|
|
Thursday, March 16, 2006
|
|
| |
just another manic thursday.That's right.
Which is why...
- If you could only drink one kind of juice for the rest of your life, which kind would it be?
- Do you eat breakfast?
- Do you take vitamins?
(thus endeth the health portion of today's survey...)
- Do you find chronic sneezers annoying?
- Do you drive excessively over the speed limit?
- Can you sing?
- Are you close to any of your siblings? Are you alike?
- Would you ever consider (non-emergency) plastic surgery?
- Do you believe that lactose intolerance is a form of bigotry?
- Do you have a question that you're dying for ME to answer? I'll answer in comments if you do...
Okay, okay. Time to get at it...
7:13:27 AM 
|
|
Febreze, fluffitude, and finances.(How do you even write a post to go with that title?)
I am not a Febreze person. I don't even know if I'm spelling the name of the product correctly; I don't like it enough to check! Febreze is to good smells in one's home what overperfumed old ladies are to tight spaces: enough negative sensory stimuli to curl your lungs.
Everyone else I know really loves the stuff. They spray it on their clothing, their furniture, their car seats, their children... hell, if it smells, they'll Febreze it.
And when I make a face at the toxic mists purported to simulate the fragrance of tropical winds or summer sunshine, they scoff at me. Because, you know, of course your cat's bed should smell like a pina colada.
"Meg, you love the smell of Bounce (fabric softener). Febreze is the same thing. Except you don't have to let things tumble around in the dryer for a while before they smell fresh and clean!"
Uh huh. Let's note that things that have been tossed in a dryer with a sheet of Bounce generally ARE clean, having just been WASHED. You cannot say the same of your child's wubby (blanket) that hasn't been laundered since Clinton was in office. You cannot say the same of your husband's hockey equipment, which hasn't been hosed down since he was actually good enough to score.
No. These things are dirty. You aren't cleaning them -- you're doing spin control. But there is no effective PR strategy for a pair of shoes that are rotting from the inside out.
If something is stinky, that's nature's way of telling you NO. DON'T TOUCH.
Look at skunks! And sulphur! And your creepy uncle! These items release powerful odours to prevent you from engaging them in any sort of interaction.
You can't just hang an air freshener on a skunk's ass and make everything okay, my friend.
And that's wisdom you can take straight to the bank.
The last straw was when they started adding Febreze (through some misguided sort of "new and improved" fiasco) to my precious Tide and Bounce. Now my whites smell like a nice, soft baby... dipped in Drakkar Noir.
On a brighter note, I bought myself new pillows and pillowcases today. Not just on a whim, mind you, but because I think I'd developed a horrible allergy to my previous pillows.
After watching one too many Discovery Channel specials on microlife, I couldn't put my head down on Old Lumpy without picturing a giant dust mite named Eugene contorting awkwardly because I was compressing his living space.
My new pillows are encased in silky covers of an obnoxiously high thread count, and filled with hypoallergenic (read: not snore-making) down-like (read: not down) fill. I love down pillows, but I couldn't afford a decent pair at this point. And if you've ever slept on cheap down, it's like trying to use an actual goose for a pillow.
That might be someone's idea of a good time in the mountains of Arkansas, but around here, we prefer baby seals.
Anyhow, I love these pillows. They make my head happy. And not only that, but I got them on sale, which is really the only way I manage to nab anything decent in Vancouver, THE MOST EXPENSIVE CITY ON EARTH.
Seriously -- if they're not charging you a 18% tax on it, or the price tag doesn't have an obscene amount of zeros, you know that you're either dealing with stolen goods, or you've accidentally wandered into Alberta.
In Alberta, everyone gets their own oil derrick and a herd of cattle, just for moving in.
It's amazing, really.
I think the premier of the province will actually iron your underwear if you ask him to. Or maybe even in your underwear.
He's just that happy you're there.
I'm surprised Vancouver doesn't have a blogging levy. And now that I've thought of it, I'm sure someone on city council will suggest it in one of their overlong, under-useful, community-channel-televised meetings. I'll be taxed on posts like this one, folks. Especially if I can't prove the information is essential, which is generally the case with Blogcabin.
Nay, the goal.
If and when that happens, I'll be calling on you to click on the "Donate to the Cabin Fund" link to your left over there to help me pay my municipal tax bill (instead of spending it, as I normally would, on lattes and Botox injections and tattooed eyeliner and gambling debts.)
Well, now to settle back into my personal 400 thread-count clouds (only 12 dollars a pop!) and try and catch a little shuteye. Tomorrow brings more writing, rain, coffee consumption, avoiding purchasing footwear (though I have begun to crave trendy sneakers for some reason, which makes me want to put on Weezeresque horn-rims and stop washing my hair), obsessive application of lip balm, and profound Febreze avoidance.
In other words, an ordinary day.
Rock, rock on.
12:04:07 AM
|
|
|
 |
© Copyright
2006
Meg Fowler.
Last update:
4/1/06; 11:43:56 PM. |
|
|
