because teachers didn’t really care, but occasionally we’d have a nuclear bomb drill–because everyone knows hiding under a desk saves you from radiation and nuclear fallout. And if that doesn’t work, stuffing 1,200 people in the basement of the local high school should be fine. Yep, no problems there.
  • Sunscreen? What the hell’s sunscreen?
  • Fisher Price even had a toy representing a bully. It’s motto was “Toughen up you little s***.”FB bully

(More proof that freckled little boys are demonic.)

  • Disco music.
  • Less than 10 percent of people in 1970 used seat belts because your mom was sure if she threw her arm across your chest during a car accident, everything would be fine. By 1989, 34 states passed seat belt laws–except for New Hampshire because they just didn’t give a @%#*.
  • The way our parents dressed us for school was a way of encouraging someone to beat us up. Clothes in the 1970s might as well have been printed with signs on the back stating, “Please, punch me in the gall bladder.”fashion

(My brother rocked some groovy polyester pant suits. So did my sisters.)

If nothing else, growing up in the ’70s taught us to be resilient and creative. It was either adapt or die. Because of my childhood, I am now a high-functioning sarcastic. Thanks mom and dad!!

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7 Habits of Highly Irritating People

Everyone has irritating habits; those strange little quirks that drive the people around us loco. But some people go above and beyond the label to become habitually irritating. That’s why the term “justifiable homicide” was created.

punch

Here are the 7 Habits of Highly Irritating People. Taken individually, they’re tolerable; but collectively?!

No eye contact during a discussion. It’s hard enough making small talk at parties or business meetings. But if the person you’re speaking with is looking over your shoulder, down your shirt, at the ceiling–or anywhere but at you, just walk away. They won’t notice.

Intense eye contact during a discussion. Ever feel like you’re talking to a serial killer? Chances are, their eyes have been boring into your soul for an intense 10 minutes of conversation. They don’t glance away, they don’t break eye contact for one second–and they never blink (except that one time when the guy’s eyelids blinked sideways.)

Interrupting conversations. So you’re talking to a co-worker/friend/cousin/mortal enemy, and they suddenly decide your story is too boring–and they start telling you about their trip to the Bahamas. Move on.

Being judgmental bastards. All your co-worker/friend/cousin/mortal enemy can talk about is how everyone sucks. Because perfect.

cat judge

Being easily offended. There’s always that person who can take anything you say and turn it into an insult. “My, that’s a lovely dress you’re wearing.” “What does that mean?! Why are you lookin’ at my dress?!?”

People who don’t listen. You can tell when people stop paying attention. They get a distant look in their eyes, and you can hear the squeaky hamster wheel in their brain slowly come to a stop. Just start rambling nonsense or making up new swear words. It won’t matter. They’ve checked out.

People who have to be right. You could be discussing gravity. Or the polio vaccine. Or the societal impact of The Simpsons. But it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, because this person ALWAYS disagrees with you–and backs up their argument with baseless “facts.”

Another irritating habit? A person who points out irritating habits. Have a good Tuesday. If that’s even possible.

 

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Top 5 Ways to Tell if You’re a Hoarder

We tend to accumulate stuff. Lots and lots of stuff.  As a result, many people start the New Year by throwing stuff away. Unread issues of Reader’s Digest, boxes of Cap’n Crunch that expired in November 2012, bottles of dry shampoo and half-used, dusty, scented candles–they can all go in the trash.

But if you’ve cleared things out and still can’t walk in a direct line to your hall closet, have you considered the possibility that you’re a hoarder? (“Hoarder” is defined as “a person who hoards things.” Thanks, dictionary, for that insightful explanation.)

Here are some signs you might suffer from hoarderism:

You cannot sit on the furniture in your home. Walk into your living room. Can you see your couch? Can visitors sit on it? If it’s covered with newspapers, like your living room has become a birdcage for a free roaming eagle, you could be a hoarder.

hoarder

(Can you even tell what room this is?)

You have no counter space in the kitchen. When was the last time you used your kitchen counter for cooking? The Clinton era? The Nixon era? If you have stacks of recipes ripped from 1970 Good Housekeeping magazines stashed around your kitchen, you could be a hoarder.

You haven’t seen your dog/cat/toddler/husband for days. Have you looked under the pile of shopping bags you have stacked in the corner? Could they have wandered off into the maze of boxes piled in the family room? If you’re pretty sure you have a dog/cat/toddler or husband, but have had no visible contact with them for quite a while, you could be a hoarder.

You cannot park in your garage. Can you open the garage door without boxes of discarded clothes tumbling down like a fashion avalanche? Do you have several mechanical projects that need new engines, better tires, several layers of rust removed or an entire renovation? If your garage looks like a bad episode of Pawn Stars, you could be a hoarder.

Your backyard looks like a refuge camp. Are there garbage sacks full of unidentifiable objects strewn around your back lawn? Is there a family of rats breeding on the remains of several swing sets? Do people in hazmat gear occasionally walk through your backyard with Geiger counters? If you find a family of immigrants living under a pile of old sleeping bags in what might be your garden, you could be a hoarder.

camp

(Maybe it’s time to clean up the backyard.)

Luckily, tonight is New Year’s Eve, so tomorrow you can jump right on that resolution to rid your house of excess crap. But there are also lots of sales happening tomorrow, so you might take the opportunity to bring more useless stuff into your home. Either way, Happy New Year!

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My Christmas Wish List

Christmas is a time for making wishes–even those outrageously ludicrous wishes that involve Dunkin Donuts, sweat pants and unlimited calories. So if we’re making unrealistic wishes for Santa to grant, here’s my Christmas list:

Dear Santa,

I wish that:

Repubs and Demos can put their differences aside for the next two years, and actually focus on healing this country. What a concept!

I never have to see another picture of any Kardashian’s ass ever again.

kanye

(Another big Kardashian ass.)

Milk chocolate will be deemed the new health food–especially when it’s filled with caramel or poured over cashews.

North Koreans will develop a sense of humor.

Jon Stewart will announce his candidacy for president of the United States, with Stephen Colbert as his running mate.

People will stop shooting each other.

Pope Francis embarks on a world-wide tour, with the Dalai Lama as an opening act. Or Eminem.

 FotorCreated(The Pope-Marshall Immortal Tour.)

People will stop asking me if I’m ready for Christmas. So much guilt! So much shame!

Every child in the world can go to bed with a full tummy.

The Mars Curiosity rover will find wreckage from the Star Trek Enterprise. Or Amelia Earhart’s plane.

Vladimir Putin will stand the hell down.

putin

ISIS will self-destruct, or be eaten by a random band of zombies–who then self-destruct.

Girls in every country can attend school without fear.

Celebrities will stop talking about how “real” they are.

No one will ever say “gluten-intolerance” ever, ever again.

Governments will stop fixing blame, and start fixing problems.

And finally, I wish for peace. Not the Miss America kind, but a lessening of anger, a quieting of turmoil and an overall kindness to people worldwide. Is that too much to ask?

Thank you, Santa.

PK

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Holiday Things Driving Me Crazy

The holiday season is a blur of contradictions. On one hand, we’re celebrating the birth of a man who preached simple, humble living. On the other hand, we spend tons of money buying “As Seen On TV” crap for everyone we’ve ever met in our lives.

On Monday we’re dreaming of a White Christmas. And on Thursday we’re cursing in several languages as we shovel snow.

We’re just never happy. To continue that trend, here is my list of Holiday Things Driving Me Crazy:

  • Getting “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime” stuck in my head for 12 consecutive days.
  • Pinterest shame for not making everything homemade.
  • The “Naughty List” blackmail scheme.
  • Egg nog.
  • Christmas specials featuring Lady Gaga, Michael Buble, One Direction or Nicki Minaj.

nicki

(Looks like someone skinned a Christmas elf.)

  • Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol? Really??
  • Peppermint-flavored Egg Nog.
  • Children screaming at the mall.
  • Eating “one more piece of toffee,” for eight straight hours.
  • Perfect family Christmas newsletters.

perfect(This is how serial killers are formed.)

  • Christmas sweaters for dogs.
  • Singing Christmas trees, guitar-playing Santas, tap-dancing penguins and caroling elves. Stop it.
  • Being judge by a fat man in a red fur suit.
  • Hearing “Jingle bells, Batman smells” over and over and over and over and over and over and over. . .
  • Pumpkin spice-flavored Egg Nog.

egg nog(Let’s just say, Egg Not.)

Only 9 more days!! Enjoy what’s left of the season.

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Confusing Christmas Lyrics

Nothing makes sense when you’re a kid. And then Christmas comes along, and any remaining sense flies out the window. Exactly what is figgy pudding? And I’d never seen a chestnut, let alone roasted one on an open fire. I always imagined it was similar to Jiffy Pop Popcorn.

On top of the regular Christmas confusion, there were holiday songs that never quite penetrated my childish brain. The lyrics seemed wrong, and sometimes downright inappropriate.  Here are the lyrics that never made sense to me when I learned these songs at Viewmont Elementary.

  • In Silent Night, why are the “Olives calm. Olives bright.”? And calling Mary the “Round, young virgin” may have been accurate, but seemed a little callous to my child’s mind.

silent night

  • The first line of Up on the House Top completely messed with my brain. “Up on the housetop, reindeer paws.” Reindeer don’t have paws! Good grief.
  • Stalker Santa appeared in Santa Claus is Coming to Town. In one of the first NSA tracking systems on record, Santa Claus “Knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good.” I was surprised every year that I didn’t wake up to an entire truckload of coal on Christmas morning.
  • Deck the Halls  was created in a language of complete gibberish. What the hell does “Troll the ancient yuletide carol” mean?! The whole song sounds like it was written by drunk leprechauns.
  • In Do You Hear What I Hear, there’s the line that says, “A Child, a Child shivers in the cold, Let us bring Him silver and gold.”
    Are you stupid? Bring the kid a blanket! He’s shivering!
  • The Little Drummer Boy stretched my childlike credibility to the limit. Even I knew a young mother Mary wouldn’t want a little kid banging his drum while the baby Jesus was sleeping. A drum solo is not a gift.

drummer

(Am I the only one who watched this?)

  • And explain to me, oh writers of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, how do you dance in a “new old-fashioned way?” Is there a twerking waltz or a hip-hop minuet?
  • The 12 Days of Christmas was a mystery to me. Why was some poor woman getting presents for 12 days that included geese, swans, hens, turtle doves and calling birds? Did she have room for that many feathered friends? I always thought her “true love” was a douche.
  • In We Three Kings, I never quite understood where their land Orient Are could be found.
  • Add to this list any song that carried on about the magical, fantasy-land appearance of snow, like Winter Wonderland, White Christmas and Let it Snow. Snow is cold, and usually miserable. If you’ve ever dropped your mittens in ice water, and had to walk to school with your fingers frozen together, you might understand.

cold

(He’s fine. Just enjoying the Winter Wonderland.)

As you go through the holiday, keep in mind the children around you are confused, over-stimulated and greedy as s***. Don’t make it harder for them by singing songs that make no Christmas sense.

Feliz Navidad!

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