Tag Archives: Nabisco

Happy Anniversary, Fresh Air and Sarcasm!

12 Jul


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.

School’s out. Pass the chocolate.

20 Jun

How can it be that the last day of school is tomorrow?

It seems like we were just singing “Auld Lang Syne.”  Remember New Year’s?  Passe already- the shoulder pads, leg warmers, Blondie, DALLAS.  Oh wait, that was 1982.  I hate when I lose decades.

Also no one, not even my parents, sings at midnight on January 1st because,

a:  they have been asleep since 9:00 and

b:  we are a tone-deaf people.  Birthday parties have been “family only” since my sister and I once tried to harmonize and, long story short, the dog ran away and Grandma shot hot coffee out of her nose.

So by as early as this Friday I may be expected to be at the town pool, in a bathing suit with a cooler full of snacks and nine weeks of “I’m bored” staring me in the face?  Whatever happened to summer school, truancy, letters sent home from the district and making up for “unauthorized absences?”  Do we even have a truancy officer anymore?  I really should attend more Board of Ed meetings- the school year needs to be made longer.  Effective immediately.

It can’t be June because I haven’t lost the New Year’s resolution weight yet.  I blame Nabisco.  The 100 calorie snack bags that I bought at the warehouse store on January 2nd were to help me realize when my “portion perceptions are misaligned.”  (I also purchased a diet/psychology book.)

Mini Oreos- ha!  They ought to call them Oxymoron Bites.  Now Mommy eats three bags instead of two cookies but she pays more per ounce (the irony is why she opens the third bag) and enjoys them less.  Way to go National Biscuit Company.

Is it wrong to hope for a rainy summer?

Or at least a rainy July?

By August I can get a spray tan, mani-pedi, haircut and enough Spanx and WonderFabric-infused swimwear to make it to September 5th.

Which may explain why my parents sang their heads off every September 4th throughout my childhood: from “Winchester Cathedral” to “Peggy Sue,” they harmonized, laughed and then sang some more.  And September 4th isn’t even anyone’s birthday.

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