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It has been said that most politicians are out of touch with the average working man or woman. Having been one all my life (working woman, that is - although, when my estrogen dips and my voice gets low and gravelly, I might be able to pass for a working man), I thought I'd help fill in some of the gaps for those who think "work" is something done by domestics and illegal aliens.

Use this quick translation guide to convert working class issues into rich people-speak:

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Take today's fun news item... An Italian priest is organizing the world's first beauty pageant for nuns. So what if the economy is going down and taking your pension plan with it? Forget the presidential conventions and all bloviates that come with them. (BTW, isn't "bloviate" a great word? I'm going to try to use it in every conversation this week.) Forget all the bad news because nun of it matters when you realize that soon we'll have a nun beauty contest to distract us. Just when you thought you'd seen every type of reality programming anyone could dream up, too!

I don't know what the Pope thinks about this, but I assume he disapproves because he and I don't see eye-to-eye on anything.  Perhaps because I'm not a Catholic, but a lapsing Mormon-Southern Baptist-Reincarnationist. Or maybe because I don't have to wear a full length gown and funny hat except on special occasions, like Arbor Day.

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As the warm days of summer wind down, millions of people are spending what little money they have left after gassing up the car on corn dogs and elephant ears at county and state fairs. The people who run Weight Watchers are probably giddy when they think about the new business that'll come waddling in next month.

I myself spent eight hours at my local county fair trying to sell my new book, Not Guilty by Reason of Menopause. So instead of indulging in a sugar rush of cotton candy and caramel apples (which I have to cut into bite size pieces so I don't pull off a crown)... Instead of riding The Zipper and The Screamer until my back reminds me that I'm an adult now and there's not enough ibuprofen in the world to make whiplash worthwhile... Instead of petting sheep and goats and ponies oh my and then washing my hands over and over like Monk to make sure I'm not harboring Mad Pony Disease or Billy Goat Flu... Instead of any of those fun things, I spent all day sitting on a hard plastic chair people-watching.

Which, come to think of it, may actually be the most exciting thing to do at the fair.

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When you make a living as a writer and comedian (if by "living" you mean "as much money as you'd make selling wormy apples by the side of the road"), people have lots of questions. Instead of answering them personally by phone or e-mail, I've decided to take care of a whole batch in one fell swoop and fill my weekly word quota for this column at the same time! If you were a writer, you'd understand. Really, you would. (See, that was three extra words! And that last sentence added six. It helps to have math skills).

Here we go:

Where do you get your ideas? I get up at 6:00 a.m. on trash day and sort through my neighbors' discarded mail and bills. You'd be surprised how many wonderful topics for columns and sets you can get that way, what with all the lingerie catalogs and National Rifle Association literature. And on the rare occasion that I trip over their stack of tequila bottles in the recycling bin and wake the family dog, I can always write off both my ER bill and bail money as a business-related expense.

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A friend of mine recently got Wii^TM. Don't worry, it's not terminal.

Okay, you haven't been living with a family of technophobes under a rock for the past five years and you know that Wii^TM is an interactive videogame that is only slightly less popular than Barack Obama. In fact, I hear that the Wii^TM people are planning a new game that simulates voting and tells you how many calories you burn every time you pull the lever. (Don't you just love the little ^TM ? I'm going to start including^TM on everything, including my name^TM just so I feel important^TM.)

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I remember when my medicine chest was full of fun stuff like perfume, eyeliner, and Rolling Stones concert tickets I was hiding from my parents. Today though, it's mostly full of lotions and creams with the phrase "anti-aging" somewhere on the label (usually it's the only thing in a type size I can read).

There in the right hand corner next to my hair mousse (I use mousse instead of spray because saying "mousse" makes me feel hip) are two bottles of stuff, one that guarantees to "reduce the signs of aging by 61% in one week" and one that guarantees "84% more youthful skin in three days." The question is: if I mix the two, can I actually turn back time and look like I did in a previous life? Maybe when I was Cleopatra?

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Enough with the superheroes already. Sheesh. They're everywhere. We just get over Spidey and Batman, Ironman, The Hulk, and Hellboy muscle their way onto the big screen. Sure the fifteen year-old geeky boys are wetting themselves, but speaking for the rest of us, PLEASE STOP!

I don't want to take away anyone's fun, but it's hard to get other kinds of movies made with Hollywood investing all its money in nonsense involving klutzy, slow-thinking men who accidentally irradiate themselves or get bitten by irradiated spiders or run out in front of a gamma bomb to save klutzy, slow-thinking teenage boys. Then they have to spend the rest of their lives rescuing the world from evil villains while getting in and out of Spandex. Come on, no man on the planet is going to wear Spandex. Well, except Richard Simmons, but his are not the kind of superpowers that usually make it to the big screen.

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Finally the government has done something right. Due to a sharp decline in the number of people with "bathing suit bodies," the FCC (Fashion Crime Commission) has called off this year's swimsuit season. According to a size 14 spokesperson who wished to remain anonymous, "There's a distinct chance that the size 0-2 woman, for whom the average swimsuit is typically designed, may be facing extinction. And although we can't pinpoint a single factor, it does appear that 40 oz. triple caramel lattes and bagels the size of Volkswagen Beetles may be partially to blame. It is our hope that by allowing Americans to sit out this swimsuit season and giving them an extra year to get in shape, we can turn those numbers around before the end of the decade. "

I am personally thrilled with the news! Not just from a personal perspective either. Just think of all the energy we can save this summer by not sucking in our stomachs for hours and spending days trying to dig too small swimsuit bottoms out from locations they shouldn't be in the first place. Not to mention how much we can reduce foreign oil imports by foregoing slathering ourselves with sunscreen and not having to apply Vaseline to our inner thighs to keep them from singing like crickets as we walk along the beach hoping no one we know spots us.

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My neighbor built me a birdfeeder in about five minutes flat. He's 65, been doing it for years, has all the proper tools and most of his fingers, etc. Naturally, I figured I could attach the feeder to the post I already had in only three or four times his speed. After all, I do watch Home & Garden TV. A LOT.

Of course, those shows are heavily edited. So in the interest of full disclosure, let me tell you what it took for me to attach my new birdfeeder (which is just lovely, by the way, thank you Vern) to my post.

1. Gather up the proper tools. I figured on my Rubbermaid stepstool, a screwdriver, the power drill, some drill bits and some screws.