My 2010 Notes to Celebutards

What better way to end the year than to rant about the celebutards who topped my list in 2010?  And if I could, this is what I would say to these particular folks if I ran into them say, at a celebrity charity event aimed at curing phobophobia:  

To Justin Bieber:

Justin, great to meet such a, aahh, singing sensation.  Quick question, did you buy your Flowbee or was it a gift?

To Mel Gibson:

Mel, Mel, Mel....I take it that on some subconscious level it never occurred to you that having a baby with a chick that looks just like Octomom could somehow get you embroiled in a kid related shitstorm? 

To Tiger Woods and Jesse James:

Oh actually, I would prefer not to shake your hands.  Hey, I was just curious if you guys have ever, uh, dated Real Dolls too?

To Kim Kardashian:

Sweetie, listen up.  I have pulled out my calculator and determined you have now exceeded your 15 minutes of fame by 2,102,485.

To Chaz Bono (formerly known as Chastity Bono):

Ch-Ch-Chaaaaaaaz.  Congratulations on your sex change!   I was just wondering why you didn't go with the name Dick.

To Gavin Rossdale:

Dude, what a confession!  Have you heard your teenage fling with a gay crossing dressing singer has inspired a No Doubt classic remix?  Their new version is entitled: Oh I’m Just A Guy, Dressed Up Like A Girl.

To Charlie Sheen:

Psst, Charlie, come here.  Have you heard about the white hot new fantasy hero script being shopped around Hollywood?  It’s called Teflonman and it's the story of an insane superhuman guy who keeps divorcing his wives after being caught with hookers while using copious amounts of illegal drugs, yet his career continues to thrive.....

To Eva Longoria:

Oh Eva, sorry to hear about your divorce.  I bet you were real surprised too, since you know, NBA players are so notorious for their fidelity.

 

To Brett Farve:

Brett, you've probably taken a few conks to the head, huh?  Here, take this piece of paper, it's a very simple little equation I put together from a female perspective.  You might want to use before your next sext message:

                 

                 schlong in hand + crocs on feet = ickypoo

To Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt:

Who are you people?  And are you two capable of reproducing with each other?

To Al Gore:

Al.  Can I call you Al?   I've given it some thought and have concluded I’m not sure which is more depressing: that you got a divorce after 40 years of marriage or that people still think you invented the internet.

To Jeremy London:

Jeremy, what an ordeal!  Listen, I can totally empathize with your tale of kidnappers who nabbed you just to force you to do drugs, because the same thing happened to me once too. Except my kidnappers forced me to go to Nordstrom’s and spend $800 on a Marc Jacobs handbag for myself.

To Brad Cooper and Ryan Reynolds:

You know what? I have absolutely nothing bad to say. You guys are totally hot.  Do whatever you want.

Sandra Lee

Recently I got a holiday advertisement from Sam's Club that featured Sandra Lee on the cover.  Sandra Lee has the best cooking gig on TV.  For those of you not familiar with Sandra Lee, she’s a “chef” that hosts a cooking show on the Food Network.  Since her bio from FoodNetwork.com best explains her cooking technique, I pasted it here for your examination:

Sandra has revolutionized the way people think about traditional, time-consuming, "from-scratch" methods. With her trademark 70/30 Semi-Homemade® philosophy, which combines 70 percent ready-made products with 30 percent fresh touches, Sandra creates delicious meals and aspirational home environments that are affordable and attainable.

Dang! I’ve been doing 70/30 type home cooking since forever.  I just wasn’t bright enough to trademark and pitch it to the Food Network.  And although I am not sure what ‘aspirational home environments’ are exactly, I am confident that I too have probably created one somewhere along the way.

Sandra sets up each episode and menu to revolve around a particular food theme.  She relies heavily on prepackaged goods to serve as the basis of her dishes and seems to have an endless supply of table settings.  In addition, she eschews the typical white chef jacket and instead chooses to wear a skintight shirt meant to display her ample, uh, ampleness.

Here’s a taste of one of her episodes (was the pun too much?):

Title:   Heirloom Linen and Lace

Theme:  Sandra puts together an eclectic menu of heirloom recipes and uses linen and lace to create her ‘aspirational environment’.

Menu:   Hot Crab Rangoon Dip with Won Ton Chips

              Warm Orzo Salad with Mint and Feta

              Chicken Scaloppini with Spring Vegetables

              Heirloom Carrot Spoon Cake

              Peach and Apricot Hard Cider

This menu is all the more impressive when you realize that she actually can put it together in the 30 minutes slotted, since it’s mostly ‘ready-made’.

This got me thinking that I can take Sandra’s concept one step further and create a new type of semi-homemade cooking philosophy.   My niche will be called “France’s Pseudo-Handmade Cooking” and consist of a 95%-5% concept (meaning 95% of whatever is ready-made at home in my kitchen and 5% fresh of…um, whatever).  I have already outlined the episode theme and developed original recipes.  I may even attempt a You-Tube production.

 

Outline Episode One: France’s Pseudo-Handmade Cooking:

Title: Mommy Doesn’t Feel Like Fixing You Dinner Tonight

Theme: Mommy has had a long day and is cranky.  Plus when she went to the KFC to pick up dinner, she realized she forgot her wallet and didn’t have any means to pay and the pimply KFC counter twit wasn’t willing to take Mommy’s IOU. 

Appetizers:

AHAHAHA. Appetizers, that’s so funny.

Main Entrée:  Tybell Chicken

Take six pieces Tyson breaded chicken from the freezer and put it in a pan.  Cover it with a can Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom mixed with 1/8 cup water (note: since the water comes from the faucet, this is considered the 5% homemade portion).  Bake chicken at 400° for 30 minutes or until the soup lumps turn a medium golden brown.  Garnish with parsley (note: if you are like me, then you don’t have any parsley on hand, so feel free to substitute with leaves from any houseplant).

Side Dishes:

First Side Dish: Buttered Cheddar Rice

Prepare one box of Country Cheddar flavored Rice-A-Roni as instructed on side of box.  Upon completion, remove from heat and add six sprinkles of Butter Buds. Stir well.   If motivated, look for some leftover shredded cheese in refrigerator and speckle on top of mixture. Serve with chicken.

Second Side Dish:  

Does it look like Mommy is up for making a second side dish?  NO.  Thus there is no second side dish.  Shut up and eat and the chicken and rice.

Dessert: Single Layer Oreo Parfait

Take 8 Oreo cookies out of the box.  Layer them in a shallow bowl.  Lightly crush Oreos with empty Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup can.  Wash and cut two grapes into itty-bitty pieces.   Take out pre-made whipped cream (Redi-Whip or Cool Whip) and squirt/scoop whipped cream on crushed Oreos.  Nestle grapes in the whipped topping and serve.  The addition of fruit makes this dessert healthier than most.

Beverage:

Child Version: Moo-Mosa

Add 1/3 cup orange juice to 6 oz milk and serve to kids. 

Adult Version: VodooMosa

Add 3 oz vodka to 6 oz Andre Cold Duck Sparkling Wine, top with splash of pulp free orange juice.  Serve often.

So that’s what I have so far.  I am struggling a bit with the ‘aspirational home environment’ setting for this particular episode, but I am leaning towards using left over paper plates from my 2005 Fourth of July party and the napkins I recently pilfered from Taco Bell.  Since I lost my skin tight shirt (don’t ask) my cooking attire will be a pair of weathered yellow and gold checkered flannel pants and an oversized gray Mickey Mouse waffle knit top from 1995 (I am trying to avoid the too matchy-matchy look).

Bon Appétit!

Salvation Army Kettle Ringer

‘Tis the season for the Salvation Army to strategically place a kettle ringer in front of every single store I need to go into.  Their tactic causes all kinds of trauma for me.  Why?  Because it makes it hard for me to just go buy my stuff.  And before you get all righteous on me, know that the Salvation Army is the one charity I’ve donated to every single year since forever.  Their efforts help many people and we as a society need that.  I get it, OK.   So why my discombobulation?

The other day I went to the local Walgreens to buy a card.  On my way out, I gave the kettle ringer my last couple of bucks.  This left me with a few random coins as my only source of cash. 

I am going to stray for a moment and remind you of yesteryear, when you could receive a red flower or a roll of Lifesavers after providing a donation to the kettle ringer (although there has been some debate over these relics, as everyone I’ve asked seems to have a differing memory of which charity actually passed them out; but I’m sticking to my memory and it’s my rant.  If you don’t like it, get your own rant blog).  The flower served as a sort of donation badge of honor, and would clue the next kettle ringer you happened to come across, that you already gave.  The Lifesavers just contributed to tooth decay.  Regardless, the Salvation Army discontinued this practice, leaving no visible sign of a donation. 

Next up on my itinerary, was a two minute drive to Jewel for a few essential grocery items.  As I pulled into the parking lot, I immediately noticed two kettle ringers positioned at both ends of the store entries.  I’m still in the car and already distressed at the thought of my badge-less walk past this new kettle ringer.  Why? Because he’s probably been standing outside ringing that clanky-ass bell in the cold Midwest winter for the last two hours, waiting for people like me to donate some dough.  Except just two minutes ago I did donate, only he doesn’t know it.  And to be honest, I really don’t want to part with the rest of my available cash, even if it is only just a pittance.   

As I walk up to the entrance wondering how I can avoid the kettle ringer, I come up with a great strategy that I instantly put into place.  To the right of the door is a huge display of Christmas wreaths; I pretend to be so overcome by the unique beauty of the standard green wreaths as I am walking to the store, that I am too distracted to acknowledge the kettle ringer standing 4 feet away clanging his bell at 75 decibels.  I am practically walking sideways into the entrance, victory just seconds away, when I hear the kettle ringer holler, “Happy Holidays Ma’am!” (For the record?  I hate being called ma’am).  Rats, busted.

Now at this point, any other normal person would have kept right on going.  But NOT me.  It appears as though I have some sort of mutant Salvation Army gene that compels me to want to explain to this new ringer that I already donated about 4 minutes ago to the Walgreens ringer down the street, only I don’t have any Lifesavers or a flower badge of honor to show for it (which technically, is Salvation Army’s fault); so if You, Mr. Kettle Ringer, could be so kind as to call your Walgreens kettle ringer colleague on his cell and confirm I already gave, I could get on with my shopping.

Except.  I don’t do that.  Instead I take a backwards side step and act so surprised to see the kettle ringer standing there.

“Oh hi-ya!  Have you seen those wreaths?  Gor-GEE-ous!  Ya know, the store should really consider moving them further away from the entrance, because I almost didn’t even notice you!  My big bad.  Hey here’s an idea, I’m gonna give you all of the rest of my change from my pocket. And you SIR, have a happy holiday too!!”

Of course in the store I feel stupid, because not only did I give away more money, but I most certainly came across as a total cheapass.  *Sigh*.  My only consolation is that I can leave in peace, because I already gave to that kettle ringer.

I finish up my light shopping and as I make my way to leave with grocery bags in hand, I see that the original Jewel kettle ringer has now been replaced by a different kettle ringer! NOOOOOOOOO DAMMIT!!!  This new guy has no idea I just gave the other Jewel ringer my last 67¢, plus another $2 to the ringer dude at Walgreens.  And where exactly did the last ringer go anyway, lunch? It’s only 10:30 a.m.

I have no choice but to plot anew…..

Ahead of me is an older lady who is moving rather slow.  I decided to use her as a decoy: I will closely follow behind her and as we approach the ringer, I will finagle my way off to her left side, increase my stride, and thus avoid a France/ringer interaction.  Except!  The old coot suddenly stops short to search for money to give the ringer a donation, causing a very visible near Jewel shopper collision.  And the new ringer?  He totally saw me.  And very smugly declared, “Happy Holidays.  Ma’am.”  Red faced, I scampered off to my car, giving nothing and feeling the kettle ringer death stare burning into my back.

Dear God, do I have it in me to drive up the road to the Walmart for bird seed? We ran out and the little birdies love eating the seeds, and my kitty loves to watch the little birdies eating the seeds, and I love to watch my kitty watching the little birdies eating the seeds; it could really be a win-win situation, if only I can avoid a Walmart kettle ringer.

I pulled into the Walmart lot and looked for kettle ringers. There’s none to be found. Hurray!!  The lot is full, prompting me to park towards the back.  The cold wind is whipping around, so I pull up my hood and keep my head down as I trek through the lot.  Then about 100 feet from the door, I hear it.

That. Familiar. Ringing. 

I look up.  Standing in front of the Walmart entrance, I am dumbfounded to see a stealth kettle ringer.  Huh? What?  And just like Curly Howard, I scream a heartfelt woowoowoowoowoowoo, spin around on one leg, and hightail it back to my car. Sorry my feathered and furry friends, no birdseed for you.

And that folks, is why I suffer from Salvation Army kettle ringer trauma.  My hub advises me to just smile and say happy holidays back.  But for me, there is no escaping the kettle ringers during the holidays.  Because, really? I just want to go buy my stupid cards, my half and half, and my birdseed without having to pay a self-imposed retail toll at every single store.

Make sure to click on the link, and if your timing is right, you might get an ironic surprise!

http://www.hark.com/clips/kxkbqrplwv-curly-goes-woowoowoowoowoowoowoo

Silent Birth

John Travolta and Kelly Preston had a baby. A few weeks prior to the happy event, I read an article on Popeater.com that the Travoltas were planning on using the ‘silent birth method’ in accordance with Scientology guidelines. 

Intrigued, I went to the Scientology website to learn more about the silent birth process, but found nothing.  So instead I had to rely on Popeater.com for Scientology silent birth information, which apparently boils down to the following:

To ensure traumatic events don’t happen during the infant’s first few days that “will haunt them for rest of their lives” these are the guidelines for silent birthing:

• No music, no talking and no screaming allowed during pains of labor
• No medical testing on infant for the first seven days of its life
• No speaking to the infant for the first seven days of its life

 Huh?

Those seem like some pretty tough rules to me.  Especially the labor pains one.  I remember the labor of my second child, for which I did not have an epidural.  I was real cranky.  So much so, that I made sure my state of suffering was well known to everyone in my immediate area, and to any stragglers out in the hospital hallway.   

It is unclear if the Travoltas ultimately used the Scientology silent birth method, but if they did, I wondered if they devised a gesturing system to help them communicate during labor, because it's an important part of the process.  This got me imaging how well my own silent labor scenario would have gone, had I chosen gesticulation over verbalization:

Hubby (H): A soundless pat to the cheek, followed by a tug of the ear.  This signals the question “ Do you need anything honey?”

France (F): Two blinks, followed by a singular head tap.  This signals: Even though I am only in the early throes of labor, I’m already frickin thirsty and I really want a huge glass of orange juice.  Is it possible for you to also throw in some vodka to help take off the edge?

H: A two finger touch to the forearm, followed by an eye wink.  He has misinterpreted my request for juice as a request for a bag of Lays BBQ flavored potato chips and has denied said request for fear the noise generated from potato chip crunching will haunt the baby, thus creating adult onset potato chip neurosis.

F: Two harder blinks, followed by a harder singular head tap.  This signals: Hello? Are you crazy? I think maybe you want chips because you are bored sitting there on your ass while I am doing all the work. I just some want juice. Forget the vodka.

H: A pinky to his chin, followed by a triple pat to the shoulder.  This signals he is going to get me a moist washcloth.

F: What? No! I follow with a violent shaking of my head no.  This signals NO; what am I supposed to do with a moist washcloth, wring it out to get a drop of water?  Realizing the meaning of my two blinks and singular head tap have been misunderstood, I am now forced to play a game of labor pain charades in order to maintain my vow of silence.  I pretend to hold an imaginary glass with my left hand, while turning on a faucet directly over it with my right hand, after which, I take an imaginary drink.  This signals: Forget the juice, just go get me some water from the damn sink!

H: Makes a big O with his mouth, smiles, nods, and walks out.  For approximately 15 minutes I wait in parched agony for my water, which he apparently is getting in Fiji.  He finally reappears with a cinnamon dolce latte and chocolate biscotti he purchased for himself, incorrectly deducing I had encouraged him to get caffeinated for the second hand labor he was technically not experiencing.

F: I flip him the bird (I think you probably know what this signals.)

H: He responds by cocking his head to the side and giving me a confused look.  As we have not reviewed this particular gesture, he is now wondering if: A)he was supposed to know what this means and forgot, or B)if I was genuinely flipping him the bird.   He places a fist against his forehead.  This signals he doesn’t understand what I want.

F: I take my forefinger, give him a small smile, and sweetly motion him to come over.  He approaches the bed, where upon I swiftly grab him by the collar, pull him up close, smack him in the forehead, and scream in his face, “LISTEN UP NUMBNUT, GET ME SOME WATER.”

And just like that, the silent birth is over.  I figure it lasted about 19 minutes, if the coffee excursion is included.  My poor baby is haunted and scarred for life.  So now in addition to college, I guess I’ll have to save extra for the therapy lessons she’s gonna need.