Parts is parts

I’m heaving a massive sigh of relief, emphasis on the heaving, after spending a long weekend with my crazy, cat-loving Great-Aunt Gertrude. So glad we do this only once a year! Trudi, as she’s called by her closest personal friends (i.e. what she calls herself) is a kind and gentle soul, an animal lover and only child who tells hilarious stories about her childhood, wears dramatically mis-applied make-up, and can make even the dullest of events memorable, but not always in a good way. Her love for animals doesn’t diminish her craving for their flesh, which has led to some meals that I’ll simply refer to as unfortunate and regretful as I try to re-introduce real food to my system.

See, the problem is, the older Gertrude gets, the stranger her meat-replacements are becoming. On our first evening together she proudly set down what appeared to be a cheese-topped casserole. I hoped it was macaroni, and bravely took a bite. The texture, the flavor, the immediate unwillingness to swallow—I couldn’t even wait until she turned her head to make use of my napkin. “What are we eating?” I gasped, reaching for a water glass.


















“Tender bits,” she said brightly.

“Of what?” I asked, then quickly said, “Never mind!” because I truly didn’t want to know, remembering where I was. And when I saw the can in the garbage as I was helping clean up, I pushed it down as far as possible so as to resist the temptation to read the ingredient list.

On the second night things seemed initially more promising. Dinner seemed to consist of some breaded meat patties, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable. But this was clearly impossible; if you knew Gertrude, you’d realize that she’d never eat anything so pedestrian. I started picking at my potatoes and vegetable, hoping for the best. “Don’t forget to finish your choplets, or you won’t get dessert,” Trudi said curtly. “Clean plate club.”


















But I refrained from club membership and didn’t get any tofu pie that night. Aww.

For our final meal together I begged her to let me take her to a restaurant. “My treat!” I said, hungrily, unable to face another canned meat substitute. “Anywhere you like!” But she wanted none of it; she’d planned something special and couldn’t be dissuaded.

She spent the afternoon in the kitchen, humming loudly amidst the sound of the electric can opener, ignoring the smoke alarm’s repeated bleats. Later she came out of the kitchen a little unsteadily, bearing a large, steaming platter. All her cats came near the table and meowed demandingly. I kept trying to slip them parts of my meal under the table, but Trudi got all hawk-eyed on me and finally said, “If you don’t want the hostess cuts, fine, but don’t give it to the cats. It gives them the runs.”

Turns out I didn’t want the hostess cuts. In fact, I spent about an hour afterwards in the bathroom trying to brush that hostess cut flavor out of my mouth, while Gertrude prepared me a little doggie bag of leftovers to bring home to better half, along with her love. Even the raccoons won’t touch it.

When it gets too familiar I'll be gone

And the world gives a collective sigh, sucks it up and returns to business as usual, which is particularly cruel during a cold snap, right? Believe it: this week is one of the most-complained-about in the year, with statistics showing a record-breaking number of people faking sick yesterday simply because they couldn’t bear the idea of going back yet. Getting up extra early to scrap ice and snow off the windshield, then head off to workland doesn’t even begin to compare with the wondrous extra hours of sleep and leisure many of us were just starting to get used to before they were cruelly yanked away and replaced with—well, whatever you want to call it, it’s not fun. Little wonder this is one of the most popular times of year to contemplate, if not actually enjoy, an escape, preferably of the tropical and luxuriant variety.

And although my budget this year couldn’t absorb much beyond a glass of wine and a few hours spent messing around with Google Earth, I’m enjoying padding around the house in my new Silver Travel Trailer slippers as I wish I could really Airstream my way outta here.

You're the top

Our family has never been the type to do anything conventionally or to play by rules. Don’t get me wrong—we’re not completely outside the realm of what’s considered normal—it’s just that we’re never quite solidly in normal’s court either. I cannot remember a single holiday where our tree had anything as traditional as a star, or even anything lit-up, as its focal point.

And last year’s post-holiday clean up was also pretty typical: I’ve got this habit of putting various personal belongings in plastic bags and dropping them off at Goodwill as a lazy woman’s method of housecleaning/hoard-resistance. Then I waste many subsequent hours wondering where these things are.


















Result: an additional holiday decorating issue arose the other day: we need a new Christmas tree topper. (Not really, I thought, but better half trods a more well-worn path and was insistent). So, we went to the closest Kmart and had at it, giving up at least ten minutes of hard-earned free time. I voted for this cthulu holiday decorations topper. It incorporates both red and green and works on any sized tree. My vote was overridden, though, and I was not surprised.


















Better half lobbied vigorously for this topper with Spock. Yeah, I had to agree, the Vulcan salute with its “live long and prosper” aftermath, is a perfectly sound sentiment for this time of year, but I just couldn’t feel the love. I was ready for a tiebreaker and/or an immediate trip back home.

A few sulky moments ensued, but then we both found this lighted rock ice triple candle topper right in the check-out aisle, and—really, need I say anything else? It was just over the top enough. One of my coolest friends saw it and gasped, “Good gaudy, Miss Maudie!” and I knew I’d hold on to this baby for at least a few more years.

After the boys of summer are gone

It’s almost winter, and you’ve probably been enjoying the first few airings of your warm-weather wardrobe. Kind of nice to wear long sleeves again, to need a jacket when stepping outside, walking briskly in order to generate enough body heat to stay comfy-cozy after all those months of heat and humidity. It’s always refreshing at first, kind of like that initial snowfall.

You might be tempted to believe that your best friend, the dog, would also enjoy an extra layer or two. But unless you live in an extremely cold climate and have one of those really frou-frou ultra-sensitive lap-dogs, you can probably reconsider. Don’t forget, someone’s wearing a coat 24/7 and it works better than yours.











Jasper, our product model, is not only uncomfortable in his sweater, he’s somewhat emasculated by its hint of lavender, as well as the subtle touch of argyle. He’s smiling only because we’re holding a large morsel of food in the air. Yes, of course, we gave it to him. He deserved it after this modeling session.










And although he’s slightly more at ease in the laid-back hoodie, he’d still prefer canine nudity, as would virtually every dog. This time we picked up a stick and pretended we were about to throw it, but as soon as the picture was taken, Jasper was rolling around in the grass, trying to remove this article of clothing.










For some reason, maybe because they’re used to collars, dogs don’t seem to mind a bit of jaunty neckwear quite so much. Pepper enjoyed this handsome scarf both as an accessory and a chew toy, and he was the star of the dog park that day. Still, he made it patently clear that if given a choice he'd never wear it again.

You can look, but you better not touch

Now that Thanksgiving’s over we’ve all taken the dreaded plunge into holiday season, which means the seasonable, yet unreasonable, requests have already been pouring in. Could I bring something to the office party, the church bake sale, the kids’ celebration at school, the “get over here and buy a candle” event that my boss forces us all to attend, the neighborhood pot-luck, and the get-together my reading club thinks I’ll be attending? Absolutely not – what do I look like, Suzy Homemaker over here? Aren’t I going to have enough hassle just getting a few basic decorations in place and maybe a present or two purchased for immediate family members without also having to feed the hungry holiday crowd? Besides, I’m kind of in an enforced period of cutting back on pretty much everything, which means providing party trays and large amounts of sweets and baked goods just isn’t going to be feasible.

However, since I like to at least appear to be participating, I purchased a few party trays featuring incredible inedibles. As I rush in with my (chilled and Saran-wrapped) plates, I’ll look like I was busily cutting cheese and vegetables, and folding meat with the best of ‘em. Then I’ll beat a hasty retreat, hoping no one really noticed who brought what, because these trays don’t contain real food. The good thing is, they’re expensive and realistic, so with a little dusting off I should be able to pawn these off on well-meaning holiday party attendees for years to come; I’m considering them investment pieces. And, as is the case with my foody erasers, I fully expect to find teeth marks on at least one or two items, which I shall chisel off before next year.

The real skinny on water

I had a job interview today, and when I got there my voice apparently sounded a little hoarse to the receptionist. It was probably only anxiety on my part, but she seemed to be a sweet old lady, and asked if I’d like something to drink. “Just water, thank you,” I replied, and a few minutes later she handed me what appeared to be a juice box.

Without thinking, I took a swig. And time stood still. My eyes bulged at the effort of swallowing, while my throat demanded an immediate and quite forceful ejection of its contents, which it took almost superhuman efforts to override. Meanwhile, I could feel a warm viscosity seeming to coat my entire esophageal tract. Once I stopped sputtering and gagging, I read the label on my juice box. What had I just done to myself? I’d ingested some honey-consistency lemon-flavored thickened water, that’s what I’d done. It claims to have a true water taste that you’ll enjoy, but that’s only if you like your water roughly the consistency of nearly-gelled Jello, with a touch of lemon—which believe me, only adds to the thickness, somehow. I kept expecting to spit out pulp, or something…maybe an alien baby. Product is also available in nectar consistency, but what that means will have to remain a mystery; I’ll never be trying any.

Don’t think I’ll get the job, either. I couldn’t stop doing this involuntary shuddering and making little scraping movements with my teeth, trying to get my tongue from feeling as though its thickened water coating was permanent, a sensation I’m still trying to shake. Next time I’ll be sure to ask for the unflavored, water-consistency water.

I wear my sunglasses at night

Ad copy for these fabulous spy gear spy vision glasses states that they’re immensely popular because kids expect the same results they see on-screen. Well, duh, don’t we all? Then, unlike the formula used in most advertisements, the honesty factor is suddenly upped: the cool looking (not seen here) techno-pack “actually just holds batteries.” Whoa. And then: “Don’t expect much.” Almost makes you want to reconsider the purchase, doesn’t it? As if that’s not enough, the next sentence delivers what should be the kiss of death: we’re informed that the glasses “are useless for deflecting UV rays, exploring underwater, or—not so surprising—penetrating darkness.” What the hell is going on here? Why are we being told these...facts? Does someone not understand the way product advertising is supposed to work? Where's the hype, the lies, the exaggeration? And yet, such blatant honesty must be working, because there are only a few left in stock. Frankly, we’re refreshed, yet confused...and that’s a sensation not frequently experienced, so bonus points have been awarded.

Nothing but Star Wars, give me those Star Wars

Yeah, you grew up a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean every facet of your life has to bear the dull and stodgy stamp of adulthood, does it? Break free from the pack, thrill your inner child and impress a few of your neighbors when you take out your trash then proudly lid it with the Star Wars Battle Droid Bucket Topper. “Hey, mine didn’t come with one of those!” they’ll be thinking, trying in vain to recall their garbage can purchasing experiences. The kids also might be a little more likely to participate in trash night when you show them how well the lid doubles as a shield, although they’ll probably just stare at you and remind you that Star Wars isn’t cool any more and hasn’t been for about a generation. And yet, there are those of you occupying a certain demographic—we know who you are, and that there’s a bit of expendable income lurking in there—and for you this product is a must-have and will probably inhabit a room filled with similar products, lonely boyhood dreams, and kind of a weird smell. We’re happily prepared to take full advantage of that.

And when I'm itchy, I scratch

Why use what looks like a little plastic hand or a wooden forklike object to scratch your back when you can enjoy the company of a cactus buddy? His googly eyes and snazzy color-coordinated gear make him capable of becoming a true companion (the best kind…soothing, stylish and silent). Plus he makes you feel truly mind-blowingly fantastic; his bristles have a texture your back is unknowingly crying out for, and when you experience that first wonderful moment of contact with him you’ll want him to be one of your best buddies forever. (cut to close-up of adorable child lisping, “I love you, cactus buddy.”)

Why I'm recession-proof

When I tell people I’m worried about my financial situation, I’m really just saying that to make them feel more at ease—commiseration is one of my strong points. Truth be told, I’m completely unburdened by any monetary worries because since about fifth grade I’ve been the proud owner of a magic money card. I thought they’d been taken off the market in the late ‘70s, but I stand corrected. (I should’ve known; I’m rarely one of the lucky few, but frequently one of the arbitrary many.)

For a very reasonable price you can now receive two of them (why do we always need the extra?). On the reverse, you may find the imprint of what appears to be a regular playing card—tell people to ignore that side. You are not carrying around a three of hearts; it’s a magic money card whose most important aspect is the infinity rainbow logo, which keeps that positive cash flowing with a groovy, never-ending vibe. At least that’s what I was told when I purchased mine.

Rose, Inc.

A rose is a rose is…some black and gray goose feathers, in this instance. It’s also a tickler. The ad copy additionally states that it’s very ticklish, but divulging that weakness was a mistake, so don’t try anything. The rose tickles you; you do not tickle the rose.

Its manufacturers assure potential purchasers that this is the simulation of a rosebud before it blooms, as opposed to being one of those post-bloom rosebuds. Best of all, they admit that black roses do not exist in nature, yet claim that black roses are incorporated in the literary realm as well as the real world. It’s always that way once you become a business entity. Unlike regular roses, those that have incorporated truly do exist in the real world even if not in nature; it’s a special loophole of incorporation laws that’s fallen into disuse of late.

Don't do me like that

No! Not the party collar with the jingle bells! Can’t you sense the unhappiness?




















And although the plaid bell Xmas collar is moderately more comfortable, the pomposity factor alone causes hours of social anxiety, not to mention cruel peer jokes that are difficult to overlook, even by the most forgiving.

Then there’s just downright unforgivable. You know what your poor pooch doesn’t want for Christmas? Clothes! Not even the festive Christmas piddle pants. Be good, for goodness’ sake. This is good's evil twin.

It must have been the mistletoe

“Mmm…check out those ornaments!” If you don’t recognize the voice, you’re probably standing under the nasty mistletoe. As crude as your least-favorite co-worker, it spouts eight phrases, including, “Whoo…I’d need a lot of eggnog to go home with you,” and “C’mon, it’s Christmas…is that all you’ve got to give?” Inappropriately present at office parties, nursing homes and hospitals throughout the country, nasty mistletoe adds awkward moments and insulted by a plant to the list of things you’re getting this Christmas.

Get me to the church on time

He’s not here! In fact, I think he’s out playing golf with some of his buddies, and screwing up the best and most important day in my life. 99% of my energy for the past six months has gone into organizing this wedding and daydreaming about what it’s going to be like, and let me tell you what: standing here next to these giant balls isn’t the way it was supposed to go at all. I am one exasperated bride.


















But if I have to take things into my own hands, I will, buster. This is my special day, and no one’s going to take that away from me. If you value your health, you’ll stand up like a man right now, and get in that church so I can walk down the aisle properly. Don’t make me drag you, because I’ll do it.

And after the reception, I plan on giving you the ass-kicking of a lifetime. Do not exasperate a bride!

Either/or

The très femme tampon or cigar case…because if it isn’t one thing, it’s another. There are tampon days, and then there are cigar days, but for most of us, the twain shall never meet, or the overlap is very infrequent. Besides, as the ad copy indisputably verifies: tampon and cigar holders have never been so beautiful, so elegant. Having never before encountered a device designed for both tampons and cigars, we’ll simply agree without making any Monica Lewinsky jokes.

Gnarly, dude

Life’s so fast-paced and demanding, it’s incredible that we all accomplish as much as we do. Give yourself a pat on the back. Staying on top of everything 100% of the time is an impossibility; something’s got to give, and every once in a while that something is hygiene.

No finger pointing or name calling, because you know it’s happened to you at least once—that day when you've had to go out in public knowing you’re not at the top of your game, or worse, quite near the bottom of your barrel. Try to maintain as much space as possible between your body and everyone else’s on these occasions. And hide that unwashed hair with the Quiksilver greasy flexfit hat. Yep, it comes pre-greased to hide your shame. Some companies think of everything.

Ground control

It’s hard to go out cruising in our scary postmodern world. You have to deal with gas prices, all the crazies out there, and the fact that it’s hard to impress anyone now that practically everyone's driving one of those pimped out vehicles. You’ll probably have much better luck when you hit the streets in your Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank.

Check it out at night. This baby can be driven from a seated or standing position, fully envelops five in an interior that’s cozily lit and decoratively carpeted, has a premium sound system, and a centrifugal clutch. Then there’s the external rust patina—better call Maaco right now, because next year this color’s going to be impossible to obtain. Oh, right…not licensed for use on public roads, and the whopping price tag does not include shipping and handling. It’s going to take a lot of handling to get this to your place. On the other hand, it could become your place with just a few minor alterations.

It's a safe bet

Did you not win the lottery again this year? Or are you considering a trip to Vegas, or to another fun-filled casino mecca? Possibly you owe way too much money to OTB, or just can’t get past that online poker addiction. Whatever your situation, you’re probably thinking that you’ve not been getting enough return on your wagers lately. And you’re right.

Do you want to know what it is that the winners have that you don’t? It’s not skill, a better hand, more money in the first place, or kismet. They’re not relying upon an article of clothing, like a lucky hat, socks or underwear, or any kind of fortune-inducing talisman. What really works is gambler’s lucky soap. That’s right, the deep-down secret to successful betting is cleaning oneself in a manner which produces a sheen of lustrous luckiness in every pore.

Then just dab a little Haitian gambler oil on your luckiest body part, and you’re good to go. With an edge like this, you can stake your fortune on just about anything with assurance. You betcha.

Schwag bags

Every so often it’s a good idea to refresh your supply of plastic bags filled with small things you may or may not ever use, because sooner or later you’ll be relocating, and when that momentous occasion occurs it’s up to you, and only you, to make sure you’ve got lots of stuff. With Old Smokey Electric Smoker Replacement Wood Chips & Grease Absorbents you get two big goodie bags all a-brim with purpose and fortitude. You get both the baggie of wood chips and the baggie of



















cat litter for one low and extremely reasonable price. Order before midnight on Tuesday and we’ll throw in a medium-sized bag of unused Kleenex and a week’s worth of rubber bands at no extra charge. Hand-selected by a carefully trained staff of professionals, Old Smokey schwag is some of the best stuff out there.

We're all wasted

Expand your carbon footprint by purchasing a cup holder for your juice box, bag or can, which was already doing a relatively okay job of containing that corn syrup and dye. It even comes with an extra straw, which you can insert inside the straw that came with the juice container for even more landfill points. When you’re finished, throw everything away. You probably also use paper plates, wastrel. How about avoiding the middleman and just pouring some juice in a cup? Or, conversely, try going somewhere without a beverage in hand. Just once.