Tag Archives: hilarious

Resolving to Keep my New Year’s Resolution

1 Feb

Written by Tracy Beckerman of Lost in Suburbia 

  Last year I made a New Year’s resolution not to make any New Year’s resolutions because I always immediately break them.  Of course I didn’t remember making this resolution until I was in the car one day sitting in traffic and getting really steamed about all the rude people on the road.  After someone cut me off and my daughter yelled out, “Watch where you’re goin’, you moron,” I realized that I might not be setting the best example for my children. I decided then that I was going to break my last New Year’s resolution and resolve to work on my road rage.
When I lived in New York City, I didn’t really have a problem with road rage.  This was most likely due to the fact that I didn’t have a car.  Once we moved to the suburbs, though, we got a car and I actually had to do quite a bit of driving.  I s

oon learned that the suburbs are filled with bad drivers.  And most of them, it seemed, w ere always right in front of me.  Or behind me.  Or cutting me off.  Or stealing my parking space.  My usual calm response to this was a few choice words, some fist-shaking, and an occasional, full-blown hissy fit.


Although I came by my road rage both genetically and geographically (us New York Jews are notoriously hostile drivers) I realized that I might live a little longer if I resolved to be a kinder, gentler driver.  For a while, I was much better.  When people cut me off, I would just smile and wave them on.  If someone tailgated me, I would pull over and let them pass. When somebody else swooped in and stole the mall parking spot I’d been waiting for and there weren’t any other spots within a mile of the mall entrance, I just let her have it (the spot… I let her have the spot!).
Then one day I found myself behind a car that was going so slowly, it might as well have been going backwards.  I immediately took note of the fact that the car was a big, old, cream-colored Lincoln Town Car with Florida plates and a bumpe r sticker that said, “Kiss my Tuchas.” It also seemed, quite mysteriously, to be driving itself. Well, that’s not exactly true.  I could see a pair of hands on the steering wheel, but there was no head.  It was a headless, Floridian driver doing 10 miles an hour in a 35 mile-an-hour zone on a one-lane road and I was stuck behind it, losing my mind.
If ever there was a recipe for road rage, here it was.  Of course, I was very late for an appointment, to boot, so what little patience I had wore thin after two miles.  All we needed was a couple of floats, a marching band, and some Snoopy balloons and we could have our own suburban parade.
For five miles I tailgated the headless driver, getting more and more frustrated, and mentally willing him/her/it to pull over, or turn, or be beamed up to an alien space ship and flown away. Finally, we got to a major intersection, and the Lincoln pulled over to make a turn.  I pulled up next to it and looked over.  There, behind the whe el, was a very old lady, about 110 years old.  I immediately felt awful for tailgating her and belatedly recalled my New Years resolution.  I gave her a weak smile and a little, apologetic wave of my hand.

The itty bitty old lady looked over at me, raised her hand in return…
And gave me the finger.
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Fame Has It’s Price…$67.49

24 Jan

Written by Lori Stefanac of

So, I was shopping at one of my favorite little boutiques the other day when I noticed the store clerk staring at me.

I pretended to go about my business, but it was actually sort of difficult to concentrate with all of the fucking staring.

Finally, feeling rather exasperated, I look up and we meet eyes.

The clerk asks, “Can I help you with anything?”

She’s being coy.

“No, no. I’m good” I say as I continue methodically working my way through the rack.

You see? I know what’s going on.

This store clerk?

She recognizes me.

I have achieved a bit of celebrity here in my small town and she is staring at me because she knows who I am, but she’s embarrassed to say anything.

Shut the fuck up! She does SO know who I am and is in no way just looking at me because I happen to be the only customer in the store.

Anyhow, I’m used to it by now.

The side glances, the double-takes and even the outright staring…

It’s all just the price of fame.

At this point I have acquired a few pieces that I would like to try on.

Store clerk approaches.

Poor dear…she’s nervous.

I can tell by the way she is walking with a wobble.

Shaking really.

A wobble having nothing to do with her 4 inch heels.

“Can I get you a dressing room?” she asks…shyly.

“Sure” I say.

I am OVERLY friendly to put her at ease.

I mean, come on, Honey, I’m JUST like every other customer…

Except for the FAME…

don’t be NERVOUS!

She leads me to the dressing room and as she opens the door for me she introduces herself.

“My name is Cindy if you need anything. What’s your name?”

That’s cute.

Like she needed to ask.

But I play along.

Afterall, this is a REALLY big day for her.

I’m sure when I leave, she’ll be on the phone, all “OH MY GOD! YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHO WAS IN THE STORE SHOPPING TODAY!!!”

“Lola” I reply cooly.

She acts as if it doesn’t ring a bell.

She’s a pretty good actress.

I try on the clothes and select a couple of things that I like.

As I approach the register the clerk, Cindy, looks up.

“Did anything work out for you?” she asks.

She has had time to compose herself in my presence. I’m glad.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, It DID. These!” I declare as I place the items on the counter.

The items that will undoubtedly be known, from this time forward as “Items Worn By Lola!!”

“Oh, yeah! Those are SO cute!” says Cindy.

Like I, Lola, need to be told which items are CUTE.

Even if they WEREN’T cute? They’ll be flying off the rack as soon as the masses get wind of WHO purchased them.

I snicker a little to myself.

“Yes, they are SO cute!”

I’m nothing if not agreeable.

Now comes the part I both dread yet understand.

I look away and pretend not to pay attention.

I AM modest, afterall.

But it’s all a part of “celebrity” and it’s something that I MUST deal with.

“Um, Lola? Can you just sign this?”

And there it is.

Sweet girl.

Took her ALL this time to muster up the nerve to ask for my autograph.

“Sure! It’ll be my pleasure” I reply with my toothy white celebrity smile and ever present graciousness.

“Where do you want me to sign?” I ask.

“Just right here, on the line” she says as she points to a small piece of paper.

It’s too bad I forgot my autographed 8 x 10 glossies at home.

Oh well.

I’ll make sure to throw them in my purse for next time.

“And who should I make this out to?” I ask.

“Uh, just to the store….Just sign on the line if you don’t mind” she says, clearly embarrassed to be putting me out.

I give her a wink to put her at ease, “will do.”

Then I write in my curvy, beautiful celebrity writing:

FROM LOLA WITH LOVE XOXO

Cindy takes the slip of paper and looks at it for a moment.

Call me crazy, but for just a second?

She seemed…well…almost annoyed.

I don’t get it either.

Perhaps she really wanted the autograph made out to her personally and lost her nerve at the last second.

I decide to let her off the hook.

I grab a business card from the stack on the counter and I give her another wink.

“Here, Honey! This one’s for YOU!”

I sign the business card and hand it to her.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND CINDY! IF YOU SHOOT FOR THE MOON, YOU MAY LAND AMONG THE STARS.
MUCH LOLA LOVE

I know, I know…inspirational.

I get teary eyed myself when I think about it.

Anyhow, THAT awkwardness being overwith, I give her one more celebrity wink and make my way towards the door.

“Ta ta, Cindy! Feel free to tell your friends! Oh! I almost forgot! Did you want a picture? I have my phone!”

She looks puzzled.

She probably can’t understand why I’m SO NICE!

Apparently shyness has gotten the best of her again and she declines the photo.

Her loss.

Anyway, when I get to the door I pause…

I open my purse and pull out my super big diva sunglasses.

I place them gently on my nose and peer around the corner before I continue on my way.

Why am I so careful?

One word…

Paparazzi.

 

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