Searching For Signal: #140 - “Big Brother” - Season 12, Episode 6

First we have the usual review of last episode (lies, backstabbing, tanned bodies), then we have Britney in the Diary Room, not happy about Rachel’s reason for nominating her: “Using alliances is bullcrap.” Honey, this show is all ABOUT alliances. Pay attention.

Monet in the Diary Room: “Rachel feels threatened by me.” No, she just doesn’t like you.

Hayden in the Diary Room: The Brigade is safe. “No one knows about us.” Sadly, this appears to be true.

Rachel and Brendon in the HOH room, right after the nominations. Rachel: “Did I do good?” Brendon nods, then they have sex.

Cut to Britney crying in the swamp room, all sad. “Nobody is going to save me!” Um, you need to save YOURSELF. Seriously, do you not understand this game at all? Then Monet and her hair come in. Rachel nominating us was “strictly personal. She just doesn’t like us.” (Right, see above.) Britney: “I was NICE to her.” No, you weren’t. Monet: “She’s a stupid hooker.”

Yet these girls can’t figure out why people wouldn’t like them. Please.

Matty, Hayden and Lane, being all bro in one of the rooms, hoping the nominations stick. “We gotta win the Veto!” Then they run out of things to say, because thinking’s hard.

Rachel approaches Britney: “Wanna go talk?” (See, that’s sweet. Britney should be doing the approaching, but instead she chooses to pout on a deck chair in her designer crywear.) Anyway, they go to the HOH Room. Rachel: “I didn’t know WHAT to do. But my goal is to get Monet.” (Oops, Rachel, bad move.) Britney, for once being non-lethargic, races to the Diary Room. “I will KEEP Monet!” Good luck with that.

Back to the HOH Room, where Rachel is sobbing to Brendon over the trials of being queen. “It’s hard! I’m, like, MEAN!” Brendon: “It’s only a game.” Then they have sex.

Britney and Monet, apparently on another show. Britney: “Rachel is SO jealous of you!” Monet: “Cuz I’m not a skanky-ass ho!” Then they proceed to rip and tear at everybody and everything. This is where you want Julie Chen to kick down the door, march through the house, slap them both, and then say “I am using my powers as a goddess to evict both of you, NOW! You’re just too annoying.”

Andrew and Matty are discussing marriages, because it’s been two weeks in the house and they’ve already talked about everything else, when Matty starts babbling about his wife having a serious “bone condition”. That’s why he’s here, because his insurance won’t pay for an operation she needs. Touching, right? Trouble is, Matty reveals in the Diary Room that he’s totally making this up. Such a nice guy.

Matty decides to really milk this fake angle. He runs about the house, telling everyone who will listen that his wife is about to lose her leg. (Britney surprises me by actually seeming to care about another person. Ragan, in the Diary Room, thinks Matty’s heroic efforts are amazing and beautiful, but then my people always go for the drama, so his input doesn’t really count.) Matty even has a doom-sounding name for his wife’s non-condition, some phrase he picked up while watching the Disease TV channel.

Matty in the Diary Room: If he wins, he will make a donation to the society that is trying to find a cure for this disease “for letting me exploit” them. And he’s not worried about being found out. “Andrew’s a shoe salesman, not a doctor.”

Andrew, who is a doctor and not a shoe salesman, in the Diary Room: He’s never heard of this disease. Hmm.

Time for the Power of Veto competition. First, the HOH and the two nominees draw names. Britney gets Enzo, Monet gets Lane, and Rachel gets a “houseguest’s choice”. She giggles and squeals and of course picks Brendon. This display sends Britney over the edge. (In the Diary Room: “I’m dumber having watched it.” Sugar, you got to dumb all on your own, don’t blame people from Vegas.)

Anyway, the six of them get dressed up like stock-brokers, then everybody tromps out to the courtyard. For this gig, they have to stick their hands and head into some stocks, then hold a briefcase in one hand. Whoever can hang on to that briefcase and get closest to an hour without going over wins. (Monet in the Diary Room: “Okay, 60 seconds in a minute and 60 minutes in an hour, so I just have to count to 1,200!” You do that, Monet. Your math skills suck, but go right ahead.)

So they get going, and it’s fairly boring at first, because they’re just standing there, sweating. To create at least some excitement, the producers turn on these little whirly things that cause a laminated dollar bill to gently slap the contestants in the face. (Lane: “At first I thought, it’s a mini-fan! Yay! Then I thought, it’s just an annoying dollar.)

And Britney, with another Diary Room session on another planet: “I would never put a real dollar to my face. Most of those come out of strippers’ g-strings.” Yes, folks, she said that. What is Britney’s obsession with hookers and strippers? Shady past? Missed calling? Momma played slap and tickle on a professional level so Britney could have Cheerios for breakfast?

The wonderment continues. Lane, in the Diary Room, says he’s never been locked in stocks before, but that “I have woken up with one hand tied.” Really? I think I might like to hear a little bit more about that, but no further details are given.

Eventually, the suitcases start dropping. Surprisingly, everyone goes OVER the hour except for Britney.

Britney in the Diary Room: “I’m all safe now!” And the nation weeps.

Lane in the Diary Room: “The Brigade truck just blew another tire.” That boy sure is colorful, eh?

Rachel in the Diary Room: “Now I have to make another enemy. This is horrible!” Then she thinks about having sex with Brendon.

Britney and Monet back in the swamp room, where they hatch a plan to convince Rachel to put up Andrew, promising that they won’t go after Rachel and Brendon for at least two weeks. Total lies, of course, they fully intend to get Rachel as soon as possible. But at least the maggots in the swamp room are in good company at the moment.

Rachel and Brendon are in the HOH room, about to start or just finishing up having the sex, when Monet buzzes. Brendon runs like the wind. Monet wants to cut a deal. What can I do? Rachel: “Tell me who is coming after Brendon and me.” Monet: “Andrew is after you” (Lie.) “You and Brendon are not my target.” (Lie.) Rachel: “Let me think about it.” Poor Rachel. Sharper tools in the shed and all.

Enzo, Hayden and Lane, off in some room, freaking out about some possible backdoor nominations when Britney comes off the block. Hayden plays with some lip gloss the entire time, enjoying it far more than seems natural. Doesn’t he know that stuff comes out of strippers’ g-strings?

Why does Rachel have to yell every time she’s in the Diary Room? Indoor voice, please.

Rachel and Brendon in the HOH Room, sexual activity status unknown. Rachel: “What if I put Andrew up?” Brendon: “How can you trust Britney and Monet?” Rachel: “I don’t trust them, but…” Brendon: “We don’t want this to come back and haunt us.” Dramatic music plays so we can understand how traumatic decision-making can be.

Britney and Monet, giggling in the swamp, thinking they all smart and stuff.

Rachel and Brendon in the HOH Room, talking to Matty and Ragan. Rachel: “I need you to vote Monet out. I’m putting Andrew up as a pawn.” Matty: “You’d have a better shot at Monet if you put ME up.” Ragan instantly wets himself at this startling and probably stupid move. (Matty in the Diary Room: This will get Rachel and Brendon’s trust, and the Brigade will love me for doing it.) Brendon: “What do you want?” Matty: “Make it clear at the Veto Ceremony that I’m a pawn.”

Well, then.

Matty runs to tell the Brigade, and there is love and fellowship. Ragan goes to change his pants.

Rachel and Brendon in the HOH Room. Brendon: “Andrew will not come after us. I KNOW this.” Rachel: “I don’t trust Matty. I’m suspicious of what he’s doing.” Lo and behold, Andrew stops by. He just wanted to let them know “you will lose a supporter if you put me up”. Brendon and Rachel pause for a moment, and you know they’re both thinking of jock straps.

Then Brendon starts to work on making a deal with Andrew, which irritates Rachel. She stops the discussion, politely asks Andrew to leave, and then she and Brendon get into it. He shouldn’t be making the deals, she should. (True.) She needs to think about the implications of putting Andrew up. (True.) In fact, Brendon is pushing so hard about being able to trust Andrew, that I wonder: Are Brendon and Andrew the two people in the house that knew each other before? After all, they have the same hair color, so it’s entirely possible, because the BB producers could consider this a “relationship”.

Anyway, things get a little heated, and Brendon finally mutters “I’m done discussing this.” He grabs his things and runs out the door. Because that’s the mature way to handle it.

Brendon in the Diary Room: “I hope Rachel makes the right decision.” Me too. But Brendon, what up with you and Andrew? Hmm?

Shot of Rachel, crying in the HOH bed, because no one is having sex with her at the moment.

Veto Ceremony.

Britney takes her bitter butt off the block, natch.

Rachel: This was a really hard decision, but I’ve got to put you up, Matty. “I’ve been working to make sure you are being used as a pawn.”

Brief shot of Monet on the verge of homicide. Or something. Her face is hard to read with all that hair.

Matty in the Diary Room: “I’m a diabolical super-genius.” If this is the same thing as “liar”, then yes, you are.

Britney in the Diary Room: “All this work for nothing!” Work? You cried in the swamp room while Monet went to the negotiating table.

Ragan in the Diary Room: “Everybody knows, pawns early in the game walk out the door.”

Yes, they do.

End credits.

10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 7

  I lay there in my hospital bed, one arm still strapped to my back, studying the strange doctor-man who had just waltzed into my room, offering un-requested assistance and seeming to have an issue with my personal life expectations. I didn’t really care for him. “And what,” I asked coldly, “is wrong with wanting to bury my tragically-destroyed lip gloss?”

  Mom sighed, and gently stroked my hair again, which she really needed to quit doing. I only like to be petted when I’m happy and get my way. “Poodle, we can’t go around having funeral services for cosmetics. People will talk.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “I’m not asking for anything FANCY. Just my closest 100 fans, and maybe an orchestra in case I need to sing. And cake.”

  “Cake?” asked Mellie Jo, pausing in her efforts to dismantle the motor for my automated bed. She wiped her greasy hands on my fresh bed linen, and I hated her more. “Why do you want stupid cake at your stupid funeral for your stupid lip gloss?”

  I glared at the worthless heathen. “Just because YOU never eat anything doesn’t mean that I can’t have refreshments in my time of need. And stop touching my sheets with your devil hands!” I kicked at her with one delicate foot, but I miscalculated and ended up whacking Little Sahara upside the head. She fell to the ground with a small whimper, then lay there quietly as she feebly felt around for Jenna the Stick.

  Mellie Jo’s face flushed with fury. “I’M not the one who doesn’t eat, it’s LITTLE SAHARA that never eats, even though it doesn’t matter now that you’ve killed her. You never pay ANY attention to anybody else in this family. You run around like a Big Old Queen!”

  Mom looked at Mellie Jo. “No, sweetie, that would be your Uncle Brad.”

  “Gaaawwwddd!” bellowed Mellie Jo. “I am SICK of living in this FAMILY where people are just so STUPID. Just stupid!” She ran to the door and pulled it open, hollering “STUPID!” into the hallway, startling a nun who was carrying a tuba. Mellie Jo flipped her off, then slammed the door and leaned back against it, crossing her arms.

  Little Sahara cautiously raised her stick and tapped Mom on the kneecap. “Mommy, can I get up now or is it safer down here? I can’t see where Mellie’s at, and that always makes me scared.”

  Mom looked from Little Sahara to Mellie Jo, to me, to Dr. Brian, then smiled weakly. “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”

  Dr. Brian cleared his throat. “Oh, it’s even worse than I imagined. You have a delusional eldest child who is so self-centered that I’m surprised it hasn’t affected the gravitational pull of the planet, a middle child with enough unexpressed rage that she could personally provide power to the entire Western hemisphere for 3 years, and a youngest child who is just trying to survive from one second to another. I need to get these youngsters into therapy immediately.

  Mom was a bit taken aback. “Oh. Well, I suppose we could schedule something…”

  Dr. Brian stepped forward. “No, this is an emergency. I need to talk to them right now or the fate of our whole galaxy could be in jeopardy.” He leaned down and gently helped Little Sahara to her feet. “Would you like to go to a pretty room and talk about fun things with me for a little while?”

  Little Sahara eyed him with slight suspicion. “Do they have pizza there?”

  Dr. Brian smiled. “I’m sure that we can find some of that.”

  Little Sahara squealed and leapt into his arms. “Daddy!”

  Dr. Brian chuckled. “No, but I am your friend and I want to help you.” He tweaked her little nose and somewhere in the background someone began playing a nice violin while the opening credits for a Hallmark movie rolled across the screen.

  Then he turned to Mellie Jo. “Would you like to join us? And is there anything YOU would like to eat, other than sour grapes?”

  Mellie Jo kept her arms folded. “I am not going ANYWHERE. And you can’t make me.”

  Dr. Brian continued smiling. “Oh, I think I can. I’ve read your file. If you don’t play nice, I’m going to tell your mother everything that I would imagine you’ve done and then denied doing. Starting with the time you took the waffle iron and-”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll go to your stupid party. But I’m NOT going to be polite.”

  “I would never dream of it.” He finally turned to me. “Can you walk on your own? Or should I have a nurse bring a wheelchair?”

  Mellie Jo had her own advice. “Why doesn’t she just shoot some of that hot air out her butt and float along behind us?”

  Mom was aghast. “Mellie Jo! We don’t talk like that!”

  Mellie smirked. “Yes we DO. Where do you think I learned that?”

  Mom looked sheepishly at Dr. Brian. “I really don’t know what she’s talking about. I dropped her a lot when she was a baby.”

  I cleared my own throat. “I believe Dr. Brian was talking to ME. And I can walk just fine if I can take the rest of this straight-jacket off.”

  Dr. Brian stepped forward, and he showed Little Sahara which tab to pull. She did so with much more viciousness than was necessary, giving me a small case of whiplash in the process, but at least I was finally free. I threw the jacket on the floor, graciously slid out of the bed, then smoothed out the wrinkles in my frock. “I’m ready to be presented now.”

  We headed toward the door, but Mom stopped the parade with a small squeak. “What about me? Should I be going? I just need to find my purse and then-”

  Dr. Brian held up the hand that was not clutching the traitorous Little Sahara, who was getting far more attention from this man than she deserved. “Now, now, Mrs. Clampitt. It’s far too late for me to be of any help with your case, but there’s still time to save the children. We’ll be back shortly. Perhaps you can spend the time picking out one of the other guest rooms for when you eventually snap. We have a long waiting list, and you need to be prepared. You’ll want a room in the East Wing, which has bars on the windows. Come, girls.”

8. Just thinking about Lip Gloss can get you through the day.

  So there we were, sitting in one of Dr. Brian’s counseling rooms. The wallpaper was rather plain, not even having the royal crest of arms that I had designed for myself in the third grade, so I didn’t really care for it. We were sitting in padded chairs placed around a small table, with Little Sahara having pulled up an extra chair for Jenna the Stick.

  Mellie Jo: “I don’t want that stupid tree branch at the table.”

  Dr. Brian: “Mellie Jo, be fair. You know that Little Sahara uses Jenna to communicate. You do want her to talk with us, don’t you?”

  Mellie Jo: “I don’t even want her to breathe, never mind talk.”

  This conversation did not have enough references about me, so I took action. “Can I have a chair for my lip gloss?”

  Mellie Jo:  “Your lip gloss is dead.”

  Me: “I still have the pretty pink pouch.”

  Dr. Brian: “Yes, you may have a chair for your pouch. And Mellie Jo can have a chair for whatever she wants. Then we’re all even.”

  I happily placed my pouch on a nearby chair, picking out a stray piece of sticky glass and throwing it behind the couch, then adjusted my frock once again to show how the pouch complimented the embroidery on my hemline. No one applauded, so I was slightly disappointed, but then again everyone doesn’t understand the finer details.

  Dr. Brian looked at the angry one. “And Mellie Jo, what would you like in your chair?”

  Mellie Jo: “Nothing. I want it empty like my life.”

  Dr. Brian: “There isn’t anything that you like?”

  Mellie Jo: “Nope.”

  Little Sahara raised Jenna the Stick, signaling that she was about to speak. “She likes Dewey.”

  Dr. Brian: “Is this a person or a sensation?”

  Little Sahara: “Dewey Potter. He’s a boy. And a cricker. And her boyfriend. And he smells.”

  Mellie Joe kicked over her empty chair. “I do NOT like Dewey Potter. You are a lying, evil little person.”

  Little Sahara: “Yes, you do. I saw you kissing him behind the-”

  Mellie Jo leaped to her feet, snatched up Jenna the Stick, raced to the window, ripped aside the curtain, used the stick to beat at the latch until it popped open, threw the lower section of the window upward, and then hurled the stick at the supposedly open window.

  The stick whacked against something just outside the window and bounced back into the room, thumping Mellie Jo on the head before landing on the carpet and rolling to a stop back near the table.

  Dr. Brian: “There’s a force field around the building. You aren’t the first stick thrower we’ve had.”

  Little Sahara grabbed Jenna and tucked her under her arm. “Don’t you EVER touch my stick again or I will CUT you.” She looked at Dr. Brian. “Let’s get this crap over with. I’ve got pies to bake.”

  Mellie Jo: “I’m not scared of you, you skinny little pizza bone eater. I can take you.”

  Me: “Why is everybody not talking about how beautiful I am?”

  There was a brief knock on the door, then it was quickly thrown open and a voice rang out. “You nappy little white girls need to shut the hell up and listen to the man!”

  We turned to see who this might be.

  It was Whoopie Goldberg.


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10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 6

6. Lip Gloss can prepare you for any social situation.

  I was singing at the nightclub again, and everybody was slowly waving their hands in the air as I crooned a loving ballad about periwinkles. Tears were shining in their eyes because my voice was so beautiful, and they were passing around an offering plate so that they could build a church with my name on it.

  Then I realized that some rude person off to the side was talking over my singing, which meant that not EVERYbody was looking at me and this made me angry. I motioned for Beth, one of my backup dancers, to go kill them or something. I still had several selections left on this evening’s program, and I certainly wasn’t going to put up with that mess. But the voice just kept getting louder and louder, until you could barely hear my precious warbling. Wait a minute. Something wasn’t right.

  I opened my eyes.

  I was lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed.

  A short little nun was staring me in the face.

  My years of studying social graces at Miss Butterworth’s Pre-School for Supernaturally Talented Beauty Queens immediately kicked in. “Who the hell are you?”

  The nun smiled primly. “I’m Sister Mary Marie Kathryn Elizabeth Lola Bettina. And I was asking if you wanted the Jell-o or the pudding cup with your dinner.”

  Granted, both of these options sounded splendid, but I was slightly confused. “Why are you asking me that?”

  The nun’s smile faded somewhat, and her facial features hardened a bit, more along the lines of the traditional nun species. Her eyes made it very clear that I hadn’t been paying attention in whatever nun class she might teach and that I had never attended. “It’s almost dinner time, and you didn’t fill out the form.”

  Form? I had been SINGING in a dream, and now I was suddenly here, and no one had mentioned anything about paperwork. This was already getting tiresome. “Why are you concerned about my food? Where’s my mother? Did she finally join that circus she’s always talking about?”

  The nun checked her watch. “Visiting hours start at seven. I’m sure your mother will be here then. But you have to eat before you can have visitors, those are the rules, as you know.”

  No, I didn’t know. I didn’t know a lot of things. “Where AM I?”

  The nun smiled again, obviously very proud of her workplace. “St. Bonnywood’s Institution for Troubled Beauty Queens With Issues.” She practically beamed with delight at this announcement.

  Me, not so much with the beaming. Something had gone terribly wrong, but I had no idea what. Until I could gather some intel, it was probably in my best interest to play along. In the end, of course, I had every intention of punishing whoever was responsible for this. “Um, I guess I’ll take the pudding cup.” She turned to go. “Wait. Is it chocolate?”

  She turned back around, pulling yet another flavor of smile out of her arsenal, this one indicating that she would enjoy what she was about to say because of the potential torture and dismay it could cause. “Rice. We are serving rice pudding. Extra chunky.”

  Rice? Ugh. Rice pudding looked like the larvae we had to study one time in science class, until one of my schoolmates wisely tossed the sample out an open window and got detention. I decided to retract. “Perhaps I’ll take the Jell-o instead.”

  Yet another smile variation appeared on the nun’s face, this one speaking of darkness and implications. “Dear, here at St. Bonnywood’s, we learn to stick with our original decisions and not waver. It makes for strong moral character.”

  I guess I didn’t get that brochure. But really, this was just some stupid dessert. I had much bigger concerns, like escaping this place once I figured out what it was. “The rice pudding will be fine.”

  “As I thought it would.” She turned to go again.

  “Wait, just one more question.”

  She turned back, not even trying to smile, and sighed. “Yes?”

  “Could you help me take this straight-jacket off?”

7. Lip Gloss is more emotionally satisfying than some family members.

  The nun sighed again, because she had a tolerance limit for questions from astonishingly beautiful patients. “That will be for Dr. Brian to decide.” Then she was gone, her irritating nun outfit dragging on the ground and making an ugly slithery noise as she went out the door.

  I glanced around my cell. White sheets on the bed, white curtains at the one tiny window, white walls. Very trite and monochromatic. My dissatisfactions with this institution were growing. Then it hit me that there were NO flowers. What was going on in the world that I should be hospitalized without floral tributes from my fans?

  The door banged open again, and in marched another nun, this was one sporting a tray with what I assumed was my designated meal. Nun II kicked a rolling table thing until it was partially over the bed, slapped the tray on it, then pushed some button that caused the upper half of the bed to launch my torso into orbit. She clipped a bib to the front of my ugly and depressing gown, peeled the top off the larvae cup, and then did something that caused one of my arms to plop free from the jacket restraints.

  Then she turned to go, not having said a word the entire time. Perhaps they had removed her tongue. I had read somewhere that this could happen if you get too chatty in a convent. I could never be a nun. Not enough costume changes.

  I took a tiny nibble of each gummy substance on  the food tray, hoping to find something decently edible. My quest was in vain. Everything was nasty and wiggly. I threw down my spork and shoved the rolling table aside. To my amazement, the table shot across the room and slammed into the wall, causing the tray to somersault and splatter the wall. Well, then. There might be harsh questions later, but at least we now had some color in the room.

  Right on the visiting hour dot, there was a deafening crash of metal in the hallway outside my room. Two seconds later, the door flew open, and Mellie Jo thundered through, clutching a bedpan and a hula hoop. She slammed the door, looked for a lock but sighed when she couldn’t see one, then turned to me. “Where can I hide these?”

  “Mellie Jo, I am NOT helping you with whatever you’re doing and I-”

  “Fine. I’ll find somewhere.” She dashed into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door. From the sounds of it, she then began to remove the toilet using an axe.

  The main door opened again, and Mom waltzed in, wearing a smock with a startling farm-animal print of some kind, and holding the hand of Little Sahara, who was holding the limb of Jenna the Stick. Mom dragged my two youngest sisters to the side of the bed, where she leaned over and kissed my head. “You’re finally awake!”

  “Mother, WHY am I here? What’s going on?”

  Mellie Jo kicked the bathroom door open. “Because you’re a nut job, you whackhead.” Then she turned to Mom. “By the way, I don’t care what that nun says, I was NOT in the East Wing five minutes ago.”

  Mom smiled nervously. “Mellie Jo, we don’t need to talk like that.”

  Mellie scoffed. “Like what? Crazy girl over there needs HELP. Can I have some money for the candy machine?”

  This was very perplexing. “Mom, why is Mellie Jo saying that? What happened? Do people think I’m crazy? And why don’t I remember any of this? How did I get here? And why would you put me in place where all the people are wrinkled and ugly?”

  Mom sighed, then patted my head. “People don’t think you’re crazy, Poodle. You just had… an episode. And then there was that coma business. And, well, we’re just trying to make you better.”

  “Episode? But what did I DO?”

  Little Sahara stepped forward, tugging on my sleeve that was not strapped to the back of my jacket. She held up the Jenna Stick, and cleared her throat. This meant that she was about to act out something for us, a coping mechanism we learned that she had during the counseling sessions after the incident with the tricycle.

  She pointed at me and then at the stick. (Okay, I’m the stick. Got it.) She pretended to put something on the lips of the stick. (Lip gloss. Keep going.) Then she hurled the imaginary lip gloss to the floor. (Something ran a slight bell in the back of my mind.) Then Little Sahara began waving the stick around, making sobbing sounds. (Emotional trauma of some kind.) Then she pointed at Mom and screamed. (This was getting odd.) Then she threw the stick against the wall with all her might.

  What in the world…

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in!” bellowed Mellie Jo, as she walked over and kicked the Jenna stick under my bed. Little Sahara squealed and dove after it.

  The door opened and in walked a man who was not wearing a nun outfit, so this already looked more promising than the mean little hags from earlier. He was carrying a clipboard, which obviously meant he was a physician of some kind.

  “Hello,” he said, in a pleasant and soothing manner. “I’m Dr. Brian. What Little Sahara is trying to say is that you suffered a severe neurological breakdown when your mother wouldn’t allow you to have a funeral for your deceased Starlight Sensations Lip Gloss. And I’m here to help you with that.”


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10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 5

5. Lip Gloss can be used as a negotiating tool.

  I turned away from the window and faced Chandra again, sighing. “I suppose we should go out there and make sure they’re still alive and all. Mom might not let me go skating if anything happens.”

  Chandra agreed. “ You’re right. But don’t think this means that I don’t get to hold your lip gloss. I still get to do that, especially if I help you look for little people. Let’s go.”

  We gathered our things so that we could traipse back outside, causing Lenore, the Dairy Queen waitress, to glare at us as she was heading our way with the glasses of water that nobody drinks. She wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t really my fault. I can’t help it if I have little sisters that can’t stay in one place or understand that my priorities are not the same as theirs. Nobody asked for MY opinion when somebody decided to risk playing slap and tickle back in the day and suddenly we had more tax exemptions running around in diapers.

  Chandra and I stepped out into the sunlight, waved to some fans down the street, and then glanced around the parking lot. Nothing. No sign of urchins or their slimy little trails. This was really a lot of work, tracking people down, and I didn’t understand why people would want to do this for a living.

  Suddenly, something bounced off the back of my head and fell to the pavement. Greatly irritated, even though I should be used to objects flying through the air after all the parades that I’ve been in, I still managed to whip around in a gracious twirl to study what was now lying on the ground.

  It was a maraschino cherry, stem intact. As in banana split, with whip cream, that kind of cherry. Had there been an explosion in the Dairy Queen kitchen?

  Then a familiar voice rang out. “I’m up HERE, you twit.”

  I glanced skyward, and spied Mellie Jo on the red roof of the building, one hand clutching a glass jar of cherries and the other shoving Little Sahara away from the edge.

  I really didn’t have time for this. “What are you DOING up there?”

  “I’m going to JUMP!” squealed Mellie Jo, then she plucked out another cherry and threw it at a passing car.

  “Fine,” I said, and headed toward the Dairy Queen door. THIS was exactly why I didn’t sign the authorization forms for additional siblings.

  Chandra yelled after me. “Wait! Are you just going to leave them up there?” I could tell by the tone of her voice that even though she was slightly shocked, she was also slightly intrigued and possibly jealous. Perhaps she could learn to have the same attitude toward her own sister. This could be promising.

  I turned back to Chandra. “Look, if she wants to jump, she can jump. I’m thinking it could solve a whole lot of issues. And it’s not like I pushed her.”

  Chandra pondered this. “But will your Mom still let you go skating? You can’t miss this one! Thad Daniels is going to be there, and Missy Baxley said he got a new haircut.”

  Oh, right, we’re back to the skating thing again. I sighed once more. Yep, I would have to get the heathens off the roof before I had any chance of getting to do a couples skate with Thad and his feathered hair. Maybe I could get this over with quickly. I looked up at Mellie Jo. “Come on down, Mellie. I’ll buy you a snow cone, you look really pretty today, and I won’t tell Mom what you did with the leftover meatloaf.”

  Mellie Jo was un-swayed. “Don’t try that ‘After-School Special’ crap on me. I know what you’re doing, I get to watch TV, too. When I’m not grounded.”

  I quickly lost my patience, having no time for untrained underlings who failed to realize my importance. “Mellie Jo, why are you so MEAN? Get down here.”

  Mellie Jo threw a handful of cherries at an elderly lady who was wheeling along an oxygen tank as she slowly exited Patti’s Potpourri. “I am NOT mean. I’m just not nice, and I don’t understand why people can’t just give me what I want. It would be so much easier.”

  Well, she had a point there. “What do you want NOW?’

  Mellie Jo wiped her sticky hand on her little frock with the pencil design. (Apparently Mom had gotten a really good deal on a bolt of this frightening material, and we all had examples of evil pencil outfits amongst our couture. Mom was handy with a needle, but she looked the other way when fashion knocked on the door.)

  Mellie Jo presented her demand: “I want your new glitter lip gloss.”

  Sorry. She would just have to leap to her death before that happened. I headed toward the Dairy Queen door once more.

  Chandra hissed at me, tentatively practicing her newly-desired skill to be more forceful and not be so sweet all the time because then you ended up in unhappy marriages. “Get back over here and give her the damn lip gloss so we can just go back inside where it’s cooler and we can talk about boys. I’m tired of being moist. Do it!”

  This startled me. Chandra was learning too quickly for my satisfaction, and we couldn’t let her get better at it than me. I would have to crush her at some point. But that would have to wait for another time, there was simply too much going on today.

  I looked up at Mellie Jo again. “Okay, I’ll let you hold it for a minute. But you have to come down first.”

  Mellie Jo didn’t budge. “No. You have to GIVE it to me to KEEP. And you have to GIVE it to me before I come down. Throw it up here.”

  I was aghast. Throw my pretty pink pouch through the air? Surely she was insane.

  Chandra hissed again. “DO IT! Do it right now or I’ll tell Thad Daniels that you kiss his picture in the yearbook!”

  I whipped the lip gloss out of the pouch and hurled it all Mellie Jo with all my might. Maybe it would hit her in the face and this whole mess would be over after some temporary blindness and tears.

  The tube tumbled through the air, reflecting the sunlight in pretty rainbow waves that filled the sky and made me look even more stunning. Mellie Jo reached up with her cherry-stained fingers, and the tube sailed right past her, bouncing off Little Sahara’s head, then skittering down the incline of the roof. Before I could even catch my breath the tube disappeared over the edge.

  There was stunned silence as we awaited the final fate of the Starlight Sensations Glitter Lip Gloss.

  It came in the form of a horrifying splatter noise of glass and liquid somewhere in the alley on the side of the building.

  I dropped to my knees on the steamy pavement, a wrenching wail of outrage and dismay bursting out of my darling little lungs...


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10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 4

  I slapped Mellie Jo really hard, because I’ve seen them do that on TV and it always looked like fun, especially if Mellie Jo was the recipient. “Stop screaming like an idiot. There aren’t any boys watching so you don’t need to hog the attention.”

  Mellie Jo just looked at me for a second, somewhat startled, and for once in her life unable to come up with an immediate comeback. This pleased me. Then I noticed that the cheek she was rubbing now had a nice pink glow to it, making her look really cute. This made me mad, and I considered striking her again. If she had to be prettier than me, she should at least be in pain.

  Little Sahara tugged on the hem of my gorgeous dress, reminding me that she was even there. It’s hard to keep track of relatives when things are fighting for your attention like glitter lip gloss and howling middle sisters. I glanced down at the small one. “What?”

  Little Sahara pointed up the street, where my bestie Chandra was glaring at us, wondering what could possibly be taking so long when we had skating-rink plans to discuss and dipped ice cream to consume. I made a motion at my bestie that hopefully signified “I’ll be there in just a sec, I’ve discovered something that requires more research”. She made a gesture back which I immediately understood to mean “You have five minutes, and then I’m taking you off my calling plan.”

  I turned back to Mellie Jo, who was still looking irritatingly pretty, and switched Little Sahara’s grubby paw from my hand to Mellie’s. “Take the small one up to Dairy Queen and STAY THERE. Don’t leave or I will beat you again.”

  Mellie Jo had some thoughts to share on the matter. “I’m telling Mom you hit me. You’re gonna get it!”

  The underlings are so clueless. “Are you kidding? She’s going to raise my allowance because I made you shut up for two minutes. Now go!”

  As Mellie Jo finally started moving, dragging the constantly-confused but still basically happy and complacent Little Sahara behind her, I focused my attention on the Merle Norman shop that had suddenly become my favorite place in the entire world.

4. Lip Gloss can help you make financial decisions.

  I opened the door to the store, which caused a little bell to tinkle and announce my arrival. I liked that. Bells should always ring when I enter places.

  Immediately, a really old woman stopped fiddling with something unimportant off to the side and raced to greet me. Her enthusiasm quickly waned, however, when she assessed my age and therefore my revenue potential. She slowed her step, and forced a weak smile. (To be fair, it probably wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t smile a little bigger. She had so much pancake makeup on that her facial muscles didn’t have enough strength to fully complete the grin.) “Are you looking for your mother?”

  This woman was an idiot. Why must I be surrounded by amateurs that don’t understand what my presence means? Clearly, I would have to make this simple for the woman. I pointed at the display of glitter lip gloss in the window. “I need some of that. How many do you have?”

  Pancake was at least able to comprehend pointing. She glanced at the display and then back at me. “Oh, so you’re interested in the Starlight Sensations Lip Enhancer?”

  Oh my God. The name alone, perfectly capturing my essence, nearly made me swoon, akin to the delicious tingling I sometimes got while watching sweaty boys tackle each other on the football field, fighting for my honor and eventual sainthood. “Yes, I’ll take every one of them that you have.”

  Pancake looked at me for a moment, then did another pretend smile. “They’re a little pricey, dear. Five dollars a piece.”

  Five dollars? Sigh. “Okay, then I’ll take one of them. But I need you to hide the rest of them, at least until tomorrow. I want to be the only Starlight Sensations Girl at the skating rink tonight.”

  Pancake didn’t even try to smile at this directive. “Dear, I can’t do that. I need to sell them. We’ve got to pay the bills, now don’t we?”

  No, we don’t. YOU might have to pay bills, but not me. I don’t have to worry about those things yet, leaving the details to unhappy older people who are bitter and tired. I’m still young, cute and completely devoid of any financial entanglements. The only thing I knew about money was that I needed more of it.

  I pulled out my designer coin purse, retrieved a five, and waved it at the servant. “Here.”

  She snatched the bill away from me with a speed which indicated that those bills of hers must be fairly pressing. “Oh, and there’s tax, dear. Twenty cents.”

  Tax? Did royalty have to pay taxes around here? Obviously I would be making a presentation at the next Town Council meeting. It’s so much work training these people. I reluctantly gave up two dimes.

  Now that I had lessened her monetary burden, Pancake decided that we were best friends and became very chatty. “The Starlight Sensations line is BRAND NEW. We just got those in today. I barely had them in the window before you dropped by for a visit.”

  Okay, first, this is not a visit. That would imply that we had a relationship of some kind, and such is not the case. You are my beauty assistant, just like your little nametag says. You will not be the godmother of my children. Second, and more importantly, of course the glitter lip gloss is brand new. I am very current when it comes to cosmetics, instantly recognizing trends the second that they happen. Frankly, I’m surprised you even changed the store window without consulting me.

  But all I really said to the woman was “Where’s my lip gloss?”

  Pancake, properly chastened, reached into a drawer of some kind and then placed my new treasure on the counter before me. To my great thrill, I learned that the tube came in its own little pink pouch. I was suddenly closer to Heaven than I had ever been. Well, except for the time that I won the Little Miss Asparagus beauty pageant and Chandra did not.

  Which reminded me, I had places to be. Chandra was very impatient, and really would try to cause an issue if I didn’t get to Dairy Queen soon. Poor thing, I still had so much training to do with her. I grabbed my purchase with a worshipful hand, and turned to the door.

  Pancake proved unable to just stand there and let me go. “I hope you’re the prettiest girl at the skating rink tonight!”

  Fool. Of course I would be. Hope had nothing to do with it. I exited the building, the little bell alerting the world that the princess was in transit and was now available for viewing. As all bells should.

  Once I was back on the sidewalk, I spotted Chandra down the street, where she was carefully standing far enough away from Mellie Jo and Little Sahara that passersby would not immediately assume there was an association of any kind. As soon as she noticed me, Chandra could immediately tell that something was making me even prettier. “Oh my GOD, girl,” she yelled. “What is that cute pink thing you’re carrying?”

  Why must she always bellow? I sighed and headed her way.

  As I arrived in front of Dairy Queen, waving at my various fans, Chandra was nearly frothing at the mouth as she eyed my pink treasure. “What IS it? Tell me!”

  I smiled with knowledge and grace. “It’s the new lip gloss that I had special ordered. The Merle Norman people picked me to try it first.” Little lies never hurt anyone, especially if they involve beauty or social standing.

  Chandra’s eyes lit up even further. “Can I try it?”

  As if. “No, but let’s go inside and I’ll let you hold it.”

  We opened the door and sashayed into Dairy Queen. (There was no bell announcing our arrival, so I would have to speak to management about that oversight.) I already knew which of the booths could be seen by everyone in the building, so I marched over to that one and made the people sitting there leave. Of course, I sat facing away from the door,  because that gave me an air of mystery and sophistication.

  Chandra, her eyes still shining, took the opposite seat and prepared herself for glamour and wonder. I quickly ran through my presentational speech in my head, fully aware that everyone around us would be listening because they always want to know what I’m doing. And when I finally actually applied the gloss to my lips in a few minutes? Well, the applause was going to be deafening. I could hardly wait.

  Much to my dismay, Chandra’s eyes flitted away from me, focused on something at the front of the store. This wouldn’t do. I grabbed her chin and turned her head back to me. Amazingly, she turned away from me again. Then she spoke. “Um, you better look outside.”

  “What could possibly be more important than…” I glanced out the front window and saw nothing of note. “There’s no one there. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Mellie Jo and Little Sahara, that’s what. We left them out there, and now they’re gone.”


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10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 1

  (Note: My own experience with moistened lips has been somewhat limited, so for this post I am channeling the spirit of a certain female acquaintance of mine, who shall remain nameless, as part of this sad tale is shocking and slightly disturbing. This post is not meant as a condemnation of anyone else who might anoint their mouths with liquid. Rather, it is just one woman’s imagined reflections as she keeps things from drying out…)

1. There really is a Santa Claus.

  I confirmed this in the second grade, when I approached my hand-made stocking with the dancing Mizzou reindeer and an embroidered image of the original Charlie’s Angels. Reaching into this sacred sock of joy, my hand closed on a tubular object of some kind. I drew my trembling hand back and discovered a shiny vessel, roughly the shape of that “roll-on deodorant” thing that Mommy used during her mysterious rituals in the bathroom.

  But this thing claimed that it tasted just like pink bubble gum. That sounded extremely promising, but I was confused. Mommy never licked on her deodorant, or at least she never had while I watched her prepare for the day, wishing I could be grown-up too and get to take little pills out of a round dispenser that had 31 days numbered on it cause “we already had enough damn kids running around here”.

  I turned to Mommy with an expression that was still mostly joyous, although now there was slight trepidation. “What is it, Mommy? What do  I do with it? Is it candy?”

  Mommy smiled. “No, my little puddle jumper, it’s not candy. It’s lip gloss!”

  This caused more confusion. “Lip gloss? Like Amy wears?” (Amy lived down the street and was in the seventh grade. She was ancient, like grandmas and the slow people at church.)

  Mommy nodded her head. “Just like Amy. You’re a big girl now!”

  I pondered this, eying my sparkling gift. “But Bobby Ray says Amy is a slut. Am I a slut now, too, Mommy? Did you get me some slut clothes like Amy wears? Did you get me a tube top? Do I get to drink Kool-aid in glass bottles behind the skating rink and have lots of boyfriends?”

  Mommy just stared at me for a second. I didn’t know if she was thinking of answers or if I had made her mad with too many questions. But she didn’t have that pinched look she gets when I talk too much. I didn’t know what was going on.

  Finally, Mommy smiled and held out her arms. “Come sit on Mommy’s lap.” I ran to do so, still clutching my present and snuggling up to Mommy. She smelled like baked cookies and Pine-Sol. She tried to smooth my curly hair, but it stayed puffy and she might have cut her finger on it. “Puddles, you’re not a slut. You’re the nicest and sweetest little girl in the whole world. You could never be a slut.”

  I beamed happily. I didn’t know if I wanted to be a slut or not, but I liked the part about nice and sweet.

  Mommy then pried the lip gloss out of my tiny fingers, then twisted the top off and set it to the side. “Now. I’m going to show you how to put this on. Push your lips out.”

  I instantly did so, because I’d been practicing since I was three.

  At the end of the lip gloss thing there was a big ball that rolled, and it was all wet. Mommy put the ball on my puckered lips and slid it back and forth.

  Suddenly, as a sugary glaze built up on my lips, I got a dreamy feeling like I was sleeping. Mommy’s voice faded away as I drifted on a big, fluffy cloud and birds were singing all around me. The pretty cloud landed in a park and a bell rang. I thought maybe the bell meant I should get off the cloud, so I did. All the furry animals in the park ran up and loved on me. It was fun, but I made them go away when they got bunny hair on my lip gloss.

  The bell rang again, and I was on a very big stage. Bunches and bunches of people were sitting in front of me. They were screaming my name and crying because I was so pretty. I sang a song for them, using my lip gloss as a microphone, and people died because they were so happy and only Heaven was better.

  The bell rang again, and Vinnie Barbarino was asking me to be his wife. I started to say yes, thank you, but then the Six Million Dollar Man walked in and they started hitting each other because they both wanted me. I decided I liked it when people beat each other up and you are the prize.

  The bell rang again. I didn’t like the bell any more. My dream was very nice except for that damn bell. But it kept ringing.

  And then I woke up. My little sister, Mellie Jo, was sitting on her tricycle right in front of me, banging away at the bell on the handle bars. When she saw me wake up, she finally stopped being loud. “Get off Mommy’s lap. It’s my turn.”

  Mellie Jo was mean, and I didn’t like her a lot of the time. She made noise ALL the time. And she was wild. All the popular girls at Day Care said so. Mommy had to leave work lots of times and make her quit hitting someone or put her clothes back on. Mommy said she was a handful. I think she was a bucketful. A big bucket. A big, old mean bucket that said dirty words and broke things, like swing-sets and boys.

  Mommy patted me again, then gently set me to the side before turning sternly to my sister. “Mellie Jo, I don’t want to spank you on the Lord’s Day, but if you don’t stop that racket I won’t have any choice. Now, go get your stocking and let’s see how good you‘ve been this year.”

  Mellie leaped off her trike, snatched up her stocking, then hurled herself through the air into Mom’s startled lap. She ripped into the stocking, tossing aside apples and nuts, then seized the treasure at the bottom. “Thank you, Santa!” she squealed, waving the gift above her head. “It’s just what I wanted!”

  It was a round dispenser. With 31 days marked on it.


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