Try not to get jealous of these awesome product ideas.

2 Feb

Not sure how the topic came up, but at book club last night we had a rather vivid discussion of camel toe. If you’re the only person in America who doesn’t know what camel toe is, for your edification: it’s when a woman’s pants are hiked up so they reveal the detailed terrain of her crotch. It looks like a camel toe; hence the name.

I can’t quite bring myself to insert a photo of camel toe here, but if you’re still not getting it, I recommend doing a Google image search on the word. The results are spot-on.

Anyway, once we were on the topic, one of the girls mentioned that they actually sell gym clothes that are reinforced in the crotch area to prevent camel toe at the gym. That prompted a whole discussion of a line of feminine apparel products we could brand.

First would be a female cup intended to keep that area looking like a Barbie. We would call that one “Camel-No.”

Second would be pads that keep your nipples from popping through your clothes (since bras don’t always provide enough coverage). These would be called, “Nipp-ins.”

Finally, although we’re not sure of anyone who is embarrassed by the contours of their belly button showing through their tops, we thought it was a good way to round out the collection. The belly button patch would be named, the “Belly butt-off.”

Oh, you might roll your eyes, but I bet the girl that invented Spanx got the same reaction. And she’s now a bazillionaire.

Besides, you’re probably just a wee bit jealous. I mean, while your book club devotes hours to dissecting “Jane Eyre,” mine is discussing camel toe and new business ideas.

I think we all know which club is more interesting.

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For the record: I was NOT an alarmist.

31 Jan

Courteney Cox: this should've been your first clue that you were marrying down.

About a month ago I posted about a firelog from hell trying to kill me. I’m sure you thought I was over-reacting, that my toting a fire extinguisher around was overkill.

Well, I’m here to tell you that Google says otherwise.

Since writing that post, every week I’ve had a few blog hits because people googled the following search terms:

  • how to kill fire log
  • how to extinguish pine mountain logs
  • what the hell is a fire log
  • fire log ashes
  • 12 hour fire log

Don’t judge the first guy, the one who asked “how to kill fire log?” in his best caveman voice. I know EXACTLY how he feels. Because when your log is shooting 3-foot flames up your chimney, it has become a living thing that must be killed, not just extinguished.

Along those lines, I’m guessing the second person was still in the “curious” phase and not yet terrified, because there’s no way I could’ve spelled “extinguish” when worried that I was going to burn my entire building to the ground.

I’m curious about the guy who googled, “what the hell is a fire log.” Why so angry, sir? And where were you that the topic of a fire log arose without also having someone on hand to define it? Or were you curious about a fire log’s chemical components? Actually, if that’s what you were driving at – if your tone is more of awe than anger – I can completely relate.

And last, for the 12-hour searcher: wishful thinking. A 12 hour fire ? That’s called a furnace.

Judgement: vindicated. Thank you very much.

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Kind of like dueling banjos… but a bit less melodic.

30 Jan

My friend Krista was in town this weekend, so last night a group of us headed to an Indian restaurant for dinner together. Because I have a bladder the approximate size of a golf ball, as soon as we arrived, I cruised to the bathroom.

There were two (one for the men, one for the ladies) but they were of the single room variety, where you lock the door behind you rather than seal yourself into a stall.

So imagine my surprise when – after locking the door – I found myself facing THIS arrangement:

I’ve seen some crazy bathrooms in my day (one word: Italy) but this was by far the most thought provoking.

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Open mouth (write Christmas card), insert foot.

29 Jan

Look - there's a book about me!

I’m a bit old fashioned when it comes to letters – I like to write them, I like to receive them, and I tend to believe email is a poor substitute for any sentiment that isn’t really urgent.

So it’s probably no surprise that I take Christmas cards fairly seriously, carving out hours before the holiday to write them. (And yes, I actually write in my Christmas cards, following the example my mom set when we were growing up. It seems to be a disappearing practice.)

Except this year I made a mistake. I sent a card to one of my cousins and FORGOT to include one of her children in the greeting. I addressed the salutation to her, her husband and their son. No mention of the daughter. OOPS.

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Not so funny, but true: A watched pot doesn’t boil – my blood does.

27 Jan

This is what comes up when you google "Snowy Thundercat." In case you were curious.

The East Coast got pummeled with ThunderSnow yesterday. Upon hearing the forecast, my head immediately jumped to ThunderCats, so I was like, “COOL. BRING IT!”

And then I realized it was a snowstorm with lightning, and my revised thought was, “Um. I hope this doesn’t mess up my flight!”

Alas, it did. My 4:30pm flight to Detroit was cancelled at noon yesterday. At the time of the cancellation, the ground was completely dry and there was nary flake in the sky, so I thought USAirways was annoyingly cautious. I called to book another flight, and they attempted to put me on a 6pm flight to Philly that would connect to Detroit with a midnight arrival.

Um, thanks, but if you can’t get ONE plane off the ground when it’s not even snowing, I don’t have much confidence that you’ll be able to swing a two-leg flight that leaves later AND routes through a city that is forecast to receive even more snow than DC. So I asked what else they had that was direct, and got booked for 8:35 am today.

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