Hollow Tree Ventures parenting humor
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Grand Theft Corsage

Today I'm going to share a little story from my youth.

"Lord help me, she's talking about the olden days again."

It's about my checkered and felonious past.

"Okay, I'm mildly interested."

Setting the scene:  A wee bitty Robyn, not a day over 7 (or some other age - I don't really remember), was following her mother through the grocery store.  Her mother was leading the way, happily shopping, still oblivious to the coming years when Robyn would be big enough to push the cart and run over her heels every third step, thus causing permanent damage to her Achilles tendon and giving her something to throw back in Robyn's face at every possible opportunity for the rest of her life.
In addition to being happy, and still having functional feet, her mother was also very fast.  This was probably because we (yes, I'm unceremoniously ditching the third-person narration) were passing the checkout aisles, and I can only guess that she was trying to escape my plaintive cries for some sugary 1980s candy like Big League Chew (Chewing tobacco for kids - great idea!), candy cigarettes (Cigarettes for kids - great idea!), or maybe Pixie Stix (Cocaine for kids - great idea!).
Because for some reason, all our treats in the 1980s had to be fashioned after an adult vice of some kind.  Like those homemade beercicles my mom used to serve us when we were a little too energetic at bedtime.  What, you didn't have those?

"Are you still talking about
the 1980s?  Gag me with a spoon."

Actually, I wasn't pining for any sugar-coated tobacco.  I wasn't even checking out the tantalizing display of  mini Rubicks cubes on keychains, or molded plastic California Raisins figurines, or the ever-delightful Madballs.

Why did we want these, again?  I can't remember.

No, I was entranced by a colorful display of fresh corsages.
Because even as a child I was a little bit odd.
I was so entranced that, by the time I turned toward my mom, ready to voice my desire for this useless treasure at the volume reserved for overtired, overstimulated children at the grocery store and Leer jets at takeoff, all I saw was a glimpse of her back as she turned down an aisle.

Now, I don't know if kidnapping or Stranger Danger had been invented yet back then, but at the ripe old age of seven I did  know that kids could get Lost, and Lost was not something a kid wanted to be.  So what I experienced in that moment could best be described, I believe, as total and complete terror.
Think fast, kid.  You don't want to end up living on the streets.
But I was still holding the corsage.  Should I put it back?  No, I hadn't yet had a chance to plead my case for why I really, really needed it.  Should I carry it in my hand?  No, too much wind resistance as I run to catch up.  So what did I do?

I carefully and hastily stuffed the corsage into the undeniably unfashionable snap clutch purse given to me by my grandmother, which I was carrying around because (as I mentioned) I was a 7 year old girl at the time, and that's what 7 year old girls do.  And there it stayed.

"You stole it?!?  I'm not going to lie, Mother.
I'm very disappointed in you"

Yes, I stole it, but in my defense I really don't think I intended to.  I found it in there after we got home, and after much soul-searching and general freaking out, I took it to my mom and told her what I'd done.  To my relief, she didn't disown me or take me to juvy, and she even returned it to the store for me even though, as a parent, I have to wonder if it wouldn't have built more character if I were forced to face the humorless store manager and the resulting horsewhipping, or whatever punishment they dealt out to juvenile shoplifters back in those days.  Although I didn't end up turning to a life of crime, so I suppose maybe the horsewhipping wasn't necessary.

So, what's the moral of my story?  I don't know, maybe there isn't one.  Or maybe there are several, such as:
  1. Whoever stocked that store was dumb - why would somebody consider a fresh corsage to be a checkout-lane-worthy impulse buy?  Has anyone in the history of Ever finished their grocery shopping and thought, "Hmmm, wouldn't it be fancy if I wore this corsage tonight while I made dinner and gave the kids a bath?"
  2. Kids are dumb - why didn't I steal some Garbage Pail Kid cards instead (which would probably be worth some money now, or at least be amusing to look at, except for the Rubbin' Robyn one, which, naturally, I hated)?
  3. Candy makers are smart - They managed to capitalize on kids' desires to look super cool and grown up with their candy drugs and bubble pipes, despite the nagging omnipresence of the Just Say NO campaign.
  4. California Raisins are dumb - I don't think I need to explain this one.
I'm linked up today for the first time with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, responding to the prompt, "Write about a time you stole something."

Mama’s Losin’ It

Please click below to vote for me before the cops get here!
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How My Kids Are Like Cottonwoods

Though they signal the beginning of summer every year, somehow I always forget about the cottonwood seeds.

That's okay with me; I sort of enjoy the surprise of waking to the sudden summer snow.

Via Flickr by blmurch

You'll note this is not a photo I took, which is unfortunate.  I really  wanted to capture the fluffy seeds on film (or "on memory card," or however you say it in the digital age) the past few days; I love the lazy way they swirl around, filling the sky.

I love that you can tell the heat of summer has arrived just by the way they move, almost floating through the humidity rather than drifting through the air.

Believe it or not, there are eleventy
hundred seeds in each of these photos.
You just can't see them for some reason.
But every time I took a picture, the seeds had mysteriously disappeared.  I aimed my camera at air that was thick with delicate wisps, like the white lint of a thousand tree bellybuttons, but with each click of the shutter I came away with only background, nothing more.  The few seeds that took pity on me and agreed to make an appearance were nothing but a blur.

Ah, summer - when the edge of
your driveway looks like
it has a frothy case of rabies.

It must be a deficiency in my photography gene.  The only time I could  document the fact that it was Cottonwood Time was when the seeds would settle down and get stuck in something.  That's what they do - amble along on the currents, riding the gentles waves brought by warm breezes, until eventually they come to rest, often catching along the grassy edges of sidewalks or (if you ask Gerry) mostly clogging up the AC condensing unit outside your house.

Check out that clump of seeds.
If I know anything about nature, we are gonna have
a TON of cottonwoods in our yard next year.

Not one to give up (well, usually I am, but not this time) I interwebbed tips on how to get the shots I wanted.  I adjusted my camera's settings.  Ready to go out and take another crack at it, I got my gear and... charged the dead battery.  Sigh.  Well, no big deal, I'll just try again tomorrow.

Except this morning I woke up and the blizzard was over.  Apparently the cottonwoods are finished birthing their seed babies for the year, and we're left to shear our AC units of their tree-wool and rake up the cottonwood dandruff from our dry grass.
I'm lying - there's no way I'm raking in this heat.  Or in any temperature, really.
For some reason, probably excessive drug use, this all reminded me of my kids.  Once again the end of the school year is creeping up on me, and in a few days summer break will be here.  Space that has been relatively empty for months will suddenly be swarming with kids, sometimes swirling erratically and sometimes listlessly drifting, somewhat like the cottonwood seeds, except much, much  louder.  And the seeds don't demand a snack every ten minutes.

I was disappointed when I missed my chance to get the perfect photo of the cottonwood seeds, but there will always be next year, and the same seeds will do the same dance and I'll have another opportunity to capture it.

Not so, with the kids.  They change so fast that, by next year, they'll almost be different people, and I won't ever be able to relive this summer with the people they are now.

I don't want to wake up one day, finally fully charged and "prepared" for summer, and find out that it's already over.

The important thing to remember about the seeds isn't that I missed my chance to preserve their images, though; the important thing is that I witnessed it.  Documenting it on film doesn't make it any more real  - if anything, I wish I'd spent less time squinting through the viewfinder and more time just staring slack-jawed at the sky, enjoying it.

That's what I want to keep in mind as school winds to a close.  Appreciate the next few months.  Be in the moment.  Maybe don't spend so much time trying to catch a memory on film instead of actually making the memory.

Any kids I capture in the frame will just be a blur, anyway.

Please click below to vote for me as I wax poetic about how much I'm going to cherish this summer with my children; then tune in over the coming weeks as I slowly go insane and contemplate locking them out of the house until September.
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I'm linked up with...

The Paper Mama - Because I'm the Mommy - Wordless Wednesday - 5 Minutes For MomMusings From a SAHM
 then, she {snapped}NapTime MomTog

  babybabylemon  Angry Julie Monday 

I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

I'd like to extend a huge thank you to Emily, at Rantings of a Writer by Emily L. Moir, for nominating me for the...

...Beautiful Blogger Award (I hope you guessed right - the graphic was a pretty big hint).  Isn't it something???  Rule Numero Uno of accepting the award is that you poor, hapless folks have to learn seven new things about me against your will, all seven of which follow (but only five of which are true).
  1. "Numero uno" is one of only a few Spanish words/phrases I know.  I learned a couple choice words out of drunken necessity during a college trip to Cancun; the rest come from Dora the Explorer.  You'd probably never get those two lists confused, unless there's an episode where Dora and Boots really, really  need to use a restroom and can't get a Mexican bus to let them off.
  2. My greatest regret from childhood is never learning how to do a cartwheel.
  3. I have an inexplicable fear of gummy worms.
  4. My feet have stripes, thanks to the perma-tan I got from wearing the same sandals all summer - last  summer.  Why is it that when I want  to keep a tan, it only lasts for two days despite gallons of aloe and verbal encouragement, but my feet remain stubbornly tan-patterned even after hiding in socks for an entire winter and a very expensive exorcism?
  5. I once had a gerbil named Cheese whose tail fell off and left a trail of blood through the interior of my Sesame Street Fold-n-Go Playhouse as he ran around, probably wondering where his tail went.*
  6. If #5 sounds callous, don't worry; I grew up to become an animal lover and was even a zookeeper for a while (they didn't ask about pets during the interview, obviously).  None of the animals' tails fell off at the zoo while I worked there.
  7. My second cousin twice removed is Oprah, but she refuses to acknowledge it or accept my slumber party invitations or share any of her cash money with me.  Pfffft.
Okee-dokee, I think that about covers it.  Thanks again, Emily!  There were, I believe, some other "spread the love, pass it on" kind of rules, but since I so recently showered the blogosphere with award sharing, and also because award sharing gives me the nervous hives, I'm going to gracefully bow out this time.  Unless you really, really want the Beautiful Blogger Award, in which case please feel free to contact me and I'll be happy to have my People review your application.

*In the comments below, my mom is probably going to claim that Cheese's tail fell off because I was afraid to touch him so I always picked him up by the tail, thus weakening his tail infrastructure.  But I didn't want you to know about that, so I left it out.  Oh wait, I mean, she's lying.

Please vote for me anyway - I promise, Cheese was fine!
Apparently gerbils don't even need tails.  He was much better off - right after that he went to live out in the country on a farm... wait, what's that?  What do you mean there was no farm?  Oh... noooooooo!
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Happy Memorial Day, and an Announcement

Don't worry, this is going to hurt me
more than it's going to hurt you.

Happy Memorial Day, all you American-types out there (and happy regular-old-Monday to those of you tuning in from non-America places).  Some of you may be aware that this is the day when we, as a country, honor the men and women who fought in the United States Armed Forces and paid the ultimate price for the many freedoms we enjoy.

Mere words of thanks for such a sacrifice are doomed to fall short of fully expressing the depth of the sentiment which inspired them.  However, though I know a few clumsy syllables are by far an inadequate repayment, I would like to convey my gratitude for the fallen heroes we commemorate today, and for their families as well, who also paid dearly for the protection and betterment of our great country.

Arlington National Cemetery (source)

And though I mean those words with all my patriotic heart, two paragraphs is apparently my upper limit on writing without cracking a stupid joke.

So... ::moment of silence::... Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I'd like to move on and whip up a quick list of American Freedoms and Rights and Stuff For Which I Am Grateful.

American Freedoms and Rights and Stuff For Which I Am Grateful
(title brought to you by the Department of Redundancy Department)
  1. I'm grateful for the abundance of food, and quality goods, and non-quality late-night informercial goods, and really-good-deal-until-the-last-second-when-somebody-outbids-you eBay goods, and goods that look way better online than in person and are sold by some super-creep on CraigsList goods - all available for purchase with the click of a button or after a short ride in the car, and speaking of cars I'm grateful for those too.  Especially when the AC works.
  2. I'm grateful for the right to buy as much of that stuff as I can afford - or even more  than I can afford sometimes (thank you, VISA).
  3. I'm thankful for a home, and the right to fill it to the brim with all my precious, precious junk.
  4. I'm grateful for the freedom to watch Hoarders: Buried Alive  and the people selling stuff on American Pickers,  and to judge them for their gluttony from atop my mountain of unused ShamWows, secondhand Precious Moments figurines, and retro Atari video game system which doesn't work but is positively drooling sentimental value.
  5. I also appreciate shows such as Pawn Stars  and Antiques Roadshow,  for giving me hope that my junk might be worth something and therefore providing an excuse to keep it all forevahhh.
Hmm, I really didn't intend for that list to have a theme, but there you go.  I must be getting sick of my junk.  Or extra-loving it.  Even I  can't tell.  Maybe it's because one of our Nationally-Agreed-Upon Expressions of Appreciation on Memorial Day (other than grilling nauseating amounts of meat) is to have Giant Close-Out Sales on everything from furniture polish to Chevrolets.  Those ads get inside your head after a while.

Anyhow, the other America-related thing I wanted to tell you was that we have a super-patriotic announcement to make, and no, I'm not pregnant and a pox on you for even thinking that.  No, this is about the husband.  Remember him?  He's the guy who inspired this.

We can't help ourselves.

He also inspired an unshakable fear that I'm going to be strangled in my sleep by a murderous marionette, a fear that was in no way alleviated by his behavior the other night when he crawled up silently beside the bed and crouched there until I noticed a blurry hulking figure peering at me from the edge of the bed with my nearsighted eyeballs, and I burst several capillaries in my face from suppressing a scream, because my top priority (above and beyond not being killed by the creepy crawling killer) was to not wake the baby.

So, you remember him, yes?  Well, forget I said all that stuff about his Fun Side and get Serious, because we're pleased as punch to announce that he's running for office!  Not just any office, either - we figured he'd have a better chance of winning if he went for a specific office, so he's running for Michigan State Representative (can I get a holla from the 78th district)!

Please note: This is an old post. He's not currently running. But feel free to vote for him anyway.

Obviously we're not your typical political team, in that he has never run for office before - but that's part of why he's running.  We need some fresh ideas and non-career-politician types in government, don't you agree?  And don't worry, he's a lot more serious than I am, so please don't get the impression that he'd be up in Lansing doing all the dumb stuff I'd be doing, like accidentally running over bald eagles in the parking lot.  He's actually really, really good at this.  And smart, to boot.

So pretty please, check out Gerry's Facebook page and like it, even if you don't live around here - we could really use the support.  You can also go to Gerry's website, though be forewarned it's a work-in-progress because his Staff Web Designer doesn't know the first thing about making a website, which really slows down the process, and also because she has cramps and ate too much potato salad and is busy writing this post.

Need a reason to click on over?  How about the fact that he continues to support HTV wholeheartedly, even though I'm probably a huge political liability?  Or the fact that there's a family photo on his page that features 8 of my 11 chins, highlighted by my hasty rubber band up-do necessitated by the 198mph winds during our photo shoot?  Or the fact that he's taking care of the baby right now and  he just brought me a sandwich?  Or the fact that he's NOT getting into this to become a career politician, he just really has a sincere desire to make his community a better place.

Thanks, guys - for being here, and for backing us up, and for reading this even though you probably  don't come here for the stimulating political discussions.  MuaaaAAAH!

And here's that damn Click Here To Vote banner, like you haven't done enough for me already!
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Putting My Best Foot Forward (and not in my mouth)

Whadda ya know?  I've been invited to be the Featured Blogger at Studio 30 Plus today!

If you've never heard of it, I'll fill you in.  Studio 30 Plus is a social media site and online support community for writers; the "30 Plus" part indicates it's for people over thirty, but they were kind enough to let me in even though my imagination age is 28.  You can join up and get all kinds of advice, connect with other writers, improve your writing, and win cash money!  Okay, that last part is a lie, but it's absolutely worth joining if you're a writer/blogger/memoirist.  Or just go for a visit if you don't write but you're a lurker who enjoys stalking excellent writers.  Don't be all creepy with your stalking, though.  And if you are, for the love of whatever, don't tell them I sent you.

I've been giving a lot of thought to what I want to post over there, but as I type this I haven't started my S30P post, or even come up with a good idea.  I was going to ask Gerry for some ideas, but here's how that went.
Me (fishing for some congrats): Hey, guess who was invited to be a Featured Blogger at Studio 30 Plus on Friday?

Gerry:  I know!  But I'm so swamped right now - would you mind taking care of that for me?
Hahahahahaha.  See how funny he is?

So I was left to my own devices, trying to dredge up a good idea out of the dark recesses of my worthless brain.  This opportunity could mean exposure to a whole new group of folks, and I don't mean the trench coat kind of exposure, although if my post is a flop it could be just as embarassing as the trench coat kind.  Not to mention I have to keep the content up to my normal High Standards of Writerly Excellence for the benefit of my regular, lovely readers (that's YOU, if you managed not to laugh at the suggestion that my blog is based on any kind of Standards, High or otherwise), so that it's worth your time to click through to S30P and check out more of my drivel.  I want to be humorous, but not frivolous - poignant without seeming snooty - informative but not droning - tell a story without rattling on and on and on and on because you know that's how I usually write but I'm trying to stop so fewer of my posts will consist of one, uninterrupted 10-page sentence broken up only by intermittent italics.
Everyone knows that nothing helps you come up with quality, creative, funny, thought-provoking writing while you're already floundering in the midst of an Idea Drought like a whole heap of self-imposed pressure.

So anyhow, I hope I come up with an idea by Friday.  If I do, I'd really love it if you joined me at Studio 30 Plus here.  If the word "here" isn't a hyperlink, that means I couldn't think of anything to write about and I'm currently hiding behind my couch with the lights off in case S30P stops by to ask where my post is.  Please, if you see them, don't tell them I'm home.

A click below equals one vote - please click, because if I bomb over at S30P I'll need your thick, absorbant votes to dry my tears.
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The House Tour That Ruined My Life

Dramatic sigh.
I'm feeling blue today, because I was given an awesome opportunity to tour the inside of a house I've always been in love with, and I was stupid enough to do it.

What, this old crap shack?

That's not even the best angle.  Or maybe it is.  It's hard to tell, because the house is like some stupidface supermodel that looks gorgeous even when she's wearing a burlap sack and her hair's on fire.

I'm essentially looking up the house's nose, and it still looks good.

As you might be able to tell by the way I suddenly hate it, I can't afford to buy this house.  I offered to go splitsies with my mom, who orchestrated this house tour (there's plenty of room for her, especially if she's willing to live in the maid's quarters), but then she pointed out we'd still need a couple more people to go in on it with us.  Not likely, since they'd be sleeping in the smoke house.


I quickly discovered that it's a lot easier to love a house when you're admiring it from afar.  Then, you can delude yourself by imagining that at least the inside is filthy and needs a lot of work and it probably has a terrible floor plan.

This acreage is its own gated community.

But now that I've been inside the gate, I'm cursed with The Knowledge Of What I'm Missing.

Who even wants  this panoramic view as you rinse vegetables
in the kitchen sink, at your granite counter top,
over your custom-built Amish cabinetry? NOT ME!

Every single detail was perfect, and perfectly antique, and perfectly cared for, and updated in all the right ways.  The doors were gorgeous; even the cat door cut into one of the interior doors was adorable.

Spoiled cat doesn't even know
how awesome his door is, I bet.  Hiss!

Were there secret hallways with built-in window seats?  Did it have front and  back stairways, just like I've always wanted?  Were there FIVE bathrooms, huge closets, 10-foot ceilings, 10-inch baseboards, and original windows with slatted shutters?  Humph.  I didn't notice.

This is where I sat to cry.
I cried here for a little while, too.

My mom and I also went shopping at Goodwill today, which was a lot closer to our usual speed.
Pinterest, I will  make those adorable pillowcase dresses you keep taunting me with, even if I die trying.
Anyway, that's what I was up to today.   Instead of buying my dream home, I took over 100 pictures of it; I'm hoping, at the very least, to get a really nice cardboard box and line the inside of it with the photos.   I have a good imagination - maybe I can pretend I'm there.  Because now, of course, I can never be happy again without The House.  Judging by the look on her face as we pulled away, Madeline couldn't agree more.

Someone buy me that house!  Please???

Please click below to vote!  It might be the only ray of joy shining into the day
of a woman who is now the proud owner of every pillowcase in the tri-state area,
instead of a 3588 square foot farm house. ;)
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Blogging Bites Back

I absolutely love having a blog.

Except when it's hard.  Or time consuming.  Or I have writer's block.  Or when a loved one throws my blog back in my face as a punch line.

When I started HTV, I secretly took pleasure in threatening those around me* that I was going to blog about whatever it was they were doing, especially if what they were doing was irritating me.
And we all know how many things fall into the category of Things That Irritate Me.  Pretty much all the things.
Before long, these threats were being volleyed back to me in the form of snide taunts such as, "Why don't you blog  about it?" every time I complained about something or wanted to make a point that no one in real life wanted to hear about.

Often, I do  blog about it, even if Real Life people aren't the only ones who don't want to hear about it.  (Take THAT, deadly cloud of space dust.)

Yesterday, I texted a photo of Maddie to Gerry while he was at work.  I know he misses her during the day, so I wanted to show him Maddie's happy face and also prove that I can hold a camera while I'm eating bon bons and watching Friends reruns on TBS all day, just like any top-notch mother.

"I'm not quite this blurry in real life."

Last night, we were discussing the photo.
Gerry (noting Maddie's purple and white striped onesie):  This looked blue in that picture.

Me (referencing the gorgeous, aqua, milk-stained tank top I was wearing**):  Maybe it was a reflection from my shirt.

Gerry (perhaps a little overly incredulous):  Oh, the reflection from your shirt made the purple  stripes look blue?

Me (indignant):  You don't know.***

Gerry (to Maddie):  Your mother is pretending to know something, but we know that can't be right because she never makes any sense.

Me (to Maddie, possibly while packing Gerry's suitcase for him):  Your daddy doesn't know when to stop words from coming out of his talk hole.

Gerry (smirking):  Aww, honey, I don't mean anything by it - I'm just blogging out loud.
Hmmm.  I see.  So that's  what we think of the blog, eh?  Well, babe, I'd hate for you to have to waste a lot of breath repeating that line every time you make fun of me, because at that rate you'd run out of breath about four seconds after you got home from work.  So I made you something.

Folks, I pinkie promise I'm (probably) not going to make a new shirt every day, but I think we can all agree this one was necessary.

* When I say I "secretly took pleasure" in threatening people, I mean that I took pleasure in the most obvious way possible, complete with finger tenting and maniacal laughter.
** Full disclosure: I'm still wearing it.
*** Good comeback.

No marriages were harmed in the making of this blog post.
As far as I know.
Because he hasn't read it yet.
Please click below to vote, then stop back by to read the comments, because I bet he won't be able to resist countering my snark with more snark.
Ah, indirect internet snarking.
That's why we'll be married forevahhhhhh.
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Your Pants Are Puzzling on a Global Scale

Gerry recently bought some jeans at one of those stores that claim to provide Majorly Huge Discount Close-Out Prices.  I won't say which one, though there might only be  one; I wouldn't know, since the last time I went clothes shopping it was to pick out an acid wash denim jacket.
Shut up, they were in style at the time.  You know you had one too,  and it was probably covered in buttons proclaiming your eternal love for Duran Duran.*  Like mine.
Yes!  A vest!  Even better. (source)
*Editor's note: JD at Honest Mom commented (below) that the band reference (above) should  be The Police instead of Duran Duran, and she was so right that I had to add this correction.  Because I'm obsessive like that.
Okay, we'll discuss 80s fashion and the horrifying fact that it's starting to come back in style at another time.  Right now, I want to tell you about the $300 pair of jeans Gerry just bought, and why I find them so unbelievable.
Other than the price.  $300?  Really?

Of course the Major Discount Store's price tag said "$16.99 - Compare at $32.99!" so methinks perhaps the Close-Out Price of $16.99 was due to a tag misprint at the Dinamit Original Golden Jeans factory.

So, I was examining the jeans (he wasn't in them at the time, pervs), and maybe it was because the pockets are studded (!), or maybe because the dye felt like it was going to rub off on my fingers, but something made me check the label for special laundering instructions.  That, my friends, is when things got interesting.
Finally.  I know.
I included a picture because no one in their right mind would believe me, but let me share what's printed on the label so you don't have to strain your eyes.


Say what?   This just in: Job opportunity for excellent qualified proofreader at Dinamit Jeans Company - you will really enjoy of the benefits package!  Well anyway, there's another label sewn immediately adjacent to this one; perhaps that one will clear things up.

Um, no, that's just a summary of the label right next to it.  Not sure what the purpose of that is, but whatever...  Maybe I should check the back of the first tag?

Gah, that's no help, it's written in Hebrew!  What about the back of the other one?

Ah ha, now we're getting somewhere!





There we go, that explains everything!  Except no, it doesn't.  Actually, it only raises more questions, such as:

A) When did China start importing denim from Italy?
2) What makes the denim so "rare?"  Are Italian Cottons an endangered species now?
c) Is Dinamit a misspelling of Dynamite, or Dammit?  Because I feel sure it's one or the other.
IV) Is the laundering symbol "P with a slash through it" supposed to warn us not to pee in the jeans?  Is that what they think we do with our pants?  Is this in any way related to them being the Golden Jeans Destination?
5) You guys didn't think I knew Roman numerals, did you?
F) What's the purpose behind China using Italian denim to make jeans for export to the U.S. and Israel???  I smell a global conspiracy of some kind.
And just in case, after hearing all this, you're suspicious (like I was) that the Dinamit Original Golden Jean Co is totally made up, here's a screen shot from their website.  As you probably guessed, it features a woman in purple leopard print stretch jeans awkwardly lounging against a gigantic cement orange, with an artistic rancid pumpkin/festering boil-themed backdrop.


And people, it doesn't get any more real than that.


Hey, one more thing before you go running off!  Speaking of clothes, which sounds like a really contrived segue but doing that on purpose would've required me to be both clever and organized and I am neither, I posted last week about Team Cool Kids, among other things, and as usual the comments were twice as entertaining as the post, which is one of the reasons I love you guys so much, and now I'm going to end this sentence before it gets any longer.  In the comments we determined that creating a Team Cool Kids t-shirt should be a matter of national priority, at least twice as important as the economy and the Health Care Debate combined.  I've never been one to let my country down, so hereyago.

Team Cool Kids shirt - take 2
Head not included.
  Team Cool Kids shirt - take 2 by HollowTreeTees  

Then Shannon, to whom I would link here but her comment didn't have a link (sad face!), said something that I immediately knew needed to be on a shirt, too, because it's my new motto.

I suck at team dynamics T-shirt
Will look great under a blazer
at your next interview.
 I suck at team dynamics T-shirt by HollowTreeTees

Wearing this shirt to work could really help you avoid a lot of unnecessary conversations and nosey questions from your boss, like "Why haven't you turned in the TPS report?" and "Where were you last week?"  You can find these suckers at Hollow Tree Tees, which is just getting started and has some fun stuff going on, as described on the About page of the shop, which I could cut and paste here but I know your eyes are already tired from all these run-on sentences.

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This post is linked up with Finding the Funny #18!

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