Tag: humor

Shooting the Breeze with my Spirit Guide

Photo by lil artsy on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

SPIRIT GUIDE: “Welcome to Earth! You’ve been waiting a long time for your turn at being human! God has said LO! Tis time to exist earthside, for thouest have a lot to learn!“

ME: “You speak in King James English?”

SPIRIT GUIDE: “No. I’m just showing off. Now, there’s a lot of things you need to know to make your crazy little existence a little smoother. Let’s go over some of them. Says here that you have chosen Extreme Dysfunction under the ‘Family of Origin’ tab.”

ME: “I most certainly did not.”

SG: “Oh, but you did. We all choose each other – it’s the impetus of the Free Will Starter Pack, which has a “Memory” feature to remind you of every bad decision you made in your alcoholism.”

ME: “I’M AN ALCOHOLIC?!”

SG: …

ME: “So, you’re saying I am bad at Free Will?”

SG: * clears throat. * “No. I’m saying you are a little too good at it. Let’s continue. Now, you have all of the factory settings for all five senses, pretty standard. They are adding new senses all the time, so be sure to download your updates….OPE! I’m just seeing the Sense of Gratitude on the punch list. NICE!”

ME: “K.”

SG: “Oh! Here’s super cool feature. It’s the Response to Unmet Needs option, which has been streamlined for convenience. It’s called SCREAMING. Really, you wouldn’t think a nice girl like you could scream like that…”

ME: “Can I put Response to Unmet Needs on mute?”

SG: “You can, but I wouldn’t’ recommend it. It will just set you up for a lifetime of dismissing your unmet needs, even as an adult.”

ME: “And that’s bad?”

SG: “Usually, because you will deny you have any needs at all, while insisting on overzealously meeting the needs of everyone else – human, animal, vegetable, mineral – until you are a shred of who you used to be.”

ME: “Damn”.

SG: “And when you grow up, there’s an add-on called ‘Free Therapy,’ that allows you to sit in your car alone and cry whilst shoveling fast food down your gullet and listening to your “Crying Playlist” on Spotify. Trust me, it’s a lot more fun than it sounds. Always remember though, legit therapy is always best.”

ME: “Wait. I have a crying song list. What the hell?”

SG: “Yes. It’s superb, a real tear-jerker. You’re a little obsessed with music. And have many niche interests, which means you will know every possible thing about the Donner Party, the six wives of King Henry the eighth, the world of cheeses, beatboxing, and Venus flytraps, etc. And all of that makes you good at Jeopardy but gives you no marketable skills.”

ME: “That doesn’t sound very useful.”

SG: “Oh, it’s not. Now, this here (points to article B7 in user manual) says here you requested the Deluxe Feels Package.“

ME: “Why would I do such a thing?”

SG: “Matter of fact *SG checks inventory* Looks like you ordered a surplus of Feels. Like this is an Army surplus store amount. You were supposed to curate a well-balanced box of assorted Feels, but instead, it looks like you dumped the whole drawer upside down. Geez.”

ME: “Is Moderation installed?”

SG: “Says here it’s missing entirely.”

ME: “Why do I do the things I do. Dear GOD.”

SG” “Yeah, he’s the one who signed off on that.”

ME: “Magnificent.”

SG: “Don’t worry. I see here that you also come equipped with a great – if not janky – faith, and a twisted sense of humor. And your Gratitude add-on is a real dandy. You might even be thankful that you chose this particular all-inclusive Earthside Package. Oh, and you’re going to be really sick most of the time on your earth mission. So, make peace with that.”

ME: “Say I approved that feature, and I’ll punch you square in the face.”

SG: *Pushes glasses up on nose, thoughtfully* “You’re thinking too small. You see, your illness won’t even be about you. It’s about what a disability enables you to do to help others. Isn’t that something?!”

ME: “That’s something, alright.”

SG: “I promise, you’re going to be okay. And your brand of weird will attract other weirdos, and your Band of Weirdos will help you use every crappy thing that happens on your journey to make others feel less alone.”

ME: “How will I find my weirdos? Are there T-shirts?”

SG: “Oh, you’ll know.”

ME: “While you’re here, can you grant me three wishes?”

SG: “Ma’am, that’s a Genie…”

ME: “Oh. Doesn’t hurt to ask!”

SG: “Like I said, I’m here to guide you through a crazy little existence. I’ll be here watching over you. Me and God. It’s an adventure! Now go out and exercise that free will. Do beautiful things with it. Scream when necessary. Laugh every chance you get. Feel every single feeling without judging yourself. Go get ’em, Kiddo!”

ME: “Rah rah sis boom bah.”

SG: “That’s the Spirit!“

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They’re Eating the Dogs! – a little (Dr. Seuss-style poetry jam)

A friend challenged me to write a Dr. Seuss rhyme about the immigrant / pet eating Trump kerfluffle, and I think I understood the assignment.
(Also, Ollie knows he is a whole snack, but would like to remind you that he is mostly fat and fur.)

By: JANA GREENE

They’re eating the dogs,
They’re eating the cats,
And like Ozzy Osborne,
Prolly the bats.
Would they, could they
Make a frappe
From a house cat
(Or is that Trump’s toupee?)
We Americans,
The tall and the small,
‘Spose to lock up our pets,
Cats and dogs and all?
“Pass the horseradish sauce,”
The immigrants say.
“I feel like a beagle sandwich today!”
Green eggs and ham?
Nah, dog on toast.
Or Cat brûlée,
Or a hedgehog roast?
Don’t leave out the exotics,
What about meats
Made out of lizards
And pet parakeets?
Could Trump, would Trump,
Make America great,
By spewing venom,
And dishing out hate?
Making it up as he goes along,
where in the heck did it all go wrong?
He would not, could not
Serve up on a plate
basic decency in the debate.
And what happens, then?
Well in ‘Murica we say,
Trump’s small heart shrunk
three sizes that day.
Perhaps the real meaning
Of a patriot’s truth,
is that Harris showed the class
Of a leader, times two.

3

A Depression Nap Makes All Things New (and other things you might have forgotten)

By: JANA GREENE

Whoever needs to hear this today…

There is no consequence to not tweezing your brows even though you can see two errant hairs close up when you look in a magnified mirror.

Your family will not fall apart if you have leftovers three days in a row.

If you wash whites and colors together, nobody has to know. Nobody. Will. Know.

A three-hour trash TV marathon is good therapy.

A nice, well-timed depression nap can make all things new.

Your kids can eat an all-beige diet for all their preschool years and be fine (Flintstone Chewable’s cover a multitude of nutritional sins.)

Listening to really good, really loud music is CHURCH.

Staring off into space for extended periods of time is not a waste of it.

Holding hands is not just for children.

Don’t forget to lollygag and dilly-dally on the regular.

Store-bought is fine, if you can’t make your own serotonin and dopamine.

Paper plates are a mom’s best friend.

Animals are kind of superior to (a lot of) humans.

Remember that “no” is a complete sentence.

Cut ties with people who make you feel less-than important. Or LESS THAN, period.

Buy the concert tickets. You’ll almost never be sorry.

Not a single soul on this planet is better than you. Straighten your crown. You deserve to be wearing it.

Straighten your sister’s crown too, and remind her she’s a queen.

Hit the meeting. (If you know, you know.)

Be sloppily thankful for blessings, and ardently prayerful for troubles.

Shave your legs. Or don’t. No one cares.

Tomorrow is a fine day to start what you put off starting today.

Write the words, paint the picture, sing loud and badly, laugh until you pee yourself a little. And then laugh again.

And remember you are hurtling through space in a big, blue marble through an infinite, ever-expanding universe, and you yourself are made out of stardust and moxie for the express purpose of learning to love and be loved.

So love already.

That’s the main thing.

Blessed be.

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In the Weird Place (on my CLL Journey)

Photo by Chokniti Khongchum on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I have been feeling so yucky.

Pop-up fevers for no apparent reason? Check. Waking up at night drenched with sweat, when you are years beyond menopause (hysterectomy 2008) … Check. Crippling fatigue? Check. Covered in bruises? CHECK. Shortness of breath? Sometimes. Totally crappy immune function… bad luck or cancer?

Now these are all things that could have a different cause than my Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. Having been diagnosed less than two weeks ago, it makes me wonder though. It explains SO MUCH. But I have had symptoms for a long time, and have multiple issues that make me medically fragile.

Could be a Mast Cell attack (a comorbidity of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome) causing the fevers. Drenching sweat could be a menopause relapse or something, but since my ovaries left the building in 2008 when I had my hysterectomy, I know it’s not. Fatigue and easy bruising could be my Postural Tachycardia Syndrome (or result from my own clumsiness.) Shortness of breath could be run-of-the-mill anxiety, which has constant since the diagnosis – sometimes holding my hand lightly like a lover basking in familiarity (oh HI, Anxiety! I know YOU); sometimes squeezing so tight, like an anaconda is strangling my nervous system

Here’s the thing – I’m in the weird place right now. I am carrying malignant cells in my blood, but I have no idea if the cells are sleeping and dormant for now or having a full-on rave going on in my body, techno music blaring, glowsticks swinging, chaos ruling.

I have an upcoming, invasive medical tests and scan. I don’t know whether the scan will show no spread yet (and thus be Stage 0 – which means no symptoms but cancer in the blood/marrow, the best case scenario – as it requires only “wait and watch” approach); or my body could light up like a Christmas tree and require treatment right now. I don’t know. And the not knowing is hard, no?

But God is providing so much grace to me and surrounding me with support. So, either way, I’m keeping the faith, and holding on to a hearty helping of dark humor. I have always found those two to be essential to getting through tough spots. I will find a damn way to laugh about things, y’all. Humor is to my comfort in a storm what a safe harbor is to a boat. And I know God walks with me through all of it, holding my hand just right.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and follow my journey. Everything is called a “journey” these days – probably because everything IS a journey – but this is one not too many people want to be a part of. I write to process and believe that going through something hard without sharing the experience is a waste of a terrible era. Others need to know sickness and calamity are part of life, just as much as promotions and clean bills of health. We have plenty of people pretending everything is FINE, when clearly *gestures wildly* it is not. Healthy people make being healthy SO EASY. Some of them just roll out of bed each day with zero pain. What’s THAT like?

God bless you, friends.

4

Morning Staff Meeting (for my Medical Conditions)

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Various Body Parts, Systems, and Self,

Good morning. Let’s start right away, shall we?

I see a nasty headache has decided to show up, which means (a) this will be a very short meeting, and (b) I’m in a crappy mood. So, LISTEN UP!

Migraines, did you NOT get the memo that debilitating headaches aren’t the THING at this time- that getting confirmation that Leukemia is joining our team overrides your meddling right now? That’s a write-up, mister.

*Nods to Leukemia, who is perplexed and unwelcome, and would like a word with the head-hunter than assigned it to someone whose health is already chaotic – the Grand Central Station of Medical Dysfunction, if you will – when it’s painfully (haha) clear that some of this should have been outsourced.

And Ehlers Danlos, you pipe down too, with your pain first thing in the morning. Did I participate in the circus as a contortionist in the middle of the night, and that’s why my joints are on fire? (Speaking of joints on fire, I can see we will be starting this day with a little of the Lord’s Lettuce.) Did I dream I was a middle-aged, chubby Rockette and pull my hip out in a pair sequined pantyhose whilst sleeping? Did a little cereal elf come replace my kneecap with cornflakes when I was sleeping, so that I woke up with a knee that functions like its made of cornflakes, sounds like it’s made of cornflakes, and has the stability of cornflakes a ‘plenty but not a damn kneecap?

POTs, I really don’t want to fall today. And yes, I know you hate the heat and it’s June in the South. And frankly, you don’t give me the physical energy to move me somewhere cooler, so you see my conundrum. Also, I’d really appreciate NOT getting dehydrated now, as it makes everything 100x worse. Lord God, why am I always dehydrated, make it stop.

Sweet, hard-working Immune System, remember: Germs are not our friends. Stop fraternizing with the enemy. I know aren’t armed with much equipment, but try to fight, ok? I know Leukemia moved in. Stand your post. I believe in you.

Migraine, EDS, POTs…Ya’ll act like you’re toddlers at a petting zoo – cutting line in front of each other to get to get to something that’s loud, demanding, only mildly interesting, and shitty. Calm down. There’s plenty to go around.

Whoever is taking the meeting minutes, please note that the next person who sweetly tells me that the Lord never gives us more than we can handle is getting a throat-punch, and I am a very non-violent person. Ditto “God’s ways are not our ways,” and “Just pray harder.” Maybe two throat punches for praying harder.

I ain’t mad at God about this anyway. When he pours our souls into these Earth Suits, he never said they weren’t prone to disease and disaster. The warranty on the vessel leaves much to be desired, but we instead can rest knowing our Spirits are locked up tighter than a bull’s butthole in fly season. (Sorry for the joke, but laughter is going to be ESSENTIAL in getting through this!)

Seriously, guys. Ya’ll are going to have to take turns. Your presentation is sloppy and there is entirely too much overlap.

Thanks for attending this (mandatory) meeting. I know you’re all working so effing hard, just to keep going. To which I say, thank you. A harder working bunch there never was.

  • The Management

0

Boxcar Children and Other Books That Shaped a 70’s Childhood

By: JANA GREENE

Things are pretty heavy in the world right now, so I thought I’d write some fluff. 

Thanks for your readership!

By: JANA GREENE

Most of the favorite books I read in childhood featured children fleeing into the woods, being rejected by parents, taming wild beasts, and falling in love with poetry (not necessarily in that order.) 

In third grade, I wanted to be one of the Boxcar Children (written by Gertrude Chandler Warner.) The plot is thus: Four children orphaned by both parents go to live with their grandparents, who resent the absolute shite out of them for having the nerve to be parentless. So, the kids run away and end up living out of an abandoned train boxcar. Sometimes the adventure was begging for food, sounded kind of fun to my naive, privileged brain. They bathed in rivers, dodged rabid animals, stayed up as late as they wanted, and stole honey from beehives (wait…that’s Winnie the Pooh.) You get the picture. So obsessed with the Boxcar Children was I, I would go into the woods behind my elementary school and pretend to be orphaned and outdoorsey. I would build a “boxcar” out of sticks and boards and the random tarp in the woods that – now as an adult – makes me wonder if that tarp had been used in a crime of some sort. Oh well….it made a great roof for my boxcar.

For the best fleeing-into-the-woods pick, we have “My Side of the Mountain,” by Jean George. It is the story of 12-year-old boy who intensely dislikes living in his parents’ cramped New York CIty apartment with his eight brothers and sisters, and can you even blame him? He decides to run away to his great-grandfather’s abandoned farm in the Catskill Mountains to live in the wilderness. Five out of five stars, so good I may read it again at 55. This boy had the life. He acquired a freaking falcon just by gaining the bird’s trust, and catches a weasel and names him “The Baron” because of the “regal way he moves about.” I wanted a weasel named “The Baron.” Just a boy (who was my hero) who lives in the trees, catches fish and smokes the meat, and attains Snow White-level rapport with the animal kingdom. Bliss.

Next up, we have anything by Dr. Seuss. Just pick one. His books were silly for silliness’ sake and I loved it. Utter nonsense, just the way I like it. I went hard and heavy on the Dr. Sues with my children when they were little. I can still recite “One Fish Two Fish” verbatim, whether I want to or not.We were hoppin’ on Pop, hearing a Who, and hanging with the Sneetches. Classic. On one occasion one of them asked, “If Snitches get stitches, do Sneeches get leeches?” (I still don’t know, he never said.)

Then there was Shel Silverstein. Oh Shel. I wanted to grow up to marry the poet behind “Where the Sidewalk Ends.” I wanted to BE a poet and write about pertinent kid topics like he did. Classics such as “The Sharp-Toothed Snail” that bites your finger if you pick your nose, being eaten by a “Boa Constrictor” which takes you on ablow-by-blow account of being eaten by a snake, and “It’s Dark in Here,” about being inside of a lion. Quality prose. 

And for those coming-of-age stories, Judy Blume was my go-to. To be a scandalous ten-year old, you must have read Judy. Boobs, periods, or practicing kissing boys were always mentioned, thus giving us the thrill of our training-bra lives. She captured universal growing-up angst better than anyone. Who can forget “We MUST, we MUST, we MUST INCREASE OUR BUST!” This is before any of us had started developing and realized that getting actual boobs and periods were really a tremendous bummer and horrible inconvenience, and none of us enjoyed having when we got them. Judy made it sound much more fun than it actually was. Still a little salty at her about this.

In 1977, “Bridge to Terabithia” by Katherine Patterson came out. There was an immediately a waiting list at the Quail Valley Elementary library, and it did not disappoint when it was finally in myhands. Picture it: Two best friends create an imaginary world called Terabithia, which they escape to in order to manage trauma. When tragedy strikes, they must rely on their friendship to work through grief. This was my introduction to fantasy worlds, and the realization that you can make your own (and you may as well, this place is bonkers.) Another fine example of children “fleeing to the woods.” It was also the book that introduced me to crying while reading. I really felt I kew these kids – who made their own world when this one hurt them. I filed that away in my little survivalist head and it grew into a more vivid imagination.

Which brings me to the series I read as a tween in 5th grade that I plucked right off of the elementary school library shelves, I sh*t you not. HOW? No banned books for us! I’m talking about “Flowers in the Attic” by V.C. Andrews. Now y’all aint gonna BELIEVE this, but here’s the plot: A grandmother locks a 12 year old girl and her 14-year-old brother in an attic. Dripping in wealth but low on compassion, the villainous grandmother decides it’s a good time to break it to the children that one of them is a product of incest. And that’s not even the worst thing. She calls the children the “Devil’s spawn” and is obsessed with the idea of incest, forbidding all contact between opposite sexes. The children are not allowed to make any noise, only in the attic are they free to play because their grandfather will kill them if he knows they are being hidden there. Yikes. (There was a waiting list for that series too. And yes, it’s a series.)

Who was monitoring our reading material? No one, that’s who. It was the 70’s. 

I don’t have the attention span to read like I did when I was younger. Too much thinky-ness about “real” issues, but I sure would like to lose myself in a book again! In the meantime, I think I’m going to find some woods to flee to today, for old time’s sake.

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Intro to a 70’s Childhood

Photo by Ksenia Chernaya on Pexels.com

It always feels weird to use stock photos for blog pieces but this little girl’s smile is so infectious. She is serious about her joy!

By: JANA GREENE

Hello, Readers.

I haven’t written a humor series in a hot minute.

I’ve been thinking about anxiety and the myriad ways it manifests, and some of the happenstance from my childhood that made me turn out, well….like this.

Don’t worry! I will not be covering the darker parts of my upbringing in this series, to the relief of several family members, I am sure – and ancestors who are already exhausted in the hereafter from rolling in their graves due to my life choices. I have no desire to bring anyone down, no matter how I was treated. Let’s all move on and smother the life out of the pain with humor. Throw it on the fire like a blanket, even though it seems to me that wouldn’t put out a fire, only catch the blanket aflame. Duh.

Anyway…

I will be covering topics titled:

I just wanted to run off with the Boxcar Children.

The Involuntary Pirate (or: Wearing an Eyepatch in First Grade.)

Snapping Turtles: An introduction to Animals (Part 1)

That Unsupervised 70’s Childhood

And MORE!

Check back, friends. Blessed be!

0

Becoming a Boxcar Child – a fun romp through the childhood books that shaped us

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

Things are pretty heavy in the world right now, so I thought I’d write some fluff.

Thanks for your readership!

By: JANA GREENE

Most of the favorite books I read in childhood featured children fleeing into the woods, being rejected by parents, taming wild beasts, and falling in love with poetry (not necessarily in that order.)

In third grade, I wanted to be one of the Boxcar Children (written by Gertrude Chandler Warner.) The plot is thus: Four children orphaned by both parents go to live with their grandparents, who resent the absolute shite out of them for having the nerve to be parentless. So, the kids run away and end up living out of an abandoned train boxcar. Sometimes the adventure was begging for food, sounded kind of fun to my naive, privileged brain. They bathed in rivers, dodged rabid animals, stayed up as late as they wanted, and stole honey from beehives (wait…that’s Winnie the Pooh.) You get the picture. So obsessed with the Boxcar Children was I, I would go into the woods behind my elementary school and pretend to be orphaned and outdoorsey. I would build a “boxcar” out of sticks and boards and the random tarp in the woods that – now as an adult – makes me wonder if that tarp had been used in a crime of some sort. Oh well….it made a great roof for my boxcar.

For the best fleeing-into-the-woods pick, we have “My Side of the Mountain,” by Jean George. It is the story of 12-year-old boy who intensely dislikes living in his parents’ cramped New York CIty apartment with his eight brothers and sisters, and can you even blame him? He decides to run away to his great-grandfather’s abandoned farm in the Catskill Mountains to live in the wilderness. Five out of five stars, so good I may read it again at 55. This boy had the life. He acquired a freaking falcon just by gaining the bird’s trust, and catches a weasel and names him “The Baron” because of the “regal way he moves about.” I wanted a weasel named “The Baron.” Just a boy (who was my hero) who lives in the trees, catches fish and smokes the meat, and attains Snow White-level rapport with the animal kingdom. Bliss.

Next up, we have anything by Dr. Seuss. Just pick one. His books were silly for silliness’ sake and I loved it. Utter nonsense, just the way I like it. I went hard and heavy on the Dr. Sues with my children when they were little. I can still recite “One Fish Two Fish” verbatim, whether I want to or not.We were hoppin’ on Pop, hearing a Who, and hanging with the Sneetches. Classic. On one occasion one of them asked, “If Snitches get stitches, do Sneeches get leeches?” (I still don’t know, he never said.)

Then there was Shel Silverstein. Oh Shel. I wanted to grow up to marry the poet behind “Where the Sidewalk Ends.” I wanted to BE a poet and write about pertinent kid topics like he did. Classics such as “The Sharp-Toothed Snail” that bites your finger if you pick your nose, being eaten by a “Boa Constrictor” which takes you on ablow-by-blow account of being eaten by a snake, and “It’s Dark in Here,” about being inside of a lion. Quality prose.

And for those coming-of-age stories, Judy Blume was my go-to. To be a scandalous ten-year old, you must have read Judy. Boobs, periods, or practicing kissing boys were always mentioned, thus giving us the thrill of our training-bra lives. She captured universal growing-up angst better than anyone. Who can forget “We MUST, we MUST, we MUST INCREASE OUR BUST!” This is before any of us had started developing and realized that getting actual boobs and periods were really a tremendous bummer and horrible inconvenience, and none of us enjoyed having when we got them. Judy made it sound much more fun than it actually was. Still a little salty at her about this.

In 1977, “Bridge to Terabithia” by Katherine Patterson came out. There was an immediately a waiting list at the Quail Valley Elementary library, and it did not disappoint when it was finally in my hands. Picture it: Two best friends create an imaginary world called Terabithia, which they escape to in order to manage trauma. When tragedy strikes, they must rely on their friendship to work through grief. This was my introduction to fantasy worlds, and the realization that you can make your own (and you may as well, this place is bonkers.) Another fine example of children “fleeing to the woods.” It was also the book that introduced me to crying while reading. I really felt I kew these kids – who made their own world when this one hurt them. I filed that away in my little survivalist head and it grew into a more vivid imagination.

Which brings me to the series I read as a tween in 5th grade that I plucked right off of the elementary school library shelves, I sh*t you not. HOW? No banned books for us! I’m talking about “Flowers in the Attic” by V.C. Andrews. Now y’all aint gonna BELIEVE this, but here’s the plot: A grandmother locks a 12 year old girl and her 14-year-old brother in an attic. Dripping in wealth but low on compassion, the villainous grandmother decides it’s a good time to break it to the children that one of them is a product of incest. And that’s not even the worst thing. She calls the children the “Devil’s spawn” and is obsessed with the idea of incest, forbidding all contact between opposite sexes. The children are not allowed to make any noise, only in the attic are they free to play because their grandfather will kill them if he knows they are being hidden there. Yikes. (There was a waiting list for that series too. And yes, it’s a series.)

Who was monitoring our reading material? No one, that’s who. It was the 70’s.

I don’t have the attention span to read like I did when I was younger. Too much thinky-ness about “real” issues, but I sure would like to lose myself in a book again! In the meantime, I think I’m going to find some woods to flee to today, for old time’s sake.

0

The Wrath of Crepe(y Skin)

Photo by Shiny Diamond on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I am trying to figure out if I want to adopt a skin care routine at the ripe old age of 55, or to just roll with the reality that I’ve abused my body most of my life and it’s a vindictive mofo. Sometime between exclusively “washing” my face with Sea Breeze astringent and realizing Father Time is stomping across my face in soccer cleats, I decided I needed a system. Never mind I hate anything regimented. I am starting to look like Tweety Bird’s Granny, and desperate problems require drastic solutions.

Actual conversation between me and myself, after the thousandth dewy skinned 30-year-old tries to sell me a “skincare regimen” on my socials, because even Big Brother knows I am just another post-menopausal consumer:

Me: Buy the eight-step skincare package.

Myself: But we already have two bottles of Eight Saints. $30 per bottle. Use that up first.

Me: But what if today is the last day we can start The System before it actually doesn’t work anymore. Like, ‘well, we could have saved ourself from looking like a Shar Pei, but we missed the boat.’ Our Eight Saints will have all been for naught!

WE won’t make it to the second step.

OKAY, WOW. *insert righteous anger*

We are incapable of doing anything in a systematic manner, how many bosses have told us this over the years?

They said we don’t work in the most efficient manner, thank you. Efficiency is boring. I’m getting The System. Maybe if we spend enough money on skin care, we WILL care!

Look under the bathroom sink. It is littered with previous, half-empty bottles of caring. Caring with peptides. Caring with collagen. Caring with retinol. Caring with Eight Saints….

Just listen to this: Nobody would go to all this trouble if it didn’t work! “Step 1: Exfoliate. Step 2: Use pre-facial treatment. Step 3: Dot on the eye cream. Step 4: Boost serum. Step 5: Use ambiguous facial treatment. Step 6: Use smoothing serum. Step 6: Pretreat neck for crepey skin. Step 7: Slather anywhere your skin looks like an accordion...

And Step 8: Look exactly the same as if we’ve used nothing but Dove soap and Sea Breeze astringent. We are lousy at being a “2020’s” woman. Where are our lip fillers? And we were TOLD to expect smoker’s lines if we were going to smoke two packs a day in the 90’s. And our EYEBROWS! Why are they natural? Ditto the lashes, wait….do we even have lashes?”

Listen. we are straddling the line between SALVAGE WHAT YOU CAN, LADY and HOW ABOUT I JUST GIVE LESS F*CKS? And honestly, I think we should just let Father Time drag his cleats across our face, be happy with our turkey neck, and putter around saying things like, “Bad ‘ol Puddy Tat”and “Shhhh, I’m watchin’ my STORIES.”

(Okay, I DID buy The System, after writing all of this. Stay tuned! So far, I have used the exfoliator twice, the eye cream three times, and the neck lotion two times. How many times have I done the WHOLE “system?” Once, when it was freshly out of the box. I am really bad at this.)

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