Maybe I just hate butterflies

Is anyone else bothered by the cutesy products marketed to grown women? I’m not just talking about things like Precious Moments figurines here, although those are a little bit freaky.

Their eyes are black holes. I feel like this is the cartoon version of that possessed mother from Paranormal Activity 2.

I’m more concerned with two other things.

Now. I’m going to stop right now and apologize to any family that might be reading this. I’m about to discuss underwear and sex toys. I am sorry.

However.

I’ve been saying this for aaaaaages. Why on earth do I have to spend an extra two dollars to get some underwear that looks like it belongs to an adult? I don’t want underwear in soft pastel colors with pictures of little flowers on them. Maybe some women do, and that is great. For me though, it just seems a little juvenile. Recently, I’ve been seeing a change in this trend. At least now I can get a packet of plain black undies for about the same as the type with butterflies. OR I can pay double and get a pack with zebra strips and peace signs. Anyway, I just feel that underwear that could be described as “darling” should stay on little girls, who can’t yet purchase their own, and those of us that have to fork over the eight dollars to keep our bits secure should have a wide selection of age appropriate undergarments.

Maybe I’m crazy. but this doesn’t scream “empowered woman” to me.

Now.

I’ll get right to the point here. Why is there a sex toy called the Rabbit? Who thought that in order for women to buy a vibrator, it needed to be cute and pink and have a bunny on it? I understand the function of the bunny, and it’s clever, but did it really need to be shaped like an adorable animal? The same goes for sex toys with butterflies and dolphins on them. Number one, I don’t think putting animals that close to genitals is really appropriate, and number two, does everything marketed to women need to be “squee” worthy? If the “darling” rule applies to underwear, I think it should apply triple fold here.

(This is where I would link a picture of one of the objects in question if I wasn’t concerned about giving my mother heart failure.)

If you ask me, the way  products for grown women are presented is just a little insulting. It seems to assume that women are all a little immature, and want everything they own to be cute. It’s not empowering. I don’t see any men struggling to find boxers without pictures of a tractors and dinosaurs on them, because no one thinks that men need their products to be cute to be appealing. I hope that I’ll get to see the day when this type of marketing is seen for what it is. Until then, you can all be sure that I’ll be keeping anything “darling” away from my genitals.

Big brother was always watching me…

Today is my brother’s birthday. I hope he had an lovely day, because he is awesome.

That was not really the thing I wanted to write about though. Today, since it was his birthday, I was thinking about our childhood a bit. We had a conversation a couple of months ago about how strange, dangerous and downright rad our life was growing up. Here are some of the things that came to mind.

First of all, we lived waaaaay out on what was, at the time, basically the edge of town. We lived by a mesa, where people would dump things like old tires, furniture etc, and where people go to shoot guns, and more recently bury hookers. This is also the mesa featured in the first season of Breaking Bad, where they take the camper. It looks like this:

Anyway, my dad used to drive through it on our way home. We used to play a game involving all the junk, and I have many a fond memory of counting tires, and the song Broken, by Kenny Wayne Shephard is also linked to this game, in my mind.

The second thing I was thinking of is a little fuzzy for me. I couldn’t have been older than about 5 at the time. My grandmother has remodeling her house, or some such, so there was either a ladder or some scaffolding up against the house. We had a tire swing that happened to just reach to the top of the ladder. So, my brother was taking it up to the top, and then swinging down. I decided I want to try, because I’ve wanted to be just like him for my whole life. I made up to the top, but then a bee (or, to be really honest, possibly a fly) came and landed on me, and I panicked and let go. I did not hold on to the swing. I got whipped onto the ground, head first, by the stupid tire swing. My brother was surprised I didn’t die.

Earlier tonight, we were talking about how when I was just a slip of a girl, I thought that when infomercials said “Dial the number on the screen” that my TV screen was some kind of touch screen, and that if I touched the numbers on the screen, I could order the product. I always thought I would get in trouble though, because the commercials also said, “must be 18 to order.”  My brother was like, “OH, that’s why you did that!” Tonight was the first my mother had heard about this.

The main thing that stood out to me about alllll of the stories that came to mind (and there were a ton more, I’m just not sure everyone wants to hear my life story right now), is that my brother was with me for all of them. He’s a great guy, and I hope his 26th year is just as wondrous as I remember our earlier years being.

Dancing at his wedding. Laughing because I only offered up one dollar for the “Dollar Dance”

 

When you share a cupcake, you share love…

This clearly isn’t any kind of cooking or baking blog, because really, I don’t do much of either. However, I was thinking fondly of these cupcakes earlier, and thought I might share. They are delicious and also have an adorably “Leave it to Beaver”-esque story to go with them.

Here is the recipe:

Filled Cupcakes (makes about 30)

EITHER 1package of chocolate cupcake mix mixed according to directions on box OR your favorite homemade chocolate cake batter

1 8 oz. package of cream cheese, softened

1/3 cup sugar

1 egg

1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

a dash of salt

After mixing up your chocolate cake batter, use it to fill paper baking cups in muffin tin 2/3 full. Then, in a separate bowl, combine the cream cheese with the sugar, then beat in the egg and salt. Stir in chocolate chips. Drop 1 rounded teaspoon of this mixture in each cupcake. Back cupcakes according to directions on box (or however you normally bake your batter).

Easy-peasy. Now, I don’t frost mine, because that’s what my grandmother did when she taught me how to bake these, and also, the filling is sweet enough. That’s where the sitcom worthy story comes in.

When my dad was young, he was in the boy scouts. They were going to have a bake sale, so he asked my grandmother to bake these cupcakes. She did, and of course, didn’t put any frosting on them. All the other sweets starting selling out before my dad’s did, because they all had piles of frosting. The scout leader took pity on my dad, and bought one of the seemingly boring unfrosted cupcakes. When he bit into it, he found out that it had filling inside, and told everyone how awesome the cupcakes were, and they sold out. Then everyone lived happily ever after, and the studio audience went “Awww!”

Anyway, you could frost them if you wanted. They’re delicious no matter what.

How am I not just vomiting constantly?

I couldn’t think of anything super cool to tell you guys this week, so here’s a list of stupid shit that grosses me out.

1. Library books. I can’t touch them because I can feel the grime and then I have to wash my hands right away and then no reading gets done.

2. Indoor plants. I can’t sleep in a room that has a plant next to the bed. I feel like I might accidentally get a dead leaf in my mouth. Ditto for eating at a table with flowers on it. Too much nature involved for breakfast.

3. The smell of flowers. I don’t know what that’s all about, but flower smells just give me a vague nauseated feeling.

4. Snoring. It makes me think of snot.

5. I can’t stand to look at scrambled eggs, particularly if they’re lukewarm.

6.The smell of plain or vanilla yogurt makes me gag.

7. Feeling body heat on any surface. Like a toilet seat or an office chair.

8. Ears. I clean mine about three times a day, and clean my fiance’s whenever he will let me.

9. Wet jeans. I would rather wander around half naked than let wet denim touch my skin.

10. Wet paper. I hate how it disintegrates.

11. Hearing my fiance eat. I think hearing people eat is probably a common thing that makes people sick, but it only seems to bother me when I can hear Peter. Especially if he is eating Easy Mac.

12. Touching cotton balls. I feel like I want to scratch all the skin off my hands after.

13. Hearing anything about veins or organs or blood. I feel the need to violently shake out my whole body when this happens.

14. When I was younger, the thought of breathing the same air I had just breathed seriously skeeved me out. Having to put my head down on a desk in elementary school was torture.

15. Butterflies and moths being near any food. They have dust on their wings, and I think it could maybe come off from all the wing flapping.

16. Food touching on a plate. Particularly if  there are juices/sauces involved.

17. The smell of cantaloupe (rock melon for you crazy Australians). It always smells spoiled to me.

18. Hearing people breathe. Another thing that makes me think of snot.

19. Banana peels. They feel weird, smell awful, and have a creepy texture.

20. Malt-o-meal. The surface of it has reminded me of lizard scales ever since I ate it while watching an episode of Bill Nye about dinosaurs. It still tastes delicious though, so I just eat it without looking.

Smearing green goo on my face doesn’t gross me out though. Mostly it makes me feel like a dinosaur.

This is the saddest version of my raptor claw I ever did see.