Stop Right There!

I don't care.

So what if door stops in my house are completely extraneous.  I want one anyway. 

Nobody can really tell if a door is pushing back, right? 

It can be our little secret.

But I don't want the drab, dreary, old-fashoned doorstop.  You know the kind.  The right triangular shaped doorstop made from rubber or wood. 

(Do you like the way I introduced an element of geometry into this blog?   Remember.  This is not just any blog.  It's an educational experience.)

You're welcome.

So many door stops.  So little time.  How could I possibly choose one?

As you might expect, I'm particularly drawn to the Wicked Witch Door Stop.    No surprise considering my starring role in the Wizard of Oz, where I was solely responsible for lying underneath Dorothy's house and removing the Wicked Witch of the East's legs on cue.

I mean, talk about a high pressure role!  One can only imagine the disaster that would ensue,  had I not demonstrated such nano-precision timing in pulling on those witch legs before her evil sister was able to snatch the ruby slippers. 

But then again, I'm also very attracted to this adorable Dead Guy With A Bleeding Head door stop.  Wait.  I'm not sure he's dead!  Head wounds bleed far more than wounds in other parts of your body.  (It's because your head has more blood vessels.  You're welcome.)   

But my favorite door stop of all is the Pop Weasel Door Wedge.  Pop's eye pops out when he's holding a door open.  He comes from the road kill toy collection available at www.roadkilltoys.com.  And the best thing is the Pop Weasel comes with a death certificate and an "I Love Roadkill" bumper sticker.

Those are 3 very viable choices for door stops.  But you know what?  I've been inspired.

Yes.  I would like to introduce the most exciting door stop product of all times; one obstensibly absent from the door stop market.  

Indeed.  Rollerblade Barbie Door Stop should sell millions.  

If I could just figure out how to lock her skates.

Who Needs a Guardian Kitchen Angel?

That damn Guardian Kitchen Angel won't leave me alone!  She keeps telling me to step away from the recipe.

Listen, bitch.  Just because my Mint Chocolate Cake Cones didn't turn out EXACTLY as pictured in the recipe, doesn't mean I can't make this.

So what if I'm a cake decorating school dropout.  Leave me alone, Kitchen Angel!

Besides.  My enthusiasm more than compensates for my incompetence.

I agree, this recipe looks a wee bit challenging.  But I really, really, really want to make a Monkey Brain Cake.  Let me try, Kitchen Angel!  Please!

It only has 8 steps.  And only 21 Monkey Brain Cake ingredients and equipment.

You start by making a cake and stacking it.  No sweat!!  In step 2 you carve the cake to make it look like the face of a monkey, then "make the ganache on the top of the cake as smooth and flat as possible.  Y'know for resting brains on later."

How can I possibly resist this recipe!?!?!  Go away Kitchen Angel.

In step 3 you add the face detail.  Here's where I might be slightly challenged.  I got an "N" for "Not Yet" in Play Dough 101.  What if my monkey looks like Mick Jagger?  

Or Paris Hilton?

No!  I cannot doubt myself.  I'm sure my monkey will look exactly like the illustration.

Step 4 involves making the mouth detail with something called "Fondant".   (I believe they covered Fondant in my cake decorating class...after I dropped out.)  I have a better idea, anyhow.  I will use my fake chattering teeth instead.  

See, Kitchen Angel?  You of little faith.

Uh-oh.  Step 5 involves covering the cake with that Fondant crap.  I better have a glass of wine before attempting that.  And, in step 6, I will be hand-painting the face details.

Make that 2 glasses of wine.

Excuse me, Kitchen Angel, but I do not need your interference!  Stop doubting my capabilities.

We get to make the brains in step 7, using cherry jello and a brain mold.

A brain mold?  What the heck is a brain mold?  Do they sell brain molds at the Dollar Store?  I can't possibly abandon my project because I don't have a brain mold.

Kitchen Angel, help me find a brain mold!

Never mind.  Being the creative culinary genius that I am, I have already thought of an alternative.  I will use red dye #4 and macaroni noodles.  It will look way better than red jello in a brain mold.

I'm sorry, Kitchen Angel.  You cannot talk me out of this.

Besides.  They don't sell Monkey Brain Cakes at Publix.

The G Version

The one thing I like about my Drunken Mexican Toothpick Holder collection is its versatility.   They work great in any venue, ranging from a picnic to to the fanciest of country club weddings.

In fact, I offered to let my friend Becca borrow them for her wedding last fall, but she didn't want to upstage her caterer and potentially hurt her feelings.
 

That's how sweet Becca is.

I do recognize, however, that there is a segment of the population for which my Drunken Mexican Toothpick Holder collection is not appropriate: children.  My Drunken Mexican Toothpick Holder guys are, after all, inebriated.

I suppose you could concoct another scenario for their appearance.

"Mommy, why are those toothpick men laying down?"
"They're sun tanning, sweet heart"

"Then that must be sun tan lotion in the bottle they're holding, right?"

"Why yes!  Aren't you smart!"

But I do not support lying to children.  To that end, I went in search for a G version of my Drunken Mexican Toothpick Holder.

You're welcome.

And I scored.  I found a Justin Bieber 3-pack Action Figure kit that worked perfectly.  

All I needed was a hammer and nails.
 

(Please don't think poorly of me if I admit that hammering nails into Justin Bieber was kind of fun.)

But I'll tell you something.  That Skateboard Justin Bieber is way smarter than he looks.  He saw the writing on the wall and attempted a skateboard escape.

 

Not happening.

 

"Just relax, Skateboard Justin Bieber.  This is going to hurt me way more than it hurts you."

I know.  I'm a stinkin' marketing genius.  Look for the collection at my mall kiosk just in time for the holidays.  Your children will love them!

Push Here Dummy

I don’t think I’m asking too much.  Just push a button.  One or two times.  OK, maybe 9 or 10 times.  But it’s not difficult.

And I can’t always do it myself.   It’s very difficult to take a picture of your own arms, in case you’ve never tried.  Which is what I needed photographed last night.

 “Dave, can you come here and take a picture of me?”  He was laying on the couch watching the Brewer’s game.

 Big groan, followed by a snore.  I eyed him suspiciously.

 “You’re not sleeping.  Stop pretending.” 

He groused, “Stand in front of the couch and I'll take it."

“No!  I’m making my arm warmers on the table.  My blogs have to be historically accurate." 

Can you believe it?  I would not jeopardize the integrity of my blog because Dave won't walk 7 steps into the kitchen! 

“Get Linda to take it,” he protested.

“She’s at work.  She won’t be home for 2 hours.”

“Can’t you wait?”

I thought about asking Kevin, but he has no thumbs.  Plus he was hiding under the couch.

“Come on, Dave!!!” I howled.

Grunt.  Heavy sigh.  Scowl.  He thumped into the kitchen, grabbed the camera and snapped 2 pictures.  “There.”

“You must be totally exhausted from that photo shoot,” I quipped as he walked back to the couch.

The pictures were mediocre.  Then Linda came home early and the prognosis for my blog brightened.

 “Look, Mom I bought sweats…they were only $12," she announced as she walked into the kitchen.

“Great!  You're just in time.  Take some pictures of the arm warmers I made out of knee socks.”

"No!!!"  

(In Linda's defense, I may get a wee bit carried away when I'm in front of the camera, having seen way too many episodes of America's Top Model.)

Then she reconsidered.  “I will if you pay for my sweats.”

“Good try," I said, secretly admiring her keen business sense.

"Take the picture," I commanded, using my best "mother voice".

Linda gave her trademark teenage sigh, threw in an eye roll, and started snapping pictures.  

And I began modeling.  I posed, twirled, and added my best Body Jam moves while flaunting my fabulous arm socks.

Linda laughed, which made me giggle and dance with more passion and reckless abandon.  Until she said, “Mom, I’m not laughing with you.”

I guess she must have been laughing with Dave or Kevin.  Because she was certainly laughing.

Feeling Good on the Chest

They have done it again.

Those Japanese entrepreneurs are truly amazing, solving one unmet consumer need after another.

Women, I know you have been waiting for a product like this for years.  Something that will help "maintain your firm bust even while you are sleeping, meaning you wake always looking and feeling good on the chest".

It's about time somebody invented a product for those of us who wake up not feeling good on the chest. 

Introducing the Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra: The Bust-Keeper for Sleeping.

I know what you're thinking.  It looks a bit tight and uncomfortable.

But it's not!  

 In fact, according to the marketing materials, "The Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra is not tight or uncomfortable, and yet still keeps everything youthful and from drooping flat when you are asleep."

Drooping flat?

OMG.  I certainly would not want the girls drooping flat!

But, wait.  There's more.

"It's non-wire so you won't even notice it's there but everyone else will notice the difference during the daytime!"

Now THAT'S a brand promise.

The Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra sells for $79 plus shipping on the Japan Trend Shop web site (I know- what a shock).  I really want to maintain a firm bust while I'm sleeping, but the Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra is a bit out of my budget.

But you know what?   

My Wine Rack Sports Bra is just as effective as the Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra! 

Plus it has an additional benefit that the Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra lacks.

A built in sleep aid.  

The Fast Change

I have always worked well under pressure. 

Until that stinkin' fast change. 

I have one verse of "76 Trombones" to accomplish my mission. Mission Impossible. 

For most people. 

Unless they're stinkin' Process Improvement Geniuses, like me.  Yes. That makes me a PIG.

First I need to climb down 3 steps on stage - in pitch black. Without tripping over my toga. Then I have to merge into a crowd of other actors, who are also rushing offstage (not unlike a Black Friday Frenzy.) 

After bursting free of the mob, I must race to where I've set my costume, remove my toga and put on a 45 pound marching band jacket. I have to roll down my marching band pants which have been cleverly hidden beneath my toga, replace the ivy on my head with a marching band helmet, grab my French Horn and run back to the wings of the theatre for the curtain call. 

Before the second verse begins. 

On my first attempt I missed my bow altogether (which is a real tragedy for someone like me). 

So I conducted a postmortem process analysis and determined that if I stealthily made my way down the stairs before the lights went out, and pre-set my French Horn adjacent to my band jacket, I could shave 17 seconds off the process. 

The second attempt was more successful, in that I did make it on stage for the bow. 

However, the silver chain on my hat was resting on my nose, and my band jacket was completely unsnapped. In fact, had it not been for my French Horn, I would have had a Janet Jackson moment.

 More process improvements were in order. 

The next day I removed my toga belt onstage, and, at the risk of causing permanent emotional scarring on my cast mates, I began to disrobe while running through the wings. I also abandoned any attempt at fastening my jacket (since the French Horn had been relatively effective at hiding the girls).

Except the director made an announcement that all helmets had to be secured in place. WHAT?  And the jackets had to be fastened. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

And perhaps I should bake a batch of cookies during the fast change while I'm at it. 

All was going well on the third attempt until I realized I'd forgotten to grab my French Horn. As I reached down to get it, my helmet fell off, taking my wig with it.  

My wig was also an issue on the fourth attempt; it catapulted off my head as I removed my toga... which led me to increase the size of the neck opening on the toga.  

Tonight was opening night. I was nervous, but confident. 

My French Horn and uniform awaited my arrival. I stealthily climbed down the stairs, and untied my toga belt. As the lights went down I bolted into the wings, pulling my toga over my shoulders. It slipped over my head without incident. I removed the ivy, rolled down my band pants, slipped into my jacket, strapped on the helmet, picked up my instrument and ran to the wings.

 With 2.5 seconds to spare. 

"Wait!" I said. "Let me take those cookies out of the oven."

Tragedy in the Kitchen

I need a guardian angel. One who will protect me from myself. Who will stand between me and the measuring spoons, the mixing bowls, and the baking soda. And is not afraid to say, "back away from the oven, bitch." 

For, you see, if I had a guardian angel, I would never have attempted to make Mint Chocolate Cake Cones.

In fact, my guardian angel (let's call her "Betty"), would not have allowed me to troll for recipe ideas at www.duncan.hines.com for Becca's cookout. 

But damn it, look at how stinkin' cute they are!

And they looked easy enough. According to the directions, there was only 30 minutes of "hands on" time. Little did I know it was 30 minutes in dog years. 

Much of the hands on time involved wrapping a cupcake tin with foil, poking holes in the foil above each muffin cup, and enlarging it to the point that the ice cream cone would "just" fit through it. By the end, the cones would (theoretically) be lined up in the foil-covered tray not unlike a troop of happy soldiers. 

I got to work poking my perfect little holes, and placed a cone tightly inside each one. The first 2 or 3 were fun. But, admittedly, I got a bit sloppier as I made my way down the rows. By about the 17th hole, my little soldier cones were beginning to appear as if they had been drinking. 

Next I was to fill the cones 2/3 of the way to the top with cake batter. I carefully filled the first couple cones using a teaspoon. It took damn f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I didn't have all day, so I moved up to a table spoon... and then to a ladle. There was a tad bit of spillage, especially in the back rows; some of the soldiers not only looked inebriated, but appeared to be vomiting. 

After about 45 minutes, I carried my masterpiece to the oven. "Stand still, you guys," I ordered.  Now all I had to do was wait!

The smoke detector started buzzing about 15 minutes later. I peeked inside the oven, and much to my chagrin, I noticed many of the soldiers erupting like volcanos. I stuck a cookie sheet under the troops to catch the chocolate lava. 

When the buzzer went off, I removed my masterpiece disaster from the oven. I'm sad to report 7 casualties. The 17 survivors had nasty war wounds, but nothing that some chocolate mint frosting wouldn't hide. 

All was well until I transported my troops to the car. Apparently, one of the soldiers did not halt when I issued the command. He nudged the one in front of him, who bumped into the one on his right, who rebounded to his neighbor and... 

We were down to 10.

Wait! One landed on his feet on the garage floor (must have been a paratrooper). I blew on his boots and put him back with the other survivors. 

 It was indeed a tragedy. 24 started the battle and only 11 made it to Becca's table.

They tasted better than they looked, as do most of my kitchen experiments. 

Still, all this would have been prevented had Betty intervened. 

And whispered to me, "Publix sells excellent cupcakes".

Otsukaresama!

The Japan Trend Shop has done it again. They have come up with yet another perfect consumer product.

The Happy Savon Bubble Blower is just what I need as a reward for my Otsukaresama at the office.

Oh, I'm sorry. Perhaps you don't the meaning of my new favorite word that I picked up from the Japan Trend Shop. You see, this web site not only sells the most amazing products ever (like the Beauty Lift High Nose and the Beauty Voice Trainer), it teaches Japanese.

Don't worry. I will interpret my impressive new word by breaking it into 3 parts for you.

"O" is an honorific prefix (as in "ONerdling").

"tsukare" means effort, or exertion (as in "The Sunday Suduku requires much tsukare".)

"sama" is an honorific suffix (as in, ONerdlingsama).

(One must wonder how different Osama Bin Laden's life might have been had his parents named him OBin Laden Sama?)

I digress. Putting it all together, Otsukaresama means good job.

And here's what the Japan Trend Shop tells us about the Happy Savon Bubble Blower:

"Otsukaresama! It's been a long day at the office, and it's time to treat yourself to a bath time like no other. The Happy Savon gently floats bubbles through the room, relaxing and calming you."

OMG.  I want one.  But sadly,  the Happy Savon Bubble Blower is outside of my budget, costing $66 plus $29 shipping.

Being the innovative nerdling that I am, I discovered a similar product available for a fraction of that cost: Disney Tub Time Bubble Maker, Winnie the Pooh.

And you will probably not be surprised when I tell you that I've elevated this Japanese product to an even higher level.

For you see, many of us like to listen to music while relaxing in a tub. To that end, let me introduce the Nerdling Bath Mobile. For the ultimate bathing experience, simply suspend this over your tub. 

I know what you're thinking. 

"Otsukaresama, ONerdlingsam!"

Thank you.