Tag Archives: life

Lions, Tigers, and Bears – Oh My! Exotic Animals Run Free in Ohio

19 Oct

It appears that Ohio has a circus on its hands.

Or so the Associated Press reported yesterday.  Not in those specific words, but after reading an article on how scores of exotic animals escaped an Ohio farm, I could easily draw the conclusion.  

Yesterday the fences were “left unsecured” at the Muskingum County Animal Farm, which housed wolves, bears, tigers, giraffes, and various other animals that are now roaming the roadways and suburban developments of east-central Ohio.   Authorities reported to the scene after calls during rush hour that wild animals were spotted along the road.  

How I’ve longed to be on my way home from work one day and see a giraffe trotting along, minding its own business.  I feel like that would really help alleviate my end-of-day stress. 

 

 

It appears that things happened quite out of order in this scenario.  Now, I’m not an authority of any kind, but it seems to me that when one gets a call about exotic animals on the loose, one calls animal handlers, heads to the scene, and waits for their arrival. Instead, it appears that deputies simply began shooting animals with assault rifles.  I’m sorry, you probably think I meant tranquilizers.  I didn’t.  I meant assault rifles.

 

The deputies, who saw many animals standing outside their cages and others that had escaped past the fencing surrounding the property, began shooting them. They said there had been no reports of injuries among the public.

Staffers from the Columbus Zoo went to the scene, hoping to tranquilize and capture the animals. The sheriff said caretakers might put food in the animals’ open cages to try to lure them back. (Associated Press via FoxNews.com)

If you put an assault rifle in that left hand instead, I imagine the scene looked much the same as this.

25, by the way.  In case you were wondering how many animals were shot.  Animals in cage = pay admission.  Animals out of cage = SHOOT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHOOT!

There’s a silver lining to all of this.  Local school districts canceled classes for today.  That’s kind of cool.  I always loved a good snow day, but nothing beats staying inside for fear that an ostrich will peck you to death or a tiger will pounce the school bus.  That’s rad.

My favorite quotation in the article is from Sheriff Matt Lut, who says “Any kind of cat species or bear species is what we are concerned about.  We don’t know how much of a head start these animals have on us”.  He talked about them like they’re escaped murder convicts.  I can just see the staff meeting now, with maps and pushpins up all CSI-like as they try to get inside the tigers’ heads and figure out where their next stops would be. 

The article mentions that Ohio happens to have the nation’s weakest restrictions on exotic pets.  It requires permits for bears, but so long as you snatch yourself a lion, tiger, or other nonnative animal, you don’t need to worry about regulation for now.   So strap up and head over to Ohio before the deputies down them all with assault rifles.  And if you happen to be an Ohio native, enjoy your day off school, and take a family field trip to the Interstate.  See if dad can finally round up that camel you’ve asked for every Christmas. ♣

You can read more about the incident here, at FoxNews.com.  Just promise you won’t believe the little tagline under their logo that reads “fair and balanced”.

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A Walk Through Occupy Pittsburgh

18 Oct

It’s a ripe time for protest, friends.  And since I’m in my 20’s, live in a city, and have yet to experience the fiery passion of gathering around a cause, I decided to mosey on over to Occupy Pittsburgh this week, which set up camp this past Friday.  Pittsburgh is one of many cities to join the Occupy Wall Street movement, and since it’s right in my backyard, I didn’t have much of an excuse to ignore it.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday ya’ll.  Not sure what Lollipop Tuesday is? Check out the nifty link at the top.  It’s okay, take your time.  I’ll be here all year.  No really, I will.  I’m posting every day in 2011 cuz that’s how I roll.

But this is my first day posting about a protest, so let’s get to it.

I don’t really know how I feel about the whole Occupy Wall Street thing.   I appreciate the idea of gathering around a cause and I agree that our current system isn’t really working out for folks right now. But the idea of a protest that isn’t really protesting something, I don’t know – specific – is odd to me.  Let’s say everyone joins in and agrees – what then?  Is the plan to start coming up with solutions?  Because I thought that the whole idea is for folks to make demands.  It appears there has been a list released of a few things – albeit somewhat vague and not all measurable – and there has been quite a bit of media buzz surrounding the dichotomy between those protesters who want to move to goals and solutions and those who don’t deem either of those necessary.

I don’t know, I’m new to the whole thing.  So instead of getting all excited about it and going in there demanding that people start talking concretely about what they want, I decided to just go talk to people and see what it was like to be there.  I actually had a lot of questions – like what they do all day when they aren’t marching, meeting, or debating ideas.  I wondered where they got their food from and what the little micro society was like that they set up.

As it turns out, my questions were answered in pictures I took while walking through.  Well, those and by a lengthy discussion with two gentlemen named Earl and Johnathan, who were set up behind the food table, giving me the lay of the land.  You can read more about Pittsburgh’s version of the now-global m0vement/initiative/gathering/whatsit at OccupyPittsburgh.org.  Or if you’d rather just look at the pictures (it’s okay, no one can judge you), scroll away my friends.  Bask in the glory of my 5-year-old camera phone.

A view of the camp from 6th and Grant, downtown. It happens to be conveniently positioned in front of two prominent Pittsburgh companies: BNY Mellon, the target of a picket scheduled for the 17th, and UPMC, a 9 billion dollar Pittsburgh-based healthcare system.

It's a pretty muddy area they've staked out for themselves, which has been remedied by the creation of cardboard sidewalks.

Along the way, I ran into a fellow crafting a sign for himself. Cardboard seems to be the doer-of-all-things here. Hey, it's recyclable and found in abundance; I can dig it.

At the food tent, I found Earl (left) and Johnathan (right), who gave me the lay of the land and welcomed me warmly. Earl loves that he can have conversations with people of all ages, backgrounds, and political perspectives here. Johnathan is from Colorado and on his way to Occupy Wall Street. They both tell me of how readily everyone lends a hand, how all the food in front of them is free for the taking, and how people are just eager to talk to one another about ideas. "This", Earl says, "is true democracy".

Another cardboard creation, advertising the free food and encouraging donations. Baskets of cereal boxes, a plethora of bottled water, a bowl of fresh fruit, and other various foods littered the tent. People bring what they can and eat what they need. Later on I hear one gentleman tell another, "Yeah man! There's free food! I'm never leaving!"

Earl was pretty intent on me including these folks, who he says are mainly responsible for the food tent. Lauren (in the yellow hat), he notes is particularly organized and hardworking, making sure there is order in what may otherwise be a tent of delicious chaos.

A modest dry erase board propped up against a pole features agenda highlights.

On the way out (or in - I suppose it's a matter of perspective), a few tattered boxes lay to collect donations of various kinds.

To learn more about Occupy Pittsburgh, check out OccupyPittsburgh.org.  To learn more about the spot that spawned a global movement, check out OccupyWallSt.org. ♣

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My Big, Dumb Teeth

17 Oct

For quite a long time, I’ve been hoping to someday save enough money to fix what is to me a monstrous overbite.  Of course, things always seem incredibly exaggerated when you’re the one attached to the body parts you’re criticizing.  But nonetheless, it’s  my reality. I took the time this weekend to look up what such a procedure would be like should I choose to finally embark on the journey.

It’s awful.  Truly awful.  Turns out it could rock my world to the tune of $50,000 and may or  may not lead to a few months with my jaw clamped shut.  Not to mention a decent sized percentage of lip and chin numbness for the rest of my life.  All things considered, it appears as if my perfect teeth-wielding dreams will have to be put to rest.  And in honor of the fact that I must do so, I’ve decided to repost a tale of those teeth, written by a much younger, much more blog-neglecting, equally tooth-0bsessed Jackie.  Enjoy. ♣


I’ve had several less-than-glamorous moments that compose the fuzzy collage of what is my childhood. From leopard pants paired with bright blue tops, fuschia skirts and lime green blouses, to even day-glo, all-green Reeboks, I didn’t have a care in the world for what it thought of me and was more than happy to show off my fashionable fashion taste I could display as I debuted the new seasons of hand-me-downs and thrift store pizzazz. One could say I was the Vera Wang of the lower class.

The beauty of those times is encapsulated in how gorgeously apathetic and ignorant I was to the opinions that surrounded me. I gorged myself on books about Jim Carrey and aspired to be him. My face got stretchier, my clothes more exotic, and my life even more enjoyable. Yeah, I wore big glasses and had permed hair long enough to adequately lustrate my lower region, but I had spunk. And big teeth.

Lots of them, actually. Lots of big, freakin teeth.

One could say I hated them from the beginning. I scooted around the house as a toddler with teeth to the wind, running at full speed toward any solid object that dare enter my field of vision. By the time I was 6, they had to be removed. They were black, cracked apart, and dead to me. Success!

Until they grew back.

They grew back with a vengeance. All of them did. Angry at what I’d done to their brothers and sisters, they came back fiercer, bulkier, and more demanding than ever before. Jutting out from all sides of my jaw, I wondered how it was that I would avoid swallowing them. On the roof of my mouth, in every crevice, outside every natural jaw line, and even deep in the roots of my wisdom teeth, they multiplied. And at the front of the militia, two perfectly straight, perfectly large teeth shone for all the world to see, forcing their way past the others in a desperate cry for attention. … and that they got.

I became instantly famous for a gag called “The Bunny Face” in which I embraced my curse, scrunched up my nose, put my fingers behind my head, and chomped up and down as a small woodland creature might chew upon a small twig. Instant fame. The cheers and pleads for The Bunny Face lived from 3rd grade up until my freshman year of college, when I officially retired it and publicly announced that it would no longer be featured on the Jackie Baker Showtime Hour.

My mouth retaliated.

A trip to the dentist revealed more troops; at the back of my jaw, six wisdom teeth had begun to move in. That’s right: six. If indeed an average person has all their wisdom teeth come in, it often denotes four. I, however, am a special case. A small percentage of lucky, tooth-blessed folk get what are called “super incisors,” which grow in immediately behind the regular two on the upper jaw. Super Incisors. Sounds almost… bunny-like.

I underwent a ridiculous procedure in which eight teeth were removed. At the same time. Six wisdom teeth and two regular asshole teeth that wouldn’t behave, one of which was located right on the roof of my mouth. Really.

By my sophomore year of college, my mouth was looking good compared to its sordid, toothy past. My smile line was lookin’ swell, and I was on my way toward worry-free dentistry.

Cue senior year: audition feedback meetings. After a silent two years, my front teeth are back and bold. It is brought to my attention that my overbite is interfering with my ability to speak well. My front teeth are older, wiser. With no Bunny Face with which to bombard me, they have struck in a much more intellectual way: by stunting my ability to easily handle the speech mechanisms that compose the Shakespearean language. Blasted!

And so my battle begins again. I care more about what the world thinks these days than I did in my thrift store fashionista days. After two years of pride, I’ve been reduced to The Girl with the Overbite. I struggle, I pine, but alas, I can do little to help my moneyless estate.

Since the dental procedure required involves a great deal of money, I must settle for investing in one-holed ski masks. I will immediately cease talking and will invest in a variety of bold and bright colors and they shall mask my pain. … and my overbite. Leopard print, bright blue, fuschia, and lime green. I’ll wear them with every outfit, I’ll set new trends, I will overcome the setbacks of my toothy past and shoot for the stars. I shall return to my childhood splendor and set new standards of fashion amongst the criminal demographic.

I, Jackie Baker, will no longer be set back by my bulky, malicious front teeth. ♣

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How I Almost Went to an Elf Convention

16 Oct

I had the most epic Lollipop Tuesday planned for this coming week.

Epic.

There’s a billboard near my apartment just by the on-ramp to the highway that advertised the Middle Earth Society, which was slated to have a convention this weekend.  I couldn’t make out too much on the billboard but there was a website listed that I could go to.  Something like middleearthsociety.com.

For those of you who are not total losers like myself, Middle Earth refers to Lord of the Rings.  And I fear that some of you may not even know what Lord of the Rings is.  Lord of the Rings is what Dungeons and Dragons was based on.  And Dungeons and Dragons is…

Oh never mind.  Elves and dwarves and things.  Okay?  It’s about elves and dwarves and things.

Anyway, I was incredibly excited for the opportunity to dress up and go to a nerd convention.  Every time I went to look up the details online and gets tickets, though, I didn’t see it on the convention center list or see any blogs or other Internet information alluding to it.  I kept going by the billboard and trying to get more information to make sure I had the dates right, but it’s really positioned in a difficult-to-slow-down area and there was a lot of small font.

Yesterday I slowed way down and tasked Dave with reading the information while I fended off any cursing drivers behind me.  As I glanced to the left to make sure he was reading the right one (there were two), something vital caught my eye: an “s”.

As it turns out, I had just assumed that this convention was for the Middle Earth society because they had a rune-like logo and my mind wanted to read that it was for Middle Earth.

When in fact, it was for the Middle East.

That’s right: The Middle East Society was hosting a convention.    I honestly almost bought tickets and showed up to an academic convention and forum for debate on the state of the Middle East looking like an elf from Middle Earth.

What would I have done in such a situation? Would I have just pulled off my costume ears and excused away the odd garb as part of a culture they obviously don’t understand because they’re clouded by their academic prowess?  Or would I have just slithered home after seeing what I’m sure would be enormous signs welcoming visitors at the convention center to the Middle East Society?

It’s a question that will forever burn in our cerebrums; we shall never know.

Glad I didn’t splurge on that elf getup. ♣

A glimpse of what almost was. Except I would cover up more. Not a lot of plump elves dwelling in Middle Earth, I hear.

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The Iceman Cometh

15 Oct

It’s cold.

I know, I know – I asked for this.  I praised autumn in a post that could have inspired people to fashion little idols of autumn and worship them in their backyards.  After autumn comes winter, so by praising one, it implies that I am encouraging what follows.

To be clear, I’m not.  I hate winter.  I used to like it back when it was 1/4 of the year, but now it’s half and it makes me want to die.

I usually don’t mind the autumn chill; I’m more than happy to have an excuse to bust out the scarves a little early.  But I have a small problem.  My landlord isn’t turning on the heat.

I’m not sure what his rules and regulations are.  I don’t know what temperature it has to get to for him to decide it’s inhumane to give us the gift of fire, but sometimes it gets pretty darn cold overnight and there’s nothing I can do but fashion a cocoon of blankets and hope til morning. 

It’s kind of a strange retribution, you know?  I went all summer long without air conditioning in order to save money and to cater to my occasional need to indulge my hippie sensibilities.  Maybe my landlord (let’s call him Smee) caught wind that I was torturing Dave and my cats and now he’s going to teach me a lesson.  Maybe Dave called Smee and asked him to teach me a lesson.  

After all, men are furry.  They can endure the cold.  I’m naked as a baby mole rat from my head to my toes; there’s no hope for me.

I try to combat the chill by baking and cooking a lot.  I threw a few potatoes in the oven the other night just to fire up the gas.  Our gas bill is included in our rent, so I can use all the oven time I want.  I wasn’t really hungry, but like the late Mitch Hedberg said: “It takes forever to cook a baked potato in a conventional oven. Sometimes, I’ll just throw one in there, even if I don’t want one. By the time it’s done, who knows?”

I like to take my life advice from comedians.  Sometimes that can be problematic.

As it turns out, I didn’t want the baked potato when it was done.  I don’t really like them.  But I was warm.

I have a few poorly constructed plans for how to endure part of the winter should Smee refuse to loosen the purse strings.  Most of them have to do with funneling the heat from the oven into other parts of the house with Dr. Seuss-like contraptions.   That’s probably a fast track to a fiery death.

At least I’ll be warm when I go. ♣

 

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Zooey Deschanel Is Mocking Me

14 Oct

Zooey Deschanel and I are kind of fighting right now.

I say kind of because she doesn’t know who I am, even though she is obviously playing out my entire life on national television.

For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, allow me to post a picture of enlightenment.  But I warn you: she’s totally cute.  So if you’re a guy and you don’t already know who she is, prepare yourself to get a little excited by her adorableness.  And if you’re a girl who doesn’t already know who she is, prepare to feel inferior.   Not inferior in a ‘wow she’s hot’ kind of way.  Inferior in a ‘man she’s really lovely and looks like she’s probably a nice person too.  Sonuvagun’ kind of way.

Look at her basking in her awesome life. For the record, I got this image from a site that claimed to have gotten the image from another site. So to go ahead and bypass all that mumbo jumbo let's just say this obviously isn't mine and you can click on the image to find lots more pictures of her that aren't mine.

 You might recognize her face as the crazy girl from 500 Days of Summer.  Or maybe as the crazy girlfriend on Weeds.  Or maybe as the crazy roommate in Failure to Launch.  Or, most recently, as the star of the show ‘New Girl’, which was stolen from the transcripts of my life.

I was first made aware of this travesty when one of my older brothers texted me telling me I had to watch it right away because it was me.  The premise of the show is that the lead – Jess, played by the offender in question – has just been cheated on and moves in with a houseful of guys, where she talks in crazy voices, does stupid things, and makes up her own jingles.  And with only a few almost unnoticeable adjustments, this is my life from college.  Except New Girl replaced all of my awesome guy roommates with bad actors.  Also, I’m not as attractive as her. 

This makes me upset.  Not just the not-being-as-attractive-as-her thing, but the whole shebang.  Zooey Deschanel is exactly what I’ve always wished I looked like, starring in a sitcom I always wish I could have had.  And guess what: she has a band.  Yeah.  She gets her singer-songwriter on too.  The real kicker is that she isn’t even very good at any of these things. Honestly, she’s not.  I’m not being rude – she’s very lovely and I don’t hold anything against her except that she has entirely and heartlessly usurped my dreams from me by claiming them for her own.  But it’s just an empirical observation that she’s rather average in every area outside of her bangin’ cute looks and soul-slurping doe eyes.   She just tries to be amusing about the fact that she’s average and people like that about her.

She even has likability.

So I keep watching New Girl.  Over and over again.  I don’t even think it’s very good.  It could have been good if they would have called me to get more information instead of just running with the basics.  But they missed a few very key points about the roommates that I’d love to fill them in on.  You know, if they’ll replace Zooey with me.  Obviously.  And they’re going to need a few cats.  The cats are vital. But I keep watching it in spite of its mediocrity because I’m in shock at how much she is like me and how completely annoying I am. 

Look at her. She knows what she's doing. (Photo by Noel Vasquez – Image courtesy gettyimages.com)

 

Really, I can’t stand her character.  I don’t know how people put up with me.  At least when I lived with four guys I could kind of spread my personality amongst them all.  Now that I live with just one – oh man.  How does Dave do it?! Honestly, how does he not smother me in my sleep?

The other day I woke him up with an improvised song about how he was wrapped up in his blanket all funny.  It was called Breakfast Burrito.  And while I was proud of my rendition at the time, I’m now watching Zooey ‘I-steal-your-dreams-and-play-them-out-in-front-of-you’ Deschanel and I’m thinking Woooow.  Someone needs to body slam me until I shut up.

Really.  If Zooey woke me up with a song about how I looked like a breakfast burrito, I’d have the urge to take her out at the knees.

Well, at least maybe then I’ll have a shot at understudy. ♣

 

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An Opportunity for Shenanigans

13 Oct

Tomorrow I have a fantastic opportunity for shenanigans.

Let me lay out the necessary, boring details for you quick like a Band-Aid: I have an all-day mandatory meeting with a large portion of the folks who work for the same company as me.  Though I’ve been here for over a year, I didn’t go last year because I wasn’t yet official in this role.  My boss has folks she interacts with in two places: the building I work in and a building downtown.   Most of the people I coordinate with regarding her are downtown, which means that I’ve talked to them constantly over the phone or through email for a year and they have absolutely no idea what I look like.

Until tomorrow.

I have a lot of ideas.  My favorite involves a pair of cat-eye glasses with the little string of beads that holds them around your neck when you’re not using them.  I’d also like a long, ridiculous skirt, a drab cardigan, and a turtleneck.  I’ll call it “Librarian Chic”.  

I’d also like to adapt a few strange mannerisms.  Talking about myself in the third person is not out of the question.   And since food is always such a big to-do and all office meetings, I could probably get a lot of strange hubbub by bringing a sack of my own food.   Like an entire sack of cold hot dogs.

That might bring about the wrong kind of questions.  Let’s change that to a sack of Twinkies.

I think the overall image will be pretty fabulous.  No one can really say anything to me because we’ve got this whole ‘include everybody, no matter how ridiculous they seem’ HR thing going on right now.   And since my boss has taken ill, there’s a high chance she will not attend.  The best part will be when she goes downtown next week and get a lot of puzzled buzz in the office about her strange assistant.

Of course, I’ve thought about going the complete other way and busting through the joint in a power suit and not talking to anyone.  The urge to treat this occasion as a grand social experiment is just irresistible.  Imagine how different my phone conversations and emails will be if I can create the image of someone entirely uptight/strange/powerful/better-than-thou – I have such a plethora of choices.

Feel free to chime in with one; I’ll throw together my wardrobe tonight. ♣ 

 

 

 

 

 

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Public Enemy Number One: Corn Mazes

12 Oct

Yesterday I lost a little more faith in the human race.

Unfortunately I’m not referring to the college student who ran out in front of the car while I was driving, pretending as if putting his arms up and not making eye contact doubled as a human shield.  Though it comes as another close runner up, I’m also not referring to last evening when I watched Red Riding Hood.

Why did I do that?

No, I’m referring to something much, much sadder.  Something that lowers my intelligence quotient just hearing about it.  And now I’m going to do the same to you in order to even the score.  I’m sorry it has to be this way.

Yesterday, a family called 911 because they got lost in a corn maze. 

You’ve read it.  You can’t unread it.  

Picture it: you go out with your family to a corn maze for a little bit of autumn fun.  Thousands of people come from all over every year to cherish the wonders of the corn.  This year you finally decide to make it out.  But after you pay your entrance fee, you’re twenty minutes into the maze and have no hope for finding an exit.  It’s been at least five minutes since you saw that kid with the strange blue goop all over his cheeks who keeps staring at you like he knows something.  And then it hits you: you might never get out of here.  You could spend your life here, looking for the exit.   And though that would be okay for you – you’d make do with gnawing on the corn and then fashioning yourself a hut of husks, but wait.  What about your baby?

None of that was actually in the story.  Just the concern for the baby.  

I have a lot of questions, some many of which may never be answered.  

Now, I know you may be struggling with this.  You could be shocked that corn mazes pose such a current and real threat to our society.   You could still be wondering what kind of puree could be made out of the corn and mixed with breast milk to keep a small baby alive in such a dire situation. Or maybe you’re just  cradling yourself and rocking back and forth as you think about the tax dollars that were wasted in this and of the resources that went down the drain to make it a national headline.

Personally, I’m saddened by the watering down of our intelligence over the course of time.  This poor family is just a product of our terrible stupidity breeding with itself.  

Do America a favor, folks.  Watch this video.  Then go find your kids/parents/siblings/pets and force them to listen to you read an entry from the Encyclopedia Britannica.    

Your country will thank you. ♣

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The Almost Lollipop Tuesday

11 Oct

You knew it was coming right? The week when I would completely fail at doing anything new or exciting? The week where nothing was worthy of being logged in this, the 2011th year of Our Lord: the year Jackie wrote a blog post every day.

No? Didn’t see it coming?  Well it has.  Breathe heavily.  Hold yourself.  Try not to regret visiting this page today.

I don’t really have an excuse.  I could have planned better.  I could have laid out my last Lollipop Tuesdays of the year so that I’d know what I was doing each and every week.  But instead I ended up driving around the butt crack of the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio looking for an idea.

Usually when I procrastinate for Lollipop Tuesday, I’m in my own stomping grounds and can uncover an idea or two.  But last night I was out of my element.  I’d forgotten my wallet at home, had no money for tolls, and driving through a back woods area on my way back home, searching with Dave for some fantastic, free, adventurous idea.

Buggy rides were considered.

I also parked the car outside a house that had a large sign stating “Swans for Sale”, pondering the possibilities.  I envisioned setting one free somehow.  But then, I didn’t know the going price for swans these days.  Not to mention not having any idea what kind of place a swan might prefer to be as opposed to the back yard of some crazed nincompoop that preens it and buffs its eggs in hopes that some grandiose swan aficionado will wander in any day to claim it.

Really, try as I might I had no idea why one would buy a swan.  Come to think of it, I should have pretended to be one such aficionado and gone in the house interrogating the seller about his quality of inventory.

We also passed a paintball place, but even if I had money with me (which I hadn’t) I had a very broken, very bruised David fresh off a bicycling accident with me.  Not such a good idea I would think.  Unless I just gave him the gun and ran.  He could’ve shot the bejeezus out of me and we could spend these next few weeks in commiserating pain.

But instead I made it back to good ol’ Pennsylvania with neither wounds nor swans to aid me.  And though I considered wandering into town for hot wings I have to sign a waiver to eat or conquering a food contest at my local ice cream store or  walking through a cemetery at night, all of those things seemed pretty lame.  Let’s face it: I carved a pumpkin a few weeks ago.  I don’t think you’re going to buy a walk in the cemetery after that cake week.

So here’s the deal.  I have no Lollipop Tuesday, but I do have a revised schedule for future ones.   Revised as in it exists now where it formerly did not.  That’s quite a revision.  I have wonderful things in store.  Classes I had to look up, buy admission to on Groupon, and adventures I staked out.  They’re laid out and waiting for me to conquer one each week until the end of the year.  I’d take the time to recite them to you here, but then why would you ever come back?

So I failed.  Super failed.  I’m ashamed.  And I shall spend the remaining eleven Lollipop Tuesdays in the year highly aware of this, my moment of failure.

I’d like to make it up to you, so here’s a pile of kittens:

 

Happy Almost Lollipop Tuesday, folks. ♣

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Halloween at the Gynecologist’s

10 Oct

I have my annual gyno appointment this year on October 31st: Halloween.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  It was supposed to be sometime in November but the chick doc is on vacation basically every day during the month of the Turkey.  I was left with two options in October and only one of them were doable for me.  Unfortunately, it’s smack dab in the middle of the day on the ghouliest day of the year.

I feel strange about this.  It’s difficult enough to have someone poke and prod their way into my ever-so-delicate lady parts, but on Halloween?  

Something about the idea makes me feel as if bats will fly out of my vagina as soon as she peeks inside.

It’s only appropriate that I take advantage of such an awkward scenario.  I’m sure that when I look across the room

as I’m strapped in and spread eagle, I’ll see little doctor’s office decorations on the countertops.  Nothing says Happy Halloween like a cute fuzzy spider next to a bin of pap smear swabs.

I could also firmly position a fun house mirror in there. What a nice surprise!

I should probably embrace the celebration by trapping my vagina with Halloween specialties.  Perhaps she could be welcomed to the cave by a small bowl of candy.  Or I could set up a light-activated hand that shoots out when she shines her little flashlight inside.  Maybe I should just keep it simple and get a horror sound effect recording so that when she tells me to scoot up and spread, she’s greeted by Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” and a black light from within.   The possibilities are endless!

I could forgo the vagina contraptions altogether and just concoct a fun costume for the event.  I could dress my bottom up in brilliant colors and, like a pop-up book, have a bright banner that goes from knee to knee when pulled apart reading “Enter at Your Own Risk”.

Actually, that’s probably a good sign to have mounted for all occasions.

This fun doesn’t have to be reserved for Halloween; we could just go ahead and make it standard.  There’s really no other way to make someone poking around your insides any more awkward and uncomfortable, so let’s embrace the nature of the act and take it all the way.  It will be a great way to brighten your gyno’s day.  Of course we should be inclusive.  Men have similarly uncomfortable moments dealing with their lower halves and they should feel free to indulge as well. 

After all, everyone loves an excuse to dress up. ♣

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