It's a bird...it's a plane...it's Lindsay?

I’m a huge fan of commercials. I know, most people leave the room or fast forward through them while they're on the screen but I love their creativity. My favorite ad campaign is for the online discount stock brokerage firm, E-Trade. They use a gaggle of adorable babies who talk in adult voices and trade stocks online. What’s not to love?

I saw on the news today that rehab queen, Lindsay Lohan, is suing the E-Trade babies for $100 million because the latest commercial depicts a female baby they refer to as, “Milkaholic Lindsay.”



They’re just poor, innocent babies, Lindsay! Besides, if the shoes fits...

Lindsay’s attorneys are stating that while her full name wasn’t used in the commercial that everyone knows it’s her based on the name recognition she receives. You know, like Madonna or Oprah. Oh okay, Lindsay.

Personally, when I hear the name Lindsay, the first person I think of is Lindsay Wagner of 1970’s Bionic Woman fame.


My sister was a huge Bionic Woman fan. Me? Not so much. The concept of a woman having cybernetic implants that allowed her run at lighting speed and have incredible strength in one arm seemed ludicrous to me. I did think her bionic ear was pretty cool,though. Imagine being able to hear people talk from crazy distances away and at different bandwidths. Oh, the possibilities!

I was more of a Wonder Woman girl. Her powers came with her belt, golden lasso and wristbands and she had the ability to fly, which was way cool and far more realistic. When she twirled around, she transformed from meek Diana Prince to mighty Wonder Woman.



Since we shared the same dark hair and blue eyes, people used to say that I looked like her. Or maybe it was because I walked around wearing the Wonder Woman costume, making the sound of bullets ricocheting off my wrist bands.

PSHEW! PSHEW! PSHEW! PSHEW! PSHEW!

The second Lindsay that comes to mind is the Lindsay of Lindsay and Sidney Greenbush fame. Who? C’mon, Lindsay and Sidney Greenbush. The twins who alternately played the youngest daughter, Carrie Ingalls, on the TV show Little House on the Prairie.



You don’t know who they are because their parents weren’t savvy enough to exploit them for commercial gain like Mary Kate and Ashley's.

Duh, Mr. and Mrs. Greenbush. I bet your daughters had to go and get real jobs when the series was cancelled, didn’t they? What kind parents are you? You should be ashamed of yourselves!

Not sure why I remember these two. Just another useless bit of superfluous information that floats around in my head on a daily basis.

Leave the babies alone, Lindsay. You're not that important.

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"When someone tells you, 'It's not you, it's me', believe them."

Is someone trying to tell me something?

Ancient Egyptian cultures used hieroglyphics, or symbols, as a system of writing. At various times throughout history, there were more than 600 symbols being used and they often had more than one meaning.



I came out my frost laden car this morning and this was etched on my trunk. Can anyone decipher its meaning?

Secondhand Sunday

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"DO YOU TAKE THIS DOG...?"

Original Post Date, August 5, 2009


I'm off for the next three days and I started making a list today of all the things I need to do around the house.

1. Clean out the garage

2. Clean out the basement

3. Take clothes to the Goodwill

4. Organize linen closet

5. Clean out kitchen cupboards

As you can see, I'm raring to clean out the clutter in my house. I just can't take it anymore. I can't believe how much STUFF I have!

And I don't intend to have a garage sale to get rid of any of it. We all know how those end up. Lots of wasted time and energy to make 50 bucks. I could probably make more money in 30 minutes on my knees at a truck stop. And then I would have the afternoon free to shop.

I decided to start doing an inventory of my kitchen tonight and clutter aside, I've come to a conclusion.

I need to get married.

No..no...not because I'm looking to spend the rest of my life with my one and only.

I just have too much mismatched junk. When I first moved out many moons ago, I got all sorts of furniture, linens, dishes and serveware from well meaning friends and family members. It didn't matter that my burgundy tiled bathroom had turquoise and white striped towels or that my drinking glasses were part of the Cedar Point and Cleveland Indians commemorative collections. The only thing that mattered was that they were all mine.

Since then, my taste has become a little more sophisticated and I'm always jealous when I'm shopping for a wedding gift and perusing the couples' registry. There's so much symmetry and flow to the colors and pieces parts of their future. I would love to have place settings that match when people come over.

Okay, people don't really come over but maybe they would if my shit matched.

So I thought about this. People get married for green cards all the time. Why not do it to get cool stuff for your house?

But who to marry? Manly man? Hmmm...he's already married. There really isn't anyone that I would want to be fake married to right now.

Oh, wait, except for Bernie. Now there might be some ramifications because Ohio doesn't allow gay marriages. Oh and they probably don't allow you to marry your dog, either, even though lots of people marry bitches.

I read about a woman in Ghana who married her dog. Literally. She decided that she was tired of all the "skirt chasers and cheaters". The whole thing was a little disturbing and made me decide that it might just be way too weird.



So Bernie and I have decided to have a commitment ceremony instead. We invite you to visit our registry.

**Attention parents. THIS is what happens when your daughter isn't married by 30.

C Cleveland

It's been a busy week, you know with becoming Stripalicious and all, so I haven't had time to gather info for you on my beloved Cleveland. Instead, I've decided to post pictures of Bernie since she hasn't been on here lately and she misses the spotlight.

You'll notice that she's only moving in one photo. I wanted to present a realistic representation of my sleepy, lazy girl. Enjoy!


Doesn't she look like Hitler?





















Baby got back

I'm a prisoner of love

I'm what you call, "unlucky in love". I haven’t really had a serious relationship in a few years and my attempt to rekindle an old flame at Christmas time fizzled. He ran away like John Edwards did from claiming Rielle Hunter’s baby and I was left scratching my head, wondering what happened.

They say you attract what you "put out to the universe". Admittedly, I have huge commitment issues that likely stem from my fear of abandonment. At least, that's what my inner child told me. That would explain why I only attract men who have the same issues but manage to beat me to the punch with goodbye.

I've tried internet dating sites, friends of friends, church, the market, hardware stores and classes. I don't have to tell you how those have panned out. However, I have some good news.

I met someone!

I really think I've found my soulmate. He's very attentive, always there when I call, would never cheat on me with another woman and works out at least an hour a day to stay in shape for me. Now, he has made some really bad choices in the past, but who hasn't? He's recently found God and our faith has brought us even closer together.

His name is Rocco but he also goes by Federal inmate H-548744415.

He's currently serving a life sentence for multiple offenses so I don't have to worry about us breaking up when he gets out. He ain't goin' anywhere.

And he'll never cheat on me. Well, not with another woman at least. Federal prisons don't allow conjugal visits but that's okay. He talks dirty to me on the phone, telling me all the things that he wants to do to me and when I get off the phone, I just do them to myself. I don't have to inhale that after sex cigarette smoke or bother with cuddling.

He never complains about my cooking, big booty or Toddlers & Tiaras addiction. He's just about perfect in every way.

And isn't he dreamy??

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"If someone offers you something for free, don't ask questions.

Just take it.

It's free."

The Stripalicious Challenge

The new blog is up for any of you interested in joining me!

Click Here

Lunches with Lisa

Lisa and I were sitting at lunch and I was complaining that my head was all stuffed up from my cold. I'm irrationally bothered by not being able to breathe through my nose so I kept trying to blow it to clear my head.

"Why don't you try a nasal spray like Afrin or something?", Lisa suggested.

"No, I've heard that you can get addicted to those things. I don't even want to get started," I replied.

Lisa shook her head and said in her most authoritative tone, "No, you won't get addicted. Gosh, I've been using one for about 15 years now."

I would like to thank my agent..

Yay for me! I received these two great awards from some wonderful blogger friends.

The first is the Feels Like Home Award from my friend Indigo at

IndigoWrath



Thank you, Indigo!

There is only one rule for handing this out. Passing it on. I have tried to keep it simple:

Pick five people who make you feel welcome; who make this strange virtual world of ours feel more comfortable, habitable - and then pass them this award as a token of your gratitude, a thank-you gift.

I pass this award to these great friends:

Kathryn at The Internal Makeover
Collette at My Babcia's Babushka
Ron at Vent
Jessi and Jessi, Bob and the Monsters
Ray at R. Jacob Post


My next award is from Cinnamon and her Mum at Beagle Diary


Thank you Cinnamon and Cinnamon's Mum!

The Sweet Friends Award has the following rules:

1. Copy the image and paste it to your blog.
2. List 10 things that make you happy, do one of them today.
3. Select 10 bloggers who brighten your day.

Since I received this from Cinnamon and her Mum, the first 5 are mine and the second 5 are Bernie's

Here's a list of things that make us happy, in no particular order:

1. Sleeping
2. Blogging
3. Hangin' with Bern
4. My friends
5. My family
6. Sleeping
7. Hangin' with Mom
8. My beagle friend, Rascal down the street and all my beagle friends online
9. Eating
10. Did I say sleeping already?


The 4 bloggers (so I can't count, sue me) who brighten my day are:

Nightingale at Nightingale Dancer

Joel at I Was Born Very Young

Kelly at Speaking From the Crib

Theresa at The Dog Lived and So Will I


Please go visit all my friends. They'll make you laugh and cry but most of all, they'll make you feel welcome. Love you guys!

Day One..

I finally got a call from the YMCA. As you may recall, at the first of the year, they partnered with one of the local hospitals to offer a FREE 3-month gym membership to any resident of the county. How they didn't anticipate the response they would receive is beyond me, but I've had to wait to start my membership until this weekend.

The timing couldn't be better since I've been in a bit of a "funk" lately. I feel like there's so much in my life right now that I have no control over with work and with Dad being sick. All I'm capable of is going to work and coming home and laying on the couch.

My personal grooming has even fallen by the wayside. Pants and tights are the perfect winter attire for me since I haven't bought a razor since December. Don't worry, Mom, I always make sure to have on clean underwear, though, in case I'm in an accident. However, if said accident causes the clean underwear to come off, people will think I'm some sort of time traveler from the 1980's.



I had to attend an orientation at the gym on Saturday that consisted of sitting in an 80+ degree room while each of us was weighed and measured. I think that's what they do with animals before slaughter, isn't it?



Now everyone knows you only weigh yourself first thing in the morning, naked, after you've gone to the bathroom. I started to argue with the girl who weighed me that I was actually 4 pounds less than the scale was reading but I figured I would just go for a morning weigh in next time and look that much more successful.

I have to attend three times a week and get weighed in once a week. Then monthly, they do the measurement thing again. While I had anticipated about where my weight was, my measurements were a real eye opener. My bust has increased 4 inches in the last year.

Let me repeat that.

My bust has increased 4 INCHES in the last year.

Well no wonder none of my jackets button any more!

I actually took some "before" pictures on Saturday. I think I've taken at least 500 "before" pictures over the last 10 years. Funny, I don't have an "after" picture.

I think it's like the elusive Sasquatch. There's rumor that it exists but no one has ever been able to catch a clear image of it on film.

Well, this time I vow to have an "after" picture. By realistic calculations, I should be able to get to where I want to be in 16 weeks. My God, that seems far away.

But that's okay. I want my hot body back. You know, the one that doesn't seem good enough when in you're in it but in hindsight seems like perfection? Yeah, that one.

So I'm embarking on what I'm calling The Stripalicious Challenge.


Anyone care to join me?

Secondhand Sunday

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"DOES ANYONE HAVE THE TIME?"

Original Post Date, January 16, 2009

9:33 p.m.

That's the time that I'm beginning this post. I'm obsessed with time. And not in a "I'm getting older and realizing that the years are slipping away and whoa is me...where did the time go..."way.

9:34 p.m.

I just have this need to know what time it is. Constantly. I've had this obsession for as long as I can remember. Even if I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, the first thing I do in the morning is put my watch on and the last thing I do before I go to sleep is take it off. If I lie in bed too long before I fall asleep, I have to turn and look at the clock. 11:30. 11:35. 11:38. Then the thoughts start running in my head. Fall asleep. Fall asleep. Fall asleep! Because before you know it, it will be 5:30 a.m. 5:35. 5:40.

When I go on a date, I check my watch all night long. "Um, is there somewhere you need to be?"

I have a clock on my computer, my desk, my phone, my pager, the bank sign on the way into work, the window of the bakery shop, the dashboard of my car. Everywhere I turn, I see the time. And I'll look at all of them and still check my watch. Some women collect shoes or purses. I collect watches and clocks.

9:36 p.m.

Do you remember the song "Time" by the Alan Parsons Project? Even today, when I hear that song, I get so sad. And I couldn't even tell you why. Wait...okay I'm remembering the words now. Oh, it makes me sad because it's so damn depressing. Okay, scratch that. Bad example.

I found out recently that there's a name for my problem. It's CHRONOMANIA. (Greek khronos, time + Greek mania, obsession, madness; cf. megalomania, balletomania) - obsession with time and speed; inclination to utilize every moment and to submit one's life to a total time control.

Yes, that would be me. I'm a chronomaniac.

I wonder if there are support groups for Chronomaniacs. As with a lot of 12 step programs, I'm sure the group would focus on abstinence from the behavior so how would we know when the meeting was over?

Well, anyway, it's been a busy week and I told myself I wanted to be asleep by 10:00. It's already 9:40 and 10 seconds, 15 seconds....20 seconds....

C Cleveland

One of the most unique buildings perched beside the Lake Erie shoreline is the Cleveland Public Power plant building. What’s so unique about a power plant, you ask?

This one has a 300-by-108 foot wide mural of a dozen whales swimming in the ocean. The wall, titled Song of the Whales, is the brainchild of world renowned marine artist, Wyland.



Wyland and a large group of volunteers who stirred paint and applied brushstrokes under his direction, finished the mural in 6 days. A record time given that most murals take at least thirty days. It's an awesome site to behold as you're driving by on the freeway.

A leading advocate for marine resource conservation, this native of Michigan set a goal in 1981 of painting 100 "Whaling Walls" by 2011. He reached his goal in 2008.

Wyland

You can read more about this amazing artist here.

Does anyone else have a Whaling Wall in their city?

Happy Friday!

I LOVE this song. It makes me smile and every time I hear it, I want to start dancing around the room. The best line in the song is "my heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest."




Last week, I had to take Dad to the hospital for a procedure. It was a stressful day waiting and to waste some time, I wandered into the hospital gift shop. This song was faintly playing on a small radio behind the cashier when I spotted this little guy...




in all his "untrimmed chest" glory.

Is chivalry dead?

I'm about as independent as they come. I kill my own spiders, mow my own lawn and clean my own sink trap.

You heard that right.

I know what a sink trap is and I know how to clean it.

While I'm proud that I can take care of myself, I do appreciate small chivalrous acts. Just like the art of the compliment, boys, these simple things go a long way. And not just for your wife or girlfriend. Even perfect strangers will inwardly swoon at your respect for all females.

Since I work in a large hospital with a multitude of elevators, elevator etiquette is probably my biggest pet peeve.



Now, I understand that on occasion, there are emergencies that would necessitate a man running out of the elevator before me but, c'mon, they don't happen every day.

Here's the rule. Women exit first. The end.

Depending on the time of day that I get to work, I may run into the Russian professor who has a penchant for vests and elbow patch jackets.

"You look so nice today. The pearls are a nice touch," he'll say, as he holds the door open for me.

Or the nice, young resident who offered to carry boxes out for me when he saw me struggling.

Then there's THIS guy.

"Mister It's All About Me"

I began seeing him about a week ago. The first time was when we both started walking toward the double glass doors that lead you to the elevator on the roof of the parking garage.

I saw him glance back at me as he reached the door but he ignored the fact that I was nearly on his heels and let the door shut on me. I mumbled a "thank you very much" under my breath when I stepped inside.

He responded in some foreign tongue pretending he had no grasp of English, much like Akio Toyoda did in the Congressional hearings today. I'm sure both of these clowns could probably teach English as a second language.

To add more insult, when we descended the 8 floors to street level, he rushed past me to exit the elevator as I stood there, incredulous once more. And he's done this elevator bolt three more times in the last week.

That's not how you do it, "Mister It's All About Me."

Today, I got to the elevator before him. He was still a distance away but I kept looking back at him as I pounded on the down button.

"Hurry! Hurry!", I yelled to the elevator as I turned around again, feeling like a bank robber fleeing the po-po.

He was gaining ground when he dropped his keys.

Score!

"Hurry! Hurry, goddamn you!!" My heart pounded faster as I watched the numbers light up in succession.

4.....5.....6.....7....8!

As the door opened, I rushed inside and hit 1.

Close! Close!, I shouted in my head, as I saw him coming through the doors, waving his arm.

"Hold the elevator!", he shouted.

I leaned forward as the doors were almost closed, "Qué?"

And THAT'S how you do it, "Mister It's All About Me."

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"When life give you lemons, make yourself a pitcher of lemondrop martinis.

You'll feel better in no time."