ICYMI: This one was a favorite of mine because the dude’s website that inspired it is pure hilarity!!

So, the ICYMIs continue. No, not because I’m lazy. Mostly, not because I’m lazy. Maybe a teeny, tiny bit because I’m lazy. Why are you still focusing on whether or not I’m lazy? You have to move on. You are obsessed. You should probably see someone about your problem.

Sweet Baby Jesus! Tell me this isn’t true!

Published on July 26, 2013

This dude is so freaking funny. I have worked my way through his entire blog. And I got to his beard maintenance post… No, funny people, I don’t need to maintain MY beard, wankers. Sorry for calling you wankers. You hurt my feelings and I retaliated like a small child. I was wrong. Stop giggling about the beard maintenance though. For real. I can still hear you snickering. Anyway, I was hee hawing my way through the post when I got to the alarming allusion that we unwittingly swallow like 8 freaking spiders over the course of our lifetime!!!! WHAT!!!!!! And I began hyperventilating. So, I had to begin meditating which is when I remembered that I’ve never meditated. I’ve always thought it would be something I’d like to learn how to do because, duh, I’m a little high-strung, but I’ve never done it. At least successfully. So, I tried it for like 8 seconds. ohm ohm ohm OHM MY GOD 8 FREAKING SPIDERSSSSS!!!!! And I remembered that my friend google would be able to help me here. And lo and behold. Oh, thank you Snopes! No, of course I wasn’t gullible enough to believe it. heh heh heh ahem It’s just that I’m a teensy bit squeamish about the ingestion of bugs of any nature. I can’t even watch it on tv without having to suppress a gag reflex at a particularly gratuitous shot. I congratulate myself on not losing my shit when I accidentally ingest a gnat. I internally slap an enthusiastic high five with myself and very very quietly yet audibly whisper, “You go, girl!” because I can never pull that off as I’m a total nerd but feel that it must be said. Outwardly, I’m all whatever. That was no big thing. But internally, I’m throwing a parade for myself. If I happen to find something in my food that shouldn’t be in my food, I immediately SHUT DOWN ALL CONSUMPTION. I have to restrain myself from shutting down consumption of all food everywhere around me. Oh, the times I’ve fought the urge to stand up on the table and declare loudly, “People, I feel I must tell you that I found a hair in my pasta. Yes, that’s right. A. hair. in. my. pasta. You should be scanning as I speak looking for stray non-food items on your plate. If it is not a utensil, you must immediately cease chewing, spit out all food particles in your mouth, and take a stand. We will later discuss whether or not we need to retreat to the restrooms to regurgitate our full meals. Oh, hello there. Thank you for taking a stand with me, small child. I see you have identified….wait. That’s your tooth. Did you just lose your tooth during dinner, dear? Well, congratulations! That’s awfully nice and yet not quite what I’m looking for here. Stand down, small child. You may return to your meal.” So, you see when I play out the scenario in my head why I haven’t taken a stand. You’re welcome fellow diners. Also, Matthew has quizzed me time and time again on whether or not it’s actually my hair. At least 10% of the time, I feel that he has a point. And I’m usually quite pissed that he’s poked a straight pin in my bubble of righteous indignation. So, reason #2 that you won’t see a youtube of me playing out this scene. Of course, reason #3 is the threat of someone capturing all of this and putting it up on youtube.

ICYMI: It’s the post that’s had the most views, so it’s probably appropriate to run it again, yes?

Remember I told you my blog is two years old and change? And remember I said I’d be re-running some oldies for fun. In case anybody (Translation: my massive amounts of viewer — Nope, didn’t miss the plural there. There IS no plural there.) missed these posts and felt this nagging feeling that he/she had missed a chance to waste some time reading something that had nothing of value to add to his/her life? Remember that? Well, here you go. And that’s what the ICYMI tag’s all about.

The post is about my hair. You’re shocked.

Listen, I know you’re lying.

Published April 30, 2013

I’ve heard many people of the straight-hair persuasion talk about how they wish they had curly hair. All the while they are swinging their glorious, shiny, straight hair and looking so pulled together and, well, tidy. There’s a better word, but untidy is the word that I associate with my head suit, so I’m going to use its opposite. I’ve had conversations about hair with you people, and I’m looking at your beautiful heads of hair as you’re saying, I wish I had curly hair.  Of course you’ve never told me you wish you had my hair though you try to pretend that you are including me in the curly-hair community of which you say you’d like to become a member. But you’re looking right at the mess on my head. It would require the ability to maintain a straight face that nobody possesses to sell that statement, so I applaud you on your restraint. So when you say you wish you had curls, it’s based on the curly-haired peeps in mags and on tv, etc. Because curly hair looks kinda effortless, right? I mean it’s all over the place, and you can’t get a read on what exactly is happening up there, so it’s gotta be easy to achieve. But I’m here to tell you that at least in my case, curly hair is a nightmare requiring stupid amounts of haircare products (Don’t believe me? Check out this post.) that only work in certain humidity conditions or in certain temperature conditions; or when you hold your tongue just so when applying the product; or if you count backwards from 29 while applying the product while wearing only one sock; or if you consume a drink made of groundhog tears, bat saliva, and moose urine before applying the product.

Most days I end up with an 80’s hair situation where my hair enters and leaves rooms minutes before and after I do, and a 5-foot perimeter is wordlessly established around me by fellow space sharers to allow safe passage. If I actually get my hair looking halfway decent, I might catch sight of it in a mirror just 20 minutes later and see that it’s now gone to total shit up there. I’d need a squadron of mini hairdressers in my mane non-stop to help keep things in order for just 4 hours let alone an entire day.

This is sector 1 reporting in. All is under control. We have a few corkscrews, but nothing we can’t manage. We have some minor frizz sightings, but nothing like what we see over in sector 2. Over.

This is sector 2 reporting in. We have a major frizz situation. We are having trouble seeing anything else through the haze of frizz. Clearly the fool didn’t apply any frizz control despite the humidity levels. We’ve sent in 5 of our strongest to tame it, but we lost contact with them long ago and it doesn’t look good. We’ll keep you posted. Over.

This is sector 3 reporting in. We’re dealing with a curl to wave ratio that is seriously out of whack. We’ll be back in touch when we know more. Over.

This is sector 4 reporting in. People, we are all clear. All looks good in sector 4. We are just as shocked to report it as you are to hear it. Over.

This is sector 5 reporting in. We have a product mismatch situation. The idiot applied cream today when we needed a gel. AND she forgot to make sure the hair was at the correct level of dampness. We just…..I mean it’s unbelievable how many times…. Look, we’re not miracle workers. Over.

This is sector 6. We have an emergency. Repeat. We have an emergency. We have a random, completely straight section sticking out from her head over here. It’s sizable and appears to be waving for attention. It makes her look cracked. She cannot afford that!!! Over.

This is sector 3. We’ll be right over. We just got the situation over here under control. Don’t even ask us what it took to get that accomplished. Over. 

So most days I just say ….. Well, I think you can just guess what I say, since, so far, I haven’t unleashed any major profanity bombs here. And my hair is an unstyled tribute to crazy town.

My blog is two years old today + a month and change. I’m pretty awesome about keeping up with dates.

To celebrate my blogversary, I’m going to highlight some of my favorite posts. You know, the ones I actually am not embarrassed about? Or the ones I actually re-read from time to time. I’ll highlight these little ICYMIs interspersed between new content with a title letting you know it’s repurposed. Hmmm, repurposed doesn’t make it sound very good, does it. It sounds awfully close to regurgitated and I KNOW that’s not good because I’ve been looking at an awful lot of regurgitated material lately. What? Oh. My dog’s stomach has been having some disagreements with her consumed food. So, her stomach has rejected the contents most heinously, and my dog and I are left staring at each other dejectedly while I gather the items I need to rid the house of the mess. Anyway, these posts aren’t like these stomach contents at all. They are quite the opposite. They are the little gems of this website. Or “gems” if you will. I’m not creating art here. But they are the best of what’s here. At least in my view. So, my first highlight is this one. It’s about saliva. Cool, huh? Yeah, it’s a weird topic. But the post represents this site so well, how could I not let it be the first re-post?

Lubrication is my middle name

First published: April 8, 2014

Made you look, huh? When I say lubrication, I’m speaking specifically of saliva because I’m an overenthusiastic producer of said substance. For example, I recently went to the dentist to get a crown done. Small segue. Do you think the teeth who sport crowns are lording it over the other teeth? (Hee. “Lording it” scores me at least half a point, right?) Are they all, “I have a crown. I’m tooth royalty. You are merely a tooth. But I? I am so freaking special that I wear a crown atop my enamel.” Or do you think that’s what the tooth says while the other teeth roll their eyes and respond, “Dude, the reason you have a crown is because you have a crack or something and are therefore damaged goods. You needed a crown to do your work for you and also to protect you from the rot. Because you are a sucky, shitty excuse for a tooth. So, shut it.” Anyway, I digress. As usual.

So, my tongue did its seductive tongue dance thing that it always does at my dental visits, and this time got burned. Literally. Stupid tongue. Drills get hot, you fool. Just stay put in the back of the mouth and keep out of the way of the dental tools as they go about their business. As my dentist and the hygienist neared the end of the process, it was time to put that gel stuff in that makes the impression for the permanent crown. It takes 5+ minutes to set, so they tell you to hang around and do your thing. Well, I was quite dismayed to discover that my thing appeared to be the alarming overproduction of saliva. I had to get up and retire to the restroom, and I was elated to discover that the timing of my restroom break was fortuitous as my mouth began leaking saliva at the rate of a fully-engaged faucet. Obviously the novocaine made my lips a little less proficient in the art of keeping things inside my mouth, but even that fact can’t account for the sheer volume of what I was producing. It was an amazing sight to behold. I stood there in front of the mirror and just watched the never-ending stream of saliva gush rapidly into the sink while wondering how in the hell I was going to actually complete my bathroom business. I didn’t have a drip cup to use or a spittoon to place beside the toilet allowing me to pee (sorry for the overshare, but it got real really fast, people!), so I just advised my bladder to put on her big girl panties and wait for the gel to be removed from my mouth. I grabbed a huge wad of paper towels, positioned them under my mouth to stem the tide of saliva, and high-tailed it back to the examination room terrified that someone would see the river flowing from my mouth. (I know you think I’m exaggerating here. It’s understandable based on the name of my website, but let me assure you that I’m telling it to you straight. I’m obviously a freak of nature, and also would clearly win in any strange sort of saliva skirmish. I, therefore, challenge each and every one of you to a saliva duel. Location and time TBD.)

When I returned to the room, I wetly mentioned that I was producing a lot of saliva. The hygienist said, “That’s why I handed you the tissue.” People, the tissue that she handed me was drenched before I even got it up to my mouth. I think it took one look at the saliva waterfall and knew it was no match for that type of saturation and resigned on sight. I had dispatched with that piece of nastiness in the restroom while frantically grabbing one paper towel after another. So, I just smiled sheepishly at her while nodding, and continued to look away lest the horror that was my saliva situation make itself known. I mean, seriously, a tissue? What I needed was a bath towel. Or, even better, a pail.

It reminded me that I’m not exactly a stranger to saliva situations. When I was pregnant with my first child, I went through two weeks where the taste and texture of my saliva was unbearable to me, and I carried around a spit cup, or tiny spittoon, where I would “delicately” spit my saliva every time there was enough in my mouth to dispose of. So classy. I contemplated stashing a giant wad of Bubble Yum (don’t make me sad and tell me BY is no longer available in the gum aisle) in my cheek so I could tell people that I had taken up the chaw, but people aren’t so much with that practice when you are carting around a fetus as it’s not good for the baby. So I just tried to hide what I was doing and take extra trips to the room of rest so I could do my thing probably causing folks to suspect a drug addiction. I think the truth would have been harder to swallow. Again with a pun. I apologize. Anyway, I was incredibly annoyed, of course, but oddly amused to suffer one of the stranger pregnancy woes because that is how I roll. I’m nothing if not off, or odd, or strange. Pick your favorite synonym for weird. Since I’m already eccentric, I’ve got a terrific headstart on my old woman persona.

I remember when this blog was just a wee little tot. Which it really still is. A year old though is still something to celebrate!

This blog turned a year old yesterday — my first post, y’all!!! The same day daylight savings time began and rocked my world as it always does.

Matthew changed the clock the night before, as I’m sure most people do, so that we would wake up and look blearily at the clock and know immediately that we needed to get the kids’ to their tennis lessons on time instead of showing up an hour late and trading who we’d point the giant finger of blame at while piling back into the car to go eat a giant brunch of shame.

What happened instead is that Matthew and the kids got up and ate a healthy breakfast and went to tennis lessons. I remained in my 2-Benadryl-inflicted coma and didn’t even register that it was a new day until about 10. And it took me until 11 for the Benadryl to release me from its groggy hold, at which point I thought, I coulda gotten stuff done today. I coulda been useful. THANKS, BENADRYL. But it’s all 11 and I haven’t even gotten foodstuffs in my belleh yet. I need fuel to be productive. So, my first step was to remedy that so that I didn’t just eat that lemon lying there. I had my breakfast lunch, and then began to realize rationalize that most of the day was already over and that the day that DST begins always moves at a faster pace anyway (Don’t ask me to explain this except to say that it’s a scientific fact, and you can’t argue with science.) so there was no real point in doing much other than lounging around and continuing to recuperate from being sick the few days prior. And then I blanked out for a bit as I’m also prone to do on the first day of DST.

This happens as I attempt to do math. I could be good at math if only I was interested in being good at math. But I find myself beginning to thing about something that involves a computation (usually of the kindergarten-level of difficulty) and letting my mind immediately wander as a reward for the few seconds of attempting to focus on math. Then, we, my brain and I, try to return to the computation and have to begin at the beginning because we forgot where we were, and we get agitated with each other because someone should have at least remembered where we were before the little mental break, but no. So, we take another break to berate each other. Then, we return to the computation. We get progressively more and more stupid (it’s hard to believe it’s possible) as we continue to attempt to solve the “math problem” which isn’t a math problem at all but more of the  barely-qualifies-as-math question.

In this case, my brain and I were tackling the issue of what’s the situation with the timers in the house? Do we need to change the timer on Anna’s lights-up-like-a-cheerful-nightlight-so-why-can’t-we-get-rid-of-her-other-nightlight carousel because it will go off an hour…..? And, here’s where we took our first break because we both got incredibly bored trying to finish the sentence. If I could have looked at my brain, we both would have rolled our eyes at each other and said, “WhatEVER! Who gives a CRAP?” And the break we took was maybe a bit longer than I indicated as we watched two episodes of the best adventure/reality show on television. Which I’m totally going to submit myself as a competitor for. I’m positive that I could rock that competition.

And I think you know the rest. We got briefly stumped on whether we needed to move Anna’s timer forward or back. I will again blame Benadryl. And the fact that I got bored just concentrating long enough to form the question in my mind, so I couldn’t concentrate long enough to care about finding the answer. And the fact that I’m stupid. I would say let’s give 10% of the blame to Benadryl, 50% of the blame to boredom and 100% of the blame to stupidity. That sounds about right. And I did so well with that percentage breakdown, which is math, people, that I might have a math calling. I should probably be a math teacher. I’m going to scrap the writing and concentrate on that. It would really suck to miss my calling. Think of all the poor children that have officially missed out on what I have to offer them. My heart breaks for them.

Anyway, invariably, I spend an hour doing this on the first day of DST. After that, I usually spend about two hours lamenting the fact that I’ll never be able to travel outside of my own timezone because the jet lag hit to my sleep needs would “literally” kill me. I MISS YOU, Chris Traeger!!! This takes two hours because I do math again here, and it gets a little more intricate. What with oceans and Hawaii and the Bermuda Triangle. And Hogwarts. So, of course, it all depends on where I visit. Some places don’t participate in this whole timezone madness, you know. They are better than that. Plus, the mode of travel, too. If I was to make the last leg of the trip via unicorn, well then, the jet lag is cancelled out. Again, science, people. I’ve hit some snags on acquiring a unicorn which would just make the whole damn thing so much easier. Then, I could go to France which is where I want to go first. I would work on my disdain and give as good as I get.

I’m still trying to work out those kinks on acquiring the unicorn. If I just have to get all crafty with a horse, well I’m willing to try that, too. Something tells me that there’s no loophole that’s going to allow a horse to be all bedazzled and modified to sport a giant horn atop the head, so I’m not feeling too confident about this one. I might just have to breed one. The good news on the unicorn breeding is that I have some time to do this. I’m plane phobic, and I’ve heard that it’s really my only way to get out of my timezone, anyway. Well, the only way that makes sense if you plan on going to France. I am reasonably certain that I can’t make that swim. Even if I begin training now. But I’ll look into it.

Oh my gosh, that was a rambler. Well, who am I kidding? Every single damn post seems to be a rambler. But the point of the whole post was to explain why I didn’t post about the anniversary of my blog on the ACTUAL DAY of the anniversary of my blog. I probably should have opened with that last sentence…..