I know I promised to get a better picture of the Penis De Milo, and although this one is more in focus, it seems that one of them was feeling shy today. Either that or he's peeing on the house while he's supposed to be in Time Out. Then again, maybe it's a Blair Witch Project kind of thing.
You make the call.
Someone was naughty.
I hope they're not some kind of perverted Chia Pet. (I'll keep you posted as to any other changes.)
When did mannequin parts become a popular choice in lawn decor?
Penis De Milo?
I wanted to ask that very question of the people who own this house, but I was too afraid to knock on the door and ask, for fear of being thrown into a well in the basement and told to put the lotion on my skin.
Lucky for you, gentle reader, I wasn't too afraid to drive slowly by and have my ten-year-old take a picture, hoping that no one was home to see us gawking at The Three Pelvises stationed in front of their house. If anyone had come out to ask me, I would have told them "It's for my blog! People need to see this!"...as I drove away, cackling.
So you see, it was purely for your benefit that I snapped this picture; to expose you all to what I believe may be the new height of modern art. It's clearly a collection of an abbreviated form of Michelangelo's David.
Don't give me any bull about being able to see this kind of "art" at any clothing store in the mall. I can't even tell you the last time I saw a naked mannequin at the mall, excepting the time when I walked past a salesclerk wrestling the pants off a member of his display personnel. I felt like I had just interrupted the filming of a horrifically disturbing rape scene in which the victim had first been dismembered, when he looked guiltily up at me. One look seemed to say, "What happens at the mall before business hours, stays at the mall"... until it's written on my blog for all of you to read.
Where was I headed with this? Oh, yes.
Exposure to the arts. You needed it, I'm providing it.
I was browsing the kitchen stuffs on Ebay and ran across a listing for a set of multi-colored measuring spoons with a "buy it now" price of $1,043.46
What an exorbitant amount for a set of measuring spoons! Surely there must be something else about them that makes them so special, like they're, oh, I don't know...magical...or made of Plutonium or just the best damned spoons you'll ever buy.
I had to know.
So I asked the seller this question: "Do these measuring spoons contain Plutonium? Is that why they're listed for so much? I'd like Plutonium measuring spoons..."
I patiently await his response...
...and I'm kind of hoping they're Plutonium.
Update! I got a reply. It might be easier to just show you what was said, so I'll quote our correspondence here:
Subject: Details about item: RandomNinja sent a message about Farberware Color Measuring Spoons, Mixed Colors, Set of 5 #250989733747
Sent Date: Mar-14-12 21:27:07 PDT
Do these measuring spoons contain Plutonium? Is that why they're listed for so much? I'd like Plutonium measuring spoons... - RandomNinja
It's a typo .
we will fix it shortly.
Damn. I really could've used that Plutonium.
Clearly, GuyWhoSellsSpoons doesn't care about my Plutonium needs. "Responded". Indeed!
I was curious to see what the new asking price of these magical, wondrous spoons had been changed to, so I clicked on the link at the bottom of the email. $1034.51!! What the...?
I was not satisfied. So I emailed him again:
Wait. So now the buying price is $1,034.51?? I have to ask what the hell these spoons are really made of.
I haven't gotten a reply from this last yet, but when I checked the site ten minutes later it was $1031.53. I think these things really must be made of Plutonium and he's just not being straight with me.
I had intended to announce that four new fish were added to the ranks yesterday. The Man brought home two Balloon Mollies, a Mickey Mouse Platy and an Albino Bristle-nose Plecostomus.
As of ten o'clock last night, three of the newbies were happily sharing the tankspace with the others, but the Pleco was nowhere to be seen.
This morning, I discovered the albino didn't make it. The Man doesn't seem to think the casualties should be recorded unless they make it one full day, but I am far too serious about this Death Toll-keeper job to get caught up on technicalities.
Sometimes my life is steeped in the ridiculous. (What fun would this blog be if it wasn't?) Last week's blissful existence was derailed by a little slip that prompted this late night mobile status update on Facebook: "Sonofamotherbutthumper, one of my hearing aids fell down the cold air return vent. And it wasn't even the one that whistles incessantly. Furking FURK!"
Oh, the drama, right? Well, I knew it was NOT going to be found that night, so I went to bed and tried to dream of happier things...happier things that cost less money to replace than a $2000 hearing aid. That was difficult.
The next morning, the search began.
I tried to look for it myself, in the logical place, which was the cold air return vent directly below my room. I know that gravity makes stuff basically fall straight down and not up. I'm a genius like that. Of course, I had zero luck finding it, so The Man called the furnace maintenance company who sent over a lovely gentleman with ill-fitting pants to rescue my hearing aid from...wherever stuff goes when it falls down that vent.
I've mentioned before that people don't believe me when I tell them I'm very hard of hearing. This time proved to be no different as he lay on the floor with his ass-crack in the air and spoke into the vent, looking for my missing hearing aid. So as not to hover over the man while he worked (I didn't really need to watch his butt get any more air), I excused myself and went back to my business on the computer. He came in periodically to ask me stuff and managed to startle me every time. It was as if he forgot that what he was looking for was a hearing aid and that it was MINE.
Um...that thing you're trying so hard to find? Yeah, I kind of need it to hear you, dude.
It took three hours of search and rescue attempts with lots of banging around and cutting holes in things to locate it, but he did eventually find that mysterious place where lost things go in our house and retrieved my precious battery-operated listening device. It didn't even cost me $400 to get my hearing aid back. It cost $381.99.
But just look at all the other stuff he rescued as well! He found...*takes deep breath*...
One silver needle, a broken rosary, purple Mardi Gras beads, a plastic princess lipstick, one beaded bracelet, a plastic french fry, six Barbie shoes, one Barbie bathing suit, one Barbie nightshirt, four barrettes, one hair tie, three screws, one nut, three marbles, a Baby Annabel pacifier clip, a purple, plastic boat propeller, a silver pompon, one AA battery, an orange crayon, ten pieces of Barbie dog kibble, four checkers, one yellow Lego (which is actually from the previous owners of the house, meaning that it's been in there for probably twenty years or longer), ten plastic beads, one key-chain, a Mommy's Little Patient "magic" baby spoon, a button, miscellaneous My Little Pony accessories, Green M&M on a skateboard, one Phonak Amio hearing aid and twelve cents.
Sadly, I'm left to wonder what's disappeared down the other vents in our house. I'm not curious enough to pay the Buttcrack Hero nearly $400 to find out.
Now that that's over and done with, I'm happy to say I can get back to the things that matter. Those pigs don't fling irate fowl at themselves, you know.
CeCe the Sunrise Platy was found dead at the bottom of the volcano. The Aquatic Forensics Department is baffled as to what made her throw herself in and tankmates remain tight-lipped about the incident, denying allegations that she was part of a ritual sacrifice.
We agreed to take care of Lily's former class pet over spring break as a favor to her old 4th grade teacher. She's a guinea pig and a lovely house guest, despite being a bit of a squeaky wheel. We'll make her comfortable here, and shower her with love and affection...provided that she follows the rules of the house.
So welcome back, Bugsly. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.
Wake up call at 8 a.m.? Of course, ma'am. Fresh Timothy hay daily? Very good, ma'am. Snuggling on Sam's lap for hours at a time? Absolutely, ma'am. Leaving little brown Tic-Tacs on my furniture?
And so it begins. Two weeks ago I told you we were getting fish. This week three teeny, tiny, little non-fish called Zebra Danios were added to the water. The Man said he'd start with a few inexpensive fish to "get the tank established", so he brought home Larry, Darryl and Darryl. It seems that of the three, Larry is the only one with the teeny, tiny fish guts to break from his cohorts and brave the doorways of Castle Rohan. Darryl and Darryl, more chicken than fish, are inseparable. They follow each other around like they've got magnets inside them. I know, I know. They're schooling fish. That's what they're supposed to do. Still...
I really thought we'd lose Darryl first. I figured that one of them would wander too far from the other and die from separation anxiety. I was wrong. All three are still swimming.
Today, The Man brought home five Neon Tetras and a snail. We have yet to see the snail put anything outside of its shell, so I cannot confirm that it is actually alive, but the Tetras are...with one exception.
After his initial release into the tank, Randy Jackson became disoriented and listless as he caught himself in the filter's output current over and over again. The Man knew the end was near, and he took the net out and scooped Randy from the water. As he flushed him away, he offered these parting words:
I've heard too many horror stories about the Black Friday sales to feel that diving headfirst into the lion's den to get a deal on the newest craze is something I'd be interested in doing.
No, thank you.
A few Thanksgivings ago, I wrote this poem, poking fun at the insanity that is Black Friday. That year a New York Wal*Mart employee was trampled to death by the stampede of shoppers. Sadly, my creative humor was in the right place at the wrong time. I saved it for another year.
I know some people take their Black Friday shopping very seriously, while others look at it much like Roller Derby, full of hip checking and shoving, but having loads of fun doing it.
I've never seen a scarf or lamp or Wii game that was worth my life. I'm still gonna have to pass.
Will you be shopping the Black Friday sales or will you wait until Cyber Monday?
Twas the dawn of Black Friday, and in front of the store, The people had camped out all night by the door, Their bottoms were nestled in frozen lawn chairs, As they peered through the glass, plotting what would be theirs. The veteran shoppers were dressed for the weather Eyeing new blood, as they huddled together, When toward the glass doors an employee came near, With a key in his hand and his face filled with fear They watched him approach, with their eyes opened wide He unlocked the door and then leaped to the side. Like antelope, torn from their watering hole fun, When the lion creeps nearer, break into full run, So into the store the patrons did dash, With lists miles long and buttloads of cash. More rapid than eagles, they grabbed at Wii Games They pushed, kicked and called one another foul names. The Black Friday shoppers went straight to their works, They prided themselves on behaving like jerks. They said, "Puck your mother!" (or words of that sort) As shopping became a full-contact sport! Black Friday peeps, know this as you roam- You're fighting without me, I'm staying at home!