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.”  (Amazon.com).

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 (thumbpress.com).

Trees with Eyes, Tube-shaped Eggs, and Packages That I Haven’t Read Carefully

It is no coincidence that in no known language does the phrase ‘As pretty as an airport’ appear.”    Douglas Adams.

I hate wearing sunglasses.  I have an oddly shaped head or face or something, because they always make me look very strange.  Like a beetle on crack.  I’ve tried every type from teeny-weeny intellectual ones to motorcycle cop “you-can’t-see-my-eyes” styles to the ones with lenses the size of garage doors.  None of them give me that sophisticated Jackie-O look–no matter how many scarves I wear.

And they make my eyes sweat.  Well, not my actual eyes–that would probably land me a spot in some optical medical journal–but the space under my eyes.  All summer I look like Alice Cooper.  I realize that I could invest in some waterproof mascara, but that just opens up a whole new can of worms.

My husband’s glasses fog up a lot.  That must be frustrating.  One minute the world is a crisp vision of loveliness and “pwoff,” it is transformed into a chasm of blurriness (do you like my attempt at Mad Magazineish sound effects?)  Which raises another question?  Do contact lenses ever fog up?  Or worse, if they get cold can they stick to your nice, warm eyeballs? Think of Flick’s tongue and the flagpole in The Christmas Story.  

1)  I have recently discovered that I am an idiot.  Seriously, I am a total numpty-head.  I don’t know how many times I have endured the frustration of pulling out a sheet of Saran wrap, having the entire tube come with it, and struggling to hold on to my sheet of cellophane without allowing it to stick to itself, while I fight to return the roll to the box.  A box with a jagged metal “tearing strip” that usually winds up ripping my flesh during this battle.  It happens to me on a regular basis.  And I always blame the Saran wrap.  Or its equally frustrating cousin, tin foil.

It turns out that I am to blame.  Apparently, the thoughtful manufacturers of these products have gone to the trouble of creating a device to keep these rolls in place.  I’m just too stupid to read the packaging and make this discovery.

If you, too, are a moron–I’m in no position to judge your mental prowess–simply take a glance at the photo to your right.  See the little triangular-ish shape on the side of this (and all other) Reynolds Wrap boxes?  Well, apparently, if you push that puppy in, the roll will stay in place.  Who knew?  Okay, some of the world’s “smarty-panted” people probably knew.  But, surely I can’t be the only one who didn’t know.  Could I?  (Cue sound of crickets).

2)  I love trees.  My favourite is the weeping willow.  They’re great for climbing and their long, draping foliage is perfect for hiding in.  Maples are nice too.  Seriously, a tree that makes pretty colours in the fall AND gives us sweet sap for pouring on our pancakes.  Plus, I’m Canadian.  Maples are sort of our thing.  Check out our flag.  And our pennies.  Although you’ll have to check out the pennies soon since they have been put on the minting chopping block.

I recently discovered, however, that not all trees are pretty or stately or eager to provide us with shade.  Some are downright scary.

This “screaming tree” lives in Hither Hills State Park, NY.  I’m sorry, but if I ran in to this, I’d probably run the other way screaming.  Trees just simply aren’t supposed to look like this.  I am grateful that a very brave photographer managed to take this shot though.  Seriously.  Can you imagine seeing this through a camera lens?  Or taking your eyes off it long enough to take your camera out and turn it on?  I’d be far too worried about what its branches were up to.  Like, are they reaching around to grab me?  I mean look at the mouth!  Trees generally don’t have mouths.  I can only imagine what someone would find if they peered down inside this bark-covered beast.

But, as ugly as the American offering is, the UK has an even more horrific forest dweller.  Not only does it have teeth, but it appears to have actual eyeballs.  Or eye sockets, at the very least.

Does anyone remember the evil trees in H.R. Pufnstuf?  In case you don’t, you can catch them here….

I think I’ll go outside and hug my faceless oak.

3)  I have  simply got to go to Japan.  As you know, this is the land of square watermelons, the girlfriend pillow, and tomato chocolate bars.  And in case those aren’t enough to send you out for airline tickets to Tokyo, I have just found another draw. The Japanese egg roll.

How efficient is this?  Instead of taking the time to boil an egg and set the timer to ensure it’s hard-boiled, you simply take out your tube of egg and hack off a slice or two.  I wonder what type of bird lays cylindrical eggs?

Photo credits:

Reynolds wrap:  http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gJCMpC3I-ng/TAkYjt80sXI/AAAAAAAAGxc/-grfoaKwtvg/s320/foil.jpg

Egg tube:  Marci Wittwer Butterfield

Screaming tree:  brothergrimm

UK Tree: David Garnham/Newsteam/Getty Images