Tag Archives: blogging

Just…. no.

 

Have you noticed how everyone is posting their favorite recipes online lately?

Quarantine fever is driving everyone into the kitchen and they just can’t wait to share.

Every time I look I’m inundated with pleas of,  “Try this, you’ll love it!” or  “Our family’s favorite. You won’t be disappointed!”

In truth, I rarely love it…. and am more often than not disappointed.

 

Friends are always extolling the virtues of kale, tumeric, tofu and other completely unappealing things…

 

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And after the recipe I saw yesterday?

I realize I simply need new friends.

 

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Yeah.

I’m pretty sure parsnip spice cake won’t be happening in our kitchen any time soon.

 

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Well, no good came from that.

 

I’m speaking of the (oh so helpful) post I did the other day about that most wonderful product……  the butt mask.

I hate to say it, but I’m afraid that bit me in the ass.

You see, right after I posted it? I noticed I had a few new followers:

 

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Not the shoe woman or the wine lover… those are totally understandable.

No, I’m talking about Pistol Pete.

Whose blogs are a little out of my area of expertise.

 

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Am I ready for men’s thong underwear?

No, Pete. I most assuredly am not.

And if Pete wasn’t bad enough? I also picked up his alter ego Daniel Alexander.

 

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I must not know about this.

Really. I mustn’t.

 

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Nothing. There’s no occasion that calls for male G string underwear.

Office party? Nope!

Dinner with friends? Nyet!

Your mother in law’s birthday? Well, maybe….

 

 

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I’ll throw this one over to my male readers.

What do you say guys… are they comfortable?

 

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In closing, the moral of the story is….

Don’t blog about butt masks.

 

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And say goodbye to Pistol Pete as fast as you can.

 

 

Because it’s my duty to share these things.

 

You can thank me later.

 

 

I was flipping through a magazine the other day and saw this little blurb of a review.

 

 

Needless to say, I was perplexed.

Buttne?

Exfoliating ass masks?

Excuse me while I crawl back under my rock where such things don’t exist.

 

 

Yes…. it’s a real thing.

And according to the description? Will get your behind ready for prime time.

 

 

Here’s a helpful product review.

 

 

So if you’re looking for a new beauty regime… or if your posterior just needs a little freshening up?

You know who to thank.

Update…. You’re Never Too Old To Learn.

 

I ran across a catalog for continuing education the other day, and because I used to have a  totally ridiculous  blog series about this, I had to look.

The series started  here back in August of  ’18 with a class on Spoonbending.

 

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Shows what you know Junior. There’s a whole class devoted to that spoon.

Yes. An actual college class, I’m not lying.

(Or drinking… go figure.)

 

 

So when I saw this current class being offered, it simply begged to be blogged about.

 

Spoon Carving Level 2
Up your spoon carving skills and build on what was learned
in your previous spoon-carving class. This time around you’ll
carve a deeper serving spoon, as well as practice additional
refining and finishing. Prerequisites: Previous woodworking
experience or Spoon Carving, Beginner. Material fee of $15
included in the price of the course.

Wednesday, beginning Oct. 16, from 6 to 9 p.m. for 3 weeks

Cost: $75

 

Clearly our college is still obsessed with spoons.

 

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Well, that may be a different class entirely.

“Up your spoon carving skills?”

Who said I had any to begin with.

 

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“Carve a deeper serving spoon?”

Hell, that’s totally worth $75.

And I’m sorry…

But you know there can only be one possible instructor for this class –

 

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Who? What! Why….?

 

Who would invent such a thing?

What would make them think this was a good idea?

And why would anyone ever want to buy it?

 

Wonder what I’m talking about?

It’s this:

 

 

Yes.

You read that correctly.

Brewers in Poland have developed a fermented beer made from the vaginal lactic acid of beautiful women.

Doesn’t that sound yummy?

 

 

 

If you want to read more about it…..  here.

The entire idea is as ridiculous as it is disgusting, which is why I had to blog about it.

 

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Because if this crap has to rattle around in my brain?

I need to make sure it rattles around in yours as well.

 

Re-created art…. the finale.

 

Here are the last 3 examples I’ll gleefully share with childlike enthusiasm bore you with.

The original…

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The re-creation…

 

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I’m going to go out on a limb and say this fellow might have enjoyed the exercise a little too much.

The original….

 

 

The re-creation…

 

 

Proof positive modern life is lame.

And because this one literally made me snort, I saved it for last.

The original…

 

 

The re-creation…

 

 

Hope you enjoyed these as much as I did.

Because we all need a little more laughter these days.

A limited afternoon series.

 

For the next few afternoons I’m going to be my usual helpful self and give you something to do while you’re quarantining yourself at home like a good viral citizen.

Lately the net has been filled with clever and creative ways to occupy your time…. but I’m going to share one from the Getty Museum that really made me smile.

Since visits to their museum have been cancelled for the near future, they challenged their members to re-create their favorite works of art.

Here are some of my favorites:

The original…

 

 

The re-creation….

 

 

Kudos to this couple.

I don’t know what the hell he put on his head, but damn.

It works.

The original…

 

 

The re-creation….

 

 

I’m not sure Dali would approve, but I’ll give them an A for effort.

And finally, here’s one that’s better seen by side.

 

Brilliant, I tell you!

Simply brilliant.

You can’t pick your neighbors…

 

But you can bitch about them on your blog, and that’s something.

When we lived down south we had a rental property next door. It was a revolving door of nightmarish neighbors, each one worst than the last. For 17 years we physically cringed when the moving van pulled up to unload the next batch of morons.

You think I’m kidding when I say morons?

One guy came over and asked my husband how to change a light bulb.

 

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One never mowed the lawn.

One had wild parties every night (and never invited us, which is the definition of rude).

One brought cockroaches to the cul de sac.

One had to be evicted (she may or may not have been a hooker, tough call).

One shot pigeons for fun and left their rotting carcasses in the back yard.

One ran an errand for his wife and never came back.

One painted the house’s exterior trim Pepto Bismol pink.

Yes, in retrospect it sounds entertaining. But trust me, it was anything but.

So when we moved back to Maine and chose to live in the country far away from the morons? When we picked a house where you can barely see your neighbors?

 

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Anyway….

Life was good. Until a dumb ass neighbor moved in to the house behind us.

Have you ever Google Earthed yourself?

This is a shot of our place.

 

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With a giant blue dot for what must have been me with my laptop out on the deck.

We own a smidge over 3 acres and as you can see, mow most of it. Our property line ends a few dozen feet into the woods and the adjoining property runs down to the river. Sadly, it was all one massive piece 2 years before we moved here. Wish we had found it before it was split up… but if wishes came true? I’d be 5’9″, 120 lbs and have a summer home in Tuscany.

The previous owners of our home lived here for 2 years while they built a larger house on the water. They were great…. but moved away after 10 years. Now we have a college frat boy/trust fund baby whose daddy bought him the house (for $750,000), gave him a prosperous business, which he then sold for a fortune and “retired” at 35. He spends all his time playing with numerous expensive toys and traveling on daddy’s dime. Must be nice.

But the reason for this bitchy post?

One of his toys is a giant motor home….. that he parks on the outermost limit of his property so he won’t have to see the damn thing.

 

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That’s us in blue, with our little 3 acres. We own a narrow patch of the woods past the fields….. his house is on the upper left of the picture.

He had all that wooded land in between….

 

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But he parked the stupid thing 2 inches from our property line.

 

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You can’t pick your neighbors… but you can certainly waste 478 words bitching about them.