Problem: My car won�t go backwards. After yesterday�s Businesswomen�s Club board meeting, I backed out of a parking space, but as I was pulling forward, I realized I hadn�t backed out far enough. But tough cookies, because my car stopped going backwards. Like an awesome professional woman, I had to get out of my car, put my hands on that filthy hood, and shove that rustbucket backwards.
Solution: Buy me a pony.
Problem: I�m tired.
Solution: Book me a ticket to Columbia, so I can eat coffee beans straight off of the� branch? Bush? What do coffee beans grow on, anyways?
Problem: I am SO BORING. I�m chairing this HUGE cancer society fundraiser, and the main event is Friday. It�s in a new location, with 10 new teams and a few dozen brand-new volunteers. It is all I can think about or talk about. My brain is consumed by audio wiring, campsite maps, children�s activities, and electrical issues. Boring!
Solution: Come to my fundraiser! Just because I�d hate to do all this damn work, plus bore the crap out of my friends and loved ones, for nothing.
Problem: It�s mosquito season in full force, and I�m covered in itchy bumps.
Solution: Buff me to a high-gloss finish.
Problem: I�m leaving for Los Angeles next week, and I don�t know what to pack. I also don�t have time to think about what to pack.
Solution: Cast me in some sort of reality show that results in a new wardrobe for me. Put that new wardrobe in a new suitcase while you�re at it, okay?
Problem: While in L.A., I am going to be in the studio audience of The Price Is Right. In order to hear those magical words, �Jamie Star, come on down!� I need a shirt that says something clever. My favorite idea so far is �Let Me Showcase My Showdown,� but CBS sucks and will not choose me if they think my shirt is in any way sexual, and I don�t MEAN it to be dirty, but I�m paranoid that Bob Barker will perceive it that way.
Solution: Send me an idea. No, seriously. Click that email link and tell me what to put on my shirt. Imagine the thrill of watching The Price Is Right, and seeing YOUR slogan emblazoned across my nubile breasts! You know you want it.
Problem: I�m meeting Bill and possibly Johnny (even though I haven�t even emailed Johnny yet, and I�m pretty sure he doesn�t know I exist) for cocktails while on the West Coast, and Bill told me he knows where Spike from Buffy lives, and he dares me to knock on his front door and then say, �Oops! Wrong house!� And�. I REALLY WANT TO DO IT. This is probably a bad idea.
Solution: Post my bail when I�m arrested for trespassing and possibly public intoxication. (And maybe indecent exposure, because if you�re going to go down, you might as well do it in flames. And naked.)
