I wasn’t raised Catholic, but having been in real estate, I’m all too familiar with St. Joseph.
If you don’t know who he is then you’re either a) not Catholic or b) haven’t tried to sell a home.
Based on my sources, I understand he’s the patron saint of families and homes. And he has developed one awesome cottage industry for himself and the Church.
Today has been a hellish day in the world of a home seller. I had insomnia last night and wanted to do little more than writhe around in my bed and nap intermittently today. But NO. Agents were slated to show my place from 11am – 3:30pm, so I had to make myself scarce.
I busied myself with yoga, grocery shopping and people-watching in the Circle, counting the minutes until 3:30 when I could get home, crawl in bed and take a fat nap. Just as I walked through my door at 3:45, my phone rang. It was an agent asking to show my place between 4-6pm.
Trying to NOT be bitchy, I asked if she could be a BIT more specific because I really would like to take a nap. Alas, she could not, so I gave her a nod to come by between 4-6pm.
The thing is, it’s now 6:30pm and she STILL hasn’t been here. Now I’m triple pissed because I could’ve taken not only a nap, but also a bath. And Murphy’s Law dictates that if I were to try to slip into the tub now, I would almost immediately hear a key in my door.
Let’s give it a shot. We’ll see if a tub filled with hot water conjures an agent like a ouiji board conjures spirits.
This 1968 ouiji board ad clearly sports a trick question. A model or a fashion designer? Well, let's see - you're already appearing in an advertisement, so what do YOU think the answer is? Oh, but can you tell me if that realtor will ever show up?
Technically, I suppose it's graphite.
When I was in third grade, a trip to the pencil sharpener ended with five millimeters of lead lodged in the palm of my hand. My teacher, Mrs. Minton, had very strict rules about interrupting her when she was working with a reading group. Even so – I approached her timidly, with my pencil sticking out of my hand.
“Mrs. Minton?” I tested the water.
“Alison, you know the rule.”
I returned to my seat, and sat, holding my hand, trying not to cry. When reading group ended, Mrs. Minton came over to find out what was “so urgent” and I showed her my hand, the pencil and its missing lead. Of course, there was some blood as well, and when she saw all of this, I could tell she felt horrible and sent me immediately to the office so a nurse could look at it.
It’s now 17 years later and I still have that lead wedged in my hand. I’ve become attached to it, almost like it’s a beauty mark. But here’s the weird thing: it’s starting to surface. I’ve never been able to feel it in my hand – until the last month. Like a splinter, it seems to be working its way out.
Part of me is sad – I don’t want to lose it. Part of me is fixated on it, wanting to know why – after 17 years – my body has finally realized it has a foreign substance in it and is try to drive it out. And part of me is creeped out realizing that one day I’ll look down and see my skin split open and some random length of lead protruding from my hand. Ack!
Or maybe I won’t notice at all. I mean, I started this life with an “outie” belly button, but sometime around fourth grade it just magically inverted. I wasn’t aware of it until my friend Shannon pointed it out. “Hey? What happened to your belly button? It’s not sticking out any more?”
I looked and – to my amazement – she was correct.
Sometimes it takes something crazy – like a belly button righting itself or (less impressively) a piece of lead resurfacing after more than a decade to remind us that these bodies of ours are nothing short of miraculous.
This is about the last existing photo of WOW chips. Lay's has done an amazing job scrubbing any reference to WOWs from the internet. That's SEO well played.
Remember when WOW potato chips came out in the late 1990s? They were the first – and to my knowledge – ONLY food to ever bear the warning that they may cause anal leakage. At the time, they were the subject of many late night jokes, and my colleague Sara dared to test the warning by consuming an entire bag in one sitting.
Her response: “Wow!”
Apparently the chip was well named and the warning well phrased. Score one for marketers AND the USDA. (Ironically, they ended up re-branding as “Ruffles Light” because they became infamous: deduct one for both marketers and Olestra.)
It got me to thinking that THAT was a good practice. Why don’t companies include warnings on any food that might spoil a date (as opposed to simply including a spoiled-by date)?
Based on the number of times the word “shart” has worked itself into a text from one of my friends (and you know who you are), I’m thinking there are PLENTY of foods (or people) that would be well-served by a cautionary label.
I won’t share the stories that accompany these foods (must protect the innocent – at least until I have a bottle of wine in me) but here’s a list that may cause disastrous results if consumed:
This is by no means a complete list, but it’s a starting point. In any case, don’t say you haven’t been warned. And feel free to add to this list or add your own cautionary tales – consider it an act of citizenship.
I’ve been de-cluttering my cupboards and closets in preparation to put my place on the market. I thought it would be a fairly easy task – I mean, I’m a far cry from a pack rat and quite honestly, in my tiny 1 br condo I only have two closets and five kitchen cabinets. How difficult could it be?
Well, I’ve learned a few things.
pithypants 
