Let's Talk About Tampons Again

Sorry male readers, it turns out I didn't hear any objections...so let's talk about them yet again. My cats are still eating them. Also, I noticed the packaging is very interesting. I realize this picture is way to fuzzy for anyone to actually be able to read the writing, but I chose to pack for my trip today instead of spending any more time trying to get the words any clearer. Do you suppose the sell special blogging cameras that allow you to photograph the fine print on tampon boxes? It could be a special deal with the automatic boobie focus camera.At any rate, those little squished ovals at the bottom of the tampon box that are purple, pink, yellow, green, and last of all orange? Those rate the level of absorbency in ascending order. That is to say that purple will barely absorb anything while orange will suck every last ounce of bodily fluid out of a gal's...

So anyway, IF you could read the tampon box, you'd see that the absorbency levels are in English along the top of the squished ovals: Lites for purples, regular for yellow, etc. So the green is "Super" and the orange is "Super Plus".

Along the bottom, the levels are described in French: leger, regulier. With this exception - there's nothing listed for Super or Super Plus in French.

So do you suppose they don't sell Super or Super Plus tampons in French speaking countries? And if not, are their periods just lighter? Or do they get more bathroom breaks than we do?

R U Hairy?

I thought about just copying People in the Sun's post about leaving and vacationing and all that, but he wasn't actually around to ask permission. So, instead I gotta just think up my own vacation posts that I won't be able to answer, because (are you paying attention burglars?) if this works correctly, I'll be out of town when this posts.

Before I left I saw a sign for this place that actually had their phone number listed in huge letters covering most of the billboard as (713) R-U-HAIRY?

Y'know, maybe I'm hairy and maybe I'm not (I'm not), but if I'm going to let someone alter my body with a laser, that person is going to need better credentials than just "I can turn a telephone number into a cute potential text message."

Maybe there's a whole demographic they're aiming for: fun loving folks who love to joke around about having their hair follicles permanently destroyed via laser. But me, I want someone meticulous and serious destroying my unnecessary body parts or making any permanent change to my appearance, particularly in some of the places where laser hair removal is commonly performed.

That's why Jesus was so perfect for my belly button ring. He didn't care how many jokes I made while he was preparing to pierce; he was going to concentrate on doing it right.

At any rate, if you want someone who can make jokes AND come at you with a laser, I guess I'll go ahead & recommend the R U Hairy folks. Though I'd personally be afraid of someone joking and laughing while altering the appearance of my face.

And if you want someone to incredibly serious and focused while poking your body full of holes, I actually do highly recommend Jesus.

Made it!

I seem to have lived through my daughter's bat mitzvah and am now leaving on vacation. I don't know how People in the Sun managed that post-ahead thing, but I've taken a stab at it and am hoping my blog updates itself in the meantime.

I wanted to thank EVERYONE who made my sweetie's bat mitzvah so great, particularly those who traveled from far and wide to get here only NOT to be greeted by one of those little hospitality gift bag thingies, my gal for listening to me say things like: "Pulpit flowers? What is that? Do we HAVE to have that?" without complaint, anyone who heard me say the words, "I don't know. What does the invitation say?", and especially those relatives who were surprised to discover their names on the program the day of the service.

And my mom. just in case my mom didn't fall into any of those categories (I know my dad does for certain).

I also want to sincerely thank my friends Teresa & Debbie, without whom I would have not one single photo of the entire event. Actually, I still don't have a single photo of the event, but THEY DO & for that I am SO very thankful!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do have a picture of my nephew eating a bagel though, and my cat reading the newspaper. And that will have to do for now.

Hair today, over by tomorrow

We're one third of the way through the bat mitzvah experience with less than 12 hours to go! So far none of my relatives have even wrung my neck EVEN when they discovered their names on the program unexpectedly.

And I'm going to have a big old Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer nose in all the bat mitzvah pictures, because I haven't been able to breath for three days and I might leave one of my lungs up on the bima today but, y'know, I'm told I have two. Did I mention I have a cold? But aside from that...

Here's my bat mitzvah gal killing time before the service by playing beauty shop with my nephew's hair. She straightened it with one of those iron things she knows how to use and I don't, put him in bows and a bun, and used umpteen hair products.One thing I gotta say about my nephew: he's a good sport. And he has really nice hair. Especially after my gal gets her hands on it.

Did I mention that I have the perfect bat mitzvah party activity? In addition to airbrush tattoos, we're going to give mohawks. KIDDING!!!! But only because the other parents would hate me for life. And my daughter would have to change schools. And synagogues. Aside from that though, I think it would be totally fun.

The Boobies of Washington

My daughter's bat mitzvah is this coming weekend, so that means I spent three straight days on the telephone last week.

It also meant three hours in a mall with a child that hates shopping as much as I do. Here's what she lacks that I had at her age though: the ability to open a door to a clothing store and say without taking a single step inside, "I don't like anything here."

So for a break Razor took me to see the boobies of Washington DC.

Well really he brought me there to meet his mom and aunt and cousins and brother, but the side benefit was that we got to tour the boobies of his youth. Here's Razor's mom in the boobie room of the Market Inn having dinner:Actually, I cropped out Razor's mom because y'know, of that bothersome privacy stuff. It's too bad you can't even see the boobies all that well in that picture, because for some reason my camera automatically focuses on people's faces. Somebody could maybe make a killing selling a camera that automatically focuses in on the boobs.

But that's okay, because this room was FULL of nakey women. Here's Razor next to one of them:Except, I cropped him out for the same reason I cropped out his mom.

We also saw the boobies of the Arlington Memorial Bridge:At least, I think it was the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The point is, Razor likes his bridges with boobies. And I like bridges in general. So it was a nice trip.

But now I have to get back to pretending I started planning this bat mitzvah thing when all the other moms started. That would have been two years ago when I first received the date in the mail instead of last week...

Fresh Out

We're out of eggs, we're out of milk, we're out of butter, we're out of paper towels, we're out of toilet paper, we're out of cat food, we're out of fruit (except the watermelon, of course)...

But we have enough sunscreen to protect our skin (plus the skin of any small army that happens to wander through) until the year 2071. Of course by that time they'll have decided sunscreen causes laboratory rats to grow three extra sets of eyeballs.

Here are some random things I've heard kids say -

Twelve year old while barely nibbling on her empty calorie breakfast of plain non-whole grain bread:
I have to eat breakfast AND take a vitamin? This is TORTURE!!!!!!

Both kids age four:
Girl - Remember when I was in love with you and I kissed you?
Boy - Yeah! I'm NEVER doing THAT again!

One elementary aged child to another:
That's not a stampede. That's just my brother.

So This Is It

Believe it or not, this mixing bowl is why it's totally impossible to stay irritated at Razor/the Guy Who Knows a Song about a Chicken for even fifteen seconds:You know how when someone comes over and you're like, "Well, he's not here yet. I get a chance to put away my dirty socks before he sees my sorry excuse for housekeeping."

And then like ten or fifteen more minutes go by and your like, "Let's see, do I start some serious cleaning or do I just settle in with a book and try to pretend to be one of those relaxed kind of people?"

So then you start reading blogs instead. But every single time the cat jumps up about some godforsaken piece of fluff you told the kids to throw away three days ago, y'know how you have to stop and figure out if the cats are trying to use their supersonic hearing to tell you someone's coming up the stairs?

But then no matter how many times they jump up it turns out that the piece of fluff really was the cats' main concern and that they don't actually care if anyone's climbing the steps or not.

So you think you'll call up a friend and chat, but realize that it's too late to call and even if you did you'd mostly likely have to cut the conversation short because surely he's about to waltz through the door any ole' second.

So you go back to reading for awhile. But then it occurs to you that maybe turning on the cell phone would be a good idea because maybe, God forbid, he's in a ditch or a hospital somewhere. Or as my cousin and dad explained once, he could have been an explosion that blew off both his hands so he couldn't dial a phone.

And you remind yourself that it never turns out that the men are in a ditch OR have both their hands blown off. It always just turns out that they were totally convinced that time would bend or stretch out for them JUST THIS ONE TIME. Occasionally it turns out that the cell phone ran out of battery.

So then you turn on the phone and it turns out he HAS been trying to call.

And when you call back he says something about the possibility of you being asleep by the time he gets there and you're all thinking, "WHAT?!?! I've been sitting here analyzing every last noise in the apartment complex (not to mention my cats' motives for attacking fluff) for the past hour and I'm going to fall asleep when you're twenty minutes away?!?! None for me thanks!!!!!" But your better judgment takes over just for a split second and all you say is, "I'm awake."

So then you decide it's a great time to get some vacuuming done. Because why wouldn't 11:00 at night be the perfect time to vacuum?!?

But then you get this idea in your head that maybe he mentioned falling asleep because he's really thirty or forty minutes away and not twenty. So you call up to make sure but then hang up on him after one ring because for some reason your rational side takes over just in the nick of time...

No? That doesn't happen to you? Is all that just me then? Ok, because I thought everyone was as impatient as I am.

Something VERY similar happened to me recently, but when Razor/The Guy Who Knows A Song About A Chicken DID show up, he arrived with the above pictured glass mixing bowl. Did I mention I broke my favorite mixing bowl awhile back and had wished for a replacement just the previous morning?

I mean seriously folks, how can you even attempt to stay irritated with a guy like that?!?!?!? It's just not even possible.