Help! I’m trapped in an El Camino wearing a Clown Suit with Mimi Bobeck

If you have never had the…um…pleasure of experiencing a full-blown panic attack, consider yourself lucky.  When I was in my early twenties–back in the days before compact discs and Pantene–I used to have a lot of them.  I worked in a bank and had what was, perhaps, the strangest job description a financial institution has ever concocted.  In the morning, I adopted the role of bubbly receptionist with an Osmond Family grin.  In the afternoon, however, I kissed my sunny disposition adieu and put on my snarly collection officer hat.  Ironically, my desk didn’t change.  Just my persona.  

Mayor from The Nightmare Before Christmas

I wonder how many customers wandered away thinking, “that little redheaded girl must suffer from a multiple personality disorder.”  Note to self:  stay away from former place of employment and men who drive large white vans with padded interiors.  

Anywho, I blame the sudden appearance of my panic attacks on my unusual job duties.  And on the fact that I was still living among cockroaches.  And I had just been chased down the street by a man in an electric wheelchair.  But you already know about all of that.  

And they thought I was deranged...

And they thought I was deranged…

Amazingly, I was not the lone sufferer of high anxiety.  It turned out that the soft-spoken, seemingly “had her shit together” loans officer–we’ll call her Wilma.  I don’t know why–spent a great deal of her time fighting heart palpitations, dizziness, and an irrepressible desire to flee with her hands up in the air yelling gibberish.  

panic attack

In fact, she introduced me to a sure-fire way to fight the panic.  And it involved lying on the floor.  Now, my fear of being stepped on–particularly by someone wearing golfing cleats–precluded me from flopping spread-eagle on the linoleum beside my desk, aka the Jekyll and Hyde district.

giant cleat

Giant cleats…they DO exist.

 “Wilma,” however had a carpeted office with a functioning door.  Here, we could both lie on our backs, engage in deep-breathing exercises, and imagine our “happy places.”  Hers involved meadows, songbirds, and sunshine.  Mine was Times Square on a July afternoon–which could explain why meditation has never worked for me.

happy place

Thankfully, once I shed the job, the panic attacks–and the need to find a carpeted spot in a low-traffic area–disappeared.  As did my antacid addiction.  And my fear of mental health professionals.

While I have been panic attack-free for twenty years, there are a few things that could potentially tip me over the edge.   

1.  creepy clownClowns freak me out.  Personally, I think there is something seriously wrong with someone who spends their day in big floppy shoes, an afro wig, and lipstick that looks like it was put on by a far-sighted centenarian with a tremor.  

Personally, I have never understood why people flock to circuses.  And I always give Ronald McDonald statues a wide berth.  But no amount of Zoloft could quell the anxiety that sleeping on an actual “clown pillow” would create.  

Seriously.  There are people that actually make clown pillows.  And, there are sick, twisted, individuals with way too much disposable income who buy them.  

Here is a horrifying glimpse of the many innocent pillows that have been defaced by clowns.   

clown pillow handstitchedclown pillow cheshire cat grinclown pillow 5 oclock shadowclown pillow hole in headclown pillow impressionistclown pillow pom pom fringe

Which one would deprive you of the most zzz’s?  Which one is the least horrific?  


2.  This is a strange phobia, I know–especially for someone who loves cars as much as I do–but El Camino’s scare the crap out of me.  I don’t know why.  

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Chevy’s version of the Ford Ranchero (another freak on wheels), it was basically a coupe with a truck box.  Yup, Dr. Frankenstein bred a Chevelle with a C1500 and this is the ugly baby.  

Forget the ’57 Fury.  Christine should have been an El Camino.  Definitely uglier.  And a whole lot scarier.  


3)  The ugliest toy known to man, without a doubt, is the troll doll.  Dolls, as you know, are high on my list of “things that freak me out,” but the worst of all are these rainbow-coloured freaks with bad hair and mongoloid monkey faces.  Their association with Mimi Bobeck does not help either.  She was just weird.  

Since I’m supposed to be regaling you with dendrite-enhancing knowledge, here are a few little known troll doll facts.  

It turns out that it is perfectly okay to refer to these plastic atrocities as “damn trolls” as you are not too far off the mark.  The first collectible troll dolls were created by the Dam family of Denmark in the ’50s and are officially known as “Dam Things.”  

The most collectible trolls are black trolls, 2-headed ones (yikes), those with real mohair, and ones that appear to be the result of an animal pairing.  

DreamWorks animation has acquired the film rights to the Damn Things troll dolls and, apparently, plans to use them in a feature film.  This would truly be a horror flick.

That’s enough about troll dolls.  I’m getting hives.   

What things freak you out?  

Photo credits:  Old folk on Rascals (, Panic attack (, Happy Place (, Giant Cleat (, “Go To Bed” (;clown pillows: handstitched (, Cheshire cat grin (, 5 o’clock shadow clown (, hole in head (, impressionist clown (, pompom fringe (; El Camino (, troll tattoo (

Embiggening AND inspiring! Who knew?

Yay!  I have just received two simultaneous nominations for this award and am VERY excited!  I must thank and, two wonderful Queens of Blogging Awesomeness.  Seriously.  You must check them out.

Now, I get to pass on the good cheer.  But first, there are a few rules to adhere to:

 1. Display the award logo on your blog.

2. Link back to the person who nominated you.

3. State 7 things about yourself.

4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.

5. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

Okay, so the logo is firmly in place and quite pretty, I must add.  My lovely nominators have been thanked and linked to.  Now I must share 7 things about me.  I must warn you in advance that they will likely be very random.

1.  I currently have Hickory Sticks breath.  When I burp, it tastes really good.  I haven’t had them in years and had forgotten how damn salty they are.  My tongue feels like I’ve attacked it with an SOS pad.  But without the blue soapy stuff.  That would make me look like a rabid Smurf.  For some reason, I have just been reminded of an episode of Seinfeld.  “Damn, these pretzels are making me thirsty.”

2.  I love to collect Vintage pop culture and advertising icons.  As you know, I am a Canadian.  Up here, when we hear the name “Hostess” we think of a potato chip company with two lumpy mascots called “munchies.”  We rarely eat Twinkies.  We can get them here, but I think the only people that buy them are Americans seeking a slice of home.  Despite our lack of Hostess pastry-cravings, I did go out in search of pop culture memorabilia when I heard of the company’s demise.  What did I find?  A twinkie holder dressed like a cowboy.  Twinkie holders?  Seriously?  I can’t imagine eating so many twinkies that I need a special holder for them.  Oh well.

3.  I am, perhaps, the only person that really enjoyed the advertising campaign starring Arby’s Oven Mitt.  And the Leon’s ad about “rows and rows of sofa bushes.”  (I bet no one remembers that one).

4.  I LOVE cars and auto shows.  I long for a bright blue 67 Mustang fastback, so I could do the vintage auto circuit.  But I’d also like a Citroen DS–just because.  Or a Karmann Ghia.  Or an old Datsun 280.

But I don’t want to be parked near the El Caminos.  They scare me.

5.  My husband and I are barbecue opposites.  He hates barbecued food.  Seriously.  I, on the other hand, love food with lines on it (you know…from the grill).  Baked potatoes on the bbq are the best.  But our household remains barbecue-free.  And my food remains free of lines.

6.  I remember throwing up grape soda a lot when I was a kid.  I wonder why my parents kept giving it to me.  I was also convinced that tow trucks broke cars.  It made perfect sense.  Every time I saw a broken car, there was a tow truck involved.

7.   I love beet tops.  I hate beets though.  I just grow them for the tops.  But then the #%&* goldfinches come along and eat them.  Good thing their cute…the birds.  Not the beet tops.  Fiddleheads are delicious too.  And while I’m on the subject of vegetables, I must ask a question.  Why on earth would anyone buy a canned vegetable?  Short of stocking a nuclear fallout shelter, I can’t imagine ever opting for a canned pea.  A fresh or frozen pea, at least, still resembles and tastes like a pea.  A frozen one looks like a mushy booger and tastes like tin water.  The only veggie that seems to weather the canning process fairly well is the canned potato. Maybe I just like them because they are small and cute (like me…hehe).  And much less intimidating than their large Russet cousins.

And now, 15 other bloggers that are VERY inspiring!!  
















I could probably nominate 15 more, but rules are rules.  I must now reward my hickory stick-damaged tongue with a glass of cold and, most importantly, WET water.

My retinas burn, I’ve got a mattress on my face, and I seem to have lost my eyebrows

“Push Bob off the ladder. He’s messing with the clock again.”

Why on earth do we turn back the clocks in November?  Seriously.  I miss daylight.  And no matter how much Vitamin D I pump into my body, I still feel like I’m in a mental fog.  Apparently, I’m not the only one.  The other day, my husband asked me to pick him up at 12′ long sub from Subway.  I don’t think he realized what he had said until I asked him how I would get it home.  Strap it to the top of my car?  Which we both thought would be funny.  My car is really small.  And it is also the shiniest, most polish-laden car to ever grace the face of the earth.  Seriously, I think it can be seen from space.  So, he immediately had to say something about mustard stains on my roof.  See, this sunlight deprivation is affecting both of us.  And not in a good way.  I am so stupid that I even decided to write about this.

I’m still finding clocks that show the wrong frickin’ time.

And to think that it is only November.  And that the shortest day of the year is still over a month away.  I may be a drooling, incoherent, one-brain-celled idiot by the time April rolls around.  Seriously.  You haven’t met “Winter Me” yet.  And for anyone who ever doubted that God has a sense of humour, I present Exhibit A.  He placed me about as far away from the equator as possible–Canada.  Ugh.  Yes, I am angling for an invite to somewhere warm and shiny.  Really.

I, too, would hug the sun. But in a much kinder, gentler, fashion.

“My car smells funny and I don’t know why.”

1)  Like I said, this lack of daylight makes me stupid.  Not stupid enough to park between two dumpsters, mind you.  No amount of scented pine trees hanging from my mirror could combat that stink.  Not to mention the fact that I’m a tad bit of a neurotic germaphobe.  I’d probably have to throw out my car.  My very polished car.  Which would suck.  I have a fortune invested in it in car care products alone.  Anyway, back to the photo at hand.

Despite his lack of couth or his nasal impairment, this individual does show a remarkable talent for parallel parking–something that I avoid at all costs.  Seriously,  this dude could give lessons.  I don’t know how he even did that.

Maybe he didn’t.  Maybe his roommates are getting revenge on him for snoring or eating the last Eggo.  Strategically placing bins of trash around someone’s car does sound like fun–except I’d have to boil my hands afterwards.  Not fun.  I’ll stick with shaving off people’s eyebrows.  Not that I’ve ever done that.  Yet.

 2) If you are feeling tired (living a sunlight-free, vampire-ish existence will do that to you), I would not recommend viewing this video.  Way too many comfy, white mattresses.  On a cloudy day.  You don’t even get to enjoy the sunshine vicariously.

I love sleep.  My life gets in the way of it though.  But I think I’ve found the perfect hobby.  Mattress Dominoes.  And I’m not alone in my fascination for a sport that only requires a Sealy Posturepedic.  It turns out that competing for the Guinness World Record for the largest game of Mattress Dominoes is a favourite global pastime.  Who knew?  Well, apparently everybody but me.

This particular attempt to secure this record was made at NYC’s Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum in 2010.  Participants had to be taller than 4’11”.  Yay!  Finally, something I am tall enough for.  While they managed to “topple” 380 standing sleepers, the record has been broken several times since.  The current record is 1001 mattresses and was set earlier this year in a Shanghai shopping mall.

This post is making me yawn.  You too?  Shut up.

3) I love to make fun of Justin Bieber, even though he is my fellow Canuck.  Well, it turns out that he has, perhaps, one of THE shiniest cars ever.  Blindingly so.  It looks like it’s made of Reynold’s Wrap.  Before you’ve crinkled it up to cover your turkey sandwich.

I wonder how many retinas he’s fried with that thing?

Damn it! Now he’s killed the other eye.

These are just a few other shiny cars I found.

Barry Weiss’s (yes, I am still harbouring that crush) Decoliner. Very shiny.

Flo Rida’s ultra shiny, chrome Bugatti. That’ll suck your eyes out on a sunny day.

I haven’t got a clue who William Gallas, the soccer player is, but he does have a pupil-pinchingly shiny Mercedes McLaren.

















And if you’d like to see more of Barry Weiss’s car collection, check out my social media experiment :Searching For Barry Weiss

Photo credits     Messing with Clock (Wikipedia), Mound of Clocks (,  Smothering the Sun (, dumpster parking  (, eye pain (,  Barry Weiss decoliner ( Flo Rida Bugatti (, Gallas McLaren (

How to embarrass your car on a budget.

“You take the money and I’ll grab the eyeballs.  Oddly enough, that’s not the first time I’ve said that.”  Barry Weiss, Storage Wars.

I want a nose for my car.  Every now and then, I see a car driving down the road sporting a shiny, red proboscis and I think to myself, “Self, we’ve got to get our paws on one of those.”  And, no, I am not making this up.  There are people in my town with car noses.  There’s even one automobile that sports eyelashes.  Maybe it’s just my town.  Must be the drinking water.

My car is not totally without facial features.  It has teeth.  Yes, I just said “teeth.”  Not the ghastly, “I-want-to-suck-your-Carotid-artery” kind.  Just happy, smiling, Osmond-white chompers.  You are likely wondering where I found such an awesome ornament.  (What?  You are not wondering where, but “why?” I don’t understand.)  They are the non-edible part of a candy/toy combo that I spied at Walmart.  It’s amazing what you can find when you possess the intellect of a small child.  My apologies to small children everywhere.

Yes. My car longs for one of these (or so I like to imagine).

During my search for the perfect breathing apparatus for my car, I discovered “Red Nose Day,” a Comic Relief-inspired, British charity event that encourages people and automobiles, alike, to sport a shiny, red nose.  Sure, we idiots across the pond will adopt blood pudding, Haggis, and other UK-spawned spare animal part dishes. Heck, we even opened our airwaves to…ugh…Benny Hill.  Why on earth have we not embraced the opportunity to wear giant red nostrils?  It’s even for charity.

What the hell is that grabbing my leg?

1)  Spotted dick aside, the Brits have given us a number of things that I am thankful for–Blackadder, Hyacinth Bucket, The Smiths, Death at a Funeraland fish & chips, to name a few.  But here is one tradition  that I’m not sure I’d greet with such fervour.  Yes, from the people that brought us the treacherous sport of Cheese Rolling, I now present–Bog snorkelling.

Once a year, strangely dressed, muck-and-mire enthusiasts descend upon Powys, Wales for their chance to win roughly $200 US and a mention in the Guinness World Records.  All breathing must be done through your snorkel and you can only move using flipper power.  And, apparently, the water is nut-shrivelingly cold–not that I own a pair.  I’ve just been told.

Seriously, I love to swim as much as the next person.  But swimming in a bog carved out of peat moss?  There’s isn’t enough chlorine in the world that would make that seem alright.  Ack.

I bet a removable nose would come in handy, especially during flu season. Or would the snot just run freely down your face? Hm.

2)  Some noses are cute.  Bert and Ernie’s bulbous orbs of felt.  Long aardvark snouts.  The whiskered hamster variety.  And perfectly round, red ones on cars.  (I know.  Give it a rest already).  It turns out that they are more than just cute and useful in oxygen intake.  They have many uses.    Noses hold eyeglasses in place.  They give you something to pick when you’re bored.  They make it possible to “thumb your nose” at annoying neighbours.  And, apparently, they can blow up balloons.  Honest.  Here’s the proof…

Just what you want to explode at your child’s birthday party–a mucous-filled, booger-encrusted balloon.  Ack.

But, wait!  It gets worse.  A nose can also be used to blow a marshmallow across the room into a moron’s open mouth.  Yes, two gifted individuals from Illinois achieved the world record for pitching and receiving this nose candy over a distance of 16 feet.  I hate marshmallows at the best of time, but this would truly be a marshmallow nightmare.  Let’s hope they used the green ones.

3)  Noses, eyelashes, and teeth aside, I love cars.  Especially ones that sound mean.  Rather than spending a lot of money getting a tricked out exhaust, I’ll think I’ll just drive around with this guy making throaty car noises over a loud speaker.  Check it out…


And no automotive blog would be complete without this baby…

Barry Weiss’s awesome 1955 Ford Bubble-top Beatnik. No nose required for this baby.

If you’d like to see more of Barry Weiss’s car collection, check out my social media experiment at: Searching For Barry Weiss.


Photo Credits: Smart nose car (, bog snorkeling (, the Beatnik (

I was driving in my furry car to see the Captain of Beans when my arm fell off.

Last night, I made the mistake of saying aloud, “I like wind.”

My husband, who never passes up a chance to be funny, quickly responded “Is that why you fart so much?”

I’m a bit of an attention hog, myself, so I deftly replied, “Yes.  And I’m really upset that I can’t put my ass in front of my face.”

This is the sort of banter that takes place in my house all the time.  But that’s not where I was going with this post.  The fact is that I LOVE wind.  The type created by Mother Nature, not Libby’s brown beans.

I so wish I could pretend to be a dog and stick my head out the car window, but let’s face it–I’d probably get my head lopped off by a mailbox or something.  Instead, I play it safe by sleeping in front of a fan.  Yes, we have central air, so it’s not because I’m hot.  In fact, sometimes I’m downright cold.  But the wind feels damn good.  Even if it is frigid.

And in the car, I never use the a/c–which is a major accomplishment.  It gets pretty darn hot and sticky here in the summer.  (Yup, I’m Canadian.  And, yes, we do get heat.  Eh?)  My husband, however, loves air conditioning.  You might think this causes a dilemma.  Not at all.  Our car is the Switzerland of automobiles.  His half of the vehicle is like a chilly, sealed-off, tomb with all the artificial air-pushing vents pointed in his direction.  My side has the window wide open and my arm flapping in the fresh, “real air” breeze.

The only problem is that insects travelling at 85 kms an hour hurt.  My arm has seen–or rather “felt”–it all.  Errant beetles, fuzzy bees, and God knows what else has been smucked against my tender flesh.  I know.  You’re saying, “How do you think the poor bug felt?”  I’m not without a soul.  I also feel sorry for the bugs.  But I cannot stop.

On an unrelated topic, I heard this joke on Ellen the other day.  What did the zero say to the eight?  I like your belt.

1)  What do you get when you cross a beetle and a rhinoceros?  Apparently, the ugliest bug ever.  Seriously, look at that thing.  It’s name is the “rhinoceros beetle” and I must say that both I and my arm were relieved to learn that it resides in the Far East.  And I don’t mean East as in Newfoundland–I mean China and Japan.  My heart does go out to my Japanese and Chinese arm-flailing counterparts though.  Having one of these careen into your arm would probably leave you…well…armless.

If you’re a regular follower of my blog–and if you aren’t, what is wrong with you?–you will know what a fascinating place Japan is.  Well, the home of the girlfriend pillow, tomato chocolate, the suction cap helmet, and so much more has struck again.

While we wimpy North Americans play with our pet Labradoodles and listen to the Snuggle Bear sell us laundry products, the Japanese are seemingly immune to such soft and cuddly façades.  They appear to prefer sharp and crunchy, particularly when it comes in the form of the rhinoceros beetle.  Pet stores sell them for $5 to $10.  In some places in Japan, you can even get one in a vending machine.  Hopefully, not the same one that dispenses Coke and Doritos.

They are also popular cartoon characters.  This makes me wonder what we are missing out on.  Perhaps, we should also embrace the insect world.  Monty the Mosquito?   David Dung Beetle?  Maybe these should be the subjects of the next Pixar flick.

2) One Beetle that I am a HUGE fan of is the Volkswagen variety.  You’ve got to love a vehicle that gives you permission to punch people.

The clever folk at the Dallas Arboretum have discovered a way to create soft fuzzy, colourful Bugs.  Meet the VW topiary Westfalia and Beetle pair.  These former street vehicles have had their proverbial guts removed and some sort of plant-friendly caging or meshing attached and “voila”–look at how pretty they now are!

This would make Herbie proud.

3) Japan is not the only place where I find strange things.  The UK has its fair share.

Meet “Captain Beany”–yup, that is what he “officially” goes by–the Curator of the Baked Bean Museum of Excellence.  Mister Beany–I refuse to recognize his self-appointed ranking–has amassed over 200 artefacts in his Port Talbot, Wales museum.  Um, he refers to it as a “virtual haricot heaven.”

So, there you have it.  If you consider yourself to be a bean fiend, this just may be the place for you.  But I don’t see any Libby’s.

In honour of all you busy-bowelled bean eaters, here is a clip of the famous Blazing Saddles bean scene:  

And, course, I couldn’t have a blog that mentioned “beans” without at least one clip from Mr. Bean.  

Photo Credits:  Ugly bug (, VW topiaries (, Mister Beany (

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 (

Pig Eyes, a Unibrow, and a Dude With 23 Names

My head hurts.  I don’t know if anyone else gets this, but I have an eye that from time-to-time decides it no longer want to sit alongside my other eye.  It chooses, rather, to align itself with my left nostril.  Seriously.  The eyebrow always does what the eye tells it to, so it ventures downwards also.  Needless to say, I look like a freak.  On days like this, it is very difficult to apply eye make-up.  (I admit that I am a “girly” girl and venturing out amongst the humans with naked eyes is not something I do on a regular basis).  I have fare eyelashes.  Without my mascara, I have pig eyes.  Honestly.  Have you ever looked at a pig’s eyes?  I know that pigs are cute, but they’re cute despite their eyes.  And pig eyes really don’t work on a person.

So, now I look doubly freakish.  Not only do I have pig eyes, but they are asymmetrical too.  I look like a Picasso painting in the flesh.  Don’t even bring up the possibility of hiding behind my sunglasses.  For one thing, I misplaced those a couple of days ago, so I have been reduced to wearing a pair of old ones.  And they have green frames.  I think they’ve been kicking around since the early 90’s, but that’s no excuse.  Forest green frames.  What was I thinking?  Plus, due to the recent migration of my left eyebrow, I now only have one furry caterpillar sitting over my frames.  Sunglasses look weird when you can only see one eyebrow.  And drawing one over the left frame is not an option.  Imagine taking my sunglasses off and showing the world that I now have three eyebrows.  Okay, one is down around my nose.  More like a moustache to one side, but still.

Sorry for the whinefest, but I really needed to vent.  Does anyone else have this problem?  Seriously, my eye professionals are stumped.  I will now focus on the task at hand–my three facts of the day.

1)  Speaking of Picasso, I haven’t actually delved into the world of Art for any strange new facts yet.  So, here it goes.  The name “Pablo Picasso” is a good name.  Has a nice ring to it.  It flows.

Unfortunately, for Mr. Picasso–his real name is not quite so simple.  In fact, his full name has 23 words.  His complete moniker is:  Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio Clito Ruíz y Picasso.

Apparently, he was named for several relations and some Saints.  And everyone his mother had ever met.

I bet he never signed a cheque.  Who could blame him?

Van Gogh lopped off an ear.  Picasso whacked off 21 names or so.

Which brings me to this freaky little car.  This is a re-designed Citroen dedicated to and inspired by Picasso.  A British mechanic spent six months creating this masterpiece he calls “Picasso’s Citroen.”

Ironically, Citroen does have a model called the “Picasso” (pictured here).

Not quite sure how it got this name–it is rather staid for something inspired by the legendary artist who created humans out of cubes.  There is a Grand Picasso as well and it is rather mini-van-ish.  Picasso was known as a great Playboy–hardly the mini-van type.  I rather imagine him driving a giant phallic symbol like a 1970s Stingray or a modern-day Dodge Challenger.

Maybe it’s just  me.

2)  Like I said, pigs have small blank eyes.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  This little pooch pictured here, however, does not have that problem.  He has the antithesis to pig eyes.  The Marty Feldman of the dog world, one could say.

This dog’s penetrating stare has earned him the Guinness World Record for the dog with the largest eyes.  Not bad for a little lad that was once a pound puppy.  Bruschi the Boston Terrier‘s owner, Victoria Reed, says she didn’t notice her dogs large eyes until her friends commented on them.  Really?  Is she blind?  Is this her first time seeing a dog?

It was these comments that led her to contact the Guinness World Records people and the rest is history.

Not only are his eyes big, but they seem to point in different directions.  She didn’t notice?  Really?  I think she deserves some sort of award.

3)  When I think of a unibrow, Sesame’s Street’s Bert comes to mind.  Let’s face it.  Bert pulls off the unibrow look with style and finesse.  Maybe it’s the lemon yellow skin.  Or his tuft of black hair.  Whatever it is, it works.  On him.

Outside the Muppet world, sporting one large, unending eyebrow is not exactly going to win you dates.  Unless you are in Tajikistan.  According to Wikipedia, the women there are wild about the unibrow.  Apparently, it is a sign of virility.  Personally, I think it is a sign of not owning tweezers.

It turns out that George W. Bush also has a proclivity for synophrys (the official medical term for this condition.  Yes, it is a condition).  During his tenure as President of the U.S.A., George Double-Ya’s unibrow was divided in to two.  But in his early shots, like this one here on vacation with his wife, he clearly sports a Bert brow.

According to a Victorian criminologist by the name of “Cesare Lombroso“, people who are genetically inclined to having one giant eyebrow are also more likely to engage in criminal activity.  Hm.  Not only does George W. prove this theory, but many of TV’s not-so-nice characters possess unibrows (Bert, of course, is the exception.  If I were a Muppet, I’d marry Bert).  But here are just a few of TV’s un-friendly unibrows:

The Simpsons , Maggie, may be young, but not too young to have an arch nemesis.  This is him.  Notice that this evil baby sports a unibrow.

Lemony Snickett’s A Series of Unfortunate Events’ Count Olaf dons a handlebar-style unibrow.

 And, of course,  The Men Show’s Mr. Stubborn and Mr. Grumpy (the ones with the negative traits) also have eyebrows that meet in the middle.

If I had a unibrow, would it stay in place or would I have one giant lopsided eyebrow?  Thanks to my Tweezerman pointed tweezers, I’ll never have to find out.

Photo Credits:  Picasso’s Citroen (,  Citroen Picasso, (, Big-eyed dog (Guinness World,  George W. Bush (, Simpsons baby (  Count Olaf (,

Tainted Mayo, Candles for Men, A Dumb Car, and A Big Nose

“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”  Woody Allen. 

One of my friends has a t-shirt that says “I see stupid people.”  This is brilliant.  And, unfortunately, quite true.  Needless to say, I encountered one of these “stupid” people in the grocery store.  I should have known that this woman was not rocket scientist material when I saw her hovering over the expired mayonnaise in a clearance cart.  Expired mayo is the last thing this girl would ever eat…my mama didn’t raise no dummies.

Apparently, I am not alone in these thoughts as another bystander openly expressed her disgust over the toxicity of ancient egg products.  She told the mental midget that there was no way she would buy expired mayo, no matter what price it was.  The “stupid person” then said that she doesn’t worry about stuff like that at all.  In fact, her mayonnaise at home is well past its “best before” date and it’s fine.  And then she said something that got the other shopper and I retching and gagging in unison.  Her exact words were “I don’t even keep my mayo in the fridge.”  To which my cohort and I said, “you mean before you open it, right?”  And stupid woman replied, “No, I never keep my mayo in the fridge.”

This is why I hate potluck dinners.  I do not want to eat a dish prepared by a stupid person.

1) With Father’s Day coming up, I thought that this strange new product line was apropos.  The familiar Yankee Candle company has introduced the MAN CANDLE–yes, candles for men.  Why should candle-loving males be forced to endure feminine scents like lilac blossoms, butter cream, or lemon lavender?  While I, personally, have never heard any men complaining about the rampant sexism in the candle industry, obviously someone somewhere was feeling neglected.

Well, no need to worry now.  Yankee Candle has you covered with masculine fragrances like: 2X4 (does this smell like Home Depot?), First Down, Man Town, and my personal favourite, Riding Mower (which is supposed to smell like a freshly mowed lawn).

And if you think that’s impressive, I discovered another butch candle retailer called “Mandle Company” that carries a truly unique line of scented waxes–Stogie, Camp Breakfast, Campfire smoke, Kegger, and Pizzeria–just to name a few.

2)  If your dream car involves largeness or luxury, this probably isn’t for you.  I met this automotive oddity on an episode of Storage Wars.  On this particular episode, the ever-creative (and, in my opinion, yummy piece of eye candy), Barry Weiss, recruited a little person equipped with a pair of stilts and night vision goggles.  The now 7′ tall dwarf spotted a round piece of glass in the back of a unit and jumped for joy (carefully due to the stilts and all) and announced that it was likely a huge aquarium.

Barry, always willing to take a gamble, was the high bidder.  Needless to say, it wasn’t a large aquarium–but a small aquarium-like car.  In a storage locker.  Behind a pile of boxes.  And a mattress.

Welcome to the BMW Isetta–a 1950s “bubble” car.  Yes, it is not your imagination.  The only way in and out is through the nose–yup, a great safety feature, particularly after a front-end collision.  But no need to worry.  BMW has you covered.  If you should find your  exit blocked by a wayward vehicle of normal proportions, you should simply crawl out through the sun-roof.  I’m too short for this.  It’s likely that I could barely reach the top of the car, let alone pull myself out of it.

But I am not worried.  For one thing, I do not want a car that is shaped like a football–and is approximately the same size.   Furthermore, as I gaze at this feat of automotive genius, I realize that getting out after a head-on collision isn’t really a major concern.  You’d probably be dead anyway.  Even if said collision was with a wayward Junebug.

3)  Notice anything “outstanding” about the man in this photo?  Does anything “jump” out at you?

According to the people at the Guinness World Records, he is the proud owner of the largest nose on the planet.  That’s nothing to sneeze at.

Mehmet Ozyurek of Turkey has a honking huge proboscis–measuring in at 3.46 inches from the bridge to the tip.  Isn’t he the nosy one?

And one last pun…now you “nose” more than you did before.  I’ll have to beg your forgiveness for that one.