I started this post last week when bad news was flooding the airwaves, and my audiobook took a teary turn while I was out running errands. I busied myself writing a check in the parking lot of Target in an effort to pull myself together after all the sadness tugging at my heart that day.
I decided this week called for silly. So without further ado, here are some of the ridiculous things taking up space in stores.
I vote this the best fragrance name ever:
Good news! The chocolate drink everyone thinks is gross is now a candy bar:
Better idea–take a treat that’s shelf-stable for all of eternity and dip it in chocolate. Who’s in?
Somehow I feel like this would cause my muffin top to rise to mahboobehs. I’d have a double row of chesticles. I could market the bra needed for such a look and possibly make a small fortune. Selling them all to myself. I’m not sure if that’s how merchandising works.
Every time I saw this, I thought it was some really cheap imitation Tweety Bird that you might buy on the streets of NYC, between the bootleg movies and fake Kate Spade bags. I just couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Then my daughter finally pointed out recently that they’re emojis. Why, Pez? Why?
Saw this little lady cruising down the highways of Texas:
I wonder if she was wearing these with the pedal to the metal:
I wonder if she was headed here:
Birthday cake flavor? Yes, please!
But you, Oreo. You just need to simmer down now. Step away from the Fruity Pebbles or I’ll send Fred and Barney after you:
Last but not least, this gem my friend B found while she was out shopping. Not sure if she’s meant to sit atop the cupboards pouring you a cuppa joe from on high or if she lurks under the hostas out front serving up a caffeinated cocktail for the plants, but she wins for most bizarre this go ’round:
Seen anything noteworthy while YOU were out shopping lately?
I remember loving parades as a kid. We were lucky enough to live on the parade route in our tiny town, so we could watch from our front steps or meander next door for a front-row view of the festivities.
You knew the parade was near when the bass drums felt as if they’d landed directly in the center of your chest.
There were gleaming firetrucks blasting their sirens, baton twirlers* in their perky skirts and crisp, white tasseled boots, the bands playing their hearts out in uniforms that were surely as breathable as trash bags. Kids proudly decked out their Schwinns in red, white and blue crepe paper, weaving it through their spokes, streaming it from their handles and sissy bars, pedaling with worn Keds and scraped knees, and not a helmet in sight.
Sometimes there was even a beauty queen perched atop the backseat of a luxury convertible doing her very best queen’s wave for the crowd–elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. She certainly looked like a queen to us.
The biggest treat of all, though? When one of those vehicles had a stash of candy on board to throw to the children in the crowd. Tootsie Rolls, Fireballs, and those lollipops on the flexible, loopy stick.
What I now refer to as street candy.
Kids today show up to parades toting bags, buckets, and cups as receptacles for these curbside confections. God forbid you have passive kids like mine, who wouldn’t dream of pouncing on freshly tossed candy that is directly in front of them (and is clearly theirs by street candy rules).
[Sidebar: Mine also got the fewest Easter eggs at a hunt for the same reason. I may or may not have wanted to trip a few aggressive kids at such events.]
Now that they’re older, they’re a little more likely to get out there and grab their fair share, though I admit it’s sometimes with prodding.
These days, prime parade watching real estate is staked out well in advance and marked with the presence of a folding chair. If you want to score some street candy, get there early and know your parade route. Also, know your providers. Scouts almost always have a stash, and the younger ones tend to release fistfuls early and often. The older ones try to time it out so everyone on the route benefits.
We have one parade in town where the candy not only flows freely, but also the local supermarket (Wegmans) has employees on foot passing out samples of one yummy treat or another. One year it was mini Luna bars.
My favorite part of parades as an adult:
My least favorite:
I also enjoy a bit of street candy as an adult. Though I’ll admit, I sat and thought about this concept at one particularly lucrative parade. Would the Queen Mum approve of street candy? Would Martha Stewart encourage kids to dash onto the dirty, hot asphalt in pursuit of a sweet treat? I’m thinking not. But I guess it’s a rite of passage in this country. And who can say no to a Tootsie Roll?
*I always secretly wish the batons were on fire for added effect, but I’m sure that violates safety laws or something. Psssh. Safety schmafety. Aren’t they there to entertain us?
Except there’s not really any cake, and the flavors are not vanilla and chocolate. They’re introvert and extrovert. Which aren’t actually flavors at all. It was the best analogy I could come up with on the fly. My love of cake may or may not have played a big part in selecting this particular comparison.
My friend the self-described introvert sometimes attempts to explain what it’s like to be one (Hey, B!), so that others might have a better understanding of their thought process and actions. Or lack of actions. When I read or watch these, I often see a wee bit of myself in these things. This clever bunch of comics is a great example (sorry if you don’t have Facebook):
I have mostly extroverted tendencies, but I definitely display some of the introverted behaviors as well. So I’m kinda like a marble cake.
Minus the cake part.
And instead of vanilla and chocolate swirls, I’m extrovert swirled with introvert.
I enjoy chatting very much. I just sometimes prefer to conduct my chats on the phone. That way you can dispense with the whole “what do I do with my arms and hands if we’re standing while talking?” Your arms and hands become these awkward dangling appendages while you’re chatting, and I can never quite figure out what to do with them.
Stuff them in a pocket?
Find an object to hold?
Then there are your eyes to consider. Do you look directly into their eyes while conversing? There’s nothing worse than chatting with someone who is gazing over your head directly at the crease where the wall meets the ceiling.
Or staring at your collar bone.
So I guess the eyes are a socially acceptable location to situate your gaze.
Except then there’s this whole balance to strike between thoughtful listening eye contact and full-on “first-one-to-blink-loses” staring contest. I mean, even dogs take it as a direct threat when you lock eyes with them. So you could peer earnestly into their eyes and then glance down at your floundering limbs now and again to see what they’re up to. That might be a nice way to break the stare.
You could also employ the news reporter’s trick of the occasional well-timed downward gaze to the ground beside your feet while thoughtfully considering a point you’re making. Seems to work for David Muir. I suspect he stole that smooth move from Peter Jennings back in the day, as I recall seeing it from him years ago. It’s even trickled down to local reporters at this point.
Now you’ll be watching for it when they cut over to the on-scene news reporter. I know I do. It’s the perfect activity to partake in while enjoying some cake.
I had a great time attending my nephew’s wedding this past weekend. It was deep in the heart of Texas, and took three flights to get there, but it was totally worth seeing these two smitten kittens tie the knot. He’d been to hell and back after fighting an epic health battle in his late teens, so this was particularly joyful for all in attendance. He’s a soft-spoken, gentle warrior, and it was nothing short of thrilling to see him blissfully embrace his new bride and life as a married man.
It was good to hang out with friends and relatives I don’t see often, meet some people I’ve heard about but had never met, and share some good laughs with both. It was nice to have a weekend away.
I figured since I was in the Lone Star State, I’d seize the opportunity to don some Palinesque specs and go target shooting at a gun range, which was quite an experience. If that wasn’t actually scribbled on my life list, I’ll add it now and cross it off, because I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.
Sadly, I did not get to see any Longhorns roaming the range, but that leaves a reason to go back, right?
I got schooled in cosmetic contouring watching the contestants of RuPaul’s Drag Race belly up to the mirror to beat their faces (apply makeup). Sometimes a dude’s gotta create some serious illusions to transform himself into a (drop-dead) gorgeous queen.
I don’t know if the queens taught the Kardashians the craft, but whatever set this crazy train in motion, the whole contouring thing has gone far beyond the confines of drag and “reality” shows. People have straight up gone makeup and contour cray cray.
I saw a video about contouring cleavage, which was not news to me, because drag queens do this to create the illusion of bazooms. I didn’t think it was too far fetched for women to enhance their look in the same way.
No big deal, right? Women have been enhancing their assets since tween days of bra stuffing.
As adults, women have swapped wadded-up tissues for silicone chicken cutlets. More permanent (read: surgical) enhancements can sometimes look like a big ol’ Hostess Snowball landed in your water bra.
[SIDEBAR: Are those still a thing? I mean the water bras. Not the Snowballs. Because OMG SNOWBALLS.]
Next up in crazy makeup land was contouring fake six-pack abs. I’m lucky to find a swimsuit that’s shrouds my baby-birthin’ belleh. I say if you can rock a bikini, sweetie, there’s no need to draw fake muscles to go with it. Seriously. Everyone’s looking at your Sno Balls anyway.
Today I saw foot countouring on the Interwebs.
WOMEN ARE CONTOURING THEIR FEET.
WHY? According to this post on Instagram, we now need to prep our feet to display in strappy summer sandals. What? C’mon. Maybe hit those cracked heels with your Pedi Egg and throw on a little polish. That’s good enough to be pool ready. There’s just no need for muscular (or is it boney we’re going for?) flippers.
Before you know it, we’ll be talking about contouring butt cleave and making videos on proper Vagtouring techniques.
OMG! Butt contouring IS a thing!. LiveGlam’s foot contouring article linked to it.
Please. For the sake of humanity, let’s save the last body part that hasn’t been contoured from this insanity.
Just say not to Vagtouring, ladies.
Maybe let’s contour our grey matter with a good book, yes? Pair it with some tea and a tasty snack.
Who’s hungry for Sno Balls?*
*Hint: I am.