I Shoulda Been a Stripper

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 23:14:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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?

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 05:08:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 14:20:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 03:06:00 +0000

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

Click Here

Lunches with Lisa

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 04:07:00 +0000

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..

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 01:23:00 +0000

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..

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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!

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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?

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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."

Lunches with Lisa

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

I've never been one of those people who shop the big "day after Thanksgiving sales" but this year, I was in desperate need of a pair of winter boots, so I perused the ads on Thanksgiving night.

I found a pair of black quilted boots with a fur lining, a zip front and a sensible heel. They were stylish and practical without being matronly. I even bought a pair for my sister because I thought they were so cute. And such a steal!

My sister, Lisa, was sporting her boots when she got on the elevator at the hospital yesterday. She was riding up to the 7th floor when it stopped at 5 to let on an older, silver haired gentleman. From what Lisa could deduce, he was probably in his late 60's. He was very pleasant and joked that even though he had to go down two floors, that it was much easier to go along for the ride up rather than wait for another elevator to come.

Mr. Silver Hair smiled as he looked down at Lisa's feet.

"Boy, those are some sharp looking boots."

"Oh, that's so nice of you. Thank you.", Lisa responded, proud of her stylish footwear.

"Yes siree. Do they have a zipper, too?"

Lisa turned her foot to model them, "Yes, they sure do."

"I'm going to have to get a pair for my mother's birthday. She's gonna love them!"

"Oh...good...", Lisa's feigned a smile.

As he walked off and the door was closing, he looked back down at her feet.

"Yep. Mom's just gonna love them!"

Okay, so maybe they're a little matronly...

Are you trying to tell me something?

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

Okay, first my email called me old.

Now it's calling me fat.

Email, have you been peering in my windows alongside Jim?

Secondhand Sunday

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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.

"OH, I'M GOIN' TO HELL FOR THIS"

Original Post Date, April 2, 2009

I can't tell you how many times I've muttered this statement. After I've said something that's politically incorrect, cut off school buses in traffic, taken the Lord's name in vain and kept the extra change the cashier accidentally gave me. I've lost of track of how many things I've done that would guarantee me a VIP pass to Satan's lair.

Every year, I act the good Christian and impose a personal penance on myself by giving up something I love for Lent. And every year, I give up sweets. Since I grew up as a member of the Eastern Orthodox Church, our Lenten season begins the 7th Monday before Easter since we don't count Sundays when calculating the season of Great Lent.

I don't remember why. I would like to say that I missed that Sunday school class but I had perfect attendance as my personalized Bible will attest, so I'll just chalk it up to old age.

In fact, I never remember that our Lenten season starts sooner so I usually just follow what my Catholic friends do. When I start seeing purple, green and gold Mardi Gras beads in the stores, I know it's time to start gourging myself in anticipation of my weeks of sacrifice.

The first week, usually on the Monday or Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, I go to the grocery store and stock up on fruits, nuts and other healthy snacks. Then I boast to everyone within earshot that I have "given up sweets for Lent" and I bask in the glow of their admiration.

The accolades continue through the second week when, at a staff meeting, I'm presented with the dilemma of whether or not to eat a chocolate chip muffin. It's early and I haven't had breakfast yet so I glance around the room to determine if any of the attendees know about my Lenten endeavor.

The coast is clear so I lovingly place the muffin on a plate, grab a bottle of water and take a seat. A glance at the clock reveals that there are ten minutes before the meeting starts, which is plenty of time to indulge myself in my favorite morning treat. I gaze down at it, plump with chocolate chips peeking out at me and I refrain myself from teasing it with a lick, though the desire is strong.

"Why, Good Morning! I thought you gave up sweets for Lent?" I stop chewing and look up to see the woman that I had made a Lenten pact with just two weeks ago.

"I'm giving up sweets for Lent." I had told her.

"Oh my gosh, me too. How perfect! We can be each other's support."

"Deal!"

I think back to that fateful encounter as I pretend that I'm still chewing, my mind racing for an explanation.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Because don't you always say this to buy yourself some extra time?

"I said, Didn't you give up sweets for Lent?" her arms are now folded across her chest and she's leaning on one hip.

"Me? Oh....oh...I know...you must have misunderstood. What I said was that I was giving up candy, not all sweets."

"Oh, okay." she replied as she took a banana and sat down across from me.

By week three, the plethora of drugstore Easter candy starts showing up in bunny dishes atop file cabinets and desks around the department. I spoon a handful of black jelly beans (my favorite) into my hand as I'm walking out of the clinic.

"I thought you said you were giving up candy for Lent?" a voice calls to me and I fear turning around, knowing it's my support buddy.

"Hey, hi! What? Candy? No, no...what I said was that I was giving up chocolate. Not all candy because, you know, chocolate is my favorite and it is the biggest sacrifice. These jelly beans? I could take 'em or leave 'em. Hey, how are you doing?"

"Good! No sweets at all. We're doing really good!" she beams.

"We sure are. Yay, us!" I turn to walk out and grab a tissue to wipe the jelly bean blackness off my sweaty palms.

Week four arrives and I have Sunday dinner with my parents. After we eat, my mother goes into the other room and comes back with her hand behind her back.

"Guess what I have? You're fav-or-ite..." She brings her arm around front and opens her cupped hand to reveal Cadbury eggs; the most amazing once a year confection ever invented.

I grab them from her and eagerly start to unwrap one.

"Hey!" my sister scowls at me, "I thought you gave up sweets?"

"What? No....no...I decided against it this year."

Oh, I'm definitely goin' to Hell for this. Anyone care to join me?

C Cleveland

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 05:03:00 +0000

As you know, Saturday is reserved for C Cleveland, a moniker that can be interpreted as "See" Cleveland or "Chrissy's" Cleveland. I like to use the day to highlight one of the unique features that I love about my hometown.

Today, however, I will digress from regularly scheduled programming to express my irritation at the latest Forbes list that perches Cleveland atop the list of the "most miserable cities in the country".

On one hand, I hate to even acknowledge this laughable ranking but I feel like ignoring it will give it the validation it's seeking.

It's interesting that they open their evaluation of Cleveland with a long ago unfortunate fact about the town; the year the Cuyahoga River caught on fire. Yuck, yuck, how funny...the river caught on fire. We know. It was 40 years ago.

The water and air pollution of that industrial era was rampant and on that day, the oil soaked debris likely caught fire from molten steel or a spark from a passing railway car. It burned for about two hours and was a blip on the local news but it's lived in infamy ever since.

Cuyahoga River, circa 1969

Some credit that fateful fire as being the catalyst for the creation of the Clean Water Act in 1972 and for the creation of agencies such as the Environmental Protection Agency.

Today, this 100-mile river is thriving and full of fish and other aquatic species. It begins its run in rural Geauga County, heads south through Akron and back north to Cleveland.

Okay, Forbes, what else ya got?

Unemployment? Check

Lots of snow? Check

Violent crimes? Probably

High taxes? Not as high as some places

Corruption in the local government? Oh yeah...

In fact, the county is in the midst of a huge corruption scandal. Does it make me miserable? Not so much. It makes me look forward to the Lifetime movie that will likely highlight Italian One and Italian Two and how they lived lavish lifestyles with kickbacks and other "favors" in exchange for county contracts.

Italian One and Italian Two

**No formal charges have been brought against either man. The ongoing investigation refers to the suspected corrupt players as "public official one" and "public official two".

Losing sports teams? Yep. It ensures that I can decide to go to a 1:00 baseball game at 12:55 and still get good seats. Now, that doesn't work for a Cavs game but let's just focus on the negative, shall we?

Look, no one can knock Cleveland like a Clevelander. We are great at beating ourselves up, looking at the glass as half empty and always carrying an umbrella in anticipation of those dark clouds opening up.

But we do that the way you call your brother ugly and your sister stupid. We insult, bitch and moan but in the end, we love our dysfunctional home and we strive every day to make it a better place.

And if we fall down, we can be sure there's someone there to laugh at us right before they reach out their hand to lift us up.

Believe in yourself

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

I know I bitch about my weight, um....all the time. But for the most part, I'm pretty comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I've earned the wisdom of age and apart from a few neuroses, I wouldn't change a thing.

The first thing I do when I get home from work is pull my hair back completely off my face, take off my "work clothes" and wash my makeup off. Tonight, I realized that I had forgotten to pick up a prescription so after dinner, I headed out.

As I was walking through the mega grocery store to the pharmacy, I waved hello to the produce guy, and smiled at strangers I passed along the way. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. The Chrissy of 10 years ago, 5 even, would never have ventured out without full makeup, perfectly coiffed hair and a stylish outfit. Wow, I must have really reached a new level of confidence.

I stopped at the floral shop, where an old lady was looking at the bouquets in the cooler. I walked up next to her and saw that she had her hair pulled back in a bun, nary a stitch of makeup on and was wearing a mis-matched ensemble. She mumbled something to herself, starting laughing and walked away with a bunch of daisies.

I looked back and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored display case. I was wearing my hair in a bun, I had nary a stitch of makeup on and a tug on my pant legs revealed two mis-matched socks.

Maybe I'm not so "confident in my skin", after all.

Maybe I just don't give a crap anymore.

Stripper Chick Wisdom

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

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

"If you have to ask if your butt looks big....it probably does."

Starting........NOW!

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

It's that time of year again.

The Season of Lent.

The Season when all good Christians humbly reflect for 40 days, repenting of sin, renewing their faith and joyfully celebrating the mysteries of our salvation. This is usually done by giving up cursing or apple pie.

Personally, I've spent the last week or so gourging myself before Lent starts. There's no Fat Tuesday in my world, it's Fat Saturday through Sunday.

I've decided that I'm going to give up sweets and Diet Coke. I know, an odd combination, but the Diet Coke takes away the guilt from eating all the sweets and besides, I love Diet Coke, so it really is a sacrifice.

I'm such a good Christian.

One of my secrets is that I'm a food addict and sweets are my drug of choice. In the past, when I gave up cookies and candy, I would reach for potato chips as a substitute. So this year, I'm being proactive and giving up potato chips, too.

Without sweets, Diet Coke and potato chips, I will likely turn to pretzels, so they're on the list now as well.

So let's see, I'm giving up sweets, Diet Coke, potato chips and pretzels. Without all those yummies, I bet I'll reach for fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.

Yep, better add that to the list. Okay, no sweets, Diet Coke, potato chips, pretzels, fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy.

I wonder if ice cream is considered a sweet? I better give that up, too. No sweets, Diet Coke, potato chips, pretzels, fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy and ice cream.

You know, as I'm looking over this list, I'm feeling completely overwhelmed at the prospect of giving up so much and I wonder if it's the right thing to do. Let me just open this Bible sitting here on my desk and trust that the first Scripture I read is a direct message from God for me.

I will surely and abundantly bless her provision; I will satisfy her poor with bread and sweets and Diet Coke. Psalm 132: 15

Well played, God.

Hey, Vancouver!

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 03:12:00 +0000

Since you're having a few snow "issues", why don't you move the rest of the Olympic games here?

You guys are welcome to use my driveway, too. It's pretty long.

By-ee ahee ah woo!

imkickie@sbcglobal.net (Chrissy) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 05:02:00 +0000

I heard some sad news today. Doug Fieger, the lead singer of the band, The Knack, died on Sunday at the age of 57. It was announced by the band's manager, Jake Hooker, that Doug had battled cancer.

Who doesn't remember the song, My Sharona? And if you aren't old enough to remember its first go around in 1979, maybe you saw the movie, Reality Bites in 2006, which featured it on its soundtrack.

This one hit wonder band introduced us to that bra-less shag haired chick with her "nips" showing through her white tank top.

That 45 record sleeve made this 13 year old girl long for the day that she could throw caution to the wind and do the same. Such great memories are related to this song.

There's just one thing I don't understand.

Why does The Knack still have a manager?