Stop eating from my toilet. Has anyone seen Bob?

My church is officially scent-free, so with yesterday being Sunday, I naturally began to ponder my own smell.  For the most part, I smell like food.  I’m not referring to the fact that I probably have a blob of this morning’s white chocolate peanut butter (I know–I’m obsessed) somewhere on my face.  Or the fact that I just had some garlic cheese dip that is more garlicky than cheesy.  (A mosquito flew by my mouth and died).

I am talking about the things that I bathe in and slather on during my daily “attempt-to-make-myself-human” routine.  Everything smells like food.  I have shampoo that smells like coconuts.  Brown sugar body wash.  My body lotion is black raspberry.  I smear vanilla in my armpits–which is an affront to vanilla, I’m sure.  I have even traded in my traditional toxin-flavoured mouthwash for citrus mint.  I consume my entire day’s caloric intake every time I sniff myself.

I’m surprised that more humans aren’t eaten by bears.  Don’t they like to eat honey and berries?  I’m basically a walking grizzly treat.  Maybe the human fascination with smelling edible explains the actions of the Donner Party.  They simply mistook Bob for a loaf of bread.

My humour has now reached an all-time low.  Even for me.

1)  I admit it.  I leave the house smelling like an all-you-can-eat buffet.  But some of the food groups are omitted.  I don’t want to smell like the dairy aisle–particularly parmesan.  I reserve that for the days my feet sweat.  Nor do I want to smell like anything from the meat aisle.  A whiff of liver paste is not sexy.  Unless you’re a Schnauzer.

But the Demeter Fragrance Company has done the unthinkable.  They have captured the smell of lobster and bottled it.  Are they freakin’ nuts?  Who the hell wants to smell like a dead crustacean?

Let me permit Demeter’s, the company that has also bottled fragrances under the names “Earth Worm” and “Funeral Home” explain.  This is their take on this fragrance (polite way of saying stench):

It is a mix of “the sea, sweet meat, and a hint of drawn butter.”  Really.  Sweet Meat?  That sounds like a bar I know.

If you want to get yourself a waft of some seafood smell, you can find it here  http://www.demeterfragrance.com/58083/704130/All-Classic-Scents/Lobster.html

And, while you’re at it, you may want to visit your nose specialist.   You’ve got something seriously wrong.

2)  I could hardly discuss toiletries and “eau do toilette” with mentioning the toilet.  It is, after all, the most important toiletry item of all.  Without it, the world would be a much messier place.  And walking would be a perilous sport.  And no one would ever wear sandals.

But I digress.

Until today, I didn’t have a “dream toilet.”  I didn’t know it was even possible.  But now I do.  I want a Toto Neorest, the Guinness World Record Holder, for the toilet with the most functions.  The Lincoln of Latrines.  The Cadillac of Crappers.

Of course, it comes to us from the brilliant minds of the Japanese.  Seriously.  I so want to go to Tokyo!

This baby has a heated seat and a lid that automatically opens and closes–hopefully not while someone is standing in front of it.  Ouch.  Not only does it clean itself (now that’s my kind of toilet) and freshen the air around it, but it also washes and dries the user.  And, wait for it.  It has a…REMOTE CONTROL!   I get the whole “cool” factor, but it makes absolutely no sense to me.  As a germaphobe, I don’t want to be handling anything that people  have been poking with their butt-wiping hand.  Ack.  Great.  Now I have barf breath.

3)  Before I brush the vomit taste out of my mouth, I might as well get through the third item in today’s diatribe.

We’ve all been to “theme” restaurants.  You know–50s diners, Ponderosa-like nods to the Wild West, and restaurants that revolve around cartoon characters.  The food isn’t always the best, but they’re fun.

But some themes are simply not meant to be around food.  Meet Hong Kong’s Modern Toilet Restaurant.  I’m not making this up.  I have no problem with the glass-covered sink tables.  Or the plunger light fixtures.  I do, however, have trouble eating from a toilet.  Even a brightly coloured, miniature one.

To make it worse, many of the menu choices are–well, mushy and poop-like.  On purpose.  Turns out this is a multi-franchised hit.  Okay, so it would be cool to see.  But that’s where I draw the line.

There.  Now I can brush my teeth.

Photo Credits:  lobster fragrance (dailymakeover.com), grater (fonemenu.com), toilet bowl (hahaha) (intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com).  

Pass Me an Arm, Keep An Eye (or 3) On My Hair Hat, And Get Off My Beard

I am breathing a sigh of relief.  I am back to my blog–my comfy little corner of the on-line universe where I can unleash my inner weird and totally be myself.  Without fear of men dressed in white backing a van up my driveway and carting me away.  Mainly because they don’t know who Face Like A Frying Pan is.  I am safe in my anonymity.  My sleeves are not yet tied behind my back.

Something got me wondering the other day.  Why are there bald hairdressers?  Seriously.  First impressions mean a lot to me.  I won’t get my car fixed by someone who takes the bus.  Or rides a Schwinn.  I won’t use a realtor that lives in a shack.  Or worse, his parents’ basement.  And I won’t get my hair done by someone who doesn’t have any.

That may seem harsh, but practice makes perfect.  If someone said to me, “Please shave my face,” I wouldn’t know where to start.  I have a face, but it does not have hair on it.  Especially thanks to the girl who waxes my upper lip.  And, no, she doesn’t have a moustache.  If she did, I wouldn’t go to her.  But back to the point I was trying to make.  Homer Simpson knows how to shave.  He does it every morning.  He’s had practice.

Homer Simpson probably doesn’t know how to layer my hair.  He doesn’t have any hair to layer.  I sure as hell wouldn’t trust him with highlights, or heaven forbid, a perm.

Oh ya, and on unrelated topic.  I saw three matching gloves in the middle of the road the other day.  I know we’ve already discussed the whole “clothing on the street” thing, but this find disturbed me.  THREE GLOVES!  Who the hell needs three gloves?  Is there a strange new race nearby that has three arms?  Are they planning to take over the world?  I live really close to a nuclear power plant.  Anything is possible.

Wow!  I actually found a baby that was born with three arms.  There are many times that I wished I had an extra arm.  The world would call it a birth “defect,” but I think this little one is our superior for sure.  Three arms!  And I was disappointed that I didn’t inherit my family’s extra finger.

1)  Now here is a man that I would trust with my coif.   Seriously, this man knows his way around a hair follicle.  In fact, he is the Guinness World Record holder for the person with the longest beard.  His name is Sarwan Singh and he’s a fellow Canadian.  Maybe he grew it to keep warm.

At 7′ 9″, this hair snake hasn’t stopped growing.  I bet his he clogs the shower drain.  Does he worry about it strangling him in his sleep?

It would be quite ironic if under his turban lurked a shiny, bald head.

And if you happen to be a bald, aspiring hair stylist, there are ways to give the illusion of full and lustrous locks.  How about a hair hat?

Ravishing, aren’t they?

You can get these at http://www.prankplace.com

And, if those don’t work, try this:  

2) The Simpsons‘ nuclear (or as Homer says “nucular”) powerplant hasn’t caused three-armed humans–as far as we know–but it has created a species of three-eyed fish like Blinky, pictured here.  As far as cartoon fish go, Blinky is pretty cute.  Even with his extra feature.  But most real-life fish are–well-ugly.  My apologies to any readers who have ever  been told they resemble a piece of seafood in anyway.  And to anyone named Gill.  But let’s face it.  Fish look about as bad as they smell.  Except maybe clown fish.  They’re pretty cute.  And I hate clowns.

Okay, back to my original train of thought.  Fish are homely.  Imagine one with three eyes.  Yikes.  Not exactly something I’d want on my plate or in my aquarium.  But, apparently, an actual Blinky-type swimmer was caught in Argentina near a nuclear facility.

I rest my case.  There is a three-armed man hiding nearby.  And now he has no gloves.  He must be really pissed.

3) We’ve all heard of “hand soap,” but this is going a bit far.  Actually, these goat’s milk and glycerin amputations make me puke in my mouth a little.  I do that a lot.  Can you imagine going into someone’s guest bathroom and finding these waving at you?

I just got a huge shiver up my spine.

Does this mean that somewhere out there, there is a huge pile of armless soap torsos in someone else’s loo?

You can “arm” yourself with some of these creepy appendages at: http://aplusrstore.com/product.php?id=263

8 for 20 bucks.  It won’t cost you an arm and a leg…just an arm.  Hahaha.

Photo Credits: beard guy (mapleleafsikh.com), Blinky & Real Blinky (kuweight64.blogspot.ca) 

I’ll have a bug salad, a toe-nail in my sandwich, and one beak slurry please

I am constantly being ignored.  No, this is not merely an attention-craving rant by a narcissistic “what about me?” Generation X-er.  I am a member of Generation X.  And I do crave attention.  But neither one of these facts has anything to do with this.

I was always the kid in school who would put up her hand and never get called on.  Unless it was during math class.  I always got called on in math Class.  I think the teacher secretly enjoyed my blank, clueless expression and stammering.  But all my other teachers seemed oblivious to my very existence.

Even as a grown-up, my presence is often over-looked.  Particularly in line-ups.  The other day, I was next in line at the deli and the server asked the woman behind me what she wanted.  After years of this sort of thing happening, I have grown bolder and simply said to the woman behind me, “I guess I am invisible.”  Cheeky, eh?  The server looked astonished that I had called her out on her blatant disregard for my paltry synthetic smoked poultry needs.  “Oh, were you waiting to be served?” She asked.  Seriously, did she think that I was standing in line because I was short of better things to do?

This “ignore that red-head girl” attitude is not only foisted upon me by my fellow humans, but machines tend to ignore me too.  Especially automatic doors.  They refuse to open for me.  I could do Richard Simmons-styled arm flailing followed by a dash of Elaine Benes‘ awkward kick-dancing and still, the doors won’t budge.

That would look like this    with a touch of this added 

Not exactly something that is easy to ignore, is it?

At first, I attributed my failure to be noticed to my extreme lack of height.  It’s easy to overlook someone that is a foot shorter than you.  I ignore kids all the time.  Oops.  Did I say that?

But then, another thought occurred to me.  What if I’m not being ignored?  Maybe I’m invisible.  Or worse.  What if I am simply a figment of my own imagination and I do not exist at all?  Note to self:  Stop filing income tax.  I bet that will get me noticed.

1)  Sometimes being ignored at the deli counter is not a bad thing.  What the heck is mock chicken anyway?  Something else pretending to be a chicken?  And, I’m sorry, but baloney is just a flattened hot dog.  And we all know that hot dogs consist of a slurry of leftover animals parts.  And what’s with meat/macaroni loaf?  We know the meat isn’t meat, but is the noodle noodle?

I suppose it could be worse.  If I ever walked in to the Walmart canned meat section and found a can of water bugs–not just the ordinary ones either, but the GIANT ones–I would drop my groceries and flee the store emitting a scream so shrill that it would put Richard Simmons to shame.  I know.  Quit picking on the poor man.

Well, apparently our friends in Thailand do not possess this North American squeamishness.  Canned tuna is for wimps.  Cloverleaf salmon for the faint at heart.  If you want a hearty meal, whip up a water beetle salad sandwich.

Okay, that time I really did throw up in my mouth.

2)  There may be some things worse than a bug salad sandwich, albeit not many.  One would be a sandwich lovingly prepared by someone’s feet.

Yes, that’s exactly how comedian Rob Williams of Austin, TX likes his lunches.  Foot made.  Gross?  Very.  But his nimble toes have earned him the Guinness World Record for the fastest sandwich made with one’s feet.

He whipped up a culinary masterpiece stuffed with baloney (he had to remove the rind), cheese (his toes managed to rip off the plastic wrapper),  tomato, mustard, mayo, pickles and lettuce , complete with olives on sticks, in a mere 1 minute and 57 seconds.  This included slicing the sandwich in half with his toes.  That’s some fancy footwork.

Toe jam sandwich, anyone?

Homer Simpson only has four toes.  He could never make sandwiches with his feet.

3)  I’ve always maintained that TV can be highly educational.  Unfortunately, I gravitate to more low-brow fare; therefore, my nightly education is limited to…well…this–the stuff you see in my blog.

Last night’s episode of Shipping Wars proved very enlightening.  To me.  One of the shipments turned out to be a 400 pound replica of the Simpson’s clan sitting in their trademark pose on the family couch.  According to the seller, only 86 of these movie theatre props were released to the public.

As much as I love it, I seriously could never justify dedicating a prime sofa location to fibreglass people–no matter how cute they are.  Plus, they look like a bugger to dust.

Photo Credits:  canned bug (www.sodahead.com), foot sandwich (http://www.robsho.com/), simpson clan (www.trendhunter.com), Bart (www.photoshoppix.com).

Ink on my feet, Froot Loops in my eyes, and a Handful of Vomit

My husband has been looking for a pair of reasonably priced black sandals for much of the summer.  He’s a tad bit picky.  And he has big feet.  Like skin-coloured scuba flippers.  With hair.  Well, he finally found a pair of affordable and massive footwear and bought a pair of spongy, comfy, and (hopefully successful) odour-eating insoles.  The insoles, however, were an unsightly loud colour and stood out like a sore thumb (or should I say toe) against the black.

Now, my husband is a very resourceful type.  No conundrum is too great for his mental prowess.  Don’t like the colour of your insoles?  No problem.  That’s what black permanent markers are for.  Well, after covering the obnoxious orange with flat black he modelled his fancy feet for me.  I was impressed.  “Very nice,” I probably said.  Or something like that.

The next morning, I entered the shower and was dismayed by the charcoal briquette-coloured footprints on the usually shiny porcelain.  Was there a giant licorice baby on the prowl?  Mm.  Licorice.

No.  No mutant snack foods around here.  Apparently, permanent marker is no match for a pair of sweaty size 13s.

1)  Yesterday was National Mustard Day.  If any condiment deserved a day of its very own, I would say its mustard.  So I suppose you are wondering why the heck I have a picture of broccoli (yup, that’s broccoli) on a post dedicated to mustard.  Or maybe you’re not wondering at all, but let’s just pretend you are.

According to the British Journal of Nutrition, we should be dousing our cooked broccoli spears with the yellow condiment.  Cooking broccoli kills its myrosinase–an enzyme that enables us to absorb the cancer-fighting and anti-diabetic compound, sulforaphane.  Mustard is high in myrosinase, so problem solved.

Head hurts.  Too many big words.

But seriously, mustard on broccoli?  Gack.  Just threw up in my mouth a bit over that one.

2) Speaking of throwing up–meet the Guinness Book of World Records‘ oldest vomit.

I don’t know quite what to say about this other than, “Ick.  Who the hell would want to hold a chunk of puke?”  Which is immediately followed by, “And who the hell would want a picture of them holding a chunk of puke?”  I’m sure this guy is a hero among his archaeologist friends.  This could be why I don’t have any archaeologist friends.  Some things should remain buried in dirt.

Well, back to the vomit.  Found in Peterborough, UK, it is believed to be 160 million years old.  What has something got to eat to have its barf last millions of decades?  Definitely not the cereal I had this morning.  Even if it was Fibre 1.  But that’s a whole other story.

3)  When I was a kid, I was taught it was wrong to play with my food.  I wonder if my failure to succeed as a cereal artist can be traced back to this rule?  Yes, I said CEREAL artist.  If I had been allowed to play with my Froot Loops (mm.  Froot Loops), I could have been the one to create one of these masterpieces.

My apologies to all the archaeologists out there.  I am sure you are quite interesting people.  No, really.

Photo Credits:  broccoli head (www.watson.org), vomit (www.newscientist.com), Larry King (www.metro.co.uk), Obama (www.buzzfeed.com), Pamela Anderson (www.metro.co.uk), Jerry Seinfeld (www.fakedpotatoes.com), Rice Krispie goose (http://sweetandunsavoury.blogspot.ca/),

“One Lovely Blog Award” for me? YAY!

I  am so excited.  I have just received the “One Lovely Blogger Award” from the awesomely witty http://allthingsboys.wordpress.com/.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.   Now, please visualize a short round person–let’s say a female Danny DeVito–doing cartwheels and backflips.  That’s me.  Watch me go.  I think I just pulled something.

Don’t worry.  My hands are fine.  Still able to type.

Apparently, I must now come up with another round of 7 Random Things About Me.  I have recently discovered that I am a very “random” person–I’m not sure if it was a compliment or a dig–but today, this skill (or flaw) will come in handy.

1.  I eat my food funny.  Let me qualify this statement.  I still use my mouth and chew and swallow like normal people.  It is my method of “organizing” my food that is strange.  Apparently.  I always save the best until last.  A Wunderbar involves eating the chocolate and caramel skin first.  The PB centre is my reward.  A piece of pizza must be eaten crust first, then toppings that are not cheese, then soggy pizza bottom.  Last and definitely not least, I eat the cheese.  Which could explain my problematic constipation.  It has occurred to me that I would eat less if I saved the worst for last.  But then I’d never eat my veggies.

2.  I love yard sales.  Don’t get me wrong.  There are aspects of rooting through other people’s junk that are rather…um…off-putting.  But every now and then, you find a gem.  Like my lamp with feet.  Or my rocking horse elephant.  A rocking elephant, I guess.  Or my tea pot with feet.  Hm.  Do I suffer from a strange form of foot fetish?

3.  I recently bought a big round brown pillow made of fun fur, put giant eyes on it, and named it “Skippy.”  He does not have feet.

4.  I lisp when I talk too fast.  Which is most of the time.  I am a fast-talker.  My husband thinks it’s cute when I lisp, so it’s okay.

5.  We hate a strange menagerie of wildlife that we feed.  A chipmunk named Snoopy (he has an unusually long nose–almost as if his father was a shrew) that comes when he’s called and sits on my lap to eat peanuts.  A red squirrel named Patches (he’s been in a lot of fights judging from his bald spots) that also lets us hand feed him.  Several blue jays that stand on the deck railings and stare until they are fed.  Crows that come for food when I call out “Big Bird.”  Yes, the neighbours think I am insane.  And they find pieces of food in really strange places.  In fact, if I looked at my neighbour’s roof right now, I’d probably see a slab of peanut-butter smeared bread stuck to his shingles or spread across his hedge.  And there are a lot of sunflower plants of “mysterious origins” sprouting all around us.  Hehe.

6.  I hate TV medical dramas.  I am far too neurotic and OCD to expose myself to hours of maimed and ailing people.  There simply aren’t enough airbags or anti-bacterial soap to conquer the fears that ER or Grey’s Anatomy would spawn in this manic brain.

7.  I snort when I laugh.  My husband does not think this is cute at all.

Now I have the honour of passing this award on to 15 Lovely Bloggers.  Again, I am sorry that I can’t pass it on to all of the blogs I follow, but rules are rules.

1.  http://jodiambroseblog.com/  She is hilarious and no topic is off-limits!!  She always makes me laugh out loud!

2.  http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/  I live vicariously through this blog.

3.  http://annaweezy.wordpress.com/  I just discovered this blog and she is hilarious.  Check it out!

4.  http://losjuevos.wordpress.com/  This is the quirkiest blog I’ve seen in a long time.  It makes me smile.

5. http://thisthatandtheotherthang.wordpress.com/  This is one of my favourites.  I like the way her mind works.

6.  http://palomasharma.wordpress.com/  This is one of my other favourites.  This girl can write!  And make you laugh.

7.  http://pickyniki.wordpress.com/  I just discovered this blog and LOVE it.  Imagine torturing yourself every day by having to eat something new and weird.

8. http://dearflash.wordpress.com/  Who wouldn’t love seeing life through the eyes of an endearing, short-legged canine?  No one, that’s who.

9.   http://killsharpcheddar.com/  A cool and eclectic blend of photos, cartoons, and thoughts.

10.  http://jefferly.com/  This blog is funny and intelligent.

11.  http://agingappropriately.wordpress.com/  Just discovered this blog and LOVED it.  Funny.

12.http://doninmass.com/  Quirky and witty.

13.   http://kitchenslattern.com/  My day would not be complete without the kitchen slattern.  Absolutely hilarious.

14.   http://motherhoodisanart.com/about/  Funny and clever take on real life with kids.

15. http://wedelmom.wordpress.com/   This is awesomely funny!!

I am about to tag all 15 of you.  You’ve been warned!

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 theimpulsivebuy.com 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: http://www.twinlotus.com/EN/product_detail.asp?product_category_id=5

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.  http://seemikedraw.com.au/page/2

Photo Credits:  koala (https://www.flickr.com/photos/dmmaus/171182088/), toothpaste (theimpulsivebuy.com), 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(http://mannaismayaadventure.com/2011/01/05/famous-%E2%80%98shoe-tree%E2%80%99-chopped-down-by-dastardly-vandals/),  clown sweater (www.motifake.com), white clingy top (jkimisyellow.me), beard hat (www.funny-potato.com), Uma Thurman disaster (www.ibtimes.com), short overalls (www.wackyowl.com) straw sipper with ugly sweater (courtyard-rv.blogspot.ca), Hawaiin explosion (DrDon.com).

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:  http://www.truck-nuts.com/

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: http://www.shopinprivate.com/subtle-butt.html

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 (www.impactlab.net), hot dog plane (http://keriene.wordpress.com/2012/07/05/hot-dog-plane/#respond), hot dog canoe (littlenummies.net), rice crispy car (fanpop.com), squash bus (xaxor.com), veggie bike (forum.xcitefun.net), milky way cars (www.speckledfreckle.com.au).

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:  http://www.myefox.com/halloween-joke-blood-pillow-p-267588/source/googlebase

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 (http://gramme2006.blogspot.ca/2011/04/twisters.html), girl and pony (http://jaytrobec.com/index.php/state-of-extremes/real-life-qdorothyq), 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 http://thebumblefiles.wordpress.com/ 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.  http://palomasharma.wordpress.com/  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. http://dearflash.wordpress.com/  Who couldn’t love a look at the world through the eyes of an endearing little Corgi?  I’m hooked.

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

4.  http://ilbelfarniente.wordpress.com/  This is inspirational, funny, and provides me with regular “a-ha” moments.

5.  http://laughinglovingeating.wordpress.com/about/  This is a brand new blog by a gifted young writer.  I look forward to her future posts.

6.  http://aninepoundhammer.com/  Beautiful photos abound. Today’s edition will truly move you.

7. http://jodiambroseblog.com/  She’s back and she’s funnier than ever.  This is a hoot!

8.  http://craighill.net/  This is filled with fun facts, pop culture, and new knowledge galore.  Very “embiggening.”

9. http://todayinhh.com/  This remains one of my all-time favourites.  Very clever.

10.  http://wedelmom.wordpress.com/  Funny, wise, and so much fun!  I love this blog.

11.  http://theoctoberseer.wordpress.com/  This is well-written, hilarious, and spot-on.

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

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

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

15.  http://jefferly.com/  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.