If you're mad at something, make it cute and furry

Okay, so I'm just looking for new material for my next "momedy" show. I was hoping to compare being a human parent vs. being an animal parent. Who has it worse, really? I mean, no way is there a divorce rate for spiders right? They devour their husbands. Then, I stumbled on this blog: www.fuckyoupenguin.blogspot.com. First of all, who gets pissed at a penguin? Today, the blogger is taking aim at a baby panda. Hope this dude doesn't work at a zoo.

When wealth is pouring, forget your umbrella.

Oh wait, that's rain. Still waiting for this affirmation to happen. The fact that it's spring break should mean sun and bikinis, right? But no, it's rain. Visualize each freezing drop as cold, hard cash. Yeah, that'll work.

Keep your moon in the right house before it offends someone

Suddenly, my four-year-old is mooning everybody. "Look at my butt!" she squeals while exposing her little bottom to nearly anyone. "That is your private area," we tell her. "You can do that at home, not in public." Well, we shouldn't have said that. Many moons later, we're all pretty tired of seeing her little buns. "Can I show you my underwear then?" Great. Now the moon is peeking at us behind Curious George and Tinkerbell. I should be happy she wears underwear at all. When she was potty training, she refused. One day, my printer jammed. When I opened it, I discovered six pairs of Dora the Explorer underpanties stuffed into the paper tray. She showed me, alright. With her newfound exhibitionist tendencies, she's really showing me. Of course, just when I need it most, the real moon is covered up by clouds.

Embrace the true you, even if it's weird to hug yourself in public.

My identity has been stolen so many times, I lost count. I could be like poster child for ID theft at this point. Why is my identity so attractive to people? I have about $5.78 in my checking account. All these years of battling questionable identity, and my husband finally spelled it out for me: "You're the love child of Erma Bombeck and Jack Handey." Thank you! Finally, my identity nailed down flat. Try cashing that in at the bank, future felons!

Forgive me, Followers, for I have sinned...

It's been weeks since my last blog. Sorry about that, but I've been busy. TIME OUT: THE MAMALOGUES show is tonight! I practiced and practiced and just couldn't get the jokes where I wanted them. I just downed two eggs Rocky-style, and I'm ready. No I didn't - they were hardboiled. I'm not a TOTAL nut. Yes I am. Clearly, I need help with direction today. Bare with me. I mean, bear with me. Well, what did you expect is on my mind. The show is "Honey, I Shrunk My Libido." Tonight. Airplay Cafe. 701 E. Burnside. 7 o'clock. Hope to see you there. If not, at the blog next time.

Love yourself, but lock the door for crying out loud

It's that Valentine's time of the year. Big, floppy, doily Valentine's. So who loves you? You do. Right? RIGHT? You have to say yes or nobody else will. That's what I heard anyway. If you don't believe me about locking the door, rent "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." It's probably available in VHS. 

Keep your house clean and your mouth dirty

Quick, what's the fastest way to hiring a housecleaner? Tell your man it's his turn to clean. I've cleaned the ----ing house about twenty times in a row. It's time for everyone else in the family to get busy. After ten minutes and a wrestling match with our ----ing 1950 Electrolux, Brian was livid. Feel my pain, Mister! I told him I'd pole dance to make the extra money to hire our awesome Brazilian dancer/housecleaner. No, really. He's a Brazilian dancer, and I LOVE HIM.

See, here's the deal. When I was a teenager, I cleaned houses for extra money. Lots of houses. Rich people's houses. Lazy people's houses. Dog houses. Now I'm done, people. I've got two businesses to run, two little kids and dinner to make. So does everyone else in America. Why should I be the only one who keeps the house clean? "House Cleaning" is officially getting filed under "Utilities." Now all I want to worry about is keeping my dirty --s mouth clean around the kids. When I'm with my people, I'll cuss all I ----ing want.

Create your highest future. But first, get a ladder.

Ever have those dreams when you're precariously on the edge of a building? Your choice is fall or trust that the creepy circus clown standing at the building will pull you to safety. Okay, just me then. Plenty of people are afraid of heights though. So if Obama says it's up to us to build a bigger, better future, better go to Sears for a ladder.

Let your emotions flow, then beer

It's Friday. Finally, after surviving the first official full week around here. So I say dump out your worker angst and refill your glass with a cold one. Have a swell weekend.

Receive a soul message, then dump out your inbox

Not that you're supposed to ignore messages from the universe; but darn it, they take up memory. Already this year I got a big one: Do stand-up comedy. That's a totally strange message, considering that I once earned 95 cents after an entire year of performing. But I do thrive on making people laugh.

So I'm working with Airplay Cafe (701 E. Burnside, Portland) on TIME OUT: THE MAMALOGUES, a show just for moms. So far, we've reeled in some awesome talent: 

- Sharon Lacey (A-list comic/www.sharonlaceycomedy.com)

- Betsy Kauffman (comic and former KEX radio personality)

- Sharon Wood Wortman (author of The Portland Bridge Book and one-woman show "Bridge Stories")

- Tara Dublin (self-proclaimed "Durannie" and morning show host at WNRK 94.7)

Still hoping Gert Boyle, "One Tough Mother," will join us. Tickets are available via www.brownpapertickets.com. If you're a mom, email jsturkie@gmail.com to take the stage. If you're a dad, attend at your own risk.

Create wealth, but beware of jail time.

Seems like this time of year, everyone wonders, How can I make more money? Ironically, you never hear people answer, Uh, work. Last year, I went with the philosophies proposed in The Secret. That is, envision yourself as the person you want to be. You know, the one with a nice paycheck. I started living the dream. For me, that meant replacing leotards with the snap-tabbed crotch I bought in the '80s with cotton shirts from Old Navy. My standards aren't exactly fashion-forward. The results really surprised me. Instead of "attracting wealth," I ran up $7,000 on my credit card. To my defense, most of the expenses were business-related. But still, my guilt accrued daily. So I paid the thing off and cut it up. The other day, the "Law of Attraction" sent me a new credit card. I hid it from myself and vowed to become Quaker. Apparently, the Quakers don't believe in debt. As far as I know, they do use electricity, so I'll go with that for this year.

Release the past, but put a leash on it before it bites someone.

Yeah, yeah, it's that time of the year when you're supposed to evaluate what you're doing wrong so you can get it right next year. Well, good luck with that. I'm resolving NOT to resolve anything this year. Am I in the best shape? If I lie flat on the ground, I am. That's one instance when gravity is your friend. Did I save money? Hell no. The upside is when you don't put much into investments and they tank, you're not that bad off. Score: One, me. Zero, loss. Is my home as well organized as a RealSimple photo spread? Here's the problem: When things go in baskets, you can't find anything. So forget that. My vote is to accept life as it is, and have the happiest New Year's ever. 

Awaken your inner shovel.

We've hit a snowfall record in Portland, Oregon at 15" of snow. It's that time of year when you're supposed to clear out all your crap anyway. So, get shoveling. Better yet, make this cocktail from the most excellent book, Atomic Cocktail (Chronicle Books) by Karen Brooks, Gideon Bosker and Reed Darmon:

Havana Moon Tea

1 tea bag orange pekoe tea

2/3 C boiling water

2 tsp. fresh lime juice

2 tsp. dark brown sugar

1/4C rum

1 fresh mint sprig

Make the tea. In a small bowl, combine the lime juice, brown sugar and rum. Stir until the sugar dissolves. Strain the tea into a large mug and stir in the rum mixture. Garnish with the mint. 

You will LOVE it. Swear. Have a Merry Christmas, and thanks for reading a blog about absolutely nothing.

Release your inner snowman before he wants benefits.

When it's icy like this, one question comes to mind: In Chicago, do they still call those things that fit over shoes rubbers? Or, is there a more PC way of saying that? My friend in Chicago says they've resorted to "galoshes." Sounds old-fashioned. Maybe there's high-tech way to say that, like "ice-deflection system." I think I like "rubbers" better. If anything, it implies alertness is required.

Hold the vision, but use oven mitts.

It's snowing in Portland, Oregon. People freak out when it snows here, despite the fact that so many people ski, snowboard and ice pick treacherous mountains. At the rate it's coming down, we'll be inside for days, and the oven will be in service. I'm no Betty Crocker, but even I can't resist baking cookies on days like this. It might ruin my mojo though. When I do stand-up, people think I'm a jaded, divorced, single mom. I actually got hit on the other night after stumbling through a five-minute set. Good thing my husband thought it was hilarious. But wait, was it hilarious because it was the first time I've been approached in over a decade or because someone found an over-40 mother of two attractive?

Be the change, and make it underwear.

Don't tell anyone, but I am the worst shopper in the history of mall shopping. To avoid it, I hit the internet, where my "Shopping Cart" drifted off somewhere and was no doubt taken to the checkout by someone else. So I had to start over. Rolling through the underwear department, I noticed the choices are dangerously slim for someone like me who is no longer single digit. Thong? Wrong. Boy? Right. I'd look like a manatee squeezing into a sausage casing. Come on, people. Work with me, the former gymnast mourning the loss of an hourglass figure gone hour-long buffet. Bikini low? How about Bikini-High-Gut-Tuck?

Walk a mile in my soul, then get new shoes. Really expensive ones.

Christmas is coming no matter what. And, as far as I can tell, people are spending money on crafty stuff. I went to this crafty sale yesterday and many vendors were reporting record sales this year. I don't sell my cards at sales like that, but maybe I should. If they find out I was once thrown out of a mom's group because I made fun of scrapbooking, would they kick me out? I can do the math - that would be like rejection...squared. 

Be present, unless it's more fun being absent.

There's nothing like waking up from a deep sleep dreaming about John Hamm from Mad Men with a six-year-old poking you, saying, "Where's the on-off button on this thing?" There goes that fantasy. Have a fantastic day. If you get a chance to leave your body, I say, by all means, go for it. Just make sure you don't run into anything.

Use your life for good purpose, if not for no good reason.

Last night, I did stand up at Airplay Cafe (E. Burnside in Portland) for the first time in over a decade. My friend Gary asked me if it was like riding a bike. Yep, it was. I feel like my "purpose" is to make people laugh, intentionally. Most of the time, I do that unintentionally. I was the only comic at open mic - everyone else played guitar - very well. So if I sucked, at least it wouldn't be by comparison. The last time I did comedy, the "stage" was an flour-covered concrete floor in a pizza parlor in front of five guys who only spoke Spanish. The fact that everyone last night understood English turned out to be a huge plus. 

Open your heart to love and your mouth to chocolate.

Just so you don't think I've got some sugar problem - I'm visiting Sweets Etc. in Multnomah Village today to do a taste test...for my customers. I swear! I'm giving them treats this year, so don't tell them. My new psychic, the Magic 8 balls, says: "Definitely Yes," they'll love it. Sweets Etc. (7828 SW Capitol Hwy. Multnomah Village) rock candies my world. Tricia, the owner, handcrafts truffles and other chocolate delights in vintage jewelry showcases. She's got it all - ice cream, fudge, Swedish fish and surprises, like carmel-encased marshmallows and espresso malt balls. In the window: a chocolate Santa the size of my four-year-old. Tricia's raffling him off for charity. Would it scar my kids for life if I told them, Sorry, kids, Mommy ate Santa.