Your Breath Smells Like Koala, Turd, and Something Radioactive

“Don’t you hate when your hand falls asleep and you know it will be up all night.”  Steven Wright.

My husband started using a new toothpaste and it gives him the strangest breath.  It simultaneously smells like eucalyptus and Vick’s Vapo-rub.  He smells like a koala bear with a chest infection.

Don’t get me wrong.  Eucalyptus is a lovely smell–if you are a Christmas wreath.  Or a Eucalyptus tree.  And the smell of Vick’s is okay too.  Heck, I even suck their cough drops.  But those, in no way, smell or taste like their Menthol rub–not that I’ve ever tasted the Menthol rub.  I don’t imagine it is very palatable though.  And the texture would leave a lot to be desired.  All goopy and Vasoline-like.

It’s funny how some smells belong on some parts of the body and others don’t.  Baby powder scent is okay under the arms thanks to years of Secret Deodorant wearing, but baby powder mouthwash simply wouldn’t be right.  Our mouths are supposed to smell minty fresh, but not our armpits.  Are these scents assigned on a random basis or are they grounded in science?

And why would anyone want to smell like Irish Spring?  While I admit that I don’t enjoy the smell of Irish Spring soap, it surely smells nothing like the actual springtime in Ireland.  I know that a Canadian spring smells like rotting vegetation and horse manure.  Not exactly fresh and clean.  And what exactly does “Sunlight” smell like?  According to Unilever, it smells like lemon.  While, I guess lemons are a bit like the sun–yellow and roundish.

1)  Speaking of koala breath, here are some interesting facts about these cuddly-looking little fellows.

-They have human-like fingerprints.  This may explain the fact that very few crimes are committed by koala bears–they fear  getting caught.  When they master the art of wearing gloves, this may change.

-Newborn koalas are the size of a jelly bean.  Less flavourful though.

-Koalas are naturally lazy, spending up to 18 hours a day resting and dozing.  Now this is an animal that I can relate to.  Have I told you that I love my 8 hours of sleep?  If I boost my sleeping regime up to 18 hours or so, will I be cute and cuddly too?  Must run this idea past my husband for his input.

-They only drink occasionally and get most of their water from food.  I get thirsty just thinking about it.

2)  Okay, this picture made me throw up in my mouth a little.

If someone handed me a toothbrush with a smear of something brown on it, I would wonder what on earth I did to them to deserve this.  Toothpaste should never resemble something I’d find in my toilet.

Apparently, its Thai manufacturer, Twin Lotus, does not have any compunction about turd-coloured toothpaste.  Made of more than ten herbs, the Twin Lotus Original Herbal toothpaste fills one’s mouth with a barrage of tan foam and smells like astringent.  One product tester at said, ” it tasted like what I imagine the sole of a boot that has walked on a herbal farm tastes like.”  Now that’s a glowing commendation.

If you’d like to try some for yourself or simply use it to fuel your next string of practical jokes, you can get some here:

3)  As I’ve told you before, I collect Pez dispensers.  Why Pez?  They are bright and colourful pieces of plastic with eyes.  Anything is cute if you put eyes on it.  If something has made it big in the pop culture world, odds are a Pez has been made to honour it.  And a Tweety Bird Pez was the star of an episode of Seinfeld, the best show ever.

Let me introduce you to Dr. Val Kolpakov, a Dentist from Saginaw, Michigan.  Now, I’m no anti-dentite, (sorry, couldn’t resist), but he has one of the weirdest collections yet–the World’s Largest Toothpaste Collection.

While, I can TOTALLY understand wanting to collect the ones with the cute Snoopy Packaging (again, anything with eyes), I’m not sure I really get the rest.  One dating back to WWII was made with radioactive material.  Yup, toothpaste that can make you grow a third eye.  And all that’s separating him and it is a tube and a box.  Hm.

The odd Doctor has amassed over 1800 toothpastes since he began collecting them in 2002.  This is a man who takes clean teeth seriously.  You can check out his collection for yourself at his dental office at 1227 North Michigan, Saginaw.

No, that is not a pile of Thai toothpaste.

Photo Credits:  koala (, toothpaste (, Snoopy boxes (Ashley L. Conti/Saginaw News).

A giant boot, A guy called Foot, And the One-Armed One-Legged Man

There is something that has disturbed me for years and I can no longer be silent.  Why do so many articles of clothing wind up in the middle of the road?  Seriously.  In the last week, I have encountered what looked like a pink skirt, a brown glove (especially strange in JULY), a sock, and several lone shoes.

Why do people feel the need to peel off their clothing and throw it into the street?  Okay, if I was wearing brown gloves in thirty degrees Celsius, I would shed the gloves too.  But why would I be wearing them in the first place?  And why was there only one glove?  Perhaps, it belonged to a one-armed man that gets really cold in the morning.  Maybe he also had only one foot, which would explain the whole one shoe thing.  But why so many single shoes spread out over such a large area at different times?  Do one-footed people make up a larger part of the population than I thought?  And why do they keep losing their shoes?

The skirt had me really puzzled.  To me it indicated that someone had been driving down that very street naked.  Which leads me to wonder if nudists drive nude?  Or would they stick to the pleather?

If you have ever felt the urge to rip off your clothes and throw them out your car window, I want to hear from you.  I want you to make me understand what compels a sane person (assuming that you fit this category) to abandon one shoe or glove on the yellow line.  Are people driving so fast that their clothes simply fall off?  Inquiring minds want to know.

1)  This made me sad.  The world’s largest shoe tree (not the kind you use to stretch your shoes, but a tree that many people have–for some reason–hung their footwear from) once proudly stood 125 miles east of Reno, Nevada.  This cottonwood tree had reason to be proud.  It had become a quirky destination for lovers of oddball roadside attractions.

And, then, some disturbed individual(s)–perhaps, envious of its many shoes–chopped the tree down.  According to authorities, a fresh pool of sawdust was found at the scene next to the victim.

This story made me feel sad for several reasons.  First of all the cottonwood didn’t ask to become a “Shoe Tree.”  It’s fame–like the shoes–was foisted upon it.  Second, it was a cool piece of Americana.  And, third–loads of people sacrificed their Nikes to make this piece of art–only to have it cut down in its prime.  Worst of all, it just goes to show that someone always has to spoil the fun for everyone else.

I hope the perpetrator(s) suffer corns and bunions for the rest of their days.

2)  In Canada, we have a winter boot company called Sorel.  And one of Sorel’s models is called the Glacier and is designed for weather as cold as minus 100.  Seriously.  (Unlike the stereotypes, we do not experience anywhere near -100 anywhere other than the North Pole.  While no country actually can lay claim to the “physical North Pole,” the “magnetic” North Pole is in Canada.  Does this mean Santa Claus is Canadian?” )

Anyway, these honkin’ massive boots are available in a men’s size 17.  Yup–size seven PLUS ten.  Those are big feet–even by North American standards.  I have always wondered what the overseas manufacturers think when they make a behemoth pair of boots. “Holy Crap!  Canadians are giants.”

According to the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons, the average shoe size for an American man is 10.5, while the female average is 9.  Meanwhile, according to a website that specializes in helping Westerners who live and work in China, many have had difficulty finding footwear larger than a man’s size 9 or a woman’s size 7.5.  It seems we are a gigantic race.

Enormous puffy black winter boots in a whopping size SEVENTEEN would, without a doubt, cause quite a stir in downtown Beijing.  Heck, I would be fascinated by them and my husband has size 13s.

3)  I wonder what it’s like to have a last name like Boot.  Or Foot.  Especially with the first name Harry.  I imagine Harry Foot would look like the guy pictured here.

According to the U.S. 2000 census, there are 449 people with the last name Foot, 16093 with the “e” to make Foote, 701 Boot’s, 297 Boote’s, 946 with the surname Shoe, 274 Sandal people, 614 with the name Sandall, 212 people who go by Toe, 292 people called Sock, and 264 people named Pump.  So, if one of the 179 people named Jam married one of the Toe people and hyphenated their name–EW–Toe-Jam.  I apologize if your last name is any of the above.  But if there is anyone out there who chose to go by Toe-Jam, what were you thinking?

Now, back to the whole abandoned clothing in the road thing.  If I owned these articles of clothing, I would not only throw them out my car window, I would drive over them several times.

Photo Credits:  Shoe Tree(,  clown sweater (, white clingy top (, beard hat (, Uma Thurman disaster (, short overalls ( straw sipper with ugly sweater (, Hawaiin explosion (

Kick My Car in the Nuts, Stick a Cork up my Butt, and Why does it Smell like Dog in Here?

Wet make-up brushes smell like dog.  Not quite sure why.  Aren’t they made of sable or horse hair or some other non-canine coat?  I just finished shampooing over 50 brushes.  Yes, shampoo.  Human shampoo.

Years ago, before I knew better, I used dish soap to wash everything–including my car.  It always looked clean, but I was never able to achieve that showroom shine.  My logic wasn’t completely flawed.  Dishes shine.  Glasses gleam.  So why did Sunlight or Ivory Liquid leave my car looking dull?

Dish soap is designed to fight grease.  My car is not greasy.  I do not park it next to a fat rendering plant.  Nor do I eat Kentucky Fried Chicken while sitting on the hood.  I have no need for grease-fighting action.

My husband cringes whenever I tell him about my Palmolive car-wash days.  His explanation has been very enlightening for me.  If something can remove grease, it can also remove wax.  My car is covered in wax.  At least it was.  So that explains why they make a product called car wash.  Who knew?

1)  I have always wanted a red nose for my car.  At Christmas, I see quite a few be-nosed automobiles–usually with a pair of antlers.  I want my car to resemble a human; therefore, I don’t want antlers.  Just a nose.

It turns out that if you want your car to look like a person, a nose isn’t the only way to go.  Apparently, you can hang a pair of testicles from your bumper.  These “Bumper Nuts” come in a variety of colours, including the best-selling flesh tone.

It must be a male thing.  I surely wouldn’t be caught dead driving around with an aluminium vagina hanging from my car.

Well, if you want a set of balls of your very own, you can get them here:

2)  Nowadays, it seems that you can’t have a conversation with anyone about cars without someone bringing up the cost of gas.  It’s up to $1.24 a litre here–almost worth its weight in gold.

We eat a lot of fibre in our house–fresh veggies, whole grains, and brown beans.  Needless to say, there will never be a gas shortage here.  Nor will there be an abundance of fresh air.

If only someone could find a way to convert farts into fuel.  We’d be “sitting” on a goldmine.  A noisy, raunchy, goldmine.

Sorry, my husband actually just farted beside me.  This brings me to a strange product that I just discovered–the Subtle Butt fart pad.  These adhesive panty-liner-like pads are designed to be affixed to the part of your underwear that lines up with your fart escape hatch.  Carbon is used to neutralize the noxious fumes, rendering flatulence odour-free.

No longer will innocent people gasp for uncontaminated oxygen in your presence.  Go ahead, eat that raw broccoli.  Subtle Butt’s got you covered.

Get yours here:

3.  I decided that in order to bring this blog together, I should find a way to combine food and modes of transportation and I came across some interesting finds.  Here’s a few food/modes of transport combos that I can’t wait to try–even if I do hate hot dogs.

First, let me get the Photo Credits out of the way.Photo credits-farting sign (, hot dog plane (, hot dog canoe (, rice crispy car (, squash bus (, veggie bike (, milky way cars (

Flying Paint Cans, Feet that Squirt, and Underpaid Dwarves

I was coming out of the bank the other day as ominous storm clouds marched their way towards me.  All around me, people were telling one another that this could be a bad one–they had heard that tornadoes were possible.  Everyone was anxious to get home.  Me included.  But not my husband.  No, he wanted to soldier on and go to Canadian Tire as planned.  This is a man who does not believe in deviating off-course for any reason.  Even the threat of being yanked up and hurled through the sky in a “Dorothy & Toto” fashion would not thwart his plans.

Now, Canadian Tire is not the ideal place to be should a tornado decide to drop by.  Flying power tools scare me.  But my husband, God bless his stupidity  determination, had his eyes set on an even scarier section of the store.  The paint department.  I don’t know what he was looking for.  I was distracted by thoughts of sharing a wind funnel with large, heavy, and injury-inducing paint cans.  And really tall ladders with sharp edges.

I longed to be somewhere else, but there really isn’t a tornado-friendly section of Canadian Tire.  I wanted to be in a pillow store.

I guess you have deduced that we survived–no thanks to my husband–but there was a tornado in the area, so I am not totally neurotic.  Somewhat, yes, but not completely.

1)  Some pillows provide better tornado protection than others.  The “blood pool pillow” is too thin to keep you safe.   But, after you’ve safely landed wherever the tornado has dropped you, you can give your friends and loved ones a good laugh by posing like the woman pictured here.

No tornadoes scheduled in your area?  No worries.  Simply sprawl out on the kitchen floor with your blob-of-blood pillow around the time that your husband is due back from work.  It will make for hours of entertainment, I’m sure.

You can add this baby to your odd pillow collection by going here:

2)  The Wizard of Oz sort of disturbed me as a kid.  I much preferred the cartoon version with the catchy theme song.  

I do like the idea of being sucked up by a giant tornado and landing in a land full of  Munchkins.  Seriously, for once I’d be the tall one in the crowd.  And the kink that has developed in my neck from looking up all the time might iron itself out.  But, as the local giant, they’d likely look to me to settle their labour disputes with management.  Apparently, Toto earned significantly more money for his role as the dog than any of the little people did (it is reported that Toto rated $125 per week, but his short human counterparts received a mere $50 per week).

Frankly, I don’t want to get involved with any disputes that require negotiating with that little freak the Wizard or an evil witch.

Speaking of witches, I have unravelled the mystery of how on earth they created the illusion of fire when the witch tried to take Dorothy’s lovely red shoes.  Albeit, I had never pondered this mystery before.  Nor was I even aware it was a “mystery.”  But, if you have been pondering this feat (haha–pun intended), here is how they did it.  I caution you.  This is very high-tech.  Apparently, they squirted apple juice from the crimson footwear, sped the tape up to an awesome speed, and “voila”–it looks like fire.  Sort of.  Maybe if you squint.  Or remove your bi-focals.  Or if you don’t need bi-focals, put someone else’s on.

3)  I don’t particularly enjoy flying.  I guess with all this talk of high winds, I should qualify this statement.  While I don’t imagine I would enjoy flying in the “hurdling through the air” sense of the word, I am now referring to flying via the usual route–in an airplane.  I do it because Canada is enormous and it takes us forever to get anywhere.  Plus, I get sea sick, so it’s the only way to leave my continent.

On one particularly long journey, I encountered the strangest in-flight movie selection ever.  Alright, Snakes on a Plane would have been stranger.  We were treated to Twister.  Talk about facing multiple phobias at once.  I’m sure I saw a lot of Ativan-popping going on during that one.

The image of flying cows, apparently isn’t as far-fetched as we hoped it would be.  In fact, horses can fly too.  In Bowdle, South Dakota, in 1955, a nine year old girl was riding her horse when a tornado swept them both up.  The girl was deposited safely on the ground 1000 feet away with her horse standing beside her.  Both were unharmed with the exception of some hail welts.  This is a picture of the duo prior to the incident :

Sharon Weron aboard her horse

Never underestimate a cow.  

  Or a cat.  Meet the feline early warning system.

Photo Credits:  flying cow (, girl and pony (, cartoons “the Far Side” by Gary Larson.

The Versatile Blogger Award!!! YAY!!

This is an awesome day so far and it isn’t even 10 o’clock in the morning yet.  It’s my husband’s birthday, so we began the day with the gift opening.  And as he flips his way through the newspaper (occasionally using some choice words for the insane asylum that we call “Parliament”), I decided to check out what’s happening on my blog.

And it turns out that I’ve been nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award!  I’m so excited!!  Here’s a picture of my new award.  Isn’t it lovely?

Thank you to for this honour.  Her blog is a true slice of life–witty, inspiring, warm, and although I am a new follower, she has tugged at my heartstrings several times already.  You really must check it out!

Now, for the business end of things.  Excuse me for a moment while I don my Ernst & Young accountant-ish garb and explain the rules:

  1. Thank the blogger who gave it to you and include a link to their blog.
  2. Mention 7 random things about yourself.
  3. List the rules
  4. Give the award to 15 or more bloggers.
  5. Add the award to your blog.

Now, I have slipped in to boxer shorts and a tank top–the requisite attire for sharing (and baring) seven facts about myself.  Plus, the tie was interfering with my keyboard.  How do men wear these things all day?  They are fun to tie though.  But why call them ties?  I mean I realize that they are “tied,” but women tie scarves.  Following the whole tie logic, a scarf should be eaten, a ring should make a noise, an earring should deafen it’s wearer, and a shoe should scare things away (you’re thinking about some of those aren’t you.  If the “scarf” thing has you puzzled, in my part of Canada, you “scarf” down a meal).

Okay, seven things about me.  No need to tell me to be “random.”

1.  I currently have two oddly-shaped peanuts beside my computer.  They look like aardvarks.  My husband has drawn eyes on them.  For some reason, they entertain and inspire me.  Like I said–random.

2.  I have recently taken a liking to Tropicana Peach Juice mixed with Club Soda.  Fizzy and fruity.

3.  I collect PEZ dispensers.  I have hundreds of them.  My favourites are the ant and the aardvark from the Pink Panther It would seem that aardvarks also play a large role in my life.

4.  I have moved 34 times.  No, I’m not fleeing my creditors or a loan shark named Vinnie.  And, no, I’m not in the Witness Protection Program.  My Dad had a job where he got transferred a lot.  Now moving is in my system.

5.  I have strange preferences when it comes to wild life–I like Daddy-Long-Legs, Crows, Snakes, Groundhogs, and it would appear, Aardvarks.  I guess I like the underdog.  Speaking of Underdog, I think he is the best Superhero ever.

6.  I hate hot dogs.  A cylindrical mould formed from a slurry of beaks and feet.

7.  Kaleidoscopes fascinate me.  Could play with one for hours.  Did I mention that I’m a simpleton?

And now for the fun part.  Excuse me while I change into something more formal and pretty–a ball gown, perhaps.  I now nominate 15 of the most awesome blogs ever for this auspicious award:

1.  I am a huge fan of this blog.  She is hilarious, heart-warming, and incredibly deep all at the same time.  This is gold.

2.  Who couldn’t love a look at the world through the eyes of an endearing little Corgi?  I’m hooked.

3.  Don’t read this with a full mouth.  It’ll make you laugh and spew your food all over the wall.  Great fun!

4.  This is inspirational, funny, and provides me with regular “a-ha” moments.

5.  This is a brand new blog by a gifted young writer.  I look forward to her future posts.

6.  Beautiful photos abound. Today’s edition will truly move you.

7.  She’s back and she’s funnier than ever.  This is a hoot!

8.  This is filled with fun facts, pop culture, and new knowledge galore.  Very “embiggening.”

9.  This remains one of my all-time favourites.  Very clever.

10.  Funny, wise, and so much fun!  I love this blog.

11.  This is well-written, hilarious, and spot-on.

12.   One of my all-time favs.  Especially her Friday editions.  This blogger is a hoot to “chat” with too.

13.  You’ve got to feel for a woman surrounded by testosterone, but she handles it with humour and a very sharp wit.  Awesome.

14.  I love this “off-the-wall” and hilarious blog.  This is a blogger  I’d love to hang out with for the day.

15.  Quirky and funny.  I love this mix of hilarious photos and great stories.

I’m not sure how the above writing became so enormous.  Nor do I know how to fix it.  It looks like I’m yelling.

Flat Cows, Numbered Turds, and Bananas for my Feet

I spent the greater part of the morning using the power-washer to peel my deck.  The sad part is, it was the most fun I’ve had in ages.  Not only am I easily entertained, but I, obviously, lead a very dull life.

The truth is that no matter how old I get, water still has the potential to mesmerise me.  Seriously, I’d love to put on my bathing suit and run through the sprinkler.  Or sit in one of those inflatable duck-shaped kiddie pools.   The only thing that stops me is my fear of what the neighbours will say.  That, and the thought of being carted away in a jacket with my sleeves tied together.  Especially in this hot weather.  Wouldn’t my hands sweat?

So, playing with the power-washer is a socially acceptable adult water activity.  I didn’t even mind that my legs were splattered with renegade sheets of detached grey deck stain.  And that I got a sun burn on my shoulders.  And soggy sandals.  I got to play in the water under the guise of doing something mature and productive.  Yay me.

1)  In the past, I have featured a plethora of…ahem…unique Japanese products.  Today, I present one from China.  Canoe Shoes.

For every human who has ever had the desire to walk on water, these inflatable bananas for your feet can make this dream come true.

Yes, now you can walk and fish simultaneously (I suggest you master walking and chewing gum first).  Where oh where will he put his catch though?  Shouldn’t he have at least worn pockets?

If I am totally honest, I wouldn’t mind trying a pair of these.  But only when my neighbours aren’t looking.  You can get yourself a pair here:

2)  Deck debris on the legs doesn’t even register on the Things-That-Make-Me-Want-To-Vomit-ometer, particularly compared to the prospect of feces raining down on my head.  However, in Talkeetna, Alaska, this is something to be celebrated.  In fact, an entire festival revolves around this.

The Moose-Dropping Festival celebrates moose turd.  Honestly.  Artisans sell moose-poop jewellery and dung crafts.  There’s a moose lawn ornament auction.  Really.  And the highlight involves a giant sack of manure being hoisted into the sky, only to have its contents poured out over a target below.  Now each piece of poop has been lovingly lacquered and numbered (wonder what lucky lackey gets that job) and sold to the general public.  3000 in all.  And, apparently, they sell out quickly.  As a souvenir (and proof of purchase), each ticket holder gets a moose manure pin (so they can keep their crap close to their hearts) with the number printed on it.  The number that lands closest to the target wins a cash prize.  Lucky shit.

3)  Now any time you are aiming your high-powered pressure-washer at a wooden object like a deck in the hopes of removing paint, you’re putting yourself at risk for splinters.  After all, isn’t a deck just a series of giant pieces of wood?  And what makes splinters?  Wood.

Luckily, I remained sliver-free despite thumbing my nose at wood-safety.  Hm.  I guess wood-safety would involve keeping the “wood” safe from me.  I guess I was thumbing my nose up at me-safety.

I did discover, however, that the acquisition of a sliver is not the catastrophic event that I once thought it was.  Apparently, many splintery Internet folk have been rescued by Elmer’s glue.  Yes.  Merely dab a glob of Elmer’s glue on the affected area, let it dry, and peel the glue skin off.  Odds are, that nasty little wooden intruder will come with it.

And, during this lesson on first aid, I also learned that mascots can get married.  Even the flat, one-dimensional kind.  Rumour (and Wikipedia) has it that Elsie the Cow, the mascot for Borden Dairy, is married to Elmer’s own “Elmer the Bull.”  Borden’s mascot and her family (the hubby and some calves) were created first.  Borden then “loaned” their chemical division, which included Elmer’s Glue, Elsie’s husband for their packaging.  She had probably been complaining that she was tired of her idle spouse moping around the house.

  This video has made me re-think my power-washing activities.

Photo Credit:  moose turds (,

Monster Mammaries, Tampons with Eyes, and A Giant Mattress Between My Legs

I am currently enduring my monthly time of misery.

My male followers may find the following rant disturbing, so I am warning you now–LOOK AWAY!

You’re still here.  You must have the male trait of selective hearing–or in this case, selective reading.  I am not merely nagging you for the sake of nagging you, despite of what you may think.  Seriously, LOOK AWAY.  Join us again when we get down to the picture of the blonde-haired man.  This is for your own good.

Now that it’s just me and the girls, I feel that I can indulge in a much-needed whinefest.  Mm.  Wine.  Maybe I’ll have a winefest with my whinefest.  Okay, I’m back.  Why is it that I am forced to nearly bleed to death every three weeks?  Seriously, exactly 21 days after my misery ends, a new misery begins.

And I have been waiting 9 months to see a gynaecologist.  Not a specific, highly sought after, specialist.  Just any gynaecologist will do.  A warning to my American friends–this is one of the problems with public health care.  It’s free, but it’s very elusive.

According to blood tests, I am anaemic.  Well, duh?  I’m bleeding from my crotch.  Think about it–what a strange concept–bleeding profusely from one’s nether-regions.  And they say women are the weaker sex?  I say, give a man a menstrual cramp and he will die.  Seriously, he will beg for mercy, curl up in a ball, and die.  Imagine if he actually bled from his pecker and had to spend 3-5 days with a mattress between his legs.

All it takes is the mere mention of the words “period” or “menstruation” and they run away screaming.  Wimps.

    See, they haven’t got a clue.

    Seriously…”Sunday, Bloody Sunday?” No clue.

   I saved the best for last.  Even the male robots are clueless.

Let’s face it.  We women do derive a certain amount of pleasure from the discomfort that this subject gives them.  And we do deserve all the pleasure we can get.  We’ve earned it.  And we’ve got the toilet paper-shrouded bundles of winged feminine napkins to prove it.

1. Like many women, my boobs get really sore right before my period.  Thank God, I don’t own “the largest natural breasts in the world” like New Yorker, Annie Hawkins (a.k.a. Norma Stitz.  Hm.  I wonder why she has an alias?  Is it just coincidence that Stitz rhymes with tits? OMG.  I just got it…’normous tits.)

According to the Guinness World Records people, she has an “around-chest-over-nipple” measurement (yes, it actually says that) of 70 inches.  Holy crap!  That’s almost 6 feet!  That’s a lot of chest.

God help her if her boobs ache before her period.  That’s a lot of ache.

2)  Thank you Dr. White.  Finally, a man who “gets” us.  I remember the old-style tampons–talk about forcing a square into a round hole.

While I usually appreciate the anthropomorphizing of all inanimate objects, as a menstruating woman, I want to trample the smiling tampon to death.  What’s he got to smile about?  Does he even know what he is?

3)  Martha Stewart bugs me.  Seriously, who needs to do folk art stencilling on  their driveway?  It turns out that Martha is not the only one with WAY too much time on their hands.

Meet the home-made maxi-pad lady and her floral take on Kotex.  She makes pretty pads to bleed on, then scrub and dry, and bleed on again.  Her periods are obviously much more “genteel” than mine.

This thing looks way too much like a stuffed animal that has lost its eyes.  I simply could not, in good conscience, use it for its intended purpose.

I’ll be back soon with a man-friendly edition.

Photo Credits:  tampons with eyes (

The Sunshine Award!!! YAY!!

I find it ironic that I have been nominated for the Sunshine Award in the middle of a drought.  The Sunshine, usually a welcomed friend to all Canadians, has overstayed his welcome and really needs to share the sky with some clouds.  But, I have to admit–a Sunshine Award does sound much happier and upbeat than the Cirrostratus Award.  Or the Big Ominous Wall Cloud Award.  Plus, I am extremely happy to be nominated for any award, no matter what it is called!!

I must thank the awesomely funny blogger who so thoughtfully gave me this nomination–  You HAVE to read her blog.  It is hilarious!   Her recent The Pakora Chronicles, will make you laugh out loud.

In accepting this award, I have to complete the following rules:

1. Link the award to the person who gave it to me.

2. Answer the questions about myself. (See below)

3. Nominate 10 bloggers for the award.

4. Link my nominees to the post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the award.

Okay.  First step has been accomplished lickety-split.  Now, on to the hard part.  Answering questions about myself.

1.  What is my favourite number?  

I hate Math.  Numbers elude me.  They taunt me and tell jokes about me behind my back.  Therefore, I hate all numbers.  Except for phone numbers.  They’re okay.  And winning lottery ticket numbers are good.  But those avoid me completely.

2. Favourite Non-Alcoholic Beverage?

I drink a lot of water, but I wouldn’t exactly call it my “favourite.”  Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate water.  And I know it’s good for me.  But if I was on death-row and the warden was offering me my favourite non-alcoholic beverage with my last meal, I wouldn’t opt for water.  Not even Perrier.  I have to say that I’d be a little pissed that I wasn’t allowed a good stiff vodka–you know, something to take the edge off of my execution.  It’s not like it matters if my booze has an negative interaction with my LETHAL injection.  And who cares if I get totally wasted and misbehave?  What are they going to do–kill me?  But, since I’m still holding out for that last minute call from  the Governor to save me (we actually don’t have capital punishment in Canada, but let’s just pretend), I’ll acquiesce and ask for a VIRGIN Strawberry Daiquiri.  That’s the best way to go.  A beverage that disguises itself as an alcoholic one.  And they are so yummy.

3. Favourite Animal?

Seriously.  Only one?  Hmm…Penguins, Gorillas, or Aardvarks?  They’re all good.  Oh, I know.  My favourite would have to be the Capybara.  Who wouldn’t love a giant rodent that can weigh over 100 pounds?  I could sic him on the local cats.  Revenge for all the eaten chipmunks.  I could walk him on a leash.  Plus, I think it would be cool to sit on the sofa and watch TV with him.  Not a lot of rodents can do that.

3.  Facebook or Twitter?

I prefer to yack to someone in the real world using my actual voice, but if I had to choose it would be Facebook hands down–largely due to my Castleville addiction.

4. My Passion?

I am not sure how to answer this because I am a person who has the attention span of a gnat.  It is frightening to think of the number of different “careers” I have embarked on over my lifetime thus far.  I either have many passions or I don’t have any at all–I’m not sure which one it is.  I guess I’m passionate about trying new things.  Don’t get me wrong.  There are some things I have no desire to try–taking a bath with a toaster, studying giant insects in the Rainforest, or becoming a test subject for a pharmaceutical company, to name a few.

5. Favourite Day of the Week?

Tomorrow.  Not specifically “today’s tomorrow.”  All tomorrows.  The day following today, no matter what day it is now while you are reading this.  I’m feeling passionate about specificity right now.

6.  Favourite Flower? 

Cosmos.  True story–when our local Home Depot opened, I went in to the garden department and asked the worker if they had any cosmos.  She said they had Woman’s Day and Chatelaine inside.  OMG.  Seriously.  She thought I wanted a copy of Cosmo.  

Now comes the fun part.  I get to nominate 10 awesome bloggers for this award.  It’s hard to nominate JUST 10–there are so many awesome blogs out there–but I’ll try.











Seriously, it is so hard to just nominate 10!  And, again, I’d like to thank!!!!

Now I must go and remove the most uncomfortable bra in the world.

A Stick in the Eye, A Large Penis, and Ants in My Pants

I am currently suffering from the nauseating condition known as “nervous tummy.”  This explains why it is only 8:10 in the morning and I have already had breakfast (White Chocolate Dream Peanut Butter on dark rye–told you I had a PB addiction), checked the weather on the Weather Network (still unbearably humid and no rain in sight), fed the menagerie of rodents that have shown up at my door (they don’t knock, but I know they are there staring and hoping), taken my allergy pill (which has already stopped my nose from dripping snot all over my keyboard), and listened to my husband bemoan a local hardware store for an inaccuracy in their flyer (he loves flyers).

And despite all of these distractions my stomach is still churning.  At least now it has something in it to churn.

Why the pukey feeling?  As you know, I used to work as a make-up artist.  “Used to” are the operative words.  I haven’t lost the ability to apply make-up.  That’s like riding a bike.  Plus, I do my own face almost every day (and remember, I have pig eyes and freckles, so this is a major feat).  Tomorrow, I am doing the make-up for a good friend’s wedding.  OMG, I am responsible for how she is going to look as she walks down the aisle with all eyes on her.  How she will look when her groom decides whether or not to say “I do.”  And how she will look in the wedding pictures that she will pour over lovingly in the decades to come.  Just a sec, I’ll be right back…

Add mopping up puke to my list of accomplishments so far today.

When encountered with worrisome conundrums such as this, I usually try to identify the worst thing that could happen and usually it makes me feel better.  Unfortunately, today this is not the case.  Here are some of the things that I fear could happen:

  • An ever-so-slight slip of the hand could result in my mascara wand stabbing the bride in the eyeball, which precipitates an ambulance ride and an emergency eyeball surgery.  The surgery is successful (they were able to dislodge the mascara wand), but unsuccessful (she is now blind).  The groom decides that caring for a half-blind wife is too much responsibility.  Plus, the hole in her retina is off-putting.   So he flees.
  • A stray make-up brush hair lodges itself in her eyeball (I seem to have a lot of eyeball concerns) and creates a virulent infection.  Her eye turns bright reddish purple, begins to leak and puss.  Her mascara and liner runs down her face in an Alice Cooper-ish fashion.  Not only does she terrify the groom and send him running, but she loses her eyesight (again).
  • My mind suddenly goes numb (well, number than usual) and I forget what make-up goes where.  I can no longer even identify simple objects like the “nose” or the “mouth.”  The bride winds up looking like a painting by Pablo Picasso and, again, the groom runs away screaming.  At least, she isn’t blinded in this scenario.
  • I forget to bring my make-up and we have to resort to inflicting physical harm on the bride to give her some colour–pinching and slapping the cheeks until they are red, creating “smoky eyes” with our fists, and so on.  This is the worst scenario as she winds up blinded in both eyes, gets a massive skin infection due to excessive pinching, and the groom leaves the country and is never heard from again.

As you can see, I am under a great deal of pressure.  And nothing soothes the mind like learning a few stupid things.

1)  Now here is a book that every groom wishes he needed to prepare for his wedding night.  And every bride.  Apparently, having a large penis is a problem for some.  Admittedly, I nearly pee’d my kitchen chair when I came across this little gem at Amazon.

But it gets even better.  Here is the description that comes along with it:

“Here at last is the first self-help book for men with Oversized Male Genitalia (OMG), a genetic birth defect that grows the penis to absurd proportions. Every year, thousands of men are diagnosed with OMG. Sadly, most are banished to the fringes of society, victims of their own freakish length and girth. How to Live with a Huge Penis brings them an inspiring message of tolerance and hope—along with helpful information on

•  Unzipping: Coming Out to Your Friends and Family
•  Sharing Your Pain: Sexual Intercourse with a Huge Penis
•  Big Blessings: Unexpected Advantages of a Huge Penis
•  and much, much more

Complete with prayers, poetry, a daily affirmations journal, and thoughtful quotations from leading self-help experts, How to Live with a Huge Penis will inspire men of all shapes and sizes.”  (

I’m sorry but this one beats the Big Colouring Book of Vaginas to hell.  No pun intended.

2) The North American wedding likely seems like a very strange event to some–the bride in white, the exchanging of rings, the throwing of rice or blowing of bubbles, followed by the happy couple driving away in a vehicle with tin cans hanging from the bumper.  But, seriously, you haven’t seen strange until you’ve seen the Carnival of Laza, Spain.

The event begins with some really strange looking dudes running back and forth (over and over again) with loud bells attached to them that clang with every step, as they whip innocent (or stupid) bystanders.  This, apparently, ushers in the fun to follow.  If you’d like to see these masochistic bellboys, go here:  

In case you missed out on being lashed, you still have another opportunity to become a victim of random violence.  Local townspeople will now throw muddy rags at you, but some will contain a magic ingredient–ANTS.  Yes, they dig up ant hills and hurl the unsuspecting insects (yes, they are victims too) at Carnival goers.  Doesn’t this sound like fun?

And, amidst all of this mudslinging (this time meant in the literal sense), someone is dressed up as a mad cow with a wooden mask, butting people in the “butts” and sexually harassing female (or Scottish male tourists donning kilts) by lifting up their skirts.  Hurry and book your fun-filled vacation of ant bites, lash welts, and mud masks.

3)  One thing I do love to fling at unsuspecting people are rubber bands.  I especially like to do it shotgun style, stretched around my thumb (the trigger) and my pointer finger (the barrel).  The slingshot way is for beginners.

But there is nothing worse than a stale elastic (or so I’ve been told).  Apparently, I should have been keeping my elastic ammo in the refrigerator.  They stay far stretchier that way.

Who knew?  Now to find a place in the fridge for my office supplies.  Right between my cold cuts and my eye cream (which I’ve been told that I should actually keep in there too, but have not because cold cream feels weird.  And I put my eye cream on before bed, so when it’s cold it just wakes me up).

Well, wish me luck and say a little prayer for me (and the bride’s eyeballs).  I’ll let you know how it goes.
Photo Credits:  Ant Throwing (

The Daisy Award Nomination!! Woo-Hoo!

Wow, I have never been nominated for anything before in my entire life.  Seriously.  For years I’ve been watching TV award show nominees (and I do mean TONS of them.  I am a wee bit of an award show addict–except for the Country Music Awards.  Like I’ve said before, Country Music gives me a rash and an overwhelming desire to slit my wrists, swallow a jar of the nearest pills, and jump off a tall bridge) say that it’s just an honour to be nominated, and I never believed a word they said.  But, now I do.  It IS an honour.

I must thank for this nomination and I encourage you to check out her insightful, witty, and well-written blog “Going Bananas.”  It rocks!

Now is the tricky part–following the rules.  Not because I am a rebel, but rather because I have problems with deciphering directions.  Seriously, IKEA furniture makes my brain hurt.  But, I will do my valiant best and soldier on.

The rules are:

* Thank the person who nominated you.

* Tell your readers 7 unusual things about yourself.

* Nominate some worthy bloggers.

The first rule was easy.  Again, thank you to!!  Check it out, people.

Now I must reveal 7 unusual things about myself.  I should restate that–reveal 7 unusual things about myself that I haven’t already revealed in my blog.  And I have revealed a lot of unusual things.  Hm.  What to do, what to do.  Okay, here goes nothing:

1)  Apparently, I pronounce things funny.  No, really.  My dentist says I have a small, shallow mouth.  My husband doesn’t believe him.  It would seem that a small, shallow mouth can still produce a lot of noise.  It also seems to impede my ability to say “L” and “TH” sounds properly.  Don’t get me wrong.  These sounds sound (that looks weird in print) right, they just look funny while I’m making them.  My tongue leaps out of my mouth really far.  Like “lick the nose of the person I’m talking to” far.  Probably because my mouth is so shallow.  I went decades without knowing I possessed this flaw, but, thankfully, my husband (the most observant man ever), has made me very aware of this oddity.

2) I am addicted to Seinfeld.  Hence, my blogger name “facelikeafryingpan.”  Remember George trying to describe Elaine to the movie theatre attendant–“face like a frying pan, big wall of hair.”  I even had George’s answering machine message (a spoof of the Greatest American Hero theme song) on my own phone for a while.  Yup, I’m fanatical.

3) I give inanimate objects voices.  No, I’m not insane.  Honest.  I blame my father for this.  When I was a kid, my father used to draw faces on melons, oranges, bananas–basically anything that had an inedible rind.  Now,  imagine a cantaloupe that looks at you with a big smile on its face–as if to say, “hey.  You’re home.  I’m glad to see you.”  Would you be able to hack into it’s skin with a sharp object?  Not likely.  Neither could I.  Melons usually died of old age in our house.

So, now, when I accidentally bang the side of my mug against the coffee table, I apologize.  My car berates me when I hit a pothole too hard.  My Keurig gives me a blow-by-blow description of its progress.  And my computer nags me to clean its screen.  It’s noisy in my head, but I have a lot of fun.  And a lot of friends.  And a patient husband.

4)  I love Daddy-Long-Legs, the misunderstood insect that everyone treats with the same disdain as a run-of-the-mill spider.  I don’t understand it.  They are cute.  Tiny little round bodies with skinny legs that always seem to have minds of their own.  I wish I had long legs and a small body.  Instead I have a body like a snowman and stub legs.

5)  I am addicted to peanut butter.  Especially when it comes with chocolate.  I am a connoisseur of this combination.  Does anyone remember the really old Peanut Butter Cup commercials that said, “You got chocolate in my peanut butter…You got peanut butter in my chocolate.”  Well, I do.  And I have actually dipped Jersey Milk bars in Crunchy Kraft peanut butter and it is awesome.  But, the best peanut butter treat in the world is The Peanut Butter Company’s White Chocolate Wonderful.  On toasted dark rye.  Mm.  I can’t wait for breakfast time tomorrow.

6)  I love Ugly Dolls.  Duh?  I guess this is just a bit obvious if you’ve looked at my blog.  Wage Ugly Doll is the best of all.  Seriously, who couldn’t love someone who comes with his own construction apron.  I keep giving him jobs and he can’t seem to get them done though.  He’s cute, but he’s not too bright.

7)  I am addicted to New York City.  Ever since I studied make-up artistry there, I have been unable to get enough of this city.  This raises another concern.  After perusing my list, I have realized that I have a lot of addictions.  Note to self: address this issue with general practitioner.  Perhaps, referral to mental health professional is required.

Okay, step number 2 is now complete.  I have bared my strange soul to a world of virtual strangers.  In doing so, I now run the risk of another group of strangers arriving at my door with a straight-jacket designed just for me–a short round one with stubbier-than-usual sleeves.  I wonder if rubber rooms are as fun as they look?

Now, I will makes some nominations.  This blogger cracks me up completely.  She is particularly gifted at poking fun at the strange things that we have come to accept as part of everyday life.  Very clever.  And funny!  OMG!  If you need a quick laugh, you can always count on the cartoons by justoutsidethebox.  Really witty and twisted.  Love them.  This blog always puts a huge smile on my face.  I am addicted to her Random Thoughts Fridays.  I definitely recommend adding this to your “Blogs I Follow.”  If you are able to cook and laugh simultaneously, this is the blog for you.  Not only do her recipes cause me to drool all over my keyboard, but her stories are gut-bustingly funny. This is hilarious!  It’s like reading someone’s random (and hysterical) thoughts in a diary format.  You’ve got to check this out.

I wish I could nominate every blog that I follow, but that would take forever.  Turns out, I’m addicted to all of your blogs too!!  (As I am typing, I am keeping one eye on the driveway.  No big vans carrying men in white coats yet.  Phew. )

I wish my nominator and all of my nominees the best of luck being the official Daisy Award winner.