Archive of ‘You Gotta Laugh Sometimes’ category

Wow. What Big Blue Balls You Have.

“Those blue balls are really great. I almost want to eat them.”

Yes. That’s what she said. Before I go any further, I just want to say this post isn’t perverted. It’s just me. And I couldn’t help but whet your appetite with that.

The other day, there was a huge jewelry event in the Northern Virginia area, right outside of Washington, D.C. Some of you are not aware of this, but in a few weeks, I am launching a company called Simply Om™. I am working at night and on weekends and in the middle of the night. Oh and early mornings. Because I also have a full time job and kids and have to shower now and then.

So what if I’m tired though? I’m excited.

So I dragged my sorry ass to the Dulles Expo Center. Our au pair, Heather came with us. In case you don’t know, she talks to dead people. Despite that, I wanted her opinion on some of the wholesale materials I was buying.

I was standing at a stall that specialized in beautiful and rare semi-precious gemstones. A woman walked over with her terribly bored husband, and pointed to a set of beautiful beads in front of me.

Now, you know how people say, don’t go to the grocery store when you are hungry? I would also say you shouldn’t go to a gem store when you haven’t had sex in a long time.

It makes you say dumb shit.

“Honey, look at these!” the woman walked over and pointed to a beautiful strand of large, opaque blue beads. As with anything, I always look to see what other people are buying because I might have missed something when I walk by without picking something up. In this case, I realized that the gems in question weren’t really for my line. Something about them. Too … big, maybe?

“I love these gorgeous blue balls!” she exclaimed, almost caressing the stones. Her husband had his hands in his pockets and was more interested in the sales woman’s cleavage it appeared, than any sort of balls.

“Yeah, yup,” he nodded along.

“Look at how big these are!” she called over to a friend. “Have you seen these big blue balls?!” A few other people looked over too, mainly at the husband, probably thinking the same thing as me, before realizing she was literally talking about big blue balls and not her husband’s equipment.

See? I’m not the only one who thinks that way.

I looked over at Heather and tried not to laugh, but probably let out a little chuckle. The woman still had no clue, however.

“Gosh, they just look like candy. Don’t you just want to eat them?” she asked her husband.

“Eat what?” He looked over at her, obviously in la la land.

“The big blue balls, silly!”

I felt like this was a really inappropriate Saturday Night Live skit and I was on Candid, Camera or something.

Her friend walked over. She gasped at the beads in her friend’s hands, as if to marvel at their big, luscious beauty.

“I know, right?” the woman asked her friend. “Don’t you just want to eat them?” They then proceeded to talk about how tasty the big blue balls looked.

I couldn’t help myself. I walked over.

“What beautiful balls you have,” I said to the woman holding the beads. Her friend nodded in agreement.

“So let me just get this straight,” I said. “You like those big blue balls?”

She nodded.

“No, seriously. You like those big, BLUEBALLS. So much that you want to eat them?”

At this point, the husband checked back in and started to laugh. The lady still didn’t get it though.

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Definitely,” I said. I had a huge smile on my face and was struggling not to laugh but apparently not everybody thinks like me, because nobody was struggling quite as hard as I was.

I should have bought those blue balls, but alas, I didn’t. Ah well. Another day, another time. I am sure I can find some blue balls somewhere around here.

“Hey, John!?” I yelled out.

“What?” he asked, from upstairs.

“Have you seen any big blue balls around here?” I asked.


Yeah, I don’t think he appreciates my sense of humor either.

I can’t help it! I have too many balls in the air.

Ok. I’ll stop now.




Smaller ballers.

My Husband, the Teeth Model

The ladies at our dentist office love my husband, John. I think it has something to do with how friendly and smiley he is. Maybe it’s because he never gets cavities. Whatever it is, they are seriously crushing on him.

I have thought this was cute. It doesn’t really bother me. When John missed his appointment a few weeks ago because of some last minute work travel, he forgot to call the office to cancel. I had an appointment two days later and as soon as I walked in, the receptionist looked up from her desk and jumped up to greet me.

“Oh my God! Is John okay? We are so worried about him!”

I could feel the eyes of the other patients in the waiting room looking me up and down. What had happened to this John person? I could almost see them asking. (They had not yet updated the fliers, so his celebrity was not yet on the rise in Northern Virginia). I was so confused as I hadn’t realized he had missed the appointment and I also didn’t realize his teeth were that bad that the office staff would be so concerned.

At this point, one of the hygienists ran out from the back and said, “Oh, what happened? This is so unlike him!

As opposed to so like him?  Based on what?

And so I apologized for John (thanks, John) and had to spend the rest of my cleaning listening to how great my husband is, and how funny he is, and oh wow, he must just love our kids soooo much.

Seriously. They got this from his teeth?

“He seems like such a great husband. And he’s Italian! I love Italian food!”

Es, ee ith ithalian, buth thigh I the thun that thoes the thooking” I also tried to explain that he is half Puerto Rican, but it was hard to get out with that suction thing making a ruckus and my mouth wide open.

“Oh bless his heart! I bet he cooks for you all the time!”

“Thar thou thucking thidding mhee?” I tried to say, except she told me to spit.

I don’t know what John talks about when he is in the office. And I don’t know he can get a word in edgewise during his cleanings because he is a bad flosser, so they must have to use the time he is there to really get in there.

So all I remember thinking was “How the hell did you get this from his teeth?”

As I left the office that day, the receptionist yelled after me from her desk, “Tell John to keep his next appointment! We don’t want him to break our hearts again!”


So then the next day, John goes to the office for his appointment and comes back home all happy and beaming like Ponch from CHIPS with a story to tell me. Most people would probably get reprimanded for missing an appointment and get smacked with a “no-show” fee at most places.

But not John. And not Dr. Han’s office.

Instead, they asked him to become one of the “faces” of their office and be on their website and all over their office walls. They want to hire a photographer and have a photo session so he can flash his pearly whites so his fan club can swoon all over his pictures every day.

“Now we can look at you every day!” they told him.

You could tell he was trying to be humble about it, except of course the part where he wasn’t trying to be humble at all.

“Isn’t it funny how you used to model and I’m the one who gets asked to be in the pictures?”

“Yeah, it’s hysterical.” I said, not really laughing but still finding it odd that his teeth have some special “something” that mine will never have.

The “IT” factor. For teeth.

He was so excited. John’s best friend has modeled as a side job for years and we see him on TV in commercials and in magazines all the time. I could see John already putting his portfolio together and thinking about how many commercials there might be where he could play a call center rep from Mumbai. But then I had to remind him that while he has the loveliest smile in real life, anytime a camera is pointed at him, he becomes Chandler Bing and clams up.

And of course he remembered that is a bit of a problem but I think he is going to try and wing it. I mean, you don’t want to lose an opportunity to have your teeth displayed all over the office and website of your local dentist.

Once in a lifetime opportunity, John. You MUST take it. Carpe the hell out of this one.

I will let you guys know how it goes!


And so now you know about how John’s promising modeling career started. I haven’t quit my job just yet, but if he keeps smiling like that, I’m hoping he can even land a Bollywood gig or do stunt work for Wilmer Valderama.


Who Put the White in Snow White?

When adults would read me Snow White as a child, I always marveled at the beautiful Princess’s beauty. Her loving mother had wished for a daughter with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as coal.

Wow. She sounds pretty.

Except…. (Sound of a record scratching)

Back the fuck up, yo.

Skin as WHITE as snow?


That’s me in the back with the pink shirt and the glasses.

Over at Scary Mommy…

I wrote a post over at Scary Mommy called, “I Would Do Anything For Love, but my Boobs Won’t Do THAT.”

Well, that was the original title, but I told Jill to call it whatever she wanted because she knows her shit, it’s her blog and I could NOT get that darn Meatloaf song out of my head.

If you are here, thanks so much for coming. I hope to get to know you better at Masala Chica.

That being said, let me tell you a few things:

1) I curse. A lot. Not at people. Just at air mostly. If I say fuck, just pretend I said, “fudge” or “muggles.” It usually works out. I promise I will never curse at you.

Well, unless you curse at me first.

2) I am Indian-American and I write a lot about growing up in a family that straddled two cultures. I will write as an Indian and as an American. You might get to see both sides of me. Think of me as a female Gandhi. With more hair, less wisdom and who drinks and curses more than Gandhi did. Oh screw it.

Think of me more like an Indian Sandra Bernhard.

Yeah, that’s better.

3) I love Les Mis. I saw the movie three times. This by no means indicates that I am not busy. It just means that I suckered my husband into watching the kids for a total of at least 16 hours so I could pretend I was Fantine.

4) I get really bent out of shape about a few things. Like people who blame rape on women or movies. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. OF course. Unless it’s weird and twisted and misogynistic and makes light of violence against women or children. Oh. And those people? Yeah, I probably will curse AT them. Not very Gandhi-like, I know.

5) I tweet over at “The Twitter” as @kferrandino. Give me a holler and let me know you’re a reader so we can connect!





Letters to Myself

When I was a kid, I used to write “Letters to Myself.” This may seem odd and no, I don’t have multiple personalities. I just wanted to make sure that as an adult, I didn’t forget about all the “horrible” things my parents did to to embarrass me while I lived under their roof. I figured if I could warn myself in the future and help prevent my children from suffering the same kind of embarrassment that I had been through, we could potentially break the cycle. Thus leading to less money spent on counseling sessions, which would be a win-win from any perspective, because even my parents would agree that we shouldn’t waste money. I didn’t start the letters until I was in middle school, but I think I covered my bases pretty well.

So without further ado, let me present you with the teenage Masala Chica’s list of parental “Dos” and “Don’ts.”

1)   Don’t wear saris when I pick my kids up from school. Try to be cool like the other moms and wear jeans.

She’s NOT wearing mom jeans = uncool

You Don’t Have to Eat My Samosas

I often ask myself questions that have no easy answers. This week, one of those questions was, “Why do people keep googling “spicy kabob” and ending up on my website?”

Now, I get that the word “Masala” is in my blog name. Masala means “spice” in Hindi, so I totally get why people might say, “Hey I am going to go to this Indian cooking site and learn how to make samosas!

Samosas. My mother’s are the best. EVER.

Botoxification Nation

So I ventured into some heavy stuff yesterday. I think I am going to give everyone a brief respite from the heavy stuff and take you somewhere else today. Someplace a little bit lighter.

You know how some days, you just look in the mirror and you feel a little – oh gosh – what’s the word? Dowdy? Lackluster? Just not quite as hot as your bad ass self wants to be?

And some times it’s not just days. It could be a phase. Like – “Oh, I hated that period where I had that really bad layered cut!” or “I was in Graduate school. I didn’t have time to look cute!” Even “Why in God’s name did you let me get bangs? Don’t EVER do that again, Girlfriend!” looking back at pictures we managed to hide somewhere but never quite forget.

Courtesy of Shutterstock

Ann Coulter – I’m Here for You

Dear Ann,

I don’t like to get political on this blog. Sometimes I’ll dabble into things like religion but for the most part, I stay neutral. You might be able to guess my leanings through some of my posts, but again nothing definitive.

So this is not an attack on the Republican party, of which I know you are a part of. Because I do not think you are a true representative of that party. I think you are an outlier, an exception, a person who does not speak for the majority of your party. I mean, at least this is my hope, because if people like you are the voice of the party then the Republicans are pretty much screwed.

You see, Ann (I’m assuming I can call you that, right? It’s actually much better than the other names I want to call you, so let’s just go with the basic, “Ann.”) there are people in this world who value kindness. Who value empathy. Who value the differences between people.

And see, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. When someone like you says what you say, I wonder if you are just an attention seeking bully who wants attention now. Like, sometimes, when my daughter is not getting my all and really wants Mommy to look at her, she will be like “Mommy, Mommy” and get up in my grill and say some really outlandish things. And I am like, “What?” because words can really hurt, Ann. They can. Granted, she is 5 years old, but my point is that some people never outgrow that need.

So, it that it? Is that what it really is Ann? Or maybe when you were in high school, you couldn’t sit at the table with the cool kids? Maybe you had trouble relating to your peers? And now, for once, you have the chance to be the “Mean Girl” but only better – like the mean girl on steroids – because your vitriol gets you on television. It gets you places. Heck, nice people like me are questioning why you do what you do. Because I’m concerned.

Who hurt you, Ann? Was it a boy who didn’t like your locks of blonde hair?

Were you loved? Did you ever maybe feel just a bit, I don’t know, neglected?

If I saw you, I would want to give you a big warm hug, because I think that’s it. I think you just weren’t loved enough. Now, you might not want me to hug you, because I am brown. But I would try anyway. To take away that pain and hurt and anger till your skinny little twig-like body was wracked in sobs.

I usually try to stay out of your business, Ann. I think to myself – “Oh there’s Ann, doing her thing again!” and I kind of smile, because I know like a dog who hasn’t been potty trained, you just can’t help yourself. And that shit has gotta come out.

But your post the other night, really hit me for a doozy. I was all like, “Hey Ann must have been drunk when she wrote this! Girlfriend would never cross that line” but then I realized that I was the one who was drunk and I sobered up enough to admit that yes, you could. You could in fact write this.

But I was surprised, Ann. I was surprised that someone who looks like a drag queen yourself would say something so, so MEAN. I mean, you really crossed the line. And I don’t know if you know this, but there ARE gay Republicans.

Weird, right? That sexuality crosses party lines.

And again, I just kind of turned the other cheek. I didn’t want to get myself in a tizzy over this, you know? Because I know that the men and women who used that Thursday to come out to their parents and reveal their sexuality are more real than you might know how to be.

You know, since nobody hugs you enough.

And I have a feeling that Monday didn’t go as you planned. Because not everybody thinks like you, Ann. You’ve gotta expand that little, teeny part of your mind that is smaller than a raisinet (not to go on a tangent, but I really miss Raisinets. Are they still around?). You see, sweetheart, most people have a heart. It beats in their chest. Sometimes it synchs up with this thing that’s called a “conscience.”

When they work together, amazing things can happen. Magical things. Things that happen when parents love their children. And that love is stronger than you might think. Coming to terms with something like your child’s sexuality may be hard, no doubt. But people do hard things every day. And loving your child is not hard, not for most of us.

But today? Ann, I was so surprised when I saw this from you.

I don’t know, Ann. I don’t know if I want to wrap you up in that big hug now. I’m starting to think that there might not be hope for you. Now, I don’t give up on people very fast. When people said that Robert Downey, Jr. would never come back, I knew – I just knew that he would get better. Because he was too good for that. When people gave up on Britney after she cut off all her hair, I said, “Stop the presses everyone! Girlfriend might come back and get better!”

I still haven’t give up hope yet on that one.

Because I hold on, Ann. I believe in the good in people. And while I know there is a dark side to each of us, to every single one of us, whether we are Republican or Democrat, gay or straight, brunette or blonde, most of us want to hold onto the light. I really believe that most of us do.

By the way, are those extensions? I am just wondering. If not, your hair is really lovely. I do want to recommend a better conditioner though. Your ends are just a teeny bit dry.

Ping me later, ‘k?

And outside of just being there for you for hair advice, I think that the offer still stands. If you want a hug, I’ll give you one. I will try not to break your brittle bones or bruise your overly tanned skin. I will be gentle.

And I know one day you will mellow out. Maybe you should go on a yoga retreat? Just, I don’t know, get away! Let your overly bleached hair down! I think that once you take a deep breath and find that special place inside you, the part that’s been crying inside to be loved and given attention and to just be HEARD God damn it, you will learn to be gentle. Loving.

Good luck on your journey, Ann. On your way to finding love. Peace.

Om Shanti, sister.

Om Shanti.


Whenever you are confronted with an opponent. Conquer him with love.” – Mahatma Gandhi

(Backtracking a little: You guys know that I don’t really want to hug her right? Right now my feelings are closer to wanting to throw her off a cliff. Very few people other than her and Glenn Beck do that to me. If you look up the hashtag #specialneeds on twitter right now, you can hear the hurt and the amazement that this public figure could say such a thing. I hope the Republicans come out of this reviling her behavior and speaking out against it. Because that’s the right effing thing to do.)

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