Marketing fail

From my Facebook page this morning.



It's not like they don't know my age. WTF, FB?

Excuse me, my bowels just moved.
 

Parenting fail

I got brave and exercised my stealth cell phone photography skills this weekend. I could not pass this up.



What a touching scenario... a family gathered around a patient at the hospital... no, wait a minute, this was the piercer's station at the tattoo shop*.

When they left, it looked like a dad, two young (barely teen?) girls -- one on the table, one holding her hand -- and the little boy. I have no idea what she was having pierced, but it was below the chest. I only hope to hell it was her navel.

What in the hell was that little boy doing in there???

* No, I have no new body mods to report. Just stopped by to get my nose piercing checked.
 

Something akin to conscience

This weekend I experienced something that I think is what people mean by 'a fit of conscience'. Actually, it was more a surge of fear of getting busted, but that's close enough, isn't it?

The Good Liz thinks it's mean-spirited to post the Ultimate Letters of Obscene Oversharing for humorous purposes. The Bad Liz is too busy laughing her ass off at the sheer genius of it to care.

As always, I have strong feelings both ways.

So, a compromise: I am going to post them, because I can't not, but I will take them down before I leave work on Dec. 31st. That will give us all time to delight in their beauty, but will significantly lessen the probability that another recipient (and why do I think there may be numerous recipients?) will stumble across it and rat me out to the author.

So enjoy the season, my twelves of readers! For this, like Russian Tea Cakes and Christmas bonuses, shall not last.

Also, I may have another letter for you tomorrow.
:)
 

Paved with good intentions

Got this in yesterday's mail*. Glanced at it and tossed it in the discard pile.



On the way to the recycling bin, I flipped it over.


The photo isn't clear and I really want you to get the full effect so here are the last two paragraphs of qualifiers and disclaimers for your viewing pleasure.

To qualify, you must be the primary source of income for your household and have lost your primary employment between the period of September 2008 and November 2009, OR the primary residence in which your household resides has been the subject of mortgage foreclosure on the first mortgage and foreclosure is still in effect as of claim date.

Please contact store for additional details. Proof of job loss or foreclosure must be presented when claiming free necklace. Limit one per household. Necklace provided on a first come, first serve basis while supplies last. Limited to residents of [this] County.

Really, Mr. High-end Jeweler? Members of the community struggling in this "downturn economy" can come to your fancy pants jewelry showroom, show your salespeople documentation containing highly-sensitive personal information proving that they are out of work, can't support their families, and/or are about to be kicked out of "the primary residence in which [their] household resides".... and you'll give them a fucking NECKLACE!?

That's swell. I'm all choked up. Seriously, dude, you rock. Although next time, consider giving away 95 necklaces and using the money from the other five to hire a copywriter and proofreader. Please.

One of my favorite parts is the name of the free gift event. I don't want to open myself to allegations of trademark violation, but it describes a specific type of winged heavenly being with, as Merriam-Webster Online puts it, "a cool, cocky, defiant, or arrogant manner."

Oh! Now I get it, the connection between being jobless and potentially homeless and... wait. No I don't. I don't get it at all. Have I gone completely over to the bitter, sarcastic side, or is this one of the most ridiculous marketing gimmicks of all time?

You know me well enough to know I would never, ever do this, but there is a wee, small part of me that is dying to go stand out front of their showroom and scream "WTF were you thinking?!?"

(In case you're curious, the necklace is rather... feminine looking in an, ahem, organic sort of way, IYKWIM. That might just be me, though.)

* Yes, I sanitized it for my your protection. Because I am a pussy.
 

The Good Wife

As you may know, I was married once, for oh, something like 28 years and I am getting married again in approximately 82 day, 0 hours, 25 minutes, and 32 seconds. I'd like to think that being a little older and wiser (and battle-scarred) might lead me to experience a little more success at wifehood this time around.

Well, color my high hopes all shades of dashed. According to The Good Wife's Guide, I am thoroughly fucked. And not in that good way, either.

The Good Wife's Guide*
from Housekeeping Monthly, 13 May 1955

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.

During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.

Be happy to see him.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

A good wife always knows her place.

It is obvious that I have learned absolutely nothing at all about husband-whispering from my three-decades-long relationship. Hell, I'll be lucky on any given day to check even three of these boxes. And that's on a good day.

Although... I'm guessing if I was 'a little gay', it would indeed be a 'little more interesting' for him... ahem. I digress.

What this really tells me is that what I used to tell the Ex is still as true today as it was ten or twenty years ago: I need a wife!

* JFC! No wonder our mothers drank.
 

Truth in advertising

If this outfit looks this bad on a mannequin, I'm screwed.


"By the way, this outfit sucks and it sure ain't gonna look any better on your fat ass. We just wanted to be upfront about that. Hugs and kisses, Old Navy."
 

Day Two

Hi! Welcome back for day two of What the fuck happened to my back?!? I'm still trapped in bed. I've learned that getting on the toilet is much, much easier than getting up off the toilet, and clawfoot bathtubs are not much use in terms of personal hygiene when you can't raise your feet more than an inch off the floor.

Other than that, it's just me and my muscle relaxants, which have greatly disappointed me. Sure, the pain has decreased, but there's nary a buzz to be had. What a gyp. Luckily, Raoul the Pool Boy -- Mr. B's alter ego -- is here to cater to my every whim. Sounds fun, but my whims have been pretty much limited to things that involve a trip downstairs.

Since I think we all need a laugh at this point (laughing is now authorized, BTW) I thought I'd share something cool that Evil Twin (I think) sent me a while back.

Prepare to be shocked and awed by the glory and power of the Three Wolf Moon T-shirt. Need proof? Read the comments. How could 800+ Amazon reviews be wrong? And be sure to watch the video review. It's very moving.

And be sure to tune in tomorrow, when something may or may not happen.
 

JFC!

The Ex, a civil service employee, sends this in to be filed under the heading of "You have got to be friggin' kidding me!"

He received this e-mail, somewhat redacted for your protection, in the course of government business:

I have received the fax.

Thank you,

Ms xxxxxxx
Payroll Customer Service Rep.
Code: xxxxx
Bld: xxxxx
Phone: xxxxx xxx xxxx
Fax: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Email: xxxxxxxx@xxxxxxxxxx

FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY - PRIVACY SENSITIVE - Any misuse 
or unauthorized disclosure (blah blah blah...)

(Now, wait for it...
.
.
.
wa-a-a-ait for it....
.
.
.
Whammo!)

"A woman's heart should be so hidden in Christ
that a man should have to seek Him first to find her."

Uh... well, OK then.

The Ex (who, BTW, is much closer to being a christian that I ever was) writes:

Jes$# H. Chr#$t what is this? Who would put something like this at the end of a work email? What is she, a payroll clerk or Mother Theresa?

To all you folks out there that put little ditties like this on your e-mail: Be advised someone like me is making fun of you on a grand scale, on the you tubes and world wide webs and such.

And that's a no-shitter - he totally is.

I wonder if she dates much?
 

Things I can do

1. I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue. At least I used to be able to. To be frank, I haven't tried in awhile.


2. I am almost always the first one done eating at the table. In school, I used to almost always be the first one done with a test. Not that I did any better, but I was fast!


3. I can read things upside down pretty fast. I can read backwards, too, but it takes me a little longer.


4. I can remove stitches as long as they aren't too embedded. Actually, I'm pretty good at wound care in general, for a lay person.


5. I do a very passable imitation of the call of a Stellar sea lion.

And you? What thing you can do?
 

Wha-huh?

Release the pigeons, I'm back! The conference was just as much fun as you might guess, but since economists dress w-a-y better than statisticians and apparently don't command the good swag, I didn't get any good pix for you.

But today I learned a new thing.

The company I work for has an office in New Mexico. There's been a little email discussion going on about a sales tax increase that just took effect. I don't do sales so I paid no attention and happily deleted the emails as they came in. However, this note caught my eye:

If I remember correctly, we thought that there was going to be a rate increase in July 2008, but it was actually delayed until January 2009. The rate increase is related to a Spaceport tax...

Wait a minute.

Spaceport tax?

Now, as a consumer of massive amounts of science fiction, I thought that was incredibly funny. 'Spaceport', ha! Probably just a fancy new airport with a whiz-bang name. So I sent an email to one of my co-workers in NM, all, like, 'Ha, ha, ha! Spaceport! Aliens! WhoooOOOooo!'

Well, as my co-worker so politely pointed out, it's no joke, people. New Mexico is building a friggin' SPACEPORT!

Am I the only one who didn't know about this?

Am I the only one whose mind is completely blown?

Wow.
 

Dear (your name here)

Found this inside a Christmas card tucked under my door mat yesterday. I have no idea how long it had been there.

DEAR NEIGHBORS ____Liz______

My last knee replacement surgery went well. The right knee is now going to be replaced.

I leave here December 22 for overnight in the city. I must be at the hospital at 6 am on 12/23. I should leave the hospital 12/27 for the care facility in town for physical therapy. Home in early January.

I will not be driving for while. Fortunately I have friends who will drive me to continued physical therapy until the surgeon says I can drive.

I may need your help getting the garbage cans out or fetching my mail. I hope I may call on you for that help until I can do it. Last time I was driving 4 weeks after surgery. This time it is my right knee - the driving knee - so I may be house bound longer.

My great niece will have a garage opener in case she has to get in. If you see anything wrong - broken windows, smoke coming out, etc., please call 911 and inform my niece at ###-####.

I will stop the mail and newspapers.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
Neighbor Lady*

Neighbor Lady is a sixty-something extremely overweight single woman who has seasonally-appropriate plastic animal decorations and a large kitty flag decorating her front porch at all times. She invited us over for muffins shortly after I moved in last year and it was the most awkward and uncomfortable 20 minutes of my entire life. If I remember correctly, Mr. B got the distinct impression that she was not a huge fan of men. I might be making that up.

After that, she attempted to generate a friendship, but as I am fairly anti-social, the most I could handle was a smile and wave across the cul-de-sac.

This is not the first such directive I've received from Neighbor Lady. She handed out an almost identical letter (sans holiday cheer) earlier this year before her first knee surgery. I wish I'd saved it for you -- that one referred to her breast cancer surgery in 2000 and the assistance she required from her neighbors at the time. To establish precedent, I suppose.

I admit, I'm feeling rather put-upon. I doubt I'll be offering to take out her trash or collect her mail. After all, that's what friends are for. I figure the ones driving her to physical therapy should be able to cover it.

I know, my place in hell is already reserved.

*Not her real name
 

Perhaps one of his later works?

Mr B sent me this link today. We're not convinced it's Maxfield Parrish. What do you think?



Just in case you think I'm lying, check it out. I lack the Photoshop skills to make this up.
 

It's not bad, it's just written that way

It's almost time for the Annual Receipt of the Letters of Obscene Oversharing!

I don't have any examples for you (yet), but I've been thinking about what makes a Christmas letter so bad it's good (read: hilarious.) After countless hours* of research and careful analysis, I've concluded it comes down to violating one or more of these two simple concepts:

1. Less Is More


2. Consider Your Audience

Face it, people write Christmas letters because they're too lazy to write customized letters tailored to each recipient. I know this because that is why I write them. Instead of considering the individual on the receiving end, they (read: I) put in every single piece of information that might possibly interest any one of the recipients. Holiday buckshot, if you will. Ding-dong-ditch with a flaming bag of poo.

Yeah, it works. Problem is, most people don't care. Most people don't care about your dog's wacky hijinks or the biopsy results of the polyps in your stomach. True, some might, but if they really cared you probably already told them when the news was fresh.

I hesitate to come down too hard on the Christmas letter offenders because I really do enjoy reading their efforts and I wouldn't want them all to come to their senses. That would be sad, indeed.

If you don't want to find your missive mocked** on a blog like this, just keep the two simple concepts in mind and you'll do fine. But if you get any good ones this year, send 'em in! I'll post the juiciest bits.

* I spent a whole 15 minutes thinking about this. That's a long time for someone with the attention span of a toothpick.

** Mocked with loving-kindness, but mocked nonetheless.
 

Guest Post: Evil Twin

Evil Twin has volunteered to entertain you with a piece of our shared history. Back in the day, I was scrambling to find funds for my Brief Yet Disastrous Attempt At Grad School. I asked ET for a letter of recommendation for a small scholarship. She graciously complied.

The Northern Town Garden Club
Northern Town, New England.

To whom it may concern:

It is my honor and privilege to recommend Liz C. for your annual Military Wife scholarship. I have known Liz for four years. We became fast friends on the day that she took pity on me and told me where the ladies’ room was on my fourth day at the new job.

She embodies many qualities I admire. When her husband is on deployment, she sucks it up and takes out the recycling. She does not whine. Her young daughter says "please" and "thank you" without prompting. Liz uses her turn signal religiously, and most important, she plays no musical instruments.

If she says she’ll spend the $500 scholarship money on books, she probably will. She’s cut way back on the beer since we joined Weight Watchers.

Liz is a good military wife and mother, and way too smart to be making copies all day. Thank you for considering Liz for this scholarship.

Sincerely,

Evil Twin

I got the scholarship.

This is a bona fide No Shitter. And that is why she's my BFF.
 

But it's a dry heat

Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little parched.
 

Big head

I reached into the back seat of the car to get my purse and found this staring up at me. Eeeeeek!


Even better, it's a bobblehead! After some quality time spent shooting it across the living room floor and giggling, I gave it to Lovely Daughter to take back to NYC to share with her actor friends. It's good to know that if you really hit the big time, you too can have your likeness crafted into a freakishly proportioned bobblehead on wheels.

I wonder if these things give Natalie Portman nightmares?
 

Tell me it isn't so

Is there really a large enough market share in the universe for beer, clam juice, and tomato juice cocktails to justify this?



In case you can't read through the reflection* that's Budweiser and Clamato. Or, if you're watching your waistline, you can opt for the Bud Light and Clamato.

Even the thought of Clamato weirds me out. But throwing Bud on top of it? I'm obviously missing something. At $3.50 a pop, it better either taste freakin' amazing (color me skeptical...) or deliver a buzz that would knock Ken Kesey on his ass.

Urp... I think I need a Tums.

* Once I realized what it was, my stomach started rebelling. By the time I did a cartoon-worthy triple take and grabbed my cell phone, I didn't spend too much time composing the shot for fear of hurling in the grocery store. Sorry.
 

Urp.

A cute, brandy-new little food joint up the street is proudly displaying their small menu, comprised of only two food items:

Bubble tea and Crêpes
Sorry, but I think that's a strong contender for the Worst Possible Food Combination of All Time Award.

Or is it just me? Am I too old and square to 'get it'?

Don't answer that.
 

We can neither confirm nor deny...

A no-shitter email received by Sister the other day.

She writes:

Um, do you think this is A TICKET???

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From:
Date: Thu, Jul 17, 2008 at 4:07 PM
Subject: Amtrak: Reservation Confirmation - THIS IS NOT A TICKET
To: sister@her-email.com

Thank you for choosing Amtrak. Please save or print this page for your records.

Reservation Number: 999999

THIS IS NOT A TICKET
--------------------
This confirmation notice is not a ticket. You must obtain a ticket before boarding.

TICKETING INFORMATION
---------------------
THIS IS NOT A TICKET You must obtain your ticket(s) before boarding. You can pick up your tickets at any Amtrak Quik-Trak self-service ticketing kiosk, or at any Amtrak ticket window. Please check station operating hours before you go, as Amtrak ticket window hours and/or Quik-Trak kiosk hours vary from station to station.

IMPORTANT POLICIES
------------------
For important identification requirements, please visit http://www.amtrak.com/IDrequirements.html.

For important baggage policy information, please visit http://www.amtrak.com/BaggagePolicy.html.

Please Note: All Amtrak trains (except the Auto Train) are non-smoking.

PASSENGER INFORMATION
---------------------
[redacted]

ITINERARY
---------
[redacted]

===================================
FARE INFORMATION
[redacted]

BILLING INFORMATION
-------------------
[redacted]

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
----------------------
* We recommend that you arrive at the station at least 30 minutes prior to your scheduled departure. Allow additional time if you need help with baggage or tickets.

* If you are traveling on the Auto Train you must check in at least two hours before scheduled departure.

* You may cancel (but not modify) your reservation online. Cancellation fees and/or refund fees may apply. To change your reservation, please call 1-800-USA-RAIL (1-800-872-7245).

* THIS IS NOT A TICKET You must obtain your ticket(s) before boarding.

HAVE A GREAT TRIP!
-----------------------------------

I wonder how many times a day conductors are confronted by passengers waving their crumpled printed-out emails saying 'But I thought this was my ticket!'

I know it's sad. But you know it happens.
 

Rant: The Big O

Two back-to-back letters to the editor from a recent issue of O Magazine*. I am not making this up.

Letter 1:
I have wasted many a Saturday buying pants that really don't fit. Your shopping advice [in the previous issue] helpfully guided me toward the best style for my shape. But $285? That's my two-week grocery bill for a family of six. Please suggest brands I can buy on a social worker's salary.

Editor's note: There are plenty of affordable pants out there, and we especially love these options: The Limited's [a], Ann Taylor's [b], Express's [c], Banana Republic's [d], and Liz Claiborne's [e].

Letter 2:
Your [recent] issue had the prettiest cover! Can you tell me the name of the magnificent red rose Oprah is holding? I'd love to find it locally so I can put it in my garden.

Editors' note: The flower is a hybrid that Oprah designed and named the Legends Rose in honor of the 25 pioneering women she celebrated in 2005.

There is so much wrong here that I can't even verbalize it. Asking O to recommend something 'affordable' is like asking the president the cost of a gallon of milk. There is simply no possibility of relating to the average American's reality. Not a single pair of those 'affordable' pants were under $50, and most were at least $70.

And how can that second letter possibly be real? Could it possibly be any more self-serving? Oprah is on every single cover -- they're virtually indistinguishable. Girl? Puh-leeze. Just put in a full-page ad for the freakin' rosebush and be done with it.

Oooh yeah, baby! C'mon, do it! You know you want to.
Am I the only one who finds this absolutely repellent? This whole Big-O-centric/elitest-consumptionist/omnimedia-circus thing? Most upsetting is knowing that there are millions of people allowing themselves to be manipulated and seduced into craving that impossibly artificial and pretentious lifestyle, thereby encouraging the entire obscene enterprise by buying into it. Hell, at least Martha teaches you how to make things. I'm smelling something and it ain't no 'Legends Rose'.

Hmmm? What's that? Why do I have a copy of O Magazine?

Uhhh... bathroom material? Yeah, that's it, I only read it for the articles.

* Red emphasis is mine, my comments/edits in [...]