Gas is High! Bring your Bottle to the Bar!

Okay so I read some story which stated that nationwide, the average cost of gas has now topped $4 dollars a gallon. I wish I could find some gas for $4! In my area, gas is $4.50. So, being broke and having tremendously poor work ethic, I have had to substantially alter my lifestyle to deal with the rising gas prices. Here are the 10 ways my life has changed since gas prices have risen:

1.Instead of traveling, I must drink at the dive bars down the street from my house. Sometimes, I just bring a bottle into the dive bar and start guzzling it at a table, to save money.
2.I can no longer afford to use air conditioning in my car, which means I show up to work and other places hot, sweaty and sticky.
3.I only drive to work and back. And, since my car loan is like 9 times my salary, I should just stay home and suck up air.
4.I seriously contemplated driving my bike from LA to Las Vegas.
5.I can no longer afford to get my plastic surgery, so I must continue to resort to socks.
6.I have decided to take the “how to be a gold digger” seminar at the local junior college.
7.I can only afford to eat top ramen. Occasionally I treat myself to bean burritos from Taco Hell.
8.Twice this month, I’ve had to push my car home.
9.I just bought gas off the black market the other day. Apparently it fell off the back of someone’s truck.
10.I have started to beg for loose change.

The night is still young...

Try a pickle juice margarita...

Dill Pickle Juice Can Be Very Useful!

If you are a country hick, this is the shot for you...

For all you alcoholics out there, here's a recipe that you would enjoy! I know, it sounds a bit vile, but trust me, it tastes just like chicken. Yum, alcohol and pickle juice!

Shot of tequila with a dill pickle juice shot chaser!

1 oz Tequila
1 oz dill pickle juice

or

Jameson and pickle juice shot
1 oz Jameson
1oz dill pickle juice

*Note*
1. Don't be a fool. Use dill pickle juice, not sweet pickle juice.
2. This is an AT HOME shot. Don't go to some super trendy Hollywood night club, asking for Jameson and pickle juice shot or a tequila with a dill pickle juice chaser. They will tell you to take your ass back to Louisiana.

It's the weekend, you are a drunk, get your drink on!

I'd rather sleep with Flavor Flav than be forced to watch Living Lohan again

Okay, so since I was unable to post bail because I am broke and unemployed, I remain in jail. As part of my punishment, I was thrown into solitary confinement, because for obvious reasons pickles are harassed in general population. My magnificent living quarters contain a lumpy bed bugged ridden bed and an old black and white TV. Roaches, rats and blood covered the floor. As part of my punishment, the guard informed me that at 10:00pm my TV would automatically turn on and I would be forced to watch whatever show was on the channel. At first, this didn’t seem like any sort of punishment. Boy was I wrong.

So that night I heard the alarm, and like everyone in solitary confinement, I did as I was told. I walked over and turned on the TV. And what appeared? Living Lohan, the reality TV show which follows Lindsay Lohan’s mother and siblings around. At first I thought I was on the wrong channel or that the guards were joking when they said I was required to watch this show. But, as I listened I noticed that everyone else in solitary was tuned into the same channel. Unfortunately, I was on the right station.
I’ve had a few ulcers in my life and have slammed a few fingers into doors. I’ve even walked into a few mailboxes and a few people have tried to make me into relish a few times. But never have I ever been in as much pain as I was in while watching Living Lohan. And I wasn’t alone. The guy next to me, started to violently weep and the guy across from me started to bang his head into the door. And, the guy two doors down from me. Well, he must have been in jail long enough to see the beginning of the season and the terribleness of the show must have really worn him down because during a commercial break, he demanded the electric chair.

So what did the pickle do? Well, I requested that the TV be removed and after the officers laughed at me, they informed me that they could not do that. In fact, I would be forced to watch the show every day until I was released from jail. So I immediately called my lawyer and told him I would plead guilty to all charges, whether it be disorderly conduct or prostitution. I didn’t care. I wanted out. So, today I have a hearing to confess to a crime I didn’t commit, just to not be forced to watch another episode of this awful show.

Walking into a mail box can get you arrested!

As I was walking to the mental clinic yesterday, past a drunk guy puking on the sidewalk, I looked forward and noticed LAPD, slamming some guy into the dirty pavement. The cop was slapping handcuffs on the poor guy's wrists and digging his boot into the guy's dumbo ear. He was being arrested for jaywalking.

So, as I was observing the situation and not paying attention to where I was going, I walked right into a metal mailbox. I hit the pavement with a big giant thud. A bunch of people passing by started violently pointing and laughing at me and one threw a beer bottle at my fat head.

Then the same LA cop walked away from the guy and started to venture toward me. I thought he was going to see if I was okay. But, he ended up arresting me...for disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct.

And since there are no jails for fickle pickles, I am being held in a small jar, awaiting trial.

Life is hard

Diamond Vixen, Ivy League Porn Star, has entered the building

When I go out at night, I like to lie. It’s fun and it provides me with some amusement! So when I was out with my friend this weekend, I decided to be Ivy League porn star Diamond Vixen, an up and coming porn star from Van Nuys. I don’t have big boobs or bleach blonde hair. I’m short and look like a Superficklepickle. So in other words, I’m a bit funny looking. So, naturally I thought, that no one would believe my porn star act. Boy was I super duper wrong.

So, I decided to try my luck on these two military men. I thought since they were in the army, they could read through my bullshit. Obviously I was wrong. They wondered what channel Ivy League porn star Diamond Vixen I had been on. They asked where they could buy my videos. When I told them, my footage was on you tube, they got especially excited. Afterall, on you tube, they could see me for free.

They even asked if my friend was also a Ivy League porn star. I told them that she was my apprentice and I was teaching her the ropes to be fickle pickle super duper Ivy League porn star (but between me and you, she doesn’t have the talent to be a top notch porn star).

Then I tried my luck with this goofy bartender. I told him I wanted him to be one of the contestants in this new porn game show I was going to be starring in. He asked me how much the gig paid. I told him it paid minimum wage plus a keg of stale beer. He agreed! I guess, everyone is trying to find their way into Hollywood.

But the end of the night surpised me greatly. At my hotel, I asked the manager where I could get a tub of wipped cream, eight gross of cherries, some hot fudge and cookie crumbs, for a “video shoot” to be done in his hotel. He perked up a bit. He said he could drop off the items for free, if he could watch the filming and provide constructive feedback. I told him, it was a closed set, until he slipped me a fifty dollar bill. Then it became a closed set, with a budget of 50 dollars.

So, my question is, do I look like a Ivy League porn star or is it enough that I just said I was a Ivy League porn star. Are men that incredibly gullible? After all, I am just a Superficklepickle. Fickle pickles are usually not Ivy League porn stars. Fickle pickles don’t have jobs.

Sure Obama is sexy but my eyes are on Dick

Sure Obama is hot...in a classic pretty boy way but the Super Fickle Pickle has always liked the rugged unpredictable type. This is the reason why the Super Fickle Pickle has been setting her sights on Dick Cheney. He is like so hard core, kind of like a neighborhood gangster. Maybe I would call him OG Dick. I think its really hot how he can profit off other peoples misery. Maybe he could use some of that misery money and buy me a diamond necklace. From Africa of course.

If we were to get together, I'd move him into my swanky Hollywood apartment which has a breathtaking view of an overflowing dumpster, dead skunk and random piles of urine. We could take walks hand in hand together past the many homeless that live on the streets of Hollywood. On Saturdays we could even taunt them by walking by them while chopping on big juicy hamburgers. It would be a match made in heaven.

We could open up a business with our exploitation money and pay more people minimum wage so that they can't afford to live anywhere and thus live below the poverty line. We could even pay a select chosen few below the minimum wage just for shits and giggles and never offer them benefits or raises. We can offer creative incentives to entice high school students to drop out of school, such as a free hamburger, or free weed for a month. I have such plans for us. Let's leave all children behind.

The Super Fickle Pickle thinks that Dick Cheney is the man for her. She thinks he has some qualities that would make him the perfect companion. OG Dick, if you are out there, give the Pickle a call. For 5000 a night, we can have some fun.

Leave your Buketheaded, Divorced Friends At Home!

This Saturday some friends and I decided to go out in Hollywood. Last minute, my friend said she was going to bring her recently divorced highly critical, snobby cousin Bianca with us. Oh boy!

Bianca came into my house, complaining the entire time. She complained that there was no adequate parking for her BMW so I apologized. She claimed my apartment was drafty so I gave her a blanket. Then, she claimed the blanket was itchy and that it had lice in it. I then took it away from her and told her to take a few shots. She needed to calm down. I brought out the bottle of vodka. She said she didn’t drink cheap vodka. Then I politely told her that she could walk down to the local CVS and buy us all a bottle of Grey Goose. We would drink it! She shut up.

I was thinking, gosh it’s so strange that this train wretch is recently divorced. To me, she seemed like the perfect wife. So, the story doesn’t end here. So, what happened next? Bianca is a mess.

Next we went out to a bar and she continued to take shot after shot after shot. Toward the end of the night, she even started taking other peoples drinks when they weren't drinking. She even took a dollar out of the bartenders tip jar. Then, suddenly, she yanked off her shirt and began to unbutton her skirt, giving the patrons a strip tease. We ran to her to prevent her from stripping even more and took her drunk ass to my apartment to sleep off her drunkness. The next day, she woke up and screamed out that she was leaving. She needed to get ready for work. After asking a few questions, she informed me of her occupation. Little miss Bianca is a therapist!

No wonder crazy people never get better.

Go Ahead and Let Out the April Fool in You!

Today began like any other day for the Super Fickle Pickle. I woke up, scraped the crust from my eye, burnt a frozen waffle and stepped on a sewing needle. Everything was going well until I walked out of my house and saw a man with no shirt climbing up a palm tree. Apparently he was trying to get a coconut, in a palm tree… in Los Angeles. And then I thought about it. Maybe he is climbing up this dead palm tree because it’s April Fools Day. Maybe he feels like today is the day where he can act like a total utter fool.

So, since I am a Super Fickle Pickle I decide that I too will act like a fool today. I could decide to not match today. But then I thought about it. My clothes never match. I could cartwheel down the street…if only I knew how to cartwheel. I could throw ice cream balls at people out my window. I could send a roast beef sandwich to my vegetarian friends… and a tofu sandwich to all my meat eating friends. I could find my imaginary friend an imaginary friend. Of course that’s something I could do any other day.

And then I thought about it. I’m the Super Fickle Pickle! Without even trying I am an April Fool Year around. This a day when the world honors me and all the fickle pickles that have some “fool” in them. So, the Super Fickle Pickle wishes you and your fool friends a happy Fickle Pickle April Fool’s day. Go ahead and let your inner fool out!

Light Traffic on St. Patrick's Day?

In rush hour, normally it takes the Super Fickle Pickle like two hours to go from snooty ass Brentwood to dirty ass Hollywood. When the Super Fickle Pickle hopped in her dirty car to prepare for the long journey and she was amazed. It took her fifteen minutes to get through Beverly Hills and Bel Aire and twenty minutes to drive all the way to Hollywood.

So, I had to wonder, why was there light traffic that day? What was so special about today? And then I thought about it? It’s St. Patrick’s Day.

So did people actually skip work on St Patrick’s Day or did they leave early? And are there that many Irish people in LA or are there just a bunch of people who like to drink, no matter the occasion? And, those who left work early, what were the excuses they gave to their bosses? Did they say they had the flu? A cold? Malaria?

It’s interesting because I understand light traffic on Veterans Day or Memorial Day but light traffic on St. Patrick’s Day is certainly odd.

No More Talking to Myself...I Now Have Ernie

Apparently everyone has a problem with me talking to myself. Apparently, my friends think that sort of behavior is peculiar. Since clearly I am one who succumbs to peer pressure, I decided to break my addiction and stop talking to myself. And how has it been? Difficult! Impossible actually.

I tried talking to random strangers but that can be dangerous, especially since I live in Hollywood. And, I tried talking to my family but all they want to talk about is how I need to commit myself to the Hollywood Mental Institution. That’s not fun to talk about. I tried talking to the wall but it didn’t really respond back very often.

So, I decided to go to the store and get a plant. Plants are living things so technically I am talking to something that breathes. Plus, no matter what I talk about, the plant can never move. We had great conversations about everything such as current events, food, and fashion. He even helped resolve a few disputes I was having with my feuding imaginary friends. We talked about everything.

So, I decided that since my plant and I were becoming such good friends, he needed a super duper special name. So after careful consideration, I decided to name it Ernie, after of course my favorite Sesame Street character. Hours after naming it Ernie, my plant wilted up and died. So now I’m stuck talking to the wall, wishing that I had named the high maintenance plant Elmo.

Life is hard.

Tomatoes and Weddings Don't Mix

My friend is getting married and I promised to sit in the front row and cause a ruckus during the ceremony. During the entire wedding I was thinking I could do a bunch of stuff like sexually harass her future husband, bring a bottle of vodka into the church and have a few shots. I could steal the flowers from the flower girl, hide the ring from the ring bearer. I could even throw darts at her brides maids. She laughed. I guess the thought of me tormenting her wedding party was funny to her.

Then I said I could bring a few extremely ripe tomatoes and throw them at her instead of rice. For some reason, the thought of me doing that seriously upset her. She even asked for her invitation back.

So I can apparently torment her entire wedding party but I can’t torment her? That seems a bit unfair doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to have a white dress with tomato juice all over it? It would make for a great story to tell the kids. I don’t understand why she was being so unreasonable.

Oh well, I’ll probably show up and bring the tomatoes anyways.

Laughing at Babies

Two year olds are usually cute, especially if they don’t belong to you. Today I saw the cutest kid doing nothing except running in a circle. He kept running and running and running until he eventually hit a wall. He didn’t run out of gas. The two year old actually hit a white wall and fell like a brick to the ground.

So here is my question: is it wrong to laugh kids? Seeing him fly into the wall was actually the funniest thing I’ve seen in a really long time. Sure, he was crying and yeah he had the biggest knot on his fat head. But is it wrong to laugh? Two year olds laugh at me all the time. Why can’t I laugh at them?

So I’ll just tell you how this torrid story ends. I ended up laughing at the clumsy kid and the two year old began to cry harder. And, then the Super Fickle Pickle was escorted out of the store for mocking the kid and causing a ruckus. It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?

Should I Peg the Kid in the Head?

“I bet I can throw this apple at that tree over there.”

“Which tree?”

“The tree over there with the Super Fickle Pickle sitting beside it.”

“Over there? That’s not that far away! I bet I can also!”

“Let’s try! Whoever misses has to buy the other ice cream.”

“Okay one, two, three…”

And, this is one of the reasons why I hate little kids. They do stupid stuff like try and hit trees with apples and oranges. And do you know what always happens? They miss the tree. And, you know what else happens? They always manage to hit the Super Fickle Pickle. And, do they come over and apologize? No. Do they offer to buy the Super Fickle Pickle ice cream after pelting her in the head? No. But do you know what they always do? Run in the opposite direction. So this is why I hate little kids. And, this is the reason why I am investing in an apple and orange grove. To peg them in the head before they peg me.

Get out of the Left Lane! Academic Tutor Coming through

Why is it whenever I am late for work as an academic tutor, I always have to share the road with some fool who insists on going two miles an hour in a thirty five mile an hour zone. To top it off, this same dummy has to drive in the left lane!

Did you miss the memo from the DMV? Did the DMV forget to mail you the real driver’s manual? So, let me break this down to you! Page one of the DMV manual would tell you to not drive in the left lane if you drive slower than most people walk! Do not drive in the left lane if you see people zooming past you in the right lane! Do not drive in the left lane if you see snails and ants laughing at you as they pass you!

The right lanes are for people who drive at least the speed limit. The left lane is for those who go at least 10 miles over the speed limit. If you want to drive ten miles an hour, go to a golf course and drive a golf cart.

Some people actually have annoying academic tutoring clients to meet.

Dedicated to the Hollywood Bouncer

Dedicated to the Hollywood Bouncer

Bouncers in Hollywood believe that they are so important because for five hours a day they make crucial and life changing decisions that regularly affect the world. After all, deciding who will get into a club is almost as important as protecting our streets from criminals, right?

You are not important if after work, you go home to a studio apartment, hanging off the 101 freeway with a cracked window and a 90 year old manager. If you drive to the club in a 1971 Pinto with a missing front and back fender you are not important. If you have to start your car with a screwdriver, then you are not that important in the world. Important people are important 24 hours a day. You are semi important for maybe four. The other hours in the day, you spend sleeping, avoiding late notices from the gas company, eating baloney sandwiches, and scratching yourself.

A bouncer is one of the few jobs out there where all you need is a first grade education and a criminal record to be successful. The only prerequisite is that you can read names off a guest list, stand in front of a dingy rope for 5 hours looking like a constipated bulldog, flirt with girls completely out of your league, and kick out folks who puke on the dance floor. That’s it. You weren’t hired to find a cure for AIDS and you aren’t the commander of an army. It's time to realize you aren’t that important.

The light pole…with 40 signs on it

The Super Fickle Pickle is coming to a neighborhood near you! She will be putting up annoying parking restriction signs on your street. The more she likes you, the more parking restriction signs you get. And, if you don’t adhere to the restrictions on the signs, the Super Fickle will be there to give you a stiff ticket. After all, it’s hard to finance a blog as a pickle, especially if you are super and fickle.

The Super Fickle Pickle did a pilot program in West Hollywood, California. In one neighborhood, she put 5 signs up on one light pole.

Sign one read: no parking any time between 12-3 on the second Thursday of every other month.

Sign two read: No parking on Friday between 7 and 10 unless there’s a parade or a sporting event (parade floats and pink scooters are exempt).

Sign three read: No cars over 8 tons or under 7 tons can park on the street all day Tuesdays unless their axles are imported from China (Tonka trucks are exempt).

Sign four read: No parking on cloudy days or days in which there is more than 51% cloud cover (rainy days exempt).

And finally, sign five read: No parking unless your car has been washed within the last 2 days.

With these signs, I’m sure to make a barrel of money dishing out tickets and accepted large bribes. Life will be great, wonderful and grand. And maybe, the Super Fickle Pickle will live like a pickle should, rich and privileged but still super and fickle.

The Hot Drag Queen Just Voted

Late to work, I sprinted across the street carefully avoiding this massive pothole in the middle of the street. After I crossed the street, I noticed something very…well…out of the ordinary.

There was a person, with a very large Adams apple, rocking big hair extensions, sitting at the bus stop, singing the words to Michael Jackson “Thriller” in an extremely low voice. This six foot tall hot drag queen, who was apparently going to work, was wearing a low cut, very revealing dress.

After admiring he/she’s makeup and pink fishnets, I noticed something that clashed with the big hair extensions and outfit of the hot drag queen. Right above he/she’s breast was an ‘I voted’ sticker.

I don’t know why I was so taken back by the sticker. Why was it so peculiar to believe that drag queens with pink fishnets in Hollywood vote and care about policies? They have opinions about universal healthcare, the war in Iraq, poverty just like everyone else in the country. It’s interesting how you stereotype individuals  before meeting them, even when you consider yourself progressive.

I wonder who the hot drag queen with the big hair extensions and pink fishnets voted for. I guess we will never know.

Eat your vegetables!

I’m short! It’s so obvious. It’s the first thing everyone notices when they first meet me. I haven’t grown since the sixth grade. In fact, I think I’ve shrunk. Everyone in my family is of average height or taller. What the hell happened to me? Do you know the sad part? I ate my broccoli.

When I was a baby, I used to hate eating certain vegetables. Unlike most kids, I didn’t mind eating brussel sprouts and I took a liking to salad and green beans. But one thing I hated eating was broccoli and mushrooms. I managed to avoid mushrooms but my mom always made me eat broccoli. When I asked why I should have to eat the disgusting vegetable, my mom would respond “it will make you tall.” I felt that was a good enough reason to shovel the gross vegetable down my throat.

I ate them and I grew to whopping five feet tall. I thought I would grow a bit through junior high or high school so I continued to eat broccoli. That, of course, never happened. Finally, I decided to confront my mother and tell her that I was going to sue her for punitive damages. Eating broccoli was painful and it didn’t deliver the desired results. And do you know what my mom said in response to me? “Without the broccoli, you would have been only four feet tall.”

The New Improved Hillary

I wish Hillary would leak some controversy about herself. She’s just so boring and a bit of a wet blanket. I like edgy candidates and every time I see her on television I yawn.

I think I would vote for Hillary if I found out she had a boyfriend on the side named John Paul, a 23 year old musician who didn't make more than twenty thousand a year. John Paul would be even more interesting if he shared a studio loft apartment with three roommates, one of which was a bisexual trapeze artist. I think I may even vote for her if we found out that every Friday night, they all played beer pong together and occasionally she won.

I think I would vote for Hillary if I found out she rode a motorcycle. I think it would be fascinating to find out that she was part of a biker’s club and that she revved up her hot pink bike every Saturday. She could even just drive her bike up and down her driveway. I wouldn’t care. I think it would be even better if her motorcycle had streamers or a big yellow flag in the back.

I think I would be more inclined to vote for Hillary if she had a pet pig named Lester that she did aerobics with every morning. I would even vote for her if she admitted that Lester was actually her campaign manager and made her crucial daily campaign decisions. Finally, I think it would be cool to find out that Lester and she played tag every morning and Scrabble every night.

I don’t care what anyone says. Hilary’s boring and lame. I’m glad she’s not an axe murderer but I do wish that she was a bit more edgy.

Yes, I do talk to myself!

On Thursday, I was driving in wall to wall traffic to work. Instead of listening to the boring radio in the morning, I decided to instead entertain myself by having a nice little conversation…with myself. I told jokes and screamed out the punch line. I gossiped about a few of the fools I would encounter at work. I even told a ten minute cleverly contrived story to myself, which consisted of a ghost, a flying cookie and a purple chicken (don’t you wish you were in the car with me?). I was having fun!

All of a sudden, I turned and saw this unnaturally perfect couple starring straight into my Toyota Corolla. Apparently, I hadn’t rolled up my windows while telling my adventurous story and the nosy couple had heard the entire thing. It was obvious that the couple felt sorry for me. I can’t possibly understand why.

So I must ask, why does the world act like those who talk to themselves should be committed to a mental institution? What is so wrong with talking to yourself? I happened to like myself very much and find my conversations with myself intellectually stimulating. No one can make me laugh like I can! If I am my only audience, then I don’t have to worry about offending anyone! And, if I tell a bad joke, then I don’t have to worry about being booed.

To some I may sound crazy and trust me, I totally agree that I have a few screws loose in my lopsided head. But I would probably be even loonier if I didn’t talk to myself. I cannot be the only person in the world who talks to themselves. I just may be the only person who admits it.

Must Your Dog Travel With You Everywhere?

I was typing on my computer in a bookstore minding my own business. All of a sudden some absent minded dog dressed in a cute puppy costume ran toward me and peed on my cheap boots. As I felt the warm urine penetrate my supposedly waterproof shoes, I wondered why there was a dog dressed in a cute puppy costume in the building. Does this particular bookstore double as a dog grooming facility also?

Some bad dog owner then runs up to the dog and says, “That’s a bad boy.” Like the dog cares. What about the fact that my shoe and socks is soaked with warm urine? Do I get an apology? Of course not!

I get it. Your dog in that cute puppy costume is part of your family. You love it like it was one of your own children. You probably love your dog more than your children. But, must it come with you everywhere? Unless you are blind or a bad dog owner, dogs do not belong in bookstores.

Hey bad dog owner! Not everyone likes dogs dressed in cute puppy costumes. Some people, like me, hate them because they drool and pee everywhere. Others are afraid of their erratic behavior. Do us all a favor. Leave your dog outside!

My cousin, the English scholar…

I like young children and adults but teenagers I find obnoxious. But, nonetheless I am forced to interact with the ones I’m related to. So when my fourteen year old cousin came over for a visit after school I decided to ask her about her day. Do you know the response I received?

“Like oh my gosh, I like totally think my English teacher is like totally way evil because she like totally gave me a D on my paper.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Does what you just said qualify as English? If so, what dialect is that? What you just said makes absolutely no sense to me.

Is that how you express yourself while discussing Romeo and Juliet? If so, thank your teacher for giving you a D. You deserve an F. Do all of your friends talk just like you? Do you guys understand each other? If so, then dissecting the Canterbury Tales should be no problem at all, right?

My cousin should enroll in ESL classes because right now she is not fluent in English. It’s interesting because I remember her at age 2 and her English was much better then than it is now.

The Child That Only a Mother Could Love

I was browsing the fiction section of a bookstore, deciding which book to purchase next. All I here is the sound of feet scurrying across the floor and fingers flipping the pages of books. All is calm.

Suddenly some bad ass kid starts screaming at the top of his lungs, disturbing the peace. In a fit of rage, the screaming kid tears through the store, yanking down every book and trinket at his level.

And then, I wondered, does the kid have parents or a guardian watching him or did a three year old drive himself to the bookstore. Suddenly some woman emerged from the parenting section carrying a book, flipped to chapter two of some random parenting manual, and said in a very calm voice “Sam, don’t do that. That’s a bad boy. Do you want me to take away your cookie privileges?"

What? Fool, he just destroyed an entire bookstore. Take a cookie and smash it into his head when you get home.

Now is the time when the whole bookstore would like you to drop the book and discipline your child. No one is expecting you to throw his ass into the Dr. Seuss books or anything but the least you could do is tell him, in a stern voice, to pick up the books.

Parent your children! We are all sick of your screaming three year olds social deviants, disturbing the peace. Discipline your children at home so when they come out in public, they know how to behave.

How to deal with a not-so-bright, crazy, condescending boss

My boss is not very smart. She doesn’t have an ounce of common sense. I know what you are thinking. Everyone believes their boss is dumb. In fact, most people probably think they are the smartest individual in the workplace. But, I assure you, my boss is not very smart. To top it all off, she is extremely arrogant and a bit nutty.

A few months back, when the powers that be promoted my boss, I sat baffled for 20 minutes in my tiny cubicle. She can’t use excel. She can’t write. She can’t analyze data. Many days, addition and subtraction baffles her. But she is really good at blaming her staff when something goes wrong. She also really excels at slowing down the pace of the work day by asking everyone long winded stupid questions.

I spent the first few months complaining about my boss to anyone who would listen. I soon learned that gossiping didn’t do anything except exacerbate the situation. It brought negative energy into the work place. Eventually, I realized that until I win the lottery, I must work under my boss and deal with her shortcomings.

Here is some advice I can provide you when dealing with a not-so-smart, crazy, condescending boss.

If you explained a report to her last week, and yet she still doesn’t understand so she asks you about it again, don’t roll your eyes, throw your arms in the air, and scream “I explained this to you last week!” or “I learned this in kindergarten. Why didn’t you?” Your boss will get defensive. Instead, explain the concept again. It’s a good time to practice your public speaking skills also! While explaining the concept to your inept boss, pretend she has a ‘kick me’ sign on her wrinkled forehead or a dunce cap on her bucket head. You will then smile during the explanation.

If your boss is so incompetent that she starts to delegate her work to you, don’t tell her “I don’t get paid enough to do your job and mine!” Feel honored that she has enough faith in you! Gain as much experience as you possibly can. By the way, don’t try and pass on your work to her. She is your superior! Besides, if your boss is truly incompetent, she will do your work wrong. Then, she will blame you.
If she says something to you extremely condescending, don’t beat her up. Instead, take three to four deep breaths. Deep breaths will usually calm you down. If you still want to punch her after the deep breaths, close your eyes and daydream about beating her up. Slap her fat little cheeks. Poke her little button nose. But, when you return back to reality, refrain from violence, unless you want to get fired and go to jail.

If your boss begins to nitpick about little stuff in the office, don’t scream out comments such as “well at least when I get to work I get stuff done. All you do all day is torment you staff!” If she says that playing classical music at your desk is inappropriate, don’t switch to hard rock. Turn off your stereo or use head phones. Every once in a while, pretend to be a drummer and bang the little drummer sticks against her bucket head. But, again, make sure you do this in your head!
If you really believe your boss is crazy, don’t send her brochures about the mental health clinics in the area. Don’t ask her if she wants the number to a good therapist. That’s not your job and those comments will most like upset her. I wish I could give you further advice for dealing with crazy people but I can’t. You will have to grow accustomed to her peculiar behavior.

Remember, for most of us the work day lasts only eight hours! The other 16 hours belong to you. Remember, for those eight hours maintain a positive, upbeat attitude.

Bosses promote incompetent people every day. Some of the most incompetent people make hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars a year. Get used to the fact that not-so-bright people exist in the work place. Some incompetent people are even given the opportunity to lead large countries.

Top 10 things to realize when moving to Hollywood

1. Don't inhale, unless, of course, you enjoy the smell of urine, garbage, throw up or smog.
2. Don't feed the pigeons, unless you want them to drop a special gift on your windshield
3. Don't pet it. It's a skunk.
4. Don't buy "parsley" off the street.
5. Don't get your headshots done in Idaho, Alabama, or wherever you are from.
6. Don't come to LA with a guitar and a dream. Come to LA with a car, job, and a place to live .
7. Don't expect to get discovered within 10 minutes of you landing in Hollywood.
8. Pack more than a bikini and 40 tank tops when moving to Hollywood. Pack at least one sweater.
9. Pedestrians may always have the right of way but drivers in Hollywood will run you over if you jump in the middle of the street.
10. The blonde sleeping on the Hollywood Walk of Fame is not a movie star.

The Car Door: Close it Once in a While

I’m driving and I make a right turn down a street that is the width of a sidewalk. Because of the size of the street, I decide to go only 50 miles an hour instead of 60 in a 35 mile an hour zone. After all, I want to be safe and not run over anyone.

All of a sudden I have to slam on my brakes. Why? Because some fool has his car door wide open for absolutely no apparent reason.

Car doors should be opened for one reason only: to allow passengers and the driver to exit the car. Your car door doesn’t need to be open while you wait for a friend. You do not need to open your car door if you want to pour molded coffee out of your cup. Your car door doesn’t need to be open to yell at a neighbor across the street (unless you want to fight the neighbor and need to exit the car.) If you are curious about the weather outside, you don’t need to open your car door.

One day I’m going to forget to go 50 miles an hour in a 35 mile an hour zone. I’m going to go my usual 70 miles an hour and hit your door. Then you will have a car with no door. Maybe I’ll be liable. Maybe I won’t but you will remember to close your door in the future.

I just fell face down while crossing the street.

I didn’t trip over my shoelaces because today I wore Velcro shoes. I didn’t fall over a bucket, bag, leaf, ant or dead body. No bird flew into the back of my head, forcing me to fall over and hit the hot ground. And, I know what you are thinking! It just isn’t true! I wasn’t gossiping about someone before the incident. I didn’t trip on black ice. It doesn’t really exist in LA. I am pretty sure I just fell because, well, I’m clumsy.

As I was lying in the middle of the street, my lips caressing the rough asphalt, I couldn’t help but wonder if any other individuals had fallen at the same time as I had. I’m sure quite a few one year olds and even a few two year olds fall daily on their faces, but even most four year olds learn the art of putting one foot in front of the other. What is wrong with me? Did I forget at that precise second?

A few people came to my rescue. Others just pointed and laughed hysterically at me. And what did I do when I got up from my fall? I should have bowed or curtseyed. I could have wiped the dirt off my gleaming white outfit and picked the street pebbles out of my hair. I could have even charged the laughing audience members for providing them with a unique comedy show.

Instead, I rushed out of the street to avoid getting hit by an approaching school bus.

Random Requests from Strangers

It baffles me when random strangers approach me and ask questions like “could you watch my laptop and my purse full of money while I go to the bathroom?” Do I look like someone that should be trusted? One day I am going to respond “Absolutely! After all, if I had to go to the bathroom and was sitting next to a marginally employed, broke, twenty something year old with thousands of dollars in student loans, I would definitely trust them to watch my expensive belongings.” That makes sense.

I know it looks like butter could melt in my mouth but I could in fact be a thief. Imagine that! In the course of forty-five seconds, I could pack up all of your belongings and escape through the back entrance. I could then sell your computer and purse and use the cash to buy beer.

What ever happened to the days when people were actually distrusting of strangers? How hard is it to take your valuable belongings with you to the bathroom and just ask me to save your seat? After all, if you take your valuable belongings with you and I decided to instead steal the chair that you were sitting in, that wouldn’t really affect you financially would it? I’m not the brightest cookie in the jar but I know enough not to ask random folks to watch my stuff, and my stuff is crap.