Is it just me?

Ever heard of Foreskin Restoration? Me neither until just recently. And it’s every bit as weird as it sounds.

Once you were sans turtleneck, I thought that was it. Turns out some guys are pissed and want their sweater back. Sounds like surgery, right? Nope, the three suggested methods are weights, elastics and cones. Convenient for you do-it-yourselfers, these are at home projects. Or you can buy some creepy products already made for the job called “Foreballs” and “the Tugger.” Seriously.

http://www.norm.org/

This might be a real concern for someone somewhere, but really? Wearing weights or tape to stretch the penis skin back out? I can’t even imagine being the partner of the guy doing this.

While laughing about this with my sister, she told me about fake dog balls. That’s right. Plastic balls that get inserted at neutering. Why? To look like real balls of course. So the other dogs won’t laugh.

http://www.neuticles.com/

Group lunch at a Japanese market makes my Asian bosses positively giddy. But wait, there’s no pizza, salad or sandwiches. uh-oh. Instead of real food we all get bowls of soupy noodles with two skinny sticks and a big spoon, oh please. I work hard to get some of it in my mouth with the over-sized plastic spoon, ya know the kind kids use for cough syrup. It was exhausting chasing the food around while trying not to splash soup all over myself. Afterwards I’m still hungry and I only feel taunted. Emergency pb&j would sure come in handy about now.

Moral of this story: There’s a reason that forks resemble cute little shovels. Chopsticks? Just another food prank thought up by a cranky anorexic.

Red velvet cake, turkey burgers and grilled cheese, never gonna happen. Must be why they’re all so tiny. Eating with only sticks, you’ll never get fat. The Chopstick Diet, could be the next big thing.

It’s big, shiny and out for blood. And a little humiliation too. As in scram, you’ve been dumped. You’ve got 2 hours to pack all your shit up and hit the road. See ya.

Lay-offs are rumored to be happening where I work and the waiting is no fun. It’s all out of our control but of course we sit around and stress over who’s gonna get it. Or not. Plenty of my friends have already been laid off or just can’t find work, so at least I’ll be in good company. It won’t be as embarassing to ask “paper or plastic” as it would have been a year ago. Oh wait, even the crappy jobs aren’t hiring so the bottom you could always sorta depend on, as in “Oh I can always pimp coffee at Starbucks if I have to” is now just a nonexistent bad job dream.

But do it already would ya? If you’re breaking up with me, please get it over with. Cause the torture of not knowing is making us all a little more insane than usual. And lots of hours are being wasted in the meantime talking about who it might be. Could be the guy that takes all the time off, or the new girl that no one really likes? You don’t want it to be anyone, so maybe we just take huge pay cuts and all stay? It’s a hideous bargain, that none of us want to happen, but we need it to. So we can get back to our comfortable everyday level of anxiety and chaos.

I’m never watching the Bachelor again. It’s my secret shame that I’ve watched most seasons. The idea that 25 women are desperate enough to go on TV and say “I don’t even know this guy but I heard he’s single and looking so I think I love him” makes me a little embarrassed for all women. Well, that and the fact that only one couple out of them all, is still together. Clearly, dating and fake dating on TV with cameras following your every move is not the best indicator of compatibility.

But this last rush for ratings was too much even for me. There was the big finale with a faux engagement after knowing each other only a few weeks plus of course the corny jumping in pool with clothes on. Then the update hour right after, which was actually 6 weeks after the finale, where the guy switched girls. Broke up with his original pick and asked Miss number two for a shot. Now he just seems camera crazy and much less like the great guy he was at first.

That was more than enough, but then there was another hour on last night. In yet another update, we got to see the guy and his second choice still happy after six weeks. Wow, must be the real thing. So now we’re caught up to real time in Bachelor World. Cause I couldn’t sleep until I knew? Ugg. I feel dirty.

Don’t blame this little guy for what happened a few days ago in Connecticut. He’s just a sweet little sock monkey. My sister and I each had one as kids, and we both still love them. She even gave me the cutest monkey slippers for Xmas. Hey, slippers aren’t only for old ladies anymore.

Real monkeys scare me a little. I mean I get the attraction and all. Sort of. But not sure I’d really want to live with a chimp like he was my child. Well…unless they can cook or clean a little.

But imagine dating, and having to explain the big furry roommate.

Dealbreaker # 273 No big furry roommates that might attack me and mutilate my face.

Ever notice how the wild animal as house pet story never ends well? Kind of a freak show, ripe for disaster. That wild animal pet will probably attack someone, and there’s just no apology big enough for this kind of bizarre tragedy.

This funny birthday card from my sister got me thinking about the lie a few of us tell.

How acceptable is it to shave just a few years off your real age?

Seems everyone is trying hard and botoxing up a storm in this city to fight the age monster. And if your lie is believable, I’m not sure it really matters what you tell people. Is it anyones business anyway? Unless you’re having kids, maybe no one really cares.

It used to be a manners thing, a question one just never asked. Sorta like asking, is that huge diamond real or how many facelifts have you had because I’ve lost track. Or maybe that was only in the south. Where it was sorta assumed a woman subtracted a few years off. Three years, no big deal. More than 5, it might matter. And of course it depends when you fess up to the lie. So at what point do you share the little secret you’ve been keeping? When is it anyones right to know the whole truth? And by whole truth, I only mean half. But yes, it should probably be before the wedding.

You know who I mean…the insane woman who just shoved eight little rascals out of Ladytown. And sure to be the next hideously popular reality show.

Divorced, with 6 kids already and living at home with her parents. Come on.

She is eight kinds of crazy.

Back in September I wrote a bitchy little something about Ashley Madison, the skanky site for married cheaters.

And today, I got invited to appear on Dr Phil, to talk about the site. I had signed up so I could check it out and within the first day I had 47 propositions, some guys were really anxious to cheat with me without any real details. When you’re cheating, it’s no photos, no wittty repartee needed. And after showering, twice, I closed my account.

So here’s the email I got today:

The Dr. Phil show is interested in doing a segment on how the economic downturn has resulted in couples choosing to stay in a rocky marriage because they can’t afford to get a divorce.
As a result many of these unhappily married people are choosing to have discreet relationships on AshleyMadison.com

They are interested in having me, President of AshleyMadison.com, on their show along with a few members willing to share their stories.

Oh how I wish I could go on and just be honest about how I really feel.
 

Has anyone seen the Kay Jewelers commercial that Jane Seymour is doing now? I thought she was a medicine woman or chateau owner or something. How does she find the time to design ugly heart-themed jewels too? They’re supposed to be open hearts, but it looks more like a swans head to me. The foil animal kind, that waiters used to make for your leftovers.

I hope one day someone loves me enough NOT to shop at Kay Jewelers.

But when the water in the back of the toilet freezes, YES it’s too goddamn cold. I’m in Dallas with family for the holidays and that meant a trip two hours north to the family farmhouse in Oklahoma. It’s in the middle of nowhere, in a town so small it’s restaurants 1 and red lights 0.

The country neighbor down the road has a cute family of goats, as pets, not dinner don’t worry. And an assortment of dachshunds, or what he lovingly calls dash-hounds. Each a different color, it was the variety package, including a few of  the long-haired cuties. They chased us and barked like crazy, probably wanting to come home with us. They must have been freezing outside in their pen last night. It was 11 degrees for fuck sake. Like any good trip to the country, we saw a coyote, some sheep, 2 calico chickens and lots of dogs outside. Anywhere else and the SPCA would be alerted. But Oklahoma, forget it. It’s just different there. Oklahoma is OK is the state slogan. I say there is very little OK about that place.

Dear Ancestors,

I’m sorry about your state.