Tag Archives: Cliff Bar

Happy Anniversary, Fresh Air and Sarcasm!

12 Jul

IMG_20130702_132627_075

Well, it’s been two years or as my publicist would say: “FA&S enters third year of earth-moving, world-changing, mind-altering goodness!”

Side note: my publicist leans toward hyperbole.

Side side note: until recently, The Boy pronounced it “hyper-bowl.”  Like a trophy match for the most caffeinated kid.

Additional side note: I have no publicist.

Still, more than 115 published bits of sarcasm and, despite our efforts, we have yet to be sued by: David Sedaris, Dave Barry, Oprah Winfrey, David Lee Roth, Wolf Blitzer, my mother, Hellman’s Mayonnaise, Rand McNally, Alex Trebek, Lance Armstrong, Donald Trump, Judd Apatow, David Lynch, Karl Marx, Adam Sandler, Tom Arnold, The Drifters, Bono, Dire Straits, Priceline.com, Dane Cook, my mother, Taylor Swift, New Zealand, Nabisco, Bailey’s Irish Cream, a Kardashian, James Sacket, Cliff Bars, Eminem, Janeane Garafalo, yoga, Entenmann’s, Cyndi Lauper, Vitamix, The Girl Scouts of America, Santa or my mother.

That’s an impressive list which, to me, says two things: either everybody loves FA&S or everybody really likes FA&S and the love will eventually follow.  In the cases of Tom Arnold and David Lee Roth, however, I think that if they had the money, a lawsuit would only help revive their- oh, how I am loath to use this word here- careers.

Notice that I am eager to use the expression “I am loath” because, really, how often does one get the opportunity to actually be loath?  Answer: infrequently.  (Additional answers include: extraordinarily, only just, sporadically, seldom and, for our Spanish readers, rara vez because, really, how often does one get to use those words either?)

And words, after all, are the reason we are here.

I don’t mean that words are the reason that we, as a species, are here.  (Yea, right.  Millions of years ago caveman says to cavewoman: “go fix me a dirty martini” and BAM! three more of those later, a species is created.  PS: the martini was dirty due to early cave hygiene practices.)

What I mean is that we (okay, you) have read thus far because of something in the words (it’s either sarcasm dust or bits of organic compost imported from Oprah’s new hobby farm) and I thank you for your loyalty.  Sincerely.

But not too sincerely.  That would be wrong.

Have It Your Way

3 Oct

Who suddenly has to go the hardware at 6:30 on a Sunday night?

The Boy hadn’t even broken anything in the house yet – neither a drawer nor a pane of glass- and just like that Spouse needs “parts”?  The hardware store isn’t even open on Sunday.

This can only mean one thing:

a.  Spouse is having an affair with a woman at the hardware store.

b.  Spouse is having an affair with a MAN at the hardware store.

c.  Spouse is having an affair and nobody works at the hardware store but the hardware store is important somehow.

d.  Spouse went to Burger King.

I choose D.

While I am fairly certain that Spouse would not have an affair, I am absolutely certain that I made Vegan Matzo Ball Soup for dinner on Sunday (side note: Vegan Matzo Ball Soup has earned a spot on my ongoing oxymoron list) and Spouse came home with onion rings on his breath.

Way to go Candle Cafe Cookbook- “substitute shredded potato for chicken fat,” serve for dinner, and not only is your husband guaranteed to leave you, he will fight for gustatorial custody of a boy who is destroying the house at a rate faster than you can fix it.

Mind you, I’m not bothered by the amount of work that goes into making Vegan Matzo Ball Soup: it’s a lot.  Tons of chopping and mincing for the broth alone without counting the trip back to the Food King for parsnips: those white, rooty-looking things that, prior to Sunday, have never been in my kitchen.  Or my life.  They’re like the Johnny Winter of carrots.

Like if we were on a game show and I had only three words with which to make you say parsnip, I would say: “Johnny.  Winter.  Carrot.”  And you would reply: “Oh!  I know those things!  They’re white carrots!  I see them in the store all the time!  They’re like the Johnny Winter of carrots!”

And we would lose.

What I am bothered by is Spouse’s unwillingness to admit to the affair.  If he would just acknowledge it outright, I could pack up some things for him and The Boy so that The Boy could immediately begin dinging the door jambs in Dad’s rental apartment.  It is a “broken home” after all.

Secondly, we all hated the soup.  By 7PM, The Boy was seen hiding in the pantry eating a Cliff Bar while his mom had 5 Chocolate Creme Newman-O’s less than an hour later.

But the lies and the deception…why?  Over a little bit of chicken fat?  Okay, lots of chicken fat, but still.

Did you even buy anything at the hardware store?  We’re out of mouse traps.

%d bloggers like this: