Why Halloween Is Just Really Weird

It’s just about Halloween, that time of year when tricks and treats and spooks and scares dominate stores and social media. It’s a fun fall tradition—mostly if you’re a kid, of course—but have you ever really thought about how weird most of this stuff is?

Of course you haven’t, so I’m here to do it for you.

Haunted Houses

Let’s start here because the fact of the matter is that people are paying a minimum of $20 to wander through a darkened establishment in which aspiring actors dressed as creepy clowns and ghouls jump out and attempt to scare them. Any other time of year this would most likely result in attempted assault/harassment charges and a stint in a much scarier house—the big house.

But in October? Fun! Let’s pay strangers to freak us out! I don’t need to do that. You know what scares me in equal measure for no cost at all? The psychotic level of excitement parents have in eating their kids’ Halloween candy, Facebook notifications that I’m tagged in a picture, sneezing while driving, or losing the Internet for more than five minutes.

In other words, if I want candy, costumes and creepiness, I can go to WalMart and wander among the shoppers any day of the week.

Apple Bobbing

Let’s fill a giant basin with water, throw in fruit, tie peoples’ hands behind their backs, and shove their face into the water in an attempt to force them to grab the apples with only their teeth.

In other words, it’s waterboarding for fruit. Let’s move on.

Decorating

I covered Halloween décor last year, but in October those cobwebs in your house normally considered something to be removed are now festive and fun. And while hanging a skeleton or ghost from a tree in August would put you on the Neighborhood Watch list, it’s now a sign that you’re a house that probably passes out candy come Oct. 31 instead of turning off the light and hiding behind the couch to ignore the doorbell (hypothetically speaking.)

That’s right. You can dress up as a sexy nurse and hand out candy to children and not wind up on “To Catch a Predator.” Just put a wreath on your door and leave your porch light on for the little beggars.

Corn Mazes

My internal GPS is MIA and I get lost in a walk-in closet. In other words, the idea of wandering through a maze of maize with strangers bumping into me while we all try and find our way out before desperately gnawing on a corn cob in desperation for our survival isn’t at the top of my list. I’ve done it before, and the only way I’ll pay money to do it again is if at the end I’m awarded with an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet and luxury spa.

Pumpkin Carving

The fact that they sell pre-cut apples and butternut squash, pre-hardboiled eggs, and “Uncrustables” at the store proves that people have become ridiculously lazy when it comes to prepping food.

However, when it comes to Halloween, people round up the troops and often trek through pumpkin patches—pumpkin spice latte in hand— to pick out a giant fruit they will festively disembowel over the span of several hours, bent scooping spoons, and broken carving knives.

They will then shove a candle inside and leave it neglected on the porch until it looks like a toothless meth addict before throwing it behind the fence for the squirrels to enjoy.

But with all that said, tradition is important and Halloween kicks of the holiday season—for better or worse with that whole statement—and gets you prepared to fist a bird carcass for Thanksgiving and hang old socks on the fireplace for Christmas (or whatever it is that you celebrate.)

For now, Happy Haunting!

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How To Stay In Shape During the Holidays

There’s a lot of talk this time of year about people being too busy to exercise and keep up with their fitness routines. While I always find time to hop into the gym—if only to see if Hot Gym guy is hanging around—or throw in a Jillian Michaels DVD for 30 minutes so I can yell, “I’M NOT PHONING IT IN!, I understand that some people simply have different priorities.

Considering I don’t prioritize spending more than five minutes on my makeup in the morning, no judgment here.

But there’s good news! Because just like holiday décor doesn’t have to come from traditional places, neither does breaking a sweat and getting in a workout during the holiday season. I’m here today to let you know that it’s totally fine if the only jogging you do is of your memory while trying to remember where you hid that last freaking gift.

So pull off that ugly Christmas sweater, do a few light stretches and feel the burn doing things you’re probably already doing, my friends!

Dashing through the snow to bring the trash bin to the end of the driveway before the truck comes in the morning.

Doing twisting crunches in bed to reach and hit the snooze again super-setted with kicking off the sheets or blanket in an effort to get untwisted.

Walking around the parking lot looking for where you parked your car (while ticking off the parking spot stalkers that are waiting for you to get in your car and leave, like you’re roaming around in the cold on purpose.)

Pushing a grocery cart through the slushy lot requires lower body strength while upper body strength is necessary to try and steer the cart away from the direction the slush wants to go—most often into another parked car.

When grocery shopping, lifting the overflowing basket you told yourself you would use instead of a full cart is great for building up your arms—be sure to switch from right to left for equal amounts of time.

Loading/unloading the car and then carrying all the groceries/purchases in one trip because you’re cold and don’t want to walk back outside is great for both the upper and lower body. Be sure to throw in a few kickboxing kicks as you try and catch the door before it slams shut.

Forget the stairmaster! Going up and down the stairs to retrieve boxes of decorations, armloads of laundry and gifts you forgot that you hid will get the job done just as well.

Lifting boxes of decorations alternated with moving furniture around—no, that looks better over there. No wait, push it over there.—works both the upper and lower body.

Putting ornaments on the Christmas tree involves calf raises to reach the top, squats to bend down pick up dropped ornaments and tones the shoulders when you take the ball full of tangled lights and throw them across the room.

Running through the stores trying to avoid people you know that you don’t want to get stuck talking to because there are SO MANY PEOPLE in the store and you just want to leave is great cardio, not to mention the plyometrics involved in the starting and stopping each time.

Don’t worry about eating those baked goods, as whisking and stirring ingredients for desserts sculpts your arms, quick squats in front of the oven to bend down and check how things are baking works your legs and lunging to catch the egg before it falls off the counter works your butt.

And finally—and possibly the most important exercise of all—is power yoga, and by “power yoga” I mean lying in corpse pose on the couch for a minimum of two hours a day.

See? You’re pretty much an elite athlete at this point, so enjoy those chestnuts roasting on an open fire and another slice of pie. After all, you’ve more than earned it.

P.S. I have to add that I was overwhelmed by your replies to my last post and on my Facebook page. I’m still trying to deal with everything, but all your support honestly made this ice queen melt quite a bit. I plan on writing about it a bit more in the future, because if nothing else it’s new blog fodder. But today, just…thanks. Now go do your grocery cart glute crunches!

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Perpetuating Stereotypes

Everyone blogs for different reasons, but like anything else there are certain stereotypes that exist. While they most certainly don’t hold true for everyone, there’s a reason the stereotype developed—because it’s true in one way or another.

So without further ado, I present my list of stereotypical bloggers.

Mommy Bloggers

Forget Bigfoot. The most elusive creature on the planet is a mommy blogger who never mentions wine—needing wine, drinking wine, cooking with wine so they can drink and eat the wine, etc.

They’ll tell you they’re doing all this drinking in sweatpants and dirty shirts because they haven’t had time to shower in three days. However, they have the time to take a picture of their dirty house/adorable children that make them lose their mind, blog about not having time to shower and then promote their daily blog post—which is usually some sort of infographic— on Twitter/Facebook 212 times a day.

They also run in a pack mentality, so beware. Do not incite the Mommy Blogger or say anything as I just did above. They will attack. Then drink wine.

The Apologetic Blogger

About 75 percent of this blogger’s posts involve him or her apologizing for not posting more often. At one point this blogger probably posted more frequently before life suddenly got in the way and blogging fell by the wayside.

Note: While readers might have been concerned, the world went on without your posts. No apologies for living your life.

Food Bloggers

Posts from these culinary paparazzi will start out with something like, “THIS just happened” or “Look what I made you!” followed by a picture of something they didn’t eat because it took them 57 tries to perfect the shot before plastering text of the recipe name over the image so people can “pin” it.

You might go there for a recipe, but you will end up with a 500-word backstory about the creation of the “best thing EVER” and 12 pictures of the dish in various stages of spilling before getting to the ingredients and reader comments about how they’re “drooling” and/or “licking the screen” and “trying to stab the picture with a fork.”

The Expert

This self-proclaimed guru will tell you how to succeed at blogging and social media despite any credible research, credentials or data to support their theories other than spending 10 hours a day online. They often sound like a used car salesman with SEO keywords and links back to other “expert” social media bloggers.

Don’t forget to tweet, Facebook and share all their posts.

Fiction Bloggers

A visit to this blog cannot be random/infrequent and still make sense, as they most often post pieces of whatever fiction they’re working on at the time. It’s like opening up a book to a random chapter and expecting things to make sense.

Thoughtful and endlessly tortured, these bloggers are always writing the Next Great American Novel and searching for “concrit,” or constructive criticism. They join various writing groups of people who are also writing the Next Great American Novel and together in gangs they will often solicit your vote for whatever contest they’re entering to help them become the author of the Next Great American Novel.  

Health and Fitness Bloggers

Even though health and fitness are the focus of the blog, it often seems like a cult. They have their own language that includes things like “WOD” (Workout of the Day) and “WIAW” (What I Ate Wednesday) and seem to sustain their energy for hours of strenuous exercise through protein pancakes, odd Greek yogurt concoctions (sent to them by sponsors) and “healthy” versions of things that in no way resemble the “thing.”

Note: You did not make “healthy” chicken nuggets out of rice. You made rice in the shape of a nugget.

They’re called “motivational” in the comments and prove it by posting endless inspirational posters and self-portraits and ending every conversation with a hashtag #fitfanatic #paleoprincess

Humor Bloggers

Easily distracted by shiny things, these neurotic bloggers excel in shorter formats like Twitter and Facebook where one-liners are easier to form than whole blog posts. However, they still blog to a) make people laugh and b) mask their disappointment and insecurity over never getting “discovered” or picked to co-write an episode of “30 Rock” with Tina Fey.

They’re frustrated, but they laugh to keep from crying. And a lot of them were probably dropped on their head as a kid. There can be no other good explanation. 

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*Now remember that there are dozens of funny, rational moms who blog and talented food bloggers, for example. We’re generalizing here, people.

Except with the humor bloggers.

That part is mostly all true.

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Dear Abby

Hello faithful readers!

In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, my name is Abby. This lends itself to people pointing out that writing “Dear Abby” reminds them of the once-popular advice column founded in the 1950s by Abigail Van Buren.

This picture doesn’t relate to this post, but it says “Abby” on my sweater.

I am not Abigail Van Buren—or an Abigail, for that matter—but I do like to dispense helpful advice to anyone who is brave enough to ask. However, in a shocking turn of events, a) no one has offered me my own syndicated column and b) no one has really come out and asked me for advice.

Perhaps I’m an intimidating figure, what with the tens of fans that I have, so I’m just going to go ahead and assume that the search terms that lead to my blog are actually anonymous questions from troubled souls looking for guidance from me.

Once I added a question mark to the end of these terms, it became clear that there are quite a few pressing matters to attend to! However, we’ll start with this one, as it appears it could be time-sensitive. 

Dear Abby

Q: Need to bury pet rabbit. How long does rigor mortis last?

A: I believe you’re actually wondering how long it takes to set in, as although I’m no doctor, I think it lasts forever. Either way, you stumbled upon my blog through that search for good reason. I can speak to this particular situation with personal experience (about the rabbit and not rigor mortis of my own, although as I get older I feel like I’m dead.)

When I was but a wee little Abby with issues, I had a pet bunny named Mitten, cleverly named for the white mitten on his black foot. One day I was at a friend’s house and distinctly remember that we made mini personalized pizzas in a janky E-Z Bake Oven.

Upon my return home I was informed that sometime between my departure and the pizzas, poor little Mitten had died.

While I was told it was of “natural causes,” it was later revealed that my dad—an unsavory character I don’t often speak of—had in fact cleaned Mitten’s cage with a mystery ingredient just hours before Mitten’s demise.

These were pre-CSI days, and I still harbor a wealth of suspicion.

But to answer your question—not about whether my dad was a Mitten murder, but rather about rigor mortis — the little rabbit’s legs were sticking straight out by the time we tried to put him in the shoebox/coffin, and this was only a couple hours past his “alleged” peaceful passing.

What followed was slightly traumatic, but necessary, as a proper burial was of course, a must.

So we cut holes in the end of the box, wrapped his body in a towel down to his little bunny thighs and shoved his stiff-ass legs through the holes.

After what I would like to recall as a rousing eulogy and chorus of “Circle of Life,” poor Mitten was laid to rest in the pet cemetery, gone but not forgotten.

According to the search terms there are many more questions I could touch on today—“is an ass crack sexual harassment” and “drunk nun book club,” for example— but I feel that’s enough for right now. I don’t want to overwhelm you with knowledge.

But if you, my dear readers, have a situation of your own in which you seek counsel — whether it’s serious or seriously funny — feel free to shoot me a note.

I’m just here to help, after all.

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Avoid Clichés Like the Plague

There is no shortage of inspirational quotes or tired clichés on the Internet, and I have to admit that I’m guilty of occasionally using them myself.

But most of the time I’m much more Abby-like, putting my own spin on conventional wisdom and taking the lion’s share of the credit (see what I did there? Picking up what I’m putting down?)

So sit back, relax and, you know, take what I say with a grain of salt.

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Another day, another dollar that won’t be accepted in the self-checkout lane register despite the fact that only one tiny little corner of the bill is slightly wrinkled.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but if you throw it hard enough, it can pretty much repel anyone in any profession.

Dance like nobody is watching, unless you’re in the grocery store and “Footloose” comes on. At that point, performing the role of Ren is generally frowned upon (although they are only encouraging this behavior by playing that song in the store.)

Be the change you want to see in the world. By that I mean change the freaking roll of toilet paper or paper towel when there’s only one sheet left, you heathen.

Birds of a feather flock together and usually decide to use my Blazer as their own personal overpriced outhouse.

Misery loves company, which is why I prefer to stay away from people when possible.

Sometimes you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug. Most often you’re the driver behind the windshield trying like hell to pump the windshield wipers and clean off the splattered bug guts.

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and wear huge shoes so people think they’re tracking the Bigfoot.

A watched pot never boils, but if you turn your back for five seconds it will boil over and make a mess of your stove.

Good fences make good neighbors, as they don’t judge when I do my Saturday morning walk of shame to the trash can in my pajamas to throw away the cat litter or chase off the freaking woodchuck.

Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, unless it’s something unpleasant that someone else might just do before you. In that case, carry on.

Slow and steady wins the race—except races in which the point is to finish first, which is basically most races.

Do one thing every day that scares you, unless that involves going to Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon and possibly being sexually harassed by exposed ass cracks and muffin tops. (Pick a different challenge that day.)

It is never too late to be what you might have been, unless your goal was to be a child prodigy or unicorn, in which case you’re basically screwed.

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit. That also means your bitchiness isn’t a mood, but rather your personality.

Do as I say, not as I—hell, you should probably just do what I say and be done with it. Leave you own new clichés in the comments.

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The Campaign Trail

There are two things I will probably never ever write about with any seriousness on this blog—religion and politics.

That would be because I’m not religious (although I give the stereotypical eye roll-inducing response that I’m spiritual) and I hate politics. So instead of debating either, I will accept the label of being an apathetic heathen.

Don’t tell my grandma.

But it’s already started—the unsolicited phone calls from automated political headquarters, yards filled with signs endorsing candidates for elected positions I never knew existed and the annoying ads on TV.

You can’t avoid it and they’re all the same.

If a candidate really wanted to get my attention, he/she would make an effort to differentiate their platform somehow. Down with spending millions of dollars on a campaign instead of actually fixing the roads or funding the schools! Down with the attack ads claiming their opponent hates kittens and sunshine!

That negativity doesn’t endear them to me.

Just once I would love for a commercial to end with, “I’m (insert name of candidate here), and I once woke up in the back of a horse trailer with a bra wrapped around my head and the smell of Jager floating up in the air. I approve this message.”

In fact, I would actually endorse a candidate that approved of the following messages and made them part of their platform:

• Yoga/workout pants will now join khakis as being classified as “business casual,” even if smattered with cat hair (hypothetically speaking.) 
• All 20-year old girls who shriek, “OMG, I’m getting so old, you guys!” will be exiled to a special hut where they will be forced to listen to John Tesh albums and clean mini-blinds.
• The Fashion Police will be given adequate resources to affect change in the area of footwear—people wearing sandals must not have nasty feet and anyone wearing Crocs is not allowed to be upset when not taken seriously.
• Companies that send you an email confirming your unsubscription from their emails will be sent an email informing them that’s why you are unsubscribing from their emails and then banned from All The Internets.
• If the toilet paper roll is installed in improper underhand fashion anywhere and you are not able to correctly adjust it, you have permission to leave and go somewhere else where it’s “right.”
• Most of the ridiculous words added to the Oxford Online Dictionary—such as “Grrr,” “Totes” and “Woot”—will be removed to include useful ones, such as “Peegret”: The regret you experience when you leave hastily from a location without relieving yourself.
• There will be no such thing as gay marriage. It will henceforth just be called “marriage,” as that’s what the hell it is.

My name is Abby, and I would approve of this message.

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Truth In Advertising

I’m not one of those fancy people that has a DVR to record shows without commercial interruption. This means that when I have the TV on and I’m doing other things at the same time instead of sitting there to watch the show I was waiting to sit down and watch, I am exposed to advertising.

While some commercials are highly entertaining—I could watch the Slowsky’s all day—most of them are annoying and last so long that I’ve forgotten what show I was watching and vow to never buy their product.

But in the spirit of expanding my worldly knowledge to dispense among the dozens of you who flock to this blog, I decided to share some insight.

What I’ve Learned from Watching TV Commercials

• I have a majority of side effects of multiple prescription drugs that I’ve never even taken. 
• Men are all balding, irresponsible and only respond to sex, food and things that explode. They can’t be trusted to buy anything without their wives or girlfriends, but they can however use a grill while wearing an apron and smiling. 
• Lipstick is made of some cement-like substance that will never come off until you tell it to.
• Melted cheese must be stretched out before consumption and a frozen dinner is apparently the secret ingredient to spicing up a romantic evening.
• Outback Steakhouse is really, really Australian.
• When a family gets a new luxury SUV,  the first thing they do is take it off road and drive through one-lane mountain passes and water-covered roadways at breakneck speed.
• Everyone laughs when they’re eating candy or wearing a tampon.
• On that note, it’s perfectly acceptable to pull out an unused tampon and show it off in a group setting.
• Kids don’t watch TV–they watch toasters—and they find it fun to patiently wait for their Pillsbury Toaster Strudel.
• Every one of my local news stations is the most accurate, watching out for me more than anyone else and willing to put their lives on the line to bring me the news.
• Senior citizens with bowel and bladder problems spend part of every day in tennis whites.
• In order to get rich, I need to get attacked by a dog or injured in an automobile accident, in the workplace or through a hospital’s negligence so I can sue (and the lawyer can afford to not make his/her own commercials.)
• No one can back their car out of a garage or driveway without incident.
• All breakfast foods aimed at children now contain “More Fiber!” than it takes to fill an industrial silo, which leads me to believe all children are constipated.
• Speaking of that, when a group of female friends get together they spend all their time talking about constipation or eating yogurt, which is apparently the key to fulfilling their innermost serenity (the yogurt, not constipation.)
• Bacon and diarrhea have the same manic PR person, as almost every commercial includes one or the other.
• The factory workers who make Honey Bunches of Oats act like they’re personally responsible for the cereal satisfaction of every person on the planet.
• If I use a certain whitening toothpaste, not only will it land me a boyfriend, but I’ll also be able to land planes at night due to the brightness of my choppers.

Advertising dollars well spent.

What have you learned from TV commercials?

 

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Take Me To Your Leader

As much as I like blogging and social media, it seems like people are taking this stuff a little too serious at times. To be honest, it’s getting a little creepy.

And while I don’t have personal experience with “traditional” cults, I did a little research and found the following characteristics that apparently define them.

Do any of them sound familiar?

“Cult”ivating Community

The group is focused on a leader to whom members seem to display excessively zealous, unquestioning commitment.  

“I will read ANYTHING that (insert blogger here) posts—even if they publish a theory that unicorns are the driving force behind global warming—and I will tweet it out multiple times a day despite the fact the “big” blogger has no clue who I am.”

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

“Do you follow me on Facebook? On Twitter? Do you subscribe to my posts? Have you checked out this page yet? Grab my button!”

The group is preoccupied with making money.

Lately it seems as if blogs are just billboards for ads. “See my sponsors on the side? Your ad could be there! This post was brought to you today by (insert company that has nothing to do with the blog post.)”

Questioning, doubt and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

This is evident when a blogger’s followers take to defending the blogger in the comment sections of posts and are personally appalled when someone questions a point that was made—and then that reader is promptly banned from further comments.  If you’ve never noticed this, try reading healthy living blogs. Trust me.

The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which causes conflict with the wider society.

People who don’t blog/tweet/Facebook “don’t understand,” which is something people who blog/tweet/Facebook don’t understand.

The group’s leader is not accountable to any authorities.

Anyone can blog, which mean anyone can say anything they want at any time without (relatively any) consequence.

The leadership induces guilt feelings in members in order to control them.

“I’m only two followers away from (insert random number)!  Help me get there by tonight, or else God will kill a kitten!”

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group.

“After you link up, be sure to read at least 35 of the other posts here, leave comments, come back here and tell us that you left a comment, tweet about which post you liked best and then post it to your Facebook page.”

But have no fear!

If you find yourself  taking things too seriously, remember that you have free will!

You don’t have to believe “them” when they say, “if you don’t post a picture, an update or an announcement of everything from your lunch to the cold you’ve been fighting, how will anyone know about your willpower or dedication? How will anyone congratulate, commiserate or validate your feelings or your feats?”

Remember that you will know, and that just because you didn’t post it online, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. After all, one should be posting the best parts of their life that happen authentically and not living life for the best thing to post.

I know the pull is strong, but you can be stronger.

You can break free!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tweet out the link to this post. Oh, and by the way…

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Rage Against the Machine

If you’re reading this, you’re on a computer or at least have online access, which means there is a temporarily symbiotic relationship between you and said technological device.

This is not always the case for me, and I have brought it to my own attention that much like my house, my computer often mocks me.

The passive aggressive nature of this mockery causes me to be much more aggressive than passive, and I often find myself raging against the machine and muttering, “now you do what they told ya” as I vainly try and do anything other than hit control + alt + delete. 

For example, I will attempt do a simple Google search. After the computer arrogantly tries to read my mind—no, I’m searching for “avocado,” not “Avon,” but thanks for the baseless suggestion—I often click on a link and am told that the page cannot be found.

Well, perhaps you should try a wee bit harder, seeing as it’s your JOB to find the page.

If the page is not available, then don’t offer it as a suggestion. That’s like wafting the smell of pesto pizza under my nose only to tell me that it’s not available. Ever. At that point I’m more emotionally involved with the pizza than I am with most people, so the disappointment could result in a violent outburst unless a suitable replacement is given.

In other words, find the damn page or download a pesto pizza.  Two options. Your call.

But doing a search implies that the computer is willing to at least comply with my request on a basic level. There are many times when my computer won’t even put up a pretense of productivity.

Instead I am given messages such as: “Not responding,” “The program has unexpectedly quit/stopped working” or the patronizing “Something is technically wrong. Thanks for noticing.”

As if we had a choice? 

I’ve also noticed that it’s become rather possessive and sneaky, often separating me from my friends at times by casting judgment on their messages/comments and labeling them as “Spam” long before I have the opportunity to judge/ignore them for myself.

No one takes away my right to judge/ignore people for myself.

I’ve tried to be nice—gently petting it while whispering soft words of encouragement and then restarting it in hopes it operates a bit more cooperatively, knitting it a little sweater to try and prevent it from freezing up—but no luck. I am pretty much powerless against the spinning beach ball of death that appears whenever the hell it wants to.

Perhaps I’m just jealous and need to model my own behavior after my computer a little bit more.

Not only does it have the option to “sleep” and “hibernate,” but the whole “not responding” thing sounds like something I wouldn’t mind officially implementing into my day.

Then again, the computer still can’t download a pizza while all I have to do is turn on the oven and wait 15 minutes. Well, unless the oven’s in cahoots with my computer.

If that’s the case, I’m screwed.

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Technically, I Should Be a Celebrity

Unless it involves sports,  I generally have no interest in celebrity gossip.

While many of them are talented and deserve to be recognized and compensated for their natural gifts, a majority of them do absolutely nothing more than get paid for acting like idiots who got a lucky break.

But unless you live under a rock—or with the Unibomber, who should have directed his mailings to several of those tabloid celebrities—you can’t escape the coverage.

This got me thinking—how am I not a celebrity?

I don’t want the fame, but I do need the fortune.

The obvious answer is because I don’t have shockingly good looks, boobs or any skills that would warrant me fame and fortune —minor details, of course—but when you see some of the “celebrity” stories, they’re really not that different from me.

So while I avoid discussing politics like the plague—in fact, I would rather discuss the plague—I am launching my campaign to reach celebrity status so I can represent the “normal” people.

Here are my qualifications:

Sob Stories

Unless you’ve won something like an Oscar or a gold medal, chances are you’ve failed at something and kept on going. Well, a majority of celebrities have some “incredible” sob story that they swear “made them who they are today.”

“She grew up without high-speed Internet, her parents got divorced and she still managed to write song lyrics on the back of cocktail napkins before leaving the bar!”

“He wasn’t recruited by NBA scouts until his junior year, meaning he had to actually work while attending classes he was taking on a full-ride scholarship!”

Yes, Famous People, some of you have overcome incredible odds. But guess what? That’s kind of real life, and when you twist normalcy into some weird saga for sympathy, it leaves most people rolling their eyes so hard they pull a muscle .

So I pledge not to share my sob story when I become a celebrity (mostly because I’ve already done it on this blog for the past two years.)

Pooch Power

Many celebrities have small little dogs. 

I have a little dog.

In fact, he’s smarter than most of the celebrities out there, so if I can’t cut it as a famous person, maybe he still has a shot.

Exhausted Excuses

Celebrities need to quit complaining of exhaustion. I know they work a lot, but they get paid a lot. I also work a lot, but I do not get paid a lot. This means that when I’m exhausted and can barely lift my arms to get out of bed in the morning—every morning—I still have to go to work and not the hospital.

So when I become a celebrity for a yet-to-be-determined reason, I will already have this “exhaustion” thing down and buck the stereotype by taking a tropical vacation instead. This frees up medical personnel for real sick people and instead employs the services of young tanned gentlemen paid to run suntan lotion on my tired back.

I do this for you, my people.

Say “Cheese”

Like many celebrities, I already duck the media and paparazzi in an effort to maintain my privacy—or just not show off the fact that I forgot I had a Velcro roller in my hair or broccoli in my teeth.

However, when given the go-ahead to ham things up, I’m all about the spotlight. If elected, I promise to continue to ramble on and wildly gesticulate when given the cue to perform and throw things at people who try and get a shot of me when I’m unprepared.

Read Between the Lines

I wrote a book that sold a few copies.

Snooki and Paris Hilton are both best-selling “authors.”

No further questions, Your Honor.

Like the blog? Buy the book.

Every campaign needs a solid running mate, so I’m currently screening applicants. What “celebrity” qualifications do you bring to the table?