Off the Hook

I succeeded by saying what everyone else is thinking ~ Joan Rivers




Someone asked me if I have any comedic role models.

Um, yea. I have a few. Der.


1. Joan Rivers. Despite Queen "Can we talk?" Joan’s penchant for plastic surgery and some rather regrettable red carpet decisions, I still consider this outrageous chick as the reigning doyenne of sarcastic humor alive today. I remember watching her on Carson and was in awe of her quick-witted snipe. She’s brutally honest and most people can’t handle that, including Carson at the end. Baby.



Most of the guests couldn’t keep up or to be honest, didn’t know what had hit them. The only late night host in whom I see this same quality is Letterman. He can eviscerate a guest on the spot and they won’t figure it out until the next day in the papers (Joaquin Phoenix much?).

(Yes, I do love Chelsea Handler. She’s sharp and funny. But to be honest, I don’t love her as an interviewer. Yet.)



Before Rivers was the shiny, cold, hard plastic butt of jokes that she is today, she was the one making them—and we listened. Whether it was about her poor husband (may he rest in peace) Edgar, the women of New York, or Hollywood celebs (oh, that poor Liz Taylor), Joan delivered it all in a way so that you knew every joke would have a great punchline.

Rivers was (and remains) an equal opportunity offender and made no apologies for that.



She was never boring.

2. Kathy Griffin. I laugh when I hear people (usually holier than thou religious far-right types—hello, Elisabeth Hasselback, I’m talkin to you) tell me how offensive the Emmy-winning Griffin is. Um, have they ever listened to Eddie Murphy? Chris Rock? George Carlin (whom I adore) for god’s sake?


I think these folks are offended for mainly two reasons: she defends “her gays,” and she constantly makes fun of their poster boy for capitalism in America, Ryan Seacrest (oh, and that moral authority, Oprah). Sure, telling Jesus to suck it might not have been the best move, but wow, did it get her publicity.


Hey, I’m a Jew. We love her.

Yea, there is that tiny little thing about her foul mouth. So fucking what. It’s not like we haven’t heard it before. Lighten up, people. My guess is those same objectors laughed when George Carlin did his bit  The Seven Dirty Words.



But when a woman says them, it’s a whole different story. Perhaps it’s this sexism that is particularly bothersome to female comedians. I know it bugs the hell out of me.



What these two women have in common is that their voice is authentic. They don’t change who they are because society tells them to. What they find funny makes us laugh. And we laugh with them. They are not hugely successful and famous cause they are knockout gorgeous (despite ALL that plastic surgery). They are smart, funny women. They’ve experienced tragedy, stinging criticism, and downright prejudice (Don’t think so? Read their books.). But they’ve gotten back up. Every time.



Why? I think cause they know there are many of us out here who want to hear the funny. We guffaw and then whisper, “Did she really just say that!?” Which is great, cause now WE are off the hook. We can titter and laugh, and yet relate at the same time. They said it so we don’t have to. Let them take the heat. (“Bring it,” Griffin tells Hasselback on The View. I love it.)



As I write my tweets, Mancode posts and work on my book, I think often of these two ladies. I don’t worry if some schmuck thinks I’m going to end up alone cause I’m writing a humorous take on how I’ve traversed eighteen plus years of empty toilet paper rolls, Refrigeratoritis, and grocery stores trips where my guy swears the clerk only spoke wolf.



I’m writing my funny, so you can be off the hook.



Bring it.







Comments welcome, retweets loved. You should follow me on my blog here, on Facebook here, and on Twitter here so you can validate my existence as a writer. And stuff.



Check out Kathy Griffin's website here. Hysterical. She's also on Twitter and Facebook. There's also an unflinching new documentary out about Rivers called "A Piece of Work" which should be very interesting. Here's the NY Magazine article about it.

The Toy Emporium of Wonder and Temptation

My husband likes for the whole family to go run errands with him.


I would classify this as classic Mancode behavior.



Let me explain.



You can imagine my tween girl’s joy when her daddy announces that he, now we, are going to The Hardware Store, that male bastion of testosterone since time immemorial, all together as a familial group.



Won’t that be fun?



By the time he’s dragged her out from under the bed with cries of “Can someone adopt me, please!?” and we’re on our way, our little guy is usually jumping out of his skin with glee to see all of the cool gadgets that are only available in the most amazingly, awesomest amusement park of a store ever invented.



Joy.



This is about when my husband will give me THE LOOK.



If you are a parent, or heck, if you’ve ever even been in a relationship, you know THE LOOK. It’s the silent “You better come in with me and save me” look.



This is where my husband and I differ, oh shall we say, philosophically, on the subject of running errands as um, say, a pack of hyenas.



You see, if he went by himself, he could go get his nails, washers and other Dude Whatnot of Power and be back in ten minutes. Now. I realize that a lot of father/son bonding goes on in the inner sanctum of the hardware store, away from the prying eyes of us females. I am not trying to deny my boys their toolman destiny.



But little dude IS only four. He’s still in the temper tantrum phase; the ‘give me it I don’t care what it is I just want it so I can forget about it but I still want it right now or I’ll scream’ phase delivered in that ten-decibel pitch that we wish only dogs could hear.



This still leaves plenty of time for future boy bonding at The Hardware Store.



So back to THE LOOK. I ignore it. I’m just not going to go into the Toy Emporium of Wonder and Temptation to help out my husband this time. Nope. Call me a bitch if you want. If disagreeing with my husband means I’m being a bitch, so be it. I own it, baby.



See, here’s the thing.



I love that my guy wants us all to be together. I truly do. But how about for a meal or the park? A walk on the beach? Buying a new hammer or making a key as a family might make it more fun for HIM (yea, I don’t get it either). But for us? As my tween daughter says, it might be selfish on our part but dude, you’re a daddy. Man up and do the yucky stuff by yourself.



Daughter rolls her eyes (a no-no), but only I notice since husband is dealing with screaming hyena boy who wants to join him in all the magical fun. I retreat suddenly and with deep interest into my iPhone, while my tween plays "How to Become the Drama Queen You've Always Dreamed Of" on her DS. Husband breathes a sigh loaded with the trepidation of a condemned man and gives in.



“Fine,” he mumbles in defeat. “But no toys,” he tells our son with false bravado, which is soon drowned out as puppy boy scrambles over drama queen faster than a lobster in hot water. “Ouch!” she cries loudly in protest. “Shhhh,” I whisper soothingly, reminding her that we have quiet now, at last. For a few blessed minutes anyway.



And we breathe.



Divide and conquer really is the best way to go for the mundane stuff—errands gets done quickly and without all the fuss. That is, when I can convince my husband to actually do what I suggest. (Note: A mother running errands alone is strictly prohibited. Mothers are not allowed time alone. It is written. The Mancode, Chapter 5, page 102.*)

The ideal errand situation is usually boy-boy, girl-girl—given our “perfect” (see Rachel laugh) boy-girl ratio. Plus, it gives us all a chance to do that bonding stuff you’ve probably heard so much about.



Spending money really does bring you closer to your kids, ya know? Even if it is just the boring stuff.



This bitch actually loves to man up.





I wrote this post for Amber over at @bitchogram -- she offers a unique, cool service. Click here to check it out. Stay tuned for a fun, cool contest coming up involving @bitchogram, baby. You won't want to miss it.

If you enjoyed this article, you should follow @RachelintheOC on Twitter here, my blog here (see the FOLLOW button up there on the right? Yea, click that), or on Facebook here, so you don’t miss out on any of my smartass fun.

*Rachel is working on her book about men called The Mancode, A Survivor's Tale. Check the blog for tales about marriage, kids, being a mom, living in the OC (ya know--as a pale redhead living in a sea of blondes) and vodka. Not necessarily in that order depending on the day.

Thanks for stopping by. Now leave a comment or go away. Kidding. Not really.

The Key To Twitter Success by Guest Blogger @2morrowKnight

The Key to Twitter Success: Engage and Participate by Guest Blogger @2morrowKnight




For some time, people have shared their thoughts on what it takes to build a great reputation on Twitter and thrive on the site. For me, only one thing has worked: how I engage people. As J.D. Andrews once said, “Twitter is not just about posting, it’s about participation.”



This is true.



It’s all about engagement. If you see that some one is from a particular city, recommend some tweeps that person can get to know. If you see someone trying to improve their tweeting experience, recommend some great twitter apps and tools.



One of the best ways to engage is through retweets. For instance, if you are looking to grow your following in a very substantive way, make a point of retweeting someone new each day. My twitter feed’s content is intentionally diverse: random facts, breaking news, social media, quotes, music, etc. I reach out to tweeters from all over the world, and I believe I’m much better for it.



Twitter is what you make it. People are always looking, studying, and making mental notes of what you do. So as you raise your level of participation, always apply the very best of what is positive, inspiring, and empowering, and I guarantee you will start building something more rewarding than mere popularity: respect.



Engage, participate…and grow.
 
 
Ginormous thanks to Twitter star Sean Gardner, aka @2morrowKnight --social media expert, cool dude, and regular contributor to The Huffington Post. I'm honored to call him a mentor and friend. You should check out his awesome blog here.
 
Follow my blog here or check me out on Twitter or Facebook. As always, comment appreciated, retweets loved.
 
Thanks for stopping by.

I Speak Wolf (Mancode Post #10)

Q: How many men does it take to change a toilet paper roll?

A: I don't know. It's never happened.

This Mancode thing has been good for my marriage.


Sometimes I don’t understand the male species. This is well-documented on my blog (you won’t three-point throw wet towels into the dirty clothes hamper that’s RIGHT next to you because they’re WET? Yea, I’ll never get my mind around that one). And the TV remote? Well, don't even get me started (go read "Universal Remote" instead).

Clearly, I’m not alone. Um, have you checked out the relationship section of your local bookstore (or Amazon) lately?

If this is your first visit to my blog, you may want to peruse a few of my other Mancode articles. The name came to me one day after I’d finally just had it, after eighteen years of marriage, with having to change the toilet paper roll. Again. Eighteen years of changing toilet paper rolls can kinda wear on a girl, you know?

So I did what any level-headed, yet slightly fed up chick, would do.

I wrote about it.

A lot.

Nine Mancode posts later, my husband and I have now reached a, shall we say, shorthand way of communicating with each other.

He’ll stand in front of the frig looking for something, say the large tub of butter that’s right in front of his nose and, as he yells, “Honey! Where’s the butter!” I’ll simply reply: “Refrigeratoritis.”

He’ll look a little harder.

While he’s still got a ways to go in the kitchen—he’s a great cook but a not-so-great cleaner upper, i.e., he’ll put his glass NEXT to the sink in the Land of Far Far Away from the Dishwasher (you know, that unfamiliar machine that doesn’t exist in Guy World)—he has improved a bit in the bathroom area. In fact, he actually put on a new toilet paper roll the other day.

It was a good thing he was standing close by when I noticed, given that I fainted and all.

He has even graduated from just putting the dirty clothes into the washing machine and leaving them to mold into a science project, to actually moving them into that other odd contraption that is evidently not just taking up space for the heck of it known as a dryer. Not that said clothes ever actually move from there, of course. They just sort of build up in there. Like a clothing mountain, if you will--their only chance of rescue the occasional buzzing “beep beep” of the ‘dammit you idiot get us out of here we were done yesterday’ signal. And if I mention cleaning the lint screen, he looks at me as if I’m speaking wolf, the same language the clerks apparently speak on his solo trips to the grocery store. Which clearly, I am.

I think if he actually folded a load (before it laid eggs) and god forbid put it away, I might end up in the hospital.

Husband is a good sport though and laughs supportively and with quasi-believable chivalry at the criticism I receive from almost exclusively seemingly perfect single men. Yea. I know.

Sure, I do stupid stuff and admit that I am, on rare occasions, wrong or even kind of a bitch. Yet what is at the heart of my posts is this: sometimes guys do silly, goofy things that we gals just don’t get (and okay, okay--vice versa) and silly me—I’m a writer. I’m going to write about it.

Now I just have to work on this Manesia thing.


You can also view this post over at my friend cool dude @EdwardHotchkiss site -- tell him RachelintheOC sent ya.


Comments appreciated, retweets loved.


Thanks for following me here on my blog. If you haven't yet, yo. Get right on that. Please click the follow button above so I don't feel my life is a wasted hollow tube of uselessness. Yea, right. Still. Could ya?


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The Morning After Pill

I had the unfortunate displeasure of watching Kathie Lee Gifford on the later segment of The TODAY Show the other morning as I was getting ready in our hotel room.

I never watch the TODAY show or anything having to do with that annoying woman so I was a little taken aback to see her. Well, actually I heard THAT VOICE. Seriously, why is she still on TV? It must be purely for our entertainment, and not in a good way.

(It pains me to even write her name, so I shall heretofore refer to her as KLG. Hoda is pretty cool though.)

I really have no idea what this particular morning’s show was about (Is it ever about anything? Really?). I just happened to tune in when they had on two guest OB/GYNs. KLG & Hoda were discussing, get this, birth control options.

I thought KLG’s head was going to explode.

The discussion went as such (with a few RachelintheOC flourishes):

OMG—birth control? Cover Kody’s ears! Sex before marriage? NOT MY KODY! I will DIE before that happens. Hurry, Hoda, put those condoms away, KLG hissed. Kody might SEE.

How can people be so CALM about this? asked KLG. The only national emergency I see here is allowing our kids to have sex before marriage. Lock them up! What do you MEAN it’s not a federal crime? she asked Hoda. What kind of country is this?

KLG’s eyes were positively wild with fear. We will not put birth control on TV, NBC. I will quit. Our children cannot know that such things exist, I would bet money she fumed to her producers right before the segment was up. You mean a woman can actually kill a potential LIFE by taking a pill if she thinks she might be pregnant? Well, jeepers, Hoda, I never thought I’d live to see the day. It’s just, just…disgusting is what it is. Look at my face, people. These googly eyes don’t lie.

Honestly, this ridiculously vacuous America’s Sweetheart needs to GO AWAY. Her face was filled with such rage and disapproval over the topic of birth control for our “children.” You could just feel the anger she felt at the betrayal of her religious beliefs being splashed all over national television. How dare their guests mention (gasp!) condoms and emergency birth control for our (slaps cheeks) little babies? We must teach abstinence! Or we should expect God’s wrath.

I’m not saying this only because of my personal beliefs. KLG was an embarrassment to the physician guests trying in vain to get a single word in to their special mother and daughter audience (and hello?) national audience as well. The chick just isn’t doing the job the geniuses at NBC are paying her to do. Call me crazy but somehow inserting your religious beliefs and being judgmental over a teenage national health issue (crisis) seems, to me, like she’s not doing her job.

Poor Hoda – I can’t imagine what it’s like to deal with such a politically close-minded woman, daily. Yet people seem to love this inane waste of space. Why?

Do you want to know what bothers me the most? I’ve never been a fan of hers; I can say that with all honesty. But I did quasi-respect the success she achieved early on in the typically male-dominated arena of morning news of the early 80s. She successfully parlayed that exposure into several admittedly tacky affordable clothing lines of dubious origin, various and sundry gaudy jewelry lines, as well as a questionable singing and acting career. While any shred of respect I had for her was pretty much slim, she made it was easy to go to none from there. (And don’t even get me started on the plastic surgery. Oy.)

So, where does that leave me and KLG? Well, you can be sure I won’t be tuning in to watch her--not that I ever did before. But I damn sure won’t ever tune in again.

Even if I just want to watch her head explode.

Treasures

Eleven years ago tonight, I entered the hospital.

I was miserable.

I was pregnant.

A smartass male nurse, the type with the witty repartee you see on TV but so rarely encounter in real life, sauntered in around midnight, began my evil Pitocin drip and handed me a very pretty little Haldol capsule.

Jose said enjoy, chica. This will be the last night of full sleep you will have for eighteen years.

Brother was not kidding.

And yet…

It sounds so cliché to say that I wouldn’t trade a second of time with my daughter, Anya, but it’s true. Well, maybe those two broken arms. Those weren’t much fun, to be honest. And I can do without the drama queen meltdowns she seems to be quite fond of these days. And all the “in a minutes,” that seldom come to fruition when I "remind" her to do her chores.

But I digress.

Actually, the above isn’t entirely true. Because what comes on the opposite side of the broken arms and the meltdowns are the hugs, kisses, snuggles, and talks. The bonding and the closeness, the tears and conversations about the unfairness of the world, the beauty of the stars, and caressing the sweet softness of her little brother as he sleeps.

Precious treasures that I keep folded closely inside my heart.

Her gift to me.

Happy birthday, baby.

Universal Remote Part II (ManCode Post #9)

Please read "Universal Remote Part 1" here. The post where I ponder if men channel surf  because they can't relationship surf.

Come on. Keep up.

Do men keep the volume up so high as a way of exerting their masculinity? Or is the remote control simply another power tool? (Is that why they sell them at Ace Hardware?) Or, are they simply afraid that they might miss the latest e*trade baby commercial?

Do men turn the volume up so high simply because the button is there?


We women look at this topic differently. Any woman out there will agree with me when I say that guys, if you're going to be in charge of the control, you need to take your job seriously and mute those damn commercials. We accept your psychological need to dominate the remote, but we need to get something in return.

Therefore I propose a deal: give us our daily bread and mute those annoying phone families and Peeping Tom mops. We'd actually just prefer it if you'd keep your thumb over the MUTE button like the trigger-happy cowboy we know you fantasized about becoming when you were ten. (We’ve seen the little red hat in the closet, baby. We know.)

Go ahead. Show off when you do it. Feel all manly about it. We'll even give you a polite golf clap if you'd like (while we roll our eyes and hold out our martini glass).

We appreciate your channel surfing as a substitute for temptation but you must do your part and Dear God, deliver us from that evil El Pollo Loco dude and those creditreport.com guys.

There's no "i" in teamwork, sweetie. See how easily we can work together on this?

I’ll give you an example…


My older sister and her husband C are dedicated TV watchers. She says that when her husband dies, they will have to pry that remote out of his cold, stiff hand.


So she actually bought him a dummy control. Yep. He couldn't go to sleep at night without that remote control in his hand, yet he would wake whenever she tried to slide it out of his vice-like grip to Oh my God turn it down or to watch her own show.

So she gave him his "binky" so to speak. Now she watches her shows at a reasonable volume and, fake control in hand, Mr. Sandman takes C off to sleep every night. Smile on his face, C fades into dreams of naked girls...and baseball...and Last Comic Standing...and...

Nope, not kidding.

So while you may laugh, they just celebrated their twentieth anniversary.

My advice? In order to stay off the therapist’s couch over this simple #ManCode issue, we girls may have to give in a little on this one. Let your man have the illusion of control. It’s not like you can’t watch your shows at some point later anyway, right?

Most likely, he still hasn’t figured out the DVR.


Besides, we’ve got a walk-in closet to conquer.


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