The Junk Drawer

Just when you thought you knew everything about me, I give you Kathy by the Numbers. Don’t worry, there’s no math involved and you won’t be quizzed at the end!

Position in birth order: 5

Number of years it took me to get my bachelor’s degree: 12

Courses I took in my last year: 12

Number of gray hairs that earned me: 2, 539

How many years I’ve been with my current employer: 23

Number of different jobs I’ve held in that time: 5

Cups of coffee I drink per day: 3

Number of times per week I forget a reheated cup in the microwave: 2

Years married: 15

Years together: 23

Number of houses or apartments I’ve lived in: 7

Greatest number of hot dogs I’ve eaten in one sitting: 6

Times I’ve ridden on a motorcycle: 1

Prayers I said while doing it: 47

Number of pets I had as a child: 1

Years my parents have been married: 62

Percent of married couples who make it this long in the U.S.: <5 

Miles I drive to work: 8

Months I’ve been blogging: 11

Letters in my maiden name: 12

Weeks it took to learn to write it as a kindergartner without a visual aid: 4

Number of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten: 0

Miles to nearest airport: 3

Number of planes that fly directly over my house per day: 75

Invention ideas I had that I never acted on: 2

Number of them I saw go to market without me: 1

Years I was a cheerleader: 2

Number of keys on my keychain: 9

Times I’ve won the lottery or a raffle: 4

Number of times a trip to Paris was the prize: 1

Magnets on my refrigerator: 11

Number of picture frames on display in my house with the picture that came with it still in the frame: 1

Height in inches: 64

Weight in pounds: Get serious

Books I’d finish per month before blogging: 2

Books I finish now: 0

Hours of sleep I get per night: 6.5

Naps I take on the weekend: 2

Number of times I got my head stuck in a fence: 1

Average number of times my family reminds me of this per year: 4

Number of times I’ve skied: 1

People I knocked down in the process: 2

Number of nieces I have: 2

Years they are apart in age: 25

Traffic tickets I’ve received: 3

Number I talked myself out of: 1

Times I’ve tried ending this list: 3

Shut up already!

I’m not a huge fan of the blog meme, but this one I liked. I stole it from my pal Ferd, who stole it from someone else. We’re all thieves, really. But in a good way.

The Mosaic Picture Meme

Originally from Bud who changed the rules slightly.

The Concept:

This Meme is all about the Mosaic Collage that you are about to build by answering the questions in this meme by using pictures! First what we changed: The meme we stole required the use of programs that you needed to register to use. So it was tied to you downloading two programs (and learning them…) Here we do the same meme, the exact same way, but leave you to your own resources. We also simplified the rules to allow a bit more creative (and speed!). So here we go:

1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Google Image Search or same type of search engine for pictures.

2. Using only the first page of results, pick one image. You can’t search forever for a certain image.

3. Copy and paste each in any program that you can post the pictures in a mosaic pattern. You can post them 3 X 4 or 4 X 3. We used Microsoft Paint below.

The questions:

1. What is your first name?… Kathy

2. What is your favorite food?… BLT. The more B, the better.

3. What high school did you go to?… Notre Dame, Green Pond, Bethlehem, PA. It’s where I encountered a new set of horrors after the ones I suffered in grade school.

4. What is your favorite color? … Maroon

5. Who is your celebrity crush?… Will Lyman, television and stage actor, and also the voice of PBS’ Frontline. I’m in love with his smooth, sultry voice. My husband is not allowed to talk when Will is speaking. He may use sign language in an emergency, say, if our house is burning down. But he may not talk to me.

6. What is your favorite drink?… Apple juice. I drink water almost exclusively, but when I splurge, it’s apple juice. What a flavor blast!

7. What is your dream vacation?… Without reservation, Paris, France. Our trip there in 2004 ruined us for any other vacation we’ve taken. Nothing else compares.

8. What is your favorite dessert?… Magic Cookie Bars. I make these for student assistants I hire to help on our team at work. One student ate a whole batch himself and asked if I put crack in them. Beware. They’re addictive.

9. What do you want to be when you grow up?… A writer.

10. What do you love most in life?… My husband, Dave. And, as you might guess, he’s a saint for putting up with me all these years.

11. What is one word that describes you?… Peculiar, but you knew that already.

12. What is your blog name?… The Junk Drawer

So there you have it! I’m not inclined to thrust a meme on others, so feel free to tag yourself if you’re interested.

UPDATE: Because the images used in my mosaic were taken from Google Images, I should properly credit the sources. In order from left to right:

Kathy, BLT, Maroon, Junk Drawer, Notre Dame Green Pond, Will Lyman, Apple Juice,  Paris, Magic Cookie Bars, Writer, Peculiar, My Husband Dave

The Junk Drawer is branching out. Not only are readers submitting photos of Food That Looks Like Stuff, now we have Stuff That Looks Like Stuff!

One of my dear, faithful readers, Babs of Beetle’s Memories ‘n Ramblings sent me this fluff of wool that she removed from a pair of slipper socks. She says when she set it aside, this little cutie revealed itself.

Click to enlarge

Now, here’s the question: What exactly does it look like to you? I see a moose. Babs sees “an elephant’s back half and a head with huge ears.  It might be carrying something on its back.”

I’m sorry, folks. Not only do you need to look for food that resembles something. You’re going to have to examine everything you come in contact with during the day. You didn’t have anything better to do with your time, did you?

Babs, thank you for your submission! I’ll send you a Junk Drawer magnet if you’d like one.

And check out Babs’ other blogs if you’re looking for some new, fun places to visit:

The Cream Team: “A place for people interested in the arts & entertainment.”

Beetle’s Photos: Some stunning and beautiful nature and animal photos.

Simplycats: “My Beautiful Cats – Past and Present.”

I’m paying reparations today for a picture I posted yesterday with a story about poo. I thought I’d try to erase that foul image in your heads with a pretty picture of a planter I assembled a few years ago.

When you care to plant the very best.

Oh, and this is what the same planter looks like this year after completely ignoring it and using it as a garbage can. Hey, I never said I had a green thumb. And you all know how lazy I am. Is it any surprise it looks like this?

When you just don’t care anymore.

And just when I thought I might be OK with my laziness, I find this post by my friend Jeff from View From the Cloud. He wanted to replace a swinging bench out in his backyard.

So he built one just by looking at a picture of one he liked. I hang my big, fat lazy head in shame.

Why, Jeff? Why must you torment me?

Today we have the first ever Food That Looks Like Stuff submission from my sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag.

I give you, The Muffin Man.

Do you know the muffin man?

These little blueberry guys are given out to post-surgical patients where Ann works. I’m guessing it’s so they get a quick energy boost after not having eaten prior to surgery.

This reminds me of the last time I tried and failed to donate blood. I have hard-to-find veins and, try as they might, the folks trying to get blood from me just couldn’t do it. I left the chair disappointed, and wanted to leave, but they require you to sit down in the refreshments area and have cookies and juice.

I shamefully ate my snacks, glancing around at those who actually bled for their food, thinking I had no business eating my allotment of Vienna fingers. It was the only time in my life I felt guilty shoveling fistfuls of cookies in my pie hole.

* Advanced apologies to anyone who clicks that photo caption and has the song in their heads the rest of the day.

Dearest sister Ann,

I know we share the same dentist, but I didn’t know you had an appointment with him yesterday. I also didn’t know you told him we auditioned for The Amazing Race.

Yeah, well, I had an appointment for a cleaning with him today.

Here’s how our conversation went, if you can call it that:

Dr. M.: So, I hear you hung out with your sister this weekend.

Me: (mouth pried open, jaw aching, sucky thing hanging out of my mouth) Uh?

Dr. M.: You’re trying out for The Amazing Race!

Me: Aaggh, yah.

Dr. M.: I think it’s great you’re doing this! Most people just say they’re going to try something wild like that.

Me: Mm-hmm.

Dr. M.: So how’s that work?

Me: Wewwl, oo fiwl ow aa abblicashun and mayg a vieeodabe.

Dr. M.: No, I mean, how do you run the race?

Me: Oh, wewwl, oo run fum sheckpoin do sheckpoin doing crachzie dasks ‘n puzzlesh tying do bead all da uddu teamsh bag do da sheckpoin.

Dr. M.: That’s nuts!

Me: Wewwl, we yike do shink we can do ut.

Dr. M.: That sounds like a friend of mine who’s training for a triathalon. You have to be kind of crazy for that, but I really admire her.

Me: Aag, shash grade!

Dr. M.: Do you think you have a chance to get on?

Me: Bobbabby nod.

Dr. M.: Well, I still think it’s awesome you’re trying.

Me: Shanks.

Dr. M.: You have a cavity. Spit. Rinse.

Thanks a lot, Ann, for giving Dr. M. something to talk to me about while I’m at my most incoherent. It was so much fun for me.

Sincerely,

Your mumbling, drooling, cavity-head sister.

I wrote on Monday that my sister Ann and I planned to audition for a spot on the reality show The Amazing Race.

With visions of stardom dancing in our heads, we drove to Lancaster, PA early Saturday to take our spot in line for the craziest thing we’ve done in our lives.

Finding the Place

Getting there was a breeze, thanks to Ann’s Garmin GPS, which gave us spot-on directions to the park where the audition was held. Problem was, there were no signs pointing us to the audition spot. We drove aimlessly for ten minutes, imagining if we were picked for the race, we’d be doing a lot of the same: driving around and around not finding anything.

Eventually, we spotted pairs of people walking toward a bandshell near the park’s entrance. We crash-landed the car, stuck our Amazing Race Pass in the window, and headed over to where a half dozen people had collected themselves.

You Slept Where?

Upon arrival, we chatted up other teams and marveled at how far some people traveled to get there. One team came from Rochester, NY and slept in their car in the park (!!!). Another sister team came in from their respective homes: one from California, the other from New York City. A brother/sister pair flew in from Florida and Georgia, respectively.

We thought our 1.5 hour trip was the shortest, until we met another team who rolled out of bed an hour before and drove five minutes to the park. The locals weren’t allowed to complain about anything.

Biding Our Time

The two-hour wait went fast because everybody in line was fun, friendly and excited to be there. What puzzled us was that only about 80 people showed up by start time. Ann and I expected 500 or more.

At one point, a dog belonging to one team ran up to me and started barking its blessed head off. I remembered what you guys advised me to do when this happens, and held out my arm and yelled “Stop!” Twice. Didn’t work. The dog kept barking until its owner came to retrieve it. Home, Lancaster, anywhere. Dogs apparently hate me.

An hour into the wait, a woman running the event instructed everyone who parked in the regular lot to move their cars to an area designated for a barbecue being held far away in another section of the park.

Everyone who had to move a car, including Ann, groaned as they grabbed their car keys. But as they returned from moving their cars, those of us still in line cheered them on back to imaginary checkpoint mats, just like we’d do on the race.

Ann came in third out of a dozen people. Way to go, Ann! Maybe we wouldn’t get eliminated after the first leg!

Assessing the Others

While waiting, you can’t help but size up the other teams to see where you stand against them. The brother/sister team, who I could see getting picked for the show, were in excellent shape, gregarious, and attractive. The camera would love them. Another sister team sounded like they’ve been everywhere and seen everything. One is a Rockette, and the other is a roadie for big musical acts. She flies to Norway next week to set up for a Rod Stewart concert. What am I doing next week? Maybe getting an eyebrow wax and haircut. My life runneth over with excitement.

Another team, each wearing matching pink tops and matching pants, were instantly assessed as the “Didn’t Read the Instructions Team” by all of us in line. More than one of us read a tip sheet on preparing for a reality show audition. Wearing matching outfits is tops on the “Don’t Do” list.

One team, dubbed “The Biker Chicks,” was a walking advertisement for Harley-Davidson. Others were seniors. Some were frat boys. And, of course, there was one plastic model-y team. But most were normal, everyday people just like us.

Let’s Go to the Video Tape!

When filming time arrived, we were ushered to a small tent where the camera and lights were set up. The “director” told everyone in line to be as animated as possible, tell why you want to be on the race and why you’d make a great team. You had two minutes to plead your case.

We had a plan, but when the camera’s on you, a whole lot of stuff flies right out of your head and you just hope for the best.

Since we were 4th place in line, we could watch only three other teams go before the camera. On one hand, we wanted to watch more people go ahead of us to see how they handled it. On the other, we were glad to get it behind us quickly.

We noticed the first teams were not very animated and stared straight at the camera. We thought “We can do this, and do it better than them!”

Suddenly, it was our turn. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!  We walked under the tent and were handed microphones and told “Hold these close enough to your mouth, but don’t swallow them, OK?” This made us laugh and loosened us up a bit.

I couldn’t remember everything we said if you held a gun to my head, but we basically told them how we were the “real people” the show was looking for, how we’re not twins, but we’re very twin-like. We practically read each other’s mind and “often (Me:) finish each (Ann:) other’s sentences.” And then we busted a gut laughing.

Ann said we’ve traveled together, gotten very lost, but always find our way to our destination. I said we were in this to entertain the home viewers, who could identify with us. I suppose we rambled on for another twenty seconds, laughing the whole time, and then handed back the microphones.

Even though we didn’t say everything we planned to, we were sure we were animated enough. We often talked to each other, instead of staring dead into the camera. That we engaged each other is perhaps one thing that set us apart from the few who came before us, and maybe a bunch after.

Stellar performance? Hardly. Fun to say we did it? You bet!

That’s Gotta Hurt

One sad note about the brother/sister team. We found out while waiting in line that they’d already made their audition tape at home. We weren’t sure why they showed up at all, since they could have just sent their applications and tape to CBS through the mail. We suspect they thought appearing at an open audition gave them an edge. It didn’t. Instead, I’m sure it gave them a massive headache.

I barely made out what the check-in people told them, but it was either they shouldn’t bother making a new tape, or they couldn’t make a tape if they planned to send in their other one. This meant that they each hopped a plane to the middle of Pennsylvania for no reason whatsoever. Ouch. We pitied them as they walked away, heads hanging low.

Someone Bring Champagne

So what happens now? We wait for the phone call to go to the next round in New York City. Don’t worry. We’re not delusional. Pretty sure it’s not going to happen. But if it does, watch out. It’ll be total pandemonium in The Junk Drawer!

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Last one over to Humor-Blogs gets eliminated!

So my sister Ann got this insane idea that we should try out to be contestants on The Amazing Race, a reality show that pits teams of two against each other in a race around the world. Prize if you win? One million smackaroos.

Teams compete by performing weird and difficult tasks while making their way to pit stops along the worldwide route. Contestants have to fly, drive or take a train or bus on their own throughout the race. If you’re the last team to arrive at a pit stop, you get the ax.

You must be able to manage your time, follow clue directions, do crazy physical and mental stunts, and find places you’ve never been before.

We can do none of these things.

And that’s our “hook” for getting picked at an open audition being held this weekend in Lancaster, Pa. Our shtick will be “We suck! We’ll be eliminated at the first pit stop, but our pathetic attempt to get there will entertain your viewers. You want us. You need us!”

As proof of our horrendous planning and traveling skills, Ann and I spent a good amount of time trying to decide if we should drive two hours to the audition the night before and stay at a hotel, or just leave really early Saturday morning and pray we get a good spot in line.

Keep in mind, teams on the show are given what seems like nine seconds to make their travel plans. Our planning took us four days and we changed our minds three times during the process. Hotel the night before, drive that morning, hotel the night before, drive that morning.

Do you think it has anything to do with our travel preferences?

1. I wanted in-room Internet access so I could keep up with email and my blog.

2. She wanted an onsite restaurant so we could be sure to get food in the morning. A continental breakfast won’t cut it.

3. I didn’t want to drag all my toiletries with me overnight. Instead I just wanted to shower up Saturday morning, hop in the car and go.

4. She is not a morning person. She’d prefer beaming herself to the destination.

5. I have a hard time falling asleep in strange places.

6. She didn’t want to get lost getting from the hotel to the audition location.

For the uninitiated, these are basically the opposite of all the requirements for the race. Oh, and did I mention we’re both directionally-challenged? Even with her GPS, we’re not sure we’ll get there. We know we wouldn’t stand a chance actually running the race. Getting to the audition will be challenging enough.

I’ll be blogging about our mini-adventure upon our return. That is, unless they pick us for the race and tell me I’m forbidden to write about it.

You never know. If you’ve been to The Junk Drawer before, you know crazier things have happened to me.

It could happen. Right? Right?

For those following the Plastic Bag Adventure, I thought I’d update you with a picture today. I want you to know I’ll do anything for you guys.

I stood on the roof of my building to get a closer shot. Yes, there is a wall that kept me from falling to my death, but that didn’t make me feel any safer up there. I stopped taking pictures when my legs got weak.

Wal-mart Bag: Stuck 47 days and counting

I went a step further and filmed it flapping in the wind. It’s a breezy day here in Eastern Pennsylvania, but that doesn’t seem to be helping our little friend get out of its branchy clutches.

Some of you are out of the running for the contest. I’m sorry, but I warned you it would be a while. I’m still guessing November, 2009, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it took longer than that. Good luck to whoever’s still in the game!

I received a great little item for the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection this weekend. This devilish tomato comes to us from Carla at blah blah blah Blogolicious. She says:

Here’s a picture of a tomato that grew in our garden a few years ago.  We of course adorned it with necessary facial expression.

I don’t know what it is about tomatoes that makes a person want to draw on them, but I did it myself to Weeble Tomato Guy, who was second to appear in the collection.

Anyone who sends me a food that makes the cut receives a Junk Drawer magnet! So please look carefully at your food before you scarf it down. There might be a prize in it for you!

Lycopersicon esculentum diabolus

I haven’t had many brushes with fame. In fact, only two. Once when Mary Hart of Entertainment Tonight was on our campus at work interviewing Lee Iacocca, she drifted into my building looking for the ladies room.

I was coming down the stairs and was shocked by the woman standing before me. Wearing an exquisite deep blue business suit, perfectly made-up and not a hair out of place, she looked like Miss America.

She asked where the restrooms were and I pointed down the hall. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t get a picture. Just helped her empty her bladder.

The more important brush with fame is that I married a movie star, my husband Dave. Ok, ok. Not a star, per se. But he did appear for about 10 seconds in the 1978 TV miniseries, The Dain Curse. That’s him in his movie costume. He appeared as an extra, an officer handling crowd control in a scene outside a courthouse.

Fast-forward 30 years, he still remembers his encounters with the leads in the movie. Not anything remarkable, mostly glimpses of them walking around the set. But he did say hello to James Coburn, who was pacing around reciting lines to himself.

What that means for me is that whenever we see a movie where one of those actors appeared, I get “I worked with him,” or “I worked with her.” We have a little chuckle over his “acting days” and I think to myself Well, you worked with an actor, but I married one!

So does anyone have more interesting brushes with fame to share? Please tell me you did more than show someone the way to the bathroom.

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Everybody’s famous at Humor-Blogs.com.

Back in March I introduced a Junk Drawer logo created with a tool called Spell with Flickr. Just type in your letters and it generates a logo based on images it grabs from Flickr OneLetter.

It’s a very cool tool, but something about it bothered me. The letters it grabs from Flickr are likely copyrighted photos and I didn’t want to violate copyright.

Chances are none of the photographers would notice I’ve used their letters in my logo, but that didn’t make it any less illegal. Since I also plan to use the logo on merchandise, the copyright issue became even more important.

So what’d I do? I grabbed my camera, took my own pictures and now the logo is all mine! I would have been done weeks ago, but I was on a hunt for the elusive Perfect K, which I managed to get last weekend. Thank you, Karl Ehmer Quality Meats!

I want to thank my uber-talented colleague, Jason Slipp, for creating this new logo out of the million letters I sent him. The poor guy.

Conversations during the design phase went like this:

Jason: So how do you like the latest version I sent you?

Me: I found a new E last night. It’s a great E. I don’t like the E in Drawer, can you put the new one in The, and the old one in Drawer? And I don’t like the K. I need a new K. This one’s too thin. And I’m worried about having two brick backgrounds with the U and the D.

Oh, and look at how many uppercase letters I have! There should be more lowercase and I’m not sure if I love the first R in Drawer, but it’s kinda cool with the circle around it. Oh wait, I do like the first E. Can you put it back the way it was?

Jason: You’re killing me, woman.

For the record, he was paid for his services, but probably not enough for the torture I put him through.

It was a chore getting this thing finished, but pretty fun, too. For weeks on end, I’d be driving along and a great letter would pop out at me. Pull over, take the shot, send it to Jason, tweak the logo.

It’ll adorn the comments section and stuff I’ve created on Zazzle for purchase or to hand out as blog contest prizes. Eventually, it’ll appear at the top of the blog once I get my theme perfected.

Another big Thank You goes to JD of the I Do Things So You Don’t Have To blog, who slogged all over her town looking for letters for me. She sent me half a dozen signs and one of them made the cut. JD, your wonderful right-corner R takes its place in blog history!

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In other Junk Drawer news, if you’re following the progress of the plastic bag in the tree, it’s still there, and it’s still driving me nuts. Check out the Plastic Bag Tracker box above my picture in the sidebar, updated daily.

Trust me. This post title will make some sense in a minute.

We’ve got something new for the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection. This little guy was discovered in a pack of chicken fingers from Wegman’s in Bethlehem, Pa.

Taken on the whole, this looks like a sleeping dog to me. I’ve decided it’s a Basset Hound, though sadly, front legless.

Because I like to get second opinions when I’m not sure I’ve got a food that looks like something, I sent it to my sister Ann to examine. Here’s her response:

Is that God’s face on the right?! Or Zeus?  Full head of hair and full longish beard?!  OMG!

Do you see the face?

Taking a poll. Who thinks it’s a dog and who thinks it’s God/Zeus? Who thinks we’re seeing things?

Sleeping Basset Hound-God-Zeus Chicken Finger

Addendum, 4/29: OK, folks. Here’s where I see the face. Please don’t mock my graphic design skills. I have none.

There are two numbers I’m obsessed with: One, my weight, which never makes me happy. And, two, the amount of readers who’ve subscribed to my blog’s feed. Smiles all around. I’ve finally cracked the 100 mark!

Actually, I have three separate feed counts that total almost 150, but I don’t count the older feeds because I’m not sure there are active readers behind those numbers. I’m only eying the current feed, which sits nicely at 103.

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who subscribes to the Junk Drawer, or who comes in from a bookmark. Thanks also go to those who added me to their blogrolls. I appreciate the links that lead people here.

I’ve said on more than one occasion that it’s really my readers who make my blog what it is today. Yes, I write this thing, but something amazing happens when I click the Publish button. A party breaks out in the comments section.

People have asked me how I achieve such a high number of comments each post. Honestly, I don’t know the formula, but I know dumb luck is a big part of it. Somehow I’ve attracted the right mix of people who leave the funniest comments after every visit.

During a birthday party last weekend, my family was sitting around talking about things that go on in The Drawer. We remembered some funny stuff left in the comments and someone said “Huh? What are you talking about?” and another said “Oh my God! You’re not reading the comments? You have to read the comments! It’s a goldmine in there!”

Bottom line, if you’re reading The Junk Drawer, hugs and kisses. If you’re not reading the comments, you must change your ways because you’re missing out on a key element of the blog. You might chuckle at something I’ve written, but you’re going to snort something out your nose if you dig further and read what people dropped in the drawer.

Thanks again, everyone! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Blogging has been some of the most fun I’ve had in my life, and you’re responsible for that. Toast yourselves and have a great weekend!

Not that anyone would care, except for Lee, who wanted to know what’s in my real junk drawer — here ya go! Just the usual suspects: batteries and more batteries, scissors and tape, checkbook, address book and a few other things I may or may not ever need again.

I suppose the stupidest thing we have in here is our old doorbell. My husband Dave showed his handyman prowess last summer when he installed a new doorbell. What should we do with the old one? Why, of course! Put it in the junk drawer. You never know if the new one will fail and we won’t have $8 to buy a new one and will have to re-install the old. Um. Yeah.

Every now and then Dave makes us sift through all this junk and clean house. We’re due for another sweep, don’t you think?

So, what’s the dumbest thing you’re holding onto in your drawer?

Another delicious submission from Heather Simoneau for the Food That Looks Like Stuff gallery. She’s the same reader who brought us Bagel #9.

I believe Heather’s working on an entire Grand Slam Breakfast That Looks Like Stuff. We’d love some bacon next time if you could swing that. Oink.

Part of a Heart-y Breakfast

I’m always happy to post reader submissions. In case you see a food that looks like something, here are my two simple rules:

1. The food must not have been deliberately constructed to resemble stuff. Heather was very clear about the circumstances under which this heart came to be. She insists she only tapped the yolk once or twice after it went in the pan, without any thought as to its food-looking-like-stuff qualities. But then the heart appeared suddenly and she ran for her camera.

I’m glad Heather has her priorities straight. Her kids were starving, but instead she held a photo shoot. That’s the spirit!

2. The object must not display male or female “appendages.” A Junk Drawer reader recently emailed me an X-rated tomato. It took me quite a while to figure out how to tell her I couldn’t accept it on the blog.

I think it’s obvious I have almost no limits for what I’ll put on the blog about myself, but I must use care not to offend naked fruits and vegetables. Can’t be too careful. They may not have thought those pictures taken early in their careers would ever see the light of day. Yeah. Those kinds of pictures.

As you all know, lots of stuff bothers me. What’s killing me now? This bag.

It got caught in a tree outside my office almost three weeks ago. I can’t help but notice it every time I pass a window that faces it. When I point it out to others, expecting shock horror, I just get “Yeah? It’s a bag in a tree.”

OK, so I’ll admit that I’m the only one in my building who’s bothered by this. I’m going to be seeing it for days, weeks and months to come, so we might as well have some fun with it.  I’ve decided to turn this into a little contest.

If you can guess closest to the day the bag escapes its branchy prison, you’ll win a prize! Simply leave the date in the comments box. You must give an exact date (month, day and year — yes, year, because it could be that long). The prize will be a set of magnets or mousepad with the Junk Drawer logo on it (your choice).

p.s. To my sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag, the bag is from your favoritist store in the whole wide world! Another reason to hate “The Big W.”

Addendum, 4/18: If you’re interested in knowing how the bag got here, check out the back story over here. Just a warning — it’s heartbreaking.

Tonight I had to run to the store to pick up a birthday card for my niece, Amy. I may be seeing her tomorrow and I didn’t want to come empty handed. Of course it’s last minute, because I haven’t learned to use a calendar yet and things like sending birthday cards on time are the stuff of nightmares for me.

So I’m in the card aisle and I spot a couple standing near the birth announcement section, talking to a store employee. Together they’re trying to find the right card for their needs. I admire the woman’s beautiful white sari, looking so dressed up for a trip to the store. And then there’s me in my stretchy pants. Lovely.

The employee walks away after a few seconds and then I hear it.

“Ma’am?”

Oh, no. They mean me.

I turn around, shaking off the fact that being 40-something makes you a bonafide ma’am, and smile. “Yes?”

“Can you help us find a card for a baptism?” The couple is having a hard time because no cards have the actual word baptism on them and they’re clearly not familiar with certain rites and ceremonies. The woman shows me one card that reads “On your Bat Mitzvah…”

She asks, “What’s a Bat Mitzvah?”

Oh, God. We’re going to have Religions of the World 101, right here in the store.

“Well, it’s for a boy, about the age of 13. It’s a rite of passage that people in the Jewish faith celebrate when a boy becomes …  a man, well, a young man … when a boy comes of age. Nevermind. It’s not a baptism card. You don’t want that.”

The woman thanks me and puts the card back.

The man leads me over to the birth announcement section to get a closer look. A quick review turns up nothing in the baptism department. Crap.

I see more Bat Mitzvah and Bar Mitzvah cards, and quickly realize I had told the woman the wrong thing about the Bat Mitzvah. I point at the Bat and the Bar and say “I was wrong. The Bat Mitzvah is for girls and the Bar Mitzvah is for boys.”

They thank me for explaining the difference and probably think “Thanks, lady. Still doesn’t help us.”

We all keep poking around and the man spots one that reads “For your christening…”

He says, “What’s a christening?’

I’m excited. “Yes, yes! That’s another name for a Christian baptism. You can use that one!”

He’s glad, but now we have a new problem. He needs two baptism cards and doesn’t want to give a duplicate card to the same family. I’m guessing they’re attending a baptism for twins. Would have to be, right? But then, do babies even know they get cards? Can’t he just write on one card, “For your beautiful babies on their christening…?” These are too many thoughts for me in a grocery store on a Saturday night, my head hurts now, and I still have to find the card I came for!

So now we’re looking for another christening card or some other suitable Christian card for the occasion. I was just about to suggest they get a generic flowery card that’s blank inside, so they can write their own “Way to go on your baptism!” message, when he finds one in a slot labeled “Religious.” It’s not a baptism card, per se. But it just might work.

We look it over and I read him the contents. It’s got all the goods:

New baby, check. Bundle of joy. Check. Wishing you all of God’s blessings. Jackpot!!!

“Yes, you can use this one. It has God in it. God is good.”

They thank me profusely and go on their merry way, too fast for me to ask them if they’d help me pick out the card I came for. Sorry, Amy. I had to go it alone and there were no cards that gave me so much as a chuckle. You’re getting a very plain one, but I’ll put a lot of money in it.

I don’t do birthday cards very well, but I’m totally awesome when it comes to baptisms. All you have to do is ask.

Among the qualities I wish I was blessed with is the ability to tell jokes. Can’t do it. I’d have to read from a card to get it right, and somehow I think cue cards detract from the hilarity, don’t you think?

“A duck, a nun and a priest walk into a bar…” Wait, wait! “It was a dog, a nun and a priest.”  Oh, poo! That’s not it! Let me check my cards. Yeah, real smooth.

I’m a little better at practical jokes. I once kidnapped a Chia Pet Turtle from an office I used to work in, took pictures of it — blindfolded — and then sent pictures back to my officemates with a ransom note that I had a friend mail from out-of-state while she was visiting family. The note was made from letters I cut out from magazines and newspapers and was signed “The CLA” (Chia Liberation Army). Ahhh, good times.

The last joke I tried to play was on my husband, Dave. My niece gave me a stuffed black cat that looked like our kitty Shadow.  Attempting to scare up some fun, I put it in Dave’s car, attached to the steering wheel. He usually leaves for work fairly bleary-eyed, and I thought it might be fun to give him a heart attack. It didn’t. He thought I was lame, but gave me an “A” for effort.

A few days went by and I thought I’d try to scare him again by sticking the cat in the dinnerware cupboard. He went in for a plate that night, gave me a weak shoulder shrug and blessed my little heart for trying.

I gave up my quest to scare him with the cat, forgot all about it, then came home to find this when I went to heat something for dinner.

Don’t do this to someone you love because they just might die on you.

When I opened the door and found the cat in the microwave, I let out the kind of scream that comes from deep within. A scream that surprises you because you never knew you could make that sound. A scream that is followed by a punch to the husband.

My heart did not stop beating fast for about five minutes. There were no laughs. I was mad at Dave for a day. Yeah, I love a good practical joke. Except when it’s played on me.

Anyone pull off a Class A stunt and not get punched for it? I need some recommendations because I haven’t gotten back at Dave yet.

One of my favorite bloggers, Kev over at Special Kind of Stupid, is paying me back for tagging him with a meme in November. He’s assigned me the “To Do List” meme, a list of five things I have to do unrelated to work. Here goes nothin’.

1. Send two friends their birthday cards I bought two weeks ago. One is sitting in front of me as I type, the other is on my desk at work. I see the cards every day and every day I tell myself to mail them already. Yet, every day they sit there not wishing anyone a happy birthday. So JD and Alice, I’m thinking of your long gone birthdays and hoping you had good ones. I do realize I’m possibly the worst friend in the world. Please forgive me. Still, I wouldn’t expect the cards any time soon.

2. Clean the litter boxes in the basement. Ever since our arthritic cat Stinky started having trouble taking steps to get there, we decided to move one of three litter boxes to the second floor where she spends most of her time. It seems like all three cats are using it, but you never know. The boxes in the basement may now look like two huge archeological digs and we’re going to need a backhoe to clear it out. I wonder if those kids we hired to shovel our driveway do poo detail.

3. Backup my hard drive in the home office. Yeah, I know. I’m a computing consultant. I should backup regularly, but I haven’t done it in months. Yesterday a client came to my office nearly in tears because his hard drive crashed and he needs tax data recovered. It might cost him a fortune to save it, assuming it’s possible. My advice to everyone is “You don’t put on your seat belt expecting to get in a car accident, but you do it anyway, just in case.” Same with your data. I half-jokingly told my distraught client to pray to St. Isidore. For the uninitiated, he’s the patron saint of computers and the Internet. Who said you couldn’t learn anything here?

4. Clean up the remnants of the pumpkin on my back porch. Yes, part of my autumn display is still there. From October. I’ll spare you what it looks like after having spent six months exposed to the elements. I did at least get rid of 90% of it, but the 10% that’s left would give you the dry heaves if you saw it. But if you’re into science experiments, I’ll be running the Guess the Mold, Win a Prize contest in April. Stay tuned!

5. Write my final blog post. I have a will for myself, but I don’t have a will, so to speak, for my blog. If I got hit by a bus tomorrow, how would you guys know where I went? I know it sounds morbid, but I’d like to write a post that will be published in the event of my death. I would hate to have people asking where I am in the comments section and my husband having to deal with that. You’ll know if it happens. The post title will read simply “I’m Dead. The Junk Drawer is Now Empty.” It’ll be hilarious.

If you’ve ever watched the Deleted Scenes section of a DVD, you probably thought You know, there’s a reason why they were deleted. Today we have the blog version of that.

Here’s a list of some ideas I had for posts that didn’t make the cut for the reasons specified. If someone actually wants me to take these ideas through to completion, cast your vote in the comments.

1.  Guess the mold, win a prize.  I have a picture of a Tupperware container with some mold firmly attached to the lid. The mold is chunky, blue and hairy. I have a separate picture of the food that caused the mold. I was going to have a contest to see if anyone could guess what the source of the mold was, just by looking at the lid. It is so foul, though, I’m afraid I would lose readers. And I cherish you fine people.

2. Ugliness upstaged by uglier ugliness. On December 27, I posted what I then billed as The Mother of All Bad Pictures. I have since found a picture that is worse. I am shocked anew every time I look at it. I don’t want to believe it’s actually me. It’s from the 5th grade. I look like a troll.

3. As a remedy for writer’s block, I wanted to pose a simple question: “What would you like me to write about?” But my husband thought it was a bad idea to admit I didn’t have anything to write about. But I also thought it might be fun to see what you asked for. As long as the questions aren’t rude, vulgar or too personal, I’m up for anything.

So should these ideas remain buried forever? Or are you just a little bit curious?

Warning:  If you only watch public television or if don’t even own a TV, go away now or this post will make your over-cultured head explode. I mean it.

What we have today is my list of TV guilty pleasures. By definition, they are:

Shows that you wouldn’t admit to watching in mixed company.

Shows with little, if any, redeeming value.

Shows that you’re terribly embarrassed you enjoy.

I’ll link to some informational web sites about these shows so that non-U.S. readers, who may have never heard of them, can get a better sense of why I can’t be trusted with the remote control.

Here we go.

1. The Brady Bunch — (in syndication) I have seen every episode of The Brady Bunch more than a dozen times. I grew up on this show in the 70s and it’s got kitsch written all over it. Forty-something women have no excuse for knowing the dialogue word-for-word from any show that has been lampooned so brutally in theatre and movies. Bonus: I bought this book and thoroughly enjoyed it.

2. The Price is Right (current) — This is a long-running daytime game show featuring price-guessing games, played by people who look like they were pulled off the street five minutes before taping. It’s the kind of show most people wouldn’t watch, even if they were home sick with the flu. I have watched it when I’m home sick because there’s no greater remedy for what ails me than watching someone fall to the floor because they overspun the gigantic money wheel trying to get a spot in the Showcase Showdown.

3.  America’s Next Top Model (current) — This is a show for 13-year-old girls to learn how to damage their self-esteem even further than it already is. It has no redeeming value, yet I have been known to blow most of a Saturday watching marathon airings of previous seasons I’ve already seen. I hang my non-model-y head in shame.

4.  The Anna Nicole (Smith) Show (2002 – 2004) — Two words: Train Wreck. RIP, by the way.

5.  Family Feud (current) — “Survey Says!” this is a stupid show, but I love it anyway. The questions are as silly as they come, the contestants insist on clapping for every answer they give, no matter how dumb, and I hate the noise the answer board makes when correct answers are revealed. Yeah. What’s not to love?

6.  Supermarket Sweep (1990-1995) — The grand daddy of all TV guilty pleasures, and oh, how I miss it. After a series of grocery-related questions that earn contestants shopping spree time, they fire up their carts and run around the store trying to collect the most expensive items. The contestants whose carts are tallied and cost the most get to move onto the bonus round.

What makes this the all-time most embarrassing admission for me is that I used to TAPE THE SHOW and watch it after work every day. My sister Ann loves to mock me whenever the subject comes up and I absolutely deserve it. Here’s a clip of the best part of the show, where contestants run around the store collecting their items. Fast-forward to the 1:30 mark if you can’t stand the suspense.

Now, here’s the part where you embarrass yourselves. If you dare, drop a comment in the drawer and let me know your TV guilty pleasures. Remember, the embarrassment level is key here. The more you’re mortified, the better!

——-

No one at Humor-Blogs.com will let me have the remote.

I have issues and everyone knows it. It’s really only a question of degree.

While waiting to collect two friends for lunch yesterday, I was standing by one of their desks and noticed it was not aligned with the wall. “Rich, why is your desk crooked?”

“I don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah. I know. It shouldn’t. But fix it.”

And so he lifted the 200 pound desk and righted it because he knows if he doesn’t, I will whine and complain and then no one’s getting to lunch on time.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is an anxiety disorder:

characterized by recurrent, unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and/or repetitive behaviors (compulsions). Repetitive behaviors such as handwashing, counting, checking, or cleaning are often performed with the hope of preventing obsessive thoughts or making them go away. Performing these so-called “rituals,” however, provides only temporary relief, and not performing them markedly increases anxiety.

I’m pretty sure I don’t qualify clinically, but I have my fair share of odd behaviors that might put me in the ballpark. Here’s my list of things that some might consider obsessive, irrational or just plain stupid. Is there an NIMH definition for stupid?

Let’s begin.

1.  While driving, I’m troubled if I’m delayed by anything that puts my car under a bridge, however briefly. I don’t like to sit under an overpass because I think the bridge will fall and crush me.

2.  I’ve never pressed the mileage reset button in my car. When I bought it new 7 years ago, there were only 16 miles on the odometer. I have never pressed the button that resets it to zero. I can’t do it. I don’t know why. I just can’t.

3.  If it’s raining and I pull into my garage, I have to keep my wipers going until all the rain is cleared. I can’t let one or two streams of water crawl down the windshield. No drips allowed.

4.  If I turn off a two-way lamp that has only a single-wattage bulb in it, I have to turn it to the OFF position, not the second position because I’m afraid juice will continue to flow and somehow that will start a fire.

5.  I must align picture frames wherever I find them crooked. I’ve realigned pictures in my colleagues’ offices, in other people’s houses, and just recently, in a restaurant. Does that embarrass me? Yes, but I do it anyway and I feel better.

6.  I won’t take a shopping cart at a store if it has papers or coupon flyers in it. I won’t pull them out. I’ll pick another cart.

7.  I never let a microwave run down to zero on the timer. I have to catch it to within 10 seconds of finishing and manually shut it off. I love catching it at the one second mark. It makes me feel like I beat it in a race.

Shake your head if you will, but I would bet some of you have weirder things on your lists. Do you have any rituals? Anything you always have to do (or can’t do), yet can’t explain?

Please share. The only thing that keeps me afloat is knowing there are people worse off than me.

—–

Humor-bloggers are an obsessive bunch.

While cleaning out a closet this morning, I ran across this photo I took some years ago when I was on a random picture-taking excursion. I love this guy. His eyes look so soulful to me. It makes me feel guilty for wanting a delicious char-broiled quarter-pounder right now. With cheese.

Seeing it, I’m reminded of one of my childhood memories involving cows, ice cream and my dad’s Lincoln Continental.

Around the time my sister Ann and I were seven and five years old, respectively, a favorite treat was our Dad driving us to a nearby dairy for ice cream. Part of the fun was driving fast over a hilly section of the road leading up to the dairy. Dad would speed up before the incline and coming over the crest we’d get that flip-flop feeling in our stomachs and shout WHOOOA!!! as we came down the other side. Funny, the little things we remember.

When we got to the dairy, Dad would go in and chat it up with the owner and Ann and I would stand outside the cow pen and hope that one of the mammoth creatures would saunter over and say hello. I can’t think of any small dairies that still exist around here, but if I see one, I have an irresistible urge to stop and moo at the cows.

On one particular visit, Ann and I were all moo’ed out and went inside to collect our ice cream. Typically, we’d get started licking in the store and be just about done by the time we got home. But this trip was different. It was the first in a long series of incidents that end with the question Why do these things always happen to me?

My problems started almost immediately after my Dad got out onto the country road. It must have been a hundred degrees that day and so the ice cream melted faster than I could lick it.

And then the dribbling started. All over my hand, down my arm and all over my lap. And then Dad found out. Nevermind that half my cone was running down my leg, all I could think was how mad he would be when he saw the mess I just made of myself.

If it’s one thing we kids tried to avoid was bringing harm to his only prized possession: his deep blue, formerly clean, 1970 Lincoln Continental with the doors that opened outward in opposite directions. He worked hard all his life to support his family and make sure we had what we needed. The car was the one thing he allowed himself to splurge on.

Unable to pull over on the narrow, one-lane road, he opted to at least keep things from getting any worse. “Stick it out the window! NOW!,” Dad shouted.

“Oh, no! Dad! My ice cream!”

“Get it out of the car!”

I did as instructed and shoved my delicious treat out the window. All my glorious chocolate ice cream hit the wind and, unbeknownst to me, rained down all over the side of the car. I thought for a second that I could stick my head out the window and keep licking, but I was too busy sucking it off my arm and hand.

What’s interesting, in hindsight, is that my Dad didn’t make me throw it out the window. Only stick it out the window. Perhaps none of us guessed that so much of it would splatter back onto the car door.

It did in a big way.

When we eventually got out of the car, we gathered ’round to assess the damage. What we had before us was the Kathy version of a Jackson Pollack painting. Thick splats at the start of it, thinner towards the middle, and dot dot dots where it tapered at the end.

I don’t remember my Dad being mad at me. After all, it only required a quick cleaning. What I do remember is I’d given up a perfectly good cone to the forces of physics and wondered whether it was possible for me to still eat that. The one rule for ice cream and kids? Do not separate.

Regular readers may recall that my pal Jeff and I started a support group for people annoyed by certain noises. That group expanded to include not just noises, but a host of other things that drive people nuts. And so the Annoyances Anonymous support group was born.

If you missed the last couple meetings, head on over to Jeff’s place for a transcript of events that were held on our respective blogs. We are nothing if not organized. Remember, to join the support group all you have to do is leave a comment here (or Jeff’s blog) about what annoys you.  No dues. No paperwork to sign. Just comments.

And if you say that nothing annoys you, I don’t believe you. I can think of six things that annoyed me before breakfast.

Go!

My pal Lee over at Tar Heel Ramblings tagged me for the very simple 123 Book Meme. This meme asks you to complete a kindergarten-level task and report the results. It’ll give you a good sense of what I like to read when I’m not blogging. It might scare you, but if you’ve been here before, you’ve been scared plenty already and this won’t faze you a bit.

So why am I a problem child? Because the meme didn’t work on my first try. It’s always something with me.

Here are the meme rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people & post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come see.

I have a few half-read books in the pipeline, but as instructed, you have to pick the book nearest to you. That book is Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing.

I opened it up to page 123 and what should I find? Almost nothing. It was a chapter title page: Shooting Haiku in a Barrel. That’s it. No fifth sentence to find. No three sentences to list after that. It would figure I’d pick a book with a faulty page 123.

So onto Plan B. Pick another book. This time I chose Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. Before you ask, yes, I’m really intrigued by stuff like this. I don’t want to actually see a cadaver or be a cadaver, but I don’t mind reading about ’em!

Page 123 and the fifth sentence: The researchers concluded that the planes had broken apart at altitude, spilling most of their human contents into the sea.

The next three sentences: To figure out exactly where the fuselage had broken apart, they looked at whether the passengers had been clothed or naked when pulled from the sea. Sir Harold’s theory was that hitting the sea from a height of several miles would knock one’s clothes off, but that hitting the sea inside the largely intact tail of the plane would not, and that they could therefore surmise the point of breakup as the dividing line between clothed and naked cadavers. For in both flights, it was the passengers determined (by checking the seating chart) to have been in the back of the plane who wound up floating in their clothes, while passengers seated forward of a certain point were found floating naked, or practically so.

That’s just lovely, isn’t it?

If this doesn’t give you a fear of flying, reading this might. I live directly under the flight path of an airport located three miles west of me. As a result, I have regular and terrifying nightmares about planes crashing into my neighborhood. The nightmare I described isn’t all together horrible, as it involves The Three Stooges. Even in my nightmares, I have to laugh a little.

I won’t tag anyone, but if you would like to crack open a book and do the meme, have at it! 1-2-3 Go!

All too often I’m complaining about something. If you heard that’s what happens here, sorry to disappoint you for today.

The thing is it snowed last night. Not a blizzard, but enough snow to make the prospect of shoveling it unappealing to my husband Dave and me. We’re off work today and really wanted to kick back and relax. The more it snowed, the more our backs instinctively started hurting.

The plan was to watch the forecast and estimate the best time to go out, between when the snow was expected to stop and when the sleet was expected to start.  We had another hour to complain about work neither of us wanted to do.

Just then Dave heard some kids walking up towards the house. Kids with shovels. Five of them. In the ten years we’ve lived in this house, we never had kids come by to offer to shovel for us. I figured that was an activity today’s youth wanted no part of, or their parents were afraid to send them out the door to strangers’ homes. I thought what a sad sign of the times. As kids, Dave and I shoveled for money. All our friends shoveled for money. Doesn’t anyone want to shovel for money anymore?

Before the kids even rang our doorbell, Dave handed me 25 bucks. “Here, this should be enough for the driveway.”  I opened the door and before the kid could even say anything, I thrust the money at him and said “Is this enough for the driveway?” The look on his face was priceless. Red-cheeked from the cold and eyes wide open, he said “Yeah!! Thanks!!”

When he turned around, he waved the cash at his buddies and their faces lit up. They got crackin’ immediately.

Before they got halfway done, Dave asked me “Do we have any more cash laying around? We should ask them to do the back sidewalk.”

I frowned. I only had about three bucks in my purse and he only had eight more singles. I cursed the fact that I almost never have cash on me, since I prefer to use my debit card at stores. I considered writing a check. Dave and I discussed how stupid it would be to write a check to a child. I suggested we write it to one of the kids’ mothers, but then that seemed too weird. Dammit!!! We need more cash! And, hurry! They’re almost done with the driveway!

After nixing the check idea, we did the only thing we could do. We raided the change jar for quarters. There we stood, counting out enough quarters to round out to 20+ more bucks. As dumb as it felt to give them a pound of change and some bills, money is money. I hardly think they would care. They didn’t.

I opened the door and yelled “Hey guys? Is twenty good for the sidewalk?”

They shouted back, “Yeah! Cool!” And off they went. We had ourselves our own little snow-shoveling chain gang and now we didn’t have to get bundled up, get wet and cold or break our backs on what looked like very heavy snow.

When they were done, the leader of the group returned to tell me they were finished and to thank me for the money. No, thank you!

God bless you, Chain Gang. Your parents should be proud that you’re not afraid to sweat for a few bucks. I didn’t think I’d ever see that sight for the rest of my life. I hope I see them again next year. I’m pretty sure after making almost 50 bucks for a half hour’s work, those kids will remember our address.

“Y’all come back now, ya hear!”

So do any of you see kids shoveling for money (or maybe for nothing) in your neighborhoods? Or do I just live in a really lazy section of town?

Someone told me I smelled this week and I couldn’t be less insulted. Mike, author of the Mr. Grudge blog, honored me with a Flower Smellers award. I’m deeply humbled because this award is like no other.

The folks over at Go! Smell the Flowers have created a new award that Mike was one of the first five ever to receive. Go! Smell the Flowers is an international blogging community (20 founders from 10 countries) whose mission it is to “inform, entertain, and enlighten people from all over our increasingly smaller world.” They created this award to recognize others who, in their own way, smell the flowers and make the world a better place.

That Mike would pass this award on to me before paint even dried got me all misty-eyed. I discovered Mike’s blog a few months ago and have been hooked ever since. Mike is a master storyteller. His pieces run the gamut — from the compelling to the sweet, from the inspiring to the tear-inducing. Mike’s stories are consistently engaging and it seems unfair that one person can have that much talent. Share a little, will ya?

As a humor writer, I’m driven by the hope of making people laugh. But by reading Mike’s work, I’m reminded I still have to weave a story. It’s what I try to remember before I hit the publish button. Mike, thank you for proving that writing is an art form and to do it well honors your craft. You make me want to be a better writer.

You can read what he said about me and my blog over at his place. See why I got all misty? Sheesh, if I wasn’t already married….

As a new member of the Go! Smell the Flowers community, I get to bestow the award onto others. What I like about this award is you don’t necessarily have to pass it on to other bloggers. One of my honorees isn’t.

Julia DeGraf, author of the I Do Things So You Don’t Have To blog. Julia was one of the first humor bloggers I discovered. We share similar senses of humor and became fast friends as a result. Our daily email exchanges are laugh riots and they’re one of the reasons a potentially bad day never seems to become one. Her creatively-named blog is the first pit stop on my daily rounds. Every single one of her stories slays me, and some leave me in a state of wonderment, as when she videotaped a medical procedure she had done that had me squirming in my seat. She means it when she says “I do things so you don’t have to.” Thanks, Julia! Now I don’t have to worry.

Cardiogirl, author of the Cardiogirl: 19% Body Fat 100% Fun blog, is my personal hero. Hers is a blog that puts it all out there — every last raw bit of it. Her life struggles are laid out bare for everyone to see. She sees injustice in the world, grabs it by the collar and slaps it in the face. That girl’s got guts. I award her this badge for her fearlessness and her determination in the face of life’s obstacles. To do all that with a wicked sense of humor is hard. No, it’s damn near impossible. Cardiogirl, take a bow and never stop cutting through the crap.

Dan Balogh, author of Dan’s Blah Blah Blog, is an inspiration to me. Only a month after discovering his hilarious blog, he promptly shut it down so he could devote his spare time to writing his memoirs. He knows how mad I still am. We began writing each other privately, and he was instrumental in giving me the courage to publish a story about my grade school nightmares. I have him to thank for encouraging me to put it all out there and to see humor in tragedy. Without his support, I wouldn’t have what has become one of my most successful posts to-date. Dan, hurry up with your book so you can get back to your blog. You owe us!

Now for the non-blogger — my niece Regan. When I started my blog I had pitifully few readers. I didn’t know at the time whether The Junk Drawer would ever take off, but I always knew I could count on Regan to read my posts and leave witty and keen observations in the comments box. She’s elevated me to rock star status and thinks I’ll be famous one day. Whenever I was slow to publish, she would ring me up and say “Got anything new?” She has no idea how that uplifted me when I faltered for something to write. Thank you, Regan. If I ever become famous, you’ll get to say you were with me right from the start.

Mike, thank you for naming me a Flower Smeller and giving me the chance to share stories of how others are making blogging some of the most fun I’ve had in my life.

Photo: Seth Wenig, Associated Press

Top prizes were handed out on Tuesday at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in New York City’s Madison Square Garden. I caught up with the winner in the non-sporting group, Remy, a haughty, ridiculously-shaven standard poodle who made time in her busy schedule to answer a few questions.

Kathy: So, Remy, how does it feel to win the top prize in the non-sporting group?

Remy: It’s a total crock. I mean, look at me. I should have won Best in Show. You know who they gave it to? Snoopy. A beagle hasn’t won Best in Show in like a hundred years. But a plain Jane, floppy-eared beagle? Come on! And they gave her a standing ovation. I just about crapped right there on the floor.

Kathy: So you didn’t win Best in Show, but you won best in your category. That’s an achievement!

Remy: Sorry, no. Not the same. I was robbed. I’m the only breed who gets shaved like this. Beagles don’t. They’re just their beagly selves. They get to lay down wherever they want, whenever they want.

Kathy: What do you mean?

Remy: Are you kidding? Look at my coat. You think you can just lay down on the floor with this thing? I can’t get comfortable on any side. It’s so thick, I’m constantly shifting positions. I can’t get a good night’s sleep. The only part that is comfortable is my ass, but even that’s a problem. I’m freezing down there!

Kathy: I think your hair looks lovely.

Remy: Pffff! Look. Here’s the thing. I didn’t ask for this hair. When I went to the salon, I asked the stylist for something cute and easy to manage. But all she heard was the cute part and started shaving away. What she did to my butt was criminal. It all went downhill from there.

I let her shave my face, thinking it would offset my naked butt, but then she proceeded to give me cotton ball feet and a helmet head to match. And, like I said, being hairless means you freeze. So I asked her to keep some on my torso so I wouldn’t get hypothermia, and that’s why I’m all over the map with this look. I can’t prove it, but I know my owner set me up.

Kathy: Didn’t you know what happens to poodles when they’re entered into the Westminster Show?

Remy: Honestly, I didn’t. My owner doesn’t have cable, so I wasn’t aware of the show until recently. My friends and me…. we can’t read and don’t have access to the Internet. Plus, we only see non-shaved poodles in our neighborhood. There was no reason to think this could happen. I was completely blind-sided.

Believe it or not, when my owner started entering me into some local shows, I wasn’t all poofed out like this. But then I started winning. You know our society. When something is good enough, we can’t just let it be. We have to supersize it; make it bigger, better, poofier! I should have seen it coming.

Kathy: So when you found out everyone would see you this way, what did you think?

Remy: Dude, I saw perks. In this business, it’s all about the perks. I thought if I had to look like this, I might as well go all out for the prize. Word on the street is most dogs lead a life of luxury after winning at Westminster. I practiced my strut for weeks. I learned not to flinch when they grabbed me in weird places. I knew I could ace this thing.

We all sell out for something and this is my thing. I’m looking at diamond-encrusted collars, 600 thread count sheets on my bed and a lifetime supply of Beggin’ Strips. I’ve heard they’re very good. So, yeah, I hated how I looked, but it was worth it. Besides, I can deal with the hair thing later. Hair grows back. But I’m not going back to that Edward Scissorhands stylist. EVER.

Kathy: Now that you’ve won best in your category, do you think you’ll be doing the talk show circuit?

Remy: Funny you asked. Letterman called and they want me to appear in the Stupid Pet Tricks segment of the show, but I balked. Since I won my category, I expected better. A little respect, you know? What we agreed upon was no pet tricks, but I get to sit on the couch next to him and show off my legs. That’s really all you can see of me anymore and I consider them my best feature. Got it, flaunt it, right? I have to schedule a wax soon, workout a little and cut back on my treats. The camera  puts on ten pounds.

Kathy: What’s on your plate for the coming year?

Remy: Well, first, I’m getting this huge puffball removed from my tail, since it gets in the way a lot. I’m not allowed to get excited about anything because then the tail wags and the ball knocks everything off tables. I’m also thinking of changing my hair color. White is SO hard to keep white. I dream of running out and diving into a big mud pile sometimes, you know? I think I deserve it now, don’t you?

Kathy: Yes. Yes, I do.

Thank you, Remy, for making time for us. Congratulations on your top prize and here’s hoping you get that non-bulbous look you’ve been craving!

It’s hard writing a blog some days. I woke up with nothing to write and thought I’d turn the tables and make you guys do some work. So I have a little test for you. Even if you’re new to my blog, you can probably search for these answers, but then I’d call you a cheater and you don’t want to be a cheater, now do you?

Here’s my little quiz. You’ll get a score (10 pts. for each correct answer) when you click Grade Me, but not a list of all the right answers. If you get some incorrect and want to know the answer, drop a comment in the drawer and see if someone else can clue you in. Tee-hee.  Good luck!!!

My pal Lee from Tar Heel Ramblings tagged me for the Seven Weird Things About Me meme. I’m not a meme person so much as I’m a weird person. Putting this list together will take all of five minutes.

The rules: Cite and link to your source (me), then enjoy writing about 7 Weird Things About Yourself, then tag some people and help spread the weirdness.

Here we go:

1. I once took my cat, Calvin (RIP), to a therapist for his anger “issues” and paid $200 for the pleasure. He almost bit her and I was secretly happy because she should have known better than to stick her hand in his carrier.

2. I microwave salads and ice cream before eating them. Twenty seconds for the salad, fifteen for the ice cream.

3. I purposely keep snack bags open so chips or cheese curls go stale. Mmmmm…..stale snacks!

4. I’m physically unable to burp. Not even after drinking a carbonated beverage. It’s not fun. It hurts. And it leaves me bloated.

5. I enjoy the most intense of amusement park rides, but I can’t cross a bridge by foot because I know I’ll pass out from being up so high.

6. To finish my bachelors degree, I voluntarily took the last 12 courses in 12 months, while starting a new job. It almost killed me.

7. As a kid, I almost threw up after eating homemade strawberry ice cream. I only ate it because it was served to me at a friend’s house and I thought it would be bad manners to decline. Later that night, I talked in my sleep and hallucinated a movie on the walls of my bedroom. My sister and I shared the room and she thought I was the devil.

Now, I’m not one to thrust a meme on anyone, but if any of my fellow bloggy friends want to join in the weirdness, consider yourself tagged. Hop to it!

After digging through box after box of old photos, I finally found both of my high school prom pictures. So can everyone stop harassing me now? The funny thing about these pictures is that I’m not prepared to say that I look like the Bride of Frankenstein. I actually think I look fairly hot, in a trampy, Little House on the Prairie kind of way. I don’t know. You be the judge.

Note: I have blacked out my date’s eyes, you know, to avoid getting sued and all that. He’s an oral surgeon now and could probably buy me ten times over. Please God, don’t let him find my blog.

First up, the junior prom (click to enlarge)

This is the gown that my Dad didn’t want me leaving the house in. Why? Because under that tiny tulle shawl covered an embarrassing amount of cleavage. Without the shawl, the gown looked and felt like lingerie from Fredericks of Hollywood and now, as a mature woman, I can understand why my Dad was having a coronary. Sorry, Dad.

Memorable moment: When some jerk slam-danced onto my toe and made it bleed. I got blood on my gown and when I told my date what happened, he went over to they guy’s table and had a few words. A few loud words. There may have been a punch involved. Not sure. Then he made him come over and apologize to me. The poor guy didn’t mean it, but he never spoke to me again as long as I was still hooked up with my prom date. Ahhh, fear. The Great Motivator.

Next up, the senior prom. The pendulum clearly swung in the other direction a year later because I zipped myself up so good, only my hands and face were exposed, and just barely. This gown says “Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. And where’d I put my butter churner?” I don’t recall lace being so “in” that year. I might have just been trying to undo my hooker look from the year before.

Memorable moment: I don’t actually remember anything from this prom, since my brain cells were being fried up in the heat of this gown. Despite its being lacy, there were layers and layers of it, all conspiring to envelope me in a sauna of my own doing. The day was hot. The day was humid. I couldn’t breathe and I’m pretty sure I ripped this thing off and stuffed it in the garbage when the night was over.

So what’s the consensus, people? Bride of Frankenstein or hot, hot hottie? Go ahead. I can take it.

Potato salad anyone? Today we have two new additions to the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection, submitted by a colleague whose husband thought she was nuts for photographing a heart-shaped potato. Until he found another one just like it and wanted to get in the game.

Here we have the first ever husband-and-wife team submission called Two of Hearts. Thanks Maryann and Frank!

When I saw I was getting potatoes that looked like stuff, I dusted off a potato picture of my own that I’ve been holding onto since Christmas. I wanted to submit it to the collection but couldn’t figure out what it looked like. I know it looks like something, but can’t place it.

Maybe my readers can help. Here it is.

I’m convinced this peeled potato resembles someone from children’s literature. It may be an animal. It may be a person. I enlisted the help of a librarian where I work, who also believes it looks like a character from literature. Along with the photo, I emailed her my description of who I think it is:

I believe it’s from a classic book and that the character I’m thinking of wears glasses. I see a short, stocky male character who is possibly also dim-witted.

Another colleague who reviewed the photo believes that the character is British and has small animal-like hands.

We have ruled out characters from Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit, as well as Mole from The Wind in the Willows. It helps to view this picture as a face that is gazing upward to your left and that its right eye is out of view.

In my mind’s eye, I see the character as having little or no neck. He speaks softly and may or may not wax philosophical. He is not the protagonist in the story, nor a foil. Although he may be of little brain, he is wise in a Winnie-the-Pooh kind of way.

If anyone recognizes who this might be, please cast your vote in the comments section. If you think I’ve finally lost my marbles, don’t bother telling me because I already know I have.

p.s. He was cut up into cubes and made a fine addition to our Christmas dinner. He didn’t scream at all.

———-

Humor-bloggers prefer french-fried potatoes.

I have a co-worker who farts. Well, not in the conventional sense. She doesn’t fart, but her shoes do.

Apparently Dr. Scholl’s makes a product called Massaging Gel Insoles that are supposed to provide added support and comfort to your feet all day long. Slip them in your shoes and you’re Ginger Rogers.

The problem, she says, is they’re made of plastic. Plastic makes your feet sweat. Sweaty feet make farting noises when you walk. We always know when she’s coming because she sounds like a fart machine. Farty fart fart.

Doesn’t anyone test these things in the real world before putting them out on the market?

I would make an awesome product tester:

1. If I worked for Dell, I could have told them years ago how stupid it was to stick front side USB ports underneath a big plastic panel that you have to lift up and then search around for the ports. The uplifted panel shields light from the area you’re poking around in, plus the ports are fixed at a 45 degree angle. Some of my clients at work ripped the damn things off permanently and it’s still hard to insert a thumb drive.

2. If I worked for Charmin, I could tell them that their Ultra Strong version of toilet paper doesn’t stand a chance in hell of being flushed down the toilet on the first try. It’s the consistency and thickness of paper towels, and no one with half a brain would try to flush paper towels. Stick with the Ultra Soft brand if you want to save a thousand gallons of water.

3. If I worked for any computer manufacturer, I would have told them how hard it is to read which is the DVD drive and which is the CD drive. Nice job printing which is which, embossed in black writing on a black background.

4. If I worked for TV manufacturers, I could tell them that people need about five buttons on a remote control, an ON/OFF button, two for channel-changing and two for volume. If it’s a DVR controller, a few more. I do not need half the buttons on my current controller. I can’t find the ones I need. Oh, and it’s the size of a mailbox. I almost need two hands to use it.

5. If I worked for Honda, I would have told them that the trunk latch and the gas cap release are too close together. I’m either opening my truck at the gas station, or opening my gas cap door when I need to unload groceries.

6. If I worked for a bedding company, I would have told them to make comforters the way they used to be made — so they’ll fit in your home washer and dryer. For God’s sake, at least put a label on the package that says “You’ll have to drag this beast to a laundromat and spend your Saturday afternoon pumping quarters in a jumbo washer because that’s the only one big enough, and then you’ll have to drag it half wet to your car because it’ll never get dry, and you may drop it on the way because it weighs fifty pounds and it’ll get nice and dirty again.”

So there. Will somebody please hire me as a product tester? And Dr. Scholl’s, you need to do something about your farting insoles.

———

Humor-bloggers wear fartless shoes.

It is amazing to me what I’ll stick up on this blog for a laugh. Those of you who have been expecting my prom pictures will be disappointed. I can locate only one of them. I found two, but they’re both of my junior prom. The senior one is nowhere to be found, though I promise to keep looking.

For now, you can have this.

It’s my 7th grade school picture and if it isn’t obvious enough, this is what NOT to do if you have very curly hair. I did not walk around with a book on my head all day. I did not sleep upside down. I fought the curl and this is the result.

I basically had an afro growing up. You cannot straighten my kind of hair because it’ll get really mad at you for going against the natural flow of things, revolt in the worst way, and come out looking like this.

In my earlier years, my poor mother would try to make me look presentable for school and have to contend with the kind of curls that don’t like to be bothered in any way, shape or form. Every hair on my head was anti-comb.

She would often use a detangling product called Johnson & Johnson No More Tears. It was a lie. There were many tears. "Mom!!! You’re killing me! Stop it!" You can’t get a brush or comb through an afro, and no spritzing from the J&J bottle was going to help.

She resorted many times to the only thing that got rid of tangles and my general rat’s nest. She cut the angriest curls out. Wouldn’t you like to see a picture of what that looked like? Let me keep looking….

——

I bet the people over at humor-blogs have good hair.

No, not this kind of lost.

A totally different, addictive, bizarre kind of lost. The one you’ll find on ABC, January 31. Lost is back!

Herewith is an 8 minute and 15 second recap of the first three seasons. If you’re a Lost buff, you’ll get the meaning of an 8:15 clip.

Now listen to me. If you haven’t seen the show, but plan to catch it on DVD, DO NOT WATCH THIS. The clip will spoil everything for you.

I’m a big fan of trivia and quick-read books. Both loves are satisfied with the Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader series. It helps if you envision me reading them outside the bathroom. Promise me you’ll do that.

The Uncle John book series offers speedy stories covering a number of topics including science, history, pop culture, geography, biographical accounts and general stuff you were too lazy to look up and learn more about. Most articles are three pages or less, for readers "on the go," as the authors put it. For a really quick read, you can stick to what they call "runners" at the bottom of each page: one-sentence trivia nuggets that are fun, curious and sometimes stupefying.

On this second day of 2008, I’m a little late to the game on reviewing 2007.  I thought it might be fun to revisit some of my favorite posts from the year, as they relate to some of the Uncle John’s trivia nuggets found in the Curiously Compelling edition. Here we go!

1.  How about you? 54% of American kids ride the bus to school. I was in that other 46%, at least in grade school — or hell, as I like to call it. Read it and weep.

2.  The main cluster of riders in a bicycle race is called a peloton. I was once in a bike race with my sister. Down a hill. Fast. One of us made it to the bottom a bloodied, battered mess. And all because of a tasty snack treat.

3. What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention: Aprosexia is the inability to concentrate. I have it and it’s made worse because I’m plagued by annoying little noises that no one else can hear.

4. Good news for teenagers: There is no evidence that eating chocolate makes acne worse. But seeing hairy chocolates is guaranteed to make you sick.

5.  It is illegal to board a plane while it’s in flight. It should also be illegal to subject passengers to coach if they started out in first-class.

6.  The diameter of the universe is estimated to be 620.000,000,000,000,000,000,000 miles. And I can’t even navigate two tenths of a mile of it.

7.  Animals that give birth to live young are viviparous. Animals who dispense tech tips from their butts are called awesome.

8.  Odds that a sports injury will involve a wrist and hand: 25%. Odds I would do it while sledding on ice: 100%.

9.  If your cat snores, or rolls over on his back to expose his belly, it means he trusts you. If your cat is about to bite the head off a praying mantis, it means you should RUN!!!

10. How about you? A 1,200 -pound horse eats about seven times its own weight a year. So do I.

Happy New Year to all my faithful readers! Thank you for making blogging some of the most fun I’ve had in my life. I appreciate all your support and friendship. Cheers, and all the best to you in 2008!

Until now I had only considered my cat Shadow’s butt to be a weapon of mass destruction. Last month I wrote about how she mortified me by dropping a fart grenade in front of my plumber.

Today I’m happy to report that Shadow can use her butt powers for good, as well. It dispenses tech tips.

Here’s how it happened:  My husband Dave was doing some online shopping when Shadow decided the keyboard would be a fine place to get comfortable. She laid down across the whole keyboard and her butt landed hard enough on some keys to screw up the screen Dave was viewing while he was scrolling with the mouse.

The screen content went from normal size to gigantic with that little trick of hers. Once he shooed her away from the desk, Dave had to figure out which key caused the screen text to enlarge so much. After some fiddling around, he discovered it was the CTRL key. It seems if you press CTRL while scrolling up or down, the screen’s text size enlarges or minimizes as you scroll.

In almost ten years of working in the computing industry, I have never known about this little tip. And I can really use it now, since my eyes are not what they used to be. The beauty part is it’s not just for web browsers. The technique works in programs like Microsoft Word, where the view is enlarged, but your font size stays where you want it.

What makes this technique better than other text enlarging maneuvers is that you don’t have click around menus inside each program to find what does the job. That’s what I used to do — for years. Now it’s just a simple CTRL and scroll!

Thanks, Shadow, for sharing your buttalicious talents. See how much better it is to use your powers for good?

In this season of giving, I present you with Blue on Blue — the worst picture in the history of picture-taking.

I once told someone I would only post this to the blog if I was drunk. But upon further reflection, I decided I can’t keep this to myself. Seeing it might actually make someone feel better about themselves.

This is a 12-year-old me taking part in a benefit walk for MS research.  For the record, I am not color-blind. I thought this ensemble matched perfectly because most of the pieces had blue in them, some shade of blue. I can’t explain away anything about this picture: the white belt, the short shorts, the tube socks, the hair. Oh, the hair! It’s just so wrong from head to toe.

Enjoy this snapshot because there will never be another one like it. It is the single worst picture that exists of me outside my prom pictures, which are a whole different matter. For my junior year prom, I wore what looks like lingerie. In the senior prom picture, I look like Ma from Little House on the Prairie in a pink, lacy, bustled number that goes all the way up to my chin. If someone wants me to post them, you’re going to have to pay me. That, or I’ll need to be drunk.

Good Christmas morning! If you’re like me and you don’t have a fireplace to gather around with your family today, here is a suitable replacement. But without the heat and soot.

Behold! The WPIX Yule Log! For those living within about a hundred miles of New York City, you’ll recognize it.  WPIX began airing the Yule Log in 1966 as a way to bring a crackling fire to the homes and apartments of New Yorkers who didn’t have a fireplace. For a ten year period, it didn’t air due to the high cost of running it without commercial interruption. It does air with Christmas music in the background, but stupid me forgot to turn the volume up.

If you’re curious about the Yule Log’s history, including whose fireplace was used in the filming and efforts to resurrect it during the un-aired years, check out its listing in Wikipedia. I learned here that the Yule Log is being aired in some other U.S. markets, including Chicago. If you’re not from the NY area, let me know if you’ve had the pleasure of seeing the log and where you’re getting it. I’m interested to know how far-reaching this little tradition has traveled.

I hope everyone is warm and toasty this Christmas morning.

I know. It’s sad and it doesn’t make any sense. Welcome to our Pumpkin Tree Display. We never intended to leave our autumn pumpkin display out on the patio, but it just happened. OK, strike that. It didn’t just happen. It happened because we are the laziest people we know.

Then a friend gave me a small artificial tree to stick out there because we can’t keep a tree in the house. Our cat, Lucky has "chewing issues," and would likely eat the needles and puncture a necessary organ. This is how we still enjoy a tree and keep Lucky from using up some of his nine lives.

I want to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas. I hope that Santa is good to you and better than he was to me. Today I woke up with a huge zit on my chin. So now when I have family pictures taken of me today and tomorrow, I will be instructed to cover up that thing or get out of the picture. Can someone please tell me when the pimples of my youth will stop showing up on the face of my 40-something self?

Happy Holidays to all my zit-free bloggy friends!

I came very close to giving up blogging this week. Moving from Blogger to WordPress was no picnic and I wondered if it was all worth it. I finally got some outstanding issues resolved and I’m happy to say that I’m not giving it all up.

During the five days it took to fully make the transition, I had reason to laugh only once. It was when I discovered the following two videos.  The first one shows two chatty cats having a conversation in their native feline language. The second one is its interpretation to English.

Until I can get my bearings back to write something unrelated to my blogging nightmare, I want to share them both with you. Even if you’re not a cat person, you can’t not think they’re hilarious. Enjoy!

The Feline Language Version

People like to make a lot of noise in our neighborhood. Here’s what happens a couple weeks before Christmas. Before the fire truck comes, we get 10 minutes of some guy on an ATV blaring sirens to announce Santa’s impending visit.

If you didn’t know this was the week for Santa, you’d be scared half to death that your house was on fire. The first guy’s sirens are as loud as any emergency vehicle and then the fire truck lays it on heavy as it rumbles down the street.

I don’t know who was more scared. Me from the noise, or Santa Claus after he got an eyeful of me. He greeted me on the porch while I was wearing no shoes, shorts with a hole in them, glasses, no make-up and my hair was soaking wet from the shower I just took.

I really hadn’t wanted to talk to him since I knew how frightening I looked in my Saturday morning costume. But he waved at me and I couldn’t just run away. He brought me an apple (???) and a candy cane. It was like reverse Trick-or-Treat, with me as the trick. Santa, please forgive me. I don’t normally look like that.

I’m delighted to announce an addition to the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection. This piece, dubbed Bagel #9, was submitted by reader Heather Simoneau. Of course, if you turn it upside down, it can be Bagel #6 to you.

She reported it was found in a package of Thomas’ plain bagels at a SuperFresh store in Bethlehem, PA. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and enjoy!

Today’s post, brought to you by the #9

People are worried about me.

A couple days ago, I was working on a client’s PC in another office installing some software that takes forever to load. Since waiting for software to install is akin to watching water boil, I thought I’d at least be productive and check for voice mail or email messages. Nothin’. I looked around for something interesting to read. Nothin’. I stared at the wall and wondered how I was going to avoid gaining 17 pounds over Thanksgiving weekend and got all stressed out.

And then it happened. I heard a paper shredder in the distance.

Oh, yeah, baby. Now we’re talkin’! See, there’s one thing in this world that is no bigger stress reliever for me than shredding documents. Yoga? Sorry, no can do. Meditation? Not my thing. Visualization? Only if it looks like this. Sending paper through a slotted, metal-toothed grinder and watching it turn into tiny confetti dots? Priceless.

Seems the client whose computer I was working on was sifting through a humongous container of confidential paperwork that her office collects for shredding. The bin was busting at the seams.

I asked her if she really had to shred all that, and she said “Yeah. It’s a big, annoying job. Even our student workers don’t want to do it.”

I started to tremble and shake.

“Raquel? Um, would you mind if I helped?”

Looking up from her 300 lb. paper pile with a seriously confused look on her face, she asked, “Are you feeling all right? You really want to do this?”

“Yes. I know. I have a problem. But I like to shred paper. It’s destructive and productive! And if you don’t let me do it, I won’t fix your PC.”

“You kidding me?”

“No. Now are you gonna keep looking at me like that, or are you gonna let me get this party started? Move it, sister.”

So there I stood, gleefully feeding a few sheets in at a time, while Raquel sorted out non-shreddable items and things that could just go in the recycle bin. She started to realize what a wonderful discovery she just found in my neurosis. She started to think that together we could make a serious dent in the pile. She started to think she found a sucker who might just do this on a regular basis.

She found me. A paper-feeding, paper clip-pulling, confetti-dumping, maniacal demolition machine.

We worked through the bin for about thirty minutes. All the while, her office mates sauntered up to me and asked “What’s going on? Did Raquel put you to work?”

“No! I like it! Now stop bothering me. You’re screwing up my rhythm.”

One guy who didn’t know me asked if I was brought in just for this job. When he found out I was just doing a favor and getting my jollies in the process, he asked if I would come over to his office and do his shredding.

“Listen, dude. Don’t toy with me. If you’re making fun of me, I can take it. But if you’re telling me you have a fresh pile of paper somewhere that needs to be sent through this shredder, you better mean business because if you’re kidding, I’ll take you down, I swear to God.”

Backing away slowly now, he whimpered “Lady, you’re scaring me.”

As Raquel and I plowed through the documents and emptied the receptacle a few times when it got full of glorious confetti, I realized my fun was coming to an end. The software installation I’d been monitoring finally finished. The shredding party was over.

Raquel thanked me profusely, since we’d gotten through more than half of the bin’s contents. She just couldn’t get over how much we got done.

I asked her if I could come back sometime and finish this pile, or even do future piles. And we all know there will always be future piles. Whoever said we’d be living in a paperless society by now couldn’t have been more wonderfully wrong.

She said, “Of course. We can put you on a schedule.”

Happy in the knowledge that I’ll always have a place in her office for shredding whenever I want, I left and skipped down the hall to my own office. When I passed by our reception desk, I noticed a co-worker sitting next to our own shredder with a pile of papers.

“Want some help with that?”

“Kathy, are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah. It’s my catharsis. Now beat it before I have to hurt you.”

I love to shred, I love to shred!

Don’t deny me shredding, or I’ll beat you on the head!

I’m pleased to announce an addition to the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection. The piece, called Carrot Love, was submitted by a friend and colleague who clearly has an eye for art. Study it carefully.

This photograph reflects the highest standards of excellence that The Junk Drawer strives to achieve when accepting items for publication. This is exactly what we’re looking for. You know, pictures that would make adolescent boys snicker.

"Come on, baby! Gimme a kiss!"

I’m blushing because this week I received not one, but two, awards for The Junk Drawer. Applause, applause! Let’s start the show.

Bucky at The WVb (West Virginia Blogger) awarded me with the Be The Blogger Award. This award was created by Mark at Me And My Drum to recognize bloggers who make their blogs their own, give it everything they’ve got, are interactive with their readers and know how to have fun!

I do feel I am my blog. And I’m thrilled that I have a decent amount of loyal readers. I try to make your visits worth the click. It’s very gratifying that people keep coming back to The Drawer, day after day. Thanks everyone!

My second award is the You Make Me Smile Award, given to me by Moonshadow at Kansas Born. She says I crack her up, which has been the goal of The Junk Drawer ever since I gave up giving boring tech support tips. I am truly honored.

I’m spreading the love by tagging a few fellow bloggers for these awards:

J.D. at I Do Things So You Don’t Have To for her laugh out loud funny and for blog originality. I Do Things is my blog away from blog.

Kev at Special Kind of Stupid for Best Blog Name and his dry sense of humor.

Karl at The Frog Bog for his slightly twisted view on life. Karl rocks.

Jeff at View from the Cloud for his creativity and hilarity. Jeff is the brainchild behind our Noises Support Group, and that deserves an award of its own.

Cardiogirl at Cardiogirl: 19% Body Fat 100% Fun for her refreshing, honest and fun blog. Her stories are both heart-warming and hilarious, done just right.

Terry at Bent Objects. Terry is an extraordinarily talented wire sculptor who I predict is going to make The Big Time for his creative, fun and thought-provoking art.

Maureen at I’d Rather Be Blogging for her cozy, comfy mixed bag of a blog. I feel right at home here.

Bethany at The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks for Best Specialty Blog. Her blog is the reason I’m going to get in a car accident because I’m driving around looking for signs to submit to her site instead of watching the road.

Thanks Bucky and Moonshadow for the awards. I’m humbled and happy that my little 4-month-old blog brings a smile to your faces.

I’m going to change out of my designer gown, kick off my shoes and take my hair down now. I got all dressed up for this award ceremony, you know! Roll credits…….

Like everyone else, I enjoy kicking back on Sundays, reading the paper, puttering around and generally being lazy. It helps to take the downtime and rejuvenate my spirit before the craziness of another week begins.

I don’t recall where I read the following passage, but I jotted it down and tacked it up on my refrigerator, reading it on Sundays or whenever I feel the need for calm. Be sure to read it slowly and carefully, visualizing it for the greatest benefit.

Picture yourself near a stream. Birds are softly chirping in the crisp, cool mountain air. Nothing can bother you here. No one knows this secret place. You are in total seclusion from that place called “the world.” The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity. The water is clear. You can easily make
out the face of the person whose head you’re holding under the water.

A couple years ago I noticed what looked like a smiley face on an overly-seasoned snack chip. That curious discovery led to an endless search for other food that looks like stuff.

Weeble Tomato Guy
Mr. Weeble came to me in a bag of home-grown tomatoes given to me by a colleague. His bottom began to dimple and he soon was unable to stand on his own. Weebles wobble and they DO fall down.

Yummy Yammy, The Elephant Man
Found this face in a yam from dinner. Random fork stabs happened to
give Elephant Man a set of eyes.

Meatloaf for Brains
Yummy Yammy accompanied this brain-like meatloaf.
As gross as it looks, it was quite tasty.

Kitty Cat Face
Dave found this kitty cat sleeping in his ice cream.

Garlic Knot Mitten
Submitted by colleague Jason Slipp. Taken with a camera phone, so it appears much larger than it actually was.

The Chip with Heart
Long forgotten in a kitchen cabinet (awaiting its submission to the site), this chip is eight months old. It’s remarkable to me that it withstood changes in temperature over the months and never showed signs of wearing down. Preservatives will kill us all.

Carrot Love
Reader Brad Price submitted this shot of two carrots in a loving embrace. Spooning isn’t just for humans anymore.

Bagel #9

Reader Heather Simoneau submitted this picture of a numeric and tasty bagel she found in a package of Thomas’ bagels.