You can tell it's a fine quality item because of the iron-ons and puffy paint

Me and my friend, who we will call "Luann," are into this new show on abcfamily called "Pretty Little Liars." We decided to get together the other night to watch it and somehow came up with the idea to make Twilight t-shirts after. (I think we're planning on wearing them to the movie? Maybe? Don't judge us.) They are pretty amazing. And by amazing, I mean dumb and hilarious. Here's mine:

The brown blob is a werewolf and it says (WEREWOLF) under it in puffy paint. The white circle is a vampire and says (VAMPIRE) under it. (Just in case you couldn't tell from the picture.) I thought the clarification via parentheses might be needed despite the fact that my graphic art skills are so (not) amazing. I feel like it added a little something else, you know? And I'm not sure if you can see it, but the fangs are done in glitter puffy paint. I came up with the idea based on Eclipse, cause *SPOILER ALERT* it's basically about a big werewolf/vampire fight. Hence the "vs." But apparently, and I say this based on my extensive reading of the Twilight Saga and the Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood novels, werewolves and vampires don't get along. I mean, I get it. They both can't be top supernatural being. Gotta have some drama. But can we just talk about my werewolf for a minute? I mean, what is that? A beard that has swallowed a cat? One of the little ghosties from Pacman that fell in a vat of mutation juice along with something vaguely resembling a cat? I suppose it's a bit teen wolf, so that's cool.

Here's the front of Luann's:



The front says "Little Brown CO." for the Twilight book publisher. Pretty creative, no? And yes, the spacing and letters are all sorts of crooked, but it's still amazing! Luann had to go out and buy an iron to do this. An iron! And it is not as easy as it looks. Here's the back:

She has little rhinestone ballet slippers on the sleeve, since Bella took ballet lessons. And the "S WA N" is for Bella's last name, duh. She was going for a jersey look, and I think we can all agree that, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. By the way, that decal is a peace sign in the shape of a heart. And it took her like 20 years to iron that crap on there. Luann was gonna do a number instead, but the heart is waaay better. Obviously. She also got chocolate on it. We have no idea how. But that's the risk you take when you decide to do an arts and crafts project.

So they're pretty snazzy, right? Totally classy and well-made. I'm sure you'll be seeing these at your local HOTTOPIC in no time. Until then, we're taking orders. Because we're broke and (technically) unemployed and need money as well as something to do. How many can I put you down for?

Elephant Trifle

A couple of years ago I started to develop an interest in plants and gardening. Well, maybe not so much gardening as just going to the nursery or Lowe's buying flowers to put in pots, but still. My mom and grandma are both big into gardening, so I guess helping them plant bulbs and water flowers and stuff rubbed off on me. So anyway, a couple of years ago I came home to my apartment to find a geranium on my front porch. Attached was a notice to renew my lease and "plant" myself at the apartment complex. It was a nice little surprise, and I'd always had a soft spot for geraniums because they just seemed so warm and fuzzy and I loved their dirty, earthy smell. I resigned my lease and ended up having that geranium for a good year; I re-potted it, named it, watered and pruned it, took it inside for the winter, discovered it had caterpillars (no wonder the leaves were all holey and I kept finding little green wormy things on the floor), and eventually had to let it go. But that was it, I was a plant person. There's just something so enjoyable and satisfying about playing in the dirt and watching things grow. And if there's one thing I'm a sucker for, it's those kitschy, kawaii-esque grow kits you can get for like, 2-5 bucks at the drugstore, and the pot is in the shape of a mushroom or rain boot or a chia pet or whatever. Usually they don't grow anything, but I still like to try them out. Because I like dumb, cheap stuff.

About a month ago I was at Lowe's getting gifts for mother's day and I saw one such grow kit in the shape of an elephant. It was called a "Munakuppi Grass Grow Kit." Fun fact: according to wiki, munakuppi is Finnish for "egg cup." The selling point on the box was that you could cut the grass or "hair" into any style you wanted. I had to get it, mainly because it was the goofiest looking elephant I'd ever seen.

Just look at him! The wonky painted eyes that make it seem like he's looking off to the side, the tusks that are more like a mustache than tusks, the pink sneakers with real ties--I couldn't resist. The following Monday I opened up the package pulled out a pack of seeds and this disc-like chunk of dirt. I'm not sure how to describe the dirt, other than to say it was like space dirt, or a giant, brown colored tums antacid. The instructions said to pour warm water over the dirt-disc and loosen it with a fork, but I didn't have to do since it expanded and grew to at least 4 times it's original size on it's own. So weird! Science experiment, ya'll! After it was done growing and re-hydrating from a dirt disc into a dirt lump batter, I spooned about 3/4 of it into the elephant and placed the little grass seeds on top.
Then I spooned the remainder of the dirt on top of the seeds. It was kinda like making a layer cake/trifle, only with dirt and seeds. I was baking a plant, basically. So I put him outside to finish baking. The instructions said it should only take a week.

A few days later I went to check the soil moisture and found little shoots of grass! It was pretty exciting.
I was hopeful he'd have a head full of grass in no time. That Sunday I went to check and found this:
What a good looking elephant! With such thick grass-hair! It's safe to say I was pretty excited. All-in-all it was a pretty fun little project. And after the grass is done for, I think I'll use him as a pencil holder or bud vase--you know, re-purpose!

By the way: I named him Snuffy. Because there's something about those wonky eyes that's reminiscent of Snuffleupagus, no?

And Now For Something Completely Different...

A friend recently asked me if I wanted to get together for lunch and to check out the new H&M that had just opened up. H&M is a bit of a joke amongst the balcony members--Wally went to Prague and all her traveling companion wanted to do was go H&M. Prague is Czech for H&M after all! Having never been to H&M, my knowledge was limited to a vague memory that it is Swedish, that Madonna designed a collection for them, and that apparently there are a lot of them in Prague. I HAD to experience it for myself, and happily went along with my friend to embark on a journey into the belly of the beast.

Walking up to the store, it seemed benign enough. Once we crossed the alarmed threshold, we looked at each other with fear in our eyes. This store was big. Egregiously huge. And so white. White flooring, white racks, white lights...it was almost blinding. I was having flashbacks to Forever 21, a store so big and so packed with garish garments it's enough to make anyone have a panic attack. But we quickly realized the store was divided into 3 sections: Women's, Men's, and Baby Hipsters. Whew! It also helped that we had cocktails at lunch, and I was a little...day buzzed, and therefore slightly numbed from the stimulus overload. We separated and began to peruse the racks.

I found myself wondering if perhaps we had entered some sort of time warp, as everything had a 80's/early 90's vibe to it. Think leggings, shirts screen printed with images of an 80's era Minnie Mouse and stills from the movie Flashdance, as well as ditsy floral patterns, acid wash, and plaid, plaid and more plaid at every turn. There were also quite a bit of Hello Kitty screen printed tees. Oh, Hello Kitty. As a kid I liked her and her motley crew. Anthropomorphic critters--what's not to love when you're 7 and in need of stickers or lip gloss? But now I fear Miss Kitty is a sellout. She's EVERYWHERE. On toasters in Bed Bath and Beyond. On a headband at Hot Topic. On a crappy tee at H&M. Oh Kitty, how I miss the days when I only saw you at random Hallmarks or the Sanrio store...wait, ARE THOSE JEGGINGS?!

Yes. We encountered the elusive Jeggings, the half-jean, half-legging hybrid of wonder. The pant of the fashionista in need of comfort, thereby rejecting the cumbersome skinny jean with it's buttons and zippers and rivets. If I hadn't seen them with my own blurry eyes in it's natural habitat I wouldn't have believed it! I'm still not sure I believe it. I think they might have been a crappy-well vodka-lemon drop induced hallucination. Like Bigfoot or pink elephants. THEY HAD AN ELASTIC WAISTBAND! Amazing.

After the Jeggings spotting, we threw our pelts of plaid over our shoulders and weaved a path through the crowd towards the dressing room. As we approached, a teenager and her mother were standing in the way of the line, involved in a heated discussion. It was a classic mother-daughter standoff: daughter was set on buying a dress her mother disapproved of. The daughter, all teen angsty and indignant hissed, "Whatever, MOM. You're you and you're not me, and you don't wear the clothes I wear! I'll buy it with my own money!" My 14 year old self sympathized while my adult self chuckled.

Once the daughter left to pay for her dress, we queued up with other adults, teens, tweens, and moms waiting for a dressing room. It was there that we experienced the "ugly American shopper," who likes to snark on those already admitted to the inner sanctum. In front of us were two girlfriends, one dressed in a strapless dress with a bikini top on underneath, the other in a pair of yellow gym shorts. Bikini top took notice of a woman coming out of the dressing room in a snug fitting shirt dress. "Uh, does she even know how tight that is? It's cute though...I want it! Hold my spot!" she croaked to her friend. Upon returning to the line, bikini top noted that the dress was a size smaller than she'd wear because, "I want it to be like, tight. It'll look good that way."

A couple came up behind us. "You need a haircut" said the boyfriend. "Ugh, I know," replied his mate. A middle aged mother walked out of the dressing room, carrying a itty-bitty bikini bottom. "Oh. My. God" said boyfriend. "I know. Like she could even get a leg in there. I think some things should DEFINITELY only come in certain sizes" replied girlfriend. A few minutes later, he mother walked back to the dressing room, bigger bikini bottom in hand.

Eventually some dressing rooms freed up and we began to try on our clothes. Oh, the clothes. They all came with those little hanger ribbons sewn into the seams. You know the ones--those little loops of fabric or plastic that are meant to keep a blouse or dress on a hanger, but just end up being itchy and wiggling their way out of the top until you break down and cut them out with scissors. Each and every piece of clothing had these loops wrapped around the hanger multiple times, requiring one to untwist them and serving to slow down the process. Once I had finally freed the clothes from their hangers and tried them on, I noticed that they would occasionally fit true to size, but more often than not it would be too big or too small. It was almost as if we had stumbled into a clothing wonderland, where small was large and large was small and nothing made sense anymore. That being said, I did end up buying a floral top and a dress. In plaid.

We found ourselves walking back towards the alarmed border of the store relatively unscathed. As we tumbled out into the dimmed mall lighting, wares in hand, I thought to myself that wasn't so bad. H&M: a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Owl Be Plum-Tickled if You'd Bee Mine

Valentine's Day. According to Wiki, Valentine's Day is a holiday celebrating love and affection between intimate companions that dates back to the days of Chaucer and has since evolved into the commercialized, cliched holiday that we all know and love/loathe. The popular thought seems to be that if you're single, you should just crawl under a rock, as you are an unloveable gollum of a human being. But if you're in a relationship, then you should be praised and showered with rose petals and fed ambrosia while the gollums are jealous of you and your amazingness. It's totally stupid and it seems like the holiday only exists to make you want to puke.

There's a lot to dislike about Valentine's Day. As Brian Moylan said over on Gawker.com: "To get all English major-y for a second, it is a despicable propagation of the hetero-normative monogamy fallacy that plagues the world, telling everyone that they have a 'soul mate' and one special person to complete them and anyone who isn't in such a relationship is a worthless piece of shit who doesn't deserve to be loved and probably dresses bad and needs more time in the gym." AMEN. I keep hearing a commercial on the radio for an "adult store" where the woman asks the man how they are going to celebrate. The man, in stereotypical fashion, is totally confused! Celebrate? HUH? Lucky for him the woman is also a stereotype and in a threatening tone responds with, "I KNOW you didn't forget about Valentine's Day! CANDLELIGHT DINNER! FULL BODY MASSAGES! INTIMATE GIFTS!?" Way to take the fun out of those gifts, female stereotype! Because obviously only shrill and uptight women like those things. (Can we stop with the idea that Valentine's Day is the only day people want to, and actually have sex? I get it's a holiday "for lovers," but ENOUGH.) And speaking of the gifts...oh God, the awful, useless gifts that people use to show how much they care! Pajamagrams. Jewelry from a chain jewelry store. Bath sets. You get the idea. I had on the news on the other day and I'm pretty sure I heard them say that after Christmas, Valentine's Day comes in second for money spent on gifts. (This is crazy you guys! The Beatles were wrong: apparently you can buy me love!) Want to show me you love me on Valentine's Day? Don't get me some crap I could buy myself or won't use, like some fug diamond necklace or some lotion and body wash in a nauseating scent. Or some pajamas in the wrong size and style. I'm totally fine with some nice flowers. Or something handmade. Even if it's pancakes and bacon for breakfast. (I LOVE pancakes and bacon! Maybe pancakes and bacon will be my Valentine!) Or the Fraggle Rock Complete Series on DVD. Or nothing more than a simple "I love you." Whatever! Just don't buy me a gift that screams, "I feel totally obligated to buy you something for this made up holiday." Real (Hallmark) talk guys: Love is an amazing thing, and if you are lucky enough to have found love, you should nurture and cherish it. But the great thing is that love comes in various forms, and one form of love isn't greater than the other. So here's my thought: instead of crawling under a rock or acting like you're in a rom-com, why not simply ignore Valentine's Day or just embrace the cheesiness. Me? I embrace the cheese.

As a kid, I liked Valentine's Day. The young crafter in me liked cutting out construction paper hearts and covering them in glitter and paper doilies. I also liked making a Valentine's Box and buying/getting My Little Pony or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle themed Valentines. You know; fun kid stuff. My family would give each other little gifts--one year I received The Baby-Sitters Club #9: The Ghost at Dawn's House. That was a good Valentine, family! As a teenager, I longed for a romantic Valentine and made myself totally miserable looking for validation through having a boyfriend. The closest I came to having a romantic Valentine was in high school when we drew names and my crush drew me and got me some candy. (Aww.) As an adult, I like going out and getting drunk with my friends and eating conversation hearts and Reese's peanut butter hearts. You know; fun adult stuff. Seriously, I've got some great memories from nights that just happened to be on Valentine's. On these nights I went out with my friends had fun, simply enjoying the moment and spending time with people I loved and cared about. And yeah, I still do the occasional Valentine's craft and I like buying cards and candy for everyone. I like vintage valentines, especially really cheesey ones that say something like, "I'd be plum-tickled if you'd be my valentine!" along with a picture of two anthropomorphic plums. Or one with an owl that says, "Owl always love you!" And of course the old stand-by "Bee Mine!" with a picture of a bumble-bee buzzing around. Puns and play on words are totally acceptable on Valentine's Day, and I love that. It just goes to show how silly the whole affair really is.

Listen, can we all just agree that Valentine's Day has no bearing on who you are whatsoever? It's not worth it to feel inadequate or to use up energy hating it (which is just as cliched as Valentine's Day itself), and it's also not worth it to get so wrapped up in it. If your single, be single! Love thyself! If you're in a relationship, be in a relationship! Love one another! It's like Liz Lemon said on episode 13 season 4 of 30 Rock while hallucinating after a root canal: "I know that I don't need anyone, but I do want to be loved. We all do. And if it didn't work out between us, it's just because I'm not finished becoming me yet. But I will find love someday!" And at the end of the day, it's just another day. Why not work against the hetero-normative and gender stereotypes that Valentine's Day reinforces? I'll admit that might be a little naive and futile, but as long as we continue to spend millions of dollars on V-day gifts, I'd assume it's not going anywhere. So it's worth a shot, right? In the meantime...Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day, everyone!

Bringin' Home the Bacon

Believe it or not, I've been to college. And since I've done gone and got myself some education, people will ask me the standard (and never not annoying) post-grad small talk, like if I've got a job and what I'm doing now. Usually I'll regale them with tales about how when I'm not applying for jobs or volunteering or whatever, I watch re-runs of Everybody Hates Chris while playing Farmville and reading the internets. But I'll occasionally disclose that I'm considering going back to school to get a degree in library science. Usually this is met with an "Oh, that's nice," but there are times where I'll get an interesting response from men in which they say, "Oh, that's hot!" To semi-paraphrase Bones: I don't wanna be a sexy librarian! Look, it's fine to find someones career attractive, it's fine to want to be desired and it's fine to have fantasies about a naughty nurse or a slutty schoolteacher, but I find it a bit insulting to superimpose the fantasy onto the reality. It's like everyday is Halloween in some people's minds and every (hot) woman is half nekid for their viewing pleasure.

When someone responds with "that's hot," it's as if myself and my career goals are being reduced down to sex appeal. Can I not have a career without it being "sexy?" Just because I identify as female does not mean that every single thing I do or say or think falls into either "sexy" or "not sexy." And it makes me feel that as a woman, I'm not a real person with real needs, desires and goals--and that's on top of feeling like I'm being belittled and patronized. (Silly lady with your lofty dreams! You just let the menfolk bring home the bacon. And make sure that while you're cooking it you do it in an apron and nothing else. But don't eat any! Can't have you rollin' outta that apron!) And I'm left feeling like someone doesn't care about me as a person, but as an object that fits a narrow-minded view of sexuality to be offered up for consumption, and I should be satisfied by that. Because that would mean I've done my job as a woman, DUH. In a world where women are told to be both a madonna and a whore, is it so much to ask that I don't have to feel the need to be either? To simply be my own self, for myself?

Dammit, I'll bring home my own bacon and fry it and eat it too!

Pink: It's like red, but not quite

Have you heard of "My New Pink Button"? It's this dye for your lips. No, not those lips, your OTHER lips. Yup, that's right! It's like lipstick for your labia! You've been waiting all your life for a product like this, I know.

For the low price of 29.95 you can have your own jar of "My New Pink Button," the temporary dye that can "restore the youthful pink color back to your labia." Are you a Marilyn? An Audrey? What about a Bettie or a Ginger? Just apply and for 48-72 hours you can have that "fresh" look! And not to worry, "My New Pink Button" is FDA approved and can be used on nipples and penises!

Okay, but seriously--WHUT??!

Now I've heard that labia can change color. And sometimes the change is due to a more serious condition, in which case you should really talk to your doctor. But really? Are we all supposed to go walking around looking like we're in a state of constant arousal? (Don't answer that.) I'm not understanding this product at all. Pink labia=fresh, youthful labia? If your labia isn't bright pink, does that mean you won't be sexually satisfied? And I have so many questions! Will the color transfer? (Because don't we all have enough stains in our drawers?) Does it have a smell/taste? (Crossing fingers for bacon!)

Here's the thing: this feels like yet another product that only adds to the ignorance of what a real woman's body looks like, not to mention it perpetuates the shame and inadequacy some women feel about their sexual organs not being the "ideal." (And can I just say, I am so tired of women being reduced to, and having their worth tied to their sexual organs!) I know one of the selling points is that you can use it on dicks, but the product is marketed towards women, and the truth is women are told on a daily basis that they should fit some ridiculous ideal of what a woman is. Products like this, while they might mean well, aren't necessarily helping.

Look, we're all supposedly adults here. And as adults, I would think we would realize that genitals come in various shapes, sizes, colors, hairiness, and sometimes even scents, and all are perfectly NORMAL. As long as there are no problems, there is no reason anyone should be made to feel inadequate or "not so fresh" because of a slight variation. It's like snowflakes: no two are exactly alike.

Love is a Pap Smear

Okay, so I've been ranting about these stupid pap smear commercials (along with the mammogram commercials and prostate commercials) for a couple of weeks now. But every time I see one, and I just did, I get annoyed all over again.

"Wanna do something special for your woman this Christmas? Schedule her pap smear."

Wanna show me that you really care, go get the damn pap smear for me. Lie down on your back, naked, under a paper robe, with your feet in the air and legs spread eagle while a couple of people pry your insides apart with a cold, metal or plastic instrument and jab around inside you with a giant q-tip for awhile. That would show me love!

And seriously, I am not YOUR woman. I am not anyone's woman but my own.

Nor do I need Jack Black's "Boob-saver 5000."

As thrilled as I am that men are being encouraged to get involved in women's lives, I would be much more thrilled if their involvement didn't revolve around making sure my sexual parts remained in working order for their enjoyment because I'm "your woman" or because everyone loves boobs. Why not ask them to get more involved in childcare or household chores or reproductive rights or social, civil, and economic rights or the prevention of domestic violence?

I have to admit that CBS, the network that airs the pap smear commercials, is an equal opportunity advertiser and also has commercials that recommend women make prostate exam appointments for the men in their lives.   Oddly enough, both pap smear and prostate exam ads have a Christian and a Jewish version, which I find strange since I thought that health exams are a rather secular thing. 

I don't suppose you can make a commercial without it offending or excluding someone.  And while I admire the mission CBS seems to be on, the commercials are a bit like watching a car wreck on the highway.  That and I can't help but think a pap smear would be one hell of an item to try and re-gift.