I never got around to making the birth announcement, but in case you weren’t invited to the shower, here she is!

“Look into my big brown eyes. Good. You are now my emotional prisoner.”

Her name is Mila Kunis, for reasons that are obvious.

We rescued her a few months ago, and we all love her. Well, most of us, anyway.

“Feel the weight of my hatred, Mila Kunis.”

Of course, as any mother will tell you, a child tends to try to live up to the name that has been bestowed upon her. Therefore, Mila Kunis is 100% movie starlet. She has single-handedly put to rest the myth that dogs only see in black and white, because it’s obvious this baby is visualizing red carpets wherever she goes.

The most frustrating manifestation of her rich girl personality is a complete lack of comprehension that the back yard is her powder room. I have to drag her out there on a leash and then the conversation goes something like this (to get the full picture, imagine Mila Kunis’ voice as a cross between a vat of melted butter and the tinkle of freaking fairy bells):

ME: What is wrong with you, idiot dog? Go potty!

“Oh, you amuse me so. Pray tell, what is this ‘potty’ you speak of with such passion?”

ME: It’s cold out here! Will you just do something!

“But I am doing something. I am playing the naif, thus rendering you powerless against my defecation on the fluffy bath rug indoors ten minutes from now.”

ME: I don’t get it! Didn’t they house train you at all where you used to live?!

“Where I used to live? You mean, Heaven?”

It took us a full two months and a number of bath mats to discover that the reason Mrs. Kutcher wouldn’t poop in the back yard is because there’s no grass. We live in the city, the back yard is the size of a double bed, and nothing grows there except slugs and despair. The minute we took her to the park with its lush greenery, she assumed the squatted heiny position we’d been begging for with tears. However, did I mention that our back yard is six inches outside the back door and the park is four blocks away and there’s nothing in between those two locations except concrete?

Set-up: Did we adopt a high-maintenance Hollywood pug?

Punchline: Does Mila Kunis crap in the woods?

{ 16 comments }

A Letter To My Womb

by Shari on September 3, 2014

Well, hi there.

Yes, it has been a while.

Not to pull the “movie” card or anything, but if you recall my post about my missing tooth and borrowing a teenager’s underpants, I have been out of my mind busy writing a movie. (I just pulled the “movie” card. And it was so gratifying.)

So!

I would like to begin my re-entry into your world with this:


I made this fetching little picture of my grotesquely distended abdomen for one of my Nickelodeon videos recently, but it will do double duty today as the intro for something wonderful that I found at Mama Rose’s house last week.

Ten and a half years ago, I was pregnant with my first child at the spring-poultry age of 40 and I wrote the following story while I was on bed rest for six weeks. The story disappeared when my computer and my external hard drive both croaked and I’ve been sad for the past ten and half years that it was lost forever, forgetting that I had sent a copy to Mama Rose who keeps everything. EVERYTHING. In fact, Mama Rose keeps so much of everything that she didn’t even remember herself that she had the story; I came across it accidentally, wedged in between some drawings of Underdog that I’d done when I was five years old, and a 1974 police affidavit exonerating my father from charges that he knowingly helped transport a stolen RCA television for my mother’s waitress friend Lois’ ex-boyfriend, Jimmy, all of which caused Mama Rose to muse, “Wow, I really do keep everything. I’m one shelf short of a hoarder.”

So without further ado, the ten and a half-year old tale that I wrote for my womb.

Once upon a time there was a Mom who had a daughter named Roselita. Mom loved Roselita very much and Roselita loved Mom very much. They were very close. Mom would sing to Roselita and talk to her about God and Roselita would squirm happily and run and kick her little legs to show Mom that she loved being sung to and told about God. At least… that’s what Mom thought.

You see, they actually hadn’t met yet. Roselita was being carried around in Mom’s tummy, which made it difficult for them to hold a legitimate conversation, so they had to improvise. Mom would talk to Roselita and Roselita would kick Mom’s vital organs. Normally, kicking someone’s vital organs is not a good way to answer someone or tell them that you love them and in some states it’s actually considered a crime, but for Mom and Roselita, it worked. And sometimes Roselita, to show her love, would kick Mom really really hard and Mom would say “Ow” and bend over. Oh, well. Sometimes love hurts. At least… that’s what Mom thought.

And so it happened that one day Mom’s doctor told Mom that to help Roselita grow strong inside her tummy, she would have to sit on a couch and stay there for a while. How long, asked Mom. Oh, about six weeks, said the doctor. Wow, said Mom, six weeks is, like, 45 days. Yes, said the doctor and thought to himself how lucky Roselita was to have a Mom who could count so well. Of course there wasn’t anything Mom wouldn’t do for Roselita, so she sat on a couch just like the doctor said. After one day of sitting on a couch Mom thought, wow, 44 more of these. And Roselita kicked to show that she appreciated Mom sitting on the couch for so long so that she could grow strong. At least… that’s what Mom liked to think.

After 5 days of sitting on a couch, Mom started to hallucinate. She imagined that she and Roselita were running through the sky hand in hand naked. She imagined that Roselita was doing gymnastics and had a prolonged uneven bars routine that she needed to practice at 1am. She imagined that Roselita was going to rip right through the skin on her stomach and slither away like in the “Alien” movie. Basically Mom was going a little crazy. But she had heard that loving someone as much as she loved Roselita would make a person go a little crazy, so she wasn’t too worried. Besides, she liked crazy people and hoped that Roselita would be a little crazy, you know, just enough to be interesting. And just when Mom thought that, Roselita put her foot on the inside of Mom’s tummy and pushed it out so hard that Mom could see the outline of her toes, to show Mom that she would, indeed, be a little crazy and they would have a very delightful time together once they met. At least… that’s what Mom was hoping for.

After 13 days of sitting on a couch, Mom got a little hysterical. She imagined that Roselita would not like her one bit once they actually did meet and wouldn’t care that Mom had sat on a couch for 45 days so that Roselita could grow strong. Of course, Mom knew what to do when she got hysterical like that. She prayed to God that Roselita would like her just a little bit and appreciate her sitting on a couch for 45 days and that Roselita would think Mom was a big fat hero. And God said, you would probably do better to love Roselita than worry about her hero-worshipping you and then maybe you won’t be so hysterical. Now Mom knew that God doesn’t really talk to you in sentences inside your head like that; sometimes he just gives you something called common sense. And that really works wonders for a Mom who has been sitting on a couch for 13 days and has 32 more to go. At least… that’s what Mom told herself so she wouldn’t have a raging panic attack.

And so it happened that 45 days passed and Mom’s doctor told her that she could stand up on her feet again and even go outside. Mom was very happy because outside there are no couches, and Roselita was very very happy because she was now very very strong and could kick Mom so hard that Mom had to plop down on the curb to breathe and wish she had a couch to sit on. And Mom was very very very happy because she realized that it didn’t matter whether Roselita ever knew that she had sat on a couch for 45 days so that Roselita could grow strong because all that mattered was that Roselita was strong now and when she came out, they would have a very wonderful meeting. Because God was right, if you think about loving others first, you don’t get so worked up about them appreciating you. Of course, that doesn’t mean that someday Mom wouldn’t use the couch-sitting story to make Roselita feel guilty about how much her mother suffered for her, so please make the right decisions in life and don’t do stupid stuff so that those 45 days of torture were in vain. And Roselita will roll her eyes and make her own decisions, which may or may not be stupid, but maybe somewhere in the back of her mind she will remember that she was loved so much that someone sat on a couch and stared at a wall for 45 days and maybe that will help her know how much she’s worth to Mom, and to God. At least… that’s what Mom thought as she sat on a couch for 45 days and waited for the love of her life to come meet her.

{ 13 comments }

My Sweet Ride to “Listen To Your Mother”

May 13, 2014

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Chevrolet’s sponsorship of Listen to Your Mother Show, but opinions are my own.  Score! After assistant-directing (and performing in) the NYC production of “Listen To Your Mother” for the past two years, I finally got the chance to be a real audience member! I [...]

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The Not-So-Glamorous Ways That My Life Is Like A Movie

April 22, 2014

If you are familiar with the very popular screenplay how-to book, “Save The Cat!”, you will know about the concept of “Six Things That Need Fixing”. For a screenwriter, these are the flaws or quirks you would write into the main character that subtly show themselves in the first act of a movie. Obviously, this [...]

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Oops, I did it again (with apologies to B. Spears)

April 4, 2014

Do you see this? You know what it is, right? That’s right. It’s a Girl Scout Cookie Order Form. A blank one, obviously. Kind of like the Girl Scout Cookie Form in my home. Which is not blank, in fact is so not blank that it holds the names of 100 people who ordered Girl [...]

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All Hail My Erma Bom-Bust

March 18, 2014

Well, it’s that time again, folks! The time when I publish my non-winning Erma Bombeck essay and congratulate all the winners. Enjoy this and if you have time, hop over to my friend Ann’s hilarious also-non-winning essay on Ann’s Rants. Booyah! ********************************** 50 is the new 50 I just heard of a study that says [...]

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Worst Date Ever. Swear.

February 14, 2014

This tragic tale is part of the “Worst Date Ever” blog hop, started by the widely-dated Nancy Kho of Midlife Mixtape. See below to hop around and read other tales of woe. And here’s to marriage, btw. Oh, my friends, when I was presented with this topic, I had a veritable smorgasbord of cruddy evenings [...]

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My spice cabinet is judging me.

February 5, 2014

I found this in my spice cabinet yesterday. I thought it was bread crumbs. I needed bread crumbs and so I decided that these were bread crumbs. I went so far as to slice the raw chicken and dip it in egg, as if this bold act of poultry prep could will this to be [...]

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#WhereILivedWednesday 1st Street & 1st Avenue

January 23, 2014

This post is part of the series #WhereILivedWednesday started by my dear friend Ann Imig of Ann’s Rants, so head on over there and read all the memories of former domiciles. “First & First”, we called it. In 1990, the cross-street of First Street and First Avenue was not only not the hipster land it [...]

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Let’s get beautiful with the crap lying around your house

January 17, 2014

“Microdermabrasion”? With that many syllables, it’s gotta be good! Bargain Basement Beauty 3 on NickMom from me and the always smooth-skinned Wendi Aarons.   Get More: funny videos and explore all things funny, just for moms at NickMom

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