To [option A] or not to [option A]? AKA To [option A] or [option B]?

First, let me note that there is world of difference when you attempt to deconstruct "to be or not to be" on opposite sides of the "AKA" [in the post title]. I could discuss this idea at length, but I am not sufficiently chemically-altered ("Caffeine doesn't count when you're addicted," said the heroin-addict.) to do this task justice at present.

To blog about window shopping or to sing karaoke on YouTube? (Did Shakespeare ever question possibilities with transitive verbs?) When I have to make a decision and sleep is not an option, I generally press all of the buttons on the Coke machine simultaneous(-esque-)ly and "let the machine figure it out". (Yes, I am conscious of how dumb this sounds...but if I'm going to open my soul to you, you better get over yourself. And yes, "opening my soul" includes sharing my idiot-syncrasies.)

Lesson #1: 12:38 AM is too late to sing karaoke (even if it's super chill Norah Jones karaoke).

A few months ago, I shared a conspiracy theory involving pigs and Target. It served to hold together a number of swiney photos, but accomplished little else (I'm still not convinced the conspiracy is real, and I birthed the idea). It turns out that the same people who make the little pig figurines also makes meerkats:

...Not to mention the popular creature below.

Okay, one more try on this karaoke thing and then some 30 Rock. Bedtime is for babies! (Though I really should consider getting some sleep if I plan on wandering in to work in 5 hours.)

Papa's Got a Brand New Grab Bag

You seem to have happened upon a grab bag. This particular grab bag has been sitting on a drugstore shelf for a few weeks without attracting notice. (Aside from that crazy cat lady to visits every other day to stock up on catnip and B-12 supplements. She decided to grab cat litter instead of the grab bag 9 out of 10 times. The 9th time she entered the store, she was clearly rabid and was booted from the store before she could put her wrinkly fingers on the bag.)

Let's forget about the cat lady for a moment and enter a mind with its own blend of crazy: my own.

Why limit your broken resolutions to one month of the year; magazines out now are obsessed with getting your life into order by adding more paper to the pile.

(My hoarder personality is a mix of Miss Papyrus and Miss Procraftinate. What's yours?)

What makes this particular issue of Real Simple any different from the thousands of others out there? Unfortunately, nothing. What caught my attention was my first attempt at reading the bold headline on the cover..."Indigenous Organizing Systems". Which I could only imagine was an anthropological survey of the organizing methods around the globe, from feng shui to culturally-acceptable variants of O.C.D. to whatever method they use in third-world countries to keep possessions from overwhelming their possessors (I believe they call it "poverty"). Needless to say, anthropology is not simple enough to qualify for this magazine.

Onward, ho!

Found this van in Woodstock, a town whose inhabitants range from rednecks who proclaim their demographic proudly with confederate flags and mud flaps to rednecks who attempt to hide from their true identity behind manicured lawns, trophy wives, and HOA fees. I'm not sure which category F.E. Arnold's 'Lectrical Contractin' company belongs to...

One more. Behold Pepperidge Farm's support of those hungering for brains.

Arrgh. Cheesy brains!

Kameron, I failed.

I tried to write the post that I was unable to bring your selected number (20) to fruition on either of the last two days. I tried really hard but it just wasn't happening, so another day down the road you'll find a revived post entitled "Swollen Karma" and it'll just make your world.

(Reports of future post "making your world" are wildly exaggerated. Actual likelihood of this event are 1000:1. Maybe 100.1 if Emily can be a little self-confident.)

[30 sec to determine whether presenting the following comedic bit was worth the shame I felt while typing it.]

It looks like I've been a naughty little girl. I suppose you'll have to spank my fanny!




Thank goodness these fannypacks are 50% off because they give some cushion to my tush which protects this naughty girl during spankings.

Except...!

Fannypacks are typically worn on the front side of the body, over the pelvis. Why would they be called fannys (Did you presume that "fanny" would be a "drop-the-y-add-an-eye-ee" plural?) when they're not worn over your fanny?

Except...!

So I just invited you to spank my fanny. Which is to say that my husband will not approve.

I feel so dirty.



Dearest Tide! Thank you for still being proud ("...keeper of your team colors"; keep up, damnit!") after this disgusting display above. I figured my brother Nathan (big fan of everything Detroit) would dig this find. I suppose I should have tossed $11 at the cashier (or, if feeling particularly un-entertaining, placed it in her hand), especially since I'm pretty sure my brother uses this brand of detergent.

Sigh. *shakes fist at rearview mirror*

Whoa, watch where you're shaking that fist! There's glass here!



This find was for my Mummula (a Yiddish-esque term that I believe I will adopt), who has long referred to her and my father's house in derogatory terms. I don't suppose that a crooked house would be a foreign concept to her mind.

Speaking of minds:



Stupidity afflicts 75 or 23% of the people reading this post. (We're all carriers of the disease, if we're being honest. It's just a means of which of us can pass as "normal".)

In other news, if no one reads this other than me, I will be very concerned.

Awwwwwwkward.

(Other potential comments on the shirt above:

• Is this a Pokemon breast cancer shirt? (That's nearly as provocative as a G.I. Joe prostate cancer PSA!)
• This person seems to have a uni-boob. (Sports bras are really not flattering if there's no cleavage involved.)

Let's eat pie!



done

Swollen Karma

Happy Sunday, which strangely enough is more noteworthy for its moon than its sun.

Today, I challenge you to determine which of these pictures is not like the other. That is, if the challenge of reading through this post to its end doesn't prove too difficult. Here goes nothing.

The Mighty Baseball declares that "Teamwork divides the task and doubles the success." (Though if I'm gonna be a stickler, I can't really say it "declares" anything, as it doesn't have the requisite punctuation to declare anything.) I can't recall why I thought this baseball was worthy of my attention (hell, its previous owner didn't deem it worthy of removing from its plastic packaging), but I suppose it might be productive to consider situations where such a gift might be appropriate.

• Little League coaches
  (Throwing this at problem players -- with deadly intent! -- helps raise a team's average RBI)
• Bosses
  (What else are they going to put on their desk?)
• Mob bosses
  (When their taped-up baseball bats aren't being used to break legs and bash heads in)

I'm open to other ideas (comment away) but have a strong urge to sing some karaoke/Rock Band, so I'm moving on.

The page above is from a fantasy book with a writing style that just didn't jive with me. The prose is over-the-top and strangles what could have been a really good plot. Imagery, like anything else, is best in small doses. It's one of the few books I've stepped away from midway without any intent of returning. (The Gunslinger almost suffered the same fate. Friends insisted I struggle through it because "it'll be worth it" but I'm still undecided on whether The Drawing of the Three deserves my attention. Time will tell.)

For the longest time I refused to put down a book once I'd picked it up. Then I put my hands on Twilight...and forced myself to read it to the end. Let's just say that I made a huge mistake. (If I had just surfed over to Wikipedia, I could have saved myself so much pain.)

Tangents aside, let's look at some more pictures. (Neato!)

Um...pretty sure gender's not as clear-cut as your reference material suggests. I mean, even your orange t-shirt knows that it's not a black-and-white issue. And why would you put this on the front of a shirt anyway?

Oh sure, thanks for clarifying things. It's a sports team (?) that is "taking over the world..." Though, I must say that I appreciate the logic behind their order of conquest.

Speaking of conquest...

Whoever decoupaged this masterpiece (which the thrift shop priced at $7, I'll have you know) definitely conquered their fears of spray adhesive.

Okay, so it's a weak transition. But it's not like I'm a superhero (or even a super moon, for that matter).

In closing, I think Hollywood did Kerri Strug a disservice by refusing to cast her in the remake of John Wayne's famous western.

You decide whose body to Photoshop her head onto.

Of course, they didn't even give Hailee Steinfeld a credit on the movie poster...so what do you expect?



Kameron:

Herbal Cry: Dill!

If Eminem can do it, so can I. I'll be cleaning out my closet of photos today. Today's grab bag is devoid of knick-knacks, so enjoy four t-shirts for the price of one. (A $0 VALUE!) They appear to be only mildly entertaining, so let's see if I can spice things up with my delivery (free with purchase of $15).

First up, this cotton blend spits truth (which, curiously enough, tastes just like pineapple).

I have yet to see this generation's version, but Justin Bieber is putting out new "swag" all the time so I'll keep my eyes open.

Next up, check out a new landscaping option:

Sure, rubber mulch would be easier to install and more forgiving of face-plants and the like, but it takes a lot of time and energy to remove the metal rims and spokes and then shred the rubber into little pieces. Ain't nobody got time for that (I will refrain from linking to the meme, but you can look it up on your own time).

In other news: There's no need to be afraid of the hiking trail when your shoe salesman is a deity.

Skate on the edge of blasphemy Dive into a blasphemous sea with me and tell me the likelihood that God would commit these acts:

1. Comma splice
   Leave the forgiveness to Jesus; I'm pretty sure that God would be the top Grammar Nazi, raining fiery retribution down on those who break His laws.
   (I'm not calling God Hitler, but if the OT deity should decide to shave his "customary" beard and mustache into a Hitler-stache, it wouldn't be completely inappropriate.)
2. ALL CAPS
   I mean, it's not as if this shirt was etched into a stone tablet, making lowercase characters a pain in the ass to execute.
3. Communication through T-shirtAbout as likely as salvation through text message.
4. Hyphenated signatureGiven that the Big Guy devoted an entire book (and then some) to ceremonial details, prescriptions, and prohibitions...pretty sure He's going to pull out something a bit more formal than a friggin' hyphen to end his book. I mean, he did end His most influential work (His entries to the Babysitters' Club series were not well-received) with Revelations after all.

In other news...

Do we really think God's athletic endorsement would be for pink and white shell-toe Adidas lookalikes? I understand that lace-up leather sandals aren't really built for modern exercise, but neither are these. 

One more...and this one makes even less sense than the others.

I did a little research and learned that "avodah" is a Jewish word meaning "work" (start here and move on to more legitimate sources if your interest exceeds my own). It's also the name of the Jewish Service Corps which fights "against the causes and effects of poverty in the United States".

So now I understand the "anti-swine" bit (though the preceding article is still a bit perplexing). When I searched for "bleach" on the AVODAH page, I yielded no results. "Anti-swine" returned 3 pages, due to my inability to limit the results to EXACT MATCH. My revised search for "swine" brought back a goose egg.

In other news, 2009 saw the spread of the swine flu, and experts advised the use of chlorine bleach to combat the threat.

Still, while I can explain elements of this shirt, I am at a loss to put them all together. Perhaps the Jewish service group armed themselves with bleach and sprayed it in poverty-stricken neighborhoods? I am officially thinking too hard which is a sure sign that it's time to turn my mind to other pursuits.

Enjoy your weekend.

Cheryl:

Rising to Anarchy

Unlike some of my other "photo dumps", this one actually already seems to have a theme threading them together. The challenge then becomes actually making it through all four photos in one post (which I have successfully failed at all week). Here's goes nothing.

It's warmer than necessary outside...but while we adults are making every excuse to stay inside our air-conditioned homes, kids are making every effort to achieve dehydration and sunstroke commune with nature. (Note: I realize that this -- like all other dichotomies -- is not strictly true, but it's my intro to the post so you'll have to gloss over it.) There's lots of fun things to do outside:

Not to be confused with the "Indoor Bug Net".

Let's all take a moment to consider the fact that we smash bugs that enter our territory but we entrap those that are just minding their own damn business on their turf. Then again, I suppose I swat flies and mosquitoes regardless of location and wouldn't think to kill a Monarch (not even this one) even in my house. Hrmm.

Moving on...

Sure, it'd be neat to take your kid to the lake with a fishing pole and tackle box (no, it's not a euphemism...but it could be). But your lack of fishing skills are much less amusing when you're not three sheets to the wind and Junior's eight years too young (or is it nine?) to be your DD. Not to mention you have to whittle away at the mow the lawn before the H.O.A. fines you, and it's not like the "honey-do list" is going to do itself (as SHE reminds you every weekend).

Well, it's never too early to teach the kid about responsibility...

Put that fishing pole back, kid. We're raking leaves today.

Maybe while you're going over the half-assed job your kid did on the lawn, he can amuse himself with a song.

Why did people buy these again?

...Then again, maybe it would be best to leave some joy for another day. Christmas, perhaps?

Santa puts a hat garnish on everything he eats. (Watch out, elves.)

In other news, Camp Nanowrimo kicks off next month and I plan to focus on actually completing a novel (at least a rough draft) this year. I'll try to juggle both projects, but Mrs. Window Shopper will probably stay just as inconsistent in July so brace yourselves.


Cyndi: 

SPOILERS!

I missed you yesterday, impersonal blog editor. Tuesday was a day of car problems, unreliable coworkers, and self-betterment in the form of a gym visit and the consumption of multiple vegetables...all of which prevented me from posting by the deadline (midnight, that is). No excuses, just a step onward.


For those who care about such things, I am listening to the sweet sweet sounds of Battlefield 3, peppered with commentary and occasional strains of Foo Fighters' "One of These Days" performed by m

First up, an athletic (?) t-shirt.

Who thought that a scorpion and a Nike swoosh could grace the same canvas? Some theories:

• Nike's catchphrase is evolving from "Just Do It" to "Just Sting/Claw it". (Idea courtesy of Mr. Window Shopper, who appears to be on a roll today -- though his K/D ratio argues otherwise)
• The scorpion is a commentary on Nike's use of child labor: kids get clawed into a life of servitude and stung if they rail against Big Business.
• The scorpion is a commentary on consumerism: the claws are the advertising campaigns and celebrity/athletic endorsements that get us to buy a pair and we get stung if we settle for a "lesser" brand name.
• The real explanation (admittedly less glamorous but some team names do feature nice puns).

I seem to recall the following picture to be the reverse of this adorable Nike Scorpion shirt (though further research that I choose to omit for entertainment purposes suggests otherwise). The pairing makes about as much sense as the scorpion alone, and it successfully spoils my attempts to analyze and interpret it on its own. But no matter, as we are now treated to the fashion equivalent of the upside-down answers to cereal-box quizzes from our youth.

In other words: It matters little whether or not the cigar is really a cigar in the long run.

Have fun, people. I'm going to eat some food and think about going to work.