Pulling Off the Prank

It's not that I don't have good practical joke ideas.  I do!

In fact, I'm a stinkin' practical joke idea genius!

The problem is executing the practical joke.  You see, I have no poker face.  I giggle.  

Technically, my breakdown begins with a shaking body... you know the kind you get when you're in church and you notice the guy with the wedgie sitting in front of you?

But I'm optimistic this time.  The Creepy Eyes Prank project is perfect for me.  All I have to do is make the Creepy Eyes, slip them on Dave while he's sleeping, and take a picture.   Who needs a poker face when the victim is asleep?

First I needed to shop for materials for my Creepy Eyes Prank project. 

"Hey, Dave.  Linda and I are going to WalMart."  I start to snicker.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing,"  I say.  

Then I picture Dave with with Creepy Eyes and try with great difficulty to maintain my composure.  "You'll find out later,"  I snort.

But a big play in the football game distracted Dave.

Whew. Dodged THAT bullet. Just wait. 

I was so excited!

I got my supplies (ping pong balls and paint) and made my Creepy Eyeballs.  I gave them a realistic bloodshot effect and added some eyelashes.  Don't they look great?

Thank you.

All I had to do was wait for Dave to fall asleep on the couch, place the creepy eyeballs on his face and snap the picture.

But unfortunately, I have another teeny tiny character flaw that interferes with good practical joke execution.

A lack of patience. 
   
Dave was sitting up on the couch.  I waited and waited and waited.  For 3 minutes...4 minutes.

I yawned.  Because yawns are contagious.  "Aren't you tired?" I asked.

"No."

"Why don't you lay down close your eyes?" I asked.

"I'm not tired."

I considered slipping him a roofie, but I didn't have one handy.

I waited another 45 seconds and couldn't stand it anymore.

"Dave, will you take a picture of me wearing my creepy eyeballs?" I asked.

He groaned and took the picture.

"Wait!" I said.  "Let me add a mustache and grill.  That will be so much more realistic!"

He reluctantly took another picture.

"Wait!" I said again, suddenly remembering my rubber nose. 

"Just one more picture, OK?"

"Go away," he said. 

But you know what? 

My fake nose has a rubber band on it, which was quite effective in holding my creepy eyeballs in place so I could take my own picture!
 
Guess I fooled him!  See?  Who says I can't pull off a stinkin' practical joke? 

Risky Business

Me worried?
 
Seriously.  How difficult can it be?

I can pogo stick and jump rope at the same time.  Riding a unicycle will be a stinkin' piece of cake (for me).

Dave thinks I'm going break a limb. (I believe he's already spoken to our insurance agent to hedge his bet.)

What does he know?   I am so coordinated it is ridiculous.

You should see me Body Jam.

There's no way I will get hurt.
 
I know what you're thinking.  I nearly amputated my fingers on a box of a Saran Wrap over the weekend. 

But that does not make me accident prone. Or uncoordinated.

I will definitely be able to handle this.

Dave asked who was going to teach me how to ride my new "tricycle".  Isn't he hilarious.

I told him I was going to watch "How to ride a unicycle" videos on YouTube.  (I learned how to stuff a turkey from YouTube videos.  So there.)

And if that doesn't work, I can always get additional advice on www.howtorideaunicycle.net.  It's full of useful tips like, "remember to flail your arms around" and "if you're going to fall off then grab the seat".  

Guess what.  I am really good a flailing my arms around.  And grabbing seats has always been one of my specialties:

 
I can't wait to start learning!

But first things first. 

I have to assemble my new unicycle. 

Please don't think me incompetent when I admit that I asked Dave what a wrench looked like. 

He told me to look it up on YouTube.

And then he placed another call to our insurance agent.  

Something about increasing our coverage.

Sarandipity? Not.

I know you are going to find this hard to believe, but there is one area of domesticity which I have not yet mastered.  Nor will I ever.

The fine art of Saran Wrap.

Don't believe me?  

Well, look at my war wounds!  And all I was trying to do was put away the damn Tin Foil!

At the risk of appearing cynical, I believe that stinkin' Saran Wrap did it on purpose.  Intentionally bit my fingers.  Tried to saw them off at the knuckles.

And forgive me for mentioning the obvious, but losing my fingers above the knuckles would completely ruin my life as a blogger.  How could I type?   I would be permanently disabled.  And disfigured.

I know what you're thinking. 

Yes, I need a manicure. 

But you're probably also thinking the it was my own fault.  

You couldn't be more wrong.  The box has a 14 inch scalpel hanging off the side of it. 

(A 14-inch dagger which I've never in my entire life been able to use to cut a piece of Saran Wrap.)

Instead I end up with a jagged piece of plastic tangled up in itself.  

The rest of the triangle has been absorbed into the plastic roll in the box, impossible to find without a magnifying glass and a 5 million candlepower spotlight.

I think I may need stitches. 

I cannot believe that a household product like Saran Wrap has a such a menacing machete hanging off the side of it.   Just waiting to attack  an innocent Domestic Goddess such as myself.

What if this gets infected?  Or if I have scars?

Plastic surgery is expensive, from what I understand.  Maybe I need a lawyer.  One from a billboard.  I think they are the best.

Johnson and Johnson should have warned me of the inherent risks associated with the Saran Wrap box.  It should have come with a warning label.

They should put a warning label on the box so bloggers like myself aren't permanently disfigured from the skewer on the side of the box (like I have been).
 
The warning label could go right above the dagger that's attached to the box.

Crap.

Caution: Cutting edge is sharp.  Avoid contact.

Damn lawyers think of everything.  

It's right next to the warning; do not use this product in cribs, beds, carriages or playpens. 

Sucking Wax

It's not often that I get excited about vacuuming.  

True, I have a great affinity for my Kirby, but this is quite different.  

It's EarWax vacuuming.

My sister Linda e-mailed me about the WaxVac.  She knew I'd be amazed by this new product that "gently draws dirt particles and moisture out quickly and safely".   

She was so right!

As I looked over the web site, my ears began to itch.  I could just feel the dirt particles and moisture that needed to be drawn out.

There was no way I could wait 6 weeks for delivery.  And according to the www.waxvac.com, "doctors everywhere warn against cotton swabs."

That made my ears itch even more. 

I had to make the itching stop. 

Then I had my first scathingly brilliant idea.  I could make my own, admittedly lower tech version of the WaxVac based on another amazing product that I have test driven. 

Who can forget the Nosefrida Snot Sucker?  

Imagine the Earfrida, which would work similarly to the Nosefrida.  You would simply insert the Earfrida into your ear and the other end into your mouth.  Then you would gently suck the ear gunk out of your ear.

(Please don't tell the Nosefrida people about my idea or they'll steal it.)

As you know, I am the proud owner of my very own Nosefrida Snot Sucker (http://notesfromanerdling.blogspot.com/2011/06/stimulating-snot.html).   Alas, it is with great sadness that I report that I have lost it.

I thought it was in my blog bag but it Snot. 

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

I considered purchasing another Nosefrida so I could test drive my Earfrida, but then I had scathingly brilliant idea #2. 

I made my own Nerdling Earfrida out of my novelty straw glasses!  Not only does my Nerdling Earfrida work like a charm, it's fun to use!

It's a barrel of laughs!  

In fact, you can entertain your guests and clean your ears at the same time with the Nerdling Earfrida.  And now that I think of it, you could clean your guests' ears while you're at it.

They don't call me a stinkin' marketing genius for nothing!

Nobody Dyed

I wouldn't say I was devastated.

I mean, nobody died.

Of course my beautiful cream colored shirt from Arden B that I love, love, love did not exactly survive intact.  Neither did 2 of my other white shirts. 

It was a laundry debacle.  My shirts fell victim to a purple tie-died dress that I bought from a vendor on a beach in St. Thomas. A dress that had apparently been tie-died  using a cross between blueberries, red wine and grape molasses. 

I suppose I should be happy that I have a husband who does all the laundry.  

A husband who has been doing laundry for decades.  Who learned 25 years ago that you should never mix colors.  Who should never have made such a rookie mistake costing me my beautiful cream colored shirt from Arden B that I loved nearly more than life itself.

I soaked the 3 shirts in OxiClean for 12 hours.  They faded from pink to a pale purple. 

A very ugly pale purple.

Divorce was an option, but Dave and I have been married for over 25 years.  I considered the children.  And Kevin.  What kind of example would we be setting if we didn't at least try to work things out?

Marriage counseling was definitely in order.  So I made a Rorschach Inkblot Test t-shirt out of one of the ruined shirts.

For those of you not familiar with the Rorschach Inkblot Test, it is a psychological test used to examine a person's emotional functioning, often employed to detect underlying thought disorder.

I decided to psychoanalyze Dave to determine the underlying reason for his decision to wash my 3 white shirts in warm water with a purple tie-died dress from St. Thomas. 

I know what you're thinking.  Using my formerly white shirt rather than a piece of paper for my Rorschach Inkblot Test is a bit passive aggressive.  You're wrong!  I simply could not find a suitable piece of paper, and my shirt was handy. 

I'm pleased to report a happy ending.  Our marriage has been saved.

It was truly a win-win situation.  I got a spiffy new shirt and Dave got to stare at my chest while I psychoanalyzed him.  

I concluded that it was not intentional.  It was just a senior moment.  (He is getting up there in age, you know.)

But just in case, I put the washing instructions on the back of my new purple Rorschach Inkblot Test t-shirt.

He can even read them without his reading glasses.