I’ve got mushrooms in my ears, a flowery bag of vomit, and a Cheap Trick album.

I have had swimmer’s ear for over thirty years now–no swimming required. If you aren’t sure what swimmer’s ear –a.k.a “otitis externa”–entails, here’s the best way I can describe it.  Grab the vomit bags that you stole from KLM the last time you flied. (Holy crap. Did I just type the word “flied?” Swimmer’s Ear, by the way, does not impair one’s ability to tense verbs. I wish I could say it does and provide myself with an excuse for my sudden lapse in literacy skills. Did I tell you that I am an unemployed high school English Teacher? The “unemployed” part is no longer a mystery.)


Okay, back to the barf bags. Have you got them in the open position? Hold on tight, because you’re going to need them.

Seriously, it's going to be this gross.  (Image courtesy of: http://www.cherrybombed.com/)

Seriously, it’s going to be this gross.
(Image courtesy of: http://www.cherrybombed.com/)

Swimmer’s Ear is like having an ear-hole filled with clumps of flaky dead skin that makes you itch profusely. The itch makes you want to dig in your ears and pull out the clumps, which, inevitably fall on your shoulder. Now, if you have the misfortune of wearing something black, people will think you have the largest dandruff flakes known to man. Seriously, Guinness Record worthy. And, Swimmer’s Ear, smells like your head is full of sewer water. Now, I don’t know what you get up to at night, but I have never been anywhere near a sewer. Or its water. And surely, my ears have never been dunked in one.

Here it comes.

Here it comes.

But I have spent several fleeting moments over the years wondering if my boyfriends could get swimmer’s tongue. Ack.

I told you not to stick your tongue in her ear.

I told you not to stick your tongue in her ear. (Image courtesy of: http://www.an-mag.com/weird-taste/)

The truly wretch-inducing fact is that the clumps are not dead skin at all. They are, in fact, fungus. Yup, I have a regular mushroom farm growing in the very orifices that I am supposed to hear with. And this raises another question. If I am allergic to mould, does that make me allergic to my ears?

Holy crap! Fungus that looks like an ear!

Holy crap! Fungus that looks like an ear!

By the way, if you want to learn more about the fungus that looks like an ear–not the fungus that lives in an ear–check out this http://esticadinhonature.wordpress.com/2012/11/15/tophill-fungi-list-hits-300/.

1) Speaking of barf bags, there are times when a plain brown paper sack just won’t do–particularly if you have a penchant for hyperventilating. The last thing you want to do is engage in some rapid inhaling using a recently used barf bag. Double ack.

barf bag 1

In fact, it turns out that a fashionable tote for your vomit can be the perfect accessory for any outfit. “Morning Chicness Bags” makes leak-proof (that is important), stylish bags in a plethora of patterns. They’re almost too pretty to ralph in.

2) If you are going to steal a barf bag for strictly “souvenir” purposes, you should definitely opt for a Virgin Atlantic flight. No one does barf bags better. Seriously. Who else would run a contest entitled “Design for Chunks“–inviting artists everywhere to create masterful sick sacks for puking passengers.  If that wasn’t enough, they followed this with a series of Star Wars-themed holdalls for hurls. Nothing worse than a motion sick wookie.

And, then, they rolled out the Granddaddy of Barf Bags. The Bagophile’s dream–yes, there are people who actually collect these things. The gigantic “How Did Air Travel Become So Bloody Awful” bag was Virgin’s clever way of poking fun at discount airlines–and collecting record-breaking regurgitations.

3) Here are a collection of  barf bags  from the Air Sickness Bag Virtual Museum.  I told you…people actually collect these things. And I thought the belly-button lint collection was weird. Okay, it’s still weird. Vomit valise-worthy weird.

I’m not sure why Cheap Trick felt that their fans would require a barf bag while listening to “I Want You to Want Me.” Hm. Repetitive lyrics, perhaps. And Hello Kitty does evoke the urge to heave.

Aero Rudolpho
Aero Rudolpho
Amoszonas Smiley
Amoszonas Smiley
Ansett Australia Photo Order
Ansett Australia Photo Order
Cheap Trick from "In Color"
Cheap Trick from “In Color”
Mini Cooper
Mini Cooper
Eva Air Hello Kitty
Eva Air’s Hello Kitty

Which bag would you most like to upchuck into?

4) And just when you thought you’d seen everything, you come across this….


Lucky, Fido. A big bowl of kibbles & barf.

My ears are itchy.

Seeing Double–Mr. Clean has been cloned

I always knew that Canada‘s most famous handyman, Mike Holmes looked familiar–but I could never quite put a finger on where I had seen him before.  His trademark muscles, admittedly, have often distracted me from his other features.  But, alas, during a bout of kitchen cleaning, it came to me.  Mike Holmes looks like Mr. Clean–without the lemon scent.


Mike Holmes

With a penchant for white t-shirts, a smooth noggin, furry white eyebrows, and a pierced left ear (trust me, Mikey sports a sizable stud–is it just me or does that sound dirty?), it is difficult to tell these two beefcakes apart.  And one will clean your house while the other one fixes it.  Seriously, if you could somehow mash these two guys together, you would have the perfect man.  If only we could find a triplet who cooks.

Which one of these dudes would you rather meet in the flesh–and put to work immediately?

Photo Credits:  Mr. Clean http://www.maxagency.com/blog/max-agency-talent-auditions-for-mr-clean-commercial/, Mike Holmes http://homes-extra.ca/home-garden/homes/mike-holmes-is-back-and-he-wants-to-make-it-right/

My boobs are itchy, I smell like horse ass, and I can’t stop licking the road.

People who love the winter have something seriously wrong with them.  I don’t care if you’re an acrobatic back-flipping downhill skier, an expert snowperson builder, or the guy who salts our street like it’s a slab of pork rind–no one in their right mind would choose winter over the other three seasons.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

Who wants a nose that feels like it is full of small tenement blocks and bleeds every time you try to “clean it out?”  I know–some of you are probably saying “EW!” right now.  But you are not from these parts.  We may have snow on the ground and damp in the air OUTSIDE, but our toasty homes contain air as dry as a popcorn fart.  Nasal passages don’t stand a chance.  I’m with George Costanza on this one–“with all that dry desert air, I bet that even Moses had occasion to pick.”

God help the women of  Eastern Canada because boobs get itchy.  I bet that every estrogen-owner north of the 49th can’t wait to find a private place to claw at her nipples.  I know that you’re thinking about it right now.  Go ahead.  Scratch.  I won’t look.  I’ll be too busy with my own.

And who in the hell enjoys trying to get the bottom of their pants into a pair of tall boots.  A person can’t wear skinny jeans every single day and normal ones make your boots all bloated and bumpy looking if you don’t put them in just right.  It’s a pain, is it not?

Even a Super Hero wear a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

Even a Super Hero wears a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

And, holy crap–hair really does like to do its own thing in the winter, doesn’t it?  No amount of goop can tame it.  And I have long, curly, red hair.  This is how I look from December to March.

He has quite the "do" going on, doesn't he?  My winter head is bigger.

He has quite the “do” going on, doesn’t he? My winter head is bigger.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely.  His hair is tamer than mine though.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely. His hair is tamer than mine though.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool.  Wool-like, yes.  But not actual wool.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool. Wool-like, yes. But not actual wool.

Please keep in mind, that the only resemblance that I have to these photos is the hair.  I do not have a red triangular nose and pasty white complexion.  Nor do I have Carrot Top’s freakish eyebrows or Raggedy Ann’s missing upper lashes.  And my shoes aren’t sewn on to my feet.

1) 2009-_1356001iElaine Davidson of the UK, also the Guinness World Record Holder for the woman with the most piercings, would have one hell of a time trying to rid her nose of oxygen barriers.  By 2006, she had been been punctured by 4225 piercings.  With that many holes in her, she probably doesn’t float.  Thankfully, she lives in the damp of Scotland and doesn’t have to worry about dry air encrusting her nose.

And, no.  She doesn’t set off the metal detectors at the airport.

shovel racing

2)  My shovel is not my friend.  Spending time with him involves a lot of work.  The snowblower is much easier to get along with.

But it turns out that I have been missing out on a perfect way to bond with my shovel–shovel racing.  Yup.  It really exists and wasn’t created by Canadians.  In fact, this sport was born in New Mexico of all places.

At Angel Fire Resort, in the Southern Rockies, snow-shovel enthusiasts can be seen careening down mountainous slopes at speeds of up to 70 mph.  Holy crap.  Only old-school metal shovels are allowed.  For some reason, visions of Clark Griswold‘s food-varnish-covered flying saucer springs to mind.  But these snow-shoveled psychopaths aren’t in a movie, and trees don’t know to stay out of their way.

A recent variation of the sport involves hooking up your shovel to a horse, shouting a yee-haw or two, and going wherever your equine takes you.  Yup, that’s just where I want to be when Black Beauty takes a dump.  Under her butt on a shovel.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.


3)  One thing I really don’t understand is the whole “electrified outdoor clothing” trend.  Why would anyone want electric mitts?  Sure, they’re warm.  But sitting on the electric chair is probably toasty too.

Mitts are meant for snow.  Snow is made of water.  Water and electricity don’t mix.  If you build a snowball in electric mitts, will you electrocute yourself?  I mean, it bodes well for your intended snowball victim.  But it does seem like a rather harsh punishment for engaging in child’s play.

And what happens if your hands sweat?

Stress makes my hands sweat when I’m not wearing heated mittens.  Worrying about my heated mittens killing me will definitely exacerbate the problem.  What if your wearing your heated mittens while riding a shovel behind a horse and the horse pees on your hands?  Will you die under a horse’s ass?

Heated mitts are clearly not for the neurotic.

I have to go.  My nose is bleeding.

Photo credits:  tongue stretch sarahsdoodles.wordpress.com, men in tights thefwoosh.com, Carrot Top guestofaguest.com, Ronald McDonald www.hcpl.net, Raggedy Ann poietes.wordpress.com, piercings www.telegraph.co.uk, shovel dude www.ibtimes.com,  horse poop www.environmentalgraffiti.com, autopsy cartoon mobileintensiveprayerunit.blogspot.com.