Tag Archives: Donald Trump

Happy Anniversary, Fresh Air and Sarcasm!

12 Jul

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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.

Maybe I’ll Become a Barrista

20 Oct

I rarely offer advice regarding employment.  I tend to stay in unpleasant employment situations long after the headiness of wielding power, bossing minions and firing incompetents has evaporated.  Oh wait, that’s Donald Trump, not me.  I eat pizza with my hands.

So here I am at the crossroads.  The advice-giving me is telling the hardworking-me that I need to quit my job like, yesterday, even in this economy.  (A quick aside: go ahead, ask me the words that I hope to never, ever, hear again for as long as I live?  “In this economy.”  Why?  Because there is always an economy and that economy will always favor the wealthy, trample the middle class and disregard the poor and that, my friend, will never change.  So enough with “in this economy.”  Besides, I need to quit “in this moment.”)  Wow, that quick aside should probably be a separate paragraph.

So, when you stop fantasizing about being involved in a minor automobile accident, like bumping a parked car, for example- no ambulance, no injury- just a little vehicular incident that takes some time to apologize and check over the damage which results in your having to miss this month’s meeting- when you no longer imagine this scenario, but rather, find yourself slowly driving along Main Street looking for a dented car that is precariously parked, it’s time to quit.

When you begin to wish that the stranger at the gas pump next to you would pass out so that you and only you must stay with that person until help arrives and end up missing next month’s meeting too, give notice.

When you pray that your child gets a slight fever, husband gets a flat tire, friend’s husband gets caught cheating; when you check the weather channel thinking “tornado.  C’mon, baby.  Mommy needs a little tornado.  Or “power outage.  Help me out, NYSEG.  Can I get a glitch?”  Not long enough to melt the Starbucks ice cream in the freezer, mind you, but enough so that the meeting is canceled.

When you find yourself contemplating the loss of full fat/high price frozen confections, just walk away Renee.

Whatever you do, don’t drive.

P.S.  Melted Starbucks ice cream is okay- it’s like an extra creamy cappuccino.  (That I can no longer afford because I quit my job.)

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