The bad news is wearing me down people. Seriously grinding me away. At this rate I will be a mere tablespoon of bitter cocoa powder by May. (What? Did you expect my essence to consist of buttercups and lollipops? Yeesh.)
I have decided to combat my overwhelmed-by-the-woes-in-the-world feeling by writing a short list of utterly irrational fears. Let me recommend you give it a go as well. In fact, leave me some suggestions in the comments. I don’t really have all that much to do as I’ve decided in order to avoid any more blisteringly apocalyptic news nuggets I must stop watching TV, or reading the paper, or listening to the radio, or going online, or reading my email, or answering the phone, or…
During a freak electrical storm I am called upon to climb a cell phone tower and save a basket of kittens that are inexplicably hanging from the highest rung. My severe allergy to cats kicks in and I begin sneezing. The lightening combined with the cel tower amplifies my sneeze, which is picked up by a nearby alien ship passing through our solar system. Translated into their language my mucus-ridden message is mistaken for a declaration of war and earth is attacked. The aliens become our overlords. Yadda yadda. Civilization is doomed.
I Should Have Taken The Stairs
I am trapped in an elevator with The Situation, Glenn Beck, and Charlie Sheen. The sheer volume of megalomania and tanning spray sends me into a coma.
There’s No Advice About This on Match.com
I’m dating an asthmatic zookeeper. (Trust me, it’s a step up from the primates I normally attract.) While caring for a hormonal cougar (no pun intended, don’t give me that look) the zookeeper suddenly has an episode. I run across the compound to fetch his only inhaler, which is sitting in a box of live mice in his office in the reptile house. I think we all know this doesn’t end well.
On a day when I am wearing that really baggy pair of granny panties, the ones I have no business keeping with the stretched elastic and the holes in several strategic places, I am sideswiped by a limo. The paramedics are forced to cut my jeans off. Meanwhile the guys in the limo are concerned and get out to see if I’m okay. Legs akimbo, raggedy underwear on display, my comic heroes, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, stare down at me in horror. And before you ask no, I definitely didn’t shave my legs that day, either.
While attempting to leave my apartment, a masked, sword wheeling Ninja stops me demanding I answer the following question: If an exterior angle of a triangle is 95 degrees, and one of the remote interior angles is 50 degrees, what is the measure of the other remote interior angle? If you had any concept of how poor my math skills are you would understand I am in serious peril.
Should Have Skipped The Chili
During an interview with the famous Charlie Rose, instead of appearing charming and erudite I accidentally pass wind.
While enjoying the view of a celebrity actor/author paddle boat race in the park, a freak accident occurs involving a scorching hot cup of Starbucks, a box of scorpions, and a common kitchen whisk. Paddle boat fourteen begins to sink. I leap into the water to save the celebrities. Suddenly, a great white shark appears out of nowhere and heads straight towards us. Only one celebrity can be saved while the other is left behind as food. I’m forced to choose between one of my modern-day writing heroes, Neil Gaiman, and Jon Hamm, Mad Men’s Don Draper. (Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. It’s not that easy a choice.)
I am awarded a very high-ranking new prize in fiction known as the Nobelitzer or the Pulbel, No, definitely the Nobelitzer. Due to some bad oysters, my close personal friend Margaret Atwood is taken ill and unable to introduce me. In a mad scramble the producers of the event have no choice but to replace Atwood with the only available literary celebrity, Jersey Shore’s Snooki. At the pinnacle of my writing career I am introduced by a woman who has penned such memorable quotes as: “I’m not a slut, I’m a whore. There’s a difference.” And the unforgettable, “They were huddled together like a family of Ellis Island immigrants just off the Mayflower.”
I’m telling you, give this a try. It is far more pleasurable than reading the actual news. Here, I’ll even start you off with the next one:
While carrying a recently purchased hand-blown crystal vase, you accidentally enter a side door and find yourself walking across the alley of a professional bowling tournament…
On an unrelated but very important note, I wanted to say a huge thank you to @TruthfulMommy aka Debi, social media mom extraordinaire. Debi has decided to start doing a post on Fridays where she highlights what she calls “blogs of consequence”. I was incredibly honored to be included in the inaugural batch. Her kind words made Madame Paradox cry is what I’m saying, people. So please find her at: www.motherhoodthetruth.com Admire her fortitude, her humor, her Ninja-like mommy skills, and all around kick assery. I know I do.