Looking for a Religious Experience? Try Stripping for God...

If you'll recall, two women tried to recruit me in the train station last week. My husband found some reference to this female image of God thing. Apparently, it’s an Internet church. I use the word "church" very loosely. As I was looking at the site I was thinking to myself, “What’s with the stripper in the banner?”. Then after some research I realized that the stripper is actually the head of the church. You have to admit that it takes some serious gumption to photoshop yourself into the work of Michelangelo.

I learned a few interesting things about this woman who calls herself Rasa Von Werder...

1. She, Kellie Everts, is the former Miss Nude Universe 1968.

2. She had her own TV show in New York called “I Strip for God”
3. She believes she’s seen God, twice.
4. She specializes in rescuing people from Purgatory – celebrities no less. (Folks, in case you were wondering, Elvis has left the building.)
5. She’s pissed at the Catholics for giving up on that whole Purgatory thing – AWESOME!
6. She was a pioneer of body building – check out her self comparison to Schwarzenegger.
7. She was responsible for the end of the cold war. (Seriously, you can't make this up.)
8. She launched her fabulous new church “Woman Thou Art God” in 2004.
9. Oh yea, she can cure that little gay problem you might have.
10. She's a Hillary supporter.

I am loving this picture of her under the Virgin Mary. AWESOME!

I have to wonder exactly what those women saw in me when they decided that I would be a good recruit for the Church of Strippers Who Art Thou? Was it my warm woolly sweater? My uncanny resemblance to a body builder? No wait, how did I forget about the giant "I was raised Catholic" sign blinking over my head! I think they were waiting for me to step outside to deliver a beat down, stripper style, over this whole Purgatory business.

I kinda wish I would have stuck around a while longer to learn about the Church of Frederick's of Hollywood. Do you think they get discounts on patent leather platform stilettos?

photo credit: www.kellieeverts.com

Mamas, Don't Let your Babies Grow up to Have Dirty Baseboards

I know there are men out there who are clean freaks. While I've heard about them, I've never dated one and I certainly didn't marry one. My husband doesn't see dirt. He claims that when I tell him things like, "Hey, why don't you clean up the living room and I'll do the kitchen." that he doesn't really know where to start or what to do. It is because of this non-dirt-seeing condition that he asks me to make lists when I need him to do something.

Sometimes I don't clean up the things he leaves around the house as an experiment to see how long it will take him to notice it and put it away. The other week he left a screwdriver in the kitchen. I looked at it there next to the pepper grinder for 4 weeks before I finally caved. What I like to do is bring him into the room and play a little game. While I find this entertaining, my husband...not so much. I say "Hey Hon, do you notice anything here?". First he rolls his eyes then he plays along and starts to guess. Eventually when he realizes that there's a screwdriver on the counter he starts laughing and doing that face rubbing thing. He's quite the funny man. And then I ask him how long he thinks it's been there...he usually says something like "Uh, a few days?" and then I tell him that it's been more like 28 days. This usually results in more face rubbing and laughing.

His cleaning education is pretty similar to my German language education. I point at something and say, "Do you see that dirt?" and inevitably he says, "Huh?" then I say it again only louder, "That dirt, do you see that dirt?".

(Everyone knows that if you say something louder it will be better understood. DUH...)

What do these things tell you about my husband and me? Probably nothing other than we're both a mess. Anyone know a good cleaning lady?

A Penny Saved is a Penny Some Crackhead Throws Away

The week started with MLK which is an uneventful holiday by any standard. I decided that a girls movie and lunch day with my mother and sister was an appropriate activity to celebrate my birthday and the day off from work.

My journey began at 30th Street Station, just in time to observe a homeless man fishing pennies out of his pocket and flinging them on the ground. Then he mumbled out a request for a light…for his joint. This guy looked like he had no business throwing away those Lincolns and he certainly didn’t need to be smoking anything.

I needed a coffee so I went inside. Somewhere between removing the lid and stirring in a Splenda I was ambushed by two women inquiring if I would be open to a public opinion poll. I should have known better but I had some time to kill before my train.

Woman: We’re trying to get a sense whether the public has ever heard of the Female Image of God
Me (in my head): Oh dear God, why me…why is it ALWAYS me? Do you hate me that much that you send these lunatics out to hunt me down.
Me (for real): Ummm, you mean like Wicca? (you have to admit that was a good guess...)
Woman: No, I mean like the prophecies that talk about the female form of God. (This is where I zoned out and she discussed something that I do not remember for a good 60 seconds) Would you agree that where there’s a father and children, then there’s a mother?
Me (for real): Um…yea. Isn’t that Mary?
Woman: Oh you’re Christian (in a strange tone that suggested I might be a worthy adversary) No, Mary is the mother of Christ, we’re talking about the Mother of God.
Me (in my head): Where does this madness end. God is like an earthworm. He gets it done all by himself – asexual reproduction – bang! There’s Adam and Eve. He slices, dices, juliennes and then on the 7th day he rests.
Me (for real): I would love to chat but I was raised brainwashed by Catholics. I gotta go.
Woman (in dire voice like I was about to irreparably damage my soul): Do you want to be brainwashed forever?
Me (in my head): Why don’t you ask the guy who keeps you in the commune and forces you into the train station to recruit people that question?
Me (for real): No, that’s why I'm not practicing anything right now.

I'm not sure if she heard me as I was doing a panicked run/walk sort of thing to Stairway 9. Apparently the crazies had the day off as well. Next time I may think about renting a car instead…

My Husband, Connoisseur of all Things Supermarket

My husband moved to the US in early 2003 from Germany where, like most people his age, he was a student. At that point in all of our lives, funds were limited, which inevitably led to the search for “the deal” (I think we all remember Mug Night at Scooters in West Philly – Lord knows we wouldn’t have been drinking in that neighborhood if it weren’t for the 25 cent beers). So when we decided to live together there were some minor differences in lifestyle.

This was never so obvious as when we went to the supermarket. Let’s just say that when I shop I just throw things in the cart. I honestly look at the prices but they don’t register in my brain as good or bad, they just are. I make decisions about unnecessary items based on the price of the item. For instance, “Is $9 too much for Marcona Almonds?”. These questions might be easy to answer if I had any idea how much regular almonds actually cost...but I don’t. So my decision based on logic like this, "Well, I would spend that in two days on lattes and I would derive far more enjoyment from these almonds than those lattes, so no, it's not too much". I would be a miserable failure on The Price is Right.

My husband on the other hand is a much more responsible shopper. He actually knows how much things cost and notices when they’re on sale and buys them! I think this is really amazing. He comes back from the supermarket and says things like, “Hey I bought pork tenderloin because it was only such and such a pound”.

Like I said, amazing – right?

I attribute this knowledge of food prices to his infatuation with American grocery stores. When he first moved here he would become agitated if I went food shopping without him. I am convinced that for the first year we lived together he only came along to hang out in the cereal aisle. I also believe at one point in our relationship he may have loved American supermarkets more than he loved me. He was/is especially enamored by the Whole Foods. It is, without question, his Holy Grail of supermarkets.

Ode to the bulk grain aisle, the cheese department, Larry the bread guy, and of course, let’s not forget the chocolate. You think I’m kidding? Tonight my husband and I grew tired of our refrigerator having nothing more than 6 eggs, salad dressing and a few beers. We rolled our super fancy old lady cart over to the Whole Foods. I left him in the bulk aisle and told him that I would go do the rest of our shopping. I came back and he was still in the same place.

If there were an award for being the most methodical shopper, my husband would win. He bought 7 baggies of painstakingly measured stuff, it took 30 minutes and the entire purchase cost $3.59. Who knows what he plans to do with this, I try not to ask. One time he washed and spread 5 lbs of raw almonds around the house on little towels. Another night I found a bunch of nuts and grains soaking in water around the kitchen. I believe he plans to put these goodies in the oven. Whatever it is I’m sure it will pull us through a cold hard winter and feed our 300+ neighbors for just under $4. He’s just that kind of guy.

So if anyone out there lives near a Whole Foods and needs some food shopping done my husband “has cart, will travel”. Oh, and feel free to swing by for some $3.59 mystery oven goodness.

Trenton is Nice this Time of Year

A few weeks ago a friend of mine from college emailed to let me know that all those years of taking acting classes as a hobby had resulted in her landing a part in a small play in New York City. She invited me to attend. I called another friend in the city and made plans to meet for a drink before and dinner after the show. I booked a train and planned to leave work an hour early to get up there on time.

I arrived at the train station to discover that my train was delayed by an hour. This was not looking promising. I had a somewhat circular conversation with an Amtrak employee around his level of confidence that the train was actually going to leave in an hour. Doing the math, if Amtrak actually came through, that would put me in Penn Station at 6:30ish. No guarantees.

I decided to take a chance and jump on NJ Transit. If the connection in Trenton is quick I could be there in 2 1/2 hours definitely. So I jammed my Amtrak tickets in my bag and bought NJ Transit tickets. I jumped on the R7 and prayed for the best. I was on my way, hurtling through New Jersey jammed next to a smelly dude who was reading the Metro.

An hour later we pulled into Trenton and I raced to look at the board. I was screwed. The next train wasn't for another 35 minutes. I wouldn't get into NYC until just before 7PM. Given the production was only 45 minutes long and I would still have to get to the theater there just wasn't enough time.

Clearly I had rolled the dice and lost.

I called my friend and told her the bad news. She laughed at me and told me to go home and watch it on DVD some other time. So I bought yet another ticket and headed back to Philly.

So basically I paid $20 to take a ride to Trenton, buy some trail mix and then come back. I love New Jersey.



Photo Credit: www.easternsigntech.com

How to be a Good Housewife and Domestic Goddess

I was reading back through David Sedaris pieces in the New Yorker and I came across “The Way we Are”. This particular piece got me thinking about roles in relationships. He talks about how people want to know who is the “man” and who is the “woman” in his partnership. (And not just the dirty way you’re thinking!) I started to wonder if there are still people out there that adhere to gender roles? What is this? 1952!

Back in the day, my grandfather was the man of the house. He did man’s work and my grandmother did woman’s work. My grandmother washed and ironed. My grandfather mowed the lawn and fixed stuff around the house. My grandmother cooked and cleaned. My grandfather went to work, while she stayed home with the children. Never shall the two cross the gender lines.

Mommom put out three meals a day and dessert. Every day. Seriously…without exception. Brunch was a non-starter in her household. In fact, if you woke up at 10AM and ate something, you were expected to eat again at noon. Hunger was irrelevant, it’s the clock that matters.

Now that my grandmother is at my parents house I think she’s a little confused. My parents eat early, eat late, sometimes eat once a day. If you eat after 7PM she says things like, “Well whadya know, we’re eating like rich people!”. In the event you are confused (don’t feel bad, I was as well), she’s of the belief that rich people eat later than their less fortunate counterparts. Perhaps this was true when working folk went to bed early to get up at the ass crack of dawn to work in the fields. Now I think most people don’t eat until 7 because more than 80% of us are two income households and aren’t home to start dinner until after 6ish anyway. I think lately the schedule irregularities have led her to eat all the time. My mother has started hiding her Activia Yogurt since Mommom consumes about 8 a day (she thinks they’re pudding). I don’t want to know what 8 Activias do to your digestion - it’s best not to speculate.

As you may recall, over the Christmas holiday I stayed at my parent’s house. I was late for the wedding we were attending that day and was ironing my dress like a woman with her hair on fire when my grandmother commented to my husband, “She’s a good girl, she certainly isn’t lazy, is she?”. Apparently laziness is a very bad quality in a wife. Lazy wives were probably the ones that didn’t scrub floors on their hands and knees or welcome their husbands with martinis at the door at 5 o’clock each evening. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

My parents were a little less traditional. My mother went back to work when we were older. My father cooked breakfast on the weekends and washed the dishes most evenings while my mother dried them. We had a cleaning lady when my mom was working. Since my father retired he now does most of the laundry and cleans.

My husband and I are decidedly non traditional. We divide household duties not by gender roles but rather by who hates a particular activity less or who doesn’t suck at it. I don’t mind dusting, he dislikes it. He doesn’t iron well, I do. He doesn’t mind laundry, I’m not so fond. I don’t like cleaning toilets, he tolerates it. We both like cooking so we share. He has an interest in decorating choices (I’m not sure if this can be considered progression. It’s more annoying than anything else. It makes me wish he liked soccer so he had something to distract him away from furniture choices.) If a situation calls for sweet talking, it’s all him. Since I’m the mean one with the razor sharp tongue, I handle laying the smack down.

And here’s the bad news – sometimes he does my stuff and sometimes I do his and for anything that isn’t “officially” on the unofficial list we make a list and divide up the chores.

I know what you’re thinking – “Oh my god, you both are so progressive! You guys are our heroes! A shining example of how to share responsibility.” Yea, not really. Think about your office – if it’s not someone’s “job” to do something then no one feels responsibility to get it done because no one wants to spend time doing something that’s not their job. There’s also a decided lack of leadership since we’re “equal partners”. Sort of explains the general mess in our house.

Perhaps we need a chore list. We can give ourselves gold stars every week when we complete them. I like gold stars. Hmmmm…that brings back memories. You know what, my sister and I did housework every week. Now that I think about it, this was perhaps my mother’s solution to her own work. My household growing up was like a 3rd world country without child labor laws. My sister and I were easy pickins.

Apparently gender roles serve a purpose – it kept the family unit humming. Everyone knew their job and did it. I think someone didn’t think through this feminism thing before they started blowing apart the nuclear family structure.

I can hear it now.

“You stupid tart, are you suggesting that you should be scrubbing floors and making pies instead of climbing the executive ladder? You are a disgrace to all women, everywhere. We’re going to beat you to death with our very practical feminist shoes while we smother you with our armpit hair!”

Put down the shoe you hairy behemoth! What I’m actually suggesting is that someone needs to be in charge and someone needs to be responsible for the household chores. We can pay someone to clean the house and I can be in charge (in charge = write a check on a bi weekly basis because my husband doesn’t like being in charge of paying bills).

So what have we learned from this really long ramble?
1. Martinis are best at 5 o’clock
2. Don’t over eat something that’s intended to “regulate” your digestive system
3. Gold stars are cool
4. Have children or adopt from a 3rd world country – they’re both cheap labor
5. Write a check every 2 weeks so you don’t have to live in a cyclone



Picture credits (mostly): http://www.porthalcyon.com/features/200409/housewives.shtml

My Shameful Addiction

Pills? No.
Sex? No
Booze? No...

It's Rock of Love.

I realize this is ridiculous. Of all the reality television out there this is close to the most horrifying. That's a respectable achievement when you start to think about all the bad shows out there. I blame my husband. During season one, he added it to the DVR. He forced me to watch it the same way I force him to watch Dexter. After awhile I got into it and started to look forward to what crazy hi-jinx and mayhem the pack of sluts would take part in week after week.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, the basic series of events is as follows:

Brett Michaels – Lead Singer born: ‘63
Glam Metal Band Poison is popular: ’87-’92 (see photo of strange man in leather with too much hair spray)
Glam Metal Band Poison not popular: ’93 – present
Brett Michaels starts looking for his “Rock of Love” – ‘07
Brett Michaels gets dumped by his first "Rock of Love" - '07
Brett Michaels looks for his “Rock of Love” again – ‘08

From what I could gather, last season was pretty low budget. The girls didn't appear to know who they were competing to date. Some of them were so young they didn't know what Poison actually sang. Most importantly, it didn't get really dirty for at least a few episodes. The skank factor had a gradual incline. I had a chance to become invested in the story line; it became more than an exercise in tolerating it weekly because my husband wanted to watch girl fights. (Did I seriously just say that Rock of Love had a story line? God help me.)

Anyway, I can't say the same thing for season two. Immediately it was like Strippers R Us. He hooked up with approximately 23 out of 25 women in the first few hours. I know, you're thinking, "Only 23? What happened to the other two?". One passed out drunk and the other had moral standards (despite the fact that she poses in Playboy). I totally get that - don't you?

So here is the big shocker of season two - one of the ladies is Megan from Beauty and the Geek (pictured at left with her geek, Scooter). How does that work exactly? Is there a network of reality TV stars with fake boobs that just bounce from one show to the next? She just won $250K on the last show. I think 100% of that prize money went directly into her lips in the form of collagen.

Needless to say I may just watch until Megan gets booted, she's dumb and kind of funny. And if not for that reason, what's more fun than watching a pasty, bloated, 40 something washed up ex-rocker with type 1 diabetes suck face with 20 year old strippers? Exactly, I thought you might agree.

What do Yoda and a Slab of Spiral Ham Have in Common?

I’ll spare you the gory details but this really festive weather in the Northeast for the last few weeks has left me with eyelids that look like slabs of a spiral ham. Last year it was clown face, this year it’s meat slab eyes. I love eczema. Yesterday I finally caved and hit the speed dial for my cousin. Having a dermatologist in the family when you have a skin condition is a godsend.

Now I need only walk to my neighborhood Walgreens to find relief. Going out in public requires a de-Yoda-fying make-up job. (Attempting to not traumatize the neighborhood children or homeless people.)

Thirty five dollars later I applied and was off to a party for the evening. I quickly realized the new super duper cream for my eyes itches like an SOB. I should have known better than to think it would be painless. I spent much of the evening standing outside because the cold air made the itching stop. In defense of the super itchy cream, it does seem to be working and I have renewed hope that some day I will be able to apply eye shadow without it looking like a lumpy mess.

Here’s to Yoda to leave the building…forever!

The Sugarhill Gang takes over City Hall

Well...it was day three of out new Mayor's term in office. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm encouraged that he knows all the words to Rapper's Delight; it makes me think that perhaps he's not the straight laced geek he sometimes appears to be. This sort of reminds me of a friend of mine from college who had a thing for singing the Humpty Dance. I'm not sure who is more embarrassing. I don't think there's any footage of my friend so we'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he wins.



I wonder if the Mayor had a nickname in college. With a last name like Nutter I'm going to guess it was unavoidable. If my friend, the Jersey Canuck, were here I think she might call him Nutsack. (She has thing for incorporating genitalia references into all proper nouns.) I think I'll reserve the official nicknaming for his next appearance on YouTube.

Here's another little piece of Philadelphia news. They're doing a reality series on A&E called Parking Wars about the Philadelphia Parking Authority. You can also watch the first episode on the site. It's the same principle as Airline. You watch people with awful jobs deal with awful people and someone edits it so that you find the people withe awful jobs endearing and you wonder where they found these awful people. Needless to say, Philadelphia has its share of lunatics so I assume we're ripe for the pickin' when it comes to irate awful people.

The real gem is not the show but the Q&A with the actual employees. They ask them some basic questions about how they got the job and what makes someone successful at the job. Dear lord, terrifying... Here are some highlights so you don't have to torture yourself:

How did you join the PPA?
"Nobody aspires to do this as a kid, "Oh I wanna grow up to be a ticket writer." Yeah right! It's not something I aspired to do as a young man. But some days you gotta thank God you got a job to complain about, you know?"

"There's worse jobs in this world than writing people tickets. There's people that clean out toilets. People that scrub floors."

"My father and my mother recommended that I join the parking authority. She's in Lot Six. My father used to be a ticket writer...He told me I could work for the parking authority I just have to control my mouth."

What traits do you need to do the job well?
"You gotta be kind of cold. Feels like you're a two-legged bloodsucker sometimes. But seriously... you gotta be a little different out here."

"You need to really get into their heads and see what they're thinking and react to it in a way where they won't react crazy and do something nutty."

"This is a schoolyard thing here. You see a guy that hates you from the time he sees you pull up. If you look like you're shaky or you look nervous and they're wound up- you don't need to be doing this job. "

The only thing better than the PPA employees is the panorama of Philadelphia citizens behaving like complete lunatics. Something tells me this can't be good for our tourism.

Let's Hope Nutter isn't a Crackhead

Yesterday I walked into the bathroom in Suburban Station and I could hear someone talking inside a stall.

Voice: “I just need some peace and quiet and a bathroom”
Me (inside my head): “Please don’t let this woman be talking to me”
Voice: “Just count to 10 and relax”
Me (inside my head): “What in the hell is this crazy person talking about”
Voice: “Don’t you be passing judgment on me, you could be in my situation tomorrow”
Me (inside my head): “Dear lord, this crazy woman is reading my mind…pee faster!”

A hasty hand wash and dry later (yes, I was traumatized by the lack of proper sanitizing resources, but at least there wasn’t a door to touch on the way out) I was out the door to tell my husband. He confirmed there was also a crazy dude in the men’s room. May I ask just one question? (Ok, maybe it’s the start of several probing questions, but who’s counting.) When was the last time you went into Penn Station and heard someone screaming in the stall? Ummm, in my experience, never. Perhaps this is yet another example of why we’ll never be a tourist destination like NYC.

At a minimum it might explain why Philadelphia gets such a bad rap. It has come to my attention that I am hopelessly desensitized. This is especially evident when we have someone visit from out of town. There are several things they notice, in no particular order:
1. It’s dirty
2. Every corner yields a new homeless individual begging for money
3. Our nightly news is horrific to watch (lots of stuff catches fire and people get shot…daily)

Having grown up in the suburbs I had a fairly low radar for dangerous situations. While most parents were giving their kids sound advice like, "Study hard" or "Don't drink too much", my father's advice was "Listen, if you get mugged just give them what they want, it's not worth dying over" and "If someone tries to pull you into a car, die on the street before you let that happen because death will be better than what they're going to do to you." If he was trying to scare me, it worked.

A weird thing happens when you live in the bad lands, you start to notice things. Which corners are dark, alleys that are poorly lit, which way home has foot traffic, the people around you, etc. You also start acting goofy (which I still do and my husband finds amusing) like pulling all personal identification out of your wallet and purse, hiding it in your pockets so if they do mug you, at least they don't know where you live. Separating your keys from your address so they can’t come find you later. Similar in concept to the "mugger money" we used to carry when we would go out drinking in college. Keep $10 bucks in your pocket and the other $40 in your bra. They leave happy with $10 and you have a better cleavage.

I eventually moved into Center City where you don’t have to worry so much about getting jumped on the street for 75 cents. Over the last 14 years I’ve watched it get better and now progressively worse. Thankfully today marks the end of John Street’s eight year tenure as mayor. What a bum. Under his watchful eye we became the city with the highest murder rate. We’re visibly dirtier than we were 8 years ago. He was a target of an FBI investigation and he gave his idiot brother a few million and a job he clearly couldn’t handle.

And to think we made fun of DC for their crackhead mayor, Marion Barry.

I hope this guy Nutter is a good guy. He seems normal and so does his family. He also appears legitimately pissed off about the state of affairs. I feel bad for him, he really has his work cut out for him here.

Good luck man, you’re gonna need it.

Ps – Today my shiny pretty lady got the boot. Poor Alycia. Bye-bye shiny pretty lady.

picture credit: cnn.com

Darwin Sorts Us All Out Sooner or Later

I really can't look at that crack rash for one minute longer so here's a new post.

Let's talk stupid* for a minute.



This is a direct quote from the AP article titled "$5M Lawsuit: My Commercial Looks Lewd".

"The 37-year-old woman claims in her lawsuit that she did not "consent to or authorize the use of her likeness, picture, image or name to simulate a female having an orgasm or otherwise experiencing sexual pleasure."

"Indeed, the music to the commercial is bump-and-grind burlesque type music, which further provides the advertisement with a decidedly pornographic look, feel and sound," states the lawsuit, which was filed Monday in Manhattan's state Supreme Court.

The plaintiff, identified only as Jane Doe, says in court papers she won the role in the commercial for Szul Jewelry Inc. in November. She says the idea was that an average guy would get a woman excited by putting a necklace on her.

Three-fourths of the filming of the commercial, shot Nov. 9 by Q2 Entertainment in a studio in Queens, involved a comedic story line, but the woman later was told to sit and feign excitement for a few seconds while the young man put the necklace on her, the lawsuit says.

After that scene, the court papers say, the director told her to fake excitement while lying down, without smiling.
"He asked her to keep repeating the action until he thought he got the most authentic looking film piece," they say."

There's "excitement" and then there's "excitement". So the garden variety excitement I tend to think of is like kids at Christmas shouting for joy or the little victory dance that people do when something good happens.

So when was the last time that you sounded like this when you weren't naked? Ummm, how about never. So I think it's pretty reasonable to say that if someone asked you to act excited while lying down and not smiling, you might be a little suspicious about what they're going to do with footage of you moaning away like drunk sorority girl - no?

Here's item number two, again directly from the AP Article:

"The plaintiff, who is a married graduate student in elementary education, "has worked hard to project a wholesome image and has been extremely careful to avoid doing any work in the industry that would cheapen or tarnish her reputation," the lawsuit states."

This woman plans to educate children? I'm surprised she can walk out of the house without accidentally losing her clothes or getting pregnant. This woman should be kept far away from impressionable young people because clearly she is as smart as my left shoe. Perhaps her "lying down and showing excitement while not smiling" will prevent my future offspring from being exposed to such blatant stupidity.

See, occasionally fate steps in and saves us all from the weakest link.



*I recognize that perhaps she's just amoral and looking for a quick buck. That said, I probably would think less of her than if I she were just stupid.