HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

Once upon a time lived a deluded Disney Princess, who had a wrinkle-free face that always had a smile on it because she had no clue what was really going on in the world.
     Her only desire/goal/ambition/aspiration/prayer/yearning/begging/determination was to find a Prince Charming to get married to.
     POOF!
     And the Fairy-God-Mother clad Universe granted her wish (because The Secret says if you want something badly enough for long enough you will eventually get it... or something like that).
     Anyway, so it happened: the Disney Princess met her handsome Prince Charming, had the big plush wedding and lived happily ever after... until about six days after they returned from their honeymoon.
     That's when the Disney Princess discovered that Prince Charming had to go to work to fund her lifestyle, and she was left home alone all day with the vacuum and her thoughts... then later in her marriage, the diminishing bottles of wine and packets of Marlborough Lites.
     This is because nobody warned the Disney Princess that the “Wedding” and the “Marriage” are only used synonymously by real hard core romantics (who themselves have never been married).

Wed-ber's Definition of Wedding:

“Paying thousands of (name your currency) to feel special and perfect and overindulged for one day without ridicule”.

Wed-ber's Definition of Marriage:

“Realizing that the person who seemed perfect at the wedding actually does all the things that you do like fart, grow hair, cost money, smell, eat, snore, get dirty, have needs, make demands and have an opinion”.

It is usually at this point that a Disney Princess decides to become a Real Housewife... because Disney kicks them out once they stop smiling and start complaining.

Ella Roberts,

www.ellasbooks.blogspot.com.com

 

WHAT IS PERFECT ANYMORE?

As a teenager I was an awkward little lump, with big eyes, big lips, thick knees and a drowning sensation into the shame of being me!
     Plus, it always seemed like I was surrounded by pretty people.
     You know the types who flutter around life with effortless grace, while all my round self could do was waddle.
     Of course this twisted reality of teenage-dom has resulted in my inability to stop believing that anyone who has beautifully shiny hair, perfectly applied make-up and a flawless silhouette without the presence of Spanx has no problems in the world.
     I think this is why I still watch The Real Housewives; I'm waiting for an announcement that all the drama isn't real.
     So I nearly fainted recently when I tripped over a piece of information that severely bothered me when it should have actually soothed me:
     Not everyone who portrays herself as such is perfect!
     “Well duh!” you say.
     But you see, I am the forgiving individual who will not question whether those freakishly large E-cup boobs on a size 4 frame are real or whether those lips that look suspiciously like dead animals are collagen injected.
     However, when I walked in on one of the Mrs. Perfects that I know personally while she was changing, I saw a naked truth that destroyed my illusion.
     Like me, she had thighs that touch, two stomachs and an extra set of elbows for boobs!
     I used to idolize this woman.
     I used to skip dessert and exercise with the hope that one day I would look like her, only to find out that she looks like me!
     Now what am I supposed to do with this information?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

I THOUGHT THERE WERE NO MOSQUITOS IN VEGAS!

When I first arrived in Las Vegas over three years ago during the height of the cloying summertime heat I got two surprises!
     One pleasant and one unpleasant.
     The unpleasant surprise was that the heat took away my ability to blink comfortably without breaking into a sweat.
     The pleasant surprise was the absence of mosquitoes, or rather my making it through the summertime without falling victim to these greedy little parasites!
     For two magical summers I (rightfully) kept my blood to myself but for reasons unknown to me, in the summer of 2013 a gang of stray mosquitoes has magically appeared in my house and I have spent more time than needs to be admitted chasing them around, trying to get rid.
     Sometimes I glimpse my murderous face in the mirror as I smack every surface trying to kill, kill, KILL one!
     You see, I have always considered mosquitoes to be the lowest form of severe irritation since I, myself was a source of annoyance to my parents' insecure attention-seeking friends.
     This is because for some reason every mosquito in whatever country, finds my blood to be a particularly tasty treat.
     Meaning, I have to wake up with an average of three new bites every morning... though I wonder if it is one little drain bag doing all the work or it is a collective dogs-in-heat situation, where if one gets a go then everyone else has to mark a spot too!
     Usually I feel guilty when I kill a bug even accidentally, but I will gladly hand mosquitoes over without a second thought!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

 

TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 2

CONTINUED FROM:TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 1

 
See I am one of those pitiful individuals that know nothing about grocery store placement logic, in fact where stuff is placed makes no sense to me and the only reason I may know where something is is because I've seen it there before!
     So there I stood shaking at the entrance of aisle one on a Saturday afternoon, holding onto the un-sanitized cart for dear life, trying not to drop my list, afraid to ask for help or move in case someone knocked me into the cat litter.
     Whoever said “necessity is the mother of invention” must have experienced this situation, because in my terror I resorted to creativity.
     An overwhelmed father of two came running towards me, chasing his over hyper twin boys and leaving a well stocked cart at the other end of the aisle.
     In his cart were six magical items from my very own list and since I didn't know where he'd found them and was too afraid to ask in case he asked me to help discipline his boys or something, I reached in and shopped in his cart.
     And I would have gotten away with it too if the previously absent mother hadn't suddenly appeared, holding a block of cheese and a bottle of wine (drunk!), asking what I was doing – like she didn't know!
     I was going to argue on principle, but having witnessed her over hyper boys and assuming they didn't get their unruliness from their dad, I replaced each item slowly (hoping she would say “it's okay take them, we know where to find them”) back in her cart, I smiled, muttered a resentful “I’m sorry” and almost ran down the aisle, knowing she was looking at me with disapproving disgust.
     Don't judge me; you would have done the same thing!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

IS THERE REALITY IN REALITY?

I can proudly say that I don't watch much television anymore due to being so busy, but in the same sentence I have to shamefully admit that when I do get a minute, my drama antenna seems to instinctively know which channel to find a reality show on.
     And there has been word of late that reality shows are staged and scripted and are not really reality, which offended me to no end the first time I heard this news but the truth has since slapped me and now I am “in the know”.
     This happened while I was watching a particularly noisy episode of (surprise, surprise) The Real Housewives of Atlanta and admiring the professional make up job of one Amazonian 5”10 creature who still wears the highest of heels... when a disturbing vision popped into my head – of her without any make up on!
     This is when it dawned on me that every time I see these women – any one of them that lives on a reality show – they are always fully dressed and made up.
     No I don't want to see them without any clothes on, I want to see them without any make-up on!
     Particularly in those moments when their sleep has just been disturbed (after a heavy night of Chardonnay guzzling) and they have yet to roll out of bed and start the day.
     I know exactly what I look like before my make-up bag turns up so I am stupidly curious to see how they look too, especially the ones who already look “interesting” with make up on.
     As much as I can sit there hour after hour, mesmerized by this nonsense I can thankfully say that I could not allow myself to be made a spectacle of like that.
     I simply have too many issues already!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

GASTRIC BYPASS - WHY?

So I came across an infomercial cleverly disguised as an interview with a woman who weighed less than a bag of fruit but claimed she used to be obese and that she lost all the weight by having gastric bypass surgery.
     First, she tells us about how great it has made her life and how she got all her confidence back and how she just feels happier thinner – good for her!
     Then she adds that some of the side effects of gastric bypass are: Excessive bleeding or drainage from the incisions. Redness. Unusual pain or swelling in the lower intestines. Fever. Chills. Black stools. Diarrhea that is pure water...
     Now why did she feel the need to share this? She nearly had me!
     Next, she delivers her most offensive piece of news yet: “The great part is that the surgery makes your stomach smaller and allows food to bypass part of the small intestine, meaning you'll feel full quicker and the amount of food you can eat at one time is greatly reduced...”
     Say What Now?
     You're telling me that I have to pay thousands of dollars to have my stomach thrown away so I can “lose weight”, not through discipline and exercise but by going for a quick fix that will interfere with my ability to go overboard at a buffet?
     No thank you ma'am.
     I'll just stick to the cabbage soup & keep my elasticity.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

MASS TRANSITS & FOWL ODORS!

Depending on which city one lives in, public transport (or mass transit systems in some circles) can be classified as one or a combination of four things:

1. A luxury - 2. A necessity - 3. An adventure - 4. A what...?

 
Having lived in London, served my time in Washington DC, Los Angeles and now happily settled in Las Vegas, I have sampled each city's attempt at accommodating the mobile but car-free/car-less population.
     Which has brought me to one conclusion: mass transit systems undoubtedly boast a complete and diverse buffet of interesting characters, odors and goings on that private transport couldn't even begin to live through.
     From the harassed looking twenty-something with a stained shirt, to the over-worked middle aged two jobber who snores and drools on horrified foreign exchange students.
     “People watching” on trains, buses and even on planes can keep even a seasoned Attention Deficit Disorder sufferer occupied for days.
     There is however, a downside to being sardine stuffed in enclosed spaces with individuals one wouldn't otherwise invite to a pajama party:
     Odor!
     Mass transit systems are notorious for harboring some of the most offensive smelling individuals that any city has to offer.
     You know, the types who dare to leave their homes without honoring their showers with a visit but love to share odors that slide up one's nose and make it hurt!
     Basically, if a living human being's odor can justifiably be labeled as “rotten” then that is a situation that promptly needs handling with a scenty bar of soap!
     I complain about this because many a time I have found myself unceremoniously trapped with pungent individuals who are otherwise blissfully unaware of the stink they are causing.
     Seriously, at what point does one's nose become immune to the power of smell?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

BUFFET vs. TO GO BOXES

I remember the first time I went to a buffet: I was on a date and we had just seen a movie that I'd slept through parts of.
     It was a pitiful time in my life when I didn't yet understand “buffet etiquette”, otherwise known as “stuff your face here and then get out”, empty-handed.
     As a shameless foodie, I obviously ate more than anybody should be allowed in one sitting and then decided to ask for a “to go” box, so that I could fill it to overcapacity and overeat later.
     When the waiter told me they didn't give out “doggie bags”, I got (understandably) upset and allowed my stomach to speak for me... or rather to argue that I should have one because I still had a plate full of food that I could not put back or throw away because let's face it, that's just an unnecessary waste!
     Twenty minutes later, my date and I walked out of there with our heads held high and a napkin written ban from the restaurant.
     Fast forward years later and I suddenly find myself holding onto an empty plate for dear life, confused and afraid of getting knocked over while trying to decide what to eat at a buffet in Las Vegas.
     After that chaotically traumatic experience I think I would prefer limited choices and an option to take a box home...
     Just saying.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

BLOODY POEMS!

I am not the biggest fan of poems.
     Sure, I enjoy reading the odd birthday card and cereal box every now and then but when somebody offers to read me a poem I expertly cringe on the inside.
     Once I actually cringed on the outside and offended the poemer to no end... and ended up overcompensating by sitting through three terrible poems, faking a smile and piercing fake nails into my palms.
     After that anguish, the poemer then requested I “constructively critique” their poetic train-wreck so as to “make it better”, a challenge I only undertook to once again overcompensate for my inability to hide my feelings quickly enough.
     The things guilt will make a person do!
     As a writer I pride myself on being able to spin out a good story quicker than McDonalds can cook an egg and sausage biscuit!
     I have blogs, I have books, I have novels, I have screenplays but when it comes to writing poetry, my creative libido just shrivels up and scuttles away!
     Which is what happened recently when I was called upon to deliver a poem.
     My first instinct was to panic and run away, but I womaned-up and sought advice from a budding (and broke) poet who had too much time on his hands.
     This was obviously a mistake because I ended up getting half a day's worth of poetry lecturing that I will never again use in my life.
     For the first time in my writing career I considered not putting my name on a piece of work I had written – yes, it was simply that bad!
     No actually, it was worse than that bad!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

MY HISTORY WITH TELEVISION

As a child I used to think that in order to get on TV you had to go to a studio (or a “place”) where they would shrink and copy you then place you inside everybody’s TV to do your thing and then beam you back to regular size, like in the first Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
     As I got a little bit older (just a little) I developed a starring role in a reality show in my head and my audience was the community of gorillas that lived in the mountains.
     Like in The Truman Show with Jim Carey my every move was a source of entertainment to the gorillas and I was the only one who knew about them watching us.
     So, like the good little budding entertainer that I was, I played for the invisible cameras knowing my fans (the little kiddie gorillas who saw me as their favorite character) expected a great show every time!
     Yeah, I know I was a messed up child with the kind of imagination that could only be fixed by surgical removal.
     This is probably why I grew up to be a writer – yes that means my overactive imagination still exists and I’m stuck with it like a squatter with a key.
     So, the point of these stories is to announce my debut on TV as you may or may not have heard.
     I now co-host a show called Let’sTalk NEWS Now and my contribution is to live out the great dilemma of eating for a living while magically trying to stay in shape.
     Don't forget to tune in!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

TV HAS RUINED ME!

If you comb your memory back a couple of weeks, you may remember a blog I wrote called My History With Television, where I rather shamefully admitted that I once starred in a reality show in my head that was popular amongst the community of gorillas who lived in the mountains.
     Yes I know!
     And since nowadays I can legitimately turn on the television and see my shiny self on it, you would think that my penchant for alternative cameras has somewhat diminished right?
     No chance!
     If anything, my world of inside-head-TV has gotten as diverse as the number of cable channels available since 1972.
     And the content has become not only more sophisticated, it could accurately be described as bizarre at times.
     Like when I step out of the shower after washing my hair and toss my head around like they do in those shampoo commercials... the only thing is, when I'm done wetting the bathroom floor my hair isn't magically dry, shiny or split-end-free.
     It has shrunk and I have at least 30 minutes of straightening and moisturizing to do.
     And thanks to the Director of Videography for the CSI franchise, I am constantly being observed by cameras that zoom in and out on me from many interesting angles... which may be the reason for my random dizziness at times, and even my instinct to duck when something comes flying towards me.
     Then there's the money shot, where I am wearing skinny jeans with impossibly high heels that I shouldn't be walking in and strolling with a purpose down the street, the wind blowing in my hair all in slow motion.
     I think it's safe to say that television has ruined me!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

DOES CRAIG KNOW WHAT'S BEING POSTED ON HIS LIST?

Why is it that when one is bored, one stumbles upon the most interesting things???
     While surfing the internet one particularly uneventful evening (looking for a blue Fish), I found myself on Craigslist... now before you judge me, just bear in mind that many people have some wonderful things to say about it...
     Anyway because I had nothing better to do, I started checking out what regular folk were seeking and offering these days:
     “Seeking Someone With Irregular Toes”
     Was one of the first titles to catch my attention and pique my cat-murdering curiosity and yes, that does mean I actually clicked on it... and had an overwhelming desire to spit on somebody's shoes by the time I clicked off after reading it.
     At first I thought it was a medical practice looking for experimental subjects or some other legitimate reason as to why someone would be looking for something so odd.
     But no, it was a strange gentleman (that was how he described himself) who had a fondness for toes in general, and had recently developed a “craving” for an irregular treat: “six toes”, “different sized toes” or “toes that resemble vegetables or animals”.
     Unfortunately, it got worse and the following line was the one that elicited my intense desire to spit on his shoes:
     “I also welcome in-growing toe nails”.
     Really?
     This reminded me why Craigslist has a somewhat questionable reputation when considering recruiting anyone in a professional (or normal) capacity.
     Or even seeking blue fish.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

TEMPING!

I used be a temp (temporary worker to some), otherwise known as the lowest form of “employee” in the bucket.
     In fact, I spent a good chunk of my tweens bouncing from one dispensable office job to another, usually as one of many receptionists rotating through a particular company each month.
     Now this wasn't because I couldn't find a regular job, it was because (like an actor) I wanted to be flexible incase my big break came that day.
     I was the ideal temp (sometimes) and I even turned up on time (most days).
     But my taste for temping was ruined when I was sent down to THE PIT!
     The building was actually a warehouse that once might have been red, in a shady part of town that I'm not even sure the criminals knew about.
     As I walked through the door, my senses were hit with the unmistakable essence of misery – yes essence, as in if it got any thicker it would be alive!
     While I followed the broken spirited woman down a grease sodden corridor to the bowels of the building where I would be put to work, I remember thinking “Why?  Why was I picked for this?”
     I still don't know how I made it through day one, day two or day three but on day four I had to employ the blind date method of exit used by liars all over the world:
     I got my best friend to call reception and report that my cat was missing.
     I haven't been able to look at a Recruitment Consultant in the same way again!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

NONSENSE + LAZY = (sometimes) MUSIC

So I found myself on Youtube recently (as everyone does when they're supposed to be working), listening to the songs of my youth (the versions with lyrics I didn't make up), which quickly brought me to a realization that made me feel really stupid:
     I’ve been singing the wrong words to a lot of songs!
     One of those songs being MmmBop by Hanson, you remember that floppy-haired band of brothers that all the girls wanted to be with and all the boys wanted to be like (I never knew why then either).
     This song makes absolutely no sense and I didn’t realize how bad it was until now!
     I imagine I wasn’t the only fool who inserted “la-la-las’s” where there wasn’t an MmmBop but the song was so catchy, all anyone needed to know was the MmmBop bit!
     What does this unimaginative twaddle actually mean?

     “In an MmmBop they’re not there” (who?)
     “Until you lose your hair” (what?)
     “No, but you don’t care” (huh?)
     Then at some point they go on to say:
     “Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose. You can plant any one of those.  Keep planting to find out which one grows.  It’s a secret no one knows” (again, what?)

     Seriously, did nobody take these boys aside and give them a lesson in song writing 101?
     JUST BECAUSE IT RHYMES, DOESN’T MAKE IT’S A SONG!
     And unfortunately, there are more train-wrecks masquerading as songs nowadays, for example:

     “Time is waiting.  We only got 4 minutes to save the world...” – 4 Minutes by Madonna & Justin Timberlake.

     “Cause you were Romeo, I was the Scarlet Letter...” – Love Story by Taylor Swift

     *Sigh!*

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

SEEKING A SENSE OF ADVENTURE!

Do you know that I used to be a daredevil?
     Oh yeah, don’t be fooled by the old hen who now gets vertigo looking up!
     I used to be a courageous, adventurous, determined go-getter who had a to-do list that included skydiving, bungee jumping and chartering a plane.
     Every time I went to a theme park I would run to the fastest, highest, most daring roller-coaster ride, laughing and pointing at those who could only handle the tea cups.
     I would go out clubbing night after night, get home at 4am, roll out of bed at 7am and do my time at work like I had no problems.
     Oh, good times!
     Now, I go out for an evening and it takes me two days to recover.
     Now, I spend my entire time praying in a vehicle that’s moving faster than 20 mph.
     Now, I start sweating when I look at a roller coaster.
     What happened?  I still don’t know!
     I suddenly woke up one day and found my sense of adventure had just… left.
     In fact, I discovered this while looking down at the hard, scull inviting concrete floor of a swimming pool one summer, after cleverly accepting a dare to dive off a board that suspiciously looked closer to the surface of the water from the water.
     So I got to the edge of the board, realized my mistake and began retracing my steps, but the cheering from the crowd below stopped me.
     I have never resented encouragement like I did in that moment!
     Oh yes my lack of adventure is so pitiful now, I will not get contact lenses because that is just too close to the eye!
     Maybe the tide will turn again in twenty years… maybe?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com