Glass Ceiling Breaks As Women Across the World Stand Up!

Some products are revolutionary.  They actually change the way we live.  The television, for one.  Computers, for another.  Cell phones and refrigerators and motorcars.

This morning I found out about  a product that is so revolutionary it could actually change the balance of nature.    It mat finally lead to that glass ceiling being shattered.  It will change life as we all know it, and make the world a better place for our children and our children’s children.

Yes, it’s the GoGirl.    

Ladies, no more hovering over nasty toilets in dirty restrooms.  No more squatting on the side of the road on a long stretch of highway with no restroom in sight.  No more being forced to go back to the ski lodge, (one can’t risk ass frostbite, can one?), be forced to choose between quitting that marathon or peeing all over yourself.

No more dates trying to cop a look while you cop a squat.  And no more peeing on your jeans when your form isn’t juuuuuuuuuust right.

Now ladies, you can write your name in snow with the big boys.  You can stand next to them and mark your own territory as they mark theirs by peeing into the  Mississippi River on a drunken trip to New Orleans.

GoGirl lets you do all that!  It’s funnel-like shape with it’s patented spill-guard protection put you in charge of where you pee, not roadside gas station owners.

Sound odd to you?  Well, our Your-A-Pee-In sisters have been using similar devices for years.  It’s time we stood up with them, don’t you think?  And no, using it does not mean you need to let your armpit and leg hair grow.  Not if you  don’t want to!  And yes, you should keep waxing your mustache ( Really, no one wants to see that).

They’re affordable, at only $6.99 apiece or 3 for $18.99.  They’re disposable or reusable.  They’re pink, so they will be easy to see in your purse.

You can even enter their sweepstakes to win GoGirl apparel!  Or you can buy some youself.

We’ve all been looking for that special gift for the women in our lives, and now we’ve found it.  Don’t forget that the  holidays are just a few short months away!

Ohhhh, ladies.  I sense a shift in our world.   Men no longer have this important advantage!

Gee, I wonder how much they’d pay me to get a car wrap like that…

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I’ve heard of sharpies disappearing, but …

Just wanted to give a shout out to someone who recently visited my blog.

To whomever typed “sharpie in ass” in the search engine and found my blog, thanks for giving me a laugh.  And seriously, dude, just pull it out.

And since you were clever enough to get it up there in the first place, I think I also need to give you explicit directions to immediately toss it in the garbage.

And then go take a shower.

And watch where you sit.  Especially when naked.

See?  I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.  This was an accident, right?

D & A, remind you of something?

Remind Me To Never Go to Taipei…

From last year's birthday trip to Metrozoo, where his only interest was the restrooms...

Everyone who reads my blog knows that Son’s favorite thing is a restroom.  Ever since he was a baby he has been fascinated by toilets, and they day he discovered a urinal our whole lives changed.  He wanted to be a urinal for Halloween, and whenever you ask him what he wants for his birthday his answer is invariably “A restroom!”

One of last year's efforts. Today's are much more detailed.

Thank goodness he doesn’t  know about this restaurant in Taipei, the brainchild of someone who is obviously a kindred spirit to Son.  Or four years old.

“The servers bring your meal atop a mini toilet bowl (quite convenient, as it brings the food closer to your mouth), you sip drinks from your own plastic urinal (a souvenir), and soft-swirl ice cream arrives for dessert atop a dish shaped like a squat toilet.”

Seriously, who wants to eat food that looks like poop?  Out of a toilet bowl.  While sipping upon one. Here are some more photos, for those who appreciate my not  posting them directly.

I’m one that loves desserts.  But you can bet your ass that I’m not eating ice cream called “diarrhea with dried droppings” (chocolate), “bloody poop” (strawberry) and “green dysentery” (kiwi). But my, how Son would love it!

No, we’ll not be going to Taipei.  But if any of you go, would you please bring Son one of the souvenier urinal cups?  He’d be ever so grateful…

Saving Us From Those Troublemaking Hot Wheels

Today Son was very good at school (after a new trend of misbehavior), so I decided to really acknowledge said good  behavior in an attempt to show that listening and following rules was much more fun than the alternative. We did the hugs and kisses and calls to Daddy, and frequent discussion.  Earlier I had to return something at Target, so while there I allowed Son to choose a Hot Wheels car  (on sale for $.92, by the way).  This wasn’t a reward, per se, but to show that boys that behave have lots more fun.

After returning home we chose to take advantage of the gorgeous weather, so Son, Dog and I went for a walk around  our complex.  As we passed the pool I noticed a (relatively?) new sign posted by the entrance:

“Dogs?  Check.  Cats?  Check.  Skateboards and roller skates?  Check.  And don’t forget those damn toy cars!”

Why Hot Wheels? Are Matchbox cars allowed?  The Barbie Corvette?  What did Hot Wheels ever do to them?

Then I thought that perhaps the Association had become more hip than I, so I checked the Urban Dictionary to see if  “Hot Wheels” had a meaning other than die-cast metal toy cars.  There are apparently a few other meanings, but since I don’t think the Association would be banning hot girls in wheelchairs nor annoying paraplegics, I can’t think of anything they could mean besides these toys.

I’d love to hear your ideas, however creative, as to why they may have been banned.

i’m not even Mentioning the interesting Capitalization Choices.

Whoops.

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE!! IT’S GIRL SCOUT COOKIE TIME AGAIN!!!

“GOOD MORNING EVERYONE!! IT’S GIRL SCOUT COOKIE TIME AGAIN!!!”

That’s how the e-mail from my sister-in law started.

Girl Scout Cookie Time.  A time I anticipate yearly with both glee and dread.  Glee because those yummy Tagalongs and Thin Mints call out to me, and my taste buds are all a-twitter.

Dread because my ass doesn’t need them.  At all.

Still, in the spirit of supporting my wonderful niece I shall sacrifice my ass.

I can’t see it anyway.

You, Too, Can Buy a House in Florida for Under $20,000

I’ve already shared with you one of my favorite blogs – Cake Wrecks.  Wreckporters  scour their local supermarkets, and Flicker, looking for submissions.  I don’t know what it is about this area, but I’ve never seen a wreck in real life, except my godmother’s pile-of -poop-complete-with swarming-flies-wedding cake (oh yes, I wish I hadn’t packed away my photos in preparation for moving, don’t you?). It never ceases to make me laugh, and sometimes even guffaw.  Trust me, no one looks pretty when they guffaw.

A few weeks ago a friend turned me onto another site that has made it’s way into my reader.  It’s a similar type theme blog, but instead of Cake Wrecks it features house listing wrecks.   It’s Lovely!  I’ll Take It! posts listing photos that make you wonder at the  sanity – and commitment to selling – of the people who chose them as representations of their property.  I’ve seen things that no prospective home buyer should.

I was lucky enough to find a listing that was so vile for so many reasons (not the least of which is the nudie shot of the realtor on his website)  I had to submit it.  I’m happy but not surprised that they featured it today.

Go check it out, and while you’re there check out some of the archives.  And please, if you’re ever going to take photos of your bathroom in hopes of selling your house, please flush.

Holy Moly

This brought tears to my eyes.  I hope it does the same for you…

One Fart and It’s All Over

I know there’s a crisis in the housing industry. I know people bought waaay more house than they could afford, and as a result more people are foreclosing on their mortgages than are wiping their tushies. Almost.

And I’m all for simplifying one’s life. There is so much we don’t really need, and so much cluttering our lives. I love the idea of really paring things down and living a less stressful life.

But.

Short of a complete and total financial and societal breakdown (and even then I’d likely squat in bigger digs) there’s just no way I would live in one of these voluntarily. At least as long as I’m married and have a 4 year old son. And a doggie.

When Husband and I were first together he could not even sleep in my double bed – an antique handed down by my grandmother. It currently lives in pieces under our king tempurpedic-knockoff bed. Even now he feels crowded.

And he’s a loner at heart. He needs time to himself, and I make sure he gets it every day. There is no way he’d keep his sanity in such a small place. And his complaints would drive me insane, too.

Besides, one fart and it’s all over.

Cake Wrecks

Today I shall not wax poetic on the state of the economy, rehash the rhetoric of last night’s debate or even talk about Son, the best little man in the world.

Today I will simply share one of my new favorite blogs – one that never fails to make me smile, and sometimes guffaw. Which is not pretty.

Cake Wrecks.

Go forth and laugh.

And if any of you submit one of my cakes, please make sure you spell my name correctly.

Flatulent Felon Faces Further Felonies

Sometimes reading the news is a such a source of frustration that I must take a break from it’s onerous affect on my well being.

Today is not one of those days. This news isn’t onerous, it’s odorous.

Apparently it is against the law to pass gas in Charleston, West Virginia. Well, at least in the presence of a police officer. And if you are so unfortunate as to fart in front of a police officer, it is in your best interest not to fan it towards him or her, even if the fanning is meant as self-preservation, not assault.

Apparently in Charleston, West Virginia the prosecutors are so bored that they are stretching the definition of battery to include fluffy attack.

It’s a good thing it wasn’t an SBD, or they’d have to a heck of a time proving he was the, er, perp. They’d have to interrogate everybody present:

Prosecutor: Mr. Cruz, did you in fact fart in front of Patrolman Parsons?

Mr. Cruz: Wasn’t me!

Prosecutor: Mr. Cruz, Patrolman Parsons smelled it.

Mr. Cruz: Well, he who smelt it, dealt it!

Prosecutor: He who denied it, supplied it!

Okay, I’m done.

No! Wait…

I hope his sentence isn’t too harsh. Perhaps instead of Taps this will be played at his sentencing…

NOW I’m done.