Not funny, except when it is...

Every Friday, I go to my parents house to have coffee and barfmeal with my dad. You see, he eats oatmeal for breakfast, oatmeal disgusts me and it has ever since reading "Ramona Quimby, Age 8". You know, the part when they have the jars of oatmeal dyed blue w/ the fly larvae in it? And it makes Ramona sick and she throws up in school? Well, ever since then, oatmeal has made me sick, so I call it "barfmeal". I have had sympathy sickness for Ramona Quimby since the 80's. What the hell? Anybarforama, my dad eats barfmeal, I eat an english muffin, we both drink coffee and we talk. We talk about any and everything from sports to the comics page in the paper, to the serious side of life, like health care, politics, and more recently, his prostate cancer diagnosis.

This morning, he and I got into a discussion about Catholic guilt. I can't remember how or why it came up, but I mentioned that I believe one of the biggest contributors to Catholic guilt is the "no-meat-on-Fridays-during-Lent" thing. I'm sure there's a proper name for the "no-meat-on-Fridays" thing, but don't ask me what it is. The Catholic church doesn't want me and my homosexual brothers and sisters, so I've taken to setting up a grill outside the church on Fridays during Lent and eating meat all over the place with a bunch of homos. Not really, but maybe I'll start! Anymoo, I said the meat rule was a rule that I'm sure every single Catholic has broken sometime in their life, and the guilt is overwhelming since it's such a simple rule to follow. My dad then said, "Well sure, and it should be. I remember one time I went out to lunch with your uncle Gerry. We went to a place known for it's burgers, I think was called Tip Top, they had hand packed burgers, real thick, juicy. Well I ate one...on a Friday...during Lent...and now I have cancer." He and I looked at each other, then burst out laughing. I laughed so hard, I was almost lizzing(laughing and whizzing, courtesy of Liz Lemon and the 30 Rock writers). He laughed so hard, his face got all red and squinty, and had he not been sitting at the table, he would have slapped his knee. Yes, my father is a knee slapper...literally.

Many of you might not think that's funny, laughing about cancer, but if you know my dad at all, then you know that laughing is what he does. And if you know my dad at all, then you love him for saying that and laughing about it. God knows I do...

Why, Brooke, why???

I have something I need to talk about. The newest Colgate commercial starring Brooke Shields. That's right, I've got a toothpaste ad on the brain, and it's irritating me like a burr under my saddle. That's right, I just implied that I'm a horse. Shut up. Anyflossy, this ad, every time it's on I feel my nostrils flare as if I've smelled feet, I feel my teeth bare in anger, I feel my head shake slowly and I stare in disgust until it's over. After it, I'm fine, right back to normal, back to the cute little furry gremlin before you put water on it. That is, until I think about it again. Why does this ad bother me so much? Why, I thought you'd never ask.

It's the celery, I can't get past the effing celery. Brooke chomps on a full stalk of leaves-and-all celery. No one, and I mean no one, eats celery like that. Especially not a celebrity who can pay to have a personal celery cleaner come and discard the leaves. I can't blame Brooke, she didn't come up with the idea. Mind you, if I find out she did, I'm totes blaming her. I'm guessing that this is how it went down between the commercial-maker-uppers(advertisers, if you're nasty)...

"Okay guys, we have a good start here, I like that Brooke will start the commercial by saying she's a healthy person, but gang, we gotta prove that to the audience! How can we prove that Brooke is healthy? We gotta make believers outta these people...what's that Jiminy? Have her eat celery? I like where you're head is at, guy. Okay, celery...this is good...but can we make the celery seem healthier at all? What if...what if we...have her pick the celery off the tree and bite into it. What? Oh, where does celery grow then? Who cares, we have to figure this out. So, okay...how about...oh, I got it, what's that crap on top of celery? You know, it's... the crap...on the tops...of celery stalks, what is that crap? Leaves? Jiminy, speak up! You are killing me, man! So leaves, what if she bites into a stalk of celery with leaves on the top? That looks healthy! I mean, come on guys, leaves = healthy! What? Listen, I don't care if no one eats celery like that, no one is going to believe that Brooke Shields is healthy unless she bites into celery with leaves on the top! You really think the American public is going to think about the friggin leaves? Get out of my face, Jiminy, you disgust me! We're going leaves...LEAVES ON, PEOPLE!"

How do we know that she didn't just max a plate of chicken wings and she's trying to cool the fi-yah with celery? That's totally feasible. Now, if she were drinking a glass of wheat germ while tricked out in a super sweet yoga pose, then I would be like "Dag, Brooke Shields is healthy as a meyeah feyeah!" But no, they give her celery...with leaves. What's sad is that now I'm all kinds of in a tizzy about Brooke Shields, and I can remember a time not too long ago when Mina, Emily and I were at Bloomingdale's all excited to be getting Brooke's autograph on a poster. My how times have changed.

But really, what it comes down to is that I know Brooke Shields is healthy, not because of a celery stalk with leaves, but because...look at her. She's 44 years old and look at her. That's how I know she's healthy.

So thank you, Colgate advertisers, for pissing me off about Brooke Shields...and celery, one of my favorite ways to get Ranch dressing into my mouth. I'll never forgive you. But I'll keep using your products! Holla! Oh wait, I used Crest...nevermind...

SOGOTP...

You'd think that while I was benched from life with a knee injury, I would have taken advantage of my down time by writing gobs and gobs of boogs(ew). But no, apparently I was too busy downing Vicodin by the handful, dozing lazily in my recliner while listening to Maury tell Jason that he IS the father. It was chore for me to even write a friggin email. Side note: Does anyone else think Connie Chung is embarrassed by Maury's one-trick-pony show of questionable paternity? I mean, she should be. It's awful. I should know, I watched it for 2 weeks straight!

Anychung, it's now been over a month since I've written anything, over a month since I injured my knee, and 3 weeks since my surgery. It's time to shit or get off the pot...or as writers say, "it's time to scribble or get off your fancy ergonomically correct chair". I totes just made that up, I have no idea what writers might say instead of "shit or get off the pot". Actually, when you think about it, "shit or get off the pot" might possibly be the most perfect way of urging someone to hurry up and do it..."it" being many things like, a shot of tequila, or sticking a sleeping person's hand in warm water, or the act of licking a toad, or...you know...pooping. Wait, what? Um, right, yeah, so it's time for me to shit or get off the pot, and this girl is gonna shit. God, this went downhill in a hurry, didn't it? Not exactly the kind of performance I hoped for after coming off the injured reserved, but what can you do?

So, my faithful readers...all 2 of you...I hope today's crapfest marks my return to the wonderful world of nonsensical randomness that I love to write about.