So, there I was, driving down interstate 80 on my way to the El Cerrito Farmer’s Market, when I realized I had forgotten to bring along my canvas shopping bag. Damn! I felt certain I was going to end up in Recyling Hell because now I’d have to use at least three plastic bags to pack up all the carrots and other veggies I planned to buy. I could stick them down my pants, I supposed, but that might attract some unwanted attention. No, I’d just have to return home with the poisonous bags and drive them over to the landfill myself, praying for forgiveness all the way. Read the rest of this article »

Ok, I admit it-I caused the recession. You know how economists are always advising consumers to spend, spend, spend their way out of recessionary slumps? Well, that’s a problem for me because I don’t care that much for possessions. I drive a 1993 Nissan Altima with a patch of bondo on the passenger door, wear sweatpants I bought at Target in 1999, and top them off with t-shirts I purchased last year at Walgreens-five for $10.00.I can’t relate to the “Sex-in-the-City” addiction to Manolo stilettos, Vuitton purses, and Prada dresses, and, as you might imagine, I was underwhelmed by the recent movie. The pursuit of trendiness has always struck me as odd since you can never possibly be “in” for more than twenty minutes, even if you could snap up every hot, to-die-for item at Bloomingdales. Read the rest of this article »

I may have to start shopping at Macy’s again. Oh, not for the clothes, but to thank them for AT LAST placing an ad in the “San Francisco Chronicle” that women can adore.Macy’s soft-core ads of females have appeared in the “Chron” for years. You know the ones-a nubile young thing wearing the latest in skimp, looking out at the reader with her “Come-get-it-big-boy!” stare. As a heterosexual woman, I’ve never figured out why these Macy’s ads should look like the covers of “Playboy,” which in turn look like the covers of “Cosmo.” It’s not like I’m going to drool over the models who appear there. Read the rest of this article »

According to the relationship experts who sent me an announcement about an upcoming seminar, it’s no longer enough to have a regular old, vanilla-style marriage. We now have to have “Smart Marriages.” From the pages of this same brochure scream the titles for break-out sessions on “Hot Monogamy” and “Ultimate Relationships.” I feel as if I were walking around the county fairgrounds and hearing the cries of the carneys: “Cold beer, ice cold beer! Hot Monogamy! Come on in-get your cold beer, your Hot Monogamy-win this stuffed bear for the little lady!!” Makes me tired just to think of it.I wonder what these so-called experts would say if they could peek in on my “marriage” to Steve. I use quotation marks around the word “marriage,” because although we’ve not legally tied the knot, we’ve entwined our hearts and lives for the past nine years. Read the rest of this article »

It’s getting so you can’t eat or buy toys or fly these days without making sure beforehand that you’ve updated your Living Trust. You never know when Mr. Free Market will strike you dead.

Just the other day, I pulled up to the drive-in window at McDonald’s and instead of being asked, “Do you want fries with that?” I thought I heard the woman say, “Do you want salmonella with that?”

I said, “Nope—had that last week. Just give me the e-coli, please.” Read the rest of this article »

It was love at first type the minute I laid hands on my IBM Correcting Selectric II typewriter—Big Blue.

I acquired my clackety-clack friend for $200 after I burned out an identical one typing my 80,000-word first, last, and only novel. Some of the scenes were too steamy even for that sturdy guy.

My Blue Boy may be old, but he can still kick some derrière. When’s the last time you fired up a thirty-three-year-old computer? Read the rest of this article »

Tubby flew into our lives six weeks ago after my sweetheart, Steve, hung up the hummingbird feeder I’d purchased in 1990 but never bothered to put up on the deck.
Within an hour three hummers arrived: Tubby, Susie, and Kevin. Tubby earned his politically incorrect name because of his huge potbelly and because he easily dwarfed the others.

“Good Lord,” I said, when I first spotted him. “How can he fly when he’s so fat? He needs to go to Weight Watchers.” Read the rest of this article »

Last week, I saw a young woman driving a small blue sedan with personalized license plates: “LLB?SK8”. I couldn’t imagine at her age possessing enough faith in a relationship to have it embossed on metal for all the world to see. What would she say to the DMV clerk if (or more likely, WHEN) her relationship ended? Let’s listen in on the conversation:

“Good afternoon, Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“Hi, this is Linda—”
“Yes, Miss Barnes, how can I help you?” Read the rest of this article »

Whatever you do, don’t sneeze into voice mail while you’re doing your banking by phone—you’ll end up sending your assets to Kazakstan. Oh, sure, you might get them back one day, but do you know of a Trader Joe’s that accepts tenges? Didn’t think so. Read the rest of this article »

Ever since the Boys of Enron slipped their greedy hands into our pockets and stole our lunch money, I’ve been on a mad mission to conserve energy.

My favorite energy-saving trick is to dry my clothes outdoors on a dryer rack which I purchased from Target and set up on my deck. I’ve never once found bird poop on my clothes. I hadn’t even thought of that possibility until my sweetheart, Steve, moved in with me six years ago. Read the rest of this article »

Dr. Euphemismos Obfuscato was sitting at his desk in the drafty wing of the castle when Senior Knight, Sir Fawnsalot, barged in. Dr. Euphemismos looked up from his work and, upon seeing Sir Fawnsalot rush through the doorway, put down his pen and rose from his chair. Read the rest of this article »