Thursday, October 22, 2009

Is it just me or does the American woman bear a striking resemblance to Michael Jackson.

White milk. Black licorice. Playboy. Chocolate milk. Time.

If Atlantic News sold wine, tampons and dog food, I would never have to shop anywhere else. I was there to pick up my copy of Playboy with Marge Simpson on the cover. Encased in a plastic sheath, I couldn't wait to get home and rip open the bag like a Harlequin Romance stud would tear through the bodice of the buxom heiress escaped from the castle's dungeon.

'Not sure why I bought Time, but it triggered a flashback. I remembered my mother saying she used to buy Time and read it cover-to-cover before attending business cocktail functions in New York with my Father. I guess being a full-time, bridge-playing suburban housewife and mother didn't give her the confidence to hold her own in a room full of working stiffs. Cramming in Time gave her "something intelligent to talk about".

How ironic that this particular issue of Time was more of an exposé than Marge's disappointing bare-all as Miss November. In a nutshell, we may never know if Marge has a blue beaver because she kept it between her and Homer – but if Time's special report is indeed correct – women much like Marge and my mother were a lot happier before. Before women got what they think they wanted.

Fuuuuuuuuuck. Have I not always said that being a housewife back in the 50's and 60's looked way more fun than trying to talk the underpaid daycare teacher into taking your obviously sick kid for the day because you are so paranoid about missing another second of work at the shitty job you hate. June Cleaver never cracked a sweat. It wasn't until that annoyingly perky Mary Tyler Moore tossed her fucking hat into the ring, that women everywhere decided maybe having a career would be "fun".

So, save the $5.95, because after cramming Time cover-to-cover, so I could sound half-assed intelligent today, here's what I have to say:

Probiotic yogurt makes your poop all fluffy like marshmallows. That new Cougar Town show with Courtney Cox is actually kind of funny. Now that women and men are equal, it's not fun anymore. The only truly happy people are lesbians and divorce lawyers and real estate agents, because every family needs two homes. Skinny jeans suck. Women need more wine, less stress, and a man to rescue them from the dungeon, have great sex, then fuck off after leaving a nice diamond tennis bracelet on the night stand.

But hey, good news: The Legal Information Society of Nova Scotia is bringing a "first ever for North America" Divorce Fair to town, January 15-16th, 2010. No shit. A two-day Divorce Fair at The Lord Nelson Hotel. The fair will apparently be a marriage of all the professionals that someone in the middle of, or thinking about, toying with, leaving the bitch/bastard, should/could be in contact with." Like lawyers. Bulk wine merchants. Hair colouring or replacement professionals. Weight loss clinics. Child psychologists. Sports car salesmen. Real Estate agents. Private Detectives. Plastic surgeons. Therapists. Pilate's instructors. Yoga instructors. Really, really, fucking big-screen TV salesmen. Really, really ugly La-Zy Boy salesmen. Oh, and there will be a Best Friend Booth with someone there to say, "Fuck, finally. I never liked her/him because they treated you like shit and hit on your cousin at your wedding."

Should be fun. The keynote speaker on both days will be Justice Harvey Brownstone. Harvey's written a real page turner titled, “Tug of War: A Judge’s Verdict on Separation, Custody Battle and Bitter Realities of Family Court”. Sounds like a good pick for Book Club.

I was thinking of getting a booth, but they've taken all the fun out of it with segregation. The first day is for men and the second day – a Saturday – is for women. I can hear it now: "Why does that son of a bitch get to go first? What am I going to do with three kids – on a Saturday – when they have hockey, dance, karate, therapy, basketball – and he's going skiing with the boys, and I was hoping to get away to see my mother and...".

Probiotic yogurt makes your poop all fluffy like marshmallows. Wine is nice. Love is all around, no need to waste it. You can have a town, why don't you take it. You're gonna make it after all.

For more information on the Divorce Fair go to Funny thing is I went to the site and it was blank. Totally blank. Maybe they are arguing over content.