I think I am getting old.  My dendrites appear to be shriveling up, no longer able to form a connection with my mind.  Or, worse, making connections with the wrong parts.  Here is a glimpse into a day in my life:

• Back car out of garage.  So far so good.  Get out of car and close garage door.  Good.  Then proceed to sit in passenger seat.  And wonder why car is not moving.  Oops.  Check to see if anyone saw that.  Breath sigh of relief and back car out of driveway.
• Make wrong turn on highway and have to double back.  Realize that my gas tank is dangerously close to empty and curse myself for having to waste “fumes” on backtracking.
• Arrive at clothing store.  “Oh” and “Aw” over new items on clearance rack.  Leave the store, and fumble to put on black jacket before going outside.  Remember that I did not bring black jacket.  Forgot it at home on couch.  Crap.  Wonder what black article in left hand is. Realize I have just left the store with clearance black dress pants in hand slung over shoulder.  Oops.  Return to store and apologize profusely.

Honestly.  This sort of thing happens to me all the time.  Damn this aging grey matter and the embarrassing situations it gets me in to.  I’m only in my forties.  What the heck will I be like twenty years from now?  A drooling, babbling, lump of stupidity with a double chin and a milky coating over one eye?

Today I felt like doing something a little different.  Rather than present three pieces of extremely valuable information relating to my rant above, I have decided to offer you three tidbits that I’d rather forget.  And it sounds like I’ll have no problem doing so.  Now, where was I?  Oh ya…

1)  Is your penis worthy of wearing a spanky fuchsia ribbon and parading itself around a public park?  You must be so proud.  But I must warn you that making an exhibition of it in just any park may land you in the clinker.  And on some lists that may have neighbours showing up at your door with torches and giant clubs.  Best to “parade” your prized possession at a venue where it will truly be appreciated.  And I know of just the place.

It turns out that in some cultures, the penis is worship-worthy.  It is the master of fertility.  (Although, I’m not sure where it would be without the lowly female’s egg.  But enough of my offended female sensibilities).  Worship the penis and your barren uterus will pump out babies aplenty.  Especially if you honour said phallus with a shiny pink bow.  And one need not worry about unsightly foreskins–only circumcised members allowed.

This image may take me longer to forget than I had originally hoped.  If you’d like to make an offering to a holy dick, yourself, these are found in a secluded spot behind the Swissotel Nai Lert Park Hotel in Beijing.

2)  So, you have just earned your Masters Degree in Fine Arts.  What will you do next?  I know.  Open a bakery where you can sell body parts made of bread.  Yes.  These morose dismembered heads are, supposedly, as edible as your harmless-looking, squishy loaf of Wonder Bread.

Kittiwat Unarrom, the artist behind the heads and appendages at Bread Head Bakery in Ratchaburi, Thailand, makes a plethora of body parts out of dough that contains other treasures like raisins and cashews, and occasionally, chocolate.  (I like to think that the chocolate is an unwilling participant, however).  Need a hand?  You’ve got it.  He’ll even throw in a foot or two.

Maybe I’m weird, but I simply cannot imagine sitting in the staff room at lunch and gnawing on a whole-wheat nose.  Ack.  Damn.  I threw up in my mouth again.

If you’d like to see the Freddy Krueger of bakers in action, check out this video.  Warning:  View with extra large vomit bag close at hand.

3)  And, you knew I couldn’t get through this post without a tribute to our friends in Japan–who, apparently, like some pretty strange beverages.

One that tastes like the juice from an armpit.   Just what you want.  A bottle of “sweat.”

Another that contains pig placenta.  Where did I put that damn barf bag?

Yes.  They’ve mixed cola and a vegetable.  I must admit, I kind of want to try this.

And what the heck does “in love? be juicy? mean?”  And what on earth would it taste like.

Need new puke bag.  This one’s full.

And I don’t even know what to say about this.

Oops.  My husband just found my peanut butter in with the coffee mugs.  It’s going to be a long day.

Credits:  Cartoon (http://ershu.wordpress.com/2008/03/13/forgetfulness-at-its-peak/), penises wearing bows (silencedmajority.blogs.com), breadheads (www.geekologie.com), sweat (pocarisweat.com), placenta (www.ebaumsworld.com), cucumber (www.japanprobe.com), juicy (www.ebaumsworld.com), weird eye trick (www.funnyjunksite.com).