So what're you doin' for New Year's Eve?

So tell me you're somewhere having fun. Oh, I know. It's Amateur Night tonight with all the yupsters out drinking and running their brand-new 2008 hybrids up on the sidewalks, I know. Barfin' sunshine and Wet Willie's frozen daiquiris. But who cares? Don't let that spoil your fun. Tell everyone you've gone green and leave the car at home. Besides, it's beneficial for something-something about the ozone layer and not-melting things. Tell me you're having fun tonight somewhere because let's face it -- it's the New Year. And you know me, I'm psychic. And I'm here to tell you, this year is going to be a good one. Let's call it Año Ocho.

But if you insist on hanging out at home, I understand. Odds are, I'll be doing the same thing. But trust me, I'll be celebrating. So pass the Chex Mix and bourbon balls, kids. I have a few good links to keep us all company.

Get your Yeti or gnome fix at Yeti vs. gnome.com

I could spend a great deal of dogtime here at dogluvva.com

Need a good luck pork tenderloin with black-eyed peas recipe? Yeah. Me, too. So look it up at my new addiction -- cookingforengineers.com.

And that's about it for this year. See you in Año Ocho...

smelltergeist (n) an evil, swirling, odor-dervish that lives at my front door and punches everyone in the nose as they walk in (e.g., "If you smell burned popcorn and fried turkey bacon right inside, it's yesterday's smelltergeist that I can't exorcise.")


Yes, I do miss my apartment, even if it smells a little funny sometimes. So I'll be driving back, getting home to Memphis today. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the front room burning candles.


ps to disneyscott: yes, I will post photos of my new lair. tomorrow. promise.

Ta, chuck!!

Lady B! You have no idea how much I love the giftie you sent me. You know how I feel about pink, but how in the world did you know that my dad always gave me mini mag-lights to keep around the house, keep in the car, etc...? And what gets me is that I have been needing one for my keychain since it's impossible to see the lock on my apartment's back door at night.

Yes, for real! Spooky in that good spooky kind of way.

Thank you again, and expect a postie from me to come soon. xox - bny

Many Happy Jagshemesh, Sinta Klooz!

Well, Santa has passed over Kazakstan and dropped his load
and brought me back the Borat DVD plus free t-shirt,
and I got the book, too.
Now I won't have to sell my brother, Barrimooniloe,
into slavery. Yet.

So, we here at labmonkie wish you
a very Happy Christmas
full of love, peace and joy for everyone!


Unless we don't like you,
then why are you reading this?
Go check your stockings for lumps of coal.
Go on. Get! You know who y'are!

Well, it's officially Christmas now.

I have done something that I never ever do and have chosen to find it liberating instead of enslaving. I have actually been so pressed for time today that I had an entire phone conversation while on the toilet. Yes, I know some twisted people pay good money for that kind of phone conversation, but I'm a very modest person. So I neither announced nor revealed my multi-tasking super-prowess to the caller, but there you go. And now, so have I. So I have several people wondering, "No. Was it me she was talking to at that moment?" For the record, "Yes, it was, and I am a many-splendored thing."

And so are you. awwwwwwwwwwww. Sure you needed to know all this. Now get back to wrapping those presents, Mary and Gay!

Man. Remind me to pack lighter for the Taco Show next time.

I thought I'd NEVER get back and unpacked! Whew. Those Taco Shows can last a lot longer than I ever plan. But one thing is for sure -- I missed you guys (awwwwwwwwwwww). All four of you. God love ya, and so do I.

Well, what have I missed since I've been away? You have to email me and let me know. I can tell you what's been up with me, in no particular order, and for no particular reasons:

> I've walked/played with/cleaned up after/thrown tennis balls for many, many dogs.

> Been without a comfortable internet connection, but have it now.

> Found all of my (oops) computer cables.

> Not making jewelry like I intend to do all along, but hey.

> Vowed to make more jewelry and crank up the etsy store this week. No, really.

> Traveled three road trips, one being to Jackson last week for a stellar report from the doctor. Thank you, God. Literally and figuratively.

> Was thankful at Thanksgiving that I actually made it to another Thanksgiving because I finally realized that without the chemo and follow-up medicine, I literally wouldn't be here -- which brought up a whole bunch of philosophical questions for me to think about and to not think about at the same time.

> Felt like I should give this new chance at life a "Go big or go home" approach -- which is really how I used to be anyway. So that gave me more to think about, the last few years of my life anyway.

> Babbled, rambled, and started sentences backwards and not finishing. Sentences. Making me crazy, when I do that, I hate it. Y'see? Yeah.

> Been watching "Kids in the Hall" DVDs over and over. Been putting off watching the "Who Killed the Electric Car" documentary for no known reason. Gotta watch that. Tomorrow.

> Have been observing the what's and who's around me in this apartment complex, have become fascinated and am taking notes. I have three off-center people I am studying, not on purpose but just apparently. Yes, one is the directly-harmless Happy Hippie (who sadly took down his Christmas tree a few weeks ago. I know. Sad. We found a trail of crispy tree bits all the way across the parking lot to the dumpster where the ex-tree was laid to rest. But on the bright side, that tree was apparently a real tree that we all supposed must have been from last year, which made it a ten-month dried, crispy fire hazard for us all. But, his intentions were good, I believe, and it was beautiful to me anyway.). Then there's another guy who lives here who -- and I really need to get a good description of him for Cold Case Files -- will probably end up strangling a female student to death. I know, I know. Luckily, I am not a student, and knowing this, I can also steer any female students away from him.

> Have become really rusty around the edges with my scribblin's and words, and have made myself really nuts over-using the word "really" really.

> Waiting for Mamie to get out of grad school this semester so I can hang out with her and make cheese straws and spritz cookies.

> Snickerin' at the words "spritz" and "cookies" together. Ew. Grody.

> Making all-natural dog treats. In my opinion, they 're pretty tasty to me. But thankfully, we can all bank on dogs not being too particular at times, seeing that they'll eat their own barf if the mood strikes them, so anything I make them has to be tastier than dog barf. Always seeing the silver lining.

> Have decided that I need to plan a trip back to Europe -- Mamie's got me thinking about Galway and the Galway Arts Festival in June. That's one option. But I'm always thinking the "I See London, I See France" Tour option. I've done that twice so far, and twice just isn't enough.

> Dreading getting a passport photo taken.

> At some point, I've got to show you my old passport photo. Sheeeeesh, did I really wear Anne Klein door-knocker earrings?

> Washed my cellphone last night and spent this morning ye olde landline inquiring about new ones under 50 bucks before I go down to the store and get into a horrible infatuation with the $300 model I'd rather have.

Here's a fugitive thought: The cat likes to sit right behind me when I write at the computer. So in addition to his sparkling personality, that cat makes an excellent butt warmer.

So now that my butt is all warm, I guess I need to get to the Daily Errand List now before work at the doggy daycare. Dogs are the best therapy in the world. Lord knows after this last Taco Show, I could use plenty of good dogs.

Where'd I go?

I'm at the Taco Show. Back soon!

I know it's not "What Are You Doing" Wednesday yet, but.

I'm accidentally making myself nauseous at instructables.com. I'd ask you what you're doing, but obviously, you're doing the same thing now. And for that, I do apologize.

However, if you've never visited instructables.com yet, then go. You'll always find many truly extraordinary projects to do, like painting a snail.


Yes. Some days, I do have that kind of time but have yet to find the motivation or resources.

Honestly, people fascinate me, and then most of them make me feel like a true slacker. But that's where the B12 injections come in. Personally, I couldn't live properly without instructables.com. So be prepared to spend a few hours there. But don't worry. It's not slacking. It's Monday. And what's a Monday for anyway? If you don't ease into a Monday and fill the well for the rest of the week, you'll get the bends. I should post "How to Ease Into a Monday" up on instructables, but I can't. I'm too busy hunting snails instead.

In other news, I have only one Happy Hippie Sighting to report.

Note: At the risk of offending any hippies who may actually be reading this blog, I may cease referring to him as a "hippie" because even though it sounds like I may be using it as a derogatory label, quite frankly, with my love of long hair, world peace, regional goat cheese, flared pants and any such equivalent grooviness, I may proudly be part-hippie myself. One-sixteenth, I'm sure.

I spotted him briefly outside yesterday, looking fit and happy as usual, quietly surveying the courtyard, kicked back with his feet propped over on the railing of his porch and his french doors flung wide. Then at nightfall, what to my wondering eyes should appear but the fully-lit Christmas tree set electrically ablaze in the corner of the living room. Sadly, Happy was nowhere to be found.

I feel a Nancy Drew-style investigation coming on.

"I think he's a tree-hugger. Tree-huggers jog," my mom said with unshaken conviction. First of all, I hope no one ever taps into our phone conversations because they sound like something terrible -- exactly opposite of what they are intended to be. "Nothing at all. Observation. Shooting the breeze" is what they are intended to be.

Actually, I take it back: first of all, I haven't heard the term "tree-hugger" in forever, so I think I laughed. Then, secondly, I said, "Yeah. But 'tree-huggers' wear toques and organic clothes from patagonia and don't usually have long hair, do they?" I asked, continuing the thread of sweeping generalizations for my own cheap entertainment purposes. I'm not even sure Memphis has many tree-huggers if any -- not because most people don't care enough necessarily, but hopefully because there are no giant red sequoias here to protest and save. Hell. We go through pine trees like toothpicks. Probably for toothpicks. "Well, some do. Some have long hair," she replied, still unwavering.

I realize the absurdity of my labeling process. It's not something I do for any other reason but for identification and entertainment purposes only. Me, I label myself "simple" or "average" or "looks bored and tired like a 5th grade teacher around November." But again, I assure you that I'm not labeling anyone here in a derogatory way. Why would I? I'm part-misplaced tree-hugger, too. One-sixteenth, to be exact. And one-sixteenth hippie. And two-sixteenths amateur sociologist just trying to crack a nut.

Figuratively, not literally. Sheesh. I'm not calling anyone a nut.

Yet.

"I'm tellin' ya, he's a rocker. I bet if I talk to him, I bet I know him," Mamie said with her unshaken conviction.

I like talking to people who have their own brand of conviction.

As long as they aren't nuts. There. I said it. Nuts.

"When you say 'rocker', you don't think he listens to Kansas or anything, do you?" She laughed, said no. That's a relief. I can't imagine being happy listening to old Kansas albums. So I asked her if she'd strike up a conversation over his Christmas tree or something the next time she came over, and she said of course.

I must know his secret to happiness. It could be as simple as a dosage level, or painting snails, but I hope not.

"I'm not done and I won't be 'til my head falls off," says They Might Be Giants -- and me.

Not dead yet. Just digging out and digging it. Looks like I owe a month's worth of Scributes. Man. I have them. I do. But where did I put them...?

One month. Sheesh. Time flies when you sell a house and move. Except for the constant vacuuming and that staging business, the selling part was fairly simple enough. Despite the craptastical market, it sold in about a week of listing, and I got just about the price I listed it for which surprised my realtor. I owe all of my skills and superpowers to blind stupidity and child-like naivety.

But I can offer up three handy tips I used when selling a house:

Handy Tip 01 is to literally not give a flying damn whether you sell it or not. If you took good care of your house, then in my tiny, sparkly, happier world, the buyers will be lucky to get it. Don't let them walk away with it just because the market has gone softer than a middle-manager's waistline.

Handy Tip 02 is...well, don't be too confident. Come on. Nobody likes a cocky jerk. Superstition and Murphy's Law especially hate cocky jerks. So, in my opinion, it never hurts to bury a St. Joseph statue upside-down in your front yard. But don't let him stay out in the rain if he's old and made of ceramic otherwise his head will pop off when you dig him up. Oops.

Handy Tip 03 is to thank God in advance for helping you sell your house because, if you do sell, The Great Realtor obviously has something else in mind for you. And if you make it through the selling part, you'll need all the strength you can ask for from Big Daddy G to help you physically move all your crap.

To heft an entire house anywhere...to move a mountain of stuff you think you can't live without...it can make you feel stupid and very aware of yourself and all your Stuff. Don't get me wrong. I like Stuff. Sometimes, I downright love Stuff. But, I'm just suggesting there should be at least one 800 Help Me number you could call for therapy before and after a move. I moved and moved and moved and moved and moved. For days and days and weeks. On the last day, I stopped and cried three times and begged for it to be over or stricken dead of a heart attack at 4:00 in the morning. Then I tried bargaining. "Please, dear God, just three more trips. I'll never buy anything again." After a long pause, I heard my dad's voice in my head say, "Six." Then after six trips, I wailed, "Six! You said 'six!'" My dad said, "You're lucky it ain't more. Get goin'."

I hate clutter but cannot resist buying cute, tiny, happy things to adorn a shelf. I think after this move, I'm officially broken of that for a while. Well. At least for a month or two. I'm not made of stone, y'know.

"Unless you can eat it, bathe in it, burn it, or drink it" has been replaced with "Donate it" or trash it if it's totally 1993 and sad-looking, making time to ask yourself, "What were you thinking?" And you'll probably hear a sarcastic voice in your mind reply, "In 1993? Probably 'Crash Test Dummies' or 'Toad the Wet Sprocket'" or something equally as useless like that show with Jennifer Anniston and that guy who had the drug problems later.

Luckily, I found a very cool, old 1920's apartment that I really liked in midtown. Already I feel more at home here than being down by the river. Midtown can be sketchy in some areas, but "Welcome to Memphis." This neighborhood is in many ways to the one I just left so I'm constantly remembering and noting things forgot I loved. I love being back in a neighborhood with squirrels and birds and with the smells of old houses with basements and real stone and hardwoods, not pressed particle board and 2 x 4s. I forgot what a tree older than 5 years looked like, up close. The location is a short walk away from Labmonkie HQ, and too many fast food joints, and strong, hot coffee that I don't have to make myself in the mornings when I don't feel like it. Which is every day.

Older buildings with smaller designs are equalizers and tend to encourage a little more honesty as to what you take in versus what you need. They say a lot without words. Built before wars big and small enough to leave their marks, these buildings were designed and constructed way before the concepts of modern-day consumerism and Wal-Marts/Targets/Costcos. So they have smaller closets, less storage space, but more of everything else that lasts -- built-in sideboards, taller ceilings, intricate detail work around the windows, and the bigger, heavier doors. Plastic? What's plastic? Nothing is made of plastic. The floors don't just have the appearance of wood, they are wood. They creak, they expand, contract and breathe along with the weather. They don't just look like a photo in a Restoration Hardware catalog, they are Restoration Hardware. And the bathrooms have enormous bathtubs big enough to float in.

This building is older than anyone left in our family that I know. When I listen to an older building, it always asks the same thing, "So now, how much do you need to be happy?"

Creaky floors, a short walk to hot coffee, plus your very own resident mythical creature who has a Christmas tree fully-decorated and lit almost every day of the year? Yes. Already, I'm enjoying the new neighbors. I can't figure out this one guy in particular. I just call him wrongly and shamefully the Happy Hippie. He's very tall with long hair, rides a bike to the local grocery, has a tricked-out VW beetle original that he never drives yet I covet with a metallic yellow-to-orange psychedelic sunrise custom paint job. But I think what gets me most besides the fully-loaded Christmas tree is that he dons the skimpiest pair of running shorts and darts off into the neighborhood for a jog, iPod-less. Now, I'm not saying anything indecent about his shorts. I'm just sayin'. He's fascinating to me. Therefore, he must be a serial killer.

"What's the story with the Rocker?" Mamie asked me when she came over one day. "The Happy Hippie, y'mean," I said.

"Nah, he's a Rocker, I bet," she said.

"Well, I call him a Hippie, but I didn't think Hippies jogged much. He jogs a good bit. Got these little, tiny shorts he runs in. Looks like Sasquatch or some mythical being running off into the neighborhoods. He fascinates me," I said.

"Nah, I think he's a Rocker. I betcha anything. Strike up a conversation with him about The Stage Stop, and I bet he'll go off on it," she said.

"Oh, no. Not me. I don't strike up conversations," I said. She looked at me like I was nuts. Everybody always looks at me like that when I say that. I wouldn't call it nuts though. "You do it. You talk to him. Then tell me what he says."

So that's what I've been doing* for at least a month now. But for now, I have to get back to unpacking and squinting through the blinds at the neighbors. Next time, I'll post photos.

*Oh yeah, and also working at a dog daycare. And helping with a professional pet-sitting business. But that's two other stories. I'll see what I can do about photos on those, too...

This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

Speaking of bears

Just sold the river house and feelin' extra-groovy about that.

So bear with me while I disappear here and there
for the next couple of weeks,
unhooking and rehooking my internet stuff
into a 1923 midtown
two-bedroom apartment.

Hardwood floors, French doors,
and upstairs with a porch, so I love it already.

And, Fall's coming. So I love that, too.

Plus, I've decided potted plants will do
very nicely for a whole new Yarden.

So back soon with some good stories.
And more jewelry and beaded things, too.

(me with the Divine Miss Mamie and Lovely Lady Tara)

Somebody had fun at a prom party.
No, really.

That's it.
From now on, I'm wearing silk dresses everywhere.
Or velvet. The truth is out. I love swanky dresses.

My "Breakfast at Tiffany's" hair
needs to be bigger though.
Noted for next time.

If anyone wants to book us as a 40's All-Girl Singing Trio,
just let our agent Marty know.

Should the headline read:

"Bears Barely Eat Bare Man at Beer Festival"?

Or is that too much?

Either way, I think I'm going to hurl.

"Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon" Wednesday:


Getting a stellar report for the month.
Of course.

Take that, aplastic anemia.

This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

"Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon" Wednesday:


Waiting for Sylvia Browne at 2:00pm,
what else,
and conjuring up the neighborhood association with my Victrola,
why not.

Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon'?




Also,
my follow-up on the
"Product Review, Product Review" nail polish:
It passed the "furiously diggin' in the weeds all weekend" test,
no chips, no cracks...you know you care.

Indestructible. Highly recommended.


Now, I'm hungry. McDonald's is trying these days,
and I hear they have some sort of chicken wrap?

I'll let you know...

This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

Collect a few, and make a nice bracelet.

If you just tried to call me, sorry. "Product Review, Product Review" time.

My nails were wet. And wild. With the New Wet'n'Wild Rock Solid nail lacquer. Yeah, yeah. Giving it a test run today, hoping for the best. Nice so far. Got the Pink Sapphire.

Oh, you know you care.

First off, the bottle almost knocked my eye out with that big rhinestone on the top of the applicator. So that makes me happy. Reminds me off my preferred polish by L'Oreal, but the *stone* is bigger. So that makes me even *bigger happy.*

It doesn't take much to make my day, if you've ever noticed.

Says here it contains "strengthening diamond powder"..."Well, for $2.99, it better!" hollered the girl who got excited over the big, fake diamond on the bottle.

Nails dry now...so for that, I give it points for quick drying time. They do feel fortified yet flexible. Nice color, too. The sparkles are a tad bling-ish for maybe the preacher's wife, but the finish is smooth. This stuff claims to be chip-proof, too. Hmm. Tomorrow, I will give this new polish a test of endurance as I dig in the front flowerbed like a frenzied kitten. I'll let you know how it holds up.

There's a lot to love about being a girl. But being a boy never stopped anyone either as far as polishing nails goes. *sigh*

Which reminds me of a long-lost acquaintance I really do miss. I hate not being able to tell him about the "Celebrity Dreams" I've had. Ah, well. Seems like not many people care about those things, but I've had such good ones lately. So, to the memory of "His Majesty's a Pretty Nice Gairl: The Hair", I will at least post my "Celebrity Dreams" here when they come along. If you don't like 'em, sort it out. But I actually like this one myself:

Night before last, I had a dream that I was hanging out with Sylvia Browne in what I thought to be New Orleans at first, but it turned out to be the real deal somewhere in Europe instead. Not sure where we were, but the architecture was gorgeous, very "Notre Dame" with the rose windows and flying buttresses. We were hanging out in an old hotel in that district; it was dark on the streets, and the lights made everything look green. We were talking shop, and decided to walk outside.

When we got to the street, construction was going on. At least it looked like construction with the old-fashioned, earth-chomping equipment. Looked like a wrecking ball at first, but really, it turned out to be a giant digger with those prehistoric looking jaws that chomp the dirt when you drop them from high above, then as the cable pulls them up, the jaws clamp together and chomp up a big mouthful of dirt. Scary enough, I thought, and then it turned to our crowd of people on the street and tried to smash us by dropping its huge jaws on top of us. Of course, we scattered, and I lost Sylvia in the escape.

So you know how dreams go: next scene, I'm hanging out in a vacation house with Paris Hilton.

Boring.

But then I saw that Stephen Merchant was fiddling around in the kitchen. Paris slithered up to my side and said, "Steve is going to take us to the beach this morning. Get ready." I stared back and forth in disbelief at them both until my eyes dried out. Literally. Not just because Paris had just taken a dose of prescription diuretics (don't ask, just...don't); but really, I was thrilled out of my flip flops that Stephen Merchant was in this dream.

Would I endure being around Paris Hilton just to hang out with Stephen Merchant? Love makes you do some pretty crazy things, so the answer was obvious.

I ran around the house to gather up my stuff to go with them. I was too embarrassed to talk to him myself, so I would tag along with Paris just to be around. Isn't that sad? But as most dreams go, an even sadder thing happened -- they left the house without me.

That is the first and hopefully the only time I run around a dreamscape screaming out for Paris Hilton to come back.

I knew I didn't like her, I thought as I woke up with a heartache. That's what I get for trusting Paris Hilton.



Today's "Product Review Product Review" was underwritten by Diet Pepsi MAX, the invigorating cola that's not so bad once you get the taste down but disappointing in comparison when you actually bought a very rare Vault Zero instead, and the sales clerk forgot to put it in your bag and you get all the way home and realize she forgot to give it to you yet she charged you for it so you get back in the car braving the 95 degree heat to go back and get your Vault Zero knowing that it was the last one in the store and you love them so much it's bad and now someone else in Memphis now has your yummy, refreshing, flavor-blasting, burpinator soda by mistake.

Something tells me that tagline should be shorter.

What happened to Friday's "Product Review, Product Review"?

Well, I can't help it.
I haven't run across any good products to review lately.

So.

Here's another
"I Put Ron's Head on Something with PhotoShop".

The rumors are true.
Ronald Buckingham was responsible for all the tension
leading to the inevitable breakup of the band.



Here he is as Mr. Drysdale's assistant
on TV's "The Beverly Hillbillies".
Personally, I like the over-sized bobble-head effect myself.


This blog has really turned into a goat circus
on a really humid day, hasn't it?

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Okay, okay, so it's not an illustrated Scribute.
But it is a rather excellent
"I Put Ron's Head on Something with PhotoShop"....
...does that count?
Sorta?

(Click to enlarge. Sadly, the cookieduster was real at the time.)

Knock knock...
Who's there?
Boo.
Boo who?

Aw, don't cry.
I'm just selling things online is all
at booradley, etsy.com.

I've got a big ol' pile of beady-things to list every week.
So check back often, and wish me luck!

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:


Especially during "Jeopardy."

Happy Friday the 13th!

Looks like I owe you two Tuesday Morning Scributes.



Last week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Yeah, I think I posted that one already...
but I do love that joke.

Happy Canada Day!
Giverrrrrrr!

And is it really time for another "Product Review, Product Review"? Well, dang. A little rushed today, but I'm always prepared. Let's see what's in the big, red purse today. How about...gum?

I have two new flavors for you -- Orbit's Mint Mojito and Stride's Forever Fruit.

That's it. That's all you need to know. Now. Go get them. Both. "Now" now, not now "later".

What a great product review, huh? I just tell you what to buy, and you buy it.

Wait. That's what some evil-doer advertisers claim to do to you, the zombiefied consumer. And I'm against that. So no, instead of rubbing my greedy, sweaty palms together while I grind my half-limp, spitty cigar nub between my greening, veneered teeth, counting all the hard-earned money that you, Consumer, just blindly shoveled in my general direction (The Corporate Man) -- no. I think I'll just tell you why I think it's pretty good and maybe you'll buy it, and despite making The Man more money, you'll find that it'll really make your mouth happy. Without much casheesh invested.


Go, Orbit! Orbit's Mint Mojito gum has the perfect balance of a lemony-lime citrus flavor combined with just a hint of sweet minty-ness that almost doesn't taste minty. It's not over-powering at all. It's just a burst of freshness in just the right measure. It's refreshing is what it is, without being either too sweet or too minty. Did I mention that before? Yes. Balance. It's good.




The Forever Fruit is by Stride, and I know it's their gig to create long-lasting flavor, but I figured they'd go out of business because their gums really are tasty and long-lasting, so how could a company produce such a good, quality product and not get bought out by The Man or crushed down by The Feds? Then I realized it was produced by Cadbury, so hopefully they'll be around for a long while. Because Cadbury is like my superhero, if I had to have a superhero. They always have good, quality products and they go the extra mile on flavor and on packaging.

Leave it to the Stride line of gums to design a very cool, double-tiered packaging that y0u can rip off when you finish one row of gum sticks. Smart. Forever Fruit is that yummy, fruity starburst of a flavor that tastes like a combination of peach, melon, and orange. Yes, I'd like to say I figured that out on my own, but the taste combination was driving me nuts until I saw the illustration on the inside of the package.


Thanks again, Cadbury to the rescue!




That's all I got in me today. Half rushed, half loopy trying to try to try trying and try, try trying to get my Etsy shop loaded and online. It's time-consuming but relaxing at the same time. "Etsy. It's not as easy as it looks," but it's definitely worth the trip. I'll post the link as soon as I get a decent amount of handmade goodness up there. Right now I have a grand total of...two sets of beaded stitch markers. Boy. I need to step it up. But it's fun. And my motto is "They don't call it fun for nothin'."

Until then, Happy Weekend, and Happy Canada Day!!






Say what? My gum review bored you?...

Ok, well how about this. Someone just had a wreck, t-boned a pole, right outside Studio B here:















No good? Well, alright. We'll all try a little harder next time.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Product Review, Product Review!

Better late than never. Well, I've been on-hold for a long time today, several times. And I lose my train of thought while I'm on-hold. So if I try to type and ask questions, it comes out like a scene from "Nell" by the time they get to me.

Right now, I'm on-hold with the termite people...well, not really people who are giant termites...but instead, the termite people who need to replace the termite traps all around my house. Apparently, by extra-sensory perception or Ouija board, I was supposed to know that the traps had been on back-order and wouldn't be in or replaced until next Thursday. This is all news to me two weeks after my first call. All I can say is that I'm glad the woman I talked to the first two calls either quit or is out-of-the-office on a trip to Dollywood. She really needed a break way before the time she got to me.

Anyway, so sure, this product came out last year and it's taken me that long to rave over it. But hey, it happens.

Dove Energy Glow, a gradual, subtle self-tanning lotion that not only works but works quickly and dries without all the goo --believe it when Shera here, Queen of the Underground Mole Kingdom and Its Peoples, with the whitest legs only half-tanned down to the knees and arms tanned to the white t-shirt sleeve has tried them all. Most are either sticky and don't work, or sticky and don't work. The end.

Well, if I had to pick a second-favorite, it'd be Jergen's, but it takes two or so days to work. That is still reasonable, but. When they say *gradual*, you know me, corn-fed and bred consumer I am -- I want *immediate-gradual* results. This Dove Energy Glow is as close to that as it gets.

This is excellent for someone like me who postpones actually getting a tan until the day before she needs one. Plus, avoiding skin cancer and sun-damage without looking like I surfaced from the netherdepths of the sea is a-okay with me, too. This stuff goes on smooth and stays that way. The only time it gets gooey is when it rehydrates while you're soaking in the bathtub. I don't know what to think of that. So I just don't.

Bonus point: the bottle I am using is coming up on a year old now.

So there's another selling point -- shelf-life. All for the sake of research, I apply expired products to my legs and arms for you, the consumer. This might explain why I developed aplastic anemia last year, but considering we have an Level Orange Ozone Alert here today in Memphis, I don't think I can be held completely responsible.

Besides the fact that it smells nice, dries and works quickly, and made my day around the same day and time last year, I also like the direction-copy on the back: "wait several minutes before dressing" to allow the product to dry.

Several. Whoever had to write that, God bless 'em, because I know how they feel when they initially questioned it up to their manager and was told to shut up and write it since no one even reads those things anyway, nulling and voiding anymore creativity for that writer for at least the rest of the week, perhaps a year, or seven.

Several minutes, you say? Ok. What to do while it dries, what to do. Like me, you could let your brain swerve out-of-control. "I don't want to just stand here. I don't want to just look at myself like this for several minutes. What do other people do??" Naked sit-ups? Omelet, anyone? Oh. Maybe I should walk outside to check the mailbox. No, that's just plain silly. I'll just vacuum instead. All the while I'm thinking, "Where do I look?? Where do I loooook??" Everyone else is normal and walking around for several minutes, naked. Is this true?

That's not a complaint, that's just an observation. Otherwise, I give it an overall *glowing* review. Oh no. Did I really type that? Well, it's a good product. Get a free sample for yourself here.




You know how I am about toothpastes. If you don't, it's pronounced "sucker." I figure the OCD compels me to try them all before I get the ole wooden teeth eventually. I take that back about the OCD because apparently, I'm not the only one up for new flavors else they wouldn't make so many. Or, is it demand and supply, or supply and demand...?

Who cares? It's just good, clean fun, right?

So I sent away for the trio of Crest Nature's Expressions.

Yes, they've been out for over a year or so, but hey. I'm not too proud to get a free sample from Walmart, why not?

The first one I tried was Mint + Green Tea. Good sudsing, but upon first taste, my Mind immediately said, "Shampoo. It tastes like shampoo." Then my Ego said, "Hey, how would you know what shampoo tastes like?" and my Brain told my Ego to shut up for once and gave it a noogie. So to be fair, I tried it again that night. Sadly, it still tastes like what I'd imagine vividly to be peppermint shampoo.

Darn. And I was really pulling for that flavor, too. Oh well.

But, the good news -- the Pure Peppermint Fresh is good. Not a stretch for an innovation in toothpaste flavorings, but maybe some toothpaste is just better that way. Simple's good.

I have the Citrus toothpaste sample left. But to me, those minty-citrus flavors begin to taste a lot like Dayquil, so I'm putting that one off for awhile.

I did find a good toothpaste, but since I haven't got time to do it justice now, I'll save that for next week.

Oh, you know you care. At least you know I do...awwww...

Hey guess what tomorrow is?

Yes, Friday. But what makes Fridays even better? Well, of course "bourbon" and "chocolate". But after that, it's also "Product Review, Product Review!" Day. I'm resurrecting that and designating Fridays to that labmonkie-type research again. No, this time, it's not about life-giving platelets or iron-rich foods but more important, about products that are good enough or bad enough to blog about. Why? So you don't waste time and money.

And because I'm bored.

Deep down, you care, you know you do.

And you won't lose any weight here either because I'm always testing new candy. Like Skittles' new limited edition flavor, Carnival. My quick review: just stockpile these. Go. Now.

Tomorrow I'll do two: Dove Energy Glow and Crest Naturals. Wow. You won't be able to sleep tonight knowing what's in store for your Friday now, huh?

Humor me. Remember, this is all free, kid-friendly fun here.

Off to the post office. I actually have a good story about that for later. For now, goodnight!

Ok, so who wants a chocolatey-bourbon nightcap?

Today was and still is my father's birthday.


Here I was trying to give him something
in a scribute,
and look what he does:
gives me something I can use
and something I'll definitely have to grow into.

Happy Birthday to my dad, Jim Spooner.
I got you some windchimes for your new campsite.
They play Amazing Grace.
Or at least 6 notes of it anyway.

Happy Monday! No, really.

Last night, I had yet another nightmare about a former manager I've had -- the one who motivated us through our workday with such phrases as "They call it work for a reason" and "You like to eat, don't you?" Yes, really.

We were all at some convention hall, and I had no idea why I was there and was bored to tears. So I tried to make the best of it, bought four tickets, and invited four of the emotionally-battered co-workers to come see a show at the hall. Don't even know what the show was about because the four couldn't find parking and showed up late, missing the first hour and only catching the last thirty minutes. So if I can't see the first part of a show, I just don't see it until I can see it in its entirety.

I was surprised to see that one of the people there was her ex-boyfriend. He is a nice guy so I tried to briefly catch up on his life since I'd last seen him. Of course, then enters the former manager, trying to bully her ex back into a relationship. Her attempts were obvious, pathetic, and amateurish, ending in failure, much to my relief for her ex since he is a nice guy.

So as usual, she stomped off with feigned importance but returned soon for no good reason, still trying to put herself in my path. Being skilled at ignoring her frequencies, with a deep-breath and an even deeper soul-balancing sigh, I successfully blocked her out. Then she focused her attention back on her ex, following him out into the rain, still trying to bully him, still stressing her misconstrued importance in this world, and I felt sorry for him but was relieved I'd successfully thrown her out of my dream. Then, best news ever, the nightmare turned back into a properly nice dream with a pleasant surprise-ending -- she was arrested shortly thereafter for a DUI or something similar.

See? I told you it was a Happy Monday.

Except for Sylvia Brown at 3pm on Montel,
I'm banning daytime tv.
Again.

Posting from the road again.
"Whooo! 'Take It to the Limit'!"

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:


Wise old star.

Good Friday.

(sfx: ringring...ringring...)

b: whatchu doin', b?
me: doodlin' around. what're you doin'?
b: watchin' Paris Hilton cry her butt off.
me: that shouldn't take 'er too long.

I know someone who's gettin' a package...innit?

Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

click to enlarge
(the illustration, not her head)

In case you were wondering, and I know you were, I think I have figured out aliens. Finally.

They are the future of humankind, coming back in time to visit us. Yes. It's us, people. That's what we'll look like as an envolved, future human. Why do we come back? Because. That's what advanced humankinds do, right? They travel back in time to learn something from the past, and then help their kids write book reports on these things. Just as long as they don't try to sell me any Girl Scout cookies, I'm fine. Now. Why they come to our yards and do crop circles then turn our cows inside out at night, well, that's just *dirty riding* I guess.


1. The giant head and the swollen eyes: They evolved because of seasonal allergies that eventually lasted all year long. Everyone's allergic to everything, and it is getting better? No. So, the sinus pressure made the skulls bigger, and the swollen, itchy eyes had to go somewhere.

2. The Michael Jackson nose: Again with the allergies. Bigger particulate matter, bigger "noseholes" as they are referred to in certain sectors of the tragically-curious. But as you can clearly see with the head grown as big as it is, I'm not sure this single nosehole was a complete success. So either humankind got carried away and began to snort energy drinks. Or Starbucks. Or, quite possibly, all of humankind finally got famous from being reality shows winners, the whole lot of them, and this is one, giant, cocaine nosehole (which I had the pleasure seeing close-up in a dream last night, courtesy of Ambien and the six-armed woman missing one hand threatening me to a fight at the local Conoco store, and all I was wearing was a towel and an unfortunate pair of underwear my mother'd always warned me about, but that is just another story).

3. Tiny mouth: Luckily, humankind stopped talking. With the widespread use of blogs and isolation through iPods and cellphones with mp3 players, there was just no reason to use a mouth anymore. Obviously, everyone in my family died out way before this tiny-mouth adaptation occurred.

4. The skinny build: Okay. So maybe I do have a bone to pick with my own allergies after all. But I still say everyone continued on with over-the-counter appetite suppressing sinus medicines until they were left with nothing more than skeletal frames. Also, humankind eventually became allergic to peanuts and, sadly, corn. So there was nothing left for them to eat but styrofoam packing peanuts -- the Original Recipe ones that never bio-degraded. But that at least solved one of the problems of how to get rid of the things.

5. The potbelly: Face it. Like a milking cow will always have an udder, so too will the human have a potbelly. We may not be able to eat peanuts and corn, but we'll always find a way to fry something.

6. The Crocs: Have you ever tried on a pair of these? Sadly, they are the future -- a hideous but comfortable and virtually indestructible future. You laugh now, but one day, one of your great-great-great-great-great grandchildren may develop a packing peanut allergy and evolve on to eating only fried Crocs.

The eyebrows? I admit, they are just fantasy. With the widespread over-use of Botox, humankind won't need them. But I like to dream big when I do dream about other things besides six-armed women monsters threatening me at convenience stores.

Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Well, I hope everyone had a good holiday yesterday.
Any holiday is a good one, I know.
So, what'd I do?
Wait...what did I do...
lemme see,
checked off about 4 inches of things from The List,
(getting manageable)
started a book
(reading, not writing)
called "Love and Houses",
trying to finish that last Harry Potter
but I can barely lift the damn thing
(but I will not be defeated),
recycled and found some really good magazines
(yes, I admit it -- I picked some prime mags from the bin)
did a crossword,
made some enchiritos
(if that doesn't already exist, I count that as two things),
and
I think I just ended the week-long
orange *don't-go-outside* ozone alert
dry-spell combo we've had here
by washing and waxing Gillian, the trusty Honda.*

And, of course, I made another list.
On that list is "update your scributes, man".
So
(even though the harddrive
just started making that not-so-funny noise again)
I'm back for Tuesday Scributes for sure.

No, really.





*The roses would've liked me better
if I'd thought to do that sooner.

Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

Again I've fallen into the category of
"Where the Heck Ya Been This Time"?

Having tea and crumpets with Jimmy Hoffa.
Swapping dirty limericks with Amelia Earhart.
And traveling back and forth and back and forth
between Jackson and Memphis.
Building up my bookmarks and beaded things,
and mainly, selling books online.
First just for fun, now for platelet money.

I have way too much fun doing it, too.
So I hope I didn't just jinx it.
But if so, there'll be something else fun to do.
I believe that now.

Wrapping packages and going to the post office
to jabber with my favorite postal worker
is my kind of fun.

There. I admit it. I said it, I like it.

Another thing, I've been designing a labmonkie webpage
so I can link all these things together in once place,
which will be up this week. Or next. Y'know me.

So for now, I have designed that logo up top
for the li'l ole Amazon store's mailing label.

Whatcha think?

Say you love it because I'm not changing it.

My mom just said,
"Oh, look! It's a monkey!"
I said, "Yeah! With glasses...can you tell?"
I wanted it kinda abstract.
She said "Yyyyyes! You know...
you should design logos for a living."

Which ironically is one thing I've been doing in the past 15 years.
At least I was supposed to, until that last job I had.

Which reminds me,
I don't know or need to know the whole story,
but one of the people at that last place
who threw me and another guy to the lions?
Apparently, he finally got pushed into the arena, too.
Ooo. Well.
I hate to say this, but _________.

I won't say it, but you can fill in the blanks.

Okay, okay. I'm not smug.
You wanna know
my real blank-filler? It's
"Hey. If it weren't for the pushers and the lions,
there'd be no
'Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am',
and no real happiness for me."
And hopefully, happiness for the
people who like the Scributes, too.

And I'm also getting
*something about reaping and sowing*,
so I better shut up before I get smoted.

But thank you, God, for the pushers and the lions.
I get it now.


Anyway.
More bittersweet lemons for the lemonade,
(which besides tonic water is my favorite drink)
here's my favorite mama-story so far.
Yes, I've told it before, but I can't help telling it again
because she is so funny.

One day about 5 years ago,
she read something I wrote and said,
"You know what? You should be a writer."
I said, "Well, I am. I'm a copywriter, for ad agencies."
She said, "Oh no no no, I mean a real writer."

Like I ever had a chance of being normal.
Or smug. I love saying that word... it's funny...
smugsmugsmug...

Thanks again, Big Daddy G.

Happy Birthday to my aunt Sissy!

"Melinda" to those in Columbus.

This past year she broke her arm

tossing her computer into a brush fire.

I know how she feels!

Happy birthday, and I hope you get many,
many, many, many,
many chocolates
and other good things.

much love ~ bny

Found this down the lovely lady fudgeit's way. Looks like a very good movie coming out soon named The Golden Compass (which I hope does make its way over here to US theaters, too, because all we've had lately is "Big Momma's House 5" and "American Idol: The Movie").

My daemon first started out as a crow (which reminds me of one of my favorite Jack Handy lines)...

"The crows seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw. "

Did I really?

Boy, I missed over a month's worth of "Today's Tuesday Morning's Scributes to 10am"? What's wrong with me, huh? Ok, I've been *kinda busy*, but I will post as many as I missed here in this post. That's my level of dedication, extent of perseverance, and bappity boppity boop.


If anyone needs me before next Tuesday, I'll be hanging around at the The Maria Bamford Show, relating all too well to her sense of humor and straits of dire.

(Quick PS to my Aunt Sissy: Don't worry about the mature content warning. Much like myself, Maria just drops the ole f-bomb in there every now and then for company.)

Next Tuesday, I'll get back to our regularly scheduled Scributes. No. Really.

Oh, you care...you know you do.

But for now, click 'em if you need to see 'em biggum:

March 20, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"

Oh help me out, you know him...
short guy, dyed his hair too dark,
bleached his teeth too white,
pretended to be someone else
from somewhere else all the time?
Easily swayed, highly corruptible?
Wanted to save the west-coast redwoods
but couldn't give up styrofoam cups?
Eh, you're right,
nevermind his name...



March 27, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"

April 3, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"

For some reason, I keep having these vividly horrible
crab-wrangling nightmares
starring my last remaining hermit crab
named Speedy.
Which reminds me: RIP, Steve.



April 10, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"

Layering in my mom's house
is so very, very important.



April 17, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"




April 24, 2007's
"Today's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am"


Yes, I went to the doctor last Tuesday
Valiumed and ready for my bone marrow aspiration,
but he told me he'd postpone it for a few weeks.
If you don't know what a bone marrow aspiration is,
don't look it up without taking a Valium first.
And after the description,
don't be surprised it you never eat goose-liver pâté again,
if you actually ever ate goose-liver pâté to begin with.


There.
Caught up, and
~ finis ~

Speaking of,
I just finished off a can of cold chickpeas.
But luckily for me,
I like cans of cold chickpeas.
Are you still reading this?
You poor thing.
You need to get outside
more than I do. Go!