Me and the Hubby on vacation in Marina

I’ve been with my current husband for 23 years. People ask me all the time how we stay married and happy. The happy part seems to bewilder people the most. Below find my best advice. Next month, I’ll focus on advising the husbands.

Tip One: Realize that your man is not perfect. In any way, shape or form. They want everything their way all the time—along with wanting all the food and beer. They touch up the garage in the wrong color paint. They destroy your bathroom. They forget your birthday. They lose their jobs. They scream for stupid reasons. They demand you do things that you don’t want to do. They watch TV programs you hate. They fart, grab themselves and expect you to have sex with them, all in the same moment. Get over it.

Tip Two: Do not judge his actions based upon your own. If a woman walks by a huge pile of laundry, it means she’s seen it and is choosing not to fold it. If a man walks by a huge pile of laundry, it’s because he doesn’t recognize it as a pile of laundry. It’s merely part of his environment. Like a wall. This is why he steps over piles of shoes, walks around the full grocery bags on the floor and ignores the dishes in the sink. He honestly does not see the mess. This is why I now fold the clothes on Frank’s desk.

Tip Three: Men are not mind readers. You must tell a man what you expect out of him. Using a billboard, a sky-writing airplane and flash cards. Men don’t “instinctively” know what to do around the house. They can’t tell by your huffing and sighing that you wanted them to unload the dishwasher. They may not even know you own a dishwasher. Most men live in their heads. Both of them. At once. It is your job to tell them what you want. Writing your expectations down is best. In big bold letters. On the centerfold from Playboy magazine.

Tip Four: Men are not listening to you if the TV is on. Men are incapable of carrying on a conversation and watching TV at the same time. They will nod and smile and pretend to understand you to get rid of you, but they’ve not heard a word you’ve said. Unless you’ve said the word “sex.” Now when Frank watches TV, I start all conversations like this: “SEX! Frank could you put away the dishes? SEX! And take out the garbage?”

Tip Five: Men aren’t being mean if they don’t listen to you. They’re just being idiots. They don’t mean anything by it. They have no idea they’re not listening to you. They are crunching batting averages, conjuring their perfect fantasy football team, engineering a new way to take out the garbage that doesn’t involve actually touching it, or trying to get you to have sex. Or they’re thinking about food. They are completely disassociated from their surroundings. This is why I now take off my clothes if I want Frank’s attention. Which works, even if his focus isn’t necessarily on what I’m saying.

Tip Six: Men cannot multi-task. Frank says, “We’re more focused.” Ahem. Genetically, women have had to develop the talent of multi-tasking. Every woman I know can recite the contents of their fridge by heart and the date when the milk expires. They know when the kids have to be at soccer practice, band practice and the Chinese language lab. They know all their kids’ birthdays and kids’ friends’ birthdays. When Mom walks in the door after work at night, she supervises homework, cooks dinner, plans the upcoming family vacation, writes a shopping list and responds to fourteen emails, all at once.

When Dad comes home, he absently puts his briefcase directly in the path of the front door, drops his coat on the sofa, stumbles into the kitchen, kisses his wife—which isn’t easy because she won’t stay in one spot—then he heads to the fridge for a much-needed beer. He notices the TV is on. Cute weatherwoman. Nice rack. Going to be cooler tomorrow. But the sportscaster is all wrong about his team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his wife screams, “Are you going to help me or stand there like an idiot with your mouth hanging open?” Astonished, he can’t figure out how she got mad so quick when all he did was walk in the door.

This is the point where the woman should point to the billboard in the backyard that says “Help With Dinner When You Get Home If You Ever Want To Have Sex With Me Again.”

Tip Seven: Just because he forgets your birthday or Valentine’s Day, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It means he’s either forgetful or a Hallmark Rebel. Frank doesn’t like having his love shoved in a box of societal expectations and restrictions. In his mind, loving me and buying me stuff have nothing to do with each other. Which sucks. Beating him with the You Don’t Really Love Me Guilt Stick used to net me some cool gifts. But just because I understand he loves me, doesn’t mean I let him off the gift hook. I notify him two weeks before my birthday so he can’t pull the I’ve-been-so-busy-my-computer-died-the-cat-ate-my-date-book automatic response.

Tip Eight: Marriage isn’t fair to either party. He’s the lump that gets in your way and wants sex right after you get off the phone with your mother. You’re the crazy bitch who screams at him for no reason and won’t sleep with him after talking on the phone to whoever that was, he wasn’t listening. Accept this reality. While Hubby needs to come through with his share of financial and emotional support of the family, he is not there to fulfill your every desire. He’s there because you love him. And because he’s a pretty nice guy.

©2010, Janet Periat

Many laws are stupid and serve little purpose other than to further a politician’s career or pad the pockets of Wall Street. So I’ve decided to write my own stupid laws.

Law No. 1: Identity thieves must assume all the responsibilities of their victims’ lives for a period of one year. Examples: mortgage payments, jury duty, high school reunions, cleaning their houses and cars, and visits to Grandma Cranky Pants to hear all about her latest colonoscopy (complete with viewing pictures of Grandma’s colon). Identity thieves also must attend all holiday gatherings and will be forced to eat all the fruitcake at Christmas. And don’t forget to clean the cat box.

Law No. 2: All landlords and investors who purchase new buildings must occupy them for a period of one year before renting them out. In recent years, across the nation, judges have ordered slumlords to occupy their rentals as punishment for refusing to maintain the buildings. If this were made into a legal requirement, landfills would be brimming with orange and green shag carpeting, harvest gold kitchen appliances and brown linoleum.

Law No. 3: People who purchase loud cars and motorcycles must endure five nights of listening to the vehicle start and the engine rev right outside their bedroom windows before they are allowed to use them. “Loud Pipes Save Lives” will become “Quiet Pipes Save Lives” because if you rev that sucker at 6 a.m. just one more time, your neighbors will kill you.

Law No. 4: Make it a felony to break campaign promises. That oughta shorten those stupid campaign ads.

Law No. 5: All celebrities with product lines must prove they used the product for a period of one year before they are allowed to advertise and sell it. Products must be used in public. Which means Martha Stewart must defile her backyard with her tacky outdoor furniture from Kmart and Jaclyn Smith must humiliate herself in those ugly polyester old-lady clothes.

Law No. 6: All congressmen and senators must wear patches that signify what corporations they represent. Like race car drivers. Or they should be forced to wear tight, risqué outfits and strut around the Senate floor saying things like, “Sugar wants some sugar.” Or “Me so loyal. Me love you long time.”

Law No. 7: All instruction manuals for new electronics must be vetted by a panel of 80-year-olds. The panel must be able to use the product within a reasonable amount of time, not to exceed 30 minutes.

Law No. 8: Only 6-year-olds are allowed to vote in the primaries. Which would make politicians’ lies much clearer in their campaign ads. “Kids, I will outlaw school and make every day a holiday. I will make Santa my vice president. I’ll give you lots of candy if you let me be president. Toys for everyone!”

Law No. 9: All household electronics must be tested by monkeys for ease of use. Instead of being designed by monkeys. I still can’t work my microwave without staring at the control pad for a good few seconds to figure it out. Non-intuitive controls dominate my household technology. The PLAY button on the 67-button remote for my DVD player is the size of a BB. Try finding that in the dark when you only have one finger that isn’t covered in Cheetos cheese powder.

Law No. 10: All skinny supermodels’ photos must be accompanied by a disclosure of their actual diets. One carrot, six diet Red Bulls and two grams of cocaine.

Law No. 11: All fast-food ads must feature people who actually consume the products. Like Two-Ton Tilly and Wide-Ride Clyde spilling out of their seats while chowing down on Quadruple-Bypass Burgers, Mega Chili-Cheese Fries and two-gallon Super Soda Bloaters.

Law No. 12: Airline executives are only allowed to fly coach. Let them eat their knees, get blood clots in their legs and be charged to use the lavatory. Bet we’d get the peanuts back and more blankets.

Law No. 13: Actors in television programs must accurately reflect the nation’s populous. Which means one-third of all actors in TV shows must be obese. Instead of just one: Hugo on Lost. Of course, this would present problems for the camera people, trying to fit more than two people on screen at one time. Think extreme long shots.

Law No. 14: Products aimed at middle-aged people and older must not contain fine print. We can’t read it without a magnifying glass with the power of the Hubble.

Law No. 15: Viagra and other erectile dysfunction products can only be obtained with spousal permission. “Sorry, Harry, I gave that up when you started with the comb-overs and pulling your pants up above your fat roll.”

Law No. 16: Photos on frozen dinners must accurately represent the contents. Which means a picture of desiccated brown chunks of a chopped, pressed and formed beef-like substance in a gelatinous, caramel-colored, salty puddle of goop served with limp, spongy, gray string beans in a yellow-dyed, margarine-flavored sauce. Don’t forget the super-sweet, plasticy-tasting, burnt-and-hard-on-one-side-gooey-and-mucky-on-the-other-side, brownie-like cake thing. Mmmmm. Is it time for dinner yet?

Law No. 17: Limit snack manufacturers to only 10 percent extra space in the packaging for “settling of contents.” On most snack packages, the first ingredient on the list should be “air.” Bags of chips, especially. How many times have I bought a big bag of fancy-schmancy expensive potato chips only to find five chips and a few crumbs at the bottom of the bag? This kind of bait-and-switch always makes me feel stupid. I should only feel stupid for stuffing a bunch of fat in my body, not for buying the chips in the first place.

I’d love to hear similar ideas for laws from my readers. Click Contact Janet to send me your suggestions. I’ll print the best either here and/or in CoastViews Magazine, or both. First place winner gets a copy of my book. Second place gets two books. Deadline: July 31, 2010.

©2010, Janet Periat

Word meanings are fluid. Some change and some stay the same depending on what’s going on in the world. Since we are in a huge state of flux right now, I thought it would be good to clarify some current terms.

Congress: 1. The opposite of progress*. 2. A group of rich people with bad hair who take advantage of loopholes in the law to give themselves raises and nicer offices. 3. Government-sanctioned prostitutes. (See Senators and Lobbyists)

Senators: 1. A group of rich people who attended Ivy League schools to forge superficial relationships with people they don’t like in order to run for office to increase their family fortunes. 2. A group of ugly rich people in Washington DC who wear suits and blow through all the tax money extorted from the middle class while pretending to care about  “the people” but who are too self-centered to care about anyone but themselves.

Health Plan: 1. A hodgepodge of laws constructed by insurance companies to confuse patients and deny them care. 2. Legal extortion of the healthy middle class. 3. A bill that is paid supposedly to avoid bigger bills in case of emergency, but doesn’t really work that way. 4. A legal Ponzi scheme involving the health care industry, the insurance industry and an army of lawyers.

Republicans: 1. A group of rich old white men with bad hair who want to go back to the 1950s when women and minorities “knew their places”.  2. A political party whose sole purpose is to not let any other political party get anything accomplished. 3. A group of hypocrites who profess to be moral until they’re caught with their mistress in Argentina.

Democrats: 1. A spineless group of people who drive Priuses, do yoga, drink protein shakes and enjoy drumming circles and trips to Tibet. 2. A resident of Berkeley, San Francisco or Santa Cruz, California. 3. Someone who is politically correct to the point of disingenuousness. 4. Crazed pot-smoking hippies who put the lives of newts over the prosperity of chemical plants.

Minority: 1. Anyone who isn’t white, rich and heterosexual.  2. A group of people the Republicans fear and hate and legislate against until three months before the election when they pretend to like them.  3. A group of people who are blamed for everything that goes wrong in America.

Public Education System: 1. A day prison for children designed to destroy their natural curiosity and prepare them for a life of sitting at desks and following orders. 2. An underfunded institution that promotes a lifelong aversion to learning.  3. A brainwashing facility that strips participants of their innate talents, limits their choices and ensures their dependence on the system. 4. A Walmart training facility.

Lobbyists: 1. Corporate prostitutes who sell themselves to politicians in exchange for passing laws that will hurt the environment and the poor. 2. People without morals who try to convince other people without morals to continue committing immoral acts. 3. Soul-eating zombies with a political agenda. (See Congress and Senators)

Fast Food: 1. A food-shaped substance that imitates real food and has no nutritional value. 2. A delicious combination of salt, sugar, fat and preservatives that shortens the human life span.

Television: 1. A box that displays a lifestyle you will never be able to afford. 2. A mind-control device that makes the user feel fat, smelly, stupid and lazy. 3. A machine that eats time. 4. A device that facilitates and promotes depression.

Computer: 1. A data processing device that rarely does what you want it to and randomly destroys data. 2. A box that sucks in money and spits out porn.

Internet: 1. A place where bad news gets endlessly recycled far past its relevance. 2. A place to connect with freaks like you. 3. A place to farm virtual land and grow virtual crops and have virtual wars without really accomplishing anything at all. (See Television and Computer)

Marriage: 1. An institution involving two deluded people who actually think that by saying a bunch of magic words their significant other won’t cheat on them or abuse them or take out all their savings to invest in a pyramid scheme. 2. A sacred bond between a man and a woman that gay people have adopted and are now kicking themselves for it. 3. An extortion scheme designed by the bridal industry to get money out of stupid people who think that if they spend a lot on the ceremony it might actually translate into a lasting relationship. 4. A financial agreement between two people who like to sleep with each other and think that by getting financially involved it might promote some sort of bond between them.

Medical Marijuana: Marijuana that is obtained at a dispensary with a fake doctor’s note so stoners don’t have to pretend to be interested in their drug dealer’s boring lives.

Tea-Partiers: (syn: Tea-Baggers) 1. A group of disenfranchised white people who like to yell the n-word. 2. A group of stupid people who think that stupid people should run the world.

The Religious Right: 1. People who use God and the Bible as reasons to persecute people they don’t like. 2. Fearful people who say “they shouldn’t let them do that” a lot. 3. People who send money to men on television with bad hair who preach about morals until they get caught on video with a roomful of prostitutes. (See Congress, Senators, Lobbyists)

The Media: A conglomerate of organizations that twist and distort reality in order to force their users to watch or read paid advertisements.

Liberals: 1. A group of open-minded people who are easily influenced and can’t make decisions. 2. People who miss the Summer of Love. 3. People who think Al Gore is cool.

Conservatives: 1. Fat, bald white guys who hate and fear everything. 2. People with anger issues who love to shout at liberals. 3. Closeted gay people who like having sex in public restrooms.

*Heard this from the comedian Gallagher.

©2010, Janet Periat

It has come to my attention that our country is in the grip of a giant Stupid Attack. Truths, lies and myths have all mixed into one big confusing Internet story. So I will be your great Bringer of Truth. (Or Bringer of More BS, depending on your point of view.)

Myth Number One: The government is there to help you. This is actually true IF any or all of the following criteria are met: 1) You are an elected official. 2) You are a multi-national corporation. 3) You are richer than God. 4) You are a country that has oil. Then the red carpet rolls out and supplicants are willing to meet your every need. Owe money to the IRS? No problem. We’ll just postpone your billing and not charge you any penalties. Which brings up a question: how do congressmen owe back taxes without accruing penalties? They pay interest on their back taxes, but no penalties. We peons can’t owe back taxes without being put on an IRS black ops hit list. For this reason alone, I’ve decided to run for public office.

Myth Number Two: The pharmaceutical companies are working hard to cure your illnesses. Actually, they are working hard to “maintain” your illnesses with pills for life. Drug companies don’t make any money off of curing people. They only make money off of “controlling” illnesses. I have a friend who works at one of these wonderful drug companies. His lab produced a great drug that helped counter the effects of diabetes with amazing results. While this was another maintenance drug, his parent company shelved it because they couldn’t “maximize enough profits” from its production. My friend believed in this drug so much, he wanted to start his own company to produce it. The parent company refused his request to buy the patent. And we wonder why health care costs are spiraling out of control.

Myth Number Three: The Internet increases productivity and saves time by allowing us rapid access to information. Farmville, Worlds of Warcraft, Twitter, Facebook, Google, Amazon, My Space, You Tube. I envision millions of people in their cubicles, typing away on their keyboards in corporate offices. Their bosses look on, pleased their minions are so diligent. Yes, diligently comparing prices on Clinique lipstick, growing crops on Farmville and exchanging stupid chain emails involving angels and fairies. Remember, if you don’t send the Happy Angel to seven of your friends within ten minutes, your computer will die and your genitalia will fall off.

Myth Number Four: Global warming is a hoax. For all of your Flat Earth Society people who think that global warming is a plot by Al Gore to sell books and movies and get him the kind of cred he never had as Vice-President (mainly because of his spastic white-guy dancing at the Inaugural Ball), I invite you to buy coastal property. Then, when some big waves take out your home, you can go to the government for a bailout. And they’ll be right there for you. Just ask the people of New Orleans.

Myth Number Five: Schools are preparing our children for the future. All graduating students are now prepared for a future of sitting at desks and taking tests. When I think about how many jobs entail sitting and taking tests, I envision a beautiful future for America. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Help! My house is on fire! Send someone fast! How long before they get here?” “Let me see. If your house is on fire and has eleven minutes to burn to the ground and the fire station is five miles away and the fire engine is capable of speeds of twenty-five to thirty-miles an hour, I’d say the answer is ‘B’.” “’B’? I’ll lose my house by then. Why not ‘A’ or ‘D’?” “Sorry, sir, budget cutbacks.”

Myth Number Six: Banks are honest institutions. Right before she died, my aunt was sold an annuity by Bank of America. She never received copies of the documents she signed. Seventy-five thousand bucks vanished somewhere between my aunt signing and the payout after she died. Our lawyer sent five letters and made several phone calls requesting copies of the original documents. He was ignored. He finally told us it would cost more than seventy grand to force B of A to relinquish the documents. I’m so glad we taxpayers bailed them out. I was worried about B of A. I mean, how many victims can they fleece before people wise up and withdraw all their money?

Myth Number Seven: Outsourcing to India saves big corporations lots of money. And they get what they pay for. My husband just got a job which required a background check. The corporation hired to do his background check outsourced their work to India. So on Christmas Eve, Frank got a call from the background check people in India. They couldn’t verify his diploma from UC Santa Cruz because “no one is answering the phones.” Because it was CHRISTMAS EVE. Then the kicker. The person requested that Frank send a copy of his diploma to them so they could verify his degree. Frank was all for this. Because he just remembered that he got a Ph.D. from Stanford, was a Rhodes scholar and got an MBA from Harvard. I wonder if Homeland Security hired the same company to do the background check on that airline bomber.

Myth Number Eight: There is a middle class in America. Obama keeps talking about boosting the middle class, but I only know one class of people. Poor people. After putting the kids through college and taking care of our parents, we’ve already gone through all our retirement and savings. Here’s the new mantra for my generation: “Hello and welcome to Walmart!”

I’d move to my own island if I could get cable, high-speed Internet access and a reliable supply of Heineken.

©2010, Janet Periat

Call them resolutions, call them promises, call them whatever you want, but this is the time of the year to set goals for the year. Below is my list which may help you generate your own. Or not.

Goal Number One: I want to stop being pissed off at things beyond my control. Every time I watch the news—which is daily—I end up spitting acid, screaming and my head spins around on my shoulders. Bankers getting bonuses for screwing us all over. Town hall meetings that turn into WWF matches. Rush Limbaugh. Blue states and red states. Yet, I do not want to bite when I am fed the anger chew toys. I want to drop the ball and concentrate on what I want in my life. Which is less bile, more fun. But when some idiot on TV is screaming and waving a sign that says “Keep Government Out of My Medicare!” I can’t help but want to smash them over the head with a reality stick.

Goal Number Two: Lose weight. This has been on my goal list for the past fifteen years. I call it a Legacy Goal. Have no idea if I’ll do anything about it, but it’s a nice thing to have on my list.

Goal Number Three: Ignoring irritating people. We are surrounded by many annoying people in our lives. The more self-aware you become, the more irritating people you notice. So this year, when some irritant walks up to me and says something stupid, I don’t want to be angry. I want to either ignore them or come up with a witty comeback other than “Shut up, Dad.”

Goal Number Four: Prioritize my To Do list. Maybe optimize my To Do list would be a better way of putting it. I fret over the yard, the house, my work, everything. I’m so afraid of not finishing the tasks on my list that now I feel like a failure at everything. When I’m writing, I’m failing at keeping the house up. When I’m cleaning the house, I’m failing at writing. So I’ve decided to write my books and wear a blindfold the rest of the time. I may trip over stuff, but if I can’t see the mess, I won’t care.

Goal Number Five: Work out more. This has also been on my goal list for the past fifteen years. Another Legacy Goal. Putting it on my list makes me feel less guilty about eating lots of chocolate and drinking beer and not working out. Hey, it’s on the list, isn’t it?

Goal Number Six: Seeing my friends more. Because I’ve got this stupid list of crap I never finish, I don’t schedule as much time with friends. Wait…I’m having an epiphany… I’m… writing a list… about letting go of my obsession with adhering to lists… there’s a lesson here somewhere… if I could only find it…

Goal Number Seven: I want to be okay with who I am and where I am now. Here’s who I want to be: mature, self-confident, rich, on the NY Times Best Seller list, svelte and buff. Here’s where I am: overly emotional, self-confident in writing only, super broke, my total book sales for the last two years is 534 and I’m chunky. But this is my best. I work hard, and for some reason, this is the best I can do. And I want to be okay with that. I want to be okay with me. Fat, wrinkly, beer-drinking, swearing-every-other-word me… Somehow that looks even worse in print. I just frightened myself. Maybe this is another one of those Legacy Goals…

Goal Number Eight: Completing planned art projects. I want to create this entire series of yard monsters. Using chicken wire and plaster, I want to build large (between four and six feet tall) strange colorful creatures and put them in my yard. I want them peering out from behind bushes or guarding the mailbox or lurking by the garage. I have many designs in mind and have already created smaller versions out of polymer clay. This also sounds even crazier in print. And I just added a goal to your list: Avoid moving next door to Janet.

Goal Number Nine: Stop worrying. Another Legacy Goal, but I get closer everyday. I’ve worked hard and I’ve let go of many things. I am no longer worried that I will get female-pattern baldness (at fifty, I can tell I dodged that bullet). I’m not worried about my parents moving next door to me (because they’re dug in like ticks at that retirement home). I’m not worried that my cat will die (because he’s already dead.) I don’t worry about Frank cheating on me (maybe I should). I don’t worry about passing classes (because I graduated in 1989). See? I’ve really come a long way.

Goal Number Ten: Stop making stupid Goals Lists. And enjoy my life. I don’t want to push myself so hard that I wake up dead one day and wonder where the hell my life went. I don’t want my tombstone to read: Died Trying To Finish Her To Do List. Or the converse, I don’t want the two people at my funeral saying, “Yeah, hadn’t seen her much in recent years. But I heard she finished everything on her list.” Somehow I don’t think there’s a special red velvet section of Heaven reserved for people who completed their To Do lists. I’m afraid instead of wings they’ll give me a Dunce Cap that reads: Lived Her Life By Lists and Forgot To Enjoy Herself.

I just hope my Legacy Goals don’t follow me into the next life.

©2010, Janet Periat

Yes, it’s that time again, folks, to buy gifts for our loved ones. Due to job loss and the current economy, this year could prove even more challenging to those on a strained budget. Instead of exchanging guilt, frustration and worry this season, try something different and take one of my suggestions below.

Number One: Wrap cheap gifts in bags and boxes from expensive stores. Go to the dollar store, pick up some cheap crap and stuff it in a Nordstrom’s box. No one will know the difference and you’ll score huge points. Hopefully your relatives will reciprocate with gifts that are actually expensive.

Number Two: Create personalized gifts. This adds a wonderful personal touch and enables you to give more unique and memorable gifts. Do a sculpture in marshmallows of your father’s stomach. Handwrite a poem on nice parchment about the time your brother accidentally set the house on fire. Do a photo collage of your family’s most embarrassing moments. Make sure to include pictures of your Dad passed out behind the tree after the Cinco De Mayo tequila-chugging contest and your sister’s unfortunate hairstyle that made her look like a dead poodle.

Number Three: Make gifts out of recyclables. Think decoupaging an old wine bottle to make a beautiful vase. Hint: Consume all the wine before you decorate the bottle. Amazing what creativity sprouts under the influence of alcohol.

Number Four: Bake gifts for loved ones. People love cookies, candies and cakes. But don’t go for the usual, try the unusual. How about recreating The Last Supper with gingerbread men? How about a cake in the shape of deceased pet? Chocolate in the shape of a relative’s most prominent body part? Fruitcakes are especially recommended. Not only are they a tasty dessert, they make great wheel chocks, paperweights, provide amazing self-defense against burglars and work well as an impromptu jack stand to change tires on cars.

Number Five: Give gift certificates for personal services you will perform. Think about your talents. How can you turn this into a gift of service? Are you a racecar driver? Give a gift certificate for a thrilling ride to the airport. Are you a police officer? How about a coupon for covering up a relative’s petty crime? How about a mover? Give a certificate redeemable for moving your sister’s cheating husband out of her house. Exceptions: masseuses, personal escorts and performance artists. Even open-minded families don’t want to go there.

Number Six: Regift. While many will advise against this, a gift becomes a belonging once it is received. Fruitcakes make perfect regifts as they have half-lives and will more than likely outlive their recipients. If you’re all out of fruitcakes, I’ll bet Dad would appreciate that hand-crocheted toilet paper cover in the shape of a pink, frilly doll that Aunt Gilda made for you. What about that Obama Chia Pet you got from the office for Mom? What about the Ab Roller your husband gave you as an anniversary gift? As long as the item is more or less unused, anything is fair game.

Number Seven: Give the gift of a family heirloom. What a perfect opportunity to get rid of a family albatross under the guise of being generous. What about your dead aunt’s collection of raccoon memorabilia? How about Grandpa’s gold teeth, Cousin Lydia’s antique fruitcake or better yet, the urn full of Uncle Al’s ashes? What a marvelous surprise for Jimmy to open up a box on Christmas morning and find his favorite uncle’s remains.

Number Eight: Give a group gift that everyone will enjoy. Hire a Chippendale’s dancer for the family Easter party. A Mafioso to beat up your sister’s deadbeat husband. A group date to In and Out Burger. Or take your family to a time-share presentation for vacation homes in Antarctica. Not only is it free entertainment, you’ll get a box lunch to boot.

Number Nine: Give marketing stuff from work. Pens, pencils, mugs, t-shirts, sweatshirts. If you don’t have enough marketing crap, think outside the box. Reams of paper, old computers, Post-It notes, manila envelopes. Maybe even your cubicle itself. Mom might want to divide the master bedroom and create some personal space away from Dad.

Number Ten: Change the gift tags on the presents under the tree. This is super simple. All you have to do is exchange tags and make the presents appear as if they came from you. This is the cheapest option of all.

Number Eleven: Steal stuff. Okay, so maybe this is bad karma, but who will know? Think a Rolex for Dad, a Ferrari for Mom, a few million for Sis. Hey, if you’re gonna be stealing something, why not aim high?

Number Twelve: Dumpster dive. It’s amazing what kind of stuff people throw away. So what if that sweater doesn’t have a sleeve? Put it in a Macy’s box and tell your sister it’s a new trend. And that case of chili may be a few months out of date, but it’s still good.

Number Thirteen: Buy my books. Especially How To Make Your Life Suck. Especially if you never want to hear from your relatives again.

Feel better about the upcoming holidays? Bursting with creative ideas on how to save money? Inspired to face the challenges of too much family time? Great. Glad I could help. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go create a sculpture of Rush Limbaugh out of old tires. What joy awaits my family on Christmas morning!

©2009, Janet Periat

I recently celebrated my half-century birthday. I have learned much in my time here. I’m starting to forget most of it, so I’m going to write down the salient points for future reference.

Number One: When you turn fifty, you don’t have to dress like your mother. My mom always dressed cool, but ultra feminine. And very adult. So do all my girlfriends. I dress like a teenage boy. I had this idea in the back of my mind that someday I would wake up and be a grown up and suddenly understand the need for high heels and dresses and scarves. You know, like, at fifty. Now that I’m fifty I’ve come to a realization: I will always dress like a nineteen-year-old boy. At ninety-five, I’m gonna look like the Mummy in jeans and a t-shirt. Which is actually fine because of Number Two.

Number Two: No one cares what old people do. Basically, you go from being “the” age in all TV dramas, the center of the universe of fashion, on the forefront of new trends, straight into the vast wasteland of The Great Ignored. Your age group is no longer represented on TV, except in embarrassing denture commercials. No one asks you what you’re doing anymore because they assume you’re not doing anything new or different or interesting. Which means you can finally get away with whatever you want. I rented a bounce house for my adults-only fiftieth birthday and had a blast jumping in the stupid thing. I kept expecting the Age Police to show up and ticket me. But no one gave a damn. I’m thinking of pushing this whole Ignoring of the Old People phenomenon and starting a life of crime.

Number Three: Sex is as good at fifty as it was at twenty. Even better because I’m not as self-conscious, nor am I worried about unintended consequences. Like children. The only difference is I’m not into all that freakin’ Cirque Du Soleil stuff because I’m as flexible as a two by four with as much stamina as an emphysema patient on oxygen. Which brings me to Number Four.

Number Four: Aging hurts. You can still do much of what you did in your youth, you’re just gonna pay a price for it. Sure you can have sex all night or jump in a bounce house. You’ll just be in traction for the following week. Getting out of bed requires not only more effort, but a large grunt, too. There is a direct relationship between age and the amount of noise you make when getting up. I used to think my parents were having brain aneurysms every time they got out of a chair. Now I get it. If you sit too long, everything solidifies. Kind of like pre-rigor mortis. I think my body assumes that since I’ve sat for so long, I’ve actually died. So it stiffens up like a corpse and gets ready for embalming. All that pain is from my body reanimating as I force it to move. Kind of like Frankenstein being shocked into life. My mom says it gets worse and this is the only thing she’s ever told me that’s turned out to be true.

Number Five: Your parents were wrong about almost everything. Problem with parents is that they give you advice from their parents, who got it from their parents and pretty soon, the advice sounds like it came from the Pilgrims just getting off the Mayflower. In every generation, all the rules change, yet parents’ advice stays the same. Get a good job. Stay there forever. Pay them with your loyalty and they’ll pay you with theirs. Banks are the safest place to put your money. Mom told me the other day, “Don’t worry about planning for your future, it will all work out by itself. That’s what we did.” Riiiggghhht. My parents’ generation lucked out. They bought their homes for a dime and sold them for a million. They got GI loans, health insurance, pensions and could support a family of six on one salary. They got Social Security. Basically, their generation spent all the money and left nothing for us. Of course, if they told us the truth, we wouldn’t be helping them pay for that nice cushy retirement home.

Number Six: As they age, most men turn into Dick Cheney. Remember how cute Richard Dreyfus was? What about that hot guy in high school? What the hell happened to these guys? They all got fat, bald and whiter. They all morphed into the same man. They started off as adorable men, then they went through the Dick-Cheney-Izer. They lost their hair, acquired a paunch, started wearing glasses, dressed in old man clothes and now resemble human maggots. Their wives look twenty years younger even if they’re the same age. The weird thing is, the guys still think they’re hot. Frightening.

Number Seven: If it tastes good or makes you feel good, it’s bad for you. Beer, chocolate, caffeine, doughnuts, hamburgers, French fries, cigarettes, butter, salt and Pringles. That was my breakfast. The doctor keeps telling me it’s all gonna kill me, but since I’m old now and no one cares what I do, I figure to hell with it. Which brings me to Number Eight.

Number Eight: When you get older, you realize that no one knows anything. Especially doctors. Three years ago, my doctor told me I should be on Hormone Replacement Therapy because it would help prevent certain illnesses. A year ago, she told me I shouldn’t because HRT causes more illnesses than it was supposed to cure. I could name five hundred other things my doctor was wrong about. So now I don’t listen to her. Or anyone else for that matter. Of course, that could be my hearing.

Stay tuned, I have much more wisdom to impart—if I could only remember it.

©2009, Janet Periat