Tagged: women

Lush Me

Lush, massage bar, I would so eat that

One question before I start.
Would you eat one of the above creations?
If you answered yes, please continue.
If you answered no, then you answered no.
Carry on.
Take out the garbage or go for a walk.
There’s nothing more to see or read here.

Here is a picture of a funny monkey to help you forget why you came here in the first place.

monkey

I have lived with 4 women/daughters for the better part of 29 or so years.
I’m used to all the stuff associated with their personal hygiene too;
hair products, hair brushes, blow dryers (they torch at least one on a monthly basis),
gel/goop crap for their hair, conditioners, face wash [with Hawaiian pumice!], ass wash, back wash, foot wash and feminine mouthwash.
It never ceases to amaze me the amount and selection of products available.
Guys have two major categories: shaving and deodorant.
We don’t need much more.

There are some products available to guys as well that simply elude me.
Axe body spray, for one.
Oh, it’s infused with pheromones so no woman can resist you.
Let’s lay that one to rest and say that if you stink like BO or smell like Charles Manson, no pheromone spray, body wash or Godly bar of soap will ever eliminate that.
No wonder you go home alone.

Living with women I’ve gotten used to oddly named products that have no relation to anything ‘male’;
‘The Brusher’, Pink Grapefruit Exfoliate, Slick Works, Catch the Wave gel, Got2B hair motherfu*&$^ Complex,
TRESemme Simply No Frizz with *Frizz Defense!( and God knows how many more).

I used to think these products were okay as long as they didn’t interfere with my life as a hair growing Neanderthal.
That thinking changed a few weeks ago when I went to the fridge after several perfectly chilled Harpoon Leviathan Ales.

Looking into the freezer I spotted an Italian Ice that was the perfect size for a nightcap dessert.
I picked it out and saw the name ‘Whoosh’ on the lid.
Judging from the color is was a blue raspberry ice.
Perfect.
One of my favorite ‘ice’ flavors.
As I began lifting the lid off I noticed that this was not ‘ice’ at all but something called ‘Shower Jelly’.
My monkey brain screamed: DO NOT EAT THIS!

The company that made it is was called ‘Lush’.
They make fresh handmade cosmetics.
Or do they?
Their shower jellies include ‘Sweetie Pie’ and ‘Whoosh’ (the one I almost ate).
They have bath bombs with names like Butterball, Bon Bomb, Dragon’s Egg, Sex Bomb and The Sicilian
(oooh, tease me with your seductive Italian flare! Grazie!)

This company has stuff called ‘Gorilla Perfume’.
Gorilla? For a woman?
Maybe a hairy woman.
Why not call it ‘Primate Scent Enhancer’?
What’s the difference?
The names are quite amusing though . . .
‘The smell of weather turning’ . . .  (here comes the big one, honey!)
‘Snowshowers’ . . .  (get out the shovel you lazy, fat bastard!)
‘1,000 Kisses Deep’ . . .  (not going there, evah)

The other thing I almost ate was a ‘Lush’ bath bar.
These things look like little oval white hunks of chocolate imbedded with yummy things . . .  like nuts and stuff.
I almost ate a ‘Wiccy Magic Muscles’ bar that looked more like a white chocolate Snickers bar than a massage bar.
My olfactory senses slowly connected with my brain and said, “Dude? The tummy ain’t gonna like this. It ain’t food.”
Nuff said.
I had learned my lesson.

Lush has some great names for their products though;

Nutts ( a massage bar. Not touching the name)
Strawberry Feels Forever (giving them a *Beatle for that one)
Heavenilli (looks like Sushimi, minus the wasabi)(rub sushi all over my face, please)
After 8:30 (looks like a piece of carrot cake with 1” of cream cheese frosting, who can resist?)
Dorothy (a bath bar that looks like a little doggie turd on a blue urinal hockey puck)(truth)

Guys like me can’t understand this stuff.
We are happy that it makes you happy but we will never comprehend the obvious product innuendo.
And there is much of it with ‘Lush’.

Consider their Body Butters:

King of Skin
Schnuggle (so cute the name alone makes me gag)
Aqua Mirabilis (?)(is that a constellation?)
You Snap the Whip (Shades of Quentin Tarantino)
And last but not least, ‘Buffy’;

Massage our Buffy body butter all over your wet skin in the bath or shower to make you softer and smooth to the touch, paying special attention to your backside. We add ground rice, almonds and beans to Buffy to act as exfoliants; the rough textures eliminate lumps and bumps and sloughs away dry skin cells to reveal brighter, fresher looking skin. Rinse off the exfoliating bits and pat yourself dry. There’s no need for body lotion after a Buffy slaying session, because the cocoa and shea butters keep your skin beautifully smooth, moisturized and soft to the touch.

Smack my ass and call me Sally, this is true.
I would write more about this company but I have a mad date with an extravagant bath bar called, ‘Blue Skies and Fluffy White Clouds’.
And I think she’s taking me for one hell of a soapy ride . . .

Comment Contest Winners

 

Nothing says congratulations quite like a picture of Borat, don’tcha think?
High Five! <– click here, please
Back in November I did a post regarding people that have left
the most comments on my blog.

I challenged people to try and up their comment count by offering prizes.
(I know, I’m a comment whore, sue me)  :mrgreen:
As of 12.31.2009 the top three commenters were:
*Maureen (154)
*Lolly (77)
and
*Lynn (71)

*numbers are a very close approximation according to Google

I want to thank all three of you for being such an integral part of my blog over the past year.
Without interaction and comments like yours I wouldn’t be here.
Know that something will be on its way this Wednesday when I hit the post office.
*Maureen, your prize will be inside Morky’s b-day gift which we will send in February
(And it’s quite a doozy, let me say. And no, it is not a cheeseburger)
I thank all three of you for visiting me and making my comment numbers go in the right direction.
Up.
You ladies have rocked my world.
The best to all of you in the new year.
And please keep visiting . . .

Christmas Morning

To my wife . . .
(and in a small way to a  very dear friend from Cape Cod ’09.  Do you remember?)

Ladies Night

I’ve known for a long time that a majority of my readers are women.
I don’t say that in a ‘oh, I’m so depressed that only women read me’ kind of way but more as a reason why
this post actually happened.
My daughters are forever showing me videos that they think are funny.
Some are great and some just suck.
Period.
These two videos are awesome {imho} and are living proof that I do live with multiple women (and yes, I love them all . . .  Cripes, I sound like a friggin’ Sheik).
This post is for you ladies that visit here.
This blog wouldn’t exist without your comments.
Enjoy the comedy of Anjelah Johnson (yeah, that’s her in the second video, too)
I’m not a big comedienne guy but this girl is the shit, folks.

~Michael


Wysteria

I can see her from my bedroom window on some of the warm and humid summer nights.
She stands motionless bathed in a slice of cobalt blue moonlight, staring up at me, waiting, wanting, needing something my lethargic mind can’t quite comprehend.
Whispers crawl around my bedroom floor rising to my waiting ears, words that have no form, no meaning.
Off in the distance, I hear the dissonant bells of a monument in a cemetery across the rippling pond.
The solitary whistle of a passing ghost train to nowhere only adds to the soundtrack of this surreal dream world I’m in, a maelstrom of stygian tones and swiftly passing night clouds.
But it’s her, always her; waiting, watching, wanting . . .
me.
I rise from the comfort of my bed and walk downstairs, an endless descent accentuated by the numerous creaks of an old and dying staircase.
Suddenly, I’m standing in the kitchen staring at a backdoor with its shade drawn.
The outside porch light illuminates her silhouetted shape standing motionless behind the door.
My heart skips a beat and my breath quickens as my hand willingly reaches for the brass doorknob.
Although it’s summer, the brass knob feels like ice and I freeze as the door slowly opens.
She’s there in front of me, inches from the ground slowly rotating in space and time, like a maniacal second hand of a broken watch.
When the door fully opens, she stops and seems to glide towards me, raising the hair on my arms.
She’s buzzing like neon.
I take in her face, the colour of the full October moon, creviced like a web but somehow calm.
Her lips are of Jasper, her eyes like black opals with swirling clouds of candescent lace deep within, maybe her universe, maybe another world.

I search for something to say but I am (diametrically) frozen solid in the warm humid air.

“I know,” she whispers, “I know things. I know you.”

“What do you want?” I manage to mumble.

“The soul, your soul.”

Her hand reaches effortlessly inside my chest and withdraws a beam of white light which she gently places inside a black satchel, on it is written “acceptance” in small white letters.

I exhale a cloud of crystalline blue frost into the warm summer night that envelops her.
She nods almost respectfully and begins to drift carelessly away, almost satisfied.
I look at her so confused and ask, “Who are you?”
On the warm winds of a midnight past, I hear her whisper . . .
“Wysteria . . . ”


Climb

{for my 3 young ladies}

Go higher than you ever thought you could.
Climb the ladder of success, whatever that is for you.
Climb your way to the top.
Take as long as you need: no one is watching the clock (except maybe you).
Before you reach out to hold onto something, make certain it’s strong enough to support you.
Grit your teeth and scrape your knees and bleed and sweat.
If your mountain is simply to get through the day, then scale it.
When you get to the top, look back at what you’ve accomplished.
Now smile or holler or cry.
Before you head for the valley and the next mountain, remember the women who have gone before you and the ones who will follow your climb.

~Rachel Snyder

transcribing patience

I haven’t been around much for a number of reasons.
The biggest is that I’ve been transcribing a vocal arrangement for my daughter Sarah.
(from a recording I did years ago with my sister, Maureen for her wedding in ’83)
Sarah belongs to an ‘a cappella’ group at her college and wanted to do the version of
“When I fall in love” that I sang many years ago.
It’s an SATB arrangement that divides into six parts in some sections.
Yeah, crazy. But really nice in a Manhattan Transfer kind of way.
I can’t find the sheet music I used so I must use my ears to transcribe this Jazz vocal nightmare.
Truth be told, I’m kind of enjoying it.
It will however keep me from doing too much here for now.
Hope you folks don’t mind.
And I pray these girls want to sing on Sunday night.
If not, Mr. Murphy will not be wearing his slappy-dappy-flappy-happy hat.
(I have no idea what kind of hat that would be, but I’m quite sure it’s outrageously ugly)
Cross your fingers for me, folks.

Blondezilla

I got on the train one morning several weeks ago and settled myself in for the train ride into Boston.
I was on a double decker train in a seat for one, perfect for writing or sleeping, the latter of which I do in the mornings I leave early.
A woman (I think she was a woman) with incredibly confusing blonde hair sat in front of me reeking to the high heavens of a cologne that almost made me gag.
Eau de Litter Box, perhaps?
All I could think of was the feeling I get when I walk in to Bath & Body Works at the mall; a total devastation of the olfactory senses to the point of nausea.
Anyway, this woman proceeds to flog the ever-loving shit out of her hair, cooties, dandruff and dead hair flying everywhere as I sat there taking it like a man, too tired to move to another seat.
That wasn’t quite enough though. She pulls out her compact and begins to violently swab her face to beat the band with the finesse one would use to scrub a dirty truck bumper.
I don’t scrub my ass that hard in the shower, for God’s sakes.
This went on for twenty or so minutes and it was disturbing, to say the very least.
The lips took at least half of the twenty minutes ending with that yucky “schmupp” sound.
I’m thinking Blondezilla must be an absolute vision when she’s finally done primping and packing her fat little face.
Sometime shortly after the “schmupp”, I fell fast asleep.
Thank God for small miracles.

Later that day, I thought about my wife, a minimalist when it comes down to makeup; less is more, period.
She’ll argue with me until JFK comes back from the dead but when she’s done up for an evening out (a rare event these days, sadly) she IS a vision.
Her face is just beautiful.
A few mornings ago I got out of the shower and dried off before opening the medicine cabinet for a Q-tip.
I saw a small innocuous looking package and I could swear it read “FaceSpackle”.
Now I looked up “spackling compound” on the web and found this: A white pre-mixed compound or powder to which water is added for use in mending cracks in plaster, holes in sheetrock walls, skimming old wallpaper seams, should be sanded smooth and flat after drying
Wow.
This was disturbing.
Dear God, please not my wife.
I put my glasses on and saw that the writing didn’t say anything close to what I thought it said.
It was some kind of newfangled facial exfoliant from Origins.
As a man, I have a difficult time understanding all these exotic things women use on their face.
But my wife has taught my daughters well though; easy on the rouge, light on the eyeliner, gently shadow the lips.
Whenever one of them wears makeup they look like women, very pretty women. What happened to my little girls, I’ll never know.
If they continue to take their mother’s advice, the future years will treat them kindly.

As the train pulled into Boston that morning, Blondzilla got up and made her way to the exit.
Lord have mercy, I think she used to do makeup for Bozo the Clown . . . Ringling Brothers at the very least.
And if she happens to read this?
I’m getting my ass kicked some unsuspecting morning.
I think I’m safe . . .

Grimm’s Emergency Medical Kit

I’ve decided to turn the Smoke and Mirrors reins over to a recently discovered blogger named Grimm. I found Grimm’s blog at Blogexplosion and really liked what I saw, a Godwink to be sure.
Read this post and you’ll know what I mean.
He’s honest, funny and intelligent but not a Patriots fan.
Can’t win ‘em all, right?
I asked him to write a post for me months ago (he thought I was kidding).
When he realized I wasn’t he leaned into the strike zone and took one for the team.
Personally, I think he hit this one out of the park.
Without further ado, I hand it over to the ever imaginative and talented Grimm.
(aka, “The Doctor of Love”)
Thanks, buddy. Good stuff.
~m

The Emergency Medical Kit

The Emergency Medical Kit was a Christmas present for my wife years ago when our little girl was just a newborn. Money was very scarce and everything we had went to making our daughters first Christmas something memorable, so an expensive present was out of the question – but I still wanted her to have something special to know how much I cared.

While sitting around wondering what the hell I was going to do, I became fixated on my wife’s prenatal vitamins. From there I wondered what kind of vitamins I could give her that would be fun and interesting. Thankfully, the vitamins became candy, and the vitamin bottle became a set of children’s plastic cups with a straw opening on the lid.

I made the medicines out of discussions we have had over the course of our marriage about what we liked most about each other and things we would like to do together. The names were the fun part, as I was able to call on my Sniglets expertise to try and create something that my warped sense of humor thought was funny.

After making the cups of candy “official” by placing the label on each of them, I decorated a shoe box into a poor mans First Aid Kid and wrapped the whole thing up in wrapping paper. It took awhile for the wife to realize just what the gift was or meant, but needless to say, the woman started popping “pills” and I became a pretty busy man for the next week or two.

1. ARGUCESE 30mg

Take 1 tablet to end argument. Best used with a kiss and a hug.

This was a popular one with the wife for the simple reason that I could not have the last word. No matter how right I thought I was (which wasn’t very often), all she would have to do is whip out one of these to end the discussion. I used Starburst here as they are big enough to use up quickly if you have an argumentative other half.

2. FUZZITIN 75mg

Take 1 tablet to get that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from a big hug.

Simple yet effective, there just are not a lot of things in this world that can do so much like a big hug. These can be taken at any time and continuously to get the desired effect. If the hugger is good at this task, these could lead to further medication, such as BISCRUBIDOL. I used Gummy Bears for this and seemed to constantly have my arms around the wife. This is not a bad thing.

3. FULMONTISOL 2500mg

Take 1 tablet to receive a complete strip tease show performed by your man.

Taken directly from the movie “The Full Monty”, this may very well be the performance of your life. The only requirements for this medication are that she must provide the background music for your performance and there is to be no video equipment allowed. I personally tried to cram one of those giant Chewy Sweet Tarts into that little cup – I considered that my cyanide pill.

4. SWETLUVODIN 750mg

Take 1 tablet for an evening of passionate lovemaking with your mattress monkey.

A powerful drug, this bad boy usually is taken as a result of other medication like BISCRUBIDOL, RUBADINE, and if you really good, FUZZITIN. I loaded up on these, packing it full of the smallest “candy” I could find – in this case, Tic-Tacs. Hey, you didn’t think I got that nickname “mattress monkey” for my smell did you?

5. RUBADUBIUM 100mg

Take 1 tablet to receive a prepared candlelight bubble bath complete with manservant.

Want to earn some serious brownie points? Let her pop one of these puppies into her mouth and then show her your sensual side. Also works well with fluffy towels and a bottle of bubbly. A word of caution, DO NOT use those imitation electric candles around the bathtub or the both of you will need much more serious medication. To show my more animalistic side, I used Runts here to get her prepared for her bath. Read more »

12 things my daughters have taught me

Having three girls, there are things that as a man you just know, or don’t know.
I’ve been thinking about this for sometime and have come up with a list of things they’ve taught me.
Sometimes it’s just observing their bizarre womanly ways and sometimes I get a hands-on lesson.

  • I can spot a Vera Bradley handbag from 100 paces. (yeah, I know. Scary)
  • Orlando Bloom is hot, but Jensen Ackles (Supernatural) is way hotter.
  • Folding laundry is quite natural now except when it comes to folding a bra.
  • “I love you, Daddy,” loosely translated means, “I need something and you will get it for me.”
  • Girls can be downright nasty to each other.
  • Nothing dries tears quicker than a trip to Hollister.
  • They know the ins and outs of Itunes way better than I do.
  • They can use the T9 word when texting on their cell enabling them to send me the “Gettysburg Address” in less time than it takes me to text the word, “Ok” and hit send.
  • There are countless stars in the sky, but every one has its place.
  • Never honestly comment on a new hairstyle. Just say, “It looks very nice.”
  • Not all facial moisturizers are created equal.
  • Patience. (4 women getting ready to go out for a Saturday evening is excruciating)

Look for a future post and update.
Learning about women is an ongoing process and I’m still a beginning student, apt but beginning.

~m