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Showing posts from 2018

Before you judge others, make sure you walk in their baby-seal lined shoes.

I had an epiphany today. Today, I viewed the world through another's eyes.

In a flash of unexpected insight, I came to understand why people butcher those adorable white baby seals.

I  was at our local hunting store this afternoon with my two boys. My aspiring redneck was looking for camouflage pants with a specific camo pattern that would guarantee him a shot at the rarest, most sought-after, near-mythical buck... tomorrow...for sixty dollars or less.

Meanwhile, my baby-seal-adoring younger son and I discovered a pair of camo pants made out of the warmest, fluffiest, softest, most comfortable sleeping bag we'd ever experienced.They were amazing.

My whole life I've waddled around in sleeping bags thinking that my life would be complete if I could just live in these bags of heaven. It never occurred to me to splice the bottom and turn them into wearable, practical pants. And yet, here I was, face-to-face with this miracle, brought to fruition  from some creative genius get…

Things to never do at an airport

My mistakes are your learning opportunities.

Airports are like their own country. They have their own rules, regulations, and enforcement that takes little consideration of peoples' rights. They are much more stringent and well, for lack of a better term, militarized. Think Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. If you want what they are selling, you gotta play by their matter how ridiculous.

I get it though. They have to do the needful to prevent disaster and mayhem that will put them out of business. I'm not asking them to change. I am sharing my insights for the common folk so you have an acceptable experience each time you fly:


Engage with a pilot sitting next to you on a flightGet noticibley injuredTake more than 3 items from the food basketBring a vibrator through securityRefuse to get friskedAsk for the entire can of Diet CokeArgue with any of the airline employeesHave a middle initial on your driver's licence that is different than the initial on your ticketCom…

Stop calling and texting me

Before cell phones, when I wanted to get away from everyone I simply walked outside. Or took the phone off the hook, or just let the phone ring. And people were cool with it. They would just try again later, solve their own problems, or call someone else. People didn't expect other people to be "on call" all day every day. They were patient. If they really needed to get a hold of you, they would find a way.

Now with cell phones, we are essentially on-call all the time. And we don't even get paid for it. You can be at a movie, communing with nature, or peacefully staring at the wall, and any yahoo can contact your phone and expect you to answer. And if you don't answer right away, or not at all, they get mad and offer that awesome new job to some other person or stop inviting you to family dinners.

The cell phone is like a black cloud hanging over all the good life experiences---you never know if you'll get that call/text that will force you to mentally leave…

Go therapize yourself - Car Self-therapy

Therapists are just telling you what you already know. If you want convenient, free, and effective therapy, cut out the middle man. Therapize the safe, comfortable, private sanctuary of your car.

If you don't know where to start, start here...reading the rest of this post.

It's easier than you may think.

First you need an "audience." It doesn't really matter who is in the audience, you just need a captive listener. So I suggest said audience should be you. After all, who knows you better than you?

Now jump in your car and start the video recording device on your cell phone, put it in "Selfie" mode and yammer away.

In car self-therapy you play both parts. First you are the patient. As the patient, your job is to blurb out everything, I mean EVERYTHING that is eating at you, hurting you, and stopping you.

When you're finished blurbing, you then become the therapist. The therapist gently makes observations and suggestions based on the bl…

Let's stop depressing ourselves...don't watch comedies where the last five minutes in sad/sentimental

Why are so many shows that claim to be comedies include segments that are the opposite of funny. Scenes that make me sad or want to dry-heave? Generally, these fun-killers occur in the last five minutes or so of these alleged "comedies." For lack of a better term, I call this practice, "The last 5 minutes of Scrubs."

I enjoyed Scrubs. I watched all the episodes. I laughed---until I didn't. The last 5 minutes always had some sad dose of reality --- like someone dies, someone dies, or someone dies. I stopped watching the last five minutes of each episode, and that made all the difference.

Look, I get it...we all die. Don't worry Hollywood, I don't need a reminder. Not a day goes by when I don't think about the unavoidable deaths of my loved ones, myself, and my enemies. The first two making me continuously sad. I have enough sad. Most days I work to get my head just above drowning in sad. To help me survive, I watch funny shows. And then too many of …

Disposable clothes

They sell disposable diapers, wipes, plates, utensils, toilet bowl brushes, and razors. So why don't they make disposable clothing?

Imagine a world where you never had to wash clothes. Instead of spending the entire day processing fifteen batches of laundry, you are now free every Saturday to go horseback riding, hang gliding, or watch TV and eat Doritos.

Imagine when traveling,  instead of stuffing a heavy, inconvenient suit case full of clothes, and then dragging it all over the world, you just bring your wallet and Chapstick. When you get to your destination, you simply make a quick stop to the disposable wardrobe store and you're set for the duration of your trip. When it's time to go home, you just stuff those disposable shirts, pants and socks into the garbage can and you're off!

Imagine for just a moment, feeling like Oprah, and putting on brand new clothes every single day. You'll always be in-fashion since you are getting a continual supply of stylish, ye…

Prevent saggy balls. Pre-order my most-likely to be patented solution

I recently watched Ricky Gervais' Humanity Netflix special. In it he mentions his scrotum has grown humorously longer as he has aged. (And here I thought those man parts couldn't get any weirder.)

He made light of his sack sag. While it's obvious that he doesn't love it, he can easily find the humor in it. I, however, cannot.

No, I don't own a pair down there, but I still have to deal with them on a daily basis. To me, his rendition of old, long, buoyant balls sounds horrifying. I don't know if that's because I'm superficial, or because I've never owned a pair of testicles, or because that area already skeeved me out.

Regardless of why, Gervais' "special" was a shocking revelation to me. It made me realize that if I sit idly by and do nothing, over time, those dangly man-bits will eventually morph into something even worse than they are now. I cannot let that happen. At that moment, I vowed to find a way to reverse that situation, and…

When people compliment something that is yours but not you

Check out my dogs..
Adorable, right?

On the rare occasion when I leave the house and take these two scoundrels for a walk, passersby often tell me kind things about them...

ME: "Ooo, sorry, he doesn't bite...usually... he just growls when he wants to play! Don't be afraid!"
THEM: "What a beautiful dog." and/or "What a cute puppy!"
ME: awkward silence followed by awkward noises and awkward gestures

I used to say "Thank You" when people complimented the appearance of my pets. But it started making me feel icky, like the feeling I get from the rancid smell of an old dish towel someone used to sop up milk...a week ago.

Who am I to take credit for Trigger's feisty puppy spunk or Wizby's soft golden fur? I had no part in the creation of my dogs...I did none of the upfront design, nor any of the creation work. Plus, I can't take credit for their awesome behavior either since both dogs are poorly mannered and untrained. All I did was p…

Don't Leave Your Epitaph To Your Kids

When you have a moment, may I suggest that you have a seat, put pen to paper and write down what you want etched on your headstone. This is the final statement the rest of the world will read about you for years to come, and therefore should not be left to your bozo family members.

Next time you're wandering (or speed-walking, or playing Pokemon Go) in a cemetery, notice how little creativity was put into the epitaphs. When most people are deciding what to write on their dearly-departed's tombstone, they probably just pick one from the list on the sheet of paper taped to the wall next to the receptionist's desk at the Headstone shop,  titled "50 Top Epitaphs." If you leave your epitaph to your "survivors," yours will just be one more headstone that none of the early-morning joggers at the cemetery stops to look at.

It's not your family's fault. Granted, none of them are very creative, but you died and they're most likely sad. They aren'…

You care too much. Embrace apathy without mercy or guilt.

When pondering the world's problems do you ever gaze out the window with a soulful expression and think to yourself,
"The modern human drive to improve life for everyone is pointless...because nobody flippin' cares... If only they cared...then...oh, the wonderful possibilities.Or something like that.

Do you frequently assert that if people just cared more we could genuinely improve our schools, our government, our neighborhoods, ourselves, and basically the entire world around us?

If so, let me suggest maybe the problem isn't a lack of caring, but the opposite. What if one of the fundamental "problems" with society is that people care too much about too many things. Wait. What?

How much time do you spend 'caring' about and talking about things you can't control---such as other people's opinions (regarding you, politics, religion, Will Ferrell, Netflix, our schools, etc.)? How much time do you spend caring about your future health, finances, happi…

Why do people talk about their diet and exercise program?

Why do people on a new diet and/or exercise program insist on telling me every little detail about what, when, and how much they eat and exercise...and then keep on telling me over and over and over? 

What are these folks hoping to gain from sharing this with me? Do they want my approval and praise? Do they want me to be jealous? Do they think I need to diet and exercise too? Hey man, muffin tops are with it. 

I never know what to say when people talk about their new diets. First off, it's a really boring subject. I would rather talk about Trump's upsides, or homemade clay. Secondly, it makes me feel guilty when I remember that pound of peanut m&m's I scarfed down for lunch an hour ago. Third, if someone is still out of shape, why should I take advice from that person? When she/he gets that six pack and keeps it for a few years, then maybe, maybe, I will be at least a tad more interested in hearing how many grams of protein they ate for breakfast this mor…

Is the Internet good or bad?

That's the question of the 21st century (and if not, it should be people).

Imagine you are a bagillion or whatever years in the future, looking back at the birth and growth of the Internet.

Do you suppose that society will conclude that the Internet was a wonderful technological breakthrough that changed everything for the better?

Or will it be like in the Terminator movie, where we all look back with painful regret wishing we'd never invented the Internet because of all the horrible things it eventually led to?

Or will the outcome be neither and both of the aforementioned possibilities?

Now that I've peaked your interest, the purpose of this post is to get you all thinking about this subject. To address all the the different sides to this question, I will be rolling out a new series of blogs with the surtitle: Is the Internet good or bad?  

In the meantime, your job, my prolific readership, is to start pondering and maybe even researching this topic so you will come well prepar…

Never meet your heroes: The day I chose NOT to meet Henry Winkler

Never meet your heroes---unless you enjoy disappointment.

Growing up I was obsessed with the TV show Happy Days. Each Thursday at 6:55 PM I would unapologetically drop whatever I was doing and dash home to “rock around the clock” with the gang.

At that time in Utah the coolest thing in the neighborhood was my black cat named Panther. So imagine how unique, awe-inspiring and mesmerizing Fonzie was. He was a revelation. The way I felt when watching him was like the first time I ever experienced the unexpected joy of heated car seats.

He was the first to introduce me and the neighbor kids to the word and concept  of "cool." Forty some-odd years later, I'm still using the word "cool" probably 20 times a day on average. Fonzee's hair defied gravity. His leather jacket and intolerance for authority pricked my subconscious admiration for the "bad boy." We all wanted to be Fonzie. Well, most of my female friends didn't want to be Fonzie, they wanted to d…

Funny TV Shows You Need to Watch (unless you are kinda dumb)

With the recent Olympics-inspired two week hiatus of new current television programming, I delved into a lot of new and old shows to scratch my itch for weird, creative comedy. Here's my list of awesome shows you need to watch. Seriously, stop watching those soul-sucking crime dramas and set aside some time to watch genius writing and acting while laughing your guts out.

Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon Prime)

More of a dramedy than a comedy, which I usually hate, but this show works. Set in the late 1950s about a brilliant wealthy housewife trying to be successful doing racy stand-up comedy. Great actors, creative subject, hilarious and poignant. I stayed up until 3 in the morning to finish season 1. 
Curb you Enthusiasm (Amazon Prime)

After reading about what a horrible person Larry David was to work for as a writer for Seinfeld, I didn't want to applaud anything with his name on it. But as an opportunist american, eager to sell out my values for laughs, I opened my mind and watche…

How to be happier. Spoiler: stop focusing on the wrong things

I was driving around the snowy roads of BFE, stressing about all the ways I have failed in the past, the ways I am currently failing, and the ways I will potentially fail in the future. Then I was stopped physically and mentally thanks to an unusually long red light. 

I spontaneously realized that I had been spending the majority of my waking hours stressing about the wrong thing. Instead of expending mental anguish over the fear of failling, a more fulfilling and productive use of my mental anguish should be spent worrying about NOT succeeding. After all, as all those commercials keep reminding us, life is really short, YOLO and all that crap.

Statistically, I don't have that many productive years left. Before I know it, I will be riddled with cancer, Alzheimer's, or terminal I-don't-give-a-crap syndrome, and be (as Axel Rose so elegantly put it) knock knock knocking on heavens door.

When I worry about failing, to "stay safe" I tend to abort any attempt to do somet…

10 ways to have fun again

Disclaimer: none of these steps are tried and/or true. These 10 points are a result of a brainstorming session in a desparate attempt to inject more fun into my life. 

Backstory, I am feeling like an old fat whale who washed up on the beach. With a little effort said whale could get herself back into the sea, but instead thinks, 

"Meh, that's seems hard and uncomfortable. I'll just lie here and hope things work out." 
Sad. Here is advice for myself from myself to get my flabby body off the soul and life-sucking beach and back into the adventurous, fun, unpredictable sea. Hopefully it helps me and other people suffering from what I am hereby labeling: "apathetic beached whale syndrome."

Dear me: 

What's fun to you may have changed because you're so old now compared to when you were younger.  Maybe fun at your age means power walking in the mall, yelling at neighborhood kids running on your lawn, reading the obituaries. Open your mind to what "fun&quo…

Unsolicited Advice

Unsolicited Advice:Why do we hate to receive it? Why do we love to give it?

"Hello, my name is Jill and I am an advice monster. I was that jerk you used to confide in who would immediately interrupt and tell you how to fix  your problems."
For pretty much my whole life I genuinely believed that I gave unsolicited advice out of the most selfless and altruistic intentions. I thought I was giving said advice because I cared about people and wanted to help. Because after all, I was a good person, dammit. 

But was I really?

A couple of months back, I was sharing a very personal and painful struggle I was (and am still) having with a good buddy of mine.  I let myself be vulnerable and opened up to her about how much I hate that I can't watch "The Big Bang Theory"on Netflix, Hulu, or Amazon Prime. She, like I always did to others, started immediately giving me advice. She said things like: 
"You should watch it on television---you  still have that antenna in your gara…

Deal with it. Assholes will always trump the virtuous

Yertle the Turtle

When I was younger, my favorite book was Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss. I read it hundreds of times. Growing up, we had no cable, no internet, and a single TV with only 3 watchable channels, so my curricular activity options were limited, and no matter how deep and controversial the topics, conversations with my stuffed animals could only hold my interest for so long.

If you've never read the book, here's the gist.
Yertle is the self-proclaimed king of a bale of turtles, whose throne is a rock in the middle of a small pond. One day he decides his throne is too low for such an intelligent and powerful turtle as he. So he orders the rest of the turtles to climb on each others backs to form a stack on top of the rock. Yertle then perches himself at the top of his new impressive turtle-throne.  Still not satisfied, Yertle orders turtles from all the other ponds in the valley to continue building the stack up, up, and up, until the only thing above Yertle is the mo…