Simply Serendipitous

As you know, one of my favorite hobbies is discovering unusual Japanese products and replicating them, using materials I find at the Dollar Store.

And blogging about my results.

At the risk of tooting my own horn, I have out-done myself again.  Without even one trip to the Dollar Store. 

It was simply serendipitous. 

The product that I was attempting to clone is a new Japanese Bikini my friend Jamie told me about.  The bikini bottom has no waist band or ties.  It snaps in place, ostensibly defying gravity.

Jamie showed me a YouTube video of a Japanese woman modelling the bikini.  The woman assumed a number of ridiculous unusual poses in an effort to demonstrate the amazing bikini’s aversion to gravity.

When I looked closer at the bikini bottoms, a light bulb went off in my head.   That Japanese Bikini bottom looked remarkably similar to a head band which I re-purposed as a Camel Toe Protector.

 Which I could re-re-purpose as a Nerdling Japanese Bikini!

So I went home and tried on my Nerdling Japanese Bikini.  It certainly looked good, but would it work?

I gingerly walked around the house.  It stayed put!

What if I danced?  I executed some of my most impressive Body Jam moves.   It didn’t move an inch.

But could I pogo stick in my Nerdling Japanese Bikini? 

No.  

Better put that in the fine print.  
 
Please notice how seriously I take my products and how thoroughly I test them.  I am trying to avoid any and all frivolous lawsuits should my Nerdling Japanese Bikini accidentally slip off some unsuspecting woman.

(I hate to disappoint my readers, but I decided not to include any photos of myself test-driving my Nerdling Japanese Bikini.  It’s not that I don’t look A-M-A-Z-I-N-G in it.  I just don’t want any frivolous lawsuits should someone see the pictures and end up with serious long-term psychological damage.)
 
So I decided that Barbie could model it. 

I could not find a Barbie Head Band, so I made one for her out of tin foil. 

I am a big supporter in Affirmative Action, so I chose Handicapped Barbie as my model (the one who bravely sacrificed her feet in my Barbie Foot Earring project).

And, since she is missing her feet, I had to prop the gimp on a wine glass.  

But, as you can see, the  Nerdling Japanese Bikini looks amazing on Handicapped Barbie.  Even from behind.

But, buyer be warned.

Do not wear your Nerdling Japanese Bikini while pogo sticking.

Jet Black Pearly Whites

Those crafty Japanese have done it again, catching U.S. toothpaste manufacturers resting on their lagging laurels.

It’s really kind of embarrassing.  Colgate and Crest have been utterly myopic in terms of product design.  

They have been offering the same hapless assortments of white and pastel colored toothpaste, with flavors ranging from mint to baking soda for decades.  

Decades!

In the meantime, the Japanese have stepped out of the box with their cutting-edge Binotomo Nasu Dentifrice Jet Black Toothpaste.

Not only does it “leave your pearly whites feeling super clean”, it’s good for you!  It contains eggplant.

To be honest, getting my minimum daily requirement of vegetables is a constant struggle for me.  And I can think of no more convenient way to consume my daily eggplant servings than via my toothpaste.

Wait. One. Minute.  I just noticed that there is a warning on the Binotomo Nasu Dentifrice Jet Black Toothpaste box.  “Be careful when you squeeze out the Binotomo Nasu Dentifrice Jet Black Toothpaste, though, as the eggplant-based paste can stain clothes.”

Whatever.  I’m not going to worry about that.  I have never accidentally squeezed toothpaste onto my clothes.

Wait. Another. Minute.  Although I have never accidentally squeezed tooth paste onto my clothes, I have accidentally dribbled tooth paste from my mouth onto my clothes.  

And, at the risk of ruining my reputation as a polished and refined young woman, I do this on a daily routine basis. 

Maybe Binotomo Nasu Dentifrice Jet Black Toothpaste is not for me, after all.  

Besides, if Binotomo Nasu Dentifrice Jet Black Toothpaste can stain your clothes, how come it doesn’t stain your teeth?

I decided to do a bit more research on Japanese toothpaste.

I think I'll stick with the pastels.

Protecting the Girls

When my friend Mary told me about the Ravijoir True Love Tester I got goosebumps.  A bra that unclasps itself for true love?  That knows how women truly feel?  That was developed by the Japanese?

Wow.

Apparently the Ravijour True Love Tester works in conjunction with your smart phone to analyze your “levels”.  It will lock up your bra, protecting the girls, unless the sensors detect that the woman truly wants her bra removed.  

For example, if you are being seduced by riff-raff like this, the gates would likely remain closed. 

Which makes it a modern day chastity belt for the boobs.  

It cannot be unhooked without true love.  Sigh. 

Apparently, the bra's built in sensor reads a woman's heart rate to determine "True Love".

Wait a minute. 

My heart races when I’m nervous.  Like before I walk on stage.  I stress about remembering my lines and my blocking, or being hit by Greased Lightening during curtain call.  I certainly don’t want to have to worry about my bra falling off!

Which reminds me of that infamous presentation I made early in my career.   About 10 minutes into it I felt my shoulder pad slowly making its way down my left arm, not unlike a cat sneaking up on an unsuspecting mouse.   

When it got to my elbow I nonchalantly flicked it to the floor.   But my aim was off and it fell a bit stage left of the podium. 

Now this was pre-PowerPoint.  When all eyes were on the presenter. 

Except all eyes were not on me.  All eyes were on my foot which was attempting to snare the shoulder pad and bring it to safety behind the podium.

The women in the room all recognized the object as a shoulder pad, and were starting to whisper.  And giggle.  The men were just confused, at least one believing it to be a sanitary napkin.

I certainly wouldn’t want a “bra-opening” version of ShoulderPadAgeddon. 

As I was researching this topic, I discovered that the Ravijour is actually a knock-off of the MicroSoft SmartBra. 

Which would make it a knocker off.   

Sorry, couldn't resist. 

The MicroSoft SmartBra is designed to monitor a woman’s emotional moods to combat overeating. 

You can't make this shit up.

The sensors can signal the wearer’s smartphone, which will flash a warning message to step away from the fridge. 

I'm sorry, but is there a market for this product?  What woman  on this planet would listen to her phone when it tells her not to stress eat?    
Smartphone: “According to the sensors in your bra, you are stressed out.  You should not eat.  Walk around the block, instead.”

Smartphone: “Pizza is not good for you.  Put down that pizza.  Now.”

Smartphone: “Your sensors indicate that your level of stress has increased.  Stop eating that pizza.  It is bad for you.  You will get fatter."

Smartphone: “PUT DOWN THE PIZZA, BITCH!”

Smartphone: “DO NOT THROW YOUR PHONE!  I SAID, DO NOT THROW YOUR………”

Defying Gravity

Finally!
 
And not a minute too soon.

I was about to give up the fight against my sagging bust!  I tried the Oyasumi Goodnight Keep Bra Bust-keeper, but frankly, it did not live up to my expectations. 

I guess my girls were too much for it.  Gravity prevailed.

I’m hoping that will not be the case for the Oppai Taiso Breast Gymnastics Night BraBust Anti-Sagging pad.

I think it's a superior product. It’s for gymnasts. 

Like me.

Because we gymnasts typically have huge boobs. 

It is a well-kept secret in the world of gymnastics, that a large bust can create havoc on the balance beam. 

I can certainly attest to that.

In fact, my double Ds were my downfall in the 1984 Olympic games.

Gravity took over and another Mary Lou came from behind to become the first American woman to collect a gold ribbon in Gymnastics.

One can only imagine how different my life would have been had the Oppai Taiso Breast Gymnastics Night BraBust Anti-Sagging Pad been around when I mounted that balance beam back in the 1984 U.S. Nationals. 

Gravity would not have prevailed, the 5 times it did.  I would have been as graceful as a gazelle, with the girls gathered tightly in place.  

I most certainly would have beaten that bitch Mary Lou.

And it would have been me on the Wheaties Box.

No use crying over spilt cereal milk.  I say better late than never!  I’m starting my training tomorrow. 

It’s less than 18 months before the 2016 Summer Olympics.  Look out Brazil, here I come! 

Me and my Oppai Taiso Breat Gynmnastics Night BraBust Anti-Sagging Pad.  

To Braid or Not to Braid- That is the Question

When people ask me how I ended up living in Columbia, South Carolina, I tell them I moved here for a great job opportunity, which is only part of the story.

The truth is, I’m here because of a French Braid.   

In fact, the entire course of my life was altered because of that damn braid.

Flash back to June, 1982.  Bowling Green, Ohio.  I was fresh out of grad school, eager to land a job in the real world.  I had an interview with the Leo Burnett Advertising Agency at 10:00 the next morning.

It was my dream job.  Leo Burnett was one of the top advertising agencies in the country, and they were looking for a statistical research analyst. That job had my name written all over it.

And it was at Leo Burnett!  

The creative geniuses behind the Pillsbury Dough Boy and the Keebler Elves!   They were the stinkin’ Super Bowl winners in the Advertising space.  And I was going to work for them!

My new navy blue interview suit hung over my closet door.  My red silk blouse was ironed.  I’d even invested in a new pair of panty hose. 

Remember those?

OMG.  I was so excited.  All I had to do was go to bed, wake up, drive ½ hour to Toledo, hop on a plane, take a cab to Leo Burnett’s downtown office, and impress the interview team with my brilliance.  Simple.

The French Braid was my idea.  I thought I would look more professional if my hair was braided.  My friend Janet O. came over that night to braid it, tucking ever loose hair in place, generously applying hair spray to maximize the hold.  

I looked fantastic.  How could they not hire me?  Amazing brain, killer suit, and rockin’ French Braid.  I went to bed, taking great care not to mess up my rockin’ French Braid.

I’m a side sleeper, but I quickly discovered that sleeping on one’s side is not conducive to keeping a French Braid intact.   I could feel the braid begin to loosen. 

So I rolled to my back, carefully placing the braid flat on the pillow before joining it.

It felt like I was laying atop a beer bottle.   Made of rock.

I attempted some creative pillow origami, placing one pillow on either side of my head, with the beer bottle braid wedged between them.  If I could remain perfectly still, the rockin’ stinkin’ French Braid would survive the night.  

As you might imagine, it was a wee bit difficult to fall asleep in this position, and with every tick of the clock I became more and more anxious.  At about midnight I drove to an all night pharmacy to buy Sominex (AKA Tylenol PM of the olden days).  

The clerk complimented me on my hair.

Sadly, the Sominex did not work. In fact, I never slept a wink until the plane took off for Chicago.  I slept for 43 minutes, the length of the flight.  And in the cab on the way to my interview. 
 

I somehow pulled it together and kicked some ass in the morning interviews, running on pure adrenalin.   It was at lunch when things started going downhill, or more accurately, where the fatal crash and burn occurred.  

The manager of the analytics team asked me a series of technical questions.  I became less and less coherent with each question.  

I was in a fog.  For all I know, she was asking, “What is 2 plus 5?" 

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“What is 2 plus 5?”

“Um, yes I learned that in my Applied Statistics program.  I love that kind of problem.  It has something to do with the normal distribution.  Or a table of random numbers.  Or maybe a French Braid?”

Then I started performing my Multicollinearity Rap.  

OK, I didn’t really sing my Multicollineariy Rap, but I probably would have if I had written it by then. 

It was the worst interview in the history of interviews.  I suppose it could have been worse.  I never threw up.

But my French Braid was lovely.  Not a hair out of place.

About a month later I interviewed at Miller Brewing Company for another amazing job.  I did not braid my hair and, although I didn't look as "professional", I landed the position.  

And I met Dave.  And we had kids.  And I changed jobs. Which led to my job in Florida.  Which led to my job in Columbia, where I got involved in the theatre community.  Which got me writing this blog.

And, at the risk of sounding hokey, I'm glad I wore my hair in a French Braid for that interview.

The more I think about it, those Keebler Elves are kind of creepy.

Nail on the Head

Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. 

Sure.  I’ve never been able to successfully pull off a practical joke in my entire life.

But I’ve never had a Fake Nail Through the Finger before! 

Just looking at it makes me giggle!!

But I can’t giggle.  That’s always been my downfall.   Whenever I attempt to pull off a prank, the snorting begins.  All I have to do is look at the person I’m trying to prank and I start sniggering. 

(Like the day I wore my bacon bandage to a meeting.)

But I was prepared this time.  I developed a plan. 

I knew I couldn’t just run to Dave with a nail through my bloody finger and say, “OMG!  Look what happened to me!  I just hammered a nail through my finger!”
 
He’d never buy it.  He’s way too smart for that.  He’d wonder why he hadn’t heard any hammering before my accident.

So I got a hammer and real nail and announced loudly that I was going to be hammering a nail into the wall.  In fact, I showed him the new key holder that I purchased.  “See this new key holder?” I said, holding it up proudly, not unlike Vanna White in Wheel of Fortune.  “I’m going to hammer this into the wall next to the back door.”

Just for effects I said, “I better be careful not to hurt my finger, or anything.”   

Dave ignored me.

“I mean, a hammer is a dangerous tool.  Who knows what could happen if I miss the nail.”   

Dave ignored me.

I left the room and implemented my plan.  I hammered several times and screamed. 

I put my fake nail and the bloody bandage around my finger, running dramatically into the family room, sounding remarkably like Meryl Steep and whimpered, “Dave!  Look what I’ve done!”

He glanced at my finger and said, “I hope you didn’t spend more than a dime on that stupid thing.”
 
I must admit that I fell short of my goal.  Although I did manage to pull off the stunt without one giggle, it was not convincing. 

But I know where I went wrong.  

I put it on the wrong appendage.  

Dave would have completely fallen for the Fake Nail Through the Toe trick.  Hook line and sinker. 

Managing Customer Expectations

I’ve always got my eyes open for exciting new products to showcase in my mall kiosk.  And I hit pay dirt when I discovered F-Cup cookies on the Japan Trend Shop website.

Clearly, F-Cup cookies would make a fine addition to my product mix.   

I was certain that, with proper marketing, F-Cup cookies could be more popular than even the 2014 Furby.  In fact, they could potentially outsell the next generation I-Phone.

After all, who doesn’t want an F-cup?

I developed my pricing strategy.  I believe consumers would spend up to $29.99 for a box of cookies that will expand one’s bust to an F-Cup.

Unfortunately,  the cost of the cookies ($22 plus $12 shipping and handling) was excessive.  I would have to find a cheaper product source.

The obvious solution would be for me to manufacture my own F-Cup cookies.   After all, I am rather good in the kitchen.  (And, at the risk of appearing arrogant, I am a summa cum laude graduate of Michaels's Cake Decorating Class.)

I looked closely at the F-Cup advertising copy.  F-Cup cookies include a 50 mg dose of the Pueraria Mirifica plant, which is, apparently, the special ingredient which “boost your assets” (their words, not mine).

So, all I would have to do is get my hands on some Pueraria Mirifica plants and bake them into cookies. 

No problem.

But I quickly discovered that neither Lowes nor Home Depot sells Pueraria Mirifica plants. 

So I did some more research.  OMG.  This is one potent plant.  According to Wikpedia,

“The benefits of this this medicine is to support memory, talk big, and be able to remember three books of the astrology, make the skin smooth like six year old kid, live more than 1,000 years and parasite diseases are not able to be of trouble.”

So my Nerdling F-Cup cookies would not only boost a woman’s assets to an F-cup, but would increase her memory so she could remember not 1, not 2, but 3 books of astrology, make her skin smooth like a 6-year old kid, and live more than 1,000 years with no parasites?

Wait. One. Minute. 

I was completely on board until I read that a 1,000 year old would have skin as smooth as a 6-year old.  Come on!  My mama didn’t raise no fool.   

There is no way in the world any one over the age of, say, 980 years of age would have skin as smooth as a 6-year old. 

Not to mention that parasite thing.

I mean, I would think women with F-cups be parasite magnets.

That brand promise is way too lofty for my Nerdling F-Cup cookies.  I have a reputation to protect.  I’ll just stick with the basics. 

Nerdling F-Cup Cookies will increase your bust size to an F-cup.  And increase your memory so that you can remember not 1, not 2, but 3 books of astrology telephone numbers.