I Do Things So You Don’t Have To

Is there life on Mars?

Chicken person came from here

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Poor Dave. But he had his chance.

Two years ago, when I first started this blog, my second post was about visiting a nude beach. Dave was concerned that his family might read it and asked me to write something else. My response was to burst into tears and sob, “If I can’t blog about nudity, I can’t blog about ANYthing.” So he gave in.

He’s been regretting it ever since.

Unlike those nice bloggers who kindly disguise their husband’s name, I put it right out there: DAVE. You could probably Google “JD’s husband Dave” and figure out his identity. (Wait! Let me try it . . . eh. No.)

Dave has provided a lot of delicious blog fodder. I’ve shared with you the story of his weird choking allergy, how he rudely ate half a donut, his inexplicable Pie Rage, his preference for cheap ice cream, his refusal to say “Bless you” after I sneeze. And, yes. I’ve even shown you his snail.

So today’s post about embarrassing Dave centers around his recent statement:

I just want to hold the Gilligan’s Island DVD in my hands.

Men, if you’re married to a blogger, be careful about making such statements.

To fulfill Dave’s dream, we went to Half-Price Bookstore, where I snapped up some cheap books and Dave spent an unseemly amount of time agonizing over Season 2 or Season 3 of Gilligan’s Island. He had visited the bookstore previously but came home empty-handed. This time, however, after holding it in his hands, he purchased Season 2.

Once home, we parted ways for the evening. He to nap downstairs and me to ignore the growing pile of half-price books on my shelf to watch Real Housewives of New Jersey.

“Are you going to watch Gilligan’s Island?”

“No, I want to be alert.”

Later, I joined him for a few minutes of Gilligan-Fest. It was the one where the native family wants Gilligan to marry their ugly daughter. Boy, that Skipper really overacts. This isn’t vaudeville, Alan Hale Jr. Why did I ever have a crush on the Professor? OK, Ginger really IS sexier than Mary Ann. Mr. Howell: kind of hot?

I could only take about 5 minutes. Gilligan’s Island has not stood the test of time for me. But Dave enjoyed watching several episodes in a row.

The next morning he delivered a monologue on one of the episodes:

It was the one where there was a space probe headed for Mars and it accidentally lands on the island and Gilligan left open the pot of glue and everyone got all covered in glue and then they ran into the supply hut and got covered in feathers and mission control saw these people running around covered in feathers and thought they’d discovered the Chicken People of Mars.

I stared at him for about three seconds, then turned to my laptop.

Oh, Dave. How I love you. You and your delicious blog fodder.

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• Which of your childhood TV shows have stood the test of time?
• Who else *hearts* Dave for being such a good sport?
• Chicken People live among us!
  

That looks like a large pair of knickers

Pickle came from here

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Of course I do NOT!

But some people have to. Wash themselves with a rag on a stick, I mean. And it’s not polite to laugh. In front of them.

The whole rag on a stick phenomenon began as simple cartoony fun on a Simpsons episode. Imagine my amused horror when this concept became a frightful reality.

Homies, may I present:

The Comfort Wipe (formerly Rag on a Stick™)

This revolutionary product allows you to “easily reach with comfort.” Reach where? Oh, I think you know.

THERE.

Please read on:

For over a hundred years we’ve been using toilet tissues the same old way.

Toilet paper has been around for 100 years? Huh. And before that, what: corncobs? Regardless, who knew there was something OTHER than “the same old way” to use toilet paper?

The Comfort Wipe grabs and holds the toilet tissue in perfect positions so you can easily wipe yourself.

Oh. OK, but I have hands that can do that too.

When you’re done, just dispense the soiled tissue right in the toilet with the press of a button. It’s perfect for everyone, especially if you have trouble easily reaching because of physical limitations. Now you’ll never have to touch a dirty toilet tissue!

OK, physical limitations aside, just what do these people think we’ve been doing with our toilet paper? I don’t know about you, but one of the first things I learned as a toilet-trained toddler was how NOT to hold the toilet paper. Is anyone out there actually holding the dirty part? You’re doing it wrong!

Comfort Wipe extends your reach a full 18″ while the anatomical design follows the contours of your body for perfect cleaning.

Just how does Comfort Wipe know the contours of my body? Does it come with a special attachment for the large-butted woman? I’m just sayin’. All butts are different.

Look, I’m sure this product would be helpful to people with physical limitations or those who don’t understand the concept of NOT holding the dirty part of the toilet paper, but otherwise . . . there are way better other products on a stick out there:

• Wigs on Sticks! Finally! A true hair band.
  
• Fair Food on a Stick! All kinds of weird and wacky foods that just taste better on a stick.
  
• JD’s Head on a Stick! It’s my very own head! On a stick! Set to music! (Kathy made this; you’ll have to ask her why.)
• Adults Only! I hope you know I’m not above Googling “dick on a stick.”

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• What’s YOUR favorite _____ on a stick?
• Do you prefer Comfort Wipe or Rag on a Stick?
• Would you buy a JD Head on a Stick?
  

My name was not always Sardonicus,
and I did not always wear a mask.

Oh, boy. It isn’t often I have insomnia, and it’s even less often that there’s something good on TV when I do. The other night I caught Mr. Sardonicus on MeTV. A classic Gothic horror flick, Mr. Sardonicus features slow-building psychological terror and creepy scary stuff like graves and fog and vague Eastern European accents. Brrrr! Despite the lack of sleep, I’ve been smiling ever since.

In a nutshell: A humble peasant guy (soon to be known as Mr. Sardonicus) digs up his father’s grave to retrieve a winning lottery ticket. The sight of his father’s horrifying corpse-face (flesh pulled back to create a seeming grimace) causes him first to scream like a little girl and second to develop a similar frozen grimace . . .

The dude can’t stop smiling.

A fright-masked Mr. S. summons a doctor to his castle in Gorslava (nice!), where we find a deformed man-servant, a frigid wife, and possibly fake leeches. The doctor first tries applications of heat and massage to rid Mr. S. of his horrifying grin, but when that doesn’t work, he’s forced to try an experimental cure—strychninus toxicus (doesn’t sound too poisonous, does it?) It works . . . a little too well. The doctor and wife run off together, leaving Mr. Sardonicus to his fate.

And what is his fate? Ah, that’s up to the viewer . . . sort of. For the theatrical release, director William Castle passed out “Punishment Poll” cards to audience members. In the movie, he pops up before the final scene to remind everyone to hold up their card: thumbs up if the villain is to receive mercy or thumbs down for no mercy. Of course there was only one ending filmed, and you can rest assured Mr. Castle knew his audience.

So what’s so bad about a perma-smile?

Um . . . this?

Why so serious?

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HAHAHAHAHAHA! OK, not that horrifying, right? But bear in mind, this movie was made in 1961. What if they remade Mr. Sardonicus, using modern special effects and CGI? Maybe the villain would be a woman. Yeah. Mrs. Sardonicus. A woman so vain, so obsessed with trying to be funny that . . .

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

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• Watch the trailer here
• Watch some scenes, including the horrifying REVEAL (and leeches) here
• Buy your own Mr. Sardonicus doll . . . er, model . . . here

So? What’s your verdict? Thumbs up or down?

By speaking, I mean reading. And by reading, I mean puking.

Who wants to come and watch me puke?

It all started as a harmless joke. Junk Drawer Kathy sent me the link from BlogHer asking for bloggers to submit a favorite post. The chosen posts would be read by their authors at the Community Keynote on Friday, July 24, of the BlogHer Convention. We laughed about how if either of us had to actually stand in front of people and talk, we’d puke, have a panic attack, or die. Or all three. Kathy urged me to submit a post, so, jokingly, I did.

And . . . OH MY ZOD! They picked me! What do I do? I guess I show up and read my damn post. It’ll be terrifying but fun. I’ll have to sleep on rollers for a week and lose 50 pounds in about a month. My mom’s advice: “Buy a nice dress. And not on ebay.” But what if I puke on it? Oh, come on now. I haven’t puked in public in months. It’ll be fine.

Seriously, I’m thrilled to be participating in the company of so many awesome bloggers. There are five categories—Epiphanies, Commentary, Family, Travel, and Humor—and four speakers for each category. Please check out my fellow Humor speakers:

• Wendi Aarons from Wendi Aarons
• Georgia Getz from I am Bossy
• Danielle Henderson from Knotty Yarn

Crap! I just peeked at their blogs. They are all funny.

Read the entire list of keynote speakers here

Are You Going to BlogHer?

Please come watch me puke—I mean, read. The Community Keynote starts at 5:00 on Friday.

Find me! Or tell me how to find you. The first ten people who come up to me and say, “You do things so I don’t have to” will be handed a FREE I Do Things sticker.

How will you know me? Oh, my darlings, have you not been paying attention? I’ll be the one with the big butt, the snarly hair, the huge honker, the scarred foot, the curvy spine, the bulbous goiter, the missing tooth, the mutant tongue. I might be eating bacon. I will not, however, be nude.

Also, I’ll be carrying a tote bag with my Sleeping Cat logo and I’ll be with Kathy, whom you will all recognize by her fabulous hair and and the constant stream of hilarious snark coming out of her mouth. I may also have a giant novelty flower in my hair. I’ll let you know.

Can’t Make It to BlogHer?

I have a fun, play-at-home game for you. The post I’m reading? Is a secret. So . . . you get to guess. GUESS THE POST! That’s it! The first person to guess which post I’ll be reading at BlogHer will WIN an item of their choice from my I Do Things store. Please write the title of the post in your comment. I cannot accept vague descriptions like “That one where you’re naked.” The contest will end at midnight, Thursday the 23d. After BlogHer, I’ll announce the winner.

I’ll also post the video. I’ll be the one puking, and Kathy will be the one holding my hair.

Diet coke and a pizza, please

Giant cupcake comes from here

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You know those 100-calorie snack packs, right? They come in all kinds of shapes, flavors, and colors: from bright orange Cheetohs to pastel-pink cuppy cakes. It’s a great idea. Because each 100-calorie snack is packaged separately, you’re not tempted to gorge on a whole bag.

Please.

Does this approach really work on actual humans? Believe me, if I wanted more than 8 Goldfish crackers or 6 infant-sized Oreos, I would have absolutely no qualms about ripping open a second, third, fourth package. It’s just cellophane, people! Do you really feel that bad about taking another little bag from the ridiculously overpriced box of six and tearing it open?

I decided to give it a try and see if I could stop after only 100 calories.

Typically, I prefer my cupcakes to be the size of dinner platters. If they’re particularly good, I can stop at six. Unless there’s a ton of frosting. Then it’s eight.

TA DA!

Look! Instead of two normal cupcakes, you get three wee ones. And people, they are wee.

Observe:

Yeah, the cupcake really is that small (It is also that blurry. So is the penny. Shut up.)

Who can eat anything so small? It’s ridiculous. It’s a novelty cupcake. It doesn’t even deserve the name “cupcake.” Maybe “thimblecake” or “atomcake.”

After I get over the shock of the teeny tiny size, I’m assaulted by an overpowering strawberry aroma. Oof, it’s like Mr. Bubble, and yes, I do speak from vast experience. Geez! OK, it’s strawberry. I get it. No need to knock me unconscious. The label says “Cream Cheese Icing,” but this is a lie.

Theoretically, these cakelets can be eaten in two bites. This really only works if you’re imitating a prissy old lady  pretending to be having tea with other old ladies, where everyone is nibbling tea cakes with pursed lips and a delicate mincing of teeth. You know. Like, “Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Oh, my dear Harriet. These are really ever so delicious but I cannot possibly eat another morsel! 3 atoms of crumbs is all I’m allowed per day!”

I’m no delicate old lady, but I bit one in two here for the purpose of science:

What a joke. There’s barely enough in my mouth to chew. If you take one bite, be prepared to just swallow it whole, because how do you chew three crumblets? The other two I popped into my mouth as if they were gumballs.

They’re not bad, once you get over the smell. The creamy inside is rather pleasant, and the “frosting” isn’t even as hard and rigid as you find on your typical Hostess Cupcake.

The verdict? I am NOT tempted to rip open another package. Possibly because I paid almost four dollars (Dave! Stop reading!) for a box of these so-called cupcakes, but more likely because I’m saving my appetite for that giant cupcake at the top.

How many bites to finish off that one?

Yesterday morning, I published a post comparing photos of Kobe Bryant and Ed Grimley. The timestamp on my blog is messed up, but the post went up around 8AM Central Time. I shared the link on Facebook (note time):

LATER THAT DAY, eagle-eye reader absepa sent me this:

Wow. USA Today’s sports blog “Game On” posted something VERY similar to my Kobe-Grimley post here, a good two hours after my post went up.

Coincidence . . . or THIEVERY?

Eh, probably coincidence. But it could be thievery! And wouldn’t that be exciting? Either way, I saw it first. You guys will back me up, right?

I would greatly appreciate your support in publicizing this egregious . . . coincidence. PLEASE Digg, Stumble, Reddit this post. Send it to your local newspaper! Paper your neighborhood with flyers. Comment on the USA Today blog. I seek neither revenge nor remuneration, only recognition.

I SAW KOBE GRIMLEY FIRST!