Back in the Kitchen Again

"Don't even try," she whispered.  "It will end up a disaster.  Like that Monkey Brain Cake."

My Guardian Kitchen Angel had touched a nerve.

"I thought it tasted good!" I said unconvincingly.

The Kitchen Angel cackled, "Don't you know anything?  Noodles and chocolate do not belong in the same dish." 

"But I didn't have a brain jello mold," I said defensively, although I knew she was right. 

Then I added confidently, "I have all the ingredients for Realistic Halloween Severed Finger Cookies.  You just wait and see." 

'"Ye of little faith."

So I got to work making my severed finger dough.  

I rolled it into finger shapes, carved realistic crevices, and added pumpkin seed finger nails.  The recipe suggested that I use my hands as models, so I did.

And my Realistic Halloween Severed Finger Cookies looked absolutely frightening.

But then I got to thinking.  Realistic Halloween Severed Finger Cookies are so safe.  
So totally expected.

I decided to try my hand (make that my foot) at making Realistic Halloween Severed Toe Cookies. 

Just wait until you see this, Kitchen Angel!

And they looked just like the real thing.  

The last step involved making the bloody bones that stick out of the severed appendages.  

It was relatively easy.  I had to roll mini marshmallows into little logs and dip them in red food coloring. 

The tricky part was getting the bloody bones to stick to the appendages. 

With jelly.

I could hardly believe it.  It was perfect.   So totally serendipitous.  I cannot wait to show my Guardian Kitchen Angel.

My Realistic Halloween Severed Toes. Complete with toe jam.

Doggone It!

As soon as I laid my eyes on it I knew.

I had to have one.  More specifically, Kevin had to have one.  It was stinkin' genius. 

I mean, Kevin already has a reputation around the neighborhood for his innovative attire: his dapper dressing.  When he wears his Thunder Jacket, heads turn. 

I can only imagine the reaction he'll receive when he wears his Doggone Thong.

 

The thing is Kevin's admiring observers have no clue that the Thunder Jacket's underlying objective is to reduce his fear of thunder, firecrackers and zombies.

Similarly, they will likely be surprised to discover that the Doggone Thong, also has "secret super-powers".  

It effectively eliminates the unflattering aftermath of doggie flatulence.  According to the marketing materials, the Doggone Thong is "a comfortable and unintrusive means for deodorizing gassy discharges in a thong design."

I was extremely disappointed to discover that the Doggone Thong was discontinued on the www.flat_d.com web site.   But that did not stop me.  

Why not? 

Because there's a Dollar Store only 10 minutes from my house!  

And I am the Nerdling.

All I needed was some fabric, dryer sheets (to neutralize the gas), and some sort of elastic for the Doggie Thong waist band.  

(For the record, Kevin denies that he has, ever has had, or ever will have gas.)

But you know what?  

My innate sense of fashion, combined with all those episodes of Project Runway I've been watching, caused me to take the design up a notch.

I opted for the blue tulle tutu, rather than the boring elastic.

And, as you can see, I am a stinkin' Doggone Thong Design Star genius.

 

And, although Kevin would deny it, he smells even better than he looks.

Getting With the Script

Sometimes one must simply bite one's tongue.  This is one of those times.

Frank, our director,  wrote the script for tonight's fundraiser.  And it  is absolutely hysterical, from beginning to end.

Well, not quite.

You see, Frank neglected to write the scene involving drawing the winning name for the door prize, which, to me, has the potential of being the highlight of the show.  

But who am I to judge?

Imagine my surprise when, at last night's dress rehearsal, Frank said,  "Kristy and Lou,  come on next and pull the door prize winner.   Just say something funny or big or something."

 I like to think of myself as spontaneous.  As in, "Go out to Eat" spontaneous, or "Walk Harbison Lake" spontaneous.   Not,  "Be funny or big or something while pulling the door prize winner" spontaneous.

We needed a script. 

The good news is that I had nearly 24 hours to come up with something.  I sent Frank a message before I went to bed suggesting that we announce that the prize is a brand new car.  Then we get band to play "da-da-da-da-da-da" music as we pull the winner from a hat.  

And we hand the winner a brand new toy car.

Pa-dum-pum. 

We'd at least get a couple groans.  And Frank really liked the idea.

Considering my genius at script-writing, it should come as no surprise that my idea morphed into a much better ... much bigger...idea by morning.  

And I couldn't wait to tell Frank about my new idea. 

My idea:  We come on stage and ask the band to play the play "da-da-da-da-da-da" music.  Instead, they play Dragnet da-da-da-da music .  Kristy says, "No, the other da-da-da-da-da-da music".  Then the band starts playing Stripper "da-da-da" music.

And I start getting into the music, dancing seductively,  and begin taking off my clothes.

  

Kristy jumps in front of me to shelter the audience from the spectacle.  Finally she scream-sings the "da-da-da-da-da-da" herself, breaking me from my stripper trance.  I come to my senses, looking embarrassed, and we pull the winner.

That audience will be on their stinkin' feet.

So I emailed Frank the new and improved idea and received this response.

"Um...that may be a BIT more involved than I was thinking. ;-)  How about the toy car/real car bit with a fanfare from the trumpet?"

I was dumbstruck.  Rendered speechless.

But I guess I understand.  

Frank has worked very hard on this show.  As I said, he has written (nearly) every line.

It would be a shame if he was upstaged by a stripper.

A Boost to Bosom Beauty

I looked at the photo in disbelief.  Was that what it looked like?

I shook my head.

"OMG!!", I thought. 

Somebody has invented a Wine Rack Sexy Lace Bra.

What a great concept.   

I mean, don't get me wrong.  

I love my Wine Rack Sports Bra.  It is exceptionally functional. 
I not only grow two cup sizes when I wear it, I can hold  25 ounces of adult beverage in the secret polyurethane bladder catheter thingee. 

But it's not exactly what you'd call sexy.
 
Wait a minute!!  This Wine Rack Sexy Lacy Bra has 2 straws!  

Are you stinkin' kidding me?    That means you could drink Chardonney from one side and, say, Margaritas from the other.

That is one genius inventor, I thought. Why didn't I think of it first?

Then I realized my mistake.
 
This was not a Wine Rack Sexy Lacy Bra. 

It was a 'Trés Secret' Inflatable Bra, from the 1950s.  Its makers promised the bra could give any woman "a boost to bosom beauty".  According to their advertising materials, "Do it yourself. Make the most of you. Blow up!! To be the size you want".

I was dumbfounded.  Disappointed.  

Until I realized what that meant: The Wine Rack Sexy Lacy Bra has yet to be invented!

So I'm heading out to the Dollar Store.  All I need is lingerie and a balloon.
 
Make that 2.

Serious Shower Shopping

It shouldn't be that difficult.  It's just a baby shower.

But I'm obsessing.  Not only looking for the perfect gift, but the most unique.

My first thought was the Zaky Pillow.  I'm relatively certain nobody else will get Sarah a Zaky Pillow.  

I know what you're thinking.  And I agree!  This gift is a bit creepy.  But, according to the marketing materials, these appendeges provide considerable comfort to infants.

Maybe it's me, but I'm afraid Sarah's baby could end up with permanent psychological damage as a result of a Zaky Pillow.  Go ahead.  Call me irrational.   But I'll bet Jeffrey Dahlmer had Zaky Pillows in his crib.

Too risky.  Besides.  I have plenty of other options.

Like the Baby Butt Fan.  This is a must-have appliance for the modern changing table, because, as you all know, baby wipes leave the skin damp.  And today's parents are way too busy to wait for baby’s bottom to air-dry after every change; it takes too long.  

(Not to mention the risk of untimely accidents.) 

On second thought, I'll bet someone else will get Sarah a Baby Butt Fan.  

And you really only need one. 

Besides.  I have a better idea.  I'm pretty sure she's having a girl, so I will get her Baby Bangs!!!  I mean, it may be years before the poor baby has a good head of hair.  With Baby Bangs, her wait is over!

But you know what?  I'm not sure giving Baby Bangs to a baby is a good idea.  

Next thing you know she'll be doing pageants.  

And I'll bet my bottom dollar that Honey Boo Boo's mother got Baby Bangs at her baby shower.

What was I thinking?  Why would I ever give Sarah such a shallow gift? Her baby deserves something unique, but monumental.  Something life changing. 

Which is why she needs a Baby Keeper!

And Sarah will never have to worry about her baby getting exposed to nasty bathroom germs, or wandering away while Sarah is ...um.. engaged in bathroom activities.

The Baby Keeper  will protect the baby.   It's the coolest invention ever.   

You simply hook it on the back of the bathroom door. 

Look at that contraption!  That baby's going nowhere.

OMG.  I just had a scathingly brilliant idea.  They do not call me a stinkin' marketing genius for nothing!

Introducing the Teen Keeper.

Available soon at a mall kiosk near you.

Stall Cinderella

It wasn't that she had a bad voice.  It was, in fact, quite lovely.

She should have had little costumed mice at her feet and tweeting birdies tying her apron.  She had that kind of a voice.

Sweet.  Melodic.  Chirpy.

But it was coming from a stall in the Ladies' Room at work: a boring, bare-bones, corporate campus bathroom.

I wondered for a few seconds if I was on Candid Camera.

I entered a stall: the one farthest away from the warbling, although I'm not sure why.  It's not like Cinderella Stall Singing is contagious.

"Who IS that?" I wondered.  Our bathrooms at work are usually quite uneventful.   In fact, the most drama I've ever experienced in a work bathroom was the time I noticed a clogged up toilet (of the # 2 variety) and decided to do my civic duty and flush.

Big mistake.

The water slowly began to rise, and much to my horror started cascading over the top of the toilet, leaving behind a most disgusting, unappetizing trail of slop.   

And I was like one of those stereotypically annoying victims in bad horror movies.  I was paralyzed in shock, my hand over my eyes, attempting to let the words escape. "NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO". 

I ran back to my office, knowing that I should immediately contact our facilities management department to report the issue. 

But I didn't want them to think it was "mine."  

True, I found the toilet and I did flush it.  But it was someone else's #2! 

So I told my secretary that someone had made a mess in the Ladies' room. She called in the "incident."  

Hey!  Don't even go there.  I had to protect my reputation.

But, back to Cinderella in the stall.  I seriously wanted...needed to learn her identity.  Since she had arrived in her stall first, I assumed she would leave before I was done. I put my eye to the door crack and waited.  Nothing.  (Except the trills.)

"Come on Cinderella!" I thought to myself.  "Get moving!  I have a meeting in 2 minutes!" 

"La la la"

I looked under the stall to see if I recognized her shoes. 

OMG!  She was wearing glass slippers!

You know, that would have made so much better of an ending to this blog.  But she was wearing flats.  

Which narrowed it down to 95% of the women on my floor.

I finally gave up, flushed, and walked to the sink.  I washed my hands very thoroughly, watching the "Cinderella stall" in the mirror.   

Then I said, "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo" and she came out.

Again, that would have made a much better ending to this blog.  But the truth is that I couldn't wait any longer.  I had to get to my meeting and left without learning the identity of the Stall Cinderella.   

She must have been going #2.