How I Made The Top 20 In The Humor Category Of BlogHer's Voices Of The Year

This was written on the occasion of the wedding of Becky and Matt. Ann Imig of Ann's Rants gave a virtual bridal shower for Becky and this was my contribution. Then Ann nominated it for BlogHer's Voices Of The Year in the humor category and I made the top 20. Ann was rewarded for her generosity by also placing in the Top 20 in the category of Identity.


People always ask me why I never got married. When they do, I look up long enough from counting my stacks of money to laugh. Then I put on my diamonds and furs and ring for the butler and he rings for the chauffeur and soon I'm in my Maybach heading for another fun day at the plastic surgeons.

And I don't have to check with anybody and can spend my money however I want which does not include having to buy a new hot water heater and other things I can't wear.

The truth is, I don't play well with others. Apparently marriage requires sharing and compromise. What kind of living hell is that? And if you're married you can't go to bed mad? THAT'S JUST CRAZY TALK. I wasn't aware there was another way to go to bed.

The real story is that I've had trouble with men from the moment I started dating. My first boyfriend got hit by a truck. My second boyfriend had a heart attack. My third boyfriend called me up one day and said, “You know what, I think you’re a jinx." And I said, “How do you figure?” But then the phone went dead because you’re only allowed ten minute calls from prison.

I don't do domestic. Unless that includes hiring them and then I'm the valedictorian of domestic. As a matter of fact the first thing I look for is a man who cooks, because I don’t. I’ll eat out, I’ll take out, I’ll put out. But I ain't cooking. When I get my dream house, I’m not even going to build a kitchen. I’m going to put a KFC in on the ground floor.

Because I'm not a quitter, I've been engaged three times. The first time I bought a long white dress. The second time I bought a long off-white dress. The third time I just bought something I could return.

My first fiancé was in the Army. The Salvation Army. He was so immature that on April Fool's Day he put Polygrip in my diaphragm. I walked around all day sounding like a plunger.

One day he shaved his head.

"Why did you do that?"
"I'm trying to make my head look bigger."
"I wish you'd shave another part of your anatomy."

My second fiancé gave me a big diamond ring and I got him nothing. It's the only time in a relationship between a man and a woman where if you don't give, no one's going to call you frigid AND IT WAS ONLY THAT ONE TIME. My third fiancé was twenty years older than me. When he took me to meet his parents I was very impressed and said, "Wow, this is a really nice cemetery."

Marriage scares me because I'm not sure people can be faithful to each other. If only we took a page from the animal kingdom. The bald eagle mates and remains faithful for life. Of course if he had some hair he'd probably be out screwing around.

So dear Becky, just because I'm not that brave, don't let that dissuade you RUN FOR YOUR LIFE from marrying the man of your dreams IT'S NOT TOO LATE I'M SURE THE CATERER WILL REFUND SOME OF THE MONEY and living the rest of your life in harmony and bliss I'M LYING and I wish you and Matt the very happiest parts of forever.

Poor bastards.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

This was my entry in this year's Robert Benchley Writing Competition. If you follow that link you'll see some of Benchley's more famous quotes. He was a member of the Algonquin Round Table in New York and is widely recognized as one of the premier humorists in the history of humor. This will not be said about me when I'm dead and buried at my decidedly non star-studded funeral. I'll save you the trouble, I DIDN'T EVEN MAKE TOP 10 AND ARTE I'M A THOUSAND YEARS OLD JOHNSON WAS THE JUDGE. It probably would've helped to familiarize myself more with Benchley's humor but then I wouldn't have had anything to bitch about.


I own a refrigerator. This is dull news unless you’ve never owned one. And I haven’t. Nor have I wanted to. I’m a renter. We look down on owning.

“It was left by the last guy; you wanna buy it?”
“How much?”
“Fifty bucks.”
“Fifty dollars a month on top of the rent?”
“Nah, just a one time thing.”

You can’t buy a toaster for fifty dollars, much less an entire refrigerator with shelves and cubicles and a separate little apartment for the butter. I was suspicious. Had this refrigerator been in prison and couldn’t get a decent job anywhere but in a rental unit? Who was this “last guy” who left it behind? What kind of shady activity was he involved in that required him to take off without a refrigerator?

“How old is it?” I asked the manager, opening the fridge door and expecting to see a family of mold sitting around the crisper knitting.

“Only two, looks pretty good for its age, right?”

Two in rental talk obviously means three. And “looks good for its age” is what people say about women who are aging dubiously.

“It has an ice-maker. It’ll make ice day and night, miss.”

That doesn’t seem like a plus to me. An ice maker that makes money day and night, definitely a plus. But how much ice does one person need?

“It’s a Westinghouse.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes ma’am, made right here in the U S of A.”

The manager switched from calling me miss to ma’am in the course of three seconds. This refrigerator was aging me. And not dubiously.

I bought the four year old refrigerator and moved in a few days later. It hummed quietly in the far corner of my clean white kitchen, next to the window overlooking the pink bougainvillea growing over the roof of my nearest neighbor. I checked the freezer. There was ice.

I invited a friend over. He brought wine and various shades of oohs and ahhs.

“Can you help me turn the microwave right side up?”
“How did it get upside down?”
“The movers were in a hurry.”
“You told them you weren’t going to tip them, didn’t you?”
“The tip is included in the price, like in France.”
“So you only invited me to help move this thing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the only person I know who works out with weights so you take that corner and I’ll take this corner and easy does it, and flipping, and turning… and down… we… go.”

And I set the microwave down on my left thumb.

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine, see? These aren’t even real tears.”
“Let me look at…wow, you have a white refrigerator! You really don’t see these anymore since everyone wants stainless. Is yours vintage?”
“No, it’s only five years old.”
“Now let me look at your thumb; you know you’re going to have to keep ice on that day and night.”


So this week's Bite Me Award goes to Arte Johnson and Robert Benchley, even though Benchley died in 1945 and will not likely be reading my blog today: