People are strange, and my celebrity twin

About a week ago I learned something in a crowded room full of (mostly) strangers. People tended to be drawn to those who looked or seemed most like themselves. The few blondes in the room always sat together. The guys in plaid with baseball caps stopped talking whenever a man wearing a tie sat near them, or a female. Leather jacket people (unfortunately not the biker kind) had their own little group, and so on. I mostly sat next to Pat since I knew him, and there wasn’t time for idle chatter so it worked out. Talking to Pat is like talking to a rock.


He just can't do it.

When we took breaks the strange behavior continued as people congregated in the hallway, lounge and outside. For the most part people were polite. No one I spoke to ever snubbed me, except for one of the blondes. It was like I was invisible. In that moment I felt… so… black. Damn cracker.

Now here is the list of brave people who initiated conversation with me:

· The only Native American woman there, who sat next to me and sought me out on breaks. I was the only one she talked to and her bff that week. I’ll just say I know more about her family than I ever will about Pat’s. I don’t think he even has one.

· A red headed woman who thought I was funny, but then again, it could’ve been gas. You never know.

· When I was a few minutes late one morning a really spiffy and happy man said, “Hi! There’s an empty seat right here. Sit.”

Damn, I didn’t get his name or number.

· Pat said, “How about Perkins?” and “Let’s go to KFC,” and so on. He was definitely the bravest.

I’m a tough one to figure out thanks to my dark hair and peachy/pasty skin. Whenever someone meets me for the first time and tries to label me or guess my ethnicity they are usually wrong. The upside is being able to blend in just about anywhere. The downside is… Well, there really is no downside. When they are wrong I find it amusing. One time I’ll never forget was back when I was married and living in my husband’s home town. I’d just started making chicken-fried steak (which is the only thing I can cook well) and we were almost out of cooking oil so my husband went to the store. He returned with an old friend he had seen walking along the road carrying a 12 pack. I hadn’t even met this guy yet but here he was, at our dining room table waiting for dinner and drowning himself in his beer. They called me out of the kitchen. Right after we were introduced he blurted out, “You look like a Jew!”

I smiled and said nothing.

He turned to my husband. “She’s not Jewish?”

My husband just smiled and shook his head. Then his friend turned back to me, “You really look like you’re from Israel or sumthin’!”

To this day I’m still not sure if he was racist, ignorant or just thought I looked like Anne Frank.


Anne


Me

She's definitely my celebrity twin. Now if anyone needs me I’ll be hiding out in a house full of white kids.

It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?


Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.
















“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”


Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

King Interviews Mrs. McCain

Welcome back, non-Kotters and hopeful Democrats. It’s been a while! When I interviewed Mrs. Obama we ran out of time and I promised to return soon. Well, I got kind of sidetracked. Before I reveal this next interview I should briefly explain my absence.

You may or may not know this, but I have a kid. King Junior is going through a rough patch in his life right now. You see, he thought it would be cool to smoke some weed. And smoke some more weed. And before long that wasn’t enough to get his buzz on, so he stole six of my beers and had a little party with himself. I knew this day was coming, but I thought for sure he’d puke up his guts and learn the hard way to just stick with the porn. Boy, was I wrong or what?! Anyway, he’s out of rehab now. I sure hope he can stay clean, but I have my doubts. After all, he’s five. You know what little monsters those kindergarteners can be! Whew. It’s gonna take some tough love in the form of shock therapy for this one.

But enough about the King’s problems and suches. It’s time to let you in on a little secret. I may seem pretty gay. In fact, I’m often misjudged by my extensive Barbra Streisand collection. Unfair! Barbra deserves to be loved! Truth is, I also have a huge crush on John McCain’s wife. Don’t believe me? I think a restraining order is proof enough. I know she often looks much older than her birth certificate states, but I still get goose bumps whenever I see her. Well, here’s the interview, for what it’s worth. And it's so short we didn't have time for any commercials...




Hiiiiiiiii, Mrs. McCain. Hiiiiiiiiiiii. Um, Mrs. Obama had to leave. She has kids, you know, and has apologized for not staying here to attack both you and your husband to your face. The network is disappointed, but I’m sure you’re relieved to hear it, and don’t really care about ratings either.




Um, hello?

Yeeeeeesssssss, welcome to the… the… showww.




You’re drooling all over your robe.




Ahhhhhhh, I see. Do you like robes?




I don’t see what that has to do with my husband’s candidacy.




Do you like my robe? I can remove it, if you’d like to try it on. Or, you know, if you want to have a peek at some prime beef.




What the- this is not what I expected!!!!




I’m out of here! Vote for McCain - because I’m filthy rich - not because you want to sex me up.




Can we continue this in private? Where are you going? I have a room. It has a star on the door! That means something, dammit! Oh goshes, I’m sorry! Come back! I’d like to make out - er, make it up to you!!!




Oh shit.

So, stay tuned and maybe next week we’ll reveal the final and extremely pointless interview with Mrs. Clinton and a surprise guest, which was recorded shortly after Barack Obama’s huge victory, when he won the nomination of his party and made history for being black. I mean, made history for- you know what I’m trying to say. Geez, why am I still here, anyway? It’s about time to go rescue the nanny from my five-year-old. Laters!

Hurray for summer.

Hurray for vacation time. I’m looking forward to visiting my homeland. It‘s been two years since our last trip. It’s a 14-hr drive that always turns into a 16-hr event because the kids need to pee every few hours… and get one hot meal… so when we finally arrive I’ll see brand new worry lines on my mother’s face. Wait… she doesn’t know exactly when we’re leaving, so I’ll try to keep it that way. I‘m sure I‘ll fail miserably. She has a way of finding out things. If only I were an only child… but then I’d have no one to sympathize, or top my stories of pain and woe.

Hurray for beer. A tall cold one always tastes great on a warm day, and is probably one of my favorite things about summer. I really don’t enjoy beer much the rest of the year. I will have one or two on occasion but I have to be in the right mood for it. I don’t understand this summer phenomenon. Before I had kids I used to drink beer nearly every day through all seasons, and like water on my days off from work. I couldn’t get back into a regular drinking schedule after the first kid. I’m such a loser.

Hurray for ice cream. The kids have a chant that goes like this: I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Then Mom screams. They always get what they want in the end.

Hurray for baseball. I hope the new ballpark is open this summer as planned, and is still cheaper than a movie. I’m not a tightwad, I just have trouble sneaking kids into the theater, and after the first two it starts getting spendy. The popcorn is like crack and priced like gold. And you can’t have popcorn without a three or four dollar container of pop that could drown a small child.

At Cobb Field everything was reasonably priced which made for a true day of fun. Holy crap, I’ve turned into my father.

Anyway, fun time with the kids is important and I’m always happier when it doesn’t cost too much green. Yep, I’m my dad.

Not only do I enjoy ball games, but my kids will come along, and getting ALL of my kids together to spend time with mom is a tough feat these days. Teenagers are funny people. The strange thing is I can relate.

Hurray for the drive-in, but it’s only for the kids. And when the kids are happy, I bitch on the inside.

Movies just don‘t get me excited like they did years ago. When I became a grown-up (some time in the 90’s) I started seeing a trend of crap peddled by Hollywood, so I thought, like I’ll die if I don’t see Arnold in his latest multi-million dollar deal. I think the way I feel means I’m getting old. I’d guess my parents lost their love for movies when Clint Eastwood stopped starring in Westerns. For me, cinema died when Harrison Ford disappeared. He is a true stud. I’m glad he’s making a comeback of sorts in this new Indiana Jones flick, but I didn’t see him in the last three Star Wars episodes! I still want my money back. Darned kids. Yoda hypnotize them so, why does, hmm?.

Hurray for Independence Day. Our town really gets into the celebration and stretches it out over a few days with parades, fireworks, etc… and people are always on stage trying desperately to convince me that they are entertaining. I’m not like the rest of the drunken sheep, I only applaud when I mean it.

Rodeos are fun, but only when Cowboy Poker is played. There’s something special about watching a live group of snuff-chewers sitting around a card table in a ring with a bull. How does your poker face work when you have over 1,000 lbs of irate animal (complete with horns) breathing down the back of your neck? At some point the fear reflex kicks in and running for your life becomes a bit more important. In fact, the mean bucking machine doesn’t really allow time for a game to get started. To see grown men scrambling and crapping their pants is always a hoot.

We can light fireworks for two weeks straight if we feel like it. This can be fun, depending on who your neighbors are. There is a guy on our street who goes to bed early, and he will call the cops, even though he knows full well we aren‘t breaking any law. So out of respect we resist whipping out the noise makers on weeknights. Who am I kidding? The truth is we don’t want the cops hating us any more than they already do. They get really annoyed by his phone calls, so we are kind to the guy just in case we ever need to call 911. As far as I know there aren’t any specific fireworks that are banned because I’ve seen it all. Then again, I don’t have a copy of the city code handy. It may not be a defense but it works for me.

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, especially when you‘ve got a deputy watching your every move because you justifiably insulted a woman, who turned out to be his wife. I didn’t start it, but I like to finish things in a memorable way. I guess the truth really can hurt. This is why I have a newfound love for attorneys. You never know when you’ll need one on your side, which is better than having one on your back. But it’s good when they have your back. But not your rear. What am I talking about?

What do you like about summer?