Tag Archives: Humour

Flat Cows, Numbered Turds, and Bananas for my Feet

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I am totally honest, I wouldn’t mind trying a pair of these.  But only when my neighbours aren’t looking.  You can get yourself a pair here: http://www.made-in-china.com/showroom/yuemaohkltd/product-detailAebnPfHjIEtD/China-Walking-Canoe-Shoes.html

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit:  moose turds (http://adriaandgarthtingey.blogspot.ca/2008_07_01_archive.html),

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

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am currently enduring my monthly time of misery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    See, they haven’t got a clue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits:  tampons with eyes (http://rachelrabbitwhite.com/the-strangest-ads-for-menstrual-products/).

The Sunshine Award!!! YAY!!

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , ,

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

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

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

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

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

3. Nominate 10 bloggers for the award.

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

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

1.  What is my favourite number?  

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

2. Favourite Non-Alcoholic Beverage?

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

3. Favourite Animal?

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

3.  Facebook or Twitter?

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

4. My Passion?

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

5. Favourite Day of the Week?

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

6.  Favourite Flower? 

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

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

1. http://thisthatandtheotherthang.wordpress.com/

2. http://mikesilvia.wordpress.com/

3. http://sarahmandl.wordpress.com/

4. http://fictionfreedom.wordpress.com/

5. http://todayinhh.com/

6.http://kitchenslattern.com/

7. http://familyhaikus.wordpress.com/

8.  http://wedelmom.wordpress.com/

9. http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/

10. http://theoctoberseer.wordpress.com/

Seriously, it is so hard to just nominate 10!  And, again, I’d like to thank http://palomasharma.wordpress.com/!!!!

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

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

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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).

The Daisy Award Nomination!! Woo-Hoo!

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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

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

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

The rules are:

* Thank the person who nominated you.

* Tell your readers 7 unusual things about yourself.

* Nominate some worthy bloggers.

The first rule was easy.  Again, thank you to http://palomasharma.wordpress.com/!!  Check it out, people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, I will makes some nominations.

http://wedelmom.wordpress.com/  This blogger cracks me up completely.  She is particularly gifted at poking fun at the strange things that we have come to accept as part of everyday life.  Very clever.  And funny!

http://justoutsidetheboxcartoon.com/  OMG!  If you need a quick laugh, you can always count on the cartoons by justoutsidethebox.  Really witty and twisted.  Love them.

http://sarahmandl.wordpress.com/  This blog always puts a huge smile on my face.  I am addicted to her Random Thoughts Fridays.  I definitely recommend adding this to your “Blogs I Follow.”

http://texanaskitchen.com/  If you are able to cook and laugh simultaneously, this is the blog for you.  Not only do her recipes cause me to drool all over my keyboard, but her stories are gut-bustingly funny.

http://theoctoberseer.wordpress.com/ This is hilarious!  It’s like reading someone’s random (and hysterical) thoughts in a diary format.  You’ve got to check this out.

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

I wish my nominator http://palomasharma.wordpress.com/ and all of my nominees the best of luck being the official Daisy Award winner.

Giant Farts, Epic Ear Fur, and Vultures That Stare

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”  ~Satchel Paige

It is happening.  Ugh.  I’m getting old.  The proof is on the top of my head–right in the middle. Where the part is.  Boldly sticking up in odd angles amidst my red curly hair are–I can barely force myself to admit this–GREY HAIRS.  As I have mentioned previously, I really screwed up when I went through the DNA-selection line-up.  It would seem that I opted for all the negative traits from each of my parents–the short, hammer-toed, freckly genes.  And the one that makes my hair shift from copper to white in my early forties.

My husband noticed them first.  Likely because he is a foot taller than me and spends a great deal of his life looking at the top of my head.  And also because he is the most observant person I have ever met.  Seriously, I live with a real life Columbo.  Except less bumbling and without the  wrinkled clothing.

So how have I coped with my unwelcomed white hairs?  I haven’t.  I pluck the ones at the front and my husband does the rest.  We are extremely careful not to pull any of the treasured reds.  It’s the ones that are white on the ends and red by the root that confuse me.  Is this a hair that couldn’t decide what colour it wanted to be?  I could see it starting out red, then getting tired and turning grey.  But why go from grey to red again?  Is my new Pantene condition the equivalent to Geritol for hair?

Can anyone explain this phenomenon?  Am I just a freak with mutant hair?

1)  OMG.  I nearly pee’d myself.  I realize that incontinence comes with getting older, but this time it was due to laughter.  Lots of it.  The source of my mirth–the Guinness World Record Holder for  the longest ear hair.

Seriously, who lets themselves look like this?  Apparently, India’s Victor Anthony does.  His flowing earlocks are 18.1 cm (7.12 inches) long.  Who lets their ear hair get longer than their head hair?

How the hell does he hear?  Just now I wound up some of my head hair and shoved it in my ears.  It significantly muffled the Jeopardy theme song.   Ah.  Now I know why he keeps it.

2)  Have I told you how much I love the Japanese?  Seriously.  The more I blog, the more I want to go to Tokyo and have a square watermelon, a tube of hard-boiled egg, and eat a square of a tomato chocolate bar.

I might even have to check out one of their cutting edge fashion shows like the one pictured here–An Adult Diaper show.  Seriously, first it’s grey hair.  Next, it’s Depends.

Actually, it turns out Depends is not our only option.  Diaper manufacturers showcased their newest models as happy and extremely dry men and women paraded the catwalk to 80’s hits like Frankie Goes to Hollywood‘s Relax.  How can anyone relax when they are wearing a diaper over their clothes?  On stage to boot?  And to make matters more complicated they are raising their arms in the air.  I could never do that on stage wearing diapers.  The nerve-induced pit-stains would clear out the whole front row.

Obviously, the Japanese are much braver people than I.

  3)  The older I get, the more I fart.  And they aren’t cute little popcorn farts either.  They are foamy-sounding monsters.  It’s like a giant balloon being deflated in my pants.  I’m not worried though.  No matter how bad they get, my flatulence will never pose a threat to Global Warming.

Yes, I went from farts to Global Warming.  Why?  Well, it turns out that scientists are now blaming the dinosaur’s intestinal tract for ancient Global Warming.  Yes, their farts were that bad.   It is believed that dinosaurs produced more methane than all of today’s natural and man-made pollutants combined.  Damn vegetarian diet.

Photo Credits:  Ear hairs,  (missosology.info),  Diaper Fashion Show (inventorspot.com), Vultures (http://bigeyedeer.wordpress.com/2007/07/03/this-cartoon-is-circling-in-the-sky-above-you/).

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

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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 (neatorama.com),  Citroen Picasso, (carautoportal.com), Big-eyed dog (Guinness World Records.com),  George W. Bush (unibrowclub.com), Simpsons baby (tvtropes.org).  Count Olaf (fanpop.com),

Poke Me In the Pancreas, Throw Me a Loin Cloth, and Don’t Call Me Dick.

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in July 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I wish I was a dog.  Seriously, dogs seem to completely lack self-awareness.  Either that or they possess the most skewed self-images found in mammalia.  As I’ve told you before, I am short.  Five feet tall to be exact.  I put up with short jokes, have to rely on the charity of others to reach cans in the grocery store, and pay exorbitant amounts of money on having my pants hemmed.  (Thank God for capris–finally, pants that fit.  Unfortunately, they are long pants on me.  I guess if I want actual capris, I’ll have to buy shorts.)

The entire world seems to be designed to remind me that I lack height.  And that I suck at basketball.  Short dogs, however, do not have these problems.  And not just because they don’t wear pants.  Or shop for groceries.  Dogs seem to be oblivious to their height.  Rodent-sized toy varieties have no qualms about running up to Great Danes and barking ferociously at them–perhaps, saying something like “hey you, get off my lawn.”  And more often than not, the horse-sized canine will do exactly as the little dog says.

Dogs seem to have no idea what they look like.  Maybe I should adopt the dog’s approach to life.  I am six feet tall and my legs are long and shapely.  This could become my new mantra.  “I am six feet tall and my legs are long and shapely.”  

But I know this will only last until I try to reach for a mug.

Hmm…according to Wikipedia, the average height for a female among Bolivia’s Aymara people is 4’8″.  Note  to self: look into possibility of emigrating to Bolivia and likelihood of acceptance into its indigenous community.

1)  I haven’t featured a bizarre Japanese product in a while, so I thought it was time.  Meet the “anatomical” sleeping bag.  I’m not quite sure what the thought process was of its creator, but I have arrived at a few conclusions of my own.  This would be ideal if you needed to accurately pierce a specific organ of a sleeping foe.  Perhaps a dagger through the heart of a napping vampire?

While camping, it would give bears an edge on selecting human delicacies.  Hm…I feel like liver this morning.  Now where is that?  Oh, ya.  Right about here.

It also makes skinny slumberers look muscular.

This model is currently sold out, but you can put it on your “wishlist” here…http://www.japastuff.com/products/381-anatomical-model-sleeping-bag.aspx

2)  (Time for another one of my awesome segues).  Speaking of body parts, it’s amazing the things one can learn while watching TV–even lame sitcoms.  Case in point–while “sort of” watching That 70’s Show (it never quite manages to fully capture and hold my attention), I caught Eric Foreman telling someone about a race car driver named “Dick Trickle.”  Seriously, that is his name.  Now if I had the name “Richard” and the last name “Trickle,” I never would have opted to go by “Dick.”  Maybe this guy has a great sense of humour.  Or maybe it was a marketing gimmick.  I will never forget that name for sure.

So, in case you are new to the world of Dick Trickle, here is a little bit about this man with the name that makes fifth-graders the world over giggle.  And some middle-aged women like me.

He is the short-track driver with the most wins in history.  He has logged over a million laps (I get car-sick just thinking about it).  And he has won over 1000 races.

Now you know.  This Dick can drive.

3)  Speaking of Dicks, what on earth is behind this loin cloth?  This is, perhaps, the creepiest roadside attraction I have ever seen.  And while doing this blog, I have seen a LOT of them.

This Bigfoot rendition is found in front of a gas station in the town of Vermilion Bay, Ontario.  He is 18 feet tall and weighs 3800 pounds.  And what the heck is in his mouth?  Is he smoking a giant cigar or is he chewing on a giant tootsie roll?

Apparently, Bigfoot a la Vermilion Bay was created one summer by someone who was just passing through town.  I guess he had time to spare.  Or asylums to hide from.

And to make this apparition even creepier, it is equipped with a speaker and has been known, on occasion, to speak to innocent sightseers. Maybe its maker is actually trapped inside.

Floppy Fingers, Stretchy Arms, and A Rainbow Vagina

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in June 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,


Genetics is a crapshoot.  Some people hit the DNA jackpot–Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, for example–and others don’t fare so well.  I would be one of these people.  I rolled the dice and this is what I got:

Tall Father + Short Mother =  Short Me

Thin Father + Generously Proportioned Mother= Generously Proportioned Me

Tanned Father + Fair Mother= Fair Me

Hammer-toed Father + Pretty Footed Mother = Hammer-toed Me

Fine haired Father + Thick, Lustrous Haired Mother= Fine-haired Me

Two Asthmatic Grandmothers + A Father with Plantar Fasciitis = A Wheezy Person with Sore Feet

I realize that I have just portrayed myself as a pasty, round, dwarf with a balding head and claws for feet.  This is not true.  I also have very thin lips.  No really, I’m not that bad.  I’m no Jennifer Aniston, but I’m not Godzilla either.  I think we all have things we’d change about ourselves, if we could.  First of all, I’d love to be about four inches taller.  I have thought of hanging by my feet in the hopes of stretching myself.  I’ve never seen a short bat.  This stretching thing would also make me much skinnier.  Think Stretch Armstrong.  Only permanent and without the really long arms.  And no black tighty whities.  Can tighty whities be black?

I really do believe in the old adage, “Never judge a book by its cover.”  Unless you come across a cover like this.

1)  This is just weird.  Someone actually thought that children all over the world would want to colour female genitalia.  What’s worse is that a publishing company also thought this would be a great idea.  And that someone out there has probably paid hard-earned money to buy it.

This raises another question.  Aren’t colouring books supposed to be colourful.  Last time I looked, my parts were monochromatic.

I had to check out a few sample pages at Amazon.com.  Curiosity got the best of me.  Well, here is what I found:

If you think your children would benefit from this colouring book, they have places for people like you.  Oops.  Must really learn to censor myself better.  As I was saying, if you would like to order this “educational” book for your child, you can get it here:  http://www.amazon.com/The-Big-Coloring-Book-Vaginas/dp/B000R0HU92.

I’m sure there will still be several in stock.  Bet these would make a splendid stocking stuffer.

2)  Sometimes, our appearance is not hampered by any genetic flaws, but by the choices that we make.  Anyone who watches Coronation Street will be familiar with Deirdre Barlowe and her horrific eyewear choices.  If you are unfamiliar, these will illustrate my point.  Lenses the size of garage doors.  I hope they at least help her see better.

3)  Extra fingers run in my family.  Unfortunately, I was born with the usual 10 fingers.  This is one defect that I would love to have inherited.  Imagine having an extra finger.  Think of how fast I could type.  This blog would have been finished ages ago.  And you would have finished reading it a long time ago.  Ah, now you wish I had that sixth finger too, don’t you?

This condition is called Polydactyly and is usually found in people, dogs, and cats.  It is most commonly located by the little finger, but can also develop beside the thumb.  According to some sources, it occurs in 1 of every 500 live births.  Hm.

Admittedly, my family’s sixth finger tends to be a useless, limp flap that just hangs there.  But I still think it would have been cool.  A great conversation starter at parties.

But it would have been hard to find gloves.

Photo credits:  Stretch Armstrong (www.simpsonspeaks.com), Colouring Book (amazon.com), Deirdre 1 (www.randrlife.co.uk), 2 (www.corrieblog.tv), 3 (www.telegraph.co.uk),  extra finger (usatoday.com).

Foods That Fly, Run Marathons, and Make My Pee Stink

Posted by facelikeafryingpan in June 2012 and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Summer is the perfect time for trying to eat healthier.  Lots of weird fruits to try.  Walmart had a mound of Dragon Fruits the other day–can’t wait to try mine.  Hope they’re an actual fruit and  not something that has been food growing next to a Japanese Nuclear Power Plant.  The price of produce this time of year is a lot easier on the wallet too.  I no longer have to re-mortgage my house to buy a beefsteak tomato, a bundle of asparagus, and some blueberries.  (I live in Canada.  The only thing we can grow in the winter is snow).

But there is a downside to consuming large quantities of fruits and vegetables.  For one thing, broccoli and cabbage stink when they’re boiled.  Forget grenades and machine guns.  Just wave a pot of cabbage water at the enemy and they will flee in terror for sure.  My house perpetually smells like a fart.  (Admittedly, not all of that can be blamed on the cabbage water).  Cruciferous veggies produce noxious gases, it seems, that must escape the body.  Noisily.  And with lethal consequences.  (Note to self: Adopt elderly dog to serve as scapegoat.  Or maybe an actual goat?  To scape?)  (Another note to self: google how term “scapegoat” came about.  Did it involve a goat?)

And, to make matters worse, this “healthy eating” is affecting my pee.  Holy crap!  Asparagus urine reeks.  The only thing worse than peeing out a river of asparagus juice at home is having to do it in a public washroom.  I swear the lady beside me must think I have something seriously wrong with my plumbing.  It’s all I can do  not to scream out, “It’s the asparagus’s fault.”  But, knowing me, I couldn’t just stop there.  I’d wind up in a through-the-stall rant about what this healthy eating is doing to my home and my innards–not to mention my social life–and that my husband has recently developed a hankering for beets and that, next, I’ll have to deal with beet-coloured pee staining the toilet bowl.

Rather than risk this, I simply let them think that my urinary tract is rotting.

1)  TV shows and movies often portray displeased audiences as violent, produce-hurling delinquents who, for some reason, always have a  tomato or two on hand for tossing.  I would never throw a tomato at someone–even if they were assaulting my ears with jazz fusion.  (Apologies to jazz fusion fans.  It is just not my cup-of-tea.  Nor is Country.  Great, now I have to apologize to the Country fans.  Note to self: shut up before you alienate your entire blog audience.)

If you are going to hit someone with something from  the produce section, at least a tomato is soft.  It is one of the edible orbs that most closely mimics the Nerf ball.  An orange does not.  An orange would hurt.  A lot.

So, naturally, humans have created a Carnival that revolves around exactly that–pelting other humans with non-Nerf-like balls.  ORANGES.

In the Northern Italian city of Ivrea, citizens and tourists alike come out to mark this festival with a very strange origin.  Apparently in the 12th or 13th century (the story varies from one source to another), a tyrant from a powerful family attempted to rape a young commoner on her wedding night.  He was unsuccessful as she decapitated him.  Not with an orange, by the way.

If you wish to participate in this tradition, seek help.  Sorry.  Those things just keep popping out of my head and down to my fingers.  Seriously, if you wish to play, you must join a team.  Tourists are warned to wear a red hat, which apparently serves as a “leave me out of it” symbol.  Heaven help anyone who isn’t made aware of this fact.  I, personally, would opt for a red goalie mask–but I’m Canadian.  Rumour has it that we never leave home without one.

2)  I love berries, but I hate the fact that they often come with their own wardrobes–fur coats.  Well, I may have stumbled upon a cure.

Using 1 part vinegar (white or cider work best) and 10 parts water, submerge berries and give them a good wash.  Apparently, vinegar is an enemy to mould spores and inhibits their growth.

Your little berries will remain “coatless” for much longer, giving you more time to scarf’em down.  YAY!

3)  It’s not every day you see a man with pasty white legs and black sport socks–and, oh ya–dressed up as a banana.  It’s even rarer that you see one running a marathon.  That’s exactly what Patrick Wightman of the United Kingdom did in March of 2011.

He managed a Guinness World Record-setting time of 2 hr 58 min 20 seconds at the Barcelona Marathon–the fastest time ever recorded for someone dressed up as a fruit.  There were others?  Wightman chose the banana shape because it was more stream-lined.  So, it wasn’t merely because he looked fab in yellow.

The “fastest marathon dressed as a vegetable” is held by a carrot.  No, really.

In Wightman’s defence, he did this for charity.

The following are random strangely-shaped produce.  I’m afraid that I wouldn’t be able to eat any of these.  Firstly, they’re freaky weird mutations.  And, secondly, some of them are just way too cute.  I don’t want to eat anything that’s cute.  That’s why I have a lot of turkey and crustaceans.  They have faces only their mothers could love.

Photo credits:  Orange fight (themagazine.ca), Berries (http://ottawaraw.wordpress.com/2010/09/14/beauty-in-the-raw/) Banana man (thisiskent.co.uk), Duck cucumber (FotosUp.com), Weird hand (nocutnews.co.kr), Tomato duck (xcitefun.net), Potato bear (FotosUp.com), Weird goose & pepper snake (xcitefun.net).