Before going to bed that evening I noticed that my pillow was stained:
The title of today's post is an attention grabber, I know. And it's a legit project that I'm working on. However, to get to the point where I explain about the song I'm writing, I have to first show you how this whole nonsense started.
Before I do THAT, I need to share something important with you. The majority of my referrals come from Jenny Lawson's website, The Bloggess. My website is one of many listed on the sidebar of her blog. I am absolutely THRILLED to see the name "Endearlingly Wacko" listed on Jenny's website. I love and adore her (but not in a creepy way). The only downside is that it costs money to be one of the websites listed. It's not a HUGE amount but now that school is almost out, my son will be going to daycare in the summer. OK, it's officially "Day Camp" but it's literally and completely the exact same thing. It means coming up with extra money in the summer. It sucks to be a fiscally responsible adult sometimes. In any case, I'll be pulling my advertising over the summer. If you usually link to my website via Jenny's, please take a moment to add me to your bookmarks so you can find your way back here. (I started to add "Please don't leave me!" but I was afraid it sounded desperate).
Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled nonsense. There are some days when my son tries my patience in every possible way. And that doesn't always mean he's being bad. He's just being a kid. I sent these series of texts and emails a few nights ago.
Before going to bed that evening I noticed that my pillow was stained:
The country song idea has been simmering in my brain for a few days and then I was hit with a moment of inspiration:
This conversation was with my friend Ivory. She's a classically trained opera singer so I tried to convince her to work with me on the song. She suggested doing it as a show tune. I think my "Shit Pillow" song fits best into the country music genre. If I'm true to the voice in my head, the singer of my song is a man with a voice similar to Randy Travis. I'm not a big country music fan so I don't know a lot of the current popular male singers. I've been harrasing various friends to try to get them to help me. My friend the IT guy can play the guitar but can't (or won't) sing. He suggested a co-worker who can both sing and play the guitar. I was like, "Do you think he'd sing a song with the lyrics 'Shit on my Pillow' included in it"? He said no, which was my thought also. Is there any reader out there who wants to help with this project? I'll take any kind of help-- with the lyrics, the melody, the actual singing-- anything. I've asked my friend Christopher to put out feelers since he lives in Nashville. Let's make this happen! You want to hear this song and see the accompanying video, you know you do! My email address is listed on the sidebar and all ideas are welcome. Nashville here we come!
I recently read a blog post on the website Crankoutloud.com. The author, Karen, wrote about an excruciatingly painful (literal and metaphorical) date that she went on as a college student. It made me remember some of my own bad dates in my youth (sorry if I'm kind of stealing your idea Karen!). At some point I may write a post entitled, "Strange Men Have I Known". Emphasis on the strange. And by "known", I don't mean in the Biblical sense.
When I was 18, I went to college full-time and worked at Kroger (a grocery store) part-time as a cashier. One time I went on a “pity” date with a co-worker. My date was a full-time bagger. Like that was his main job in life. Aaaaand he was twice my age. And he lived at home with his parents. Oh, and the icing on the cake was that after he asked me on the date, he told me he had epilepsy and I needed to drive. Um, OK. I don't even remember what we did. A movie maybe? A restaurant? The whole evening was so awkward and horrible I faked a headache to end the date early. It was a shitty thing to do but I was desperate. What's terrible is that his sister Earlene was also a cashier and after the bad date she was no longer nice to me. I guess because I was mean to her brother. At least I learned from that experience that it was OK to say no to men who asked me out.
But wait-- there’s more to this story! Then Dwayde* (*not his real name; his real name was similar), another bagger, asked me out while he was working at Kroger over Christmas break. He was 19 and a student at a college two-hours away. We started dating; he came home on the weekends to see me. One time when he was home on Spring Break we visited a local art museum and he asked me to marry him. My answer was, “I don’t know” and it pissed him off. He was like, "What do you mean you don't know?". I was like, “Uh, we’re just college students and I’m only 18.” Thank God I had common sense. Honestly, I think he just asked to marry me because I wouldn’t “put out” before marriage (I was a good girl back then). Because we all know that getting married just to have sex is the BEST REASON EVER! Anyway, Dwayde abruptly dumped me on EASTER SUNDAY! He stopped by in his Jeep and asked me to come outside and sit with him in his car (Jeep that is). There were flowers in the backseat that I assumed were for me. Nope, they were for his grandma. Oh, and he was breaking up with me. At the time I was really heartbroken (stupid young love). By June he was back home for the summer and he was like, “Let’s just be friends”. I was naïve enough to think that this would work. We went to a movie and afterwards he kept trying to kiss me. I told him, “People who are ‘just friends’ don’t behave like this”. I didn't see him anymore after that one attempt at "friendship". Later I found out that he “switched teams” altogether. I want to think it was because if he couldn’t have me then he didn’t want any women at all. (I'm kidding of course).
After Dwayde I dated a THIRD bagger named Tom. We were both 18; he'd been to juvie for stealing cars at 16 (a bad boy!). Anyway, we started hanging out and then we had a couple of "official' dates. On the second date we were making out and out of the blue he asked me, "Do you want to see my ****?" (trying to keep it classy here). I was shocked and said, "NO!". I remember he grumbled and said, "You girls never do." I was like, "Maybe you're picking inappropriate times to ask this question." He moved away shortly after that and we had no more contact. I have to say that if I had to do it all again I would have been like, "Sure. Show me what you got". That's the difference 20 plus years makes. My friend David has known me for 31 years. He had this to say about this last story:
The moral of this story is to never date baggers who work at Kroger.
If I was smart I would end my post here but I wanted to share one more thing. This is in no way connected to dating. It's just my usual random nonsense.
Last night I had this dream (and yes I know that hearing about other peoples' dreams is boring; just bear with me):
A friend at work sent this response:
Just FYI, I don't actually see a therapist. Why would I? I'm completely normal! Kidding. If I ever felt the need to see a therapist, I would certainly do so. Oh, also, I know that several of my "regulars" are also blog writers. If you want to write a short story using the idea of the body-less baby, be my guest! I promise I won't sue your pants off for plagiarism. Oh, and sweet dreams tonight!
So yeah... I went to the grocery on my lunch hour today and this happened. You may be thinking I do shit like this all the time just so I have something funny to write about. I will swear before a court of law that all of my accidents and messes are real events, not staged. I had to stop and text directly from the produce aisle:
And you thought the advice to wash fruits and vegetables was to remove residual dirt and pesticides... that's so adorable.
My husband, son and I enjoyed the long Memorial Day weekend. The weather was glorious on Sunday and we visited a local playground and sprayground. I noticed the sign below in the park restroom. I should probably be embarrassed to even post this next text but I found it amusing:
I mean, I doubt anyone would actually USE the poo-spatula but I like to imagine that people would stand there for a full minute trying to figure out if the request was a joke or serious.
After the park, we visited a new sports store that had recently opened just to see what it looked like.
Apparently it's OK to ride a bicycle around the perimeter of a sporting goods store; I didn't think it was allowed. You always assume that an employee is going to jump out and scold you for abusing the merchandise. But not in this case. My husband was like, "This is America. No one cares if you ride a bike in a store." Things would have been different in Soviet Russia. For sure someone would have stopped you. Assuming you could even FIND a bike to test drive. My husband and his twin had to share one hand-me-down bicycle as little boys. A bike without tires I might add.
OK, new topic-- this ad I saw on Twitter:
My friend Ivory made me feel better about the blind, Indian beggars who dress in immaculate white. You know, I would love to do test marketing for ad agencies. I would be sure to skew the data. I always notice the irrelevant details in photos and ads (see recent Depends underwear post as another example). Ad agencies would make poor choices based on the feedback I gave them.
Here's another example of an odd thing that I noticed; I saw this tweet over the weekend:
A while back my new friend Christopher (of the blog "Freethninkersanonymous.com") commented that it's bizarre that so many BBQ places have signs that include images of pigs cooking or enjoying PORK products. Ever since he mentioned that, I keep noticing BBQ signs like the one above. The happy suicidal pig is disturbing of course. However, I was bothered by the fact that the pig is wearing a "wifebeater". Pigs don't need to wear clothes! And out of all the types of clothing that exist, a wifebeater is just about the worst fashion choice a person (or animal) could make. Then I thought maybe the pig was being practical because he knew it would be hot in the cooking pot and going sleeveless would be more comfortable. Then I realized that pigs on BBQ signs lead to general insanity all around.
I know your first thought when you see the drawing above is, "What in the hell is that?". Believe me, it was my first thought too. However, in the tradition of "saving the best for last", I'll explain the "artwork" the end of the post. So as to build anticipation. And also to give you time to pour a stiff drink to help erase the image of the staring, creepy eyes.
If you've read the past few posts, you know that I've had several run-ins with spiders lately. I have no idea why. I sent this text first thing this morning:
My friend (frenemy?) Ivory sent this reply:
Right now you're thinking, "Maybe I'll Google 'ransom note generator' when I'm done reading this post". I understand. I would want to do the same thing. However, just remember that the phrase "ransom note generator" will be forever in your search history. You may want to wait until you get to work and ask to use a co-workers computer. Just to be safe. "Um hey, I'm having problems with my computer. When you go to lunch can I use your computer to look up a few things? It will just take a few minutes. Thanks! You're the best!" Note-- this is just a sample conversation. Feel free to create your own lie.
This was another text I sent early this morning:
In my son's mind he lives in a "pants optional" world. I can't blame him. What a wonderful world that would be. By the way, do you think I asked him if he showed anyone his underwear today? I sure as hell did. But what's funny is that I didn't remember to ask him until I was upstairs and he was downstairs so we had a conversation that went like this:
Me (yelling): "Did you show anyone your underwear today?"
Me: "Did you show anyone your underwear today?"
Repeat two more times...
When he finally understood he was silent for a moment and then he said "no". Since he's only seven he didn't say anything like, "Are you insane? What kind of question is that anyway?". Instead he probably just thinks it's a question that your Mom or Dad will occasionally ask you. It's actually a good idea. You can never remind your kid too much NOT to show others their underwear. Really, you can't stress this enough.
I sent the text below last evening. It's borderline NSFW (for sexual content) so just be forewarned.
In case you need more detail to create the scene in your mind, I was wearing a pale pink cotton nightgown and burgundy floral house-shoes. I'll stop now so as not to be too salacious.
OK, NOW I'll finally explain the drawing my son made. If you have (or had) kids, you know that they create a lot of "art" while at school. A lot of it is just throwaway crap that you shove to the bottom of the trashcan when they're not looking. Then you have the occasional special item that you want to keep and treasure forever. Then there's artwork like this:
In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here are a couple of examples of toys that were made by one company (Child's Own Studio); it's so cute and clever:
Let's focus on the face of my son's drawing and imagine it as a doll propped in a corner of a child's room:
The screaming response of my friend summarizes my feelings succinctly. So no, I think we'll pass on having this drawing turned into a plush toy. I apologize in advance for any future nightmares you may have after reading this post. But just remember that I have to actually live with the drawing! Feel better now? Good.
I am a clumsy person. Many people are. However, until I started writing this blog and recounting the many ways I hurt myself or makes messes, I didn't realize how how clumsy I truly am. In case you doubt me I've listed some examples. I checked the time stamp of the texts below and they were all sent within a two-hour time period.
My husband recently had a birthday. I bought him a nice bakery cake to celebrate (that is, it was a nice cake before I got it home):
In the grand scheme of things, "Calamity Jane" isn't that bad as far as nicknames go. I guess it's better than "Typhoid Mary". Or "Stinky Wizzleteats" (bonus points to my readers who get that reference).
This was the last text I sent during my evening of destruction:
I think the only thing that kept me from damaging anything else that night is the fact that I went to bed.
I don't really know how to transition from the topic of clumsiness to foreskin so I'll l just jump straight to this text I sent yesterday regarding the spam email below:
My friend Ivory and I both think that foreskin on little boys (and big boys) is there for a reason and there is no medical reason to have it removed. And apparently Dr. Oz feels the same! Maybe.
Speaking of little boys, I like to share stories of my son AND give parenting advice whenever possible. This happened recently when my son and I ate lunch at a restaurant:
No one mentions this in the parenting handbooks but I will tell you the truth, future parents: You will spend an inordinate amount of time in stores putting back stuff that's not yours. You will possibly come home from the grocery store with things that you didn't mean to buy. When my son was much smaller, I had to watch him like a hawk because he would just pick up random shit in the grocery store and throw it into the cart. One time I came home with a jar of dried, minced garlic that he had picked out. I mean, I used it eventually but it wasn't anything that we NEEDED. I guess I should be happy he didn't choose something we'd never use, like denture adhesive.
Ooooh, the word adhesive helps me transition to my last text for today. Chewing gum is sticky and adheres to things. See how I did that?
I took this photo outside the entrance to a busy gas station (that's "petrol" for my international readers). You know, a place that has a ton of activity and where some poor soul was guaranteed to step on that gum. There was a tiny part of me that thought I should get a piece of paper or something and throw it away but I didn't have it in me to be that altruistic. It was too icky for me. I guess I'll never be this generation's Mother Teresa. Or this generation's Martha Stewart (re-read cake story above if you have any doubts).
Just a heads up that today's post is basically a recap of yesterday (Sunday). To pique your interest, the alternate title of this post was, "I Keep Finding New Ways Make Messes and/or Hurt Myself". This was the first message I sent shortly after getting up:
If you read my previous post, you'll remember that I killed a spider at work on Friday. It was almost like word had gotten out in the spider community. The spider who watched me cook my eggs probably wanted revenge. "You killed my cousin Javier! Now I will taint your breakfast, you murderer!" I'm not sure why the spider has a Spanish name. It was just the first name that popped into my head. So make sure you give the spider an outrageous Spanish accent when you read the dialogue. I just made you go back and reread that sentence again didn't I?
OK, I'm giving you fair warning that coming up next is a bunch of insane nonsense that all started with one innocent text. And then things just spiraled out of control. My friend Ivory sent me this text:
I did not see an octopus at first. I saw a face with eyes, a nostril and a mouth. And dreadlocks.
I felt compelled to Google the phrase "reindeer with dreadlocks" and you know what? I couldn't really find anything. I'm hoping by naming this post "A Reindeer with Dreadlocks" I can fill this obviously empty hole on the internet.
I was never crazy about the Troll doll craze that was popular in the 70's (when I was a child) but I would make an exception for the troll doll above. I want to "boop" his little belly button. (Note: Spellcheck is not happy with the word "boop". It suggested "bloop" instead. That doesn't even make sense Spellcheck!).
For whatever reason, the word "dreadlock" was the "word of the day" yesterday, As an aside, I've mentioned before that I have a running joke that the NSA probably monitors me since I have a Russian spouse. My husband calls his family often and I still have contact with friends in Russia. So yeah, we're probably on somebody's radar. Anyway:
I started reading about dreadlocks and it was rather interesting. It's not for me, but now I know more about dreadlocks than I ever thought possible.
This next text is embarrasing but I'm putting it out there in case we can get a class-action lawsuit started:
My boss responded with a text saying something like, "It was nice knowing you Pink Mist". For some reason, no one was on board with my new career. Who am I kidding? I am so notoriously accident-prone that I thought of myself when I saw this tweet:
Lastly for today-- a few weeks ago (maybe two months ago? I'm too lazy to check the actual date) I wrote that I was having problems with spammers from Chennai, India. They harassed me DAILY. They usually left their stupid spam comments in the overnight hours. It got so bad that I "turned off" the comments section when I'd go to bed at night and then turn them back on in the morning. It made me sad (and mad) to do so because it meant that people couldn't leave any comments at all. And I love getting comments! It's positive reinforcement from strangers! What's not to love? Anyway, I hope I'm not jinxing myself, but the Chennai spammers haven't bothered me for a week now. I suppose they've found new victims. I'm going to try keeping the comments section open at night at see what happens. So if you ever have insomnia and feel like sharing your thoughts at three in the morning, feel free to do so. I mean, any time of the day is fine as well. According to my web statistics, the majority of my readers are returning visitors. If you've ever wanted to just say "hey" please do so. I'd be glad to make your acquaintance.
Also, I wanted to mention that my absolute favorite blog is "The Bloggess" (Jenny Lawson). I didn't start commenting on her posts until about a year ago. I was in awe of all the funny comments that other people left. I was afraid I would leave a comment and she would reply something like, "Ugh, get off my website you unfunny person! You're ruining everything!". Of course she would never say that. Anyway, I was beyond thrilled when she responded to me several times on her website; she's retweeted me a few times on Twitter as well. I don't know why I waited so long to reach out to her. She is one of my favorite people though we've never met in person (yet). This is yet another reason why the internet is so awesome. We're able to find like-minded people as well as images of donkeys with dreadlocks. We live in a wondrous time.
I was ready to leave work today almost as soon as I arrived because of this:
I sent these photos to HR and mentioned that I was of the opinion that we needed a flamethrower on every floor. Our company's "Safety Team" has periodic meetings; I thought this could be an agenda item. Our HR manager is a super nice lady but she was of the opinion that it might not be safe. Like having dangerous Brown Recluse spiders roam the floor is any safer. Note-- I don't know if this was actually a Brown Recluse. He was brown and a spider and that was good enough for me.
New topic-- I should have known better than to make fun of the Depends underwear lady in my previous post. I sent this email yesterday:
This is one of those incidents that could best be described as, "There but for the grace of God go I".
I've been holding on to these next couple of texts below for a few weeks. I was hoping to do a post of just funny "auto-corrects" but of course since these two funny incidents occurred, I haven't had any more. These are both poo related (not on purpose!) so if you're eating, you may want to finish before you read any further. Also, my friend Ivory is the person I'm texting with (which is why the answers are so funny).
So that you have the context of the first text, you should know that I recently read a news article that said that the super-volcano under Yellowstone Park is actually much bigger than scientists had originally thought. You know-- the volcano that is supposed to erupt someday and probably wipe out all of North America as well as most of humanity (because of the "nuclear winter" from all the ash). Google this if you want more information as I am not a scientist. Helpful hint-- don't Google the Yellowstone Volcano if you are feeling anxious or depressed. It will just make you feel worse. Anyway, I was telling various people that I would want to die in the initial explosion and not linger and suffer in a post-apocalyptic world:
For the context of this next text, you should know we were discussing a photo of Ivory's toddler son sitting naked in a doll stroller (no naughty parts were showing). It was a funny and cute picture. Anyway, I said this in regards to the stroller:
These are the moments when I wish I was artistically gifted so I could draw image of someone doing an excellently executed flip onto a toilet. Of course the title would be "How to excellently take a dump".
Lastly for today, I stopped by a local liquor store on the way home and saw this:
If you're ever out in public and see someone with a bad facial tattoo, just point to them and ask, "Nickolai Vodka in a box?" and see what they say. If they silently hang their head, you can assume the answer is "yes".
I'm wondering if I should add a tagline below my blog title that says, "Mostly just funny comments about weird shit I see while out shopping." Or perhaps, "I have a pathological need to text my random thoughts to family and friends and they are kind enough to humor me."
The title of this post could simple be, "Yesterday's Post Continued". Yesterday evening I was ready to upload the information below but stopped because I was afraid the post would be too long. I don't want my readers to get carpel tunnel syndrome because of scrolling through my random nonsense. That's what Twitter is for.
I went to a nearby mall yesterday and noticed this vending machine:
If I had to guess, I bet the designer of this vending machine knew that moms with kids are frequent visitors to the mall and to the mall restroom. And kids, predictable creatures that they are, always want their parents to buy them shit out of vending machines. I can imagine a woman making a feminine product purchase and then hearing the kid with her say, "Hey-- that's not fair! You got to buy something out of the machine! I want something too!" These vending machine designers/marketers are evil geniuses.
After I got back to work, the reek of perfume on my body (damn you Sephora!) just about made me gag:
If you are a new reader to this blog, you'll need to read back a few posts or else the "Honeytits" comment won't make any sense at all.
The full-page ad below caught my attention as I was flipping through a magazine:
From reading what I wrote above about perfume and adult diapers, you might come to the conclusion that I spend too much time thinking about whorehouses and streetwalkers. You may be right. Though honestly, it was probably just a coincidence. I hope.
Lastly is a text I sent last night. My son's response tickled me greatly:
This is now the second person who has recently told me that my son has a promising political career in his future (the first time was because I caught him trying to take a "dick pic" with my iPad. GAH!). I hope the political prognostication is incorrect. Poor kid. The reporters would be sure to dig up this old blog and his career would be ruined before it even got started. That's OK. His current goal is to be a professional soccer player. I asked him recently if he would buy me a big fancy house once he becomes rich and famous. He told me seriously, "You and papa will be in a retirement home by then." Sigh. He's probably right.
As you've probably noticed, a lot of my posts consist of the uploaded text conversations that I have with people. It probably seems lazy on my part, but it's easier than trying to retype the messages. I am SO LUCKY to know so many funny people. Basically, my friends and family are making my blog a funnier place to visit. I feel like I should give them co-writing credit, but not everyone wants their name (even a pseudonym) put on my blog. I don't know why. It's not like I'm crude or write embarrassing things that shouldn't be discussed in polite company.
I was looking over the texts I've exchanged in the past couple of days with my friend Ivory and I realized that I want her to get credit where credit is due. Most of the humor below is thanks to her. I have a secret fear that someday she'll decide to write her own blog and she'll steal away all my regular readers. By the way, you can follow her on Twitter at @KissInAboxx. What's interesting is that Ivory and I have never met in person. We became acquainted thanks to my blog, started trading messages on Twitter and voila, friendship. This same thing happened with my friend Alanna (from the blog, "White Girls Be Like"). I have a running joke with both ladies that they might be catfishing me. For all I know, one or both is a heavyset, male prison inmate in his 60's named Earl. But you know what? Earl is funny so I'm OK with keeping the friendships going.
Anyway, let the nonsense begin. I ran errands at lunch yesterday. I swear I don't specifically SEARCH for funny things when I'm out shopping. They just seem to jump out at me and I can't help but notice them. And comment on them. Oh, before I went shopping, I had this conversation with Ivory:
If I could tag this next part of the post, it would be, "Weird shit I've seen at the store Tuesday Morning". Honestly, I could and should make this a recurring feature:
I'm not very familiar with "Dr. Who" so I had to Google "crying angel babies". My sympathy for the cherub disappeared.
This item was for sale in the kitchen utensils aisle:
If I've ruined "Williams-Sonoma" or any other cooking store for you for the rest of your life, I sincerely apologize. It wasn't my intent.
Another friend had this response to the "spoon rest":
Ivory likes beer so I felt obligated to send her this:
In this next text, the movie that I'm referring to is "Oz the Great and Powerful":
After my browsing expedition, I needed to get a few things at the grocery store and I noticed this
This morning I realized that it had been a couple of weeks since I had last checked my Google Analytics search terms. As always, I was both amused and horrified.
I'm going to end today's post at this point; it's getting rather long. I actually have more material! Maybe I'll do a part two tomorrow. I went to a local mall at lunch today and of course nonsense ensued.
I think I'll leave you with one final text. It will give you something to think about the next time you have insomnia and are awake at three in the morning. You know how everyone always thinks that teleportation (like on Star Trek) would be so awesome? I used to think so too. But I was stuck in traffic for a while this morning and I had this epiphany:
So yeah, maybe teleportation isn't all it's cracked up to be. We should have learned this lesson from the movie "The Fly" as well. I want my molecules to stay in the exact order and arrangement that they are currently in until the day I die.
I've mentioned before that I should have a regularly-scheduled, reoccurring post entitled "Shit my kid says". Today's post almost qualifies for that title. I mean, my son does and says funny stuff all the, but he kind of outdid himself this weekend. That works out well for me since I'm writing this post on Mother's Day.
On Friday when my son got home from school, I pointed out a caterpillar on our front porch.
Once we got into the house, he wanted to give me my Mother's Day cards right that minute. He didn't want to wait until Sunday.
If you look carefully, the word "chicken" is still quite visible. Also, just so you know, at my son's school the children are encouraged to get their thoughts on paper without focusing so much on the correctness of spelling (that will come later). Which is why you don't see any red marks correcting the words "funy" (funny) or "histery" (history).
Speaking of embarrassing, that would be a good description of the text below. I wasn't sure if I should include it because it lays bare the shittiness of my character.
I got this text from a family member about the roses:
Later Friday evening I sent this text:
I was like, "Can't I brush my teeth in peace without having you in the bathroom with me? And without you my manhandling my delicates?" Obviously the answer to that question is "no".
On Saturday we were invited to the graduation party (Medical School!) of a girl I used to babysit when I was young. I loved her and her brother (twins) like they were my own family. I was touched that those kids (now adults) still wanted me to be part their lives during a milestone moment. The party was being held at a nice restaurant so I had to remind my son to be on his best behavior:
Welcome to parenthood folks! It's not all snuggles and kisses from warm little bodies. Instead it's conversations like this. If there are any readers who are pregnant with their first kid reading this, just consider this a heads up.
Anyway, I remembered some funny incidents from my babysitting days.
The mother of the twins was a very nice lady but our personalities were quite different. She was very organized and liked things to be "just so":
Regarding this text, I got the response below from a family member who owns a beautiful beach house. When her family isn't using the house, they rent it out:
We had lovely time at the graduation party. My son didn't use any inappropriate words. He tried to be helpful and took it upon himself to take the bread basket and hand out rolls to people. With his bare hands. People were surprised to suddenly find a child standing in front of them handing them bread. I called him over and told him to let people get their own bread. His response was: "I'm trying to be kind!". So yeah, it's kind of hard to get onto your kid for trying to be helpful.
I saw this piece of artwork while at the party:
Thus concludes my kind-of, sort-of Mother's Day post. In Russia they celebrate "Women's Day" which honors all women, whether they are mothers or not. "Women's Day" is March 8th, so that holiday has already passed for this year. Anyway, I won't wish my female readers a "Happy Mother's Day" but instead a belated "Happy Women's Day!". Because you all rock. So do the guys of course. We're all pretty much awesome, aren't we?
A couple of days ago I had to run some errands on my lunch hour. One item that I saw for sale was this:
I mean, I may be making fun of this product but it really is a good idea. Men can have deodorized AND nicely moisturized man-parts. It's a win-win situation.
Later as I was paying for my purchases, I saw an employee with a rolling garment rack near the cash registers. It looked like she had collected various items of clothing, probably returns, to put back on the racks for sale. I overheard a conversation which I immediately had to text about:
I'm not kidding when I say it took every ounce of energy that I had to walk out of the store and get in my car and not collapse in a hysterical heap of laughter. Once I got in my car I laughed until tears came to my eyes. Below is an example of what the underwear looked like. I did a Google image search and I couldn't believe my luck when I found this pair for sale on Ebay. It appears to already have a wet crotch stain. I didn't have to alter this photo in any way. By the way, the listing said, "No stains!" and I was like, "Um, I beg to differ".
New topic unrelated to genitalia and underwear ("Thank God", you're thinking). I mentioned in my last post that even though I hate clowns, I recently purchased a clown figurine. I figured I could use it to annoy and frighten my friends at work. Below is my first pranking attempt. I couldn't think of anything super-clever to write. A close up of the text is in the second photo.
I want to write something that's both funny AND disturbing yet not so offensive that I get fired. It's a fine line to walk. I'm open to any suggestions you might have.
Last night I couldn't get to sleep until well past midnight.
Just to clarify, I'm referring to my REAL arms. It would be nice if they were removable. And just so you know, I don't mean any disrespect to people with prosthetic arms.
Another friend had this comment:
I've asked a few people today if they've ever experienced the uncomfortable arms feeling and a couple of people said yes. So I'm not alone! Once you become hyper-aware of your arms, finding a comfortable position becomes impossible. I was talking to my boss this morning about the removable arms idea (I'd hang them on a hook by my bed every night) and he asked me, "How would you put them back on in the morning?". I hadn't thought of that. But I said I figured my son or husband would help me. But then again, they'd probably be jerks sometimes and put my arms on backwards. I tried to find an image of a Barbie doll with her arms on backwards to give you an example but Google failed me. I did however find MANY sets of Barbie arm earrings for sale. Like this:
Anyway, if my arms were on backward, my boss said that the first thing he thought of was, "How would you eat?". My first thought was, "How would I wipe my ass?". Apparently there are two kinds of people in the world...
I don't usually shop at thrift stores. I love a good bargain but I'm overwhelmed by the amount of crap that you have to sort through to find one decent item at thrift stores. And this may just be me, but the weird smell that hangs in the air of thrift stores and antique stores bothers me. Anyway, having said all that, I visited a nearby thrift store on my lunch hour yesterday. As you'll see, my friends and family members were subjected to a barrage of texts. I couldn't help it. There was so much funny stuff EVERYWHERE! I keep waiting for someone to tell me that I'd put them over their monthly cell phone text limit.
Anything with a white price tag on it was half off yesterday. So this Cancer mug would have been only one dollar! A steal!
You know there's a theory that your thoughts can manifest themselves physically in your body. I don't think it's the greatest idea to contemplate the word, "CANCER" every day. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to look at the words "HEMORRHOIDS" or "INCONTINENCE" on a mug either.
I had to google the name Pete Gillen (see below) because I'm not a big sports person. I didn't know he was a famous college basketball coach. I thought maybe he worked for the Coca-Cola company. Why isn't he holding a basketball?
There were a LOT of knick-knacks and tchotchkes for sale at the thrift store. Like the one below. Only later did I notice that Granny is supposed to have her eyes closed. I think. In person it just looked like she had gaping eye sockets.
Ewww-- I just thought of this. Is Grandma supposed to be dead? Her eyes are closed and her arms are crossed across her chest. Is this one of those statues that funeral homes put on a table next to the casket? I've only just seen ceramic angels before; never anything like this.
Clowns. I effing hate clowns. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before. So of course the item below caught my attention.
I texted people that I was strangely attracted and repulsed by the clown. I decided had to have it.
The clown is actually a bank. It has the artist's name on the bottom and it's inscribed with the year 1975. So I could have easily had this bank as a child. If my parents had hated me that is...
This next item baffles me:
Seriously, I don't know what the pig has in his hands. Or hooves rather. If you know, please share your knowledge with the rest of us.
I couldn't remember the name of the Tom Cruise sex party movie so I had to Google it. Remember this bit of information for later.
This next item was a magnet. It was about the size of a typical driver's license.
I'm not trying to be disrespectful. That's really what his expression looks like! To me at least...
I believe the correct expression is a "suit of armor".When I'm texting, I'm just trying to get my thoughts across as quickly as possible. Which is why you see all kinds of typos and whatnot. I'm bringing you my life as it is, unfiltered.
Once I got back to work after my shopping excursion I had to send this text:
Thus ends my recap of my adventures at the thrift store. Still my day of texting was not yet over.
I just checked to see if Robin Thicke has a Twitter account (and of course he does) and his tagline says," Hello I'm Robin Thicke. I love you all." Well thanks for making me look like an asshole Mr. Thicke. The feeling isn't mutual. By the way, my apologies to any Robin Thicke or Tom Cruise fans. If you are fans of either guy, that is totally cool with me. We can still be friends. Unless you dress as a clown in your free time. Kidding. Just don't dress like a clown in front of me and we can totally hang out.
A few weeks ago at work I was telling a coworker about a medical catalog that my boss had received in the mail years ago. I wish I had saved that catalog just for the pure entertainment value. One of the items for sale was a little box (this is how I remember it) that allowed you to insert a finger and let you do a mock prostate exam. I think it came with different sized tumors to help you learn. If you are a medical student, I'm sure this is a very helpful tool. If, however, you are an adult woman with the sense of humor of a 12-year old boy, this fake prostate gland was HILARIOUS. I remember I had a sick desire to order the prostate exam box. I don't know why. Maybe so I could leave it on my desk as a conversation piece.
Co-worker: "Hey--what's this?"
Me: "Just stick your finger in the hole and tell me what you feel."
Human Resources: " Gina-- we're getting complaints.You have to take that box home."
Anyway, because of this conversation, I decided to check online to see if I could find the item from my memory. Instead I found something much, much better. Oh Amazon, how I love you so:
The link to the actual item for sale is here. The reviews are hilarious. Someone else noticed the similarity to cauliflower and left this review: "But given their obvious importance in prostate exam protocol, I was disappointed to see that no other cruciferous vegetables were included".
You know how Amazon will suggest other items for you based on your browsing history? If you're interested in do-it-yourself prostate exams you may also be interested in this:
Don't get me wrong. I think it's great that medical students can train on infant airway heads to practice their resuscitation skills. There's just something about this kids's face that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Though maybe it would be worse to have the baby's eyes blankly staring at you while you worked on it. I don't know. I'm glad I'll never have to know.
This next text from a few days ago pushes the boundaries of good taste. I'm warning you in advance. If you've read my past few posts you know that my son had surgery a few days ago. He's been taking a liquid narcotic pain killer which he absolutely loathes because of the flavor. I had to add honey to the dose or else it was a massive battle of wills to get him to take it. We tried just children's Tylenol alone but that wasn't enough to stop the pain in the first days post-surgery.
Geez-- you make a little joke that includes words like hobos and cleavage licking and everyone gets all judge-y on you.
The responses to this text fell into one of two categories:
I love my friends. Normal or or maybe not-quite-so-normal, they both add so much to my life. (For real, the thought of a being licked my a homeless person is disgusting to me. Not because they are homeless. I don't want to be licked by any stranger. Or even friends or family now that I think of it. Just so you know...).
This next incident happened on Friday. My husband was embarrassed that I shared this story with others. I told him we're not the only parents dealing with this problem:
Raising kids has never been easy at any time in human history, but never before did parents have to do a search on Google (like I did), "What to do if my kid takes dick pics". Ugh.
This reminds me of a funny story. Several years ago a female family member was taking a shower and unbeknownst to her, her daughter (probably about 4yo), took a photo of her through the frosted glass shower door. My relative wasn't completely naked in the photo but close enough. She caught her daughter as she started to upload the nudie-photo to her (my relative's) Facebook account. Aren't kids great? My family member is gorgeous so she would have probably got a ton of "likes" on that photo. Thankfully I'm not on Facebook so I don't have to worry about my son posting a photo of his wiener on there. Though with my luck he'd send it to "All Employees" because my default email account on my phone is my work email account. Lovely.
I'm the worst kind of asshole-- I think I'm funny.
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(Note--I only joined FB in January 2016. Come be my friend, if you want, and like my page before I get fed up with the whole thing and delete my FB account. Kidding. Maybe.)