How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I don’t care what people say.  Alien abductions are not that bad.

Yeah, there is that little dilemma of how to explain to your homies why you haven’t shown up at yoga for the last couple of months or why you have a giant pile of wet newspapers in your driveway but a simple explanation is generally all it takes to get things back on track.

So….now that I’ve gotten my power turned back on and convinced my husband to put that pesky divorce filing on hold, I’m ready to explain.

I was abducted by aliens on July 16th, 2012.  When one of those Spielberg-sized flying Frisbees descends on your house and catches you in a tractor beam? It just becomes one of those “It was beyond my control” kind of situations like going bat-shit crazy on a tele-marketer who calls during dinner with a great deal on time-shares.

Anyway, regardless of the rumors, aliens do not engage in anal probes [unless by special request] or anything related to anatomical exploration.  Truth be told, they are just like us.  They have problems they want you to help them solve. They need relationship advice. They need to vent about their families who visit and stay too long or their alien teenagers who text too much or won’t listen when told not to point their ray guns at each other.  You know, normal everyday stuff. Sometimes they just need a different perspective to help them along and I was more than happy to help.  All it cost  me was a couple of months out of my life. I considered it a distraction from the pressures of my own routine and it actually helped me focus on the important stuff.   I admit that being dematerialized and beamed back home was a little gnarly and I’m feeling a nagging void of some kind but other than that, I’m pretty solid.  I suspect I may have lost an organ during the process but I’m hoping it’s something I can live without like my appendix. So far, I can still pee and metabolize alcohol properly so I think I’ll put off the CT scan until I feel stuff shutting down.  No need to incur any more radiation, right?

So here’s a little advice from one earthling to another: If you’re abducted? Don’t panic. Don’t be afraid.  Help an alien brother out, ya know?  Take a deep breath, relax and enjoy the view from space. You’ll get back to the grind soon enough.


“Say Hello To My Little Death-Ray”

It’s a fact. Wrinkles suck.

And I am vain. I am not ashamed to admit it.

But there is hope for the wrinkly:  lasers.  They come in may forms, these lasers.  Fraxels, Yags, CO2s, Titans, IPLs, Palomars, Pearls, Active Xs.   I don’t really care what they’re called, I just want them to work. So yesterday I chose one. It was called the Something-Something-Ultra.

Oh yeah! Ultra! Bring it on!

It went like this:

A lovely technician in a white coat slathered my face with some kind of special ultra-super-mega cream.


What’s with the primer?


It intensifies the laser.


Does it make the Ultra extra Ultra? Or does it make the Ultra Mega?


Please stop talking.


Okay, but—

She slapped some duct tape over my mouth, donned a hazmat suit and pulled out what looked like a ray gun and flipped the switch to On.   It sounded like the positron collider from Ghostbusters.  Her eyes  began to change, serpent-like, their eerie blue glow seared a hole in my psyche.

Hmmmm….I should have read the FAQs. I tried to mumble out a question but I just ended up sounding like Kenny from South Park and gave up.

I closed my eyes and thought of a calming mantra: A 25% reduction in fine lines. A 25% reduction in fine lines. A 25% redu—-

When I regained consciousness, I was sitting at the desk of an overly cheery receptionist who was grinning from ear to ear. She had little ceramic fairies all over her desk. She sees me eyeing them with disdain and giggles.


Aren’t they precious? I call them the Age Fairies. They’re our little laser clinic mascots.  Get it? Laser clinic Age Fairies?


I want to smash the holy fuck out of them.

My foul mood did nothing to damper her irritating sweetness. She leaned forward, peered over her desk and whispered in a baby voice.


So?  How are we feeling?

I gingerly touched my face to check for open wounds.


I don’t know about this “we” shit but I feel like a parboiled tomato.


How about an ice-pack?


How about an air-lift to a burn unit?


You’re so funny!  Melanie said you did just fine.


Melanie, huh?  That’s its name?  I hope Species in there doesn’t escape and mate with a human male or we’re all in deep shit. Do you take American Express?


Of course!