Stop Staring at Me!

Short and sweet, as I've got to be in to work in less than six hours and I still want to get a little reading done. Being a thrifter of some frequency, I tend to see emerging patterns in store stock across the board. I found this little kitty at Big Lots:

Meow. (Translation: With my x-ray vision, I can see your nipples. Only two? How strange.)

 

I found this big-headed vampire at a local Goodwill and was fully prepared to pass him by...

...until I realized his mouth opened to reveal:

Bloodsucking is old news. I flash people instead.

Finally, we have the gator who is both happy to see you and fully-caffeinated to get the job done.

How you doin'?

Oregon's Organ's Origin is not the Orient...or Is It?

It's 1:50 and I need to wake up tomorrow at 6:30 to get all my shit done so I can lie down and relax at the spa. (Yes, I am fully conscious of the insanity of that last statement.) In other news, the spa visit is to be followed by some pretty epic noms at a Chinese buffet and even more epic window shopping which I am confident will turn up some rich blogging inspiration.

Rather than strain my brain by carefully selecting 1000 words (okay, not all that carefully; it's pretty much just stream-of-consciousness here), I would like to once again admire a beautiful organ.

Pretty standard organ, aching for some In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida.

Perc, attack!

Who are you kidding, turning that knob halfway? Turn it to eleven, damnit!

Just ease it in...

It's not the size that matters, blah blah blah...

Time for a solo. (Again.)

Sightseeing

I wasn't sure I'd get something published before the clock struck midnight, but it turns out I've got 10 minutes to blow on my lunch break. (Very apropos, this turn of phrase.)

When I stop into these thrift stores (does it count as "stopping in" when you spend upwards of two hours there?), I like to check out the discarded dishes and mugs. A few years back, I found a three-handled "safety" mug for my dad -- which was relevant because he's a safety director and because Mom's diminutive for him is "Mr. Safety" (or, if she's feeling saucy, he's promoted to Captain).

I thought that would be the apogee of my mug adventures. But it seems I was wrong. I imagine you can follow the thought process without much input from the Mrs:

Um, what is that? 

No, really...what is that? 

Oh, of course. (They don't call it the Taint of the Middle East* for nothing.)

*Pretty sure no one calls it this, with the possible exception of my friend Shaun.

Day Three, Take Two

Yeah, so between staying late at work and hanging with the in-laws, I was unable to keep up the streak. But we can't all be regular all the time.

Just ask this guy.

(While you've got pooping on the brain, check out this smartass bloggery my Google image search turned up.)

Somewhere in between these paragraphs, my mouse decided to die and my devious plan to go in to work 45 minutes late failed...so there are obviously forces working against my blogging efforts. I generally laugh in the face of such things, but since I gotta work to get paid, I'll be experimenting with this thing called minimalism.

The other day, I was perusing the toy section. I thought I might get lucky and score an eyeful of sweet underage child, but, alas, that wish was not fulfilled. Instead, I found this pack of "magic" finger traps. I never really understood the appeal, until I noticed the quantity included:

Unless you're a dactyl, you've got one finger trap left over. Whatever could these sweet underage children be using the sixth one for?

Day Two

So I'm told (by some fictional soothsayer or such) that in order to create a "streak" of posts, one must get past #2. So here we are...at Day #2. I have company over and work super early in the morning so as the clock ticks and tocks, it grows less and less likely that I'll post.

Today, in order to preserve/create the streak, I am posting the bullshit above.

What struck me about this rodent lawn ornament is the fact that I am to believe that someone took the time to execute a very specific list of tasks:

1. Catch rodent (which may very well have rabies)
2. Take rodent's measurements (bust-waist-hips)
3. Knowingly create a pattern for jean overalls that overshoots these carefully gathered numbers
4. Sew overalls
5. RE-catch same rodent (wouldn't it have been easier if you'd just kept the damn thing in a cage while you worked on #3 & #4?)
6. Sedate rodent (which by now is probably rather pissed, having been interrupted from its meal multiple times)
7. Place rodent in large overalls
8. Hang overalls (and rodent) from nail in tree or wherever might look grand in your garden space

I am a bit crazy, this is true. But who thought this would be a good idea for outdoor decor? Why wouldn't you just let the damn chipmunk (or whatever the fuck this is...maybe it's a capybara for all I know and the overalls are from the Oshkosh B'gosh product line) run free in your damn yard (unless it insists on gnoshing on your radish fields, I suppose)??

(Shaun hit the nail on the head when he said that I am the Queen of Tangents. Glad to serve. Now get on your knees and grovel, bitches!)

So that's all I have because it's now getting toward the end of the Led Zeppelin album and it's very likely that Rock Band will be happening soon.

Off to save the world.

Not what I planned, but I owe you something

The post title gives you as much as you need for an introduction. Now it's time to dig into some of the photos I've been hoarding all this time. Don't blame me if it's not funny; I didn't post them before for good reason (maybe). Today...you get six photos, for the six paragraphs in the previous words-only post. Let's see what I can come up with after exerting my writing talents so much, so recently.

Not quite sure why I'm taking up space with the above photo. I found this shirt on the rack at DEAL$ (a store I just made up because I can't remember where I found this shirt and for some reason I've decided to make a big deal out of it rather than just moving on with the sentence that I began two lines ago) and my mind flashed back to my high school band nerd days. Ah, the good ol' days...when I had my first taste of unpopularity. Nah, despite the plumes and itchy uniforms I had a strange affinity for marching around on a field and tooting into a horn (at least one of these activities I still participate in). For some reason, I enjoyed spending 12 straight hours full of repeat signs with a bunch of sweaty band nerds. I even convinced my parents to buy me a "Clarinets Rock" shirt or something...which I donned for the same event at which it was purchased, never to wear it again. I suppose it ended up on a rack at a DEAL$ (same parenthetical note applies) in Indiana and became someone's work shirt for sweaty days behind a lawnmower or paintbrush or something. These days, my clarinet sits in its case begging to be played (which, looking back several sentences, suggests that I habitually march around a football field to entertain myself) and the BAND in my life is actually one (or two or three) in which my husband plays the drumset. I have taken my act offstage, playing roadie when I join the gang at their gigs. Maybe one day I'll do something else with music (aside from singing to karaoke) but for now, I'm content to just move on to the next photo.

You bet it's a camper's paradise. Dam!

So there's a nuance here...a "Memorial" is not a "Commemorative" thing, per se... but I just don't know what else you would do for fun at Donner State Park.

A very clever tennis t-shirt idea, but also a bit depressing. I definitely should have bought this one. (Maybe next time I visit Deal$...)

Yes, I'm pretty cool. And yes, I work Home Depot. But no, I did not have any intention of telling the world about it on my off-days.

I'm a pretty big fan of The Sing-Off, NBC's acapella competition that I thought had been cancelled until I did a quick Google search a minute ago to verify that I hyphenated correctly. I will have to leave you now to get a full understanding of the situation because, otherwise, I might just have to continue writing with exclamatory punctuation rather than letters. Have fun with yourselves (or others if they're handy). Toodles.

Welcome to the Shart Department

So my traffic shart (that miskey was too amusing not to share) chart shows a plateau* which seems to be what has happened here at Mrs. Window Shopper. I can't say that I've stopped window shopping, nor that I've stopped criticizing all the shart (not a miskey) I find in my travels. I am just a sucker for inconsistency, damnit (not in the shart department**, not that you asked). I am dedicating this fecal post to my good friend Britney (who may or may not be currently located in the shart department) for proving that kissing my ass will, in fact, make your wishes come true. Here's to a monster post of the crap I found at BIG LOTS the other day. (There are also some footnotes for the indicated items, so check that shit out too.)

[insert uproarious post here]***

Wasn't that a fun little romp in the Biggest Lot inside four walls (but not really because it's actually a relatively small building)? It sure feels great to start posting these "finds" again after a long time. I feel like I could repeat this blogging process again tomorrow with more junk I find on the shelves. Hey, maybe I'll even be able to make a poop joke (because, let's be honest, what else would make this piece more respectable)! I do hope you've enjoyed your vicarious window shopping today and that you'll come back for more so my traffic chart will grow from the Tibetan Plateau to Mt. Everest (if you need a link for that one, you're dumber than I am)...though, of course, such topographic upheaval takes millennia, you silly goose!

*Closer observation shows the plateau to be the result of two consecutive days with one visitor to the site. I can't recall whether I was trolling my own blog those days (though I generally rack up at least six refreshes during the blog revision process) or if someone actually gives a shart. (I had to get one more in before saying adieu...PHRASING!!)

**I will now be referring to those establishments with shelves full of Mrs. Window Shopper finds as "shart departments" (unless I forget this rule five minutes from now, in which case I will not).

***If, somehow, you managed to evade the sarcasm dripping from the paragraph above, something has gone awry here. Somehow, I have proven immune to the disease which has rendered much of population unable to function without a cellular device nearby. My archaic phone is currently sitting in my car...which my husband drove to band practice several several several miles away. Said phone houses the photos I intended to discuss in this post. So instead of reveling in the 1000 words a picture is said to inspire, you have the express privilege of indulging in a less mainstream activity called "reading." (505 words are yours; congratulations, confetti, blah blah blah.) In other news, patronizing yourself is probably grounds for mental evaluation and some pretty strong anti-psychotic drugs (yes, please). In other other news, Britney gets a do-over.