The Junk Drawer

mo·ron  (môr‘?n’, m?r‘-): idiot: a person of subnormal intelligence.

The date: Circa 1971.

The location: Family doctor’s office.

The injury: Smashed fingertip.

My mother had taken three of us kids for an annual checkup at our family doctor. After my sister and I were checked out, we retreated to the waiting room while my mom stayed with my brother and the doctor.

With nothing to do and time to kill, little Kathy Simpleton became mesmerized by the opening and closing of the front door as other patients came and went.

Every time the door opened, a one inch crack opened between the door and its hinges, revealing bright rays of sunlight.

Open, sun, close. Open, sun, close. Mesmerizing indeed.

Curiosity set in. Kathy wondered if she could stick her finger into that sunshine-filled crack and …. do what? See if it fit? And then what? Cheer and bet her sister couldn’t do the same thing?

We will never know why. Asking why just makes it worse.

What we do know is that stupid is as stupid does.

When that two hundred pound metal door came to rest in its closed position on the finger of the dumbest child ever born east of the Mississippi, she learned in an instant that sometimes it’s best to be satisfied with imagining instead of doing.

Yeah.

Of course, one might think this qualifies as my most moronic kid moment, and yet, if you think about it at least I had the sense to do it right in a doctor’s office.

It is unclear whether my mother asked the doctor to examine not only the crushed finger of her whimpering child, but the brain that thunk up such a senseless idea.

Care to share the least thought-out stunts of your kiddom? Extra points if you needed a cast, crutches or a wheelchair as a result.

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I don’t get it. My husband Dave refuses to keep lighting this pumpkin in our front yard.

I’ve been bummed the last few days it’s gone unlit. Dave gets home from work a little before me and would always light the little guy. When I drove up the block in the dark, I could see Mr. Pumpkin Head waiting for me. He was my beacon to home.

I asked Dave why he doesn’t light him anymore.

Um. Because his skull is crushed in and it looks like he’s in pain?

Still. You can get the scalp off enough to light a candle in his brain. And all you’d need to do is wear protective clothing. And hold your breath. And pray nothing’s living in there.

What. is. the. problem????

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Meet Shadow. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s got a problem.

She only wants to drink water directly from the faucet.

Since she developed this little habit, it’s become near impossible to function in the kitchen.

Whenever my husband or I walks into the kitchen, she follows.

Whenever we’re washing our hands or rinsing a dish, she’s there.

Whenever she hears the garage door open, she’s on the counter. Waiting.

At 5:00AM, like clockwork, she’s nudging us out of bed. When I get up, she runs downstairs to sit in the sink.

I oblige her. Again.

We figured it’d be easy to break her of the habit if we never turned the water on for her. Or so we thought.

All that does is make her smash her face, over and over, into the spigot and give us that wanting look. And so we give in. She once got an eye infection, we assume because of this smashing behavior. The tip of the faucet can’t be that clean.

I know they make pet water dishes that produce a steady stream of water, but we don’t think that’ll be good enough for her. When she does decide to drink from a bowl, she pushes it all over the floor and dumps half of it.

Must go. I feel eyes burning a hole through the back of my head. She’s in the sink again.

So let’s hear it. In what ways do your pets rule your household?

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Doesn’t everyone want nipple cupcakes? I mean, come on. They’re awesome.

Step 1: Pour too much cake batter in the cups. No, not bra cups, silly. Cupcake cups!

Step 2: Don’t shake down the batter like apparently you’re supposed to do.

Step 3: Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes.

Viola!

Nipplicious cupcakes!

Step 4: Pile icing high, high, high and no one will notice!

Good grief. I can’t even make a normal cupcake. Don’t even try to help me. There is no helping me. But I’ll take pity. Pity’s good.

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As a lot of you know, there was some question about our beloved Windy’s survival over the summer. Over the last few weeks many of her tree’s leaves fell away and I knew it would be soon that we’d either see her or we wouldn’t. I’ve been bracing myself.

A few days ago a colleague at work came bouncing into the office to say she thought she saw a glimpse of her.

Today I got the evidence. She’s looking pretty tattered, but she is most definitely still there.

Let us bow our heads and give thanks.

Behold, Windy! A stripped down version of her former self, but no less loved! 

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Congratulations go to Kathryn of the From the Inside … Out blog for being the first to guess that Monday’s What’s That item is the part of a lawn sprinkler that controls the orientation of the water spray. You can see here that you line up the wheel with the hose connector to whatever kind of spray you want to come out.

Kathryn, your magnet is in the mail!

A special shout-out goes to Linda Kreitz who cracked me up when she suggested “Whatever it is…has to do with birds. You used the word “crumb” and referred to us as “peeps” on Facebook.”

Trust me, I’m never so creative as to think something like that up.

Thanks for all your great guesses! It’s so much fun for me to see how your brains work!

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I know, I know. I usually have a What’s That item on Wednesdays, but my cold from last week is still clouding my head and I can’t think of anything else to write about.

You guys usually have to suffer for that because it makes me turn the tables on you and now you have to think.

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object wins a Junk Drawer magnet, a mystery prize or 500 Entrecard credits.

Go!

What’s that?

UPDATE: I’ve made this too hard. I shall now give you the slightest crumb of a hint. Here goes:

The item is used only outdoors. Also, the portion shown in the photo is not an internal part of the item. What you see here can be found in plain sight. I guess that was two crumbs. I’m such a giver.

CONTEST CLOSED: Click here to see who won!

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Because God hates us, my husband and I started a weeklong vacation on Saturday and then promptly got colds Saturday night. This is a first for us. In the twenty three years we’ve been together, we’ve never been sick at the same time.

Which means our first fear was “Who’s gonna get food for us?

While I was still looking and feeling like I belonged to the land of the living, I went to the store Sunday morning and picked up a few things to last a while. But then Monday night rolled around and I was tired of chicken soup and wanted something high in calories and sweet. And that meant donuts.

But how could I possibly show up at a brightly-lit store amidst the general non-sick population in my condition just to get donuts?

I quickly realized I didn’t care what I looked like, grabbed my car keys, headed over and walked right into my grocery store looking a sight. I appeared to be wearing my Halloween costume early. The costume is called Disgusting Slob. Let me set the stage:

1. At the time I had not showered for almost three days.

2. Unbrushed hair pulled back in a scrunchy with wayward hairs sticking out in all directions. No makeup. Chapped lips. Chapped nose.

3. I was wearing what I’d slept in the night before. Stretchy pants and a shirt with chocolate stains on it.

4. I was not wearing a bra.

Walking into the store was an exercise in sheer willpower. My legs felt noodly and my head was spinning like a top. In a fog, I made a beeline to the bakery and grabbed a container of one dozen glazed donuts.

I pretended that if I didn’t look any of the other customers in the eye, they couldn’t see me either.

I held my purse tightly against my chest so as to keep the braless ladies in place until I got to the self-checkout. Thank God for self-checkout. I would never have put a poor clerk in a position to look at me. That’s not playing fair.

I did NOT look at myself in the giant floor to ceiling windows at the front of the store because then I’d have real confirmation that I looked the way I did. Denial is a powerful thing.

p.s. I’m still wearing what I wore that night. I still haven’t showered. We still feel like crap, but the donuts were delicious. Now can one of you come over here and make us meals for the rest of the week? I promise I’ll shower for ya.

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Despite the rain today, I thought I’d crawl off the couch and get out for a walk.

Normally, I listen to music while walking around my neighborhood, but I stopped doing that because this is what I use to listen to music.

Antique Sony Walkman

The last time I carried this with me, a pre-teen riding in a car with his mother shouted out the window “Mom! What’s that lady got on her head? And what’s that discus thing she’s carrying?”

The mother shushed her son and said “It’s like an iPod, only Frisbee-sized. She must be destitute, so don’t make fun of the lady.”

“OK, Mom. But let’s pull over and give her a few dollars. Will that help her get an iPod?”

“I don’t think so. She’ll only spend it on CDs.”

“What are CDs?”

“The things she has to put in it to hear music.”

“What?”

“You put a disc in there and it spins around inside.”

“Mom, you’re going to make me cry.”

OK, so that conversation never took place, but I fear it will someday and then I’ll be the one crying.

Santa, please bring me an iPod for Christmas. That’d be swell and so 21st century.

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4:15 AM

Me: Dave, I think there’s a fire in the house.

Hubs: What?

Me: It smells like fire.

Hubs: What? Go back to sleep.

Me: Wait. No. It smells like burnt coffee.

Hubs: Uh. No. It’s a skunk.

Me: Is not.

Hubs: Skunk sprayed outside.

Me: Maybe the furnace is broken.

Hubs: Skunk.

Me, on the floor, smelling the heating vent: Well, it’s not the heat.

Hubs: Skunk.

Me: I swear, it smells like burnt coffee. Maybe the cats turned on the coffee maker somehow. The pot’s not empty. Remember how Lucky called your brother stepping on my cell phone? He could totally turn on the coffee maker.

Hubs: It’s a skunk. And if you say one more thing, I’m putting a pillow over your head.

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I’ve been following the blog Bent Objects for a couple years now. The man behind the blog, Terry Border, is an uber-talented photographer and artist who marries everyday objects and wire to tell a story.

Some of his pieces are funny, some are heartbreaking, some are twisted and a few have taken me a beat to figure out. I love art that makes me think.

Terry recently published a book of his works called Bent Objects: The Secret Life of Everyday Things. Some pieces are from the blog, but many more are brand new. Congratulations, Terry! You’ve achieved something that most bloggers only dream about. I’m just a wee bit jealous. OK. A lot jealous.

I cracked open my copy today and leafed greedily through it much like a bag of potato chips. One led to another and before I knew it I was stuffed and happy. I wish I had half of Terry’s wit.

With his permission, I’m republishing a few of the pieces that appeared on his blog to let you get inside Terry’s head. Enjoy!

Pretty Cupcakes 

Yesterday’s Flowers

Horror S’morer

For a fun and funky look at more of his pieces that didn’t make it into the book, check out his rockin’ promo video:

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What in the wide, wide, world of sports is going on with some people?

Little tip here. You have to read the following very carefully. This is the opening to an actual article from a New Jersey paper, The Trentonian.

They courted for more than ten years before she finally popped the question.

Amy Wolfe had experienced a decade of ups and downs with her lover but wanted to move forward with her romance.

So, Wolfe, 33, a Pennsylvania church organist, will go ahead with her plans to marry an amusement ride at Knoebels Amusement Park in the Poconos.

Wolfe claims to have objectum sexuality, a condition that makes sufferers attracted to inanimate objects — in this case she’s head over heels for an 80-foot gondola ride called 1001 Nachts.

You next!

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Holy cow! It’s been over a year since I last posted something for the Food That Looks Like Stuff series. It’s not that I haven’t been looking. I’m still searching for the elusive Virgin Mary on a Pop Tart.

I’m pleased to bring you a submission that ends the yearlong drought. Thank you, reader Louise Pena!

Coffee No. 4

Wouldn’t this cup of coffee go great with Bagel #9?

If you’re a new reader and want to see some past foods that look like something, check these out:

• Compilation of items over several months
• Sleeping Basset Hound God-Zeus Chicken Finger
• Mr. Potato Head
• You Say Tomato, I Say Diablo
• Do You Know the Muffin Man?
• Say Cheese, Cracker

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Don’t we have enough to worry about with the people in our lives thinking they know what’s better for us?

Now software wants to get into the act?

My sister Marlene emailed this to me today. It’s a screen snapshot of a co-worker’s Lotus Notes program.

The screen shot came attached with a note: “Things just aren’t making a whole lot of sense today.”

No kidding.

What’s the matter, brainless program whose opinion wasn’t asked for? Not feelin’ the 16th vibe?

Kinda like ordering surf ‘n turf and getting a salad.

Thanks. But no.

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