You Think You've Got Problems?!?

Katie and I are watching, I don't know what. "I Love the 80's" or something on VH1. Or the 90's. Or the Aughties. Whatever.

A commercial comes on which at first I think is a mascara commercial, except you know it's not, because mascara commercials always show women with what are clearly fake eyelashes; nobody on Earth has eyelashes that thick and long - the girl's packing nylon, hello! This commercial has a woman with what looks like fairly normal eyelashes with a lot of mascara on. Clearly NOT a mascara commercial, then.

"Are you suffering from inadequate eyelashes?" asks the voiceover. It then goes on to tell you that there's a new prescription medicine available that will actually lengthen, thicken and darken your natural lashes! Results in just a few weeks! Clinically proven! By prescription only!

Okay. By prescription only means you're going to your doctor; you're looking him or her right in the face; you're telling this person, in a world with starvation, polio, cancer, swine flu, fungus-infested toenails, and liver damage, that you want medical attention lavished on your eyelids so you won't suffer from inadequate eyelashes.

"My God, Katie!" I said to my daughter, said I, although she was looking at me a bit oddly by this time. "What the hell is the world coming to?!"

"I don't know," said Katie nervously.

"That reminds me," I went on more calmly. "I want to run by Walgreen's this weekend and get some tooth-whitening stuff."

Katie hesitated. "I really don't know what to say to that," she told me.

"Good," I said. Because the last thing I need is a mouthy teenager. God knows I've got enough problems as it is.

Why Don't They Sell "Mailman-B-Gone"?

'Tis the season for catalogs full of products you didn't know that you or anyone on your Christmas list needed; but hey, you have to get them something - and hey! Everything on this page UNDER $20!!!!!! (You know - $19.99.)

I've actually ordered from the Solutions catalog before, once, I think, four addresses ago. God knows how they've managed to track me down. The cover claims that these are "Products that make life easier." For instance, there's a miniature plastic gypsy-in-a-box that tells you what lottery numbers you should pick. "Don't leave it to chance... let this turbaned seer select your 'winning' lotto numbers!" says the copy. I assume the quote marks around "winning" are ironic, or perhaps just to keep them from being sued. "He'll even repeat them if you missed them the first time around!"

There's also a dietary supplement for ornamental dogs which eliminates unsightly tear stains, a Santa-shaped tissue box cover, a correcting-tape dispenser shaped like a duck, and other such indispensable products.

This one actually looks pretty handy, except these bastards stole my idea!

I guess they didn't really, since my idea was to have every object in the house beeping loudly and flashing at all times, which is much better. They want the objects to beep and flash only when paged by the remote, and have even taken the precaution of including a magnetic-back holder or wall-mounting screws so you won't lose the remote, but whatever. That'll last about three days, tops, and then it's wedged behind the sofa with everything else you can't find.

We also get Figi's catalogs, which are full of very tasty things and things you are not quite sure about, like tubs of whipped flavored cheese product, petits fours, cheese logs, sausage logs, fudge logs, nut logs, fruitcake, meat, meat, meat, pies, candies, and chocolate covered potato chips.

Yes way!


I'm not checking the mail again until January.

Elizabeth 2.0: Now Without...

The hiring process is under way for the enviable position of Elizabeth 2.0. My not-yet-detemped coworkers are interviewing for it later this week.

But our boss interviewed two outside candidates today. Both are older, male, retired military. One flew down from Dallas this morning. They wore suits. Word is that both of them did extremely well - so well, in fact, that our boss is nervous she might not be able to hire one of the internal applicants.

This leads to three inescapable conclusions: One, the forces of nature are obviously conspiring against the 3-Martini Break Group, because these guys don't sound nearly silly enough to be admitted. Two, if some dude with a buzzcut and no sense of humor ends up as Me 2.0? I'm going to be pissed.

Three, we'll get to see Jason in a suit Thursday.