Tag Archive: random

Active … What Now?

Why is Jamie Lee Curtis so concerned with the regularity of my bowel movements?

For those who don’t watch TV or fast forward through the commercials, for the past few years Jamie Lee Curtis, who one danced a tango with Arnold Schwarzenegger, is now shilling for a laxative-yogurt.

Sing it with me - Ack-tiv-e-ah!


The yogurt has some sort of special probiotic bacteria in it that will help “regulate” the digestion of the person eating it. In other words, it makes you poop.

Why are they selling this stuff to people?

Do we really need a famous person (who, I hope, is being paid millions of dollars) and a comprehensive advertising campaign to tell us how often we need to shit?

Is there someone out there who saw these commercials and suddenly realized “Hey! I should poop more often!”

While I may have forgotten most of what I learned in high school biology due to the contact highs I got from my lab partner, Skunky McDoobie, I’m pretty sure your internal plumbing takes care of the pooping thing just fine.

This is the last scholarly work I read on the subject.


If you are that concerned about your bowel movements, you either;

A) need to see a gastrointestinal specialist, or

B) visit a psychotherapist to deal with your coprophilic urges.

My grandmother was obsessed with the subject. She would watch GhostSister and I after school and it never failed that at some point she would ask us if we had had a BM that day. (That would be “bowel movement” for those who are a bit slow.)

Grandma at least had a personal interest in the subject of my digestive health, Jamie Lee Curtis has never met me before. For her sake, I hope Dannon pays her in enough gold bricks to build herself a little fort. She’s gonna need the privacy once the poop-yogurt kicks in.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be over here in the corner, weeping for humanity.


Don’t Call Me A Muggle

Tomorrow the last Harry Potter movie hits the theaters.

I shall pause to give the fans out there time to put on their pointy hats and fancy capes.

:plays Angry Birds, curses at little green piggies:

Everyone sufficiently attired now? Good. Hey, no poking each other with your authentically licensed replica wands!

One of the tellers I work with is a big fan of the whole Harry Potter business; she’s not just a fan, she’s a FAN. She has had her tickets to the midnight showing tonight/tomorrow morning for months. She has also taken Friday off and has tickets for several showings on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I think all told she is going to see the same movie about a dozen times over the course of three days. She will also be dressing up to attend the midnight showing with several of her friends, who are also FANS.

That kind of behavior is on the shady side of crazy.

Before I get several poorly-written comments threatening to cast one of the three Unforgivable Curses on me, let me say that I am a fan as well. I’ve read all the books multiple times and I’ve seen most of the movies. I’m familiar with the unique world my coirker seems to find so entrancing.

I’m just not that big of a fan. Not by several orders of magnitude.

I waited eagerly for the release of each new book, but I never spent the night at a bookstore, dressed as a fictional character, just so I could buy a book. I have books – lots of them. I can wait a day or two to buy another.

When I received my new Harry Potter book, I would read it all in one sitting, but that’s nothing new. I often read books all the way through at once; I read very fast.  Deathly Hallows has 759 pages and it took me about six and a half hours of steady reading to get through it.

While I do applaud the series, it is quite imaginative and has managed to get children interested in reading instead of relying on purely electronic entertainment, I do not see what sparks that kind of devotion.

They are only books. I’ve read thousands; some better, some worse.

They are only movies. I’ve seen hundreds; some better, some much, much worse.

The devotion of the Harry Potter fans baffles me, much in the same way Star Wars fans and Star Trek fans puzzle me. I like a lot of things, but not to that extent.

My Little Sister

In the last of my series covering the cats in my life, we have Nikki.

Mua-ha-ha. Mine is an evil laugh.

She is an American Shorthair ginger tabby female, something of a rarity since most ginger tabbies are male. I like to call her Mooch or Princess Pumpkinbutt, because she likes to eat my cats’ food and when she hunches down in the classic “loaf of bread” position, she looks a bit like a pumpkin.

Technically Nikki is not my cat, she belongs to my parents (specifically my mother) and not me, but she does live in the same house that I do.

About a year after I moved out, GhostDad heard about a cat named Butterbean on a radio spot highlighting local shelter rescues. The parents went down, met her, and adopted my little sister.

Mother Dearest needed a lapdesk.

As an older cat she was perfect; no kittenish antics to worry about, she was very independent and could be left alone while they were at work without having to worry about her.

Then I moved in and brought the terrible trio with me.

She did not have much of a problem with Firefly and Fearless, they were content to let her be the top cat in the house, but Simon was another matter. Every time they got near each other there was growling and hissing, both of them wanted to be top cat and there can be only one. He cornered her one day and literally scared the poop out of her, after that Simon was put in lock down. He never leaves my rooms for fear that he will try to harm Nikki, who has gone back to being top cat in most of the house. She comes down to my rooms most mornings after I’ve shut away Simon and mooches some food from the cats’ bowls. When we first segregated them, Simon kept trying to get out. Now he knows better.

Hail Princess Pumpkinbutt!

Uh ... No. I don't play.

She has a bad back and isn’t as spry as she used to be, she is starting to have trouble seeing things but still seems to get around pretty good. She is just a crotchety old lady who doesn’t like me very much unless I have food with me.

Her favorite thing to do is to stare at my dad. She will sit on the floor two or three yards in front of his favorite chair and just stare at him for hours. It’s as if she believes can will him to give her a treat is she just stares hard enough.

Nicki's nap

I don't care if it's Christmas, it's time for my nap! Keep it down!

Nikki Kitty

She also perfectly matches to the kitchen floor.

I was sitting at my desk, doing my usual work-related stuff, when one of our customers came up out of the blue and said to me, “You should be smiling. If my son had a job here he would be smiling all the time!”

That’s useful information, Ms Crazy Lady. If I go into an office and there’s a guy grinning like a fool behind the reception desk I’ll know to leave before the gunfire starts.

The thing that gets me is that I did smile at her. I was smiling at her when she said this to me, it’s an instinctive reaction. Anytime someone walks near my desk, I smile at them on the off chance they are going to sign in or ask me something. I just don’t have a very wide smile.

I had the same problem when they took my picture for my ID card. My co-irkers kept saying “Smile!” and I kept saying “I am smiling.”

Not everyone can look like the freak'n Joker.

I get along with all my co-irkers, I’m polite and professional, I do my job without a lot of fooling around or goofing off. In fact, if I do or say anything remotely funny I get stares as if I have suddenly pulled a rabbit out of my rectum. I have even overheard several co-irkers making bets as to who can make me laugh out loud. If I do something like wear nail polish or pull my hair back, or heavens forbid wear a little lip gloss, they become convinced I’m gettin’  some.

I’m beginning to think they might believe I’m some sort of robot.

I Fear For Humanity

Today’s post is about this little darling.


What fresh slice of hell is this?

Meet the Derma Microneedle Roller.

Notice how the second word it its name contains the word “needle”? I noticed that too.

Here’s how this thing is supposed to work – You press that wheel o’ pain against your skin and then roll it back and forth so that the tiny little needles puncture your skin and you resemble a Looney Tunes character after they’ve been shot.

This is to make you “beautiful”.

Because poking tiny holes in yourself and possibly inserting some of the millions of  bacteria, viruses, and fungi that live on your skin into them is very attractive to some people.

I can think of one.

Sellers claim it will make your skin smooth and reduce wrinkles and all the usual anti-aging rigmarole. I guess once the scars heal they would be fairly smooth, but just looking at this thing makes me go “What. The HELL?”

pokey thing

It comes in a clear plastic coffin. Like a vampire.

I don’t use a lot of cosmetic stuff; for the most part makeup makes me break out in a rash, but most body powder is pretty safe. I bought some new powder, a brand I have not tried before, and I dabbed a little on to see if I would have a reaction. Standard protocol for anyone with a sensitivity or allergy. I didn’t have any sort of reaction after a day, so I thought I was good to go.

My bathroom has a dimmer switch, thoughtfully installed by my Dad, because my eyes are sensitive to light, especially early in the morning.

I swear these two things have something in common.

So I apply my new powder in my dim bathroom and go about my business. It was not until later, when I was at work under the bright fluorescents, that I realized something. My new powder was, in fact, a glitter body powder. It is full of ultra-fine glitter that makes me all shiny like a sparklepire.

I guess I’m going to have tack eighty years to my age, move to the Pacific Northwest, and find some emo with low self-esteem to stalk in the name of love.

Since my last review of a product went so well, I thought I’d give it another try.

Judging solely by eBay listings, Asian people have an unnatural obsession with their ears.

Which brings us to today’s item up for review – the Flashlight Earpick!



While it may sound like a terrific band name, this is in fact a tiny flashlight that comes with three different clear plastic tip attachments that you are supposed to stick in your ear.


Hey, my flash works!

There are dozens and dozens of these things on eBay, some are slightly different colors but it’s basically the same thing; a little flashlight with plastic bits you stick in your ear. There are three bits, a small scoop, a larger scoop, and what are suppose to be tweezers.  You are supposed to use these high quality tools to remove wax and debris from your ear.

And the occasional earwig.

Since I don’t have many insects crawling into my ear to lay their eggs in my brain, I have used the little scoop on occasion to remove wax. It works about as you would expect, the flashlight portion really doesn’t help when it’s your own ear. Mother Dearest did use it to take a look at my ear to see it it looked inflamed during my last ear infection. It’s a good little tool if you need a tiny handheld light that you can get into tiny spaces. The light is pretty bright, the only real downside is I can’t figure out how to change the batteries but at $0.99 with free shipping it would be just as cheap to get a new one.

They also make nifty miniature light sabers.


Don't tell me you weren't thinking about it.

Pretty Bird

There is a peacock living somewhere near our house.

We have no idea where it came from; I was leaving for work one morning this last winter, opened the door and it was on our porch. So of course I had to go quietly back inside, get my camera, and take a picture. Because no one would ever believe me when I told them that there was a frickin’ peacock on our porch.

And I was right, when I told Mother Dearest that night that I had seen a peacock on our porch she said it must have been a turkey.


It's either a peacock or the world's first drag queen turkey.


As the weather has gotten warmer it has shown up more and more frequently, it probably lives somewhere in the woods around our house. Dad has seen it more than anyone, it will actually let him feed it bugs he finds, and one time he gave it some gum to see what would happen. (It ate it.)

He thinks it’s a girl, a peahen, but I’m of the opinion that it’s an actual peacock. We won’t know for sure until it finishes it’s spring molt, which has already begun. There are bits of feather starting to appear on the porch. It has an even more favorite perch conveniently nearby – Dad’s truck. The hood and the rim of the bed are deeply scratched, making the peacock less of a strange visitor and more of an odd pest.

Who knows, we might find out if peacock really does taste like chicken if it keeps at it.



On Friday I walked into a wall.

I have no excuse; I wasn’t doing something else, for once I wasn’t thinking about something – I was utterly undistracted in any way.

And yet I walked directly into a wall. I knew I was going to do it a split-second before I actually did it, I had enough time to formulate the thought “Hey, a wall”:THUD:

It was a hallway I have walked down many times before so I can’t blame unfamiliarity. I knew there wasn’t a doorway or other opening there, my feet just decided to turn and ram me into the sheetrock.

Here’s the odd bit – I didn’t think it was weird at the time. I hit the wall and my brain went “Huh, you hit the wall. Situation normal. Continue.” Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m kind of becoming alarmed that I did that.  Did I fall asleep for a second? This is not out of the realm of possibility; I sleep-walk occasionally and have woken up stuck behind a door or trying in vain to walk through the wall. But I don’t think I fell asleep, unless I was having an incredibly realistic dream that exactly mimicked what I was actually doing. Again, that would be pretty normal for me, but it’s unlikely. Maybe it’s aliens or some sort of government mind control, but then why would space aliens (or the government) care if I walked into a wall?

Perhaps I should look in to acquiring an aluminum foil beanie.


I have a little widget for my blog that tells me what search terms people have used to find my site. Some of them are understandable, while others worry me. Currently these are the top terms;

batman panties, hyper dental peeling stick review, dental peeling stick review, inmate hotplates, sticks peeling dental funciona

For the past two or three weeks, the primary search term has been some variation of the dental scrubby stick review I did however-long-ago-it-was. People seem to really be interested in whether or not a ninty-nine cent bit of fiberous material will give you a gleaming white smile.  (As I’ve told the three people who have emailed me with badly spelled questions, the answer is “Kinda sorta.”)

Then last week Inmate Hotplates showed up shortly after I posted my lightbulb cooking experiment and has been gaining fast. Every time I refresh the page the order is slightly different. It’s like watching the world’s slowest race. And just now, a brand-new contender has come from out of nowhere; ladies and gentlemen, I give you – Batman Panties.

That is so going to be my band name, if I ever get around to learning how to play an istrument.

It has everything – the hard-edged awesomeness of Batman paired with the gently wafting curtains of Panties.

It’s just … perfect.