Breaking News! My pajama jeans just arrived. It was a two for one deal so I also got those penis enlargement pills. I can’t imagine it will be hard to find someone to take those off my hands. It was either that or prozac and if I start taking that I’ll stop being mental and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone. I know I’m the last one to get the pajama jean but I had to find just the right pair – the official pajama jean – the ones that are good for travel, shopping, exercise and more!! What more is there? I don’t know, but now that I have my pajama jeans, I’m going to find the fuck out!! They came with an instructional video so I have to carve an hour out today to watch that. Maybe it will explain to me why I need European Styling in my pajama jeans. They say there’s a fit for every figure and you can get up to a XXX which I’ll betcha is the most popular size. The ad promises that I’ll “look put together all day long” and this is something I had no idea you could get in a box in the mail for two easy payments of 19.95. I know Chanel can’t say that.
I love having things arrive in the mail. The absolute highlight of any day is coming home to find a package at my front door – one that hasn’t been chewed to pieces by my dogs who think the mailman has tossed a big paper chew toy over the gate. They have devoured quite a few “as seen on t.v.” products. I never did find out what happened to my Miracle Socks. I’m thinking about getting into one of those something of the month clubs. They have so many now -Pickles, Dessert, Puzzles. I don’t know who’s getting the Pickle of The Month but they’re probably the same people getting the Chips and Salsa of the Month along with the Bloody Mary of the Month. These are real. I do not lie. How about Soup of The Month? It’s real. Why go to the supermarket or store anymore? The Breakfast of The Month Club says “nothing starts the day off right better than breakfast” so they send pancake mix or waffles or scones or crepes. Crepes? That doesn’t seem possible. I want to join to find out. What does a muffin that arrives by mail taste like? I’ll have to interview Peaches and Tulip if I get this club.
I think it’s awesome that so many companies are making it so easy to become a big fat poor shut in. After all – how else will A&E’s Hoarders stay on the air? Without all these people staying home and ordering shit for six easy payments – there would be no morbidly obese white people living in trailers parked next to their houses that are filled to the brim with shit they bought online. Where do all these fat people get all of these old cars anyway? Do they acquire them when they get too fat for one and have to move in to another? It’s hard to find a skinny hoarder.
Maybe if we started putting the names of poor families and homeless children on line we could convince people to buy one. For three easy payments you could save this family… heck they’ll move in with you if you want. Go ahead America – strap on your pajama jeans – shove some Beef Jerky of The Month in your face – and buy yourself a Homeless Person of The Month. You’ll feel better and I’ll bet A&E will make a show about you.
I have decided to become a Pity Party Planner. Everybody is having one so I’m pretty sure I won’t have a hard time making money in fact – I should be a gazillionaire within a week. The entire country sounds like one old jew – pissing and moaning about things that just don’t matter and the way everyone carried on this past black Friday pretty much proves my point. When you are ready to kill someone for a television – you need a time out. A big time out. Obviously the theme of the pity party would always stay the same but there are endless possibilities for how I could switch them up. I would imagine the pity party honoree would be a difficult client since they are razor focused on themselves and no one else. If you got one tiny detail wrong you’d have pity party squared and nobody wants that. The most difficult thing about throwing a pity party for someone is getting other people to show up. No one wants to hear someone else’s complaining ass bullshit especially if that bullshit is “I didn’t get what I wanted for Christmas.”
The holiday themed music has started here in Los Angeles and I don’t know whether to hum along or stab someone but I have to be honest and say it’s usually the later choice. Why can’t everyone wait before they start shoving Santa and his sleigh down my throat? I know Rudolph has a red nose but the concept of letting him play regular reindeer games is lost on me – or being drowned out by all the merriment. It’s not just the fact that I’m Jewish that makes Xmas a problem – it’s the fact that I’m cranky and Jewish that makes Xmas a problem and go ahead all you non Jews right now who are horrified that I “took the Christ out of Christmas” by using an X. Christ left Christmas a long time ago – probably the day we started giving each other diamonds and Xboxes.
Everyone is just so darn happy this time of year. I saw a couple making out at the supermarket yesterday. They weren’t just showing some affection they were full on dry hump mashing in the cosmetics aisle. Maybe they are a brand new couple and just can’t keep their hands off of each other or maybe they were just so happy they found the product they’d desperately been searching for like baking soda toothpaste or fluoride rinse or herpes cream but I really don’t need to see this in Aisle 2. Thank kind of behavior belongs in the meat aisle. I wanted to give them some sort of citation or at least tell them their behavior was unsuitable in front of children and me. Thankfully I keep most of these thoughts in my head which is why it is certain to explode some day soon.
I think you should have to have a license to have a child. If you want to see some parents that should have their children taken away from them you should go to you tube and type in Sparkling Wiggles. It is there you will see stupid white people egging on their child to say the phrase Sparkling Wiggles, only when she pronounces it – it comes out Fucking Nword. Isn’t that hilarious!! These people should lose the right to have children and if they apply for a license to have more children this is the videotape that should play at their hearing. They will not be allowed more children. They will probably have a pity party for themselves and I will gladly be their planner and blow up all the balloons that say – “Congrats. You’re dead inside.”
My hair is old. I don’t mean it’s grey – which it is – I mean it’s old. If my hair were a pair of jeans – I would have to throw them out or cut them into shorts. I don’t want to cut my hair into shorts and I’ve already had extensions three times which is a very pricey undertaking but my hair refuses to grow past my shoulders. Well just below my shoulders if you count the dead crispy ends that I am hanging onto for dear life. I take hair vitamins and I use the Chaz Dean Wen System but it just won’t get longer. I’m not sure where the length goes when it grows in because god knows I have new roots every thirteen seconds so something is getting longer. This seems like a mathematical equation for Stephen Hawking. He’s still alive and by the way – married- for a second time. Yes, he was able to find someone. This makes me feel like a loser.
I think all the minds in the world are very busy these days creating Apps I cannot live without. My ipad and iphone are filled with pages and pages of things that make my life infinitely better. Calorie Counter, NY Post, i-fart, etc. There are Apps for everything. Have you heard of the truly ingenious website and app RunPee.Com? My friend Berman told me about it and quite frankly it may be the greatest thing ever invented in the history of the world and all the heavens. What RunPee does is tell you when the best time is to pee during a movie. They have already worked all of this out for you for all of the current movies out there. Yes I am dead fucking serious. Not only do they tell you when to pee – they tell you what happened while you were tinkling. Who needs a fucking cure for cancer people – this is the kind of shit I’m talking about. This is the kind of technology that wins wars! All you do is start your RunPee clock when the movie starts and away you go. For instance… I checked out the RunPee times for Breaking Dawn Part One – a movie so riveting I can’t imagine how or why anyone would choose to tinkle at any point during this poignant vampire drama. However – RunPee has given you a few choices. Here’s what it says.
PeeTime starts 37 minutes into movie
PeeTime lasts about 4 minutes
Cue to RunPee: When the aerial shot of the island villa appears after their first night together.
What happens during this Pee Time:
Bella wakes up with feathers in her hair. You can see that the room is in shambles from their previous nights activities. She gets up and goes into the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror and replays in her head what last night was like. Edward comes up behind her and asks, “How bad do you hurt?” She says to him, ”I’m perfectly happy. At least I was five seconds ago. Now I’m pissed off. I think what we did last night was amazing for me. I know it’s different for you but for a human it doesn’t get any better.”
Now I know what you’re thinking – RunPee must be insane to pick this little section of scintillating dialogue to miss but that’s just how good this movie is. They had to work hard to find pee moments. RunPee makes me proud to be an American. What I’m curious about now is – how long before RunPoop hits my iphone? That kind of activity needs some time so a good test movie could be “Jack and Jill.” I bet that’s a good poop movie. What I really need is RunEat because it is inevitable that I will not buy popcorn before the movie starts and then I will be mad about it and dream about it the entire time the movie is playing to the point of distraction. I have missed entire plot lines due to popcorn envy because I never know what time to run out and get some once the movie has started. I’m going to invent this app. I will become a millionaire. I will buy new hair.
“Are you done with menopause yet?” Swinging a pointed finger between my sister Alison and I, this was my brother in law Steve’s pre Thanksgiving dinner chit chat. And so begins this heartwarming episode of “Heidi Goes Home for The Holidays.” I flew back east to Boston for Thanksgiving on Wednesday morning. The whole family tries to gather at my sister Wendy’s house each year and usually it’s when we find out just what kind of mental patientry is involved in our family lineage. This trip started with my normal packing dilemma. I hate to travel only because I hate to pack. I like to have my entire wardrobe wherever I go because I have no idea what kind of mood I’ll be in “fashion wise.” I would take a few steamer trunks with me if it were possible but unfortunately I’m not Bette Davis in the middle of a 50’s movie with stewards at my beck and call. I always end up on a vacation with random shit I never wear and have no idea how it got in my suitcase. I usually dress nicely for an airplane ride because airport workers aren’t just racial profiling they’re class profiling and they will treat you like a douche bag if you dress like one. If you’re trying to get moved from coach to first class it will not work unless you look like you deserve to have a hot cookie at thirty thousand feet. I unfortunately chose to dress like a gang banger. An old white jewish gang banger. I did not get my upgrade.
The flight was fine other than the fact that the pilot was definitely shit faced and thought he was operating a tour sky bus and did not shut the fuck up for one second the entire time. “If you look to your left you can see Minnesota.” Guess what fly boy – I don’t want to see Minnesota. I want to watch this shitfucking hideous movie Cars 2. Upon arrival in freezing cold Boston (it was probably 60) I went outside to wait for the car my sister and brother in law had so graciously sent for me. After the other twenty people waiting for their cars left – a car finally pulled up right next to me. I was now the only person there. He was now the only car in the arrivals lane. He looked at me. He pulled out his placard. He started writing one slow letter at a time and then comparing it with whatever was in his blackberry. C…ten seconds…L… ten seconds…can I buy a fucking vowel? E??? “Are you writing Clements???” Hello? He was Russian. I guess they’re used to waiting in lines for things but I am more valuable than a loaf of bread. Finally, we were off.
I truly love hanging out with my family. We laugh – a lot. We mock – a lot. No one is left standing at the end of a Clements Sisters dinner. Throw in the spectacularly sharp wit of my neice Amy, the cutting humor from her boyfriend Berman and my brother in law Steve, and the “holy fuck did he just say that” moments that always come from my nephew Mike, and we’re talking an episode of Meet The Jews that would most definitely get an R rating. Basically it’s a room full of people with knives in their mouths and anyone could cut you at any given moment. Thank god for my brother in law Dean who has assured our passage into Heaven because he’s the nice one. My mom and dad are now into their 80’s so they’re used to us. They also don’t hear as well as they used to so this works out quite nicely.
Everyone dresses beautifully for our family dinners. You do not fuck around with fashion in my family. Sadly – I am too fat for anything but flannel. I was the ugly step sister and my buttons were already undone. Our first dinner on Wednesday night started out fine until Steve launched the Menopause Round Table. We were all innocently eating our Chinese food which by the way is what all Jews are doing the night before Thanksgiving or on any given Sunday. If you want to find a jew in a town that doesn’t seem to have any – go to a Chinese Restaurant on a Sunday night and you’ll find every “witz” and “stein” there is. The menopause question reminded us of Steve’s obsession with wanting to smell 9/11 – which led us to beat that joke again for about half an hour. Then out of nowhere Mike said “I had a Chinese teacher once who said – the vagina is like a poisonous doll – duwawa.” Apparently DuWaWa is Chinese for my lady parts. Okay Mike. Thanks for that update from the odd family dinner exchange files. Little did I know – this was the calm before the shit storm.
The next night – Thanksgiving dinner – was delicious. Once again we all gathered around the dining room table and once again we all hung out to chat once the meal was done. My sister Alison looked at me from across the table and pointed to my dad’s ear and said “What is that hanging?” And just like when we were kids I felt her silently egging me on to do something bad. I pulled on the mystery string attached to my dad’s ear and unfortunately pulled out his hearing aid. This resulted in gales of laughter from Alison. I had no idea my dad wore a hearing aid. I was horrified. I also really wanted to try it on.
The conversation shifted to Hollywood and stars and people were asking questions like “Who’s the most beautiful” and “Who’s the most handsome” and from nowhere my 82 year old dad says “Who do you think is the most SENSUAL.” And… crickets. Eventually we all threw in a few answers and thought we were through. Then came, “What is the sexiest love scene with clothing on?” Okay this is getting weird. I left the room to check on my Pumpkin Smoosh desert only to re-enter to hear this question from my dad being posed to the entire table – “Who is the horniest?” Uhm, I’ll take My Dad Is Freaking Me Out for 100 please Alex. Yes folks, welcome to Awkward Family Jeopardy! My brother in law Steve then launched into a conversation about Debbie who lives across the street whom he happens to know has an insatiable appetite for sex and when her garage door is open it’s a signal to men from around the Wellesley area to come get a piece of Debbie. This of course – is total bull shit. It was even too much for my dad. Man do we know how to clear a room. We all fled the area. We forgot it happened. We moved in to the living room and watched Bridesmaids which if you want to know the definition of creepy its watching a John Hamm Kristen Wiig seemingly endless sex scene with your eighty year old parents.
Of course it was an awesome holiday gathering filled with the kind of nutbaggery that makes me love the family I have. We are unabashedly raunchy and rude. Every funny moment is comedically crushed – and there is always laughter to be had at anyone’s expense. No one leaves unharmed. If you want to know who’s being slashed thrashed and dragged through the mud – just look to see who has left the room. Thank goodness for the innocence of Thanksgiving represented by my niece and nephew Isabella and Jordan – who taught me how to play Angry Birds. And thank goodness for my amazing family who will always have my back… or at the very least – my duwawa.
Why is everyone Checking In somewhere? I know we’re friends but do I really need to know where you are every second of the day? Maybe you people need to check in to a job every once in a while because that will keep you busy. There are no “check in” buttons for the places I go, the couch, the refrigerator, my bed. Isn’t this button just a way to tell everyone to go rob your house or steal your car? What kind of mental patients are following your check in buttons?
I am slowing being driven insane by a TerrorMarketer. Six, seven, eight times a day, my phone is ringing off the hook with calls from companies that have names I can’t pronounce. I don’t know what they want and I don’t care. This weekend it was Caratechea Enterprises – the latest in a long line of fuckwads that have my home phone on speed dial. Trying to stop telemarketers from calling your house is harder than finding an Indian restaurant that doesn’t smell like curry and I believe these things are very deeply connected. I have a home phone just to field calls from assholes who have no problem dialing my house at three o’clock in the morning. I hate when the phone rings in the middle of the night because I am convinced if I pick it up the voice on the other end of the phone will say “I’m in the house.” I am also terrified the killer will leave a message on my machine and I’ll hear it while I’m upstairs in bed and sometimes I want to shut the machine off at night but I can’t because Greenpeace is speed dialing me and if the machine doesn’t get it they’ll just keep dialing. Sometimes I sit there and stare at the call waiting screen wanting to pick up the phone and say “Fuck You Dental Technological Services, I’m not home!” But I don’t. They’ll just call again tomorrow. Some of these callers are unstoppable and have dialing tourettes and the same number will come in rapid fire succession. If I wasn’t picking up two minutes ago I’m not going to do it now Diabetes Foundation. If someone ever calls to tell me I’ve won a million dollars or that the government has decided to pay for my house I’ll never know because I won’t pick up and I immediately hit delete on the machine. I love when a pre recorded message tells my answering machine things to do. I come home to bizarrely recorded messages like PRESS ONE TO TALK TO A REPRESENTATIVE. Maybe my high tech machine is doing business for me while I’m at work. Maybe the dogs are calling people. I hope they’re having more success than I do when trying to settle something over the phone. I know my home phone is directly connected to a call center in India and I know they’re laughing at me.
I think that same call center is handling all of my unsubscribe emails. What really happens when I hit that button on the bottom of an email? Is there a group of people in Bangladesh just standing around their computer screens pointing and shrieking with laughter at all of us? “Oh here comes that moron again thinking she’s getting off of the Bloomingdales spam list. She’ll be back so let’s just keep her on.” I have unsubscribed to Saks Fifth Avenue at least twenty six times and I instantly get an email from them the second after I do it. “You are now unsubscribed.” It’s almost always followed by an email telling me about a sale at Saks. Thinking that it probably takes a few days to register my unsubscription I do nothing until a few days later there it is again. Saks Motherfucking Fifth Avenue. I am on a giant Unsubscribe Ride and I can’t get off. What the fuck is happening to my unsubscribe emails? They are like letters from Santa, no ones reading them. I bet all of these people have the secret spam block that stops this from happening to them and they’re not sharing.
I saw that we’ve developed a car that can drive itself and while I think this is a very interesting idea I believe we should put that on hold until we can develop a robot to answer our telemarketer phone calls and spam emails. They could maintain our Facebook pages and make sure that we “Check In” somewhere incredibly important every ten seconds.
I don’t know which is worse, the fact that my neighbors had a Van Morrison cover group at their party last night – or that I knew all the lyrics. It’s a nerd toss up. I wasn’t invited to the party – which doesn’t surprise me – I’m not very nice to that neighbor. If you put me in a line up and told him to pick out the girl who lives in the house below his, he would not be able to pick me. He makes wine. He once passed me a bottle through the fence like prison mates sharing a shiv. We talked for about fifteen minutes and he said “You should come by some time.” So later that week Peaches and I took a walk around the block and went over to say hi. He said, “do you live around here?” I said “no” and went home. He loves to talk on the phone. I know this because he does all of his phone talking outside on his deck which he built on top of my deck. It looks like a giant crib. He is extremely loud and very busy on that phone. He might as well just come inside my house and make his calls – that’s how loud it is. I’m sure he’s a pretty cool dude – he speaks Italian so he can’t be that bad.
I actually have incredible neighbors. They are sweet and fun and have amazing little kids and there is screaming and happiness on my street all the time. It’s like a throwback to when I was growing up and you played outside and got hot and smelly and only came in when you heard your mom calling “dinner.” I don’t think that happens all that much here in Los Angeles but it happens on my block. There are big wheels and bicycles and helmuts and animals all mingling together. Except for one neighbor. She’s mean. I guess there’s always one.
Rachel Zoe had a baby. I honestly didn’t think she had enough body fat to carry a child. I really want to live in her closet. It’s filled with magic. She got a six carat cushion cut diamond ring from her husband for having a baby. Apparently it’s called a “push” present. I want a push present. I’ve pushed enough shit out of my vagina in my 51 years to get at least one. God knows I’’ve had my period enough times to deserve a gift. I’m not sure who would be the person to buy me one though and as usual it seems like I’ll have to buy it for myself. I have already bought myself all the things I love most. Maybe I could register somewhere for something like this. I think single women should be allowed to have a party for themselves and register somewhere. I believe that if you turn fifty and haven’t killed someone you should hold a press conference and then have a giant fancy event and get gifts. I would register at Neiman Marcus and put everything in the store on my list. Maybe I could do it like Kim Kardashian and host the event in different cities because I’m so fucking important I need more than one coast to celebrate me. I could start in New York, then Los Angeles and the Las Vegas. Maybe I could get Ziegfried and Roy to perform – they would be in my age range. I could get also nice band.
If you watch the Oprah Winfrey Network do you immediately get cancer and die? How else can you explain that more than a million people signed on for her internet chat but she can’t get more than five people to watch OWN. Does your Neilson box and television immediately blow up when you tune to that channel or do you just die trying to find it because it’s around channel 1,762. I thought Poperah was Midas but so far the gold fairy dust isn’t landing on OWN. I personally think the problem is that her shows are too happy. Nobody wants to see that. We want to see Melissa Gorga shredding her sister in law as Theresa, as Theresa misuses perfectly simple English words like distant, educate and ingredients. She’s so dopey, I don’t know how she gets dressed in the morning. I bet that’s why all of her clothes are so shiny – so she can find them. Maybe that’s why all of her outfits have sparkly medallions on them because that’s how she communicates with her Planet, Retardra. It’s hard when you can easily say Melissa is the smart one – thank you baby jesus. Melissa is inspiring. She is now wearing a fat suit to see if people treat her differently. I’m going to put on a Jew suit later and throw money around so I can capture people’s shocked faces proving everyone really thinks Jews are cheap. Oprah’s still wearing her fat suit but people are really nice to her. I think it’s because she’s also wearing her African American suit and I hear that one makes people act scared.
I ate a block of cheese last night. I didn’t mean to. It was just there – on the nightstand. I’m just trying to keep it 100. (that’s what the kids are saying) I remember when you didn’t have to say things like – just trying to keep it real – because you actually told the truth. The cheese was helping me read a book. I went to bed early because quite frankly Peaches was watching Bad Girls on Oxygen with such fervor that I think I need to start monitoring what she’s viewing. They don’t have a lock program for dogs on my DVR. What if she imitates the kids on these shows and starts drinking, fighting and having sex with strangers. Maybe that’s how she got the herpes? I really have no idea what she does all day. She could easily have learned to turn on the t.v. and may be spending her entire day watching Maury Povich to see who the baby daddy is. I’m thinking about installing a Nanny Cam. My friend has one for his dogs. He can watch them do nothing on his Iphone while he’s at an audition or a meeting. Usually they are just sleeping in their crates but occasionally they get up and run out of the area where the camera is. That’s when you really don’t know what they’re up to unless you have a second camera outside so it’s kind of a little Blair Dog Project and feels kind of like a horror movie. WILL THE DOGS COME BACK? I think if I install cameras in my house I’ll see Peaches, Tulip and Lola in a throwdown game of Doggie Poker. They’ll all be sitting around some card table I didn’t even know I had with all the neighborhood dogs playing poker and drinking all my non alcoholic beer and eating my snacks. I bet that’s how they came up with that velvety painting of Dogs Playing Poker. Someone had to pose for it. I wonder what the ante is at a card game at my house? Maybe I should tell the girls to start playing for cheese so I don’t eat it at two a.m. in bed.