The Junk Drawer

A couple days ago on my lunchtime walk, I purposely avoided a man and his dog while crossing the street because the dog was unleashed. My walking partner asked if I was afraid of dogs and I said “Yes, the ones over 30 pounds do.” And this one looked like a 50lb pit bull mix, not the friendliest looking pooch. He said “Yeah, but he’s missing a foot.”

I hadn’t noticed right away, but the dog didn’t have a left hind foot. He could still walk easily and I assumed he could run after me easily, too, and rip my face off.

That night I had a dream wherein one of my cats’ paws fell off. I saw it a few inches from her body, lying on a pillow. She wasn’t in pain or anything. The paw was detached, that’s all.

So I took her to the vet and they gave her a replacement paw.

And what did the vet replace it with? Of course, a bacon-wrapped scallop paw.

And why did I have this dream?

Because of this video I’d watched earlier in the day:

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Finally. The weather’s perking up around here and I got out for a long walk today with my jam-packed iPod of dance tunes. If anyone saw me walking, they either knew I had downloaded the best music ever, or wondered whether I was having a spasm and thought they should call 911.

I’m not afraid to dance-walk-spaz in public. It ain’t pretty, but you get to a certain age when you just don’t care anymore what people think of you.

But I didn’t find my groove right away.

First, I suffered through five minutes of electroshock therapy, courtesy of my iPod.

It seems that if it’s dry enough and that if you create enough static when you walk, that static builds up in the device and finds its way out through the path of least resistance.

That path was straight to my ears.

For the first five minutes of my walk, I couldn’t figure out how to stop shocking myself in the head.

I kept the iPod in my pocket.

Shock. Owwww!

I held the iPod in my hand.

Zzzzzzzppp. Aieeeeeee!!!!

I realized that the long black Matrix coat I was wearing created enough friction brushing against my legs that I repeatedly got shocked once a block.

I tried holding the coat close enough to my body to keep it from brushing against me but that didn’t work either. I finally gave up and removed it all together.

Luckily, the sun was out full force and I’d been walking fast enough, albeit painfully, to sweat a little and fend off the cold.

Has this ever happened to you and your ear buds? Or do I just have a super-electric personality? Yea, that’s gotta be it.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Yeah.

I was all excited to build a snow bunny today. Wouldn’t that just be so much fun?

What I had in mind:

What I made:

I’ll take questions now.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I don’t know why I let you guys in my unconscious head. It’s really a mess in there. But here’s a dream I had last night.

I was outside my childhood home and there was a woman I work with standing near me. We observed a big swarm of bees and I panicked. She said “No need to worry. It’s only Bee #4 you have to worry about.”

I was happy that I could identify Bee #4 by its trail of curly smoke following it as it flew straight for my head. I picked up a fly swatter and beat it to pieces, but it was still alive and I freaked.

I woke up thinking there was a bee in the bed and that at any moment I would be stung.

So if you’re ever scared of bees, don’t worry. Just kill #4. And kill him good. He’s a bastard.

The end.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I want to work where my sister Marlene works. Her co-workers are exactly the kind of crazies I need to be around 40 hours a week.

I received this list from her today. A list of words, phrases or topics that are either prohibited or encouraged in her lunch room at work.

Yes, they’re keeping a list. Do with it what you will.

Prohibited Words:

· pimple (includes “goose-pimple”)

· blackhead

· moist

Note: “Moist” is acceptable in reference to baked goods, chicken… i.e. things that are supposed to be moist. “Moist” is unacceptable in reference to anything gross. (Feet, fungus, basements, bathroom floors)

· E.V.O.O.

· Rock hard

· rebut

  Note: The word “rebuttal”, as well as “flying buttress” are acceptable.

· genitals

Note: Words such as “bajango” and “hoo ha” are acceptable substitutions for the word “genitals”

· bequeath

· secrete

Topics:

· Food poisoning experiences

· Bug-eating experiences, accidental or intentional

· Gleeking experiences

· The Charmin bears

· The apocalypse

· Rachel Ray

· Any situation involving body fluids, especially when conversation is taking place in the presence of Louise.

Prohibited Smell Addendum: All citrus and banana scents will be kept a minimum of 10 feet from Marlene. Additionally, measures shall be taken to prevent wafting.

Encouraged Words and Topics for the Lunchroom

Words

· Smokin’ cookies

· Oh, snap!

· Delicious!

· Bodacious

· Giddyup

Topics

· What we are eating for lunch

· What we ate for dinner last night

· What we will eat for dinner tonight

· Foods we like / dislike

· Things we’ve seen on television

Note: Things we’ve seen on television that reference any of the prohibited words and topics are also prohibited.

—-

Feel free to add your own words you love or hate, or to question any number of these words or phrases. Marlene, feel free to provide explanations for any of them in the comments section.

Me thinks you’re going to have to explain why “rebut” is on the list. You don’t have to explain why Rachel Ray is. We all know she is the devil.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Last night I joined my sisters and niece for a nice drive around town to look at Christmas lights on houses that were all decked out. A columnist for our local paper takes submissions for decorated houses and then publishes a “best of” list with directions so people can take a tour.

When we hit the house that was deemed a “Disney wonderland” all of us jumped out of the car in excited anticipation. Except for sister Ann. Turns out Ann was nice and cozy in the car and wasn’t sure the sights would be worth freezing her butt off for.

So what did she do? She told her daughter that “if the back of the house is really nice, text me and I’ll get out.”

Text you and you’ll get out?

Why don’t you ask her to take a picture on her cell phone and then bring that back to show you?

My dear sister, Ann, you lazy, lazy bum.

So let’s hear it. Where and for what have you requested a text or texted someone because it’s too hard to walk a few feet? If anyone says “The shower, I needed a towel” your phone privileges are hereby revoked.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

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????

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

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!

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

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.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Each September my town hosts the Celtic Classic Highland Games & Festival, a celebration of Celtic culture with music, food and athletic competitions involving big burly men.

In kilts.

Here’s an example of a kilt-clad burly man throwing a 56lb. (25.5kg) block across the grass, as I stood on the sidelines hoping the officials knew when to duck.

One of the longest food lines was at this stand. If you don’t know what it is, I suggest you stay ignorant. It’s not for the weak of stomach.

If you don’t look it up, perhaps you can guess what’s in it by looking at it on a plate. And, no, it’s not impolite to ask a complete stranger if you can take a picture of his haggis. As long as you ask nicely. I didn’t even have to flash my blogger badge.

Looks a little like cat food, no? Meow.

About a thousand men walked the grounds in really gorgeous kilts, some with cute knees to match. It’s easy to get used to seeing men in skirts when they look like this.

Not half-bad!

Or this. Beautiful!

But then there’s this. GI Joe kilt!

And then ….. well. This.

Gotta hand it to this guy. Nobody’s gonna make fun of him for wearing a skirt. Nobody.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

It would be so much easier directing people to my house if I had one of these. "Pull in at the seven foot bird."

When my husband and I parked outside this house to take pictures, I’m pretty sure no one wondered why.

Polly want a cracker? No? How ’bout some junk mail?

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Holy Marge Simpson! Look what blew into my yard today.

I don’t I remember the last time I saw a woman wearing one of these, but there must be at least one bouffant-headed woman in my neighborhood.

If you happen to wear a bouffant hairstyle or something else as worthy of protecting, you may be interested in other products the Betty Dain company makes.

Or not. I’m guessing not.

The Sister Mary Catherine: For when you’re feeling particularly pious on rainy days.

The Wedding Cake Topper: What? Why? I don’t get it. That’s not a cap. It’s a pair of granny panties.

The Bee Keeper: I could have used one of these last week. Of course, no one would have wanted to sit next to me at lunch. But that’s the price you’d pay for the bee keeper look.

The Conehead: For the severely pointy-headed among us.

The Dork: "Trendy and masculine?" Nice try, Betty Dain. Nice try.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

In my last post, I asked you to tell me what your favorite gross food combinations were. You didn’t disappoint. I told you I would pick one disgusting combination and award a Junk Drawer magnet for best worst one.

Since there were so many icky combinations, I decided to put some of them to a taste test because I’m nothing if not adventurous. Or stupid.

The ingredients:

• Cheerios cereal
• Pre-cooked bacon
• Peter Pan peanut butter
• Italian bread
• Minute Maid orange juice (concentrate)
• Sweet pickle slices
• Breakstone’s cottage cheese (Eek! I’m gonna eat it!)
• San Georgio elbow macaroni
• Welch’s grape jam
• Whole milk and spaghetti sauce (not pictured because I’m a dumbass and forgot to put them out)

For my journey, I started with the combinations I thought were gross, yet intriguing, and moved toward the ones I thought were sure to make me hurl.

First up, whole milk and orange juice concentrate, suggested by Babs Beetle. She says "I used to half fill a glass with orange juice, the kind you have to dilute with water, then top it up with milk and wait for it to curdle – about 10 seconds. Once it was all lumpy I would gulp it."

I put about 2ozs. of concentrated OJ in a glass and then filled the rest with whole milk and stirred.

This stuff is delicious! It reminds me of a place that may still be popular in shopping malls called Orange Julius. I’d forgotten all about it until I drank this. My recommendation is to make sure you do use full-fat, whole milk and perhaps add crushed ice. It’s extremely rich, though. You have been warned.

Grade: A

Next items: Orange juice and Cheerios cereal, offered up by Jenny, who wrote: "I guess I discovered this next thing when one day I poured a bowl of Cheerios and then discovered we had no milk. So I put orange juice on top and … WOW! IS THAT EVER GOOD!"

I took the rest of the concentrate and diluted it to make regular OJ. Poured it over the Cheerios and dug in. It was a fairly enjoyable sweet treat for breakfast, but the OJ gave it a biting aftertaste. Think of it as a candy bar in a bowl. With a kick.

Grade: C+

Next, we have the peanut butter-related combinations.

First, peanut butter and sweet pickle slices. Heather says, "I like peanut butter & pickle sandwiches, but the pickles have to be hamburger dill slices."

I have to admit I thought this was pretty high on the gross scale. To me, pickles should only be eaten straight up or on a burger. Let me tell you, this stuff was divine. The savoriness of the peanut butter, mixed with the sweet and tart flavor of the pickles, makes for a surprisingly good combo. And who doesn’t want a little crunch in their sandwiches?

I took a good four bites out of it, but had to discard it because I had a lot more to eat. If not for the calories, this one would have been completely finished off.

Grade: A+

Our second bacon-related combination is the one I believe was mentioned most often in the comments — bacon and peanut butter. I had such high hopes for it. I think you’re all familiar with my bacon addiction. What could go wrong?

Here’s what can go wrong. Apparently my bacon addiction is so bad, I now need 10x the bacon to get the same delirious reaction to it as I once got. I couldn’t taste the bacon! Did I make it wrong? How many slices should I have put on? Five are pictured here. All I tasted was the peanut butter. I’m so depressed.

Grade I wanted to give it: A+

Grade it got: D

Damn.

Now here’s where I encountered my first feelings of trepidation. The very idea of mixing grape jam and macaroni is so completely bizarre to me, and when I combined them in a bowl, I wanted to throw it out before tasting it. But I soldiered on.

Just look at it. Think about it. Does it look appetizing? No. Would you want to eat it? No. How did I like it? I didn’t. IT. IS. NASTY. Grape jam belongs on only one thing. Toast. Period.

A woman named Kathy suggested this and I wish she had a blog so I could link to it, and you could all go over and tell her she needs to have her head examined. Or her stomach.

Grade: F

For our last test, I spread my culinary wings. I don’t recall ever having eaten cottage cheese in my life. Why? Because to me it looks like yogurt that’s a year past its expiration date.

SewDucky suggested this concoction: "… cottage cheese, heated, with either pistachio pudding or spaghetti sauce mixed in. Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind."

Everyone is correct.

I still have the aftertaste of this dish, and not a good aftertaste. I would characterize the flavor as sort of like manicotti filling, without the benefit of being enveloped in a blanket of pasta and being flavorfully-seasoned. Couldn’t take more than two bites. Warming it up did not help.

Grade: D

I hope you enjoyed my little taste test. You’ve all been so good waiting patiently for me to announce a winner.

******* Drumroll please *******

Winner in the category Worst Food Combination I Never Thought I’d Like: Peanut Butter and Pickles

Winner in the category Word Food Combination I Wouldn’t Eat Again For Any Amount of Money: Grape Jam and Macaroni

I’ll contact the winners shortly. As soon as I clean up my kitchen and explain to my husband why the garbage is full of half-eaten sandwiches and mushy things.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Today’s post is short and sweet. I recently told a friend how I love the taste of uncooked instant oatmeal combined with a fruit yogurt.

That fact made her sick and it got me thinking about things people eat, specifically, foods we combine that have no business fraternizing in the same cup, bowl or dish.

So let’s have it. What foods do you put together that you love, but that make others ill when they see you eat it?

Grossest combination wins a Junk Drawer magnet.

Oh, and if you remember the circumstances under which you thought to put the foods together, include that too!

Go!

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Though my husband Dave is recovering from very painful shoulder surgery, I consider myself the one who had the real major medical problem of late.

I had a wart. On my forehead. For any woman, a crisis of epic proportions.

After a day of searching The Google for wart remedies, including wearing duct tape on it (not kidding), I came to the conclusion that I really ought to ask a doctor about it before I go making things worse.

So I called my sister Ann. Ann is a nurse. Fact: If you work in the medical profession in any capacity short of the janitor in a hospital, you are the doctor in the family.

I asked her what I should do to get rid of Walter the Wart, who I’d gotten so used to seeing every day that I named him. Yeah? What of it?

She gave me a quick reply: Vitamin E.

Every night before bed, I pricked a capsule of Vitamin E and spread the miracle juice all over Walter and then put a Band-Aid on him. We slept like babies.

The next morning I would remove Walter’s bandage, wash up and go out in the world with a big wart on my face.

To my co-workers, thank you for not wondering aloud why I looked like a Cyclops for two weeks.

Gradually, over about ten days, Walter got smaller and smaller until he disappeared and I returned to looking normal, which isn’t saying much.

So there you go. Vitamin E, the wart remover and scar preventer, brought to you by my non-doctor sister. If you’re absolutely sure you have a wart and not something scary like skin cancer, give it a try.

Footnote: In my research, I learned there are several causes for warts, among them stress. You know what causes stress? A giant wart on your forehead.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

A few weeks ago, I glanced out at the back yard and noticed a patch of what looked like weeds. I didn’t think much of it until they started to grow larger like this:

I decided to bring this situation to my husband’s attention and it was only then that I found out he surreptitiously planted sunflowers.

Sunflowers?! How could you?!

I know. I should be glad. Sunflowers are…. well, sunny. And happy. And yellow and bright.

But they scare the crap out of me.

Why?

Because Dave planted them at our old house and at night, in the faint glow of a street light, they looked like PEOPLES!

Big, swaying heads of PEOPLES in the darkness!

So now when these things grow right next to our house, I’ll be jumping out of my skin every time I look out the window.

Would it be bad to call 911 because I think flowers are breaking into my house?

OK, let’s hear it. What irrational fears to you have?

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Do you have a monkey butt? If you do, I’m very sorry. But don’t worry. Apparently there’s a product on the market to cure your ill. I found this stuff at my local Rite-Aid pharmacy and gasped when I saw it.

It’s the kind of thing that’s easy to mock, but I’m also guessing people actually need it and buy it. Kudos to the company for trademarking "Monkey Butt." I would have loved to sit in on the marketing meeting where the name was suggested and agreed upon.

And, yeah, I took pictures right there in the first aid aisle. Luckily I was wearing my Blogger Press Pass. It helps if you look official.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Pssst! I have a secret. I’ve discovered a quirky, little-known game that’s played every year at Harvard commencement. It’s a game anyone can enter. All you have to do is show up and buy a ticket to get in.

Here’s how you play:

1. Show up within one hour of the ceremony. If you check-in between 11AM and Noon, it costs you $20 to get in. If you show up later, you have to pay $50. But half of that goes to financial aid fundraising, so it’s still worth it.

2. The neat thing is you can get part or all of your entrance fee back by looking for randomly-placed graduates eating cheeseburgers in their seats.

3. The game is played by taking pictures surreptitiously of up to three people eating cheeseburgers and presenting your photos to an appointed judge. Any picture showing a graduate who spots you taking the picture doesn’t count.

Each valid picture is worth a certain dollar amount off the price of admission. For example, if you have one cheeseburger picture, it’s worth $5 off. If you have two, you get $10 off. If you achieve the trifecta of cheeseburger picture-taking, it’s worth $20 off.

You can see that if you arrive between 11AM and Noon, and paid only twenty dollars to get in, you can possibly get a refund on your entire ticket price!

Aside from the chance to earn back your entrance fee, the photo judged the best is signed by the university president and gets displayed outside her office for a week. And you get monster bragging rights!

Do you believe me? You shouldn’t, because this is just one more bizarre dream I’ve had in a long line of dreams I tend to have as a result of seeing or hearing things before my head hits the pillow.

How this dream came to be:

1. I watched a show on the Travel Channel called Extreme Pig Outs, wherein some pub makes a 15lb. (6.8kg) cheeseburger and if anyone manages to eat it, they get their name on a plaque and eat free at the establishment for the rest of their lives.

2. I fell asleep watching an episode of Gilmore Girls, wherein daughter Rory announces she wants to go to Harvard.

3. I watched the Kentucky Derby, wherein longshot Mine That Bird stole the race at 50-1 odds and paid $103.20 on a two dollar bet. A trifecta win paid a whopping $41,500.60.

It’s possible my next post will be about me writing a post about a dream I had that led to writing a post. Or maybe after reading this, you will.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

One of the reasons I admire cats is their fastidious nature, especially with their bathroom habits. I love that my cats feel the need to bury their business.

It means I don’t have to see it au natural. A deposit covered in kitty litter is infinitely more tolerable to clean up than one that isn’t.

Which is why I was monumentally grossed out when one of my cats came running up from the basement and flung from his butt a large deposit that hadn’t detached itself at the litter box. Right there in the living room. Thanks, buddy.

He looked at me. I looked at it. Both of us ran away in horror.

I immediately went to the sink, wet some paper towels and, when I picked it up, almost vomited. In my hurry to get rid of the offense, I forgot that the deposit would be piping hot.

Now. Dog owners. Here’s the question. If you take your dog for a walk and you have pooper scooper laws where you live, how do you collect and carry away your dog’s business?

I’ve very serious. I want to know how you do doggie doo duty. Do you use a special glove? Do you use a plastic bag, grab it from the inside, then turn it inside out and knot it? I mean, plastic bags are thin. Don’t you want to vomit? Do you wait for the deposit to cool off before picking it up?

This whole process of having to clean up after a dog like that blows my mind. I once saw a guy dressed in a business suit, walking his dog before work. He held a cup of coffee in his left hand and a bag of poo in his right. I wouldn’t do it myself, but man, I admire anyone who can.

Woof!

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

My husband Dave loves him a good horror movie. Bring on the gross, the gory and the gruesome.

But what makes him run screaming from the room whenever I take it out and use it?

This.

I’ll spare you any pictures of my dead foot skin. But I will tell you that it looks exactly like finely grated parmagean cheese. Buon appetito!

The fact is the thing works and I’m on my way to smoother, sandal-wearing feet. My piddies are probably the least cared-for part of my body, until now. Hey, if it takes a cheese grater to do it, it’s all good.

Have you eaten breakfast yet? Are you eating it now? Sorry.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I’m still in shock. Another bag flew up into a tree at my building.

All fresh and new and STUCK.

So which one of you put it there? I know you’re all trying to make me insane. You know this means war.

At least our Windy has a friend now. FOREVER.

I’m serious. If I find out one of you put it there, I’ll hunt you down and make you climb up and get it out. And I don’t care if you break all your bones when you fall out.

You know what this means now? New bag needs a name. Drop your suggestion in the drawer and I’ll run a poll after I’ve picked a bunch that I like.

I wouldn’t have believed this if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. Windy got a mate.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

My mom celebrated a birthday this weekend. I think when it’s my birthday, I should celebrate her again.

Why?

Because I weighed 10 lbs, 8 ozs. (4.8 kg) at birth.

And she didn’t have a C-section.

Yeah.

For the record, my mom was, is and always will be rail thin. I’m guessing I stole everything she sent down the chute. She must have thought she was eating for six.

Oh, and if anyone was born fatter than me, there’s a Junk Drawer magnet in it for you. And sympathies to your mother.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I work on a college campus. If you have kids in college located in a city where it snows in winter, I’ve got some helpful advice.

Your kids need pants. Particularly the boys.

See, it’s been like 10 degrees for the last week, and yet I’ve seen at least four students walking around campus in shorts.

Any kid smart enough to attend the university where I work is smart enough to know about hypothermia.

So the only reason for this insanity is that you haven’t been sending them enough pants. They need a care package, pronto!

Oh, and send socks, too. I saw a kid yesterday wearing flip flops.

If you want to know what else your kids are doing at college, ask me. I’ve seen everything. Strike that. You don’t want to know.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I’ve been sitting here, what? Three years, three winters, and someone finally realizes I might be cold? I shouldn’t complain. At least someone thought to give me the scarf. It’s soft and beautiful, but a blanket and butt-warmer are really what I need.

I also can’t turn my head, my legs are killing me and my sciatica is really acting up. Beyond the pain, I’m extremely bored looking at these few squares in the pavement. For three days in the fall, I stared at a wet leaf that just wouldn’t blow away. Drove me insane.

Last winter when a guy cleared snow, he almost ripped my foot off with the plow. Easy, dude. I live here!

My nose runs a lot in this weather and I know you can’t really see my purse, but there are Kleenex in there that I’ve been dying to get at. They’re so close, yet so far.

Two nice ladies walked by me today and took my picture. I wish they would have sat down and talked to me because, twenty feet away, this is my permanent company. He’s been asking me out for a year. Why am I a creep magnet?

Hi! I’m a dork.

Blogger’s Note: Click here to see reader Richard Wall’s wonderful interactive panoramic view of this location.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

In this season of giving I bestow upon you, my faithful readers, a gift like no other. And that gift, of course, is BACON.

I found a cool site that will baconize any web site simply by adding its URL to the end of it.

Here is the site: http://bacolicio.us/

If you’d like to see The Junk Drawer in all its bacon glory, click this: http://bacolicio.us/http://www.junkdrawerblog.com

Freaky and delicious! Walk back from your screen and it looks even more realistic.

You’re welcome.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

To get away from Bob of Survivor. People kept confusing them for twins and the chicken was insulted.

Dude, eat something. Anything. Grass, bugs, another contestant. Something.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I’m terribly sorry for this post. If I lose some readers over it, I’m prepared to pay that price. But when I saw the deposit one of my cats left in the litter box, I couldn’t resist.

I swear on a stack of Bibles, this picture was not doctored. If it grosses you out, just imagine for now that it was made with water.

Whoever left it there is incredibly gifted. I mean, seriously. All it’s missing is the bow tie. I’m trying to figure out which cat made this masterpiece so I can enter him or her in some kind of contest.

Damn. 

Playboy Bunny Pee in a Box

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Out shopping today, I came across this inexplicable gift bag among a wide selection of pretty and colorful bags I’d rather get. I cannot think of any occasion where anyone would want to receive this bag or anything in it.

Except perhaps Happy Birthday …. You’re old enough to mow the lawn now!

Or Congratulations on moving that big pile of mulch from here to over there!

How ’bout Wishing you the best at your tractor pull. Here’s mud in your eye!

If you’re a guy who likes to haul stuff around your yard, maybe you’d be happy if the bag contained keys to a Gator HPX 4×4 utility vehicle with an 854cc, three-cylinder, liquid-cooled, 4-cycle Yanmar diesel engine delivering 33 ft. lbs. of torque @ 2500 RPMs.

If you understand any of that and it excites you, your significant other has my sympathies.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

I like nature. I like animals in nature.

I like squirrels. I like squirrels eating birdseed nearby. They look cute.

I like squirrels with their bushy tails, eating straight from the bird feeder. Very happy squirrels.

What I do not like is when happy, bushy-tailed squirrels get spooked because I put down my coffee cup too loudly on the patio table and they flip out and fall off the bird feeder, run down a pole, get confused, spin around a few times and then RUN UP MY LEG.

I’ll thank them not to do it again.

Shake a leg and head over to HumorBlogs.com

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

My dear niece, Amy * recently had surgery to remove a growth on her pituitary gland. The pituitary gland is located at the base of the brain, which I thought was at the back of the head, just above the neck.

That’s not where it is. Here’s where it is:

Actual Amy brain, with growth

You might wonder how a surgeon reaches this part of the brain. Well, they don’t saw your skull open and pull unwelcome pieces out through a hole. They actually take a trip through your nose and do all the work from the front of your face.

The surgeon was very blunt about how she’d feel after surgery: “You’ll feel like someone punched you very, very hard.”

Amy’s surgery went extremely well and she’s home resting for three weeks, complete with colorful bruises from the medically-sanctioned beating she got. Along with some lovely pharmaceuticals, she was given a list of restrictions she must adhere to for a whole month.

The one restriction driving her batshit is that she cannot blow her nose, not even once. FOR AN ENTIRE MONTH.

Think about it.

I blew my nose twenty times since she had her surgery and every time I stopped to think “What if I couldn’t do that just now?” It pains me to think that no matter how desperately she needs to blow, she can only let it drain.

I try my blessed best not to blow my nose in solidarity to her predicament, but I just cannot NOT blow my nose. She’s not handling the restriction well at all, as you might imagine. She continues to wear gauze taped above her lip as a reminder that she can’t touch her nose, blow her nose, or God forbid, pick it.

Here’s my plea: Would you guys please think of Amy the next time you blow your honker? Say a little prayer next time you use a tissue? The girl needs some help getting through the next three weeks.

We’re just counting down the days for her. On Thursday, June 26th, that noise you hear will be Amy letting loose for a month’s worth of plugged up nostrils. After that, we’ll all breathe a little easier.

Thanks, guys.

* This post was pre-approved by Amy’s brain.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!