Nostrils Behaving Badly

I didn’t sleep well last night. And I blame my nose. Apparently, breathing in and out, producing snot, and providing a home for my freckles is not enough excitement for my mischievous proboscis. It has now decided to take up whistling.

If you have ever had a squeaky toy jammed up your nostril, you may know exactly what I am talking about. If you, however, are like most people and you’ve had nothing larger than your index finger rammed up your snotlocker, I will now do my best to describe the experience.

Jim Carrey fans have a bit of an edge as the rubber-faced comedian is no stranger to the perils of the squeaky snout. This clip from Me, Myself, and Irene adeptly illustrates the exact register in which my left nostril chose to perform. (Advance to the 5 min 38 second mark).

I’m not sure what exactly caused my situation last night, but I suspect an errant booger. And, no matter what I tried, it refused to dislodge. I blew my nose as hard as I could without rupturing an ear drum–although if I had, my nose whistle would no longer have been a problem. And, yes, I even embarked on my own archaeological dig.

There. I said it. “I picked my nose. And I liked it.” This confession is most effective when sung to the tune of I Kissed a Girl. Go ahead and try it out loud. “I picked my nose and I liked it…..” 

Everyone picks their nose. Hell, I bet the Queen of England has enjoyed a poke or two in her royal nasal cavity. It probably explains all the green dresses. And, I am fairly certain that George Costanza was right about Moses being a picker too.

Seriously. Desert air will do that to you. Forget worrying about bed bugs in your Vegas hotel room. Watch out for boogers, instead.

ed91109e29601a4b871248d2422632e0

When it comes to picking one’s schnoz, it is only acceptable to do it in private. And, no, driving in one’s vehicle does not constitute privacy. Windows are see-through and no one wants to witness you pulling a giant oyster from your left nostril. I think that the car immediately behind anyone who is caught elbow-deep in their honker should be allowed to rear-end said vehicle without fear of recrimination. “Officer, he seemed to be having difficulty getting his finger far enough up his nose, so I gave him a little nudge.”

It would probably generate the same result as this fancy manoeuvre…

I cannot leave you in good conscience without giving you one word of caution. Over-picking your nose can be hazardous to your health.  According to an article in the Daily Mail, 63-year old, Ian Bothwell, “died from a nose-bleed consistent with picking his nose.” Perhaps, he had a &*%$# nose whistle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

shovel racing

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

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

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

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

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.

AutopsyCartoon

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

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

And what happens if your hands sweat?

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

Heated mitts are clearly not for the neurotic.

I have to go.  My nose is bleeding.

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

A Petrified Hot Dog, A Lesbian Horse, and A Foot Named Mildred

The paper cut is a mysterious thing.  For instance, I could lop off an entire arm, leaving a gaping hole with a fountain of arterial blood squirting forth, and it would not hurt as much as a paper cut.  Albeit, the limb-removal is more likely to cause me to scream in horror, pass out, or perhaps, die.  But I bet the paper cut–especially one along a bending seam like a knuckle–would instill greater pain.  Not that I’d sacrifice a limb to prove my point.  After all, I was a kid who named my hands and feet.  It would be like cutting off a friend.  Left hand=Petty.  Right hand=Loyalist.  (yup, Loyalist).  Right foot=Snowy.  (Maybe I had perpetually cold feet).  Left foot=Mildred.  I was a strange child.

Forget waging war with machine guns and tanks.  We should simply throw shards of paper at the enemy.  Maybe we should be dropping bombs of 8 1/2 x 11″ sheets of photocopy stock on them.  And, if they are looking up, we may even be lucky enough to deal out a paper cut to the eye.  Yee-ouch!  That’s gotta hurt.

One of my many occupations is a part-time job in a book store.  I am no stranger to paper cuts.  You see, part of the problem is that space on the shelves is tight, so we regularly have to use Houdini-like feats to make new stock fit.  It does not matter that customers can barely pry a book loose from the Jenga-ish wall that we have created.  Our goal is to simply get the inventory out.  This leads to a lot of paper cuts.

Honest, all I did was pull out one book!

Honest, all I did was pull out one book!

But I have never bled on the merchandise.  That would simply be disgusting.  Although, I did sneeze on a book once.  I hope the pages didn’t stick together.

800px-Wrinkly_fingers

1)  Speaking of fingers, does it not strike anyone else as strange that prolonged exposure to water actually makes our skin wrinkle?  The moisture gets sucked right out.  Look at this thing.  It doesn’t even look like a finger anymore.  It looks like a dehydrated carrot or a really old hot dog.

According to researchers at Newcastle University, prune-fingers actually serve a purpose.  Apparently, digit wrinkles allow us to grab on to wet objects.  All-season radials for our fingers.

I thought this was a cool little fact.  Even if the picture does remind me of the episode of Seinfeld in which Kramer eats a really old, theatre hot dog.  Blick.  I almost throw up in my mouth thinking about it.  After all, I hate hot dogs–new or old.

Check out the clip, if you’d like a good laugh:  

Everytime I watch it, I get the dry heaves a little.

extra toes

2) Like I’ve said once before, extra fingers run in my family.  And, despite my mother’s sigh of relief when she discovered that I had the requisite 10, I have always wished that I had been born with extras.  It would have been a great conversation starter.  Plus, I wear mitts instead of gloves, so that never would have been a problem.  I probably could have conned some doting elderly person to knit me some six fingered gloves, anyway.  Plus, I think I would be able to type much faster.

I now introduce you to the feet of a six-year-old, Chinese boy who was born with 16 toes and 15 fingers.  I’m amazed at how perfect each little piggy looks.  After a 6 1/2 hour operation, the little lad now has ten fingers and ten toes.  And he has cut his risk for paper cuts in half.

3) Stocking the bookstore shelves is not always exciting.  It seems like I am forever putting out new offerings by Danielle Steele and Nora Roberts.  Ack.  How in the hell does Nora Roberts possibly find the time to write what feels like a book a week under her own name AND under her mystery-writing pseudonym J.D. Robb?  Has she undergone cloning?  Or is she not an individual at all, but rather a writing team?  Hm.  I really want to know.  If she is a real person, I suddenly feel like a lazy, non-productive writer.

I would love to stock the shelves with bizarre titles like these puppies that I found at Amazon.com.  Yes, these are real books.

weird book 1weird book 2weird book 3weird book 4weird book 5weird book 6

Even some of the descriptions are hilarious.  The “Lesbian Hair” author refers to children as pets with thumbs.  The coffin book claims that this is one project you will not want to put off and that it is perfect for people who want to be buried in their work.

And I didn’t know that horses could be Lesbian.

Photo credits:  finger (www.popsci.com), toes (www.dailymail.co.uk), books (amazon.com).

My nipple smells funny, my friend is an idiot, and Flashdance gives me flashbacks

I have always had big boobs.  Part of me is thankful for my “girls”, but having massive mammaries has it’s problems.  Particularly if they start to blossom before Junior High.  An eleven-year-old in the 1970s had no desire to wear a bra–especially the stretchy, beige, utilitarian number my mother picked out for me.  I think it was made from leftover girdle material.  Horrible thing.  It was ugly even by seventies standards.

It felt like the whole world could see my ugly bra.

Generous sweater puppets proved to be an asset in High School.  Unless you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I have always been a little person.  Only five feet tall.  And in grade ten, I had barely hit the hundred pound mark.  And most of it was boob.  My best friend, however, had ten inches on me and several pounds.

This is not what I mean by “sweater puppets.”

My wardrobe selection on that fateful day is important to note.  I donned my brand new, cashmere-like (my bank account was not in proportion to the size of my boobs), sweater–the kind with a steep V in the back and front that balanced precariously on the shoulders. Also the kind that you can’t wear a bra with because the straps would show.  And let’s be totally honest, there has never been a strapless bra that screamed out “Wear me.  I’m comfortable.”  My girls went commando.

Imagine this sweater is black and fuzzy. Damn sweater.

Now, my tall, full-figured friend also chose this day to debut a new article of clothing.  High heels.  Hitherto, she had never graced anything higher than the sole of her Adidas.  And she wasn’t a quick learner.

When choosing friends, height is an important and often overlooked consideration.

The bell rang, motioning the ant-like throng of pastel and argyle-wearing (it was the early 80s) teenagers to head to the next class.  Me in my sexy sweater.  My friend in her sexy heels.  Then it happened.  My 5’10” friend lost her balance and in her struggle to remain vertical, she reached for the nearest object–me.  In a split second, my new sweater lost its precarious grasp of my shoulders and, thanks to the gaping back and neckline, fell to my midriff.  The girls got their first glimpse of the general public.  And vice versa.

Needless to say, it took quite a while to live that one down.  But, thankfully, the next year someone lost their cheerleading underwear (yes, there is such a thing) in the middle of the football field.  My boobs were relegated a distant memory as her snatch catapulted to stardom.  Pantiless trumps braless every time.

When I stand too long, my nipple hurts.

1)  Okay.  Chandler Bing had his nubbin.  Zac Efron, Mark Wahlberg, and Lilly Allen have third nipples too.  This condition known as supernumerary breast tissue usually occurs along the “milk lines” of the body.  You know–in the boob-al region.

It has been recently discovered, however, that a 22-year-old Brazilian woman actually possesses a third nipple of her foot.  A condition that I call Nipple Foot.  Apparently, this misplaced nipple has been there since birth and doesn’t cause the woman any pain at all.

Talk about a conversation starter.  “Wanna see my nipple? Just a sec.  I’ve got  to take off my socks.”

2)  Any avid Seinfeld fan will remember Frank & Kramer’s business venture into male undergarments with the “Bro” or “Manziere.”  It turns out, they may have been on to something.

Meet Guo Qingpo, a 53-year-old Chinese man who has been cursed with giant moobs (a.k.a. man boobs).  After consulting with over 20 specialists, he was diagnosed with lipodystrophy syndrome, a condition that leads to uneven distribution of fatty deposits.  While most men would welcome the depositing of said fat in their zipper region, few would celebrate the onset of breasts.  No matter how much they initially enjoy playing with them.

Thankfully, Guo has successfully had his hooters removed and has been reunited with his pecs once again.

3)  I totally blame Flashdance for my brief dalliance into exhibitionism.  Damn those oddly shaped sweatshirts and the inevitable consequences to the fashion world.  It does, however, securely place my most embarrassing teenage moment (the adult ones have been much worse) in the year 1983.

While I was bearing my breasts, the most popular song was Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by the Police, the highest rated TV show was Dallas starring the recently deceased Larry Hagman, and the number one movie was one of my all-time favourites, The Christmas Story–a movie that, befittingly, showcased another body part.  The leg.  In the form of a lamp.  And en masse, people were naming their children Jennifer or Michael.

I loved the 80s.

Here’s a boob-bearing clip from Montreal’s Just For Laughs Gags.  

Photo credits:  Huge bra in street (http://blogs.herald.com/dave_barrys_blog), sweater puppets (www.amberdusick.com), dangerous sweater (www.thisnext.com), Mutt and Jeff (scoop.diamondgalleries.com), made you look (CartoonStock.com) Nipple Foot (www.dailymail.co.uk) moobs (www.asylum.com).

Embiggening AND inspiring! Who knew?

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

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

 1. Display the award logo on your blog.

2. Link back to the person who nominated you.

3. State 7 things about yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. mikesilvia.wordpress.com

2. jodiambroseblog.com

3. thegoodgreatsby.com

4. familyhaikus.wordpress.com

5. palomasharma.wordpress.com

6. clotildajamcracker.wordpress.com

7. ummmmheyyyy.wordpress.com

8. kitchenslattern.com

9. motherhoodisanart.com

10. wedelmom.wordpress.com

11. sarahmandl.wordpress.com

12. yogadogblog.wordpress.com

13. dottyheadbanger.wordpress.com

14. thisthatandtheotherthang.wordpress.com

15. onthehomefrontandbeyond.wordpress.com

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

My belly’s full of blisters, my organs feel squashed, and every time I sneeze my eyes fall out

Never pour boiling hot water on your belly.  You have likely never been tempted to do so, but if the thought should ever flit across your mind–ignore it.  It is not a wise thing to do.  I know from experience.

On Sunday night, I craved spaghetti with mushroom soup on it.  I’m not sure why.  Just roll with it.  I boiled the noodles and went to strain them in the colander when the bottom of my pot hit that thing (not sure what to call it) that divides the two kitchen sinks.  At first, I was concerned about losing the noodles to the cesspool that is a kitchen sink (don’t get me wrong.  My sink looks nice and shiny, but who knows what killer bacterium lurks there, waiting for its next victim).  And that’s when I felt it.  A huge surge of searing pain all over the surface of my belly (I’m not even going to discuss how large this surface is.  Just bear in mind that I did say the pain was “huge.”)  Yes, I am an idiot.  And yes, two days later I still have a rather massive red burn on my tummy.  And it is not happy at all.

The kitchen can be a very dangerous place–with hot water and all those knives.

Keep in mind that I live in Canada and that wearing a tube top in late October is out of the question.  And keep in mind, that I would not be caught dead in a tube top even in the sweltering heat of July.  I’ve tried the whole Daisy Duke “take-the-bottom-of-your-shirt-and-tuck-it-through-the-neckline” thing, but the little flap of material that hangs out from my cleavage keeps poking me in the burn.  Ugh.

Yup. My belly probably feels like this kids nose. But you’ve got to love the look on the crustacean’s face.

And I’m growing very tired of contorting myself in the shower.  Do you know how hard it is to keep one’s trunk dry in the shower?  Plus, doesn’t it defeat the purpose of a shower to begin with?

And my Keurig is feeling neglected.  I’m afraid to spill a hot drink on my belly.  It may sound irrational to you, but you have no idea just how klutzy I am.  If you did, you would tell me stick with cold drinks too.

Doc, I have a problem. My eyes hurt and my eye drops aren’t working.

1)  Yes, I did try to simmer my tummy, but it was an accident.  I can’t imagine torturing my body parts on purpose.

As a woman, I am rather attached to my eyelids.  Without them, my makeup would look funny.  And where would I put my eyelashes?   Not to mention all the dust and bugs that would pelt my cornea in their absence.

It seems that China’s Dong Changsheng is rather less “attached” to his lids.  Or at least, he will be if he keeps pulling cars with them.  Yes, he pulls cars using his eyelids.  Ack.  In fact, he holds the Guinness World Record for the “heaviest vehicle pulled by the eyelids” (there have been others?).  His accomplishment?  Pulling a 3307 lb. car a distance of 33 feet.

I don’t get it.  Was he just sitting in his garage one day looking at his stalled car and he got an itchy eyelid and thought I bet if I tow my VW to the mechanic using my eyelids I could kill two birds with one stone?  I could get a free tow and stop my eyelid from itching.

“I really wanted to achieve that perfect hourglass shape.  I just wish people would stop turning me upside down and placing me on my head. “

2)  Okay.  I’m jealous.  This broad has probably never burned her belly with a pot full of water.  First of all, she probably doesn’t eat.  And, second of all, I doubt she has the core abdominal strength to lift an empty pot, let alone one filled with liquid.

And where  the heck does she keep her internal organs? Her jeans must really bag at the waist.

This is Cathie Jung, the Guinness World Record Holder for the person with the smallest waist.  Thanks to spending 23 1/2 hours each day for over 25 years in a corset, she has achieved a 15 inch waistline.

Can I corset my entire body or will my head pop?

 3) Let’s face it.  Seinfeld‘s George Costanza had a crummy ambulance ride.  With a face like a human eggplant, a warring pair of medics, a collision with another vehicle, and a large hospital bill, things couldn’t have gotten much worse.  Or could they?

76-year-old, Edward Juchniewicz, was on a routine ambulance trip from his old age home to a doctor’s appointment when the unthinkable happened.  The ambulance attendant stopped to talk to a doctor and failed to notice that his patient’s stretcher was rolling away.  The contraption wheeled the poor man down an embankment and overturned.  He later succumbed to head injuries from the accident.

Am I wrong, but aren’t hospitals supposed to make people better?  I didn’t think they were supposed to strap you to a deathtrap on wheels and watch you roll down a hill.  This sounds like something that would happen to me.  Thankfully, our hospital parking lot is completely flat.

Here is a collection of accomplishments achieved by my fellow spastics.  I’m especially fond of the robot costumed kid.

How can my belly be burning hot and cold at the same time?  (Insert deep sigh here.)

Photo Credits:  leg saw (http://meanderthals.wordpress.com/2009/11/22/ouch/), nose pinch (horsemouth.typepad.com), VW meets eyelids (fastcar.co.uk), corset lady (www.heavy.com).

Hand me my chicken shades, my dog’s polka album, and a cough drop, please.

It would seem that my formerly mentioned head full of snot, which I had chalked up to being a mere summer cold, has somehow mutated into whooping cough.  Yes, I am being bested by a childhood disease.  I tell you–kids are tough.  I think if adults had to endure teething, we’d go ballistic.  Millions of newly-toothed adults pounding the snot out of each other.  Oops, there’s the word “snot” again.  I’m a little preoccupied with it.

And the term “whooping cough” sounds like it should be much more fun than it actually is.  I, in no way, feel like saying “whoop.”  I do, however, feel like beating myself over the head with a sack of hammers.

I remind myself of an episode of Seinfeld–come to think of it, everything reminds me of an episode of Seinfeld.

1)  Humans have been trying to “humanize” the animals around them ever since Noah crammed them into the world’s first cruise ship.  Poodles with parkas, pink dyed curls, and booties.  Need I say more?

This funky chicken appears to be enjoying her Elton John-esque, rose-coloured glasses–but don’t let her seemingly sunny disposition fool you.    In fact, these shades have been designed to prevent her from pecking her friends and relations…um…to death.  Yes, not all chickens are peaceful Foghorn Leghorn types.

I first came across these poultry accessories on an episode of Storage Wars.  Barry Weiss is not only easy on my 20/20 vision eyes, but he is also a fountain of knowledge–quickly identifying the mysterious objects as chicken glasses.

Check out this 1947 news clip.  You’ll be amazed by what passed for “clever banter” back then.  Not a glowing moment in our developmental history.

2)  We’ve all heard of shoes for dogs, but what about shoes that look like dogs?  Now you can say, “these puppies hurt my feet” and really mean it.

Created by Israeli designer, Kobi Levi, in 2010, these babies raised a few eyebrows…human and schnauzer alike.

I said, “Heel!”

3)  Snoopy thinks he is human.  He composes novels, engages in regular plane fights, decorates his doghouse for Christmas, ice skates, and prepares turkey dinners.  I’d love a dog that cooked.  Especially if he cleaned the kitchen afterwards.

Here are a few interesting facts about Snoopy:

He loves root beer.  Mm. root beer.

He’s afraid of large, dangling icicles.

His favourite brand of dog food is called “For Dogs Who Flew in World War 1 and  understand a little French.”

He was once engaged, but his bride-to-be took off with a Golden Retriever.  Must have been the hair.  And the height.

He plays the accordion and has a penchant for polka music.  Okay, that makes him a human with bad taste.

Here is a whooping crane.  I have whooping cough.  I don’t like this bird right now.

Photo Credits:  Chicken in shades (gp1.pinbike.org), Dog shoes (glamour.com), Snoopy (www.myfreewallpapers.net), whooping crane (www.birdorable.com).

A Tree Made of Rubber, A Head Full of Snot, and A Bike Named Bob

“For my birthday I got a humidifier and a de-humidifier… I put them in the same room and let them fight it out.”  Steven Wright.

Two days until the start of Fall a.k.a. Autumn.  I wonder why it has two names.  Actually, I really wonder how the name “fall” came about.  Is it because the leaves “fall?”  What if you live in a country where leaves don’t fall?  What if your surrounded by pines, or palms, or rubber trees?  By the way, rubber trees sound cool.  Trees made of rubber.  I wonder if they bend like Gumby.

In winter, the snow “falls,” so why didn’t we call it fall?  Why doesn’t summer have the alias “swelter?”  Spring could be called “smells like poop.”  I like that.  People would ask, “Where are you going for Smells Like Poop Break?”

I am currently suffering through a summer cold–soon to become a Fall cold.  My head is a throbbing cesspool of snot.  My ears can no longer do what they are paid to do–hear.  They seem to have decided to try aching instead.  Even my tongue hurts.  Who the hell gets a sore tongue?

On the upside, my husband is enjoying the quiet.  But I am going crazy.  I must yammer.  Thank God for blogs.  And a captive audience.  Assuming you’re still there.  (Insert sound of crickets).

And I’ve never actually seen a rubber tree.  If you cut one down, I’m sure the logs don’t bounce.  But I like to imagine they do.  For some reason, this reminds me of a Seinfeld bit…

1)  Speaking of bouncing, here is a ball that doesn’t bounce.  It’s made of cling wrap.  It clings.

According to the Guinness World Records people, this is the world’s largest ball made of cling wrap.  There have been others?  And this sucker weighs over 281 pounds.  The last time I looked, Saran Wrap wasn’t cheap, making this one valuable ball.  Not that anyone would want to use any of this cellophane now.  He’s put his feet on it.  And I think I see dog droppings in the lawn.

2)  Rubber Trees remind me of the Osmond’s and their brief TV Show, The Osmond Family Show.  Here’s a clip of a young Marie singing about that very “plant” in 1979…

I was never a fan of Donnie & Marie, if I’m completely honest.  I just remember that Donnie wore purple socks.  The whole family had very nice teeth.  I bet if they all smiled at once, the blinding, white light could be seen from space.  And they were all horribly sweet and nice.  They made the Brady Bunch look like the Manson Family.  My favourite Brady was the dog, “Tiger,” which is a cat’s name–a fact that confused me immensely as a child.  And, apparently, also as an adult.  That sentence consisted of nothing but words that start with “a.”  Cool.

3)  So, while Marie Osmond was singing about an ant and a rubber tree plant, what were Americans naming their children?  According to the Social Security Administration, 1979’s top names were:

Jennifer & Michael.

Out of curiosity, I checked 1929 as well.  Turns out Mary & Robert were # 1 then.

That’s why my bike is named Bob.  And my car.  Bob’s a good name.

Now, I must go blow my nose.

Photo Credits:  Cling Wrap Ball (Huffington Post), baby (blog.howdesign.com).

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).

The Daisy Award Nomination!! Woo-Hoo!

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.