Jesus Wears Nike

Warning: This post contains confusing religious messages and delusions of grandeur.

I don’t want to make anyone feel inferior here, but sometimes God talks to me. I don’t actually hear his voice, which I imagine sounds just like James Earl Jones, but sometimes he sends me little messages, like a spiritual IM. I’ve noticed that I receive more messages after a Venti beverage, which may mean that these are just caffeinated delusions or maybe Starbucks is adding an extra squirt of Jesus in my cup. I’m not here to question. Sometimes those messages are clear, sometimes they’re confusing as hell and sometimes they freak me the f*ck out, but regardless,  I take them and shove them in my little bag of crazy to figure out later.

Take this morning, for instance, I decided to add to the world’s most pathetic Christmas display happening in our yard with a trip to the local hardware store, because nothing says “happy birthday, Jesus!” like an inflatable Santa and icicle lights.

I think Jesus kicked over our tinsel tree in disgust.

As I was driving, sipping on my Starbucks green tea, I heard Charlie Sheen’s response to the statement made by the kid from Two and a Half Men about the show being filth and forcing him to be an incredibly rich, conflicted 19-year-old telling bad jokes (I’m paraphrasing here, but you get the idea). Anyway, Charlie believes that the kid’s outburst is yet more proof that the show is cursed and he referenced the Heaven’s Gate cult (the cult where everybody committed suicide while wearing Nike tennis shoes) in his statement.

I love Charlie. He makes me feel so sane.

A tweaker, a Seventh Day Adventist and a closeted gay man walk into a bar…

Anyway, I get to the hardware store and on my way inside, this person emerges from a convertible Jaguar with a handicap placard, who was so disturbing that I violently averted my eyes and nearly veered right into the pole holding the handicap sign in front of the store.  In my defense, let me just say that I am absolutely unphased by most handicaps and disfigurements. Sadly, I’m not as adept at handling really bad plastic surgery. I’m not proud of my reaction. I tried to play off my tactlessness, hoping that the person would interpret my rudeness as confusion and joy at my hardware store arrival or a mini stroke.

I say “person” because at first I honestly wasn’t sure whether I was looking at a man or a woman or just a composite of a plastic surgeon’s patient files. Imagine if a wax statue of Donatella Versace melted into a wax statue of Mickey Rourke and then went hardware shopping. This person’s face was stretched and plumped and then generously spray tanned into a look I’ll call Timeless Alien. His (I checked for breasts, that’s how I know) hair was bleached white blonde on top and left dark on the bottom in a classic boy band style and he wore a red and black Nike warm up outfit as if he’d just emerged from rehearsals as Siegfried and Roy’s new stage partner. Given that this is LA, the land of celebrity, I did wonder if he actually was a celebrity like Siegfried or Roy or Melanie Griffith.

Anyway, he was very friendly, chatting up all of the women in the Christmas lights and ornaments aisle and I felt very badly about my reaction. Really I was so overcome with guilt that I could barely manage to grab the last inflatable Santa on sale. I did manage, but I want you to know that there was no joy in it.

Then it struck me. This was the second time that craziness and Nike had been combined in the past half hour. This was a message from God.

Messages are everywhere. Here we have a bedazzled @ss message.

But what was the message? Vanity is its own handicap? Appreciate what you have? Shop locally, age gracefully and watch out for chemical spills? Don’t smoke meth and then visit a plastic surgeon?

If I had another green tea, I’m sure that I would unravel this parable. Of course, I’d also stop blinking and then my heart would explode, so I’m going to hold off on enlightenment for now.

Instead, I thought I’d share the message with you on the off-chance that you were looking for a message from God and hadn’t had the time to make it to your local Starbucks or hardware store. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Ho ho ho.

Sorry I didn’t get you a card.




The Law Of Attraction To Charlie Sheen

Warning: You can’t process this blog post with a normal brain.

I’ve been trying to follow the law of attraction lately. You know, the whole “like attracts like” theory, which states that the thoughts you put out there ultimately attract positive or negative things to you depending on if you are a mental ray of sunshine or possess more of an Andy Dick on a bender attitude…

I might not be explaining this very well.

“No you are not. Has any ever told you that your head is enormous?” (image via starpulse)

Anyway, I’m a fairly positive person but I do spend a lot of time going over worst case scenarios in my head and I decided one day after reading about the law of attraction on someone’s blog (isn’t that where everyone gets their pertinent information?) that I didn’t necessarily want to attract some of the things I’d been thinking about. Maybe I should spend less time thinking about homicidal maniacs breaking into my house and more time thinking about unicorns and rainbows and Ryan Reynolds’s abs.

You’re welcome.

I decided to test this theory by focusing my thoughts on something I really wanted.

Specifically a house. More specifically the HGTV Green Home. And how I was going to win it.

Oh look, there I am in the window with a glass of organic wine. (image via

Then I thought, who knows more about winning than Charlie Sheen? (Granted, someone might know more about this subject, but they don’t talk about it in the media and so I haven’t heard about them and therefore they don’t count as totally bitchin’ rock stars from Mars in my book.) And since I’m pretty sure that I also possess tiger’s blood and possibly Adonis DNA (although I’m less sure about the latter) I decided to take a page out of the book of Charlie.

Now I should be specific here. I don’t want to actually be on the drug called Charlie Sheen, because I don’t want my children to weep over my exploded body and I don’t particularly want my face to melt off either, but certainly his winning attitude would be handy. Who doesn’t want to be a battle-tested bayonet?

Even Charlie Sheen wants to be Charlie Sheen, because he’s winning. It says so on his wrist. (image via starpulse)

I focused my mind, evicted the psychological fools and trolls, who are really hard to evict even for Charlie Sheen, and concentrated my energy on imagining myself winning that house: being notified, packing up our stuff, moving across the country, acclimating to our new neighborhood and living a blissfully green existence in our new, eco-friendly home practically just down the street from Nana and Grandpa. Winning!

Okay, it is true that I had to occasionally redirect my worst case scenario thoughts when I started to think about lightning strikes and necrotizing fascitis and depressed daughters who have been separated from their BFFs and then start hanging out with the wrong people and doing drugs and flunking out of school and eventually running off to become one of Charlie Sheen’s goddesses. (I’m sorry, Charlie, you are an inspiration, but that thought is still horrifying.)

Still, I was pretty diligent about my positive thinking. Anthony Robbins even put me on speed dial for an inspirational Charlie quote pick-me-up.

I was all like, “Anthony, you’ve got to stop pretending that your life isn’t perfect and bitchin’ and just winning every second. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got poetry in my fingertips and I need to put it in a blog post.”

(That conversation didn’t actually happen. But only because he doesn’t have my phone number. Or any idea who the heck I am.)

“Are you my housekeeper, Magdelena?” (image via wikipedia)

However, as it turned out, some random woman in Texas was an even bigger winner than I was and attracted the house instead. She might have been an actual goddess. I was understandably disappointed and seriously considered challenging her to enter my octagon to meet with my fire-breathing fists, but decided that that could be construed as counterproductive and possibly illegal…and really the sort of invitation that should only be extended to CBS and the creator of Two and a Half Men.

Then I noticed that I had attracted a crap-load of other positive things to myself. Apparently my positive thoughts weren’t limited to green homes. I’d list them here, but I don’t want to gloat or demonstrate how low my standards are, because according to the Sheen, you have the right to kill me, but you do not have the right to judge me.

So my point is…dang it, what was my point again? Oh yes, think positively! Think like a winner! You might not get the thing you were shooting for, but it’s highly likely that God’s great dane will squat in your front yard and deposit the mother-load of blessings on your lawn. And you don’t even have to bag that shiznit because it is. Pure. Gold.

Would you look at that? I’ve tapped into my inner Charlie Sheen and am now making my own inappropriate inspirational quotes.



Disclaimer: I do not advocate living like or even with Charlie Sheen. In fact, I maintain hope that Charlie Sheen will stop living like Charlie Sheen and go on to live a long, sober life of quote generating.

Award Season

I’m going to apologize up front for the length of this post. It’s going to be a bit wordy, but I’ve got to handle some bid’ness this morning. It seems that not one, but two fellow bloggers were delusional enough to nominate me for awards. These women are fabulous, intelligent and funny. And possibly unstable. But I love them for it.

To get in the mood for these festivities, I’m going to put on my wedding dress. I didn’t have it cleaned before I jammed it into a Space bag ten years ago and I haven’t showered today, so I look and smell a little like Courtney Love. Fabulous!

Now let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? There is a proper etiquette for accepting a nomination. First I need to tell you a bit about my nominators.

Lazyhippiemama nominated me for a Tell Me About Yourself Award.

Now given her blog title, you might expect to find a bunch of blog posts about how much she’d really like to eat a bag of Cheetos if only she could raise herself up off the couch, but that’s not the case. I’m not saying she doesn’t like Cheetos, because, well, who doesn’t like Cheetos? What I’m saying is that her blog is part inspirational peace/love, part environmental and part motherhood with a dash of theology and humor. I like it enough to subscribe to it. And I’m not alone. Check it out!

And Kathy over at Don’t Forget To Feed The Baby nominated me for the Sunshine Award.

Pretty, huh?

There are bloggers with whom you become friendly because you like what they have to say and you also like them. Kathy is one of those bloggers for me. I read her blog because I think she’s funny and I’ve interacted with her enough to add her to my list of bloggers I intend to stalk if I ever find myself in their neck of the woods. I mean stalk in a good way–not a boil your rabbit sort of way. I hope she doesn’t move away under the cover of night. Anyway, I wholeheartedly recommend checking out her blog.

Now I’m supposed to tell you seven things about myself.

  1. I can read minds. But only in my car and only about driving related intentions. I can feel when someone next to me wants to change lanes or someone is going to sit through a light. I cannot however tell you what they ate for dinner or if they are cheating on their spouse. Unless they throw a cheap blond and a McDonald’s bag out the window.
  2. I’m deeply offended by cheap Chinese food and bad pizza. I’d rather go hungry. I apologize for my snobbishness. It’s inexplicable given my humble, prepared-food beginnings.
  3. I’m a very good parallel parker when no one else is in the car with me. It’s my secret. I think Hubs saw my superior skills once when I forgot he was in the car, but most of the time I lose my ability when another adult is present and do a serviceable impression of a ninety year old cataract patient. Then we have to take a shuttle to the curb.
  4. I’m a terrible painter. My secret? Lack of patience and proper prep work.
  5. My family is destroying the rain forest one roll of toilet paper at a time. Seriously, I’ve never met a group of people (who weren’t also drunk and in a nightclub) who use so much toilet paper. I think they shut the bathroom door and mummify themselves.
  6. I laughed and groaned my way through Titanic but I bawled through The Time Traveler’s Wife (so hard, in fact, that Hubs thought I needed medical attention.) Romances are a mixed bag for me. It takes a subtle approach to get past my cynical humor. However, you kill off one animal in a movie and I will cry. Every. Single. Time.
  7. I’ve always believed that I have super powers. When I was little I thought I could levitate and move objects with my mind. Now I think I can move like one of those kids on So You Think You Can Dance. None of these abilities have ever been proven. However my driving telepathy…now that sh!t is real. Don’t trip.

But wait, there’s more. I’ve got to answer these ten questions about myself.

The questions:

  • What is your favorite bad habit? Smoking crack in a back alley. It’s old school.
  • How old are you? That’s a carefully guarded secret. 43. Crap, I guess the guards were on break. Don’t tell anyone.
  • What is your favorite time of day? I like the morning. I’m most organized, productive and loving in the morning… unless it’s one of those mornings after nobody slept very well, in which case cancel all of the above.
  • What is your favorite time of year? Autumn–school clothes shopping, Halloween, Thanksgiving, comfort foods and pretty leaves.
  • Who is your favorite dead celebrity? Charlie Sheen. Wait, he’s not dead? That’s amazing!
  • What is your favorite Christmas movie? Christmas Vacation is awesome but I always end up watching A Christmas Story while I’m wrapping presents.
  • Who is your favorite philosopher? Again, Charlie Sheen…or the Dalai Lama. They both have a lot of interesting things to say.
  • What was your favorite vacation? College. 
  • What is your favorite physical activity? It’s a tie between eating and…well the other one always gets me pregnant, so I’m going to go with eating.
  • What is your favorite thing? Probably something having to do with my kids, because they’re awesome and they were ripped from my womb. Eating and laughing with good friends is also pretty good.

Now I need to pay this kindness forward. If you’re looking for some enjoyable blogs to read try these:

White Elephant In The Room

Fish Out Of Water

Shut Up Dad