Cure for Morning People (among other things)

I love those kitschy little stores where you can just sort of wander up and down the aisles and find entertaining items that don’t really fit in a store that has a set theme. I just recently found myself in one of those “anything and everything” boutiques that’s in a small town close to where I live. It’s sorta kinda a pharmacy, but also sorta kinda a general store. Long story short you shouldn’t be surprised if you saw someone walking out of there with their cholesterol medication, a plunger, a jack-in-the-box, and a new copy of whatever self-help book is on top of the New York Times bestseller list. It’s a weird little store. In fact, I’ve mentioned it before. It’s the place that had the Selfie Album I told you all about a while back.

They have a ton of unique, quirky gifts for newlyweds and a bunch of hilarious greeting cards I read. I am not ashamed to admit that I spent an inordinate amount of time alone in the card aisle laughing like a loon because the cards were so damn funny.

They also had these gag candles and soaps which were a hoot.  At least I’m assuming they were gag items.  Perhaps I was taking things deeper than they needed to be, but these soaps and candles got me thinking about who I am. The Morning Person soap really hit home, I must say.  The soap was great but I would really, really love to have that scent put in a spray bottle. That way I can spritz it on those annoying happy-go-lucky, perky people who seem to be completely put together the moment they jump out of bed at 6:00 a.m. Either they would become suddenly less annoying or disappear altogether and reappear somewhere else far away from me.  If I’m awake at six in the morning you better put an incredibly strong cup of coffee between me and anyone I meet or else, it’s going to be bad news. Morning Person I am not. But hey, maybe I can melt down this handy-dandy soap, add warm water — douse the offending Morning Person and poof! Problem solved!

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awkard moments

writer's block

Me, Myself, and I

On a recent trip to a store that was half pharmacy, half general store, and half weird knick-knack closet that deserved its own episode of hoarders but an episode that is geared to a much more upscale audience (and yes, I realize I obviously can’t do math in my head), I stumbled across a good amount of meaningless, albeit amusing items. Quite honestly, it’s my new favorite place to hang out. I couldn’t afford anything there, but hey, I loved it nonetheless.

After spending quite a bit of time in the card aisle laughing all by myself like a loon, Sarah having abandoned me for her own exploration of this quirky piece of Heaven, one gift-y sort of item in particular caught my eye.  At first I only saw it as a gag gift, but it soon dawned on me that in this day and age it could be seen as a heartfelt present.  It was a photo album for selfies. Selfies! Let that sink in for a minute. Oh and we’re not talking some plain, unobtrusive, perhaps even elegantly designed album.  Oh no.  It was bright red, leather-bound, and the cover has a mirror.  A freakin’ mirror, people! And inside are empty pages reserved for pictures of most people’s favorite subject…themselves. You can make a scrapbook of nothing but self-portraits. You laughing hard. You on vacation. You with a hot new haircut. You making a sexy face.

I thought this was a pretty funny little book. But we’re living in 2016. Selfies are a way of life now. The thought hit me that, oh my god, if you gave this book to a certain class of people (and you know who you are), instead of seeing the sarcastic intent they might get a little teary-eyed at the thoughtfulness.

I can already tell many of you reading this are thinking “Who would take this gift seriously!?” but gag gift or not, at $25.95 it’s a pretty pricey joke. For a hardcore selfie enthusiast this is a solid purchase, a way to preserve their uncontainable beauty even more. And people must buy it. If not, it’d be in the $2 bargain bin.  If this place had a $2 bargain bin. Which it didn’t. A $10 bargain bin maybe.

The truly funny thing is, those people who would take the book seriously, and trust me, I know a few…I can see them taking pictures of the pictures they place inside their nifty little selfie book and posting THOSE online with a comment “Just look at me…hanging out and adding a new pic to my selfie book. Isn’t it perfect?! I said, look at me! Just look!”

 

selfie book

yep, that’s a mirror.

 

selfie book_lol

because I’m just so funny!

 

selfie book_no filter

au naturel.  yeah, right.

 

selfie book_on vacay

who are we kidding? this one would be photo-shopped because since when do I have money to go on vacation??

Flying Purple People Eater

These aren’t quite available yet, so don’t get all excited, but they’re seemingly perfect for that special millionaire’s Christmas wish list once they are ready for production…with just a few hiccups.

I don’t envy anyone who lives in an area that sees earthquakes. All natural disasters frighten me…personally my area sees hurricanes and tornadoes. Earthquakes are freaky and scary, not to mention devastating, so it’s wonderful that someone is thinking of ways to protect people during such a terrible event. That said, I believe this particular invention might be just as scary as the earthquakes themselves. Check out the article, it’s brief, has lots of photos and even a video on how these beds work. But basically, they eat the occupant. Yes. In case of an earthquake, these beds swallow up the occupants…sort of reminiscent of your basic go-to terrifying nightmare that you struggle to wake up from.

Although I can see where these earthquake proof “beds” are really cool and might even make for a useful device — once they work out the kinks, such as possible amputations, decapitations, simple full body smooshes, and other scenarios worthy of a top-notch horror movie — I don’t think I’d get a wink of sleep from the stress and anxiety these beds would induce. Being consumed (ha!) by the thought of being eaten by my bed would not exactly be a restful state of mind for me.

Having worked in the construction industry for many years and thereby having come into contact with other, not so conscientious people and companies who built various things, I now realize that said “things” are only as good as the person who built them or inspected them. For instance, what if a particular worker in charge of an important component was hungover that day? Or angry at their spouse and distracted? Or just plain incompetent? What if the company cut corners to win the bid and bought material from a disreputable shop that sells knock-off, look-alike steel nuts and bolts that just can’t handle the structural load pressure of the job?  This is the same reason I don’t go on roller coasters or that insane horse-shoe shaped glass overlook at the Grand Canyon. I just don’t trust people that much. Of course my extreme fear of falling plays into it as well.

But I digress. Back to the people-eating beds.

What happens if a large, heavy work truck rumbles by your house, you know the kind I mean, the ones that make the windows shake, and the bed thinks it’s an earthquake and eats you? No-one’s home. There’s no emergency so people aren’t searching houses.  And you’re just there, living on rations until when?  Is there a timer on these things?  A code to get out?  I can barely remember my computer password; I’m supposed to remember a password for this thing when I’m under stress? Good luck with that. But hey, at least there’s food. I’d stock mine with cookies and Bailey’s. Just in case. Might as well enjoy the time I’m stuck in there.

Or let’s say, God forbid, there is an earthquake…the bed works like a charm, only now you’re stuck in a box that is covered with so much debris that you can’t get out (the article mentions this as being an issue). So you’re just sitting there, maybe for days, maybe for weeks, hoping for emergency personnel to show up and find you, meanwhile you’re watching your supplies dwindle. How do people know to look for you or even what to look for? Any alert sticker you may have put on the window is long gone. Is there an intercom on these things, so you can shout out, “we are here, we are here, WE ARE HERE” at random intervals à la the diminutive Whos from Horton Hears a Who? More importantly, where’s the bathroom?

Regardless of its functionality as a protective device, first and foremost this pimped out motion-activated, padded panic box should be a BED. It should be a place of rest. For me, sleep would be a moot point. I mean, really. In a torture device bed that looks like a waffle iron? Yeah. Right. I’d have nothing but fitful nights filled with images of Leslie Knope looming over me with a spatula in one hand and a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s in the other. Not exactly conducive to a good night’s rest. I’d wake up crankier than I do now, and believe me, no-one wants that.

 

waffle iron bed

click for a link to the Daily Mail article which shows how the beds work…prepare yourselves…