This just happened! Yes, really.

Not ten minutes ago I was out front, using the garden hose & a plastic fork to clean dog shit out of the treads of my favorite Dansko™s (the brown brocade ones with the gold sparkles, Sis knows which ones I mean) when --- I swear to God & the patron saint of cute shoes & serendipity --- this happened:

There was an odd noise. It wasn’t loud, just a cross between a thrum and a buzz with a little humminess thrown in. I looked up.

A hummingbird with a metallic red head was hovering at my eye level close enough to touch. I didn’t move.

Involuntarily, I found myself thinking, “Oh. Hello.”

It was still there. We were both still there.

No, I didn’t say anything out loud. No, I didn’t “hear” magical voices or feel a sudden impulse to go out and save the world or anything else. It was just a hummingbird. It was beautiful, and it was hovering but otherwise immobile for longer than I’ve ever seen a hummingbird stay still, but that’s unusual not impossible. Magic still doesn’t exist.

Hang in there, sweetie. This is your Auntie Scarycookies. Trust me. Wait for it. ;)

Of course I eventually won the stare down and the little bird thrum-buzz-hummied off.

NOW here’s the thing: Magic may not exist, but superstition sure does. And who do you know who is more superstitious than your Auntie?

Ha. Your adolescent sarcasm notwithstanding, damn straight no one else.

I’m taking this as a powerfully positive good omen. Because we’re so close to New Year, I’m taking it to apply to all of 2015. And because the first thought I had was to come in here and tell all of you about it, I’m taking it to apply to you, too.

Yes, I knocked wood after each sentence in the preceding paragraph just in case.

So Happy New Year my darlings. I promise to try to blog more often than once a month, but if I don’t, come see me on Twitter and Quora. Big hug!

Ask Auntie -- The Not So Cold Fish

Dear Aunt Scary,

Help! I'm reasonably attractive. I know how to make conversation and I do get asked out. But after one or two dates, the guys always vaporize. Apparently I come across as cold and reserved. Don't tell me to smile and make eye contact because I do that. I don't want to be slutty, but I would like to get to a third date.

Please tell me how to fake chemistry.

Signed,

Not a fish

Dear Fish,

You can't force chemistry, and trust Auntie, you don't want to fake it. Don't worry, there is a lot you can do to express interest.

Since you're already smiling and making eye contact, I'll move on from there. Start by using physical contact for emphasis. This means patting his hand or touching his arm, either when you're making a point or when you want to show you appreciate something he said.

Sit straight (posture counts!) but lean toward him. Keep your arms unfolded. When you're walking, place yourself a little closer to him than you're probably doing -- not so much that you actually bump into him, but close enough for proximity warmth.

The idea is to demonstrate your interest with physical gestures and general physicality in order not to seem reserved. The trick is to stay on the cordial side and not fall into sluttiness. It's not difficult, it just requires a different kind of spatial awareness.

Thanks for asking me. I hope this helps.

Send your questions to: AuntScarycookies@aol.com

The Thick-headed Telemarketer

This just happened:

Him: "Hi, I'm calling from (worthy cause), I'd like to..."

Me: "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a policy that we don't donate to charities who solicit by telephone."

Him: "That's fine. Of course I wouldn't ask you to give money over the phone. If it's okay with you, I'll send you an envelope by mail."

Me: "No thanks. Good luck with your other calls."

Him: "What? No?"

Me, patiently: "You're asking me this over the phone. That's solicitation."

He got very angry with me for some reason. Oh well.

Life Lessons In Bulk At Costco™ On A Hot Day

At 10:00 a.m. you’ll be disappointed in a parking space that you’d fight for in the afternoon, even if it's right next to the cart retrieval thingy. No, not me. The guy in the pickup next to me cussing a blue streak.


Auntie jotted down the gist of this for you while the nice but irrational lady blocked the aisle:

“After this I go to Target, then Petco and I want to stop at Walgreen’s. What? (Pause) Why? (Long pause) NOOO!! Don’t you dare! Don’t touch it, I say! I’m coming straight home! Yes I am! Right now! (Short pause) Good. That’s settled. But I have to make a few stops first.”


The sturdy, mid-60s woman in the spaghetti-strap top had her tit fall out while she was loading her car. She didn’t put it back until her cart was empty. That was an object lesson in composure. And aplomb. She was chock-full of aplomb. Probably bought in bulk inside.

I saved the most important lesson for last, so only those of my darlings who have read this far will benefit. It’s a reward, and I hope to save you the ordeal Auntie went through to learn it. The most important lesson is this:

Never ever choose the shortest line. It’s a trap.

P.S. I said, “Would you please give me my card back?” And not one but two angry employees insisted that she had. I got home & searched everywhere. She hadn’t.

(Ask Auntie) Playing For Keeps

Dear Aunt Scarycookies,

Why doesn't my husband love me anymore?

Sincerely,

Sad Somewhere

Dear Sad,

Oh honey. Auntie is so sorry for you. I really am. But there is so much involved here, starting with your feeling of being unloved (which is tragic enough no matter how often people feel that way) and ending with the fact that you went to a total stranger on the Internet for help.

Thank you for your implied faith in me, but this is a real-life problem, and it requires a real-life solution.

Talk to him. If that doesn't do any good, find a qualified professional who can sit down with you and help. If you don't want a counselor, then find a reputable lawyer.

Good luck!

STFU

I can go from regal to ungainly just like that.

If you haven’t met me, the only thing you need to know for the preceding sentence to make sense is that I am fairly tall, if you think 5’8” is fairly tall. So when I’m in a good strong mood, I feel regal. It only takes the slightest whiff of just about anything to knock that feeling down into gangly.

This morning I happened to see a total stranger in silhouette. No big deal, that happens whenever any of us goes outside on a bright day. August in Los Angeles counts as a bright day, etc etc ergo sum.

The thing about this stranger is that his silhouette was exactly that of an uncle I used to have. Okay, this uncle is still alive, or he was last I heard, knock on wood…

…but we’re not exactly on speaking terms, so there’s that. Also, my uncle is neither tall nor Asian and the total stranger turned out to be both.

Stop going off on tangents! We were talking about the silhouette.

The silhouette was exactly the same as my uncle’s circa the late 80s when he was still capable of making me feel inadequate. Thus, and for no other immediate reason, I suddenly felt much less adequate.

(Also ungainly, but that’s not relevant despite its appearance in my lead.)

And so bringeth the lesson, my dear ones. Forsooth here it is:

Sometimes you just have to tell the voices in your head to shut the fuck up.

Oh sure, there’s the voice that says not to get fries with that, and the one that prompts you to turn off the computer and go to bed so you won’t be a total zombie tomorrow. I don’t mean those voices. Listen to those voices. One of them might be mine.

I mean the mean little petty voices. The ones that do nothing other than make you feel bad or stupid or just plain wrong. Tell them to shut up.

Auntie thinks you’re a good person, you’re definitely not stupid, and as for wrong … well, wrong is relative and often immaterial.

Speaking of relatives, if you see my uncle, feel free to tell him I said hi.

Put On Old

This happened:

Tonight @RealBobWilson and I took my 87 year old mother Melva to a fabulous new Indian place we found. Turns out it wasn’t new, she used to eat there years ago, but it’s still fabulous.

Anyhow, while Robert stepped away from the table for a moment, the charming, doe-eyed handsome young busser from Mumbai packaged up our leftovers for Melva to take home. We were making the usual chitchat, and I happened to mention that Melva is my mother.

“Really?” exclaimed the charming doe-eyed etc, “I would have guessed you were sisters.”

I didn’t roll my eyes. It’s a good thing, because he added, “That’s because she looks old but you look old too.”

Pow! Zap! Right in the kisser.

Oh, I laughed it off in the moment, and then had tremendous fun at Melva’s expense because she was fuming for half an hour at the insult to her widdle princess. (She’s my mother, if she wants me to be a little anything, well, she can dream.)

But pity poor Robert for the catechism he had to suffer in the car once we dropped Melva off. The conclusion of which is that since he loves me, he also loves how I look and that I don’t look 87.

Then again, neither does Melva.

The picture you see above is a few months old, but it’s only a few months old. If I put makeup on and stand in good light, that’s really me. The busser isn’t 20 yet. Of course he can’t tell the difference between 50 and 80, or in this case 53 and 87. I shouldn’t take it personally.

And that, my darlings, is today’s lesson. You can tell yourself things like “Consider the source” and “What goes around, comes around” and whatever the hell else you like, but in the end, we’re still superficial, we’re still vain, and we still care about the stupid stuff.

They have truly stupendous chili naan, though, so I can’t wait to go back.