Thursday, November 25, 2010

Misfit Christmas Treats

Enter Heidi's House of Horrible Holiday Misfit Treats and enjoy:

Sperm Cookies
Mouse Cookies gone wrong.  Instead of darling little cookies that look like mice, a simple margarine mistake later and suddenly  little almond ears and red-hot candy noses were floating in opaque little blobs with long red licorice tails. Very unappetizing.

Molten Peanut Brittle
There is no such thing as a safe bowl or oven mitt when you’re making microwave candy. The ceremonial “Dance of the Molten Peanut Brittle” performed while removing it from the microwave is much more about pain, burns and trauma than enjoying the treat--which will break your teeth anyway.

SOS Pad Sea-foam
Only 3 ingredients in this "light as air" candy, yet with all the unwritten fussy technicalities like being quiet while standing on one foot, coaxing the sugar into submission with sweet talk, a door or sneezes could instantly de-foam the concoction and morph it into flat Brillo pads that even a dunk in chocolate cannot make taste good. 

Bird-Poop Cookies
Always DRIZZLE your white chocolate onto your chocolate cookies --never "plop and smear.” 

Skeet-Gun Ammo Cookies
Quite possibly the most labor intensive cookie ever invented are the German anise picture cookies called Springerles--a sophisticated treat. After the 2-day process, my square, concrete-like creations could pulverize clay pigeons…probably real ones too.

If anyone wants my recipes--let me know! ;-)

Thursday, November 4, 2010

O.k. I’ll vote, but don’t call me “Sir”

The skies were bright yesterday in Heartland.  Warm air filled my lungs, caffeine buzzed in my brain and my thoughts were clear and determined as I walked into the building to vote.

Until someone said, “Here’s your ballot, Sir.”

Granted the man behind the table was 100 years old, with lenses as  thick as a butcher block, but sheesh, what an insult!  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his table-mate elbow him--a spring chicken compared to Mr. Magoo’s grandfather who wronged me--but it was too late.  Damage done.  Mood deflated to Depressed Middle-Aged Frump Status.

So it's no wonder I was miffed by the time I read the following referendum:

Should the Wisconsin Constitution be amended to prohibit any further transfers or lapses from the segregated transportation fund?”
WHAT?? I am a writer, and a grumpy one now, so all I want to do is edit this confusing nonsense.  Here’s my Heidi version:  

Do you want to change the Wisconsin Constitution to prevent politicians from robbing Peter to pay Paul?  YES  or  NO
Boom!  Done!  Why do they have to write it in such tricky language?  Shouldn’t something that needs a vote be crystal clear?  Are they doing it on purpose so the average person just says, “Oh, the HELL with it and votes, “NO”?”  If I were a sneaky politician, that’s exactly what I’d do. 

But, actually, right now I care a lot more about being called a man than I do about difficult-to-understand political mumbo-gumbo.  

That cat called me “SIR!”  

I propose the following voter amendment referendum:

Do you want to change the voting volunteer rulebook to ask people with negligible eyesight to take volunteer jobs that don’t require sexing people?  YES  or  NO
Or better yet:

Would you like to see people who DO use the wrong gender assigning word to drop through a trap door (onto something soft—I’m not completely heartless)?
It’s not like I’m a dog who doesn’t care if you call it a “he” or a “she.” 

At least I hope they don’t care, because I make that mistake all the time.

Monday, November 1, 2010

“Fred, You Smell like a Cheap Prostitute”

My husband, Fred, has not been sleeping with a cheap prostitute.  I know this because the whorish scent he sported the other day is the new "man" cologne he bought himself on a recent trip to Kuwait. 
    
“I’ve been wearing Canoe for 30 years.” he said proudly displaying a fancy new bottle, “A woman at the mall sprayed me with this and I liked it.”
 
Awlugh-lulgh! Holy Urinal Cake ala Strawberry Pot-Pori!  It smells like Earl Grey Tea.  And Pine Sol.  It’s so bad it could turn vegetables different colors. 

“Oh, honey, it’s nice,” I lied.

Just as I was feeling badly about my lie and trying to figure out a nice way of saying, “You wasted your money, because the dog’s dust-mite aggravated ear-ooze would turn me on faster,” I thought, “How often does he really wear cologne?”  I might not have to mention it at all. 
  
But this morning, Fred was getting ready for a flight to Texas.  He kissed me goodbye and left the room. He returned and said, “I’m going to put some of this on.”  Before I had a chance to say, “Your cologne could be used as a chemical weapon!” he had sprayed both sides of his neck with it.

I PITY the poor fool (said with a “Mr. T” accent) who sits near him on the 2-hour flight.  Poor Fred, thinking he smells great, will surely be confident and friendly.  Would someone tell him his cologne is too strong?  It might be easier to hear from a stranger.

There might be other intended uses for “Putrid in a Bottle,” known only to Kuwaitis: 
 
1.   - Maybe in a “Cultural Comedy of Errors,” the scent he purchased was really meant to attract animals to hunt, like Americans use Doe Piss (Fred’s word) to get a deer? 
2.   - Maybe it is supposed to be used to mask other odors, like Febreeze does if your carpet smells like a wet pet? 
3.   -Maybe THAT is why Kuwaiti women wear veils over their noses—to block out the scent…of this scent?  
4.    -With a name like “Jaguars Appear” maybe it’s made with hallucinogenic bong water?

Fred really does like the smell of this stuff.  I suppose it’s better than some odors.  We recently had our carpet soaked by an overflowing sink.  After 3 days, that smelled worse than “Jaguars Appear.”  Burnt rice also smells worse. 

I think I need to buy him some new cologne and find another home for "Jaguars Appear" before my lungs collapse.  I’ll try spraying it in the holes in our lawn, and see if our dog will stop digging in them.