Recently, one of my friends asked me where I get my blog post ideas. She was all like, "Seriously, Sal? How could you possibly have so much to say?"
So, I thought about it for a second and answered, "How the hell do I know? I just write about the crap that happens to me. Shit happens everyday, you know."
And it does.
Some days I'll be doing something so basic and BAM! I'll get a crazy thought in my head and think, "I've just GOT to tell my friends about this (THIS MEANS YOU, DUDES)."
Like the other day...
I'd spent a good portion of my day dealing with (A.K.A. getting tortured by) Sophia Petrillo, my seventy-nine year old Mother with no mouth filter. I took her out for lunch, to do some errands, and shopping.
FINALLY, it was time to take her home. Whoo hoo!
As I was dropping her off, she said, "Aren't you coming in?" And I was thinking, "Good God, WOMAN! Haven't I had ehough?! Surely it must be time for me to go home and self medicate with a giant pitcher of sangria!"
But then I realized that I had to pee...AND I had a twenty-five minute ride home.
So, I agreed to go in just to use the can.
And this is when I got my inspiration for this blog post...while I was sitting on my Mother's toilet, taking a whizz.
You think I'm classy.
Anywho, so there I am, sitting on the bowl making pee and looking around the bathroom taking in the Old Lady's decor, when I noticed this Buddha soap sitting on a shelf (a gift from a friend):
And immediately I thought to myself, "The Old Lady decoratively displays this with other stuff on a bathroom shelf, which is OK. But what about those people who buy it for its scent and lather?" I mean...I'm no expert on sacrilege. But, I'm pretty sure that washing your ballsack with Buddha soap IS NOT COOL."
Then? I glanced over to another shelf and saw this:
And I thought to myself, "Hmmm...As a knick knack in an old lady's bathroom, I guess Mary, Mother of Jesus soap is OK. But what kind of person actually buys this soap to use AS FRIGGIN SOAP?"
I mean seriously. I've got enough strikes against me. Why would I add more fuel to the fire by washing my coochie (or ass or armpits) with a bar of soap shaped in the image of Jesus' Mother?
In my head, I might as well strap myself into some metal underwear and stand under a giant oak tree during a friggin lightening storm.