For the Stylish Risk-taker in All of Us.

I bought a butane refill for a candle lighter this week, and saw this:

There are butane curling irons? Is this a common thing? Because I think filling something with flammable liquid and then using it on my head sounds like a terrible idea. However, when I mentioned it to my mom (who I'd previously thought to be under some sort of biological imperative to think really highly of me), she said that she used one for years when she was young and that I was just "being a punk."

I say that when she was young they still put lead in paint, so I'll just stick with my initial assessment about what does and doesn't sound like it could kill me.

A dubious honor, but still...

I've created a new game; it's called "Businessman Chicken."

Which, technically, in the name of equality, should probably be "Businessperson Chicken," but whatever.

It works as follows: First you initiate a handshake. Then you continue the handshake way past any reasonable point. Then you start saying vaguely businesslike things to the other person. But businesslike in a 60-year-old on an 80's sitcom sort of way. Examples:

"I'll have Johnson fax you those reports in the morning."

"You just don't have what it takes to get ahead in this game, son."

"How are your quarterlies coming along?"

"I won't stand for you whipper-snappers running around like you own the place."

"You've got the steely-eyed glint of a true negotiator."

This continues until the other person either laughs or disengages the handshake and walks away, shaking their head at your inability to carry on a normal, adult conversation.

I am the queen of Businessman Chicken.

Constant Reminder

This is the Ikea TV stand we have in our bedroom.

Though it's worth noting that our TV isn't near as schmancy as that one.
The TV stand in 22 inches tall.

Sometimes, on the days that I think to myself, "I'm a perfectly reasonable height for a person to be," I look at my short little TV stand. Then I look at the scar it left a good three inches above my knee when I scraped my leg across one of the corners last month.

This make me feel short and sad.

Dance the dance of the Jess-man

You know that thing where I get kind of lazy on Friday's, but I try to make up for it by sharing something cool? It's happening again.

So you remember John "Uncle Jesse" Stamos' stirring ballad, "Forever," right? Of course you do. It set the romantic course of a generation, and has been scientifically proven to guarantee twins to any woman who listens to it within the first six weeks of pregnancy. Surely you're here only as a palate cleanser to fill the time between one journey through this musical masterpiece and the next.

The real question is, do you remember when it was a rap song with a cartoonishly Arabian-themed video?

Have a good weekend.

Bee Learns a Lesson

There is a mail mountain on the dining room table of my parents' house. It is where unwanted junk mail goes to die. But today, in that mountain of forgotten Valu-Pak envelopes, I found magic.

I found an American Girl catalog.

I'm fifteen years past being young enough to justifiably order an American Girl catalog (and eight years past the last time I ordered one anyway), and I'm the youngest girl in my family, so I have no clue how it ended up at my mom's house. But it doesn't matter how it got there. All that matters is that it was there.

And that I took it.

I spent a solid eight years of my life staring at the pages of that catalog thinking about how mystical and magical my life would be if only my parents realized that I needed, that I deserved Samantha's paint set and flower press. I'm mentally conditioned to grab that catalog as soon as I see it. In fact, I'm pretty proud that I managed to stop myself short of circling the things I want for Christmas. Besides, if I hadn't taken the catalog, I wouldn't have learned an important piece of information.

Take a good look everyone:

Because Felicity Merriman is headed for the big American Girl Place in the sky. Like Samantha before her, the Felicity doll will be no more by the end of the year.Which means that 8-year-old me has to come to terms with the fact her super-awesome table, tea set and blue holiday dress will never be a part of my life.





Note: This is not a sponsored post. American Girl is not paying me to help them clear out the Felicity warehouse by preying on your sense of nostalgia. Promise.

Down on the farm

Yesterday I was talking with a friend who is way more outdoorsy than me. By which I mean she is outdoorsy at all, and if I see more than eight trees in one place I assume that they are hiding a bear. Despite this fundamental difference, we do share one future goal: we want to own chickens. I've been giving it some thought, and chickens are, in fact, the best pet a person can have.
Check it out:

• You can name a chicken "Edna" or "Eunice" or some other name that hasn't been used since aught-three.
• Chickens, unlike dogs, do not have teeth with which they can rip your face off.
• Chickens, unlike cats, do not have claws with which they can rip your face off.
• Unlike dogs and cats, I do not have an all-encompassing fear of chickens.
• What other pet periodically gives you breakfast?
• When you have to muck out the coop, you can make it slightly better by playing the farm music from Looney Tunes cartoons in your head.
• Asking someone to take care of your dog while you're away means feeding them, giving them water, walking them, scooping the poop from that walk, throwing it out somewhere other than in your house, cleaning up the revenge poop the dog left on you dining room chair, cleaning up the fear-of-abandonment poop the dog left in the kitchen, looking at the dog's sad face when he realizes you're leaving.
• Asking someone to take care of your chickens means filling a water bowl and tossing some feed in the coop, then grabbing a few eggs to take home.
• In what other pet-sitting job does the pet pay you?

The only slight problem is that I cannot kill a chicken. Or eat anything I've named. I have a solution though: I'll somehow magically find some friendly, small-scale poultry farmer who will let me trade Old Edna for two new chicks.

And then I'll perform an interpretive dance to "Circle of Life" and start the whole process over.

Oh weekend, I love you.

I tried to write a post. I did. But I'm more than a little wiped out this week, so it was veering very close to "you know when things happen and you say words at people? Don't you hate and/or love that?" So instead, I bring you...

THREE COOL THINGS TO CHECK OUT

First is Jim's Pancakes. He makes stuff for his daughter. Out of pancakes. Everyday. I showed my husband, and he was so impressed by the things this guy can make that it actually made him angry.
 

Second is Hyperbole and a Half. Specifically, her latest entry, "God of Cake". Read it, bask in its awesomeness, then read every other entry.

Finally, watch this Sesame Street Video.



Have a great weekend.