So I was perusing the Internets the other day and happened across some vintage ads, that shall we say, were quite inappropriate by today’s standards. It made me long for the days when you could just say whatever the hell was on your mind and if people didn’t like it, they just ignored you or talked about you behind your back. One of my most favorite shows from my childhood was the Archie Bunker Show. Highly inappropriate for a child, but I loved it. I guess I didn’t have much parental supervision. Can you imagine being able to say the shit Archie said back then today? You’d be strung up by the ACLU and whipped within an inch of your life. Or you’d be on Fox News as the latest Anti-Christ. I was totally born in the wrong era.
Let’s take a look at the inappropriateness and wistfully remember those times of old when political correctness was unheard of…
I’m not sure what year this ad is from, but I sure as hell wish it was when my children were babies. Because I needed alcohol. And I sure would have appreciated someone telling me it was beneficial for us all. It’s a beneficial and stimulating tonic for God’s sake! Maybe if I had drank more Blatz as a young mother, my oldest would be driving now and doing my beer runs. Or being my designated driver.
Oh Midol, you were correct. Guys are the Number One reason we need medication. However, it’s gonna take more than some acetaminophen and a diuretic to make us be the gal he likes every day. We’re gonna need some narcotics to deal with his stupid ass. And a Blatz beer chaser.
Who better than Santa to endorse your product as a Christmas gift! Oh how I wish I’d lived in the day when all you had to do was buy a carton of Lucky Strikes for all the people on your Christmas gift list. That would have made my Christmas shopping much more enjoyable. Add in some Blatz and Midol and we got a party up in here.
I imagine if I lived in 1885, I’d have a toothache every day. And my house would be spotless. And I’d be skinny as hell. Now I’m all preoccupied with 1885.
This gift sucks (pun intended) today as much as it did back in 50′s. The only difference between 1950 and the present day is that today your wife is going to be hit with a Class 1 Misdemeanor and probably have to undergo anger management classes. In which case, she’ll need some Blatz, Midol, and Lucky Strikes. And probably some Dupont cellophane to smother you with.
Well lookee there. Until World War II, us gals weren’t useful for anything! We didn’t cook, take care of kids, or use our shiny new Hoovers to clean your fucking house. Thank God we were able to finally be useful and help the soldiers, who, some of us undoubtedly, gave birth to. That’s right, if we weren’t useful, you’d have no fucking soldiers. Duh.
Yeah, I probably better end it there. I’m nearing the time when I might need some Midol to be the very best me and as far as I know, they still don’t add narcotics to that shit.
So I went into work this morning and there was this:
I’m told this is called Better than Sex cake. I told my lovely co-worker, T, that her cake was delicious. And then I mentioned she might be doing sex wrong.
Then there were lovely presents, muffins, cinnamon rolls, and donut holes. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my co-workers get me. I like sugar.
It was fabulous. I felt like a Queen. I felt loved.
And then, they called me back to the conference room and presented me with this:
For a minute, I was confused, because I know they read The Crappiest Cake Ever.
But then, I then I realized they know me. They know my sense of humor and they appreciate it. So even though they served me cat shit for my birthday, they really love me. It may very well be the first, and only time — and hopefully the last time — people have shown love through cat shit.
Fair warning girls…I better not find Reese’s Feces or Shit Kat Bars in my candy basket!
p.s. In all seriousness, a HUGE thank you to Twana, Shawn, Di, and Rikki for making this birthday a memorable one. I’m lucky to have fun-loving co-workers who dig my sense of humor and put up with my shit. And occasionally, serve it right back to me.
I know it’s been a while since I’ve put anything up here. Between fighting for justice, raising 4 kids, and fulfilling my life long dream of becoming a musician, seems I don’t find much time for writing anymore. If I’m lucky maybe some wayward soul from Seoul may read this…and if not, at least I’ll get this thing that’s bugging me off my chest.
You may be wondering what onerous event has awakened the writing beast inside me and inspired me to write again. Well, dear gentle (singular) reader, I will tell you what has inspired me to write again. It’s cat shit.
Yep. You read that right. Cat shit. Seems a few of my friends are sharing this recipe on Facebook of a cake that resembles a cat litter box. Apparently, I have lots of Facebook friends who have enough free time on their hands to make cat turds out of Tootsie Rolls and serve them up to their friends for dessert.
But what I really want to know is WHO IN THE FUCK thought up this ridiculous dessert? Was it some poor stay at home mom who had been deprived of human interaction a tad too long? (Hey, I’ve been there, I do not judge). Or was it a bunch of drunk hillbillies Appalachian Americans enjoying some ‘shine, sitting around a fire talking about how it’d be funny to serve up some cat shit to their kinfolk. “Hey, Billy Joe Jim Bob, you know what’d be funny? Let’s make us up some cake that looks like cat shit. That there’d be funny for Cindy Lou and Harry Frank’s weddin’ reception!”
For the love of God and all that is good, do NOT feed your family and friends foods that resemble animal feces. Why you ask? Because, Number One, this dessert just says I Hate You. I Hate You So Much I Want You to Eat Cat Shit. Number Two (pun intended), see Number One.
It’s that time of year again when well-meaning men folk and children are scrambling to find the perfect Mother’s Day gift. Why, my own kids just asked me today what I would like to have for the glorious occasion (this is where I wish I had a font that denoted sarcasm). It’s really hard to look into the bluest eyes of the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, who you also happened to give birth to, and say “I’d just like a day of solitude to write and drink vodka” but I digress…
I have no flipping clue what I’d like for Mother’s day, other than the aforementioned day of solitude, but I thought I would give it a wing and suggest some do’s and don’ts of Mother’s Day gifts for my three faithful readers and any other wayward soul who might find this blog by Googling “Charmin toilet paper.” Yeah, that search term is the #1 for finding this blog. More on that later….
After being a mom for the last 18 years, I have an idea or two about what makes a good gift and inversely, about eleventy hundred ideas of what makes a bad gift. You never ever want to buy anything that has been featured on an As Seen on TV infomercial, period. Even if you’re wrapping the jewelry you bought in a Snuggie, Mom’s first thought is going to be “Oh, a Snuggie.” That is not good. Ever. And speaking of jewelry, she really doesn’t need any jewelry that sports the word “mom.” She knows she’s your mother. She spent several hours in labor and that’s all the reminder she needs about that.
Other things to avoid are small kitchen appliances and/or cleaning tools. I don’t care if she really wants a pink Kitchen Aid stand mixer, just because it’s $200 doesn’t mean it’s a good gift. This also applies to fancy vacuum cleaners, dishwashers, Panini makers, etc. If the gift you are giving makes it easier for her to do things for you, then it’s shit. End of story.
You also don’t want to buy anything that could be considered exercise equipment. This just tells mom you think she’s fat. Never a good idea. And if you don’t heed this advice, you might find yourself the lucky recipient of a Shake Weight right upside the head. I also would discourage gifts of lotion or body spray, because that just says you think she’s smelly and/or you’re too cheap to spring for a day at the spa where someone else pampers her. And flowers. Well, they’re sweet at first, but after a few days, it’s just another mess she’ll have to clean up when they die and have to be thrown away. You ever try to stuff a big bouquet of crunchy dead flowers in the trash? It makes a mess on the floor and also punches holes in the trash bag, thus causing more work for mom. And then she has to find somewhere to put that big ugly vase they come in. Bad idea all around.
So now you’re probably asking, “Well Helle, what SHOULD we buy mom then?” Well if your mom is like me, she wants concert tickets. There’s nothing better than live music and if you disagree, then you must be a Communist. And mom will never tell you this, but she wants a weekend away from you. If you can combine the concert tickets with the weekend away, you’re golden. If you can’t afford this combo, then start saving up for next year. In the meantime, send her a couple of hours away to a luxurious hotel room with room service and the best bottle of wine/liquor you can afford. If you’re smart, you’ll contact her best girlfriend’s kids and go halfies and send them together. I can see nothing going wrong with this gift and it may even land you in the Hall of Fame of Children, if there were such a thing.
Now if you’re looking for more low-brow than that, you can’t go wrong with a day at the spa. Most women love being pampered with manis, pedis, facials, and of course massages. Personally, I don’t like facials because the last time I had one the girl was trying to pop pimples and remove blackheads and that was just about the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever experienced besides childbirth, but maybe they do it differently where you live. And I personally don’t like strangers rubbing on my naked body, but that’s just me. Maybe your mom is a freak and enjoys those things.
Lastly, if you can’t think of anything else, try to score your mom some Xanax. This is tricky though, because it’s sorta illegal, unless you can score mom a script for it. I’m really not condoning that you go out and buy your mom some drugs, but let me tell you what, they didn’t call that stuff Mother’s Little Helper for nothing back in the 60’s. I guess if you live in Colorado, you could get her a joint as a good substitute, but the rest of y’all are just fucked and will find yourselves at the Walgreen’s on Saturday night perusing the gift card rack.
Go with the MasterCard gift card. It’s accepted everywhere. Or save yourself a trip and just give her cash.
Even though I have like 800 TV channels to pick from, sometimes I just can’t find a damn thing to watch. And sometimes I have insomnia and there’s not a lot to pick from at 3:00 a.m. unless you’re into the variety of selections on Skin-a-Max. So, invariably I end up watching those stupid infomercials selling miracle products that are just going to transform my life for the better!
As a side note, these miracle products are usually only $19.99 and if you call right now, they’ll send you another one for free, as long as you pay the extra shipping and handling. I don’t know about you, but I expect anything that’s going to transform my life to cost wayyyy more than twenty lousy bucks. But that’s just me. I mean you can’t even get a good bottle of vodka for $19.99 and that only transforms my life into something wonderful for a few days, tops.
But I digress. Let’s take a look at some of these miracle products. And don’t feel bad if you’ve actually bought one. I’ve fallen victim to an As Seen on TV purchase a time or two myself, but it was the pancake puff thing and I actually enjoyed making pancake puffs there for a while. Oh wait, there was the funnel cake thingy too and that was just a pure disaster, but I did end up with a nifty thing to water plants should I ever remember to water the plants…
Who hasn’t bought the Sham-Wow? OK, I haven’t, but I wanted to buy it. Does that count? It seems to be able to solve almost every problem I have. I have to say that since Billy Mays died though, the Sham-Wow just doesn’t seem to pack the same punch. This new guy could learn a lesson or two from watching the master of the As Seen on TV commercial. Billy Mays’ enthusiasm could almost convince me to buy anything. Well except the Sham-Wow, but I’m lazy. Which leads me to the next product…
This is kinda like a Snuggie, except it makes the Snuggie look like a bad hospital gown. It’s basically footie jammies for adults complete with a butt flap so you can take a dump without getting undressed. I think that might be where this gem actually got it’s name because I can think of nothing lazier than not wanting to take your pants off to go take a crap. Who buys this?! Oh wait… I may have heard someone talking about owning this in the office…let’s move on.
If you thought the Forever Lazy was the epitome of the sadness of the American human condition, then check out the Stadium Pal. Not only are the people who use this too lazy to take off their pants to take a piss, they are too lazy to even go find a bathroom. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never found myself in the position of deciding that it would just be a better idea to relieve myself into a hidden bag strapped to my leg than find a restroom. However, I guess during those extra cold football tailgates, it may help keep you warm. Think I’d opt for freezing half to death, but that’s just me.
I actually kinda wish that this was around about 17 years ago. My kids produce the most ear wax I’ve ever seen come out of a human body and their ear holes are so tiny, the wax would get all stuck up in there and then it would get hard. That would require a trip to the doctor, who would then have to use this hook looking thing to dig out the nasty hard ear wax while my child would scream bloody murder. I don’t really think this thing works but I sure wish I had invented it because then I’d be laying on a beach, fat and happy, sipping a fruity cocktail while y’all were trying to vacuum your ears. Ain’t nobody got time for earwax.
I think what got me on this one was the LED light. I don’t know a lot of men who would even use this, let alone a guy who would need to groom in the dark. Is that a big problem for guys that I’m unaware of? (Forgive me Grandma for ending a sentence with a preposition.) I don’t know about you, but if I’m using something that has the ability to cut off a body part of mine, I’m going to be using it with the lights ON and a phone handy incase I need to call the squad.
And here we have a hair removal option for women. It claims to be pain-free. I’m kinda of leery after a session with my Grandma’s Epi-Lady back in the 80’s, which used this metal coil thingy to rip the hairs right out of your skin. It only took me about 5-seconds to decide the Epi-Lady was a torture device at the tender age of 12. Our government should look into these devices as an option to water-boarding. That’s how bad it was. So I don’t have much enthusiasm for the No! No! I mean the name is basically telling me not to use it, right? They totally should have hired Don Draper for that ad campaign. I mean Peggy would have never let them put out a product for women to remove hair painlessly and let them call it No! No! Duh.
And last but not least, my personal all time favorite As Seen on TV product. Drum roll please…
I don’t even know where to begin. This is probably the all time best infomercial I have ever seen. You have to watch the video. I really must pay homage to these women — if only I had thought of this. And not only do they have the answer to your camel toe dilemma, they have some other neat products to help deter some other embarrassing fashion faux pas. I guarantee those girls are sitting on a beach right now sipping fruity cocktails sans embarrassing female anatomy issues. Skinny Blonde Bitches. I think I will invent the Helle way of preventing camel toe – wear some damn pants that aren’t three sizes too small! Sorry Christy and Kelly, but I’m a brunette. These things come to us naturally.
So there are my picks for dumbest As Seen on TV products. Have you tried any of these? Let me know…I swear, I won’t tell a soul. Wink, wink.
Recently I found myself driving down a road I haven’t traveled in quite awhile. I used to travel that road almost every day…driving back and forth from seeing my Grandma in in the nursing home. In case you don’t know, that woman had a huge impact on my life. She practically raised me and I think if it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably be living a whole different life than I am right now. Matter of fact, I probably wouldn’t be able to even form an intelligible sentence if not for her. I also wouldn’t have a huge guilt complex, but that’s neither here nor there.
Driving down that road in the dark, as I did so many nights that year she was sick, left me with a deep sadness. And then it struck me. It was exactly this time of year, 9 years ago that I was making that drive every night, essentially waiting for her to die. I struggled with the thought, but yes, it HAS been that long. Some days, it seems as if it just happened.
My Grandma, probably like most women, had a way that things had to be done. If you didn’t do the things you were supposed to do the right way, you’d find yourself doing them again. I learned this lesson the hard way at the Big Bear grocery store. Each week, she’d take the Big Bear ad from the newspaper and circle the items she wanted, hand me some cash, and send my on my way to the grocery to pick up said items. I’d head down the alley over to Central Center Shopping Center, on foot. I couldn’t have been more than 8-years-old the first time she did this. Can you imagine sending your 8-year-old kid to the grocery store on foot with a wad of cash? Oh, and sometimes I had an 8-pack or two of returnable (glass!) Diet 7-Up bottles to cash in to boot. Apparently, I was a very dependable 8-year-old. Then again, the year before that, she sent me off to walk to school in a BLIZZARD. Now that I think about, maybe she hated me…. (kidding Grandma!).
So, there I was in Big Bear, at 8-years-old, pushing a cart, looking at the circled items on my list. And naturally, I did what any 8-year-old would do when they couldn’t find one of the circled items, I skipped on to the next item. Most of the circled items were sale items, so the store was bound to be out of a good bit of the shit I was supposed to pick up. One cool thing Grandma always did, though, was give me a little extra money just in case I saw something we needed that caught my fancy. This money was always spent in the bakery, and since we shared a love of sugary treats, maybe it wasn’t so unplanned on her part… On a side note, I always picked the thumb-print cookies, with the dollop of sugary icing in the middle, and if they were sold out, I got the crème horns.
So after I cashed in the bottles and picked up the stuff I could find, I’d head back down the alley to her house and await my approval for doing such a good job at the grocery store.
“Where’s the Oscar Meyer bologna that was on sale?” she said.
“Oh, they were out of that,” I replied.
“Did you get a rain check?”
The dreaded rain check! No, I didn’t get a rain check. What 8-year-old thinks about rain checks? I just wanted to get home to eat my thumbprint cookies and apply the fake tattoos and wear the plastic gemstone rings I got with the change from the dime machine at the entrance of the Big Bear.
“You have to go back and get the rain check,” Grandma said.
Looking longingly at the thumbprint cookies on the kitchen table, I begrudgingly grabbed the Big Bear circular and headed back down the alley… If only life were like shopping at the Big Bear in 1979. I’d get a rain check for one more afternoon with Grandma.
In Loving Memory of Grandma Deany
7.21.22 – 4.21.04