Wednesday, March 3, 2010

I have to say, not much surprises me these days. However, I did receive a nice little jolt while I was performing some insomniac channel surfing in the wee hours a few days ago:

Jimmy Johnson is now the spokesperson for ExtenZe--that hokey "male enhancement" drug.

.....
....
...
..
.

I know.
I thought I would give it a few minutes to sink in for you, too.

Now I'll repeat:

Jimmy Johnson--football coach, Superbowl winner, sports commentator--is THE.SPOKESPERSON.FOR.EXTENZE.

Don't believe me? Check it out:





"Go long with ExtenZe. I do."
TMI, Jimmy.
T.M.I.

Also, don't you wonder EXACTLY what they're all going to talk about at the Jimmy Johnson ExtenZe dinner?

This begs another question: Couldn't he just sell his Superbowl ring if he needed money?!?

Dignity, man, DIG.NI.TY.

I just hope my Texas-born husband doesn't find out...
(Sorry honey.)

I think my brain is overloading...

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Something was proven to me this weekend that I (and some of my closest friends) have suspected for quite some time:

I'm not really a girl.

If you've been around me for any length of time, this fact quickly becomes clear. I just don't like to do any of the stereotypically women (or woman-bonding) things.

I don't like spa days where you get facials and massages ("Please don't touch me. Thanks.")

Manis and pedis? *gasp*

Sitting in a salon for 2 hours getting my hair highlighted and cut?
A fate worse than death.

I don't like chocolate truffles, candy at Valentines Day, talking on the telephone, shopping (yes I said it, "I.DON'T.LIKE.SHOPPING!"), soap operas, Tupperware parties, changing handbags with every outfit, books and movies about vampire romances, gossiping or drama. (Seriously people, this is a NO.DRAMA.ZONE.)

I don't even really like jewelry.

I wear my wedding rings, a necklace from my husband, and the same hoop earrings--a gift to celebrate Ella's birth--daily.

That's it.

Which brings me back to this weekend's concrete proof.

My friends hosted a jewelry party--a fantastic company that will be a great side business for them.

As I walked into a room full of OOO-ing and Ahhh-ing women, I immediately realized something I already suspected:

This just isn't for me.

I was overwhelmed by the tables full of hundreds of pieces of jewelry. I didn't understand the need to fondle and try pieces of jewelry like the other women. I was even more perplexed at the need to discuss where you would wear it and with what outfit ad nauseum.

Don't get me wrong, it was a completely fantastic party with absolutely beautiful pieces of jewelry.

It's totally me.

I'm obviously missing that notch in an X chromosome that makes me giddy with joy over girly things.

I divulged this personal information to another mom over lunch this week when I said, "I don't like to talk on the phone, and I really don't like to shop."

At which point she said?
"We can no longer be friends."

See? I told you...

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Last night, we had chinese food. My favorite part of the meal -- like everyone else -- is the fortune cookie! (Hellooooo - bits of wisdom IN A COOKIE?!? GENIUS.)

Giddy with anticipation, I delicately break apart my cookie to find the following advice:

Behind an able man, there are always.

Period. That was it. ALWAYS WHAT?!?

Everyone knows the rule of fortune cookie etiquette -- if you get a fortune you hate, you get to choose another cookie.

(OK, you may not have known that rule of etiquette because, quite honestly, I just made it up. But anyway...)

Skeptically, I choose another cookie. I read it with a raised eyebrow.

Hubby: What did it say?
Me: The current year will bring you much happiness.
Hubby: Well you better get on it, you have about six weeks.

And just then?
The dog threw up.
Twice.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


I recently entered a photo contest called "Faces & Places of the World."

You can see my entries and vote for one of my photos at these links (it's free and easy):

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901473 (Tide Pools)

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901488 (Premature Beaching)

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901490 (Marching to the Beat of Your Own Drum)

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901492 (Daddy & Me)

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901496 (Untitled)

http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008901499 (Goin' In...)

Thanks for your support!

Friday, October 16, 2009

It may seem like only six months ago that I was blogging about my previous laptop crash and bragging about my new sleek HP Pavilion notebook PC.

That's because it really was only six months ago.

I've been living in denial of my new computer problems for about three months now.
MONTHS.
THREE MONTHS.
(In case you can't do the math, that's half the time I've had my new computer.)

It started with a grinding fan. Then an overheating battery causing the system to shut down. Then just the system in general overheating and shutting down every 10 minutes (it will probably shut down twice while trying to blog this).

I wish that computers had one of those Onstar-type buttons that connected you directly to a tech person so you could immediately yell at them in the midst of your frustration.

Unfortunately, I haven't found the Onstar button, so I had to call the dreaded tech support.

The following is an actual conversation...

ME: Hi, I bought my computer system in April 2009 and it's been overheating and I want to take it back to Staples to have them work on it but they need HP's permission.
(Yes, I believe in getting all the info out in one breath.)

Tech: Hello, how are you?

ME: *moment of silence* Uh, I'm calling tech support...

Tech: Yes, let's see...do you have Wista?

ME: Pardon?


Tech: Wista? Windows Wista?

ME: AH...yes, I have Vista.

Tech: Can you hold please? My system is frozen.

...
..
.
Tech: Can you give me the serial number?

ME: 99999A as in AMERICA, 9, A as in AMERICA, 44 A as in AMERICA

Tech: Please hold, my system is still frozen.

...
..
.
Tech: Thank you for holding. Please connect to the Internet.

ME: Uh...I would love to, but my SYSTEM HAS OVERHEATED AND WON'T BOOT UP.

Tech: Your system won't boot to the desktop?

ME: *sigh* Not at the moment. No. IT. HAS. OVERHEATED.

Tech: Please hold...
...
..
.
Tech: OK, please take out the battery...

ME: It's already out. It hasn't been in for two months because it overheats...

Tech: Oh. Please hold.
...
..
.
Tech: How old is your system?

ME: *SIGH* I bought it in April...APRIL

Tech: Of this year?

ME: Yep. *maniacal laughter*

Tech: Oh. Please hold.
...
..
.
Tech: You are now authorized to take your system to Staples. Thank you.

And that, my friends, is how you get the same solution you asked for right out of the box 17 minutes and 29 seconds later. Yes, I timed it.

Enjoy this post? Nominate it for BlogHer of the Week. (It'll make me feel warm & fuzzy...)

I've blogged before about business signs (or building signs, or signs in people's front yards). Mostly, I've blogged about the misspellings on signs. This time, let's concentrate on the craziness of signs in general, shall we?

Businesses are a great place to start for some fun making. I mean, you have to wonder what some people are thinking? Obviously, malfunctions in signs can give off the wrong information. VERY WRONG INFORMATION. Take this clinic sign for example.

This was on one side of the building.

This was on the other (malfunctioning) side of the building.

Do you think the clinic is wondering why they're getting a sudden influx of people talking about issues with their bowel movements? Hm.

But (heh heh, transition pun intended) sometimes well-intended business signs can backfire. I mean, REALLY, this happens so often that this store had to make a sign for it?!?

Has this EVER happened to you?!? (That's what I thought...) This might be saying more about their merchandise than they think.

One of my all time business sign favs is this little gem we found during our beach vaca this year:

SIGN: Government Hotel, Bailout Denied, Stay Here Cus We Need the Money

(It must be working - I see there was no vacancy.)

Sometimes, signs are just about placement and wording. When we lived on the East Coast, a popular fast food chicken chain posted "Dark Family Meal $4.99" on their sign. It stayed up there for one afternoon before it was reworded. *duh*

So, wording placement is key to getting across what you mean. For example? I really don't care how cheap Porta Potty water is, I'm still not drinking it.

Sometimes it's just fun to create your own sign placement so that you can blog about it later (heh heh). (Wonder what kind of fish "baby bait" catches?!?)

Speaking of using your baby for fun and games (until someone puts an eye out...):

When you're dealing with baby stuff, you find some pretty interesting signs and labels. Many leave you scratching your head in the "HUH?!? WHAT THE...?!?" kinda way. Recently, I found this choking hazard on a solid piece about the size of a large, tall thermos. NO ATTACHMENTS. NO PARTS.

Now, if my baby can get this down her throat, I would expect some kind of choking. (Well, perhaps not even choking, just sudden asphyxiation and then death. Or, at the very least, a large, goiter-like protrusion the rest of her life.)

But thanks for warning me about THAT hazard...

This caution sign found on one of those storage tubs really bummed me out.

APPARENTLY you can't put your baby in one of those big, plastic storage tubs. Imagine my disappointment when this information ruined a Friday night out on the town for me. I also had to rethink packing for vacation.

Sometimes even smart people have stupid signs. For instance, this bumper sticker is on the back of a SAAB *ahem*:

Don't worry. You'll get it later...

Lastly? I leave you with this sign that can be found in my home office:

'Nuf said.

So, what's your sign?

I have a secret.
Sometimes I listen to Canadian talk radio.

*gasp*

Look, I (heart) me some NPR just like everyone else, but lately I've felt like I listened to the SAME NPR story every morning (just change the names). (Sometimes it's the same story with even the same names.)

Something had to be done (at least for my entertainment sanity). So I looked to our friends to the North. (In my case, it's a little more East, but whatever. Semantics.)

Anyway...

CBC radio has a show called the Q with Jian Ghomeshi. (You can follow him on Twitter, but FYI he won't follow you back. Even so, he has some good Tweets.) I find the show really fresh and funny with an interesting mix of culture, art, music, book and entertainment news. For example, in the past couple of weeks I've heard interviews with Sonic Youth, the guy who created the game Tetris (one of the greatest games EVER), and David Sedaris. Today was an interview with an artist I've been listening to for a couple of years -- Madeline Peyroux -- and I got to hear her play from her new album. Tomorrow Jian's talking to Bill Cosby.

I mean, could you get more random than Sonic Youth and then Bill Cosby?!?

So there's never a dull moment. It always seems like something uber-interesting happens on the show. Take the Dave Matthews interview, for example.

A couple of weeks ago they had an interview with music man Dave Matthews talking about his new album Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King. During the interview, Dave Matthews goes off on this wacky tale tangent about how he and his daughter scared a mango-eating monkey. It was funny to listen to Jian. It was one of those, "Do I stop this and move on, or let him go on to tell the funky story?" uncomfortable moments.




My first thought was, "Sure, you scared a monkey, but do you have a monkey lamp?!?"

EX-ACT-LY.

No go on, listen to some Q.

It had been a particularly rough week and I was feeling down.
Crabby.
Caged.
Claustrophobic.
Guilty.
Useless.

So the obvious answer?
McDonald's.
(*duh*)

Ella and I arrived at the M-mecca, ordered a couple of grilled chicken wraps to share, and sat just outside the room with the play area so she could gaze longingly at all the germy kids inside. (Hey, it's my bad mood, I can do what I want.)

I expected the service that is usual for any establishment these days. You know, strung out, nonchalant teenagers who say "no problem" instead of "you're welcome." This day I was pleasantly surprised.

We ordered no Happy Meal, yet the manager gave us a toy.
Appropriate for Ella's age!
And a Ronald smile mask!

When they saw me struggling with baby, bag, and purse, they offered to bring my meal out.
And then they did it!
And even asked if I needed salt and ketchup.
And fetched it!

And then, as if on cue, an older gentlemen offered to let Ella stick her grubby little finger in his ice cream to take a bite. (To which I politely declined. Please refer to these.)

Where was I? Some alternate universe? Was this what was happening to the world while I was locked away every day?!?

Say it ain't so!

Just as the clouds parted, the birds started to sing, the rainbow appeared and unicorns jumped around cotton candy trees, I watched a mother and her 4-year-old daughter walk up to the self-serve soda station. The little girl put her cup under the water and her mom immediately snatched it away screeching, "We paid for a drink! You're getting orange drink instead of water!"

It was once again clear why I didn't venture out that often.

I smiled down at Ella who was watching the scene intently and happily drinking her water.
From her own water bottle.
That we brought with us.
FOR FREE.

My mood was a little lighter.
At least for that moment.

I like mochas.
I like babies.
Sometimes I even like to take my baby into a place where they serve mochas - say, like, a Starbucks.
I'm assuming other people do as well.
But I'm seriously reconsidering my support of Starbucks.

On two recent driving trips, we stopped at several Starbucks. NONE had changing tables in their bathrooms. That's ZERO, NADA, ZIP, ZILCH. BIG, NICE, SINGLE PERSON bathrooms (big enough to house a frat party) and they couldn't install one of those cheap, flip-down, plastic changing tables? Look, unless you want me changing my baby on your table a la Britney, you might want to rethink this.

So, I'm in serious contemplation about starting a movement against family-unfriendly Starbucks. I mean, dudes, give up $200 of your corporate salaries TO INSTALL A CHANGING TABLE.

MOMS LIKE COFFEE, TOO!

Look, before I had a baby, I hated kids in my space, too. However, now that I have a baby? You all must be subjected to babyness. I mean, who does Starbucks think they are putting those open air coolers in so that little grubby hands can just reach and pick any glass-bottled drink product they want? In my opinion, they are just asking for a little artsy rearranging of those ceramic cups ON THE BOTTOM SHELF.

How dare they create a family unfriendly environment?

Then again, they may have a point. I'm pretty sure the guy saying the rosary didn't appreciate Ella running over and grabbing his yummy pastry off the table while he had his eye closed. (Her little legs are deceptively fast!)

So what do I know, anyway?!?

Alternately Titled: Being an April Fool is no joke.

How does this blog post look?
Spiffy?
Way cooler than before?
Like a few hundred bucks?
It should.
I'm writing to you from my new super-duper HP Pavilion dv7 "Entertainment PC" laptop with AMD Turion x2 ATI Radeon HD 3200 Graphics wifi certified windows vista lightscribe direct disc labeling sms premium sound mediasmart camera built in and a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time.

And, yes. I just read all of that right off the label stuck to my new laptop. (Well, except the compass thing, but you already knew that.)

And, nope. I have no idea what 90% of it means.

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

My old laptop was going down. Fast. It was around 3 years old. I used it daily. It stayed on most of the time. It was way bogged down with pictures and web graphics and games and all the other stuff you're not supposed to save on your laptop. I knew it was coming. I was just hoping to postpone shelling out the Benjies for a new one. Say, for about 3 more years. Unfortunately it had other ideas.

On Tuesday, in preparation for the big scary April Fool's virus (that seems to happen every year with lots of pomp and circumstance but no delivery), I decided to spend the evening cleaning up my laptop, updating all my virus protection, etc. etc. This included downloading CCleaner to clean off a REALLY slow running low memory hard drive. I'll save you all the blah-blah-blah, but ultimately CCleaner removed some Windows registry items and upon reboot gave me THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH (BSoD). So I spent all of April 1st - like a fool - trying to fix it myself. I'll save you all of the wailing, crying and gnashing of teeth. And that was just from my husband for living with me during this time.

Day 2 of BSoD: We took my laptop into some great computer guys who tried to revive old lappy for not one, not two, but three days.

THREE DAYS.
That would be over four days of no laptop.
No work.
Under a work deadline.

Now?
Lappy's dead (apparently - and shock of no shocks - there were a multitude of other problems, too). OK, well, not really DEAD (Lappy still boots up), but severely wounded beyond repair.

So here we are.
A new computer.
Something that would be fun and exciting for most people.
Something that's more like water torture for me.

It's been lots of fun at my house. (Scratch that...I've been loads of fun.)

So, tell me.
Can you read me now?

Dear Guy Sitting at the Table Behind Me:

I'm sorry I keep unplugging your computer from the outlet right by my a**. Sucks to be you. Get here earlier next time for prime seating.

Signed,
Big A** Means No Electricity for You

__________

Dear Overdressed Woman:

A black mini skirt, black tights, red fold-down suede spike-heeled boots and outfit accessorized with a red scarf and matching red flower in your hair might be wee overkill for a day of working remotely in Panera.

I'm just sayin'.
Signed,
Girl in the Hoodie
__________
Dear Public Online Video Chatter:

DUDE! Take it to your house.

Signed,
Thank Goodness It Didn't Involve Nudity

__________

Dear Military-Jet-FlyBoys:

Thank you for making my day. Please feel free to come in whenever I'm here.

Signed,
Needed a Distraction from Writing About HIPAA

Quick, name a John Denver song!

For MOST OF YOU, you either:
A. Could only name that Country Roads/West Virginia song after you hummed part of it, or
B. Have no idea who I'm talking about.

Until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't thought about John Denver in probably, OH, 20 years when I used to (sadly) hang out with someone who has an unhealthy fixation on him. This friend recently found me and we hooked up on Facebook.

And he still loves John Denver. (But that's another post).
However, he joined a Facebook group about John Denver.

WHAT?!?! There are ENTIRE GROUPS about John Denver in 2009?!?! WHAT?!?!

So I did a little research. Shockingly there are 336 Facebook Groups formed on John Denver.
That's THREE HUNDRED GROUPS (thousands of people - THOUSANDS) who want to talk about John Denver.

One group alone called I Love John Denver, and I'm Not Ashamed to Admit It has 1,187 members.
THAT'S THOUSAND.
(Really, people, I couldn't make this stuff up).

Here's the description:
This is a group for all of you hopeless romantics like me, who believe, despite all the criticism and cynicism of others, that JD wrote some pretty nifty songs and could sing like nobody's business. Travel down "Country Roads" with me, as I celebrate the "Sunshine on My Shoulders" and feel "Rocky Mountain High"!

I think that the group should be closed down on poor writing skills - just for using NIFTY alone - but that's just me.

I digress...

So anyway, there are some pretty interesting group titles. For example, you have to give credit to the 147-member strong I love John Denver But I'm Not Sure Why group. Admitting it is the first step.

There's also the When I drink I listen to John Denver on Vinyl group. There are 33 members there who obviously aren't willing to take ANY steps yet.

I have no earthly idea what this group is about, but apparently only 9 members wanted to find out:
Facciamo crescere i capelli a Fossa per farlo assomigliare a John Denver

Shockingly, some John Denver groups are pretty bitter (which I think is WEIRD for, you know, followers of a FOLK SINGER. What happened to PEACE? LOVE? And all that other crap?).

There's one group called John Denver could kick the ninja cowboy crap out of Chuck Norris. What is it EXACTLY that these 28 members spend their time on? Frankly, I'm a little afraid to find out.

There's a That John Denver is full of SH*T, man group. I'm not sure if this files under JD lover or JD hater? But there are 20 members that are willing to talk about how full of it he is.

Here's a group that CLEARLY is in the hater category: If John Denver wasn't dead, I would punch him in the mouth (17 violent members who are happy to announce it).

Another in your face group is the John F------ Denver Fan Club. These 29 members might be too angry to have a John Denver fan club. They should probably check with the corporate headquarters (or one of these other groups should probably turn them in). I'm POSITIVE there are qualifications for being a JD fan. Anger isn't one of them. (Try the Nine Inch Nails Group. You might fit in well there).

My personal favorite was the If You Don't Like John Denver You Can Suck It group. Not what you would expect from the seemingly-peace loving followers of a folk artist, but hey, it also sounds like a group I would join. (If it weren't for the fact that you have to spend time, er, talking about JOHN DENVER).

I would love to tell you more, but frankly I lost interest after scrolling through a couple of pages. And? I had other things to do, like clean kitty litter and stuff.

However, all of this research does beg ONE BIG QUESTION:
Why do John Denver fans have so much time on their hands?

Hm.
You draw your own conclusions.

In the flurry of house cleaning to get ready for our Superbowl party, I managed to break, destroy or damage the following things that are (er, were) dear to me:

1. A piece of pottery that I made with a dear friend. It was a stupid little "monsta" that I made just for fun, but it made me smile thinking of her and the time we spent together at the pottery place every time I looked at it. RIP, Monsta, RIP.
2. A beautifully framed photograph of Venice (one of our favorite places we've visited).
3. A crystal ring holder that was given to me as a gift the same day my (now) husband gave me my engagement ring.
4. My formal antique dining room chair. APPARENTLY you can't throw a wet rag with bleach on it over the back of an antique chair without the bleach eating the stain away and leaving a NICE "foggy" look on the back of the chair just in time for the Superbowl party this weekend and then Ella's first birthday party next weekend.

Go ahead. You can blame me for all this damage and destruction, but I say without a Superbowl none of this would've happened. NONE. OF. IT. Good thing there will be beer and food, because that's the ONLY thing that will make me forget about #4.

things

• Apparently, people don't mind to video chat in public.


• If you inadvertantly make eye contact with someone, they will spend 20 minutes talking to you about the wonders of technology.


• There are still men who will make comments like, "Thank GOD I have a wife to take care of THAT!" when they hear a baby crying (NO it wasn't mine -- husband nor baby).


• If you're a 60-something balding man, you might need to have a phone discussion to learn how to download MP3s.


• The very nice "challenged" guy that works at Panera is a huge flirt (but he'll get you soft drink refills without you having to get up if you flirt back).


• If you turn off all your social networking sites, you get a great deal accomplished.


• Panera Sierra Turkey sandwiches are capital-A AWESOME!

Let me just put it right out there:
I'm mad at my friend Marilynn (but it won't matter since she doesn't read this blog, so I'm in the clear posting it. She'll just have to figure it out on her own).

APPARENTLY there's a product out there called DRY SHAMPOO. I've seen it on like FOUR shows over the past 2 weeks. It's Hollywood's "secret weapon" and EVERYONE uses it.

So WHY HAVE I NOT HEARD OF THIS BEFORE?!??! (And it would've come in handy more than a couple of times, let me tell you...).

The idea behind it is that girls shouldn't wash their hair everyday because it's bad for it (yeah, OK, whatever). So, you spray on this DRY SHAMPOO and it refreshes your hair and smells just like it's been washed (again, yeah, OK, whatever). According to Oscar Blandi Pronto Dry Shampoo,you can:

Refresh, revive, and recharge hair and scalp without water. Pronto is perfect for use between washings, in a rush, as a midday hair pick-me-up, or when you overdose on styling product.

So, if you're Paris Hilton, for example, and you've spent all day, um...sleeping in and then tanning right up until club time, you can spray this dry shampoo in your weave and no one will ever know that you were smoking and drinking until 6 a.m. the night before with Mary Kate and Ashley.

Handy, huh?

Since I have a considerably less glamorous life than that, I need dry shampoo for another reason. (And it's NOT because I don't shower. OK, well, since Ella came that IS a problem some days, but that's another post). For some reason, smells stick to my body like super glue -- check that -- body AND hair. So if we go out to have Mexican food and then go to a movie after (hahahahahhahahahahhahahhahahahahhahahaha - see what I did right there? I just pretended that I go out - funny, huh?!?), then I smell Mexican food ALL NIGHT in my hair and on my clothes.

And?
IT.MAKES.ME.INSANE.

Which brings me back around to being mad at my friend Marilynn (who is in the "beauty" industry), "WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD ME HOW TO GET RID OF FAJITA HAIR BEFORE THIS?!?!"

In case you're wondering, I haven't tried it yet (mainly because I gave up spending $20 on a bottle of shampoo long ago), but I will. And when I do? I'll tell you all about it. Fajita hair and all.

Is anyone else craving Mexican food?!?

The following are five BAD ideas for Christmas gifts (you've been forewarned):

2009 Naked Clown Calendar

Boone's Farm Tshirt

Everything Is Wrong with You: The Modern Woman's Guide to Finding Self Confidence Through Self Loathing

The Llama Sutra: Getting Wild in the Wild Kingdom

Shamwow!
OR ANYTHING ELSE by this guy:

My name is Jackie and I'm a lighting snob.

Look, I don't know when it began or even how it began. It just began.
All I know is that every house we move to I have to remove and add my own lighting.
Immediately.
If not sooner.
(And, by saying I have to remove them, I of course mean Cabana Boy).

Sometimes it involves small lights. It can even be nightlights. Sometimes it involves lamps - both interesting and quirky like this artsy bug lamp that we found at a trendy art deco store outside of DC.


I also seem to have some weird affinity for dangling things.
And fringe.
(Hey, I didn't say I was a TASTEFUL lighting snob, I just said lighting snob).

Sometimes the lights are weird.
I will never ever give up my aptly named (by me) OO-OO-MONKEY LAMP no matter what. NEVER. Don't even ask (and better yet? Don't even ask why especially since I make everyone that refers to it say OO-OO-MONKEY LAMP!).


(Images in picture are smaller than they appear)

But mostly they're the lights that you have to remove from your ceiling.
And involve some level of the possibility of electrocution.

Take my beloved Moravian Star lights for example. I have four of them lining my hall. Whenever we move, I make my husband take them down and put up some gaudy $7.99 flush lighting (yep, that's me) before we put the house on the market. (So if you're the next person to someday buy this house, consider yourself warned).


They look beautiful right?
Yeah, they were when we first put them up (the first time).
Now? THEY SUCK.
Only because? THERE IS NO GOOD WAY TO CLEAN THEM.

You get the outside all nice and sparkly, but the dust and grime inside? You're outta luck. The star points are impossible to get your hand inside. A feather duster doesn't get it clean enough.

Why do you care you ask?
You don't OF COURSE (unless, of course, you are coming to my house and you have to stare at them).
But I'm writing because I'm hoping (BEGGING) that someone else either has these lights or has an idea how to clean them.

Anyone?

ANYONE KNOW THE ANSWER?!?
(help)

Look, it's not just about a 12-step program for my lighting addiction. I seriously need to know how to clean these...
(Martha?)

(Where the hell is Moravia anyway?!?)

(Are there any Moravian people out there that can assist?)

(*sigh* I give up...)

While my parents were here over the last week we received an interesting item. They were glasses called pinhole glasses. I’ve never heard of them, but apparently they aren’t new technology. As soon as my dad saw them he was all excited because he said he knew a guy that he worked with 20 years ago that wore them. And they worked.

Apparently, these glasses are supposed to allow you to see clearly without your prescription glasses or contacts. They have a black plastic material where the lenses would be. The material is filled with tiny holes. The frames are clear plastic.

It’s a weird concept, but when I did a little more research I found that they somehow work by only letting direct light to your eye from these evenly placed little “pinholes” which somehow increase clarity (like when you squint to see something).

OK. Whatever.
(And *yawn*).
If you want to read more about how these pinhole glasses work, put on your science guy hat and be my guest. I have other stuff to do right now.


Needless to say, Todd and I were clearly skeptical. My eyesight isn’t that bad. I’m nearsighted and can still see (if I have to) without my contacts or glasses. So I was game to be the guinea pig and look like an idiot. I mean, these aren’t the most fashionable glasses, but I’m always up for a good laugh. I tested them by looking out the window at a mailbox across the street, which was a little blurry without my contacts or glasses. Miraculously? After I put on the pinhole eyeglasses I could clearly see the mailbox.

I kid you not.

However, I felt like I was looking through a honeycomb (from the inside out). I also felt as if I wore them long enough I would have a headache. I will never be able to test the headache theory because, well, I wouldn’t be caught dead in public in these.

Todd was next up (in the “Let me try! Let me try!” kind of way). He is almost BLIND without his contacts or glasses. He had the same effect of clarity that I had and was able to read some text on a page that he otherwise would’ve needed his glasses or contacts to read.

Cool.

And Weird.

If they’re so great, you’re probably wondering why these pinhole eyeglasses haven’t caught on? I was wondering the same thing when my dad said the concept has been around for quite some time. I can tell you why:

You look like a total dork.

Kind of like this:

(Sorry honey)

As you can see, the shape is a BIG throw back to the 80s. And I mean the Tom-Cruise-slide-down-the-hall-in-your-socks-and-undies 80s.

Only not that cool.


Anyway, Ella’s verdict is still out, but she seemed to be channeling her inner Ray Charles…

Here are the top 10 items you should resist the urge to purchase at the dollar store (no matter how good the bargain *seems*):
10. Hair Color

9. Can of Tuna

8. Packs of Koolaid that have crystallized into a block

7. Baby Food

6. Happy 40th Birthday card for your 39 year old friend (I know, I know, it was on sale)

5. Art for your walls

4. GIFTS (for anyone, of any kind)

3. Milk

2. Pregnancy Test

And the #1 thing you should NEVER buy at the dollar store?
CONDOMS

Looking through a holiday catalog today birthed another blog topic. Namely? The madness behind pinatas. I mean, what ever made us think that it would be OK to hang up things that look like children's toys, beat them with a stick until they're broken and then expect kids to find that joyful?

All this pinata talk not only made me crave some Smarties, but it also reminded me of my stepdaughter's third or fourth birthday. Known from this point forward as THE PINATA EPISODE.

In a "hey I have a great idea" kinda way, we got a pinata. The traditional Mexican burro pinata. You know, like this:

Cute, right? Maybe too cute. In hind site? Not a good idea. We figured it out quickly when my stepdaughter screamed at the first hit with the stick, followed by much wailing and gnashing of teeth the rest of the evening. Come to think of it, a 4-year-old just might NOT have the ability to distinguish between reality and, uh, FAKE PINATA TISSUE. Hm. The things you learn parenting (and reason #3471 for her to go on the Oprah show).

Pinatas in general probably aren't a good idea for kids. I mean, what are we teaching them? Grab a stick, beat something down until it gives you what you want.

It's almost like an episode of Cops.

Anyway, here are some pinatas that went a little too far and/or may make kids appear on the Dr. Phil Show:

The Gingerbread Man? I'm still severely disturbed by Hansel and Gretel and I'm 28-years-old. (shut up)

I'm thinking all you people with cheerleader issues? Here's your chance for revenge...

Here Kitty...Kitty...Kitty (my husband would LOVE to take out his frustrations on this one, cat hater that he is).

How do you say "BEAT DOWN A BUFFY" in Spanish!??! (SERIOUSLY!?!? "Here honey, here's a stick, NOW KNOCK THE CRAP OUT OF LITTLE DORA'S HEAD!")



Santa for goodness sakes?!?! I see years & years of therapy in any kid's future who gets this pinata...

(BTW...don't think I didn't try my best to find naughty pinatas for all you pervs out there...).