All Thumbs

The Japan Trend Shop is one step ahead of the curve.

Again.

I didn’t even know I had this unmet need.  And they have solved it for me.

The Thumb Extender for Phone Touchscreens by Thanko will not only lengthen my thumb, it will prevent my thumb from suffering needless exhaustion.  

From their web site:

Don't you just hate it when your fingers can't get around the screen on your phone fast enough? Or when you need two hands for those recent phones with larger screens? Well, just slip on the Thumb Extender for Phone Touchscreens by Thanko and never have to worry about getting a tired thumb from all that sliding over the screen.

This is fantastic!  Now my thumb can take that much needed nap.

Which reminds me of a Kimmy story.  When she was about 3 she was playing with Legos and decided to throw one across the room.   "Honey, don't throw your Legos," I scolded.  To which she replied, "It wasn't my idea.  It was my thumb's idea."

Think about how much further she could have catapulted that Lego had she owned a Thumb Extender.

As much as I’d love to have a Thumb Extender  (so that I would no longer have to worry about getting a tired thumb), it’s $28, plus shipping and handling.  That is way out of my blog budget.

So I made my own!

I had a pair of purple rubber gloves leftover from my wallpaper removal debacle.  

After meticulous measurement and cautious cutting I had the framework for my Nerdling Thumb Extender. 

Then, sparing no expense, I stuffed some toilet paper into the end of the thumb, and...voila!
 
Except it needed something. 

I mean, I could "just” replicate theThumb Extender for Phone Touchscreens, but that would be so...so...so status quo. Being the marketing genius that I am I needed to raise the bar.

So I added Nail Polish.  With sparkles.

Now it’s time to test drive it.  

In fact, I’m going to test drive it right now. I will finish up this blog entry while sporting my Nerdling Thumb Extender.  

Kind of exciting, isn't it?  Almost like reality television.  (That is how avant-garde this blog is.)
 
Here I go!  Drum roll please.

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The Photo

I suppose it could be worse.

It could be the National Enquirer, instead of The State Newspaper.  

Damn!   Why do we have to have such an excellent publicity person?

Please don't think I'm being vain. It's a really, really unflattering photo. 

That's what I get for being a good sport. When the director asked me to play the role of the "body" during the publicity photos for A Funny Little Thing Called Love, I willingly agreed.  I mean how could I possibly turn her down? 

Nobody else in the cast has the vast experience I’ve had playing bodies. In fact, I played the dead body TWICE in 9 to 5.  At the risk of appearing arrogant, my character was quite authentic.  I never moved. Even though my nose itched.  

That's the problem here. I look really dead in this picture. And the ironic thing is, I’m not supposed to be dead. Just passed out. 

I’ve taken bad pictures before.  On the scale of horrendous photos, this one falls somewhere between my first grade class picture and my 1992 drivers license. 

I just don’t understand why Glenn picked that photo. There were at least 3 better ones. Like this one:

Glenn is such a perfectionist. He probably didn't pick it because I was looking at the camera.

I suppose that’s why he didn’t pick this one either.

But for crying out loud, this next one was perfect.  My eyes were closed and everything.

OMG!  I think I get it now. I’m not even in that scene. I was just filling in for someone else.  

Glenn must have been worried about me upstaging everyone else with my beauty.  

Damn him.

The Bag of Bones

One might wonder why I had a bag of frozen chicken bones on my passenger seat.  Not frozen chicken wings.  Frozen chicken bones.

And I was late for my haircut.

The bag of bones would have to stay in my car for an hour.  Because I couldn't - no wouldn't - take them inside.  I mean, how could I explain it?

They were in a somewhat transparent Food Lion bag. 

It's February.  Surely they wouldn't thaw out and stink up my car in one hour's time.

Most (normal) homes have a process for removing kitchen trash.  It probably goes something like this:  

1. The kitchen trash can gets full.  
2. The bag is taken to the outside trash can.  
3. On garbage day the outside trash can is taken to the street.  

Simple, really.

Our process is a bit more complicated. 

Trash that has the potential to "ripen" while waiting for garbage day (like chicken bones do), is put in plastic bags and stored in the freezer until garbage day.  

And I'm totally cool with this process.  

Unless Dave forgets to put it in the garbage day trash.  

Last night we were going to the mall.  Dave said, “Take the chicken bones with you.”

“Mom doesn’t like to do that,” Linda responded, perceptively.

Damn right.  I still have psychological scars from that watermelon debacle.  The bag of watermelon rinds was so big it wouldn't fit into the opening of the trash can outside of JC Penny.

I pushed.  I shoved.  I put every ounce of my bodily weight into it.

 “Hurry Mom,” Linda said.  “Someone’s coming!”

“IT- ugh –WON'T -ugh – FIT.”

Talk about a trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

I thought about opening the bag and moving the rinds from within the bag into the trash can one at a time but that would have been messy.  And really embarrassing.
 
Crap. Someone was coming.

I started trying to pry the top off the damn can.  What was it SUPER GLUED on? 

"Linda, help," I whispered.  Then louder, "Linda?  Get over here and help me!"
 
But she was gone. 

In the meantime, people started parading past, elbowing each other.  “That’s so sad.  Going through the trash outside JC Penny.”  
 
In the end I just set the bag of watermelon rinds on the ground next to the garbage can and nonchalantly walked into the store.   

Damn it.  I was not going to have a reenactment of that watermelon mall debacle.

I accidentally forgot to take the chicken bones to the mall.  

But unfortunately, when I went to leave for to my hair cut appointment this morning, the chicken bones were waiting for me.  On the passenger seat of the car.

Damn, is he persistent.

I told Jennifer (my hairstylist) the predicament I faced and she told me that there happened to be a trash can right outside the door.  

I got my bag of bones from the car and innocently strolled down the sidewalk.  I whistled a happy tune.  Beautiful day!   Just taking a walk.  La-la-la-la.

And I made the drop.

Smooth as glass.  

I should be in the CIA I'm that good.

I just hope for Jennifer's sake, that the garbage can doesn't get too stinky.