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One of the best things about having a life as incredibly interesting as mine is knowing that one day it will be immortalized in a motion picture–a comedy of course. I’ve always known that I would be involved in movie making. I’m not interested in the acting side of things. Halle Berry would probably do a much better job of pretending to be me than I ever could. I know she’s like a million years older than me, but I don’t mind.
I’ll write the screenplay which will be a breeze to do. I think it should feature a lot of slapstick comedy–falling down and pies in the face. Who doesn’t think a good banana cream pie in the face is funny?
Does the lead singer of Coldplay act? I was thinking that he could play my husband. My stepson would play himself, of course. He can really ham it up. I haven’t figured out who would play any of the other characters though. As the screen writer that isn’t my place anyway. I’m sure that once I finally convince Martin Scorsese to direct it, he’ll take care of the casting. I picture the movie being a nice family comedy. That’s right up his alley, right?
Note: I just told my husband about my movie plans and he said that Kevin Bacon would definitely play him. “People tell me I look like Kevin Bacon all the time,” he said. I wonder which people tell him this. I don’t see the resemblance, but who am I?
When I almost read the book Eat That Frog! by Brian Tracy I realized that I had to make some changes in my life in order to achieve my goals. In the book, Tracy says that contrary to popular opinion the legs are not the only delicious part of a frog. In fact, deep-fried frog lips are particularly good when dipped in a lovely honey mustard sauce. Wait … wrong book. In the book Tracy says you should do the most difficult tasks first thing in the morning. That way you can start your day with a good dose of frustration. Once you’ve completed that hard task the rest of your day is easy.
I’ve taken this concept to heart. That’s why after I roll out of bed at nine in the morning, I pretend to do some yoga. Health should be your number one priority, and you know what they say, fake it until you make it. I’m just wondering how many years you have to fake it before you get Angela Bassett’s biceps. I’ve been pretending to do yoga since college and I still have those flabby arm wings. I swear I’ve had grandma arms since I was eight years old.
Once I’ve gotten my exercise out of the way, I’m ready to retire to the indentation on the right side of the couch that 15 hours of daily sitting has left. I’ve read that too much sitting will kill me. According to my calculations, I’m already dead, so I guess a little more sitting won’t hurt anything.
First, I do the Tweeting on the Twitter. Despite having a Twitter account for years, I’m still not quite sure what to do with it. Then there is so much Facebooking to get done. All of these tasks are of course extremely important and stretch my brain capabilities nearly to the limit. How am I expected to continue on with the day without knowing what’s going on in the lives of people I barely know?
After the hard stuff is done, I can move on to easier tasks, like writing this blog post or editing the new Best of Nebulous Mooch collection that will be coming out next month. I’ve been telling everyone (everyone means my husband) that I was going to put together a collection of greatest hits from the Mooch for years now. Well, because I’ve decided to start doing the hard things first every morning, I’m finally getting that done.
Our house hadn’t been lived in for a while before we bought it. That means that the light fixtures are all full of incandescent bulbs. When the closet light went out like a million years ago my husband suggested that we replace it with an LED light bulb. I was all like, “LED’s cost like $300 per bulb! No can do.”
My stepson wants to hang onto incandescent bulbs as long as possible because he has an unhealthy attachment to the past. He regularly tells us about how much he likes the incandescent bulbs. While my husband wants to tear through the house replacing all of the bulbs with new fancy expensive ones right away, I think it’s best to at least wait until bulbs burn out before we replace them.
We haven’t replaced the two bulbs in the house that have burned out already because of my difficulty committing LEDs. The last time we were in Home Depot, we spent at least twenty minutes looking at light bulbs. They are much more difficult to understand than it may seem.
You know how you buy an incandescent bulb and it says something like 60w on it as a measurement of brightness? Well the LED bulbs said things like 9W or 6W. That seems super dim to me. I like to read and if that’s as bright as these light bulbs get I might as well read by candle light. One bulb even had little plastic bars all around it like it was a prison for a tiny fairy. LEDs are probably so cheap to run because they don’t use electricity at all. Instead, they use fairy dust to create that pleasant glow.
Since today is Earth Day and I totally forgot to buy the Earth a gift, I’ve decided to reconsider the whole LED thing. I’ve been reading up on them so I know what I’m doing the next time I go light bulb shopping. Even though I’m used to spending a buck on a light bulb and LEDs cost $13, I’m going to buy a few and give them a try. They do use 75% less electricity and last 25 times longer than incandescent bulbs. After all, that will save me money and the precious time I’d normally spend changing light bulbs.
Note: I just made this joke up just now.
How many Bettisons does it take to change a light bulb?
None because we never get around to it.
Okay maybe that wasn’t funny, but it was funny in my head. This is why my stand-up career never went anywhere. That and my crippling stage fright.
Did you know that I used to have a radio show? It was wonderful, of course. Isn’t everything I do just wonderful? Don’t answer that.
I was a college student with a plan. The plan was mainly to “borrow” CD’s from the radio station, copy them onto cassette tapes, and then return them. I’ll probably get arrested for admitting that, but I’m hoping the statute of limitations has run out. I mean I was in college like one thousand years ago. The only remaining evidence of my crime is this confession, and I’m sure there are plenty of people who did a lot worse in college. Are those enough justifications for you?
The show radio was called Juice Up with Lovelyn and Kate. I was Lovelyn and Kate was not Lovelyn. Every good radio show has to have a theme of some sort. Our theme was that we talked as little as possible on air. Do you want to know the name of the song we just played? Well, too bad because we’re going to play ten songs and maybe only mention one of them by name.
We also probably confused the audience because we played a variety of music. We weren’t an indie rock show, jazz show, or classic hip hop show. We were an everything we like show. Everyone from John Coltrane to Biz Markie to Liz Phair to Al Green were featured. No wonder Juice Up didn’t last long.
I mention all of this because the other day my husband told me that someone causally offered him a job as a radio DJ at one of his gigs. When I heard this I was incredibly jealous. “How come they didn’t offer me that job?” I asked, “I have experience. No one ever offers me radio jobs.”
“Maybe because you weren’t there,” my husband replied.
So all of this has got me thinking. Now that I have some space to record and a fancy USB microphone (here fancy means something cheap from Best Buy) maybe I’ll start a podcast.
You’re probably thinking that my podcast will eventually disappear into the ether just like the weekly Nebulous Mooch videos, but there was a reason for that. My laptop is too slow to edit videos … and my camera broke … and I didn’t really have any place to record them … and I started thinking that if I’m going to be putting my face online a lot I better start wearing makeup which I haven’t gotten around to purchasing because what do I really know about makeup (there should be some kind of punctuation there, but I’m not worrying about that. This is jazz, baby.) … and the dog that I don’t have yet ate my hard drive … and I’m full of excuses. Videos will be returning shortly though and they’ll maybe even be a podcast.
Sometimes I wish I could see into the future. I’m not talking about decades or years, just seeing a week into the future would serve me well. I don’t care about knowing who will be president in 2033 or if humans will ever grow wings and take to the skies. I’m more interested in knowing how many pounds I’ll pack on as a result of my latest junk food binge or how driving a few minutes out of my way to avoid making a left turn across a busy street might affect my life.
I was a worried child. The slightest thing made me feel upset and afraid. I cried at night for weeks after seeing Nostradamus – The Man Who Saw Tomorrow. If you haven’t watched, it you should. I’m sure it would make you cry too. If Nostradamus was right World War III would happen in my lifetime. I was doomed. The only way to know the truth was to look into a crystal ball like the psychics on television.
A snow globe was the closest thing we had to a crystal ball. I’d wave my hands over the top of it before shaking it up and peering inside. The future was never very interesting just a lot of white plastic shavings falling over the same scene of a snowman and Christmas tree over and over again. Still I persisted.
I was convinced that I just wasn’t doing it right, and if I concentrated hard enough I would be able to see the future in the snowy wintery scene. Needless to say, that didn’t happen so I moved on to collecting the bits of broken glass that remained scattered across the lawn from a car accident in our front yard. I’d put the glass in a small red sack with Cesar’s Palace written across the front and pretend they were diamonds. If I was going to die in a few years in a World War III explosion I might as make sure I make sure I make my fortune from diamonds first.
Some people love to cook. I’ve seen them on TV or have maybe even met a few in real life, even though I can’t think of anyone specific right now. I’m not one of those cooking people. While I love to watch cooking shows, I don’t necessarily want to prepare any of the dishes at home.
My problem is that I love to eat. Standing in a kitchen in front of a hot stove is just a means to an end as they say. If I’m going to eat I need to cook. We can’t afford to eat out every night. and if I let the men I live with do the cooking we’d be eating eggs for every meal. There is nothing wrong with eggs, but if you eat too many of them you might just turn into an animal that survives primarily on eggs. What would that animal be? A mongoose maybe, or a fox? As usual my confusion about animals has gotten the better of me because I’m not quite sure what a mongoose is. Is it similar to a hedgehog? Should I be too embarrassed to ask that question? Are there too many questions in this paragraph? … I should probably move on.
Just in case you are as misinformed as me, this is a mongoose.
Though my husband and stepson would be fine eating the same meal everyday for the rest of their lives, I need a bit of variety. When it comes to food I’m lacking in the creativity department. I find myself rotating through a couple of recipes. That’s not because I can’t cook anything else. It has more to do with laziness. That’s why I think I need to have a personal chef.
I have sophisticated tastes so I couldn’t just hire any old person off the street to cook for my family. I need a world class chef who will make food so good that it will make me slap somebody. I’ve thought about this long and hard and I’ve been able to narrow the list down to Rick Stein, Nigella Lawson, and Jamie Oliver. It’s just a coincidence that all of these people are British. The United Kingdom isn’t necessarily the country one thinks of when they think of good food, but I wouldn’t hire someone like Rachel Ray or Paula Deen. No offense to their fans, but if I have to eat Southern fried anything, I’d rather not eat.
I’ve have to audition the chefs of course. The competition would be stiff, but I’m sure one of them would have what it takes to cook for the Bettisons.
Sometimes I wonder why they even bother making light colored clothing. Is it just me or do other people end up spilling spaghetti sauce all over themselves every time they wear a white shirt? I have several white shirts in my closet that rarely see the light of day because I don’t want to spill anything on them. The unfortunate thing is that I look good in white. You don’t know that though because it’s a color you’ll probably never see me wearing.
An outfit doesn’t have to be white for me to mess it up. Any article of clothing lighter than black is in danger when I’m wearing it. Yesterday, I wore an orange shirt with some pale khaki pants. The ensemble narrowly escaped a major staining incident during my lunch of spicy, bright orange, Vietnamese soup. Getting through lunch stain free must have made me a bit cocky because later that day I decided to make roasted beets for dinner–without an apron.
Needless to say that went badly. The very first cut of the very first beet resulted in a splattering of red beet juice on my right hip. Isn’t it just like beet juice to be attracted to the palest article of clothing you have on? I was annoyed, but I wasn’t done yet. I should’ve just changed my clothes, but I’m a Taurus which means I’m stubborn–and I have a taste for luxury, but that’s a different story all together.
A few minutes later, I dropped a couple beet cubes and caught them on my right leg before they hit the floor. After that all bets were off. Sometimes you are just destined to sacrifice a perfectly good pair of pants to the beet gods. By the time I was done cooking my pants looked like they should be hanging in The Tate Gallery. I considered framing them and selling them to a billionaire with money to burn, but in the end I decided to see if I could get the stain out.
The point of this whole post is that I used the Astonish Stain Remover Bar on my pants that night. The next morning when I threw them in the wash they came out completely clean. There was no evidence of the beet travesty that had occurred the night before. It was like a miracle–a miracle that no one seems to care about but me. If you don’t have one of these stain remover bars get one. It will change your life. I might even start wearing my white shirts for events other than closings.
Note: I am in no way affiliated with Astonish Stain Removers and get nothing from mentioning them except the satisfaction of helping someone else avoid ruining a perfectly good article of clothing with an unfortunate stain.
Another Note: I was featured on Black Girl Nerds today. Check out the post here.
I pulled myself out of my internet cave for a few hours the other day to watch the Grammys. I don’t usually watch award shows. Actually, that’s not completely true. I don’t usually admit to watching award shows. I have a reputation to maintain. I’m not sure what that reputation is exactly, but I think it has something to do with not watching award shows and excelling at darts.
The most shocking thing about the Grammys, besides Frank Ocean’s terrible performance, is that I have no idea who Frank Ocean is, or most anyone else on the show. Is this how you know you’re getting old? My gray hairs should’ve given me a clue or the fact that the year I was born keeps seeming to get further and further away.
I don’t feel old though. I can still do one almost push-up and my mind is as sharp as a tack. Just the other day while I was looking for the car keys that were in the pocket of the pants I was wearing I was thinking about how sharp I am. It’s all that time I spend blankly staring off into space that keeps my mind fit.
Sitting around staring at a computer screen all day helps too. I could be the national sitting around champion if they ever started that competition. With the right lighting it could be just as exciting as the Grammys.
I was really bummed when I realized I couldn’t pee while standing up without it dripping down my legs and completely messing up my outfit. Now that I’ve got a Go Girl I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Go Girl is the best solution for women who really, really want to pee while standing. You know you really want to–you really, really do.
The world didn’t end, so I guess not buying Christmas presents for anyone was a bad move on my part. Seriously, what are you going to do with a new Nook Color during the zombie apocalypse? While I think it would be air dynamic enough to hurl at an approaching ghoul, it certainly doesn’t weigh enough to bash in any brains.
I could battle the crowd of desperate shoppers at the mall to buy anything that is still in stock. “Oh, look they have a perfectly good tuna scented candle on sale for half off. Now who in my family really likes tuna?” Or I could smile really big and hope no one notices that I didn’t get them anything. Luckily, my family doesn’t really celebrate Christmas so I know no one has gotten me anything either.
Instead of exchanging gifts on Christmas Day, we hunker down in the bomb shelter my father has dug under the condo, eat military style rations, drink Tang, and wait for the world to end. It’s big fun. You should try it some time. Seriously, once you have you’ll never have a normal Christmas again.
Season’s Greetings from the Hunter Family bunker where we celebrate Christmas Mooch Style.