Nobody In Their Right Mind Would Need This - Special SkyMall Edition

It has been quite awhile since I've been inspired by a product so dumb that I am moved to actually get up off my ass and then sit back down again in my office chair and create a post about it, but here it is:

The "Head Spa Massager"

Brought to you by the brilliant minds at SkyMall:

What fool can resist Italian design when paired with Japanese engineering?

Please, pretty please wear it to work.

I understand that times are tough so if you crave ownership of this lovely gadget but cannot afford $49.99 + shipping give me a call and I will personally come to your home, hand you a glass of red wine, put a spaghetti strainer on your head and knock you around a little bit until your blood circulation improves and you feel more relaxed.

I'm here to help.

A Guest Post from My Cat Turtle

My owner-lady can't come to the blogs right now because she's too damn depressed and uninspired. More lap for me, less blog for you I guess. Meanwhile she has asked me to write a guest post which is quite a stretch for me considering that my brain is only the size of a walnut and my front paws are declawed which makes typing a bitch.

Anyhoo... (my owner-lady told me to say that) I thought I would take this opportunity to do that Bernard Pivot/Proust questionnaire that James Lipton does on Inside the Actor's Studio

1. What is your favorite word?
Chicken.


2. What is your least favorite word?
No!


3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Being told "No!" often inspires me to keep trying that much harder to go after the things that I want. I'm also a big proponent of napping.

4. What turns you off?
People who are duplicitous. Also getting wet, it's so undignified.


5. What is your favorite curse word?
Motherfucker. I say it all the time!


6. What sound or noise do you love?
The sound of children laughing, rain tapping gently on the roof, the can opener, and crinkling paper.


7. What sound or noise do you hate?
The vacuum cleaner.


8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Dancer.


9. What profession would you not like to do?
Accountant. Bo-ring!


10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Jump up here on the counter and have some chicken!

A Random Shit List

1. Foil yogurt lids that seem specifically designed to spooge all over your clean blouse, computer monitor or any nearby surface that you would prefer not appear to be splashed with a pale creamy substance. Is there a brand of yogurt that has a lid designed to avoid lid-spooge? Can we have that please?

2. Person who drove a big giant beat up old camper to work every day last week and took up four parking spaces. Not that it inconvenienced me in any real way, other than that there were three less spaces available for the rest of us, but the idea of it bugged the shit out of me on many levels. However, as I walked by it each day on my way into the building I began to imagine all of the ways it would be inconvenient, expensive and not just a little embarrassing to be reduced to driving a big giant beat up old camper as your every day vehicle and then I wondered if perhaps you haven't hit upon some pretty hard times and don't need the added burden of my silent scorn. Or maybe you are just a dick.

3. Mysterious otherness in the butter. Actually, anything other than butter in the butter whether it is mysterious or recognizable is wrong, wrong, wrong.

4. ATM machines that ask me to choose English or Spanish for my transaction.

Um.... English.

I don't recall using an ATM anywhere else in the world that asked me to choose a language. In France you get French, in Mexico you get Spanish and so on.

I forgot to press the button to get cash back with my very important purchase of a hay bale sized box of maxi pads, peanut butter ice cream, and a bag of Cheetos at the check out counter in CVS the other day so I decided to use the cash machine next to the front door on my way out. It's the kind of purchase that really helps to explain the current delicate condition of my psyche. Anyhoo.. the ATM asked me not only to choose English or Spanish, which as I explained I already find irritating, but after I chose English it then asked me IN ENGLISH - You have chosen English for this transaction - is that correct?

Uh yeah... I meant to choose English, but riddle me this - If I had accidentally chosen the wrong language how would I be able to read your dumbass follow up question?

Also wondering aloud if anyone out there happens to be a designer of ATM machines - why the fuck is there a braille option on the drive-up ATM?

That is all for now - thank you for listening.

UPDATE 2:58PM - Just to clarify: I do not hate the ATM asking me English or Spanish out of any militant anti-immigration leanings. Frankly I could care less. The more the merrier I always say. No. I hate the ATM asking me English or Spanish because it is a waste of my precious time.

Nostalgia Saturday

I was an Electric Company kid. I loved and watched Sesame Street too, but when I look back on it I think I probably watched the Electric Company throughout a much longer period of my childhood and I even remember watching it in school during inside recess.

Anyhoo... the other night I watched a little one hour documentary that I recorded on PBS. It was called The Electric Company's Greatest Hits and while watching this show I laughed and cried and sang along to all the old songs that I hadn't thought of for so long, but are so embedded in my brain there is no way I could ever have forgotten them.

I'm pasting a few of them here just in case any of you were Electric Company kids like I was and I hope you enjoy them as much as I always have.

tion


Tom Lehrer's LY Song



Tom Lehrer's Silent E Song

Gypsies, Tramps & Skeeves

Well there is nothing quite like combining your 42nd birthday and a family reunion all in the same weekend to leave you feeling a wee bit maudlin. We've been back from Columbus for just a week and I've been a bit down. Not that I didn't have fun. I did. And not that I wasn't happy to see (most of) my family. I was. Perhaps things were a little too good and I wasn't quite ready to leave my old stomping grounds.

Last Friday afternoon I went out to lunch with my mother (in town for the reunion as well), and my friends Amy and Becky. It was marvelous. We laughed and laughed. Until my mom created one of those bizarro moments where the entire world (or in this case the entire restaurant) stops spinning, mouths are silenced and all ears became focused on her when she told this whacked out and racially tinged story about Romani Gypsies that she tried to dignify by saying she'd read it in "the paper".

Awkward.

Fortunately we recovered the moment and the good times resumed as my friends and I collectively made a decision to smile, nod and ignore her crazy ass and quickly move on to less nutty topics.

After my mother left I tried to restore my friends faith in journalism by revealing that the only "paper" my mom reads is the Villages Daily Sun and all they ever report is who died or who has grand kids visiting. I reassured them that she didn't read that clap-trap Gypsy story in the Washington Post or the New York Times. Clearly she made it up.

It's scary to see your parents age. A sad point, driven (literally) home to me in the bullet points listed below in the order that the thoughts popped into my head, as I got in the passenger seat of my mother's rented mini-van and took a short drive across the parking lot of a large mall after luncheon when we all wanted to grab coffees at a nearby cafe:

• Damn. She has to drive? It's so close. Her legs must be very fucked up. I should ask her how fucked up her legs are ...


• Damn. She uses a cane at home? Why hasn't she ever mentioned this. Um... Why didn't she bring it with her?


• Vanity. Apparently my mom is more self conscious about being seen using a cane than she is about getting into a car and driving 50 feet.


• Um... why is she driving in circles? We just drove right by the cafe. There's a spot. Oh. There's a spot. Oh. There's one. Oh. What the fuck?


• Great. Now she's blind too. Apparently she only parks in spots where she can pull forward instead of having to back out.


• This is bad.

I'll just say this about my mom's driving - the only reason she hasn't mowed anyone down (that we know of) is because thankfully they saw her first and were able to get the hell out of the way.

As for the rest of my weekend - here is the highlight reel of my family reunion in the form of, you guessed it, more bullet points:

• Babies, babies, babies! My family sure can breed! I have two cousins who are my age WHO HAVE GRANDCHILDREN. I find this appalling when birth control is so cheap. I can't get excited that you are a grandparent. I just can't. Is that wrong?
  
  
• Speaking of family planning, I'm old enough now that no one is asking MDH and me when we are going to start a family and this made me a little sad. It used to piss me off.


• I raised a huge stink because there was no mustard. Who the hell was in charge of this BBQ shit pile? Call your event planner and get your money back no mustard. (It was my aunt Nan and I totally forgive her - but I made some noise) Hundreds of cheap-ass hot dogs and not one squirt of mustard in the whole goddamn place? I don't mind a cheap-ass hot dog, but I need to put some mustard on that shit to maintain my dignity.



• What the hell? My sister's youngest child is going to be a senior next year. Stop it all of you. No more growing up. I mean it.




• My entire extended family stayed at the Holiday Inn Express near the reunion venue and we basically took over the entire place. It was like that scene from Raising Arizona when all of those wild kids are trashing Hi & Ed's trailer. I lost count of all the people who walked into the pool area, fully decked out in swimsuits, crisp white hotel towel draped over one shoulder, rearing to go and then took one look at the drunk and noisy clan of rednecks who had high jacked the place and hauled ass right the fuck out of there.


• My aunt Libby, who is in her late 60's and seems like a perfectly reasonable person on the surface, came down to enjoy her complimentary breakfast in that room hotels always have right off of the lobby, within clear view of the reception desk, elevators and main walkway of the establishment, wearing nothing but her housecoat (a light blue cotton whisp of a garment with embroidered flowers, gingham patch pockets, and white metal snaps up the front) and slippers (light pink terry cloth slides). Clearly she has come unhinged as she seemed neither to notice nor care that nobody else was dressed in this fashion or that it might be inappropriate or uncomfortable for the other patrons (me) in the hotel to see her in such a state of undress.
  


• I got over it.
  


• I slurred drunkenly on and on about Libby's embarassing housecoat at dinner Sunday night with MDH and several of our friends.
  


• Apparently I wasn't over it, although I had forgotten all about my mom and the weird Gypsy thing until I talked to Amy on the phone last night.

Cha cha cha

My best friend Amy teaches 2nd grade and she does this thing with her class where she gives each child a choice on their birthday about how they prefer the rest of the class sing the "Happy Birthday" song to them. She'll ask, "Do you want cha-cha's or no cha-cha's?".

If you choose cha-cha's then the birthday song is boisterous and loud with a lot of wahoo-ing and goes Happy Birthday to you - CHA-CHA-CHA, Happy Birthday to you - CHA-CHA-CHA. I think she does some other stuff too, like she wears a fright wig and big Mr. Magoo glasses, calls herself Birthday Betty and makes the birthday kid wear a giant sombrero or something. I'm not sure, but it's too late to call her to verify at the moment, so you'll just have to take my word for it. This isn't the New York Times and I don't have a staff of fact checkers here.

If you choose no cha-cha's then the song is just sung the normal way with very little fan fair. That's a fact.

I think it's nice that she gives them a choice.

She says you can pretty much divide the world into two kinds of people, those who prefer cha-cha's and those who prefer no cha-cha's.

I'm most definitely no cha-cha's.

And having said that now I will tell you that tomorrow is my birthday and that I will be 42. How the hell did that happen?

There won't be any cha-cha's or fan fair and that's just the way I like it. MDH and I are packing up the car when I get home from work and we're driving to Columbus where I will spend the weekend with my friends and family and that's totally fine with me. I bitch about my family a lot, but honestly I can't imagine a better way to celebrate my life than being surrounded by all the people I love.

Meanwhile I have spent the last week gorging on all sorts of ridiculous candies and treats and splurging on all sorts of crapola and potions along with various assorted services and telling myself it's for my birthday, including but not limited to:

• Cute little pink ear plugs for $3.99. Quite a luxury as I usually sleep with cotton balls that I have rolled into tight little balls and jammed into my ears to quell the jackhammer of MDH's snoring but these adorable pink ear canal shaped nuggets of foam are official, the real McCoy.
  
  
• A new hair cut with bangs and over $30 worth of hair care products at the salon, which really amounts to one can of Bedhead Queen for a Day and a new round brush because my old one broke a couple of weeks ago and I've been styling my hair with an old pick.
  



• Swedish Fish that I bought to give to my friend Becky when I see her in Columbus, but I ate half the bag last night while I watched 24 Hour Party People on our DVR and I can't very well give her a half eaten bag of candy wrapped up with a rubber band.
  
  
• The roast beef with swiss on rye with mayo that I bought for lunch at the cafeteria today - normally I pack something healthy.
  
  
• A pap smear and 3 month supply of birth control pills. Par-tay.
  
  
• An order of hot and sour soup and steamed dumplings for dinner tonight.

So that's me, livin' large.

Anyhoo... I'll take my cha-cha's this weekend in the form of the big Who Doesn't Lunch family reunion on Saturday filled with aunts, uncles, cousins, softball, grilled corn on the cob with lots of butter and salt, new babies that'll get passed around for cuddling, and the never ending bourbon soaked (we are from Kentucky after all) poker game that goes on, after all the kiddies are tucked in bed, into the wee hours of the morning.

In case you were wondering, the picture at the top is a festive "Ass" pinata that I found on Google Images quite by accident.

I hope you all have a wonderful my birthday weekend - cha cha cha!

Same Old Song & Dance

Another position has become available at the company where I'm contracting so I am once again trying to balance that fine line between being assertive and being a giant pain in the ass.

You thought I was going to say aggressive didn't you?

My efforts to gain permanent employment at the company where I'm contracting have moved way past aggressive.

It feels like campaigning and it's what you have to do apparently to get the attention of management and human resources around there. You have to continually make phone calls, ask people for your support and ask them to call the manager of the department with the available position and speak on your behalf.

It's like a fucking telethon and I'm the good cause.

Then you have to meet with people, upper level management type of people, and express your interest in the position even though the managers you are meeting with are not necessarily the managers in the department that has the available job, but the managers you meet with should know the manager of the department with the job so that they can give that manager the heads up about how great you are.

It's also a good idea to meet with at least two or three of the people who actually work in the department that has the available job and express your interest in the position and ask them intelligent questions about the department and the work they do and than also ask them to speak with their department manager on your behalf. This is also a good way to get the skinny on who else may have applied and get a fix on your competition.

I'm telling you this shit is exhausting and I don't even know if I'm going to get an interview yet.

And nobody tells you that you have to do any of this shit, but it's what you have to do to get noticed when you want to get a job here and are not already an employee.

They will always consider internal candidates before they consider you when you are not already an employee there. Even if the internal candidate is considerably less qualified than you, has all the intellect of a hay rake and all the tact and personality a pygmy goat (although they certainly are very cute aren't they?) the internal candidate will be considered more desirable than you.

Did I mention that this process of constantly and aggressively selling yourself in extremely high gear only to stand by helplessly and watch while internal pygmy goat candidates who are dumber than hay rakes get the positions you are supremely qualified to do is exhausting? Well it is.

You know what is even more exhausting? Having to smile and be nice to the pygmy goats who got the jobs I wanted and in certain circumstances, when professional courtesy has required it, actually congratulate them and welcome them to the team.

It feels like a punch in the gut every time.

I want to work there and will do whatever it takes.

So I campaign.

I would don tights, a tutu, tap shoes and a top hat, do a song and dance number on the table tops in the cafeteria and for my finale passionately scream out "who do I have to blow to get a fucking job around here??", if I thought that might work.

I hope it doesn't come to that. All my tights have holes in the toes.