Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say. God knows, I have LOTS of things to say. But there are two hindrances:
Some of the stuff I want to say is stuff I can’t talk about. Not yet, anyway. I have quite a few things in the works, and I can’t discuss them without ruining it all. So *mmfff mmmmfffff mfmf mffm* (takes hand off mouth) until Spring or so.
I’m distressingly public. I really don’t make any attempt to hide my real life identity – so, if you tracked me down, stop patting yourself on the back. It’s pretty easy to get my name and address. Most of the people I know are well aware of the blog. They figured it out when I ran up to them and said “Hey, you have to go read my blog! It’s a big collection of random crap! With pictures!”
And THAT, of course, means that they can all read all the nasty stuff I say about them. I didn’t realize how much of a problem that would be until I got a phone call refuting one of the crazy stories, from someone who had a starring role. This person made it quite clear that they were not, in fact, as crazy as they had been made out to be.
Let me start by saying:
Denials are meaningless.
Secondly, damn it all, now I have to either resort to writing about random strangers or just put up with endless phone calls.
I did consider trotting down to Cinnabon in the mall food court, with a notepad and a pair of field glasses, to people watch and take notes on said random strangers while I had a nice sticky bun with pecans, but most of my posts about strangers have to do with What They Did to Piss Me Off This Time and I don’t see why I should subject myself to that. Also, each Cinnabon weighs about six pounds and contains enough calories to power a small nuclear reactor for a week or two, so I should probably rethink that plan.
I could put up with the phone calls, I suppose, and let it go to voicemail, but I happen to be one of those people who is completely incapable of letting the phone go to voicemail. I have been known to look at caller ID and shriek “Crap! I don’t want to talk to this person” in the split second before I pick up the phone, say hello, and act all surprised about who it is. I will even answer the phone to tell people that I am way too busy to answer the phone.
I guess I should have kept the blog a secret, but what would be the point of that? There’s no reason to bitch if nobody is listening. It’s like a tree falling in the forest.
I am convinced that blogs are insane. Write out your innermost diary thoughts, publish them on line, and tell everybody where to find them.
What the hell was I thinking?
Friday, July 24, 2009
Carrot Citrus Ginger: can hear you thinking "carrots in soap?" Yep, trust me, carrot soap has a lovely creamy lather - it's one of my favorites! This bar is made with local, organically grown carrots, and scented with essential oils of grapefruit, lemon, orange, and fresh ginger. No added colorants - the perky orange hue is due entirely to the carrots. Give it a try!
Lemony Snickets: This all essential oil blend begins with lemony litsea, lightly touched with lavender and spearmint. Over it all, sweet and insistent, is star anise essential oil. The dark, dramatic color comes from activated charcoal.
Mardi Gras: Fresh tangy berries, sweet spice, and earthy mysterious notes - silky smooth and sinful, just like it should be. An ivory colored bar with ribbons of green, gold and purple in honor of a legendary celebration.
This bar is loaded with added silk fibers for a rich, luxurious lather.
Plus, I’m starting to work on Christmas soaps. It just isn’t a summer heat wave unless I’m screaming at a misbehaving batch of Pumpkin Spice soap and complaining that my hair smells like a Christmas tree. I’m going to be bringing back last year’s favorites – Cranberry Crush, North Woods, Mulled Cider, and Pumpkin Spice. But I’ve gotta know – is there something you’re dying to see for the holidays? If there is, tell me now, and I might be able to include it. I’m rapidly losing the feeble hold I had on sanity, so no promises, but I can try.
It’s like locusts were here again. I am out of everything in sample slices. So those will be back…
...um, in a couple of weeks or so.
I need to find a leprechaun or a gremlin or something and teach them to shrink wrap things while I sleep, or I’m never gonna catch up.
Which means that I am about to ask my annual question – how, in the name of St. Hubbins*, is it possible that it is July and I am already behind for October? What kind of insane business have I gotten myself into? And why I am in this handbasket, and why is it getting warmer?
Great. The dog is trying to hide behind the couch to avoid my ranting and he can’t because Jesse is already back there. Cowards.
* Saint Hubbins is a little known saint of quality footwear. He was a bishop and is believed to have lived in the 3rd to 4th centuries. Direct historical data is missing and several historians are of the opinion that this concerns a mixture of facts about two different bishops living and working in the different towns of Soreto and Angers. The cult of veneration has been documented as early as the 7th century. He is considered as the patron of clog makers.
Friday, July 17, 2009
He's risked his job more than once for the sake of pulling a sophmoric prank.
One of his proudest moments was in the early years of his career in industrial mechanics, at a factory which produced a particular national brand of pudding cups.
This day, butterscotch was the flavor in process. Mr. Husband had to do some routine testing on the printers in the packaging department, and while he was there, decided to do some creative editing. Thank Goodness nobody took notice, because for the rest of the day, the flavor printed on the pudding cups read: "BUTTERCROTCH".
We still have a roof over our heads!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
She was carrying a pet carrier around with her all the time, so one of the bosses asked her why.
She said that her cat didn't like to travel in the car so she left him at her old house in Georgia. She had the pet carrier because they had a mind link and when the cat was ready he was going to teleport himself to her and she needed the pet carrier for when he arrived.
Shortly after that exchange they were once again looking for a speech therapist.
Weird Willy was a terrible murderous criminal in his lifetime, and his heinous deeds resulted in an isolated grave, for no one wished to buy plots in his proximity. When he was buried in the 1920s, local townsfolk marked his grave with a stone that had engraved upon it a curse.
It attracted dare devils every Halloween, those who were brave enough, followed the directions - run three times around the grave clockwise, and three times counter clockwise. More often that not, bad luck befell those who dared- often in a big way.
The curse came to an ugly head when almost ten years ago, Weird Willy came a callin' to a known crazy in town. This fellow was well known for his love of drink, penchant for freely dabbling in chemical substances and wild incoherent ramblings. One night, "Jason" threw a party, as friends gathered to celebrate , "Jason" was compelled to get up to other business.
He abruptly abandoned his own party and went, armed with supplies in his truck, to the resting place of Weird Willy. Upon arrival at the desolate graveyard, he proceeded to exhume the remains in the dark. He took with him every last bone, and placed the sightless grinning skull on his dashboard like some macabre trophy.
It was near his home that he was caught by police for speeding, but "Jason' didn't stop until he reached his driveway. Party goers streamed out of the house to see what the commotion was with the police. But as the officer approached "Jason's" car he was mortified by the discovery of the skeletal remains, "Jason" held the skull in hand and calmly introduced the officer to his new 'friend'.
Needless to say, Jason was immediately arrested. Weird Willy was returned to his grave and laid to rest again. "Jason" faced many charges and an extensive psychiatric evaluation. Surprisingly that night, his blood tests returned clean.
The curse may have been Weird Willy's way to escape the clutches of death. For "Jason" was the second victim of an addled mind to dig up the cursed bones.
Still the question remains... ...who will be next?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Jackie'll get a'hold of ya fer yer prize, if'n she has'nt yet.
July is here, and we'll post the first entry for July's contest later today, as soon as I find some relevant pics, walk the dog, watch Oprah and eat some Bon-Bons.