Posts Tagged ‘writing’

blog-trafficEveryone’s favorite elephant is implementing a new service to her readers.  Yes, you heard correctly, there’s no pumping gas here -this is a full service blog.  

Because there are so many of you out there with painfully hip, wonderfully hilarious, and depressingly heartfelt blogs, I would like people to get to know you.    Instead of me just choosing blogs that I like that featuring them  (which would tend to be the same kind of blog over and over)  I am opening it up to anyone who reads this blog.

What do you have to do?  Dahling, all you have to do is leave a comment on each blog post the elephant writes for that week.  You don’t have to leave one the same day that I make the post, just at some point within the week.  Which, given the laziness levels around here, the posts most likely won’t be everyday.  This is also something you should get in the habit of doing because anytime you leave a link to your site on another blog, you help your search engine ranking.  The contest will run friday to friday.  Then I will randomnly select a name from all of those who qualify.  I will then contact you and let you know so you can give me links to posts you would like highlighted. 

Then I will convince the world that you have the greatest blog known to man.  Everyone will visit you and you will blow up like the next Oprah.  Literally.  No.   That was mean.

This contest starts today!

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[OR The Secret to Financial Freedom]

When all you do is write for a living, you become a hermit by default.  When I say hermit, I mean that I’m skeptical as to whether or not my car will even start due to how long it’s been sitting in my garage.   Between the endless writing and working on my new business [which I hope to launch in the Spring but will not announce because as soon as there is a deadline I will crack under the pressure that only I have imposed upon myself]  I have no choice but to sit in front of a computer all day, unshowered and in sweats. 

It’s really okay though, for I have found the secret to financial freedom is in not going anywhere.  It’s 99.2% affective that you will not spend money if you don’t leave your house.   I say 99.2% because there are those of you out there who will find ways to scam the system and buy things via the internet or Home Shopping Network.  In which case, you are a lost cause anyway because you are attracted to things like Snuggies  (or as the YouTube video below refers to them – the WTF blanket) and ShamWows.  There is no hope of you ever saving money when you buy crap like that.  Enjoy your lifetime of financial ruin.


Today, I reached the breaking point;  the point at which I had no choice but to leave the “den” as my friends lovingly refer to it.  And I say lovingly because they too LOVE the den.  There’s something magical about my room that forces people to be lazy, maybe it’s the fact that I allow nothing other than ambient lighting.  In fact, I don’t think any of my friends have sat on my couch.  As soon as they enter the door, they head straight for the bed, where they can be assured to view mindless daytime TV, feast on an assortment of leftover holiday chocolates conventiently located on the nightstand, and check this blog from my laptop to see how I embarrassed them recently.  When you enter my life as an acquaintance or luckier yet a friend, you run the risk of me publicizing your life in any way I see fit.  And usually, the way I see fit is to make a mockery out of it.   OK.  Will you stop distracting me?   Anyway, today I realized that I’d eaten everything in my fridge except a very questionable  rotten pomegranite and some Ferro Rocher’s in the shape of a Christmas Tree.   I had to leave.

So I went to the grocery store and just as I suspected, I spent money.  If I would have just stuck to my plan I’d still be on top of the game.   So now that I have offically conducted a double blind experiement of my hypothesis, I will be re-writing this cost saving plan into an e-book, which will be available for purchase on my website.


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Today, I conquered the world.   Or so it seemed.  Granted, my own imaginary world, where only I exist, but it was still something to behold.  It started with me actually prying myself from the computer which I have been diligently placed in front of for the better half of a month.  First, I returned the dvd’s which had been patiently awaiting next to my door since New Year’s Eve.

  Then, I mailed three books that I sold on Amazon two weeks ago, but agreed to ship within 2 business days.  After this, followed a triumphant moment in which I deposited my check from Chicken Soup for the Soul.  Triumphant only this isn't actually me.  but a good likeness on any given day.to me, I realize.  Then, as I was driving home, I attempted to read the book that was glaring up at me from my passenger seat. 

<—–not me, but a good likeness on any given day.

I think I’ve made it clear before that I don’t read books.  And that still holds true, except in the event I find a book that offers me some sort of meaningless and hilarious commentary.  Books which have fit into this category include: 

Couplehood by Paul RiserSein Language by Jerry Seinfeld, and He’s Just Not That Into You by [whatever guy helped write Sex and the City].  That’s about it.  Of all the stacks of amazing books that I own, these are the only ones I have actually cracked open.  Add to that list: I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley.   With a title like that, you can imagine why I was willing to risk my life  [and the lives of several others] today in order to read the first paragraph.

Exciting things happening in the Elephant’s life these days.  New clients, a new business on the rise, and most excitingly I’m starting to take this whole book writing thing more seriously.  The problem is with creative people is that we have TOO many ideas.  Know what I mean?  The thought of choosing one, just one measley little topic to write a book on is the most daunting challenge I can imagine.  Which is exactly why I’m not doing it.  I’ve come to the conclusion that my book will be:  a) non-fiction of course;  b) non-serious of course;  c) either short stories or essays compiled with some cohesive theme.   Choosing that theme will probably take another couple years… yea. 


Okay, so I really didn’t get anywhere today.


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For those of you who asked, if you want to check out my story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Resolution you can buy it at Amazon, rent it at your local bookstore, or steal it from your local Walmart.  It is available and in stores as of TODAY!


Also, I have finally got my professional website wordsbybrit.com up and running.   Although it’s a bit ghetto, at this point it’s only so that I have a place to direct people when I apply for freelance jobs. 

If you haven’t noticed, it’s a blizzard outside so I suggest that you stay in and check out the rest of my Christmasy posts, which you will need in order to brave the holidays:

Black Friday, Depression, and a Salvation Army Chair

8 Days of Christmas Singlehood

5 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Date an Only Child [or] Christmas is Cancelled

Festivus for the Rest of Us

An Office holiday party and after Christmas sales

…..I’ve done alot of shopping this year, but as it turns out I’m the easiest person to buy for.  Crap.


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WARNING:   I’m going to have to ask that no matter how innocent and beautifully honest this blog may be, that you don’t fondle, grope, caress, or touch it inappropriately in any way – even if it is the blog of your dreams


BREAKING NEWS:  Prince Charming was NOT spotted today [or ever for that matter]  galloping upon a snow white steed, harboring a large shield for warding off dragons or scary people with guns, while traveling  through the enchanted forest to rescue a long- haired, bottle -blond damsel with daddy issues.  Sources have revealed that the reason he was not spotted was because he actually does not exist!


[ Cinderella’s response to the shocking news: “You mean I’ve been sweeping up all this soot and ironing my evil stepsisters’ button down shirts and there’s no fricken prince at the end of the tunnel?  What kind of CRAP is that?!” ]

Ladies: let’s just get something straight.  Prince Charming isn’t around.  He jumped the border and he’s headed for Atlantis.  To my knowledge he hasn’t even left a close relative or body double to be your shoulder to cry on.  He didn’t even leave his snow white stallion around the stables for you to pet.  His mother, the Queen of Nonexistent Men, found this note under his pillow:


 Dear Completely Delusional Yet Surprisingly Hopeful Women of the Land, 


“I feel like a classic fool.  [the imaginary Prince is British, of course]  I could no longer keep up this silly charade.  Blessed Respite! I am nothing but a fake.  I’m a big, fat (but very trim), dodgy  phony. I don’t have a steed, or a stallion, all I’ve got is an ‘88 Ford Fiesta.  I don’t ward off dragons, I run in the face of danger.  I run! I am nothing but a yellow- bellied coward, a coward I say!  My entire life is a farce, and I am the only one to blame.  Except for my mum who is partly to blame.”

 Cheers,   Prince C.




MORE BREAKING NEWS:  We are getting reports of a supposed uproar in Disney World.  Snow White has strapped a bomb to her up-do and is threatening to blow up her Happily Ever After Castle (which was to be her wedding gift from King Charming)  The Gingerbread man has plummeted head first off Humpty Dumpty’s wall, and Tinkerbell has joined forces with the fairy godmother coalition to spread raging pixie dust wildfires all across the land!



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now, since my number one priority is and always has been your comfort, i want you to kick back in that ridiculous thing you call a recliner (i mean, would it kill you to update it?),  turn on some smooth jazz (not so smooth that you pass out, but not so fast that you can’t fully absorb what i’m saying), take off your socks (but could you chill out with the canvas shoes already?)  and join me for a tall one as we solve the hardships of the world and scrutinize the problems of others.  shall we?


during the nice, long, and relaxing weekend i had some time to ponder my thoughts, catch my breath,  and  get down and dirty to the matter at hand, which is words that should exist.



 ORGANITY: a state of being that people achieve when they honestly believe that by paying twice as much for “certified organic” foods they are actually lengthening their lifespan. also, when they purchase the certifiably organic foods, they will most likely opt for a reusable bag instead of a plastic one so they can save the earth at the same time. 


DISCONFECT: To sterilize the piece of candy which you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, perhaps stroking it, and having full confidence this will remove all germs.




LACTOMANGULATION: Manhandling the “open here” spout on a milk carton so badly that you must resort to the illegal side.



CARPETUATION: The act, when vacuuming, of running over a piece of string at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it down to give the vacuum one more chance.







CAPRIGROPATION: the delicate struggle that in sues when you have a Capri Sun and you’re attempting to get the straw through that ridiculous hole at the top of the package, all the while not squeezing too hard so that you don’t spray yourself with the paradise blend. 




PETROPHOBIC: One who is terrified to undress in front of a house pet.

dang fido, is it just me, or has she put on a few since Easter ?”





TELECRASTINATION: The act of letting the phone ring about three times, even though you’ve been anticipating that call for the better half of a week. Or perhaps your life.








 FRUST: The tiny line of debris that refuses to be swept up, thus backing a person across the entire room until they have reached surmountable frustrastion levels and sweep it under the fridge. 


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As previously stated –or not, unlike politicians or car salesmen, I try not to make any big promises.  So when I say this blog is mostly about relationships, clearly, I mean that its about 50% relationships, 50% random crap.    So in regards to the 50% random crap… insert topic [  work  ].

Being a banker provides me with endless entertainment and comic relief.  This whole stimulus check thing has increased the amount of entertainment I enjoy on any given day.  I will now share two recent examples with the whole class:

1.  Having people with emails such as: Too_good_4yoAss or FineLeGz34  or DontYOUwish calling three  OR four times a day asking:


 FineLeGz: “Um, yeeeaaaaa, I just need to know, did Bush put that money in my account yet?” 

 Me: siiiiiiiigh.  Pause.  “account number?”


 ..And I can tell they feel partly ashamed that they’re asking me since they’ve called last 24 days in a row.  And they know that I know their voice.  So the next time they call they try to modify it so I won’t catch on.  But don’t worry, I make sure they know I’m on to them.  Some attempts at modifications have included: 


A.) Too_Good: “yea, I was wondering if  you could check the past couple weeks and see if I got any deposits- say around 300 or 600 dollars?” 


Me: “oh, ok. so you’re checking on your stimulus payment?


B.) FineLeGz:  “I’m expecting a direct deposit to my account, can you tell me did I get anything in?” 

Me: “oh, for your payroll?” 

FineLeGz: “no i think it should be from the government or something.” 

Me: “oh, for social security?”

FineLeGz:  “no, i think there should be some kind a refund in there or something.”

Me: “oh, ok. So you’re checking on your stimulus payment?”

FineLeGz: “yea i guess.  whatever that is.”  (acting like its no big deal)


C.) DontYOUwish: “yea I  just need you to see if i got my stimulation yet?  i was trying to use the ultimatum (intending to say “automated” as in the telephone banking system) and it wasn’t letting me through.”


Me: [thinking, but not saying: “maam, i don’t want to discuss your sex life.” 



2. My second favorite kind of call is from the elderly white ladies who call the first day of EVERY month to make sure their social security was deposited in their account- and even though it is the EXACT same amount every month, they still ask how much it was.  Their conversations usually start like this:


Elderly lady: (no hello, no introduction) “I just want to say that I’m in America, I should not have to press 1 for English, you know.” 


Me: pause.  sure.  Account number?” 


Elderly lady: (hoping that they can irritate me enough so that they can strike up an argument) “well I’m just saying, I shouldn’t have to press 1, this is an English speaking country, you know?” 


Me: “yes. Yes, I know we’re in America.  Account number?”


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disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.


Him: can you trim my hair?  its getting kinda bushy on the sides.

Her:  yea, i can do it real quick before i leave.

Him: sweet.  thanks (puts towel around his shoulders and sits on the toilet)

Her:  (grabs the scissors, picks up the bathroom garbage can, and hands it to him)  here. can you hold this please so i can put the hair in it?

Him: not really.  its dirty.

Her: its dirty?

Him: yea.  dirty.

Her:  (ties the trash bag and sets it on the floor, then places the can back in his hands)  there. now its not dirty.

Him:  yes it is.  its been on the floor.

Her:  the floor? my floor is not dirty.  i’m a painfully tidy perfectionist, remember?

Him:  (begrudgingly places the can between his legs)

Her:  no.  (puts it back in his hands) i need you to hold it up higher so i can reach it.  otherwise, it defeats the purpose of having it there in the first place.

Him: i’m not holding it (hands it back to her)

Her:  you’re taking a shower after this, so what does it matter?  (hands it back)

Him:  (hands it back)  it matters because i don’t want to. thats why.

Her:  well you know what?  i  don’t really want to cut your hair when i’m running late but i am.  it’s not always about what you want.  i actually need you to hold the garbage can so it will be easier for me. 

don’t you think you’re acting a bit childish?

Him: so you’re calling me a child because i don’t want to hold a dusty, nasty crap bathroom garbage can that has pieces of your hair and chunks of gooey hair products and fiber bars stuck all over the bottom of it?

Her: oh, i’m sorry.  i’m sooooooo sorry that i have long hair and it gets all over everything.  last time i checked, you loved my hair.  would you like me to chop it all off?

Him: uuuuugh. 

Her: what?

Him: yes.  yes.  that is what i would prefer.  please cut your hair all off like a man so the garbage can won’t be gooey and hairy. 

then i can hold it.  then you can cut my hair.  then everything will be perfect and the stars will align,  hilary clinton go home, and evil dictators will acquire a soft spot and people everywhere will be free.

Moral of the story?



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scenario:  man has date.  man decides to bring date to a movie in hopes of getting some make-out action.  man calls to check movie times…


man: (dials 1-800-FANDANGO)


automated FANDANGO lady: Thank you for calling 1-800-FANDANGO, now powered by Lifesearch.  (beep, beep, beep) i’m sorry, i didn’t get that.  if you’re calling from the Netherlands, please press 1, for a different location, press 2.

man: ? but wait, i didn’t even say anything yet.   (presses 2)

lady:  i’m sorry.  i still didn’t hear you.  please breathe if you are calling from the Netherlands.

man: wait, what?

lady:   thank you.  do you have a theater express code?

man:  NO.

lady:  ok.  please say the movie you are looking for in the Netherlands

man:  Spiderman.  but i’m in Orlando.

lady:  (making what sounds to be a chuckle) i’m sorry.  that movie doesn’t exist.  please say your movie again.



man:  SPI-DER-MAN!        

lady:  did you say, Knocked Up?

man:  no. no i didn’t, you stupid wench.     

lady:  ok, i got that.  to hear show times for The English Patient, please press 1.  for another movie, press 2.

man: (presses 2)

lady:  please raise your voice if you want to hear the show times for all foreign films in Seattle.

man: (interrupts) NO, WAIT! GO BACK. IT’S ORLANDO.

lady: (chuckle) i’m sorry, i didn’t get that.

man: Orlando, you crack whore.

lady:  please select an option from the menu.

man: how bout you just give me the movie times you ignorant slut.

lady:  ok, i got that.  (beep, beep)  say YES for directions to the nearest IHOP

man:  listen, you worthless ho. you may think you’re just an anonymous voice on the other end of the phone, but i will hurt you and won’t even bat an eyelash. do you understand what i’m saying?

lady:  (chuckle) i’m sorry, keresotes stopped showing silent films in 1921.

man:  alright. i’m short on time, and i’m willing to make a deal.  you give me the show times; and i in return, won’t rob you of all your joy and happiness. how bout it bastard?

lady: it is currently 14 degrees with a windchill of -2. thank you for calling FANDANGO.

man:  wait!!! don’t hang up! ok, i take back what i said. you’re not a ho. or a crack whore. or an ignorant slut.  only a worthless wench. i beg of you, please!   PLEASE!   i just need to know when Spiderman is playing.  i’ll do anything!  anythiiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!!

 lady:  enjoy the hockey game. goodbye!

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have you recently found yourself mid-conversation and realized that you have taken a sudden turn to Creeptown? 

Define CreepTown you say?

[Cr-eee-p  T-oun]:  1.  one who makes another’s skin crawl  2.  to act in an unbelievably awkward manner  3.  the science of being creepy   4.  one who possesses a molestache

**Well, this is the first installment of a two-part series in which we will help you determine if you are setting up camp in a Creeptown near you:


1.  the molestache. 



If we take a look at mustaches throughout the ages, we can easily see that the simple addition of facial hair can have an uncanny ability to transition any ordinary lad into a raging creep.   Do not be fooled by the Tom Selleck’s of the world and their unassuming upper lip sweaters.  It is but merely a smoke signal far off in the distance of what will soon blossom into a fullgrown creeptown.  see examples below:

can you guess who these promising young saplings are?



these young mustache-less boys appear to be completely normal at first glance.  their hopes are high.  the sky is the limit.  there’s nothing on their horizon except everything. .. and its all fun and games

until one day, when this…



                       turns into this:





a) jeffrey dahmer  b) sadaam hussein  c) charles manson  d) hitler  e) ron jeremy  f) michael jackson

so now i raise the ever obvious question… what do all these CreepTowns have in common? 

i think if you search deep inside you’ll find you knew the answer all along. 

knowlege is power.

Click here for part 2 of Anatomy of a Creeptown : Conversion vans.

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disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.


Her:  can you please be sure to put the cap back on the toothpaste from now on, because otherwise it gets all crusty and you can’t get it out? (see exhibit A) 


Him:  umm, ok.  (obviously taking offense to this statement which was merely a request, and clearly not an accusation)  yes, but can you be sure to put it back too?

Her:  (sensing a fight on the horizon)  yea, i usually do put it on, but i’ve been noticing that you haven’t so i’m simply asking if you could.  thats all.  (walks into another room to get some food)

…la de da de da ….life is good….butterflies..unicorns…rainbows…hearts…robinhood…mr. rogers….  

(he strolls in …)

Him: ( in a quasi-joking/ quasi-serious tone)  honey, seriously, but can you  remember to put the cap back on?

Her: OBVIOUSLY, i will put the retchid cap on.  OBVIOUSLY, it bugs me.  OBVIOUSLY, i wouldn’t be asking you to do something that i have no intention of doing myself.  what would be the point of that?

Him:  i’m just saying, that i went in there several times, and it wasn’t on.

Her: PSSH, probably cus you were the last one in there and you left it off!

Him:  so you’re saying that you don’t brush your teeth these days?

Her:  (with the fire of some other-earthly dragon starting to well up inside her, she is thinking: “are you just too important to put the cap on?  are you just too burdened and overworked by the act of putting the cap on that you must, in fact, destroy any chance we had at a happy life together?”) well. for the last two weeks i’ve noticed you haven’t been putting it on, so therefore, i figured there was no point.  but then it started getting crusty and annoying, and i couldn’t take it anymore which is why i brought it up.

Him:  YES! that is my point!  you don’t always do it either.

Her: (thinking: “oh no he didn’t”)  are you serious?   this is ridiculous.  this whole thing could have been avoided if you’d of said “ok,”  but noooooooooo, you had to get all defensive and think i was accusing you when i wasn’t.   i’m not saying i NEVER leave it off, i’m just asking if you could put it on.

Him: there’s the problem right there.  you are saying my feelings are invalid

Her:  please. you watch too much Dr. Phil.


…the moral of the story? 



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