Phone cam round-up: pink silicone dream edition

Goat and friend

Life advice

Unidentified object in toppled trash receptacle

Wayward road fashion

Pink silicone dream and shoe

Tree shadow heart

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Cast of characters

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An Irish Hungarian that got left behind

The Irish Hungarian (left) and associate, circa 1973

The following is a short bit from The Irish Hungarian Guide to the Domestic Arts that ended up on the cutting room floor. In it, I bemoan growing up Irish--but not Catholic--in a predominately Irish Catholic neighborhood on Cleveland's West Side in the 1970's

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The most injurious and unfair insult I fielded on account of my nearly pagan blood came during the spring months of my sixth, seventh and eighth years when each of my Catholic girlfriends was treated to a mysterious rite. With it came a grand party (to which I was never invited) complete with gifts and cake and a special dress. "First Communion" dresses were always fluffy with lace. I'd peer out of the living room window on those gentle Saturday mornings over a soggy bowl of Count Chocula, watching the little Catholic girls twirling in cartwheels across the green green lawns in their perfect white dresses.

They had bevies of brothers who laughed loud and wore jerseys emblazoned with the words "Notre Dame" along with a cartoon Irishman posed in fisticuffs. They had swarms of sisters who wept over boyfriends and prayer cards. My one sibling brooded over Bob Dylan and was the object of bullies' sneers.

The Shaughnessys had a dewy-eyed Virgin statue in their backyard whose hands were forever upraised. I had a smoky-eyed nude woman called Playmate that lived in my father's nightstand and was replaced every month. Patty and Bridgette and Mary ate fish on Fridays while I sat cross-legged in front of the black-and-white television in my parent's bedroom watching reruns of Love American Style. The Gallagher's' living room featured an oil painting of an androgynous man named Jesus who would love them no matter what.

"Don't worry," Mrs. Gallagher assured me despite the note of condescension in her voice, "Jesus loves you too."

Every Catholic household had an odorless oppressive guilt about it that I never understood. Whenever I crossed one of their thresholds, it was as if I was awaiting some unseen judgment that would deem me bad or good. Hence, to hear that Jesus loved me evoked a private sigh of relief. The feeling lasted as long as it took for Mrs. Gallagher to stub out her Kool, tap a fresh one from the pack and say, "Jesus died for your sins." Confusion bloomed. Sins? Me?

Since the tender age of eleven, I did have one way to sin all by myself that was worth risking whatever this Jesus guy had to dish out. I told myself that he couldn't possibly know anything about what I did alone. And wasn't he already dead?

Nonetheless, I worried.

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As the readership has probably surmised, I eventually stopped worrying.

The proper handling of cucumbers

Dear Readership,

Tomorrow's Plain Dealer book section will feature The Irish Hungarian Guide to the Domestic Arts. You can preview the article here. In it, reviewer Donna Marchetti references my description of the alternative use of certain vegetables, then says, "I'll spare you the details."

I won't.

Below is the excerpt to which she refers. It appears in the middle of my incomparable recipe for Hungarian cucumbers.

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We interrupt this recipe to bring you the following public service announcement:

Any consenting adult is duly encouraged to use any vegetable matter as a marital aid. Please carefully consider the following guidelines for a safe, convenient and enjoyable experience. Choose firm, high quality organically grown products. Wash vegetable matter first. Carving/peeling vegetable matter into realistic shapes can make the experience whimsical and more satisfying. Any person who has used the vegetable matter as a marital aid is welcome to consume the vegetable matter after a thorough washing (of vegetable matter). DO NOT, however, serve the vegetable matter in question to parties who are unaware of the vegetable matter's previous employ, no matter how thoroughly they have been washed. Said practice is considered uncool.

We now continue with your regularly scheduled recipe, already in progress. Thank you. 

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Timeless, no?

The world needs more straightforward advice such as this. Why, it's as sensible today as it was for our great-great grandmothers (although "uncool" may have been outside their vernacular).

Thank you Cleveland Plain Dealer. Thank you Ms. Marchetti, and as always, thank you to the readership.

Love,

Erin

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Who do you like in the seventh?

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You like people who say "great toe" instead of "big toe."

You know why you like Mrs. Robinson? You like Mrs. Robinson because she was the original cougar.

You know why you like Maggie Thatcher? You like Maggie Thatcher because she sent out the fleet.

You know why you like bunny dressage? You like bunny dressage because it's bunny dressage.

Do you like road trips ? Hell yes you like road trips.

You like guys with jumper cables and tow ropes. You like guys who drive "beaters."

You like Anderson Cooper but you don't want David Muir to know you like Anderson Cooper.

You like Charlie Sheen because ... oh yeah, you don't like Charlie Sheen.

You like birds that like goats.

You like chicks who practice Reiki and chicks who read palms. You like Wicca chicks.

You like William Shatner. You like Butterfinger Crisp bars. You don't know if William Shatner likes Butterfinger Crisp bars.

You like your adult content, but you don't want anyone to know you like your adult content.

You like Campbell's soup even though you don't like Campbell's soup.

You like alpacas. You like turtles.

Two ladies? You like two ladies. You like two ladies a lot.

You like clean sheet day but you don't like saying "clean sheet day" because it makes you sound like a reject from The Real Housewives of Dayton, Ohio.

You like guys who make a Bloody Mary with horseradish even though you don't like Bloody Marys.

You like signs.

The great eight debate

Three nuggets from Michael Scherer's brilliant debate summary: What You Missed While Not Watching Last Night’s Reagan Library Debate for TIME.

Talk turns to teenage girls and cancer of the cervix, which is a historic first for a presidential debate.

Gingrich says legal immigration documentation should be handled by "American Express, Visa, and MasterCard, so there’s no counterfeiting, which there will be with the federal government."

Paul reveals new levels of paranoia, saying that he worries a southern border fence could be used to keep Americans from fleeing to Mexico in an emergency. "Every time you think of [a] fence keeping all those bad people out, think about those fences maybe being used against us, keeping us in," he says. He also wants to end federal restrictions on drug use. Totally unrelated.

Go America!

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Blob love

Dear readership,

Please view this evocative footage while your humble hostess struggles to pen yet another brilliant post that exposes the human condition by way of some inane detail such as a disposable hand soap dispenser.

.

Lifted from the indubitable and intrepid Bridget Callahan.

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Queen Erin

The Queen shall be referred to as "The Queen."

The Queen shall not be subjected to her subjects.

The Queen shall not have subjects.


The Queen shall have subjects.

The only subject the Queen shall have shall be Sexual Education.

The Queen's entire body shall be anointed with precious oils by the handmaiden's of the Queen, who shall then draw the excess oil from the skin of the Queen by slowly and gently passing a portion of whale bone over the landscape of the Queen's voluptuous corpus.

The Queen, having further considered the implications of the Queenly Oil Anointment Procedure (such as how to employ the excess oil), shall withdraw the previous decree and instead anoint herself with Suave Mango Mandarin body lotion.

The Queen Shall determine which words Shall And shall Not be Capitalized.

There shall be a monument erected in honor of the Breasts of the Queen.

Per the Queen, the word Breast shall only be capitalized when used In reference To the Queen.

The Queen shall be served massive bowls of Ruffles Reduced Fat potato chips and cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer by a shirtless David Muir.

The Queen shall consider the employ Of Bejeweled Marital Aids.

Using the word "Bejeweled" amuses the Queen.

The Queen shall take her chocolates on queen-like furniture such as expansive chaises upholstered with luxuriant tufts of purple velvet.

The chocolates of the Queen shall include (but not be limited to) fun-size Butterfinger Crisp.

The Queen shall be a fair and magnanimous ruler.

The Queen Is the Queen.

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The six most unfortunate marital aids

1. Little Steel Tonight

For $2000, a person should expect something that a) has a better name and b) packs more punch than a 5" tube that's a mere 2/3" in diameter for chrissakes. Who cares if it's emblazoned with hand-written lyrics from Dave Stewart (of the Eurhythmics)?

You can buy a cucumber three times that size at the discount grocery for 79¢. So it doesn't vibrate. So what? Your "Little Steel Tonight" only packs a two-out-of-five on the intensity scale anyway. Strap your $7 Spinbrush to your cucumber if you want to get your buzz on. You're still way ahead of the money game and when you're done, you can make a salad*. Now that's green living.

*Wash cucumber thoroughly after personal use.

2. The Sqweel

At best, this is a mutant Hot Wheels wannabe. At worst, it's a slew of amputated tongues rotating around an unseen axis.

That said, I'm pretty sure that if you give that thing enough gas and set it on the ground, It'll either make it halfway to Nebraska or mysteriously transform into a bevy of mothers-in-law. Either way, my knees are crossed tight.

3. Mr. Right.

Go on and click that link to view the single most depressing object ever realized by humankind. That thing will never ever achieve erection. You want to destroy a woman's self-esteem? Give her a limp dildo. Broad'll take one look at that thing; think even my dildo can't get it up for me and well up with tears for the next three days.

Christ awmighty.

Yes, smartass, I realize that this is an ill begotten fashion accessory designed for a) someone of the feminine persuasion who wants to laugh in the face of penis envy, b) a gent who's own manhood is so negligible, he sports a visual prosthetic to inspire confidence, or c) other.

Yeah, yeah. Mr. Right is a hapless schmuck who will never find his groove, or Viagra Falls for that matter.

The glory he does enjoy--those delighted gasps courtesy of stolen glances as he struts through the club on a glittering Friday night--are born of deception and woefully short lived. Can you imagine what happens when the zipper is finally down and the jib is finally up? When the cards are on the table, this is no winning hand, just a full house of flaccid.

4. Velvet Jewel Vibe.

Per the sales literature: "If being used for insertion, please use with a condom."

You're kidding me, right?

5. Liquid Virgin

People, the active ingredient in "Liquid Virgin" is alum, the same stuff that gives pickles their pucker. Call me crazy, but applying a pickling agent to your zorch just sounds like a bad idea.

You want me to get my Vlasic on, baby? Get makin' with your Polish dill.

6. The Form 2

I admit it: the Form 2 is sort of cute with its two curiously vibrating fingertips. Only trouble is, they're attached to that bulb-like base just like the roots of that goddamn Tommy Tooth model in every dentist's office.

Although the Doc no longer takes Tommy apart for me in order to display the hidden workings of decay, the mere site of the tooth-like Form 2 catapults me back to the most nightmarish moments of my youth, spent squirming beneath a screaming drill in the dentist chair, beads of sweat popping from my forehead.

In this realm, the phrase "open real wide" is anything but sexy.

That said, how darling is this vid? I love the part where the Form 2 tooth gets a nice little bath!

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All hail

There's no telling whether it was liberal or conservative gods meddling with my Blogger account, but it has been a' meddled. Therefore, this morning's post shall be short and to the point.

Congratulations to all of the 2010 election winners and condolences to the losers. May not one penny of my tax dollars go to the funding of John Boehner's perpetual tan.

Other than that, I shall proudly don egg on my face regarding the publication of one Conservative Eulogy for the Cleveland Scene on May 6, 2009 and offer this commentary to the Democratic Party:

You dumbasses.

On the upside, I look forward to Sarah Palin's venerable grizzly mama teeth sinking into the genital areas of Newt Gingrich, Tim Pawlenty, Mitt Romney and any other unfortunate rightie male who gets between her terrible incisors and the 2012 Republican presidential nomination.

Chew, Sarah, chew, chew, chew!

Thank you as always for your continued support and God Bless America.

Love, Erin

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