Category Archives: January 2016

My Nose Smells. No, really. It Stinks.

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in January 2016 and tagged with , , , , , , ,

I possess a very keen sense of smell, but there is something that I have always wondered, but been afraid to ask. Do nostrils smell? Of course, I know that nostrils are capable of enabling us to sense a smell. What I am asking is “do nostrils, themselves, actually emit an odour?” I have never sniffed with any nose other than mine, so maybe I have become accustomed to the smell of my own nasal cavity.  What if it really stinks and, as a result, I am not able to smell the world around me properly?

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Maybe Tim Horton’s coffee doesn’t really smell like skunk butt.

For instance, I have always loved the smell of freshly pumped gasoline — a fact that has raised many an eyebrow over the years. What if petrol doesn’t smell good at all and is, in fact, right up there with asparagus pee?

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How can any of us really be sure that our own nose aromas aren’t interfering with our sense of smell?  The only way to be sure is to rip off another person’s nose and borrow it.  You know — try that childhood “got your nose” trick, but really mean it.

Speaking of body parts, I love Tim Burton movies. He’s rather an odd duck, I know, but his bizarre perspective on the world translates into brilliant films. I have always wondered, however, how Edward Scissorhands partakes in rock, paper, scissors. Seriously. Only an idiot would do the old “one, two, three” and pull out a flat paper hand.

And, as long as I am on the subject of idiots. In Canada, we have a dishwasher detergent called “Cascade” and its commercials star a woman who solves dish-related domestic disputes.  Unbeknownst to me, it would appear that we Canadians take our dish-washing very seriously. This sage of plates and forks refers to herself as the “Cascade Kitchen Counsellor,” presenting troubled dirty dish owners with this miraculous product that can remove baked-on foods and marital discord in one dishwasher cycle. This is my new dream job.

But I digress. Back to the question at hand. Do you think your nose has a smell?

Images courtesy of:  Asparagus pee (http://diaryofahitman.wordpress.com/2012/03/20/the-history-of-asparagus-pee/), I’ve got your nose (http://bretacogan.blogspot.ca/2011/06/this-is-how-voldemort-turned-evil-you.html), Scissorhands (http://smg.photobucket.com/user/stellkins/media/edward_scissorhands-1.gif.html),

I Apologize on Behalf of my Middle Finger…

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in January 2016 and tagged with , , , , , ,

How do you hold your pencil? Apparently, I use the “death-grip” method — which is unfortunate if you happen to be my pencil. Or my middle finger. Yes, my propensity for clutching my pencil with brute force has resulted in a large protuberance that I (somewhat) affectionately call my “writing bump.”

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I suppose there are worse things than a writing “bump.”

Well, it turns out that my unsightly writing bump is the product of an “immature pencil grasp pattern.” Okay. I have been referred to as immature before — usually after I have been spotted talking to a mitten or drawing eyes on a cantaloupe — but this is a whole new form of…um…youthfulness. Yeah, that’s it. Youthfulness.

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It’s hard to eat fruit with a face.

After years of communicating via the QWERTY method, my writing bump has almost disappeared. My middle finger has returned to its pristine pre-pencil self. Finally, I can hold it up with pride. I find myself wanting to show everyone just how lovely it looks. Surprisingly, no one seems impressed. Coincidentally, this era is also known as the lonely years.

Even Mr. Rogers is proud of his “Tall Man.” (Just heard this sentence out loud for the first time. It sounds worse than it actually is.)

Do you, too, own a sizeable “writing bump?”

Yellow pants, rubber sheets, and a new Bic Razor…my increasingly bizarre shopping list

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in January 2016 and tagged with , , , , ,

I almost threw up on my pillow last night. No, my pillow didn’t do anything to repulse me. It was just lying there as pillows tend to do. It’s this damn cold and my body’s apparent need to rid itself of it by plunging me into esophagus-splitting coughing fits. And, common side effects of said coughing include peeing oneself and vomiting in a manner that would have landed me the starring role in the Exorcist. 

Thankfully, that stop that comes from me is much less green. What the heck have they been feeding that girl? Pistachio pudding?

Yes, the human body often betrays its owner. For instance, I harbour deep-seeded fears of vomiting on a customer’s forehead or accidentally urinating on a coworker’s shoe. It could be worse, however. I could be the woman whose farts forced the landing of a plane.

In December 2006, an American Airlines flight was forced to make an unexpected landing in Nashville after passengers reported smelling burning matches. The travellers were evacuated and bomb-detecting dogs were brought in to sniff out the problem, locating a stash of used matches under one passengers seat. The seat’s occupant admitted to the FBI that she had been lighting the matches in an attempt to hide her flatulence brought on by a medical condition. Wow. That’s gotta blow.

Speaking of blowing, this next video is my worst fears come to life…

And while we’re on the topic of “blowing,” if you have ever had a head cold, you know how annoying it can be. You blow and blow and still, your nostrils remain clogged shut. Imagine how this man — often referred to as the record-holder for the world’s largest booger — felt.

And, before pushing play, I should warn you that this could lead to your very own Exorcist impression.

Ack! Right? I’ll wait while you go grab the mop.

The human body is a mysterious and, oftentimes, uncooperative and somewhat masochistic thing. But it can also be a source of great amusement.

Sometimes eyebrows form a united front.

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Ear hairs run wild…

Noses grow long…

And bladders  have a mind of their own. No one’s body cooperates all the time. I have to go change my diaper.

Can Puppets Get Hemorrhoids?

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in January 2016 and tagged with , , , , , , , ,

I was a strange child, but I was also a problem-solver. In an effort to repair my status as an “only child,” I decided to create a quartet of loyal friends that would stand by me no matter what. And nothing proved more faithful than my trusty appendages — Mildred & Snowy Foot and Petty & Loyalist Hand. Yes, my hands and feet were the trusty friends that I was looking for.

Unbeknownst to me, however, my right hand had strong political views. I just thought the name “Loyalist” was pretty. Leave me alone. I was 4.

Petty and Loyalist loved to talk, but as I grew older, it became apparent that other people preferred hands to remain mute. This posed quite the conundrum. On the one hand, I felt guilty silencing them after years of allowing them to converse freely, but, on the other, the threat of a padded cell did prove to be a strong deterrent. Petty & Loyalist — and by association, Mildred & Snowy — were silenced.

(Insert moment of quiet reflection followed by the playing of Taps). 

I discovered puppets. Finally, my hands could talk freely without shattering my ever-shrinking facade of sanity.

Over the years, Loyalist has accumulated a sizable wardrobe. Sadly, Petty’s comparative lack of cooperation limits him/her/? to playing spastics, the feeble-minded, and members of the NDP.

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“Hey wait. I can’t talk in here.”

This limbless, mouthless, eyeless…er…puppet is the perfect match for Petty’s skill level. He/She/? has spent many hours of bliss donning this one-of-a-kind Thalidomide Helen Keller puppet.

Loyalist, however, has mastered a full range of class, order, and phylum ranging from Michelin Star chefs to red-nosed reindeer to snails. Yes, snails.

Speaking of snails. it was recently brought to my attention during an episode of Top Gear that snails give trout piles. I didn’t even know that fish could get hemorrhoids. I eat trout. Have I unwittingly eaten a ‘roid? Ack.

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“Stop squeezing my damn hemorrhoids!”

This, apparently, is the type of thing that Richard Hammond and Jeremy Clarkson — two avid British car guys — discuss while stranded in a South American desert.

Which raises a question in my neuroses-plagued mind–What type of havoc would be wreaked upon my buttocks if I eat a trout that has piles and a stomach full of undigested snails?

Inquiring minds — and snail puppets — want to know.

If you could operate any puppet, which one would you choose? I know I’d be Bert, hands down. Then again, if my hands were down, how could I operate him?