Aiming to Please

Good help is hard to find.  And it is near impossible to coerce either one of the two people I live with to take a stinkin' picture! 

In fact, they seem to have sunk to new levels.   

Linda is acting like I’m asking her to take a picture of a decomposing corpse.   “I’m not getting anywhere near that disgusting thing.”

“My Go-Girl is not disgusting”, I declared, defensively.

“You used it already, didn’t you?”

“Yes I did,” I replied.   “And it works great!”  

Of course I used it!  A good photographer does her homework:  studies the surrounding,  checks the lighting,  and tests the equipment prior to beginning the photo shoot.   

And after I test drove my Go-Girl I washed it with soap and warm water, as per the directions.   I left it on the counter to air dry.

“Mom EUUUUUUU!  Get that off the counter.  It’s disgusting.”
 
OMG, is this the same teenager who had mold growing on a plate in her closet last week?
 
“Make Dad take the pictures,"  she said, racing out of the room with her fingers covering her nostrils.

But the only way Dave will take a picture for me is if he can take it while laying down on the couch in the family room.  Between innings on the baseball game he’s watching.  

I really didn’t want to pee in the family room.   Who pees in their family room?
 
But Dave told me I could pee in the family room if I used a bucket.   

COME ON!  He is seriously missing the point.  You don’t need a bucket if you have a Go-Girl.   You can pee anywhere you want to with a Go-Girl! 

I could pee in the bushes in my back yard if I wanted to.  Just like a man.

BTW- Barbie had her own ideas for the Go-Girl.  Apparently, she was still pouting about the Nerdling Makeover and decided that the Go-Girl made a good hat.  That coincidentally hid her new hairdo.

Very funny, Barbie.

I get no respect in this house.  Who needs them anyhow?   In addition to being a gifted writer, inventor and cosmetologist, I take outstanding photographs.  Plus, I’m ambidextrous.

So I went into the bathroom, lifted the lid, and with one hand on the camera and one hand on the Go-Girl I proceeded to pee like a man.

And I learned an important lesson.  

It’s very difficult to aim a Go-Girl and a camera at the same time.  My aim was a wee bit off. 

Which reminds me of a sign I saw in a restaurant bathroom once.

 
That's when I realized just how effective my Go-Girl is.  

 I peed just like a man.

Amber Alert from Hell

I woke up in a pool of sweat, my pulse racing.  Wow.  The dream seemed so real.  But it wasn't just a nightmare....   

It was a flashback to the mid-90's.

4-year old Kimmy was "lost" in a brightly colored hamster tube at Leaps 'N Bounds.  It had been 10 minutes since I'd last spotted her behind a steering wheel waving to me through a smudged-up window 2 stories above my head.  

I had motioned for her to come down, but she conveniently disappeared.   

I followed her trail from below, anticipating her moves.  A-ha!  I spotted her in the control room at the top of the twirly slide.

I stuck my head up the bottom of the brightly colored curley-cue, "GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, KIMMY WALT!" I barely got the "OR ELSE" out before I was hit in the lips by a pair of brightly colored socks.

Not hers.

I growled as I climbed up a purple ladder and yelled, "KIMMY!  I KNOW YOU HEAR ME!  COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I counted to 100.  She was still missing.  Damn!

I was going to have to go in after her. 

It's been over 20 years since I entered that hell hole and I recall it like it was yesterday. 

OMG!  The plastic was so hard.  My knees were killing me before I'd gone 10 feet.

And apparently I wasn't moving quite fast enough.  Terrorist todlers were tailgating me as I maneuvered through the tubes.  "Back off, Buster," I said to an unruly rugrat attempting an illegal pass on a curve.

It was so stinkin' hot.  And humid.  The aroma of sweaty children comingled with pizza and a hint of poopy diaper wafted around me.  And something else.  What was it?   

I rounded a corner and put my hand into the something else.  Puke.  It was all I could do to keep from adding to the collection.  I wanted to turn around, but the traffic jam of toddlers behind me prevented any change of course. 

I wiped my hand on the tube wall and did my best spider woman maneuver to get around the nastiness.

I was literally trapped like a rat in a maze.  I tottered down one tube after another, calling Kimmy's name.  The claustrophobia began to kick in as my panic intensified.

Then I saw the steering wheel.  She must be close!

I knimped (def: limp while crawling on hands and knees) my way to the smudged-up window to get my bearing.  I looked down only to see Kimmy looking up at me.

But she disappeared.  Was it a mirage? 

About 2 seconds later she was next to me.  My sweet, sweaty 4-year old Kimmy had come to my rescue.

I disembarked the curli-cue slide and considered kissing the ground, but decided against it considering the carpet's condition.  Then my day got even better.  The pimply-faced teen-aged bouncer told me that I was too big to go up in the tubes.

So I told him he smelled like farts.

Barbie's Makeover

Barbie’s been pouting for weeks.  Ever since that Ice Bucket Challenge.  Apparently, she thinks I messed up her hair.

Just because it had a few leaves in it.  And dirt.  And blades of grass.

For the record, there was absolutely no dog poop present.

I was so sick of all that whining that I decided to give Barbie a makeover at the Nerdling Hair Salon.  (That's how considerate I am.)

Don’t worry, Barbie.  I’m a gifted hair stylist.

I shampooed her hair, successfully removing all yard debris.  I then applied fabric softener to make her hair silky.

After combing and blow-drying Barbie's hair, I decided that it was just too stinkin’ long.  As Al Gore once said, "You should never be able to sit on your own hair."

  
So I got out my scissors and went to work.  I used all kinds of interesting angles and styling strategies.  I call this the "RPM" (Retro-Punk-Mullett):

.
And I think she looks beautiful. 

Except that blond is so unoriginal.  Barbie needed some highlights.  I went to Food Lion for some Kool-Aid.

It brings tears to my eyes.

For some reason Barbie was not at all happy with her new do.  And I’m getting sick of her attitude.   I feel very unappreciated. 

I think I’ll get started on my next project.

The Horny Cat

Damn Dave.  Allergic to cats.   I really want one. 

So I can dress it up in an Inflatable Unicorn Hat.  Check it out!  It's stinkin' amazing. 

And it’s high quality.  I can tell.   "It holds via a four point elastic strap system."  That thing will stay put.

OMG.  I just had a scathingly brilliant idea. 

I should get one for my boss!  She has a cat.  

I just hope she doesn't confuse my generosity with sucking up.

But it could be risky.  What if her cat doesn't like it?  The cat on the box looks happy enough, but the one in the front looks a wee bit angry. 

Or humiliated.

Impossible to tell.   I decided to check out the reviews. 

There were lots of positive ones:

"I got this unicorn horn for Louis my cat. I went to clear out his litter box later that day. Instead of the usually smelly turds, I found miniature rainbows and stars!"

"Yes it's true! This unicorn horn is amazing. I only put it on my cat for special occasions. It's power is almost too much power for one cat to handle."

"This is an excellent purchase for anyone who has failed to find love amongst their own species. I bought 12."

Still, there were a couple of red flags:

"Please only use with declawed cats and a cat-muzzle."

"To our human staff member: Attempt to put this on our heads and we will shred your hands. We are cats, not stupid dogs. Hear us and obey." 

Then I saw this one.

"Found out if you fill it with water and freeze it, it's sharp enough to kill your spouse with. Allegedly."

I decided NOT to get an Inflatable Unicorn Hat for Cathy after reading this review:

"Three weeks after receiving this product, my cat was killed and eaten by a dog wearing an inflatable Voldemort costume. I want my money back."

Yeah, I like my job too much.

But then I read this:

"This is the coolest thing ever. Dreams do come true. It also works on dogs. Props to the originator of this product."

Kevin.  Come out from under the ping-pong table!

I have the most scathingly brilliant idea!

Shape us, face up!

To the untrained eye, I was just one of a myriad of shoppers meandering the aisles of WalMart.  But I was on a mission.  A mission of beauty.

I wanted to make my own Facial Fitness Pao Smile Trainer. 
 
The Facial Fitness Pao Smile Trainer on the Japan Trend shop was extraordinary, promising a better, younger smile.   But sadly, it was a bit way out of my blog budget, costing $271 plus shipping and handling.

OK.  It wasn't just about the money.  Truth be told,  I didn't want to look like one of these people when I was training my smile.

What if someone were to come to my door when I was in the midst of a smile training session?  I have a reputation to protect!

So I wandered the aisles looking for something I could use to make my own, more attractive, Facial Fitness Smile Trainer.

I was temporarily delayed at the Poop Play-Doh exhibit.  I seriously considered constructing my Facial Fitness Smile Trainer out of the Poo-Dough.  I examined the kit carefully.  Hmmmm.  It could work!  If I strung multiple turds together with straws.  Or dental floss.

But then I thought about putting it in my mouth. 

And decided to keep looking.
 
Sporting goods?  Nothing.  Automotive?  Zilch.  Infant socks?  Nada.

I finally hit pay dirt in the pet toy department.  Not only is my dog toy cute and shakeable, it squeaks! 

And it gives me quite a work out!

Now, the ordinary marketing genius would be satisfied with these results.  But I’m no ordinary Marketing genius.  

I found a way to make my Nerdling Facial Fitness Smile Trainer even more strenuous.

Throughout my product testing, Kevin looked on with envy, coveting my Nerdling Facial Fitness Smile Trainer.  I should have known he'd find a way to get his grubby little paws on it. 

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he was the one who took it. 

The evidence is overwhelming.

The Sexy Peach

There are some things that you just can't un-see.

Like peaches wearing panties.  I doubt I will ever look at a peach the same way again.

Lingerie clad peaches are very popular in China, where they sell for 498 yuan, or $81 in U.S. currency.  

That's way out of my blog budget. 

So, I decided to make my own panty clad peach.  I got a very nice peach at WalMart last Sunday.  Then I cruised the aisles looking for something I could use to make into panties for my peach. 

I hit pay dirt when I arrived at the infant sock section.   But I wasn't sure the pink sock would fit over my peach's butt.  

I looked around  to make sure nobody was watching.  The coast was clear.  I attempted to pull up the sock over the peach.  Damn if I didn't have the Kim Kardishian of peaches!

I moved up to toddler socks.  I saw a pretty lace pair, but they were stapled together at the top.  I held it up next to the peach looking back and forth from the sock to the peach when I heard, "Can I help you?" 

"No.  I don't think this is going to fit," I said. 

My peach and I walked away.  I decided I'd look for peach panties when I had more patience.

I forgot all about my peach lingerie project until today, when I noticed my peach sitting alone in the fruit bowl.  And apparently, one week in human life is the equivalent of 50 peach years.  My peach had aged significantly.

 
It not only had wrinkles; it had cellulite.

I'm sorry to say that my wrinkled up peach would look quite unattractive in sexy lingerie.

Which left me no choice:

Granny panties.

The Undercover Umbrella

It's about time!

I've tried unsuccessfully  for years to sneak my umbrella into places which prohibit umbrellas. 

And I'm always caught.  No matter where it is hidden.

Invariably, someone notices the tell-tale umbrella handle poking out of my bra.  Or I'll accidentally trip on the strap as the umbrella slips down the inside of my pant leg.

 "Hey!  Where do you think you're going with that umbrella?  Don't you know umbrellas are prohibited?"

It's humiliating.

Now, thanks to the crafty innovators at the Japan Trend Shop, I can discretely carry my umbrella disguised as an “adorable and remarkably life-like lettuce umbrella.”  The Vegetrabrella Lettuce Umbrella is answer to my prayers. 

I will surreptitiously sneak my lettuce umbrella wherever I wish, and nobody will be the wiser.   

I think they should get busy on a Vegetrawinebox.