Color Me Suspicious

Under normal circumstances I couldn’t care less about anything to do with Beyonce – except to hope that she someday converts to a non-stupid first name – but I couldn’t let this pass without comment. Regarding her demands for dressing room amenities: #1 *yawn* Is this news? No – we’ve been hearing about performers’ dressing room demands for decades. #2 Van Halen already explained that the band’s request for only brown M&Ms in their dressing room was merely a device to easily assess whether or not the performance contract was read in full detail.

So really, why is Beyonce’s rider a story? The one this I do find intriguing, however, is this:

Bey also demands plain off-white walls in her dressing rooms, with a new toilet seat at every event, and will only use red toilet paper.

Who among us has ever even seen red toilet paper and once seen would use it? Well, here it is:

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hey that would be a good color for a stoop bench

I will give points for the amusing manufacturer’s description:  “Plain old white toilet paper can be such a ‘bummer’ if we so say so ourselves. That’s where Renova’s cheeky new toilet tissue comes in. It’s fanny-tastic, taking traditional 3-ply to a whole new level.” That’s almost perfect. If they threw in something about farting, then I would just let it go. But I cannot believe this part:

  • Renova Toilet Paper has been dermatologically and gynecologically tested1
  • It is a biodegradable, non-toxic, soothing tissue and does not bleed2 any color when wet.
  • Made of 100% biodegradable, virgin3 pulp that is chlorine-free and entirely recyclable. A fun, stylish gift for the hostess that has everything!

1. Gynecologically tested? On whose bits? Rabbit bits? Rat bits? Cat bits? Lady bits? For how long did the clinical trials go on? What were the results? What about post-market reactions? I am going to need more information here before I would let a thing like this anywhere near me.

2. Okay – was this really necessary? What was you sniggering at?

3. *sigh* This is growing wearisome. Was it not enough that I had to endure a 35-letter string of emails yesterday about naming a project group (primarily composed of women) “FISH”. Oh it was all done in in a way that could be defended as innocent and above-board – just like this virgin business –  but it didn’t feel like that at all. Of course, no one could openly point out the insulting slang reference because HOSTILE WORK ENVIRONMENT and all but I am sick of men young men smarmy men and their delight with their own cleverness.

So. Anyway. Red toilet paper. Choke on it.

Do You KNOW What Is Going On Out There?

MOOD UPDATE: Greatly Improved.

I turned right instead of left at the end of my street and headed for the garden center instead of the Corningware Outlet and it did my soul much good. I touched all the cobalt blue flower pots of every size and shape and finally settled on just the right one for the stoopscape. The stoopscape is becoming a bit crowded (in my head.  Most of the stuff is not yet purchased or painted.)  now and I might have to jettison some ideas to the deck in the back. But before I do, I must tell you what else I bought at the garden center.

As you know, I bought the talavera chicken for the express purpose of filling it with Hen and Chicks plants. Of which, isn’t that funny? YES. It’s funny because it’s a chicken filled with a hen and some bonus chicks and I have been waiting for years for just the right moment to display my gardening sense of humor via this arrangement. So I did buy a single little H&C plant and right next to is was a little pot of Creeping Thyme.

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they’re not planted yet but I couldn’t wait to tell you about this

So of course I bought it for my talavera turtle. Do you get it? DO YOU? It’s a turtle. Like a tortoise. That won a race over time by steadily creeping along. Plus the little flower tips match the purple collar on the turtle. I am greatly pleased with myself.

Flower pot puns. It’s my new thing. I’m like the W.H. Auden of Mexican animal planters.

In re: the title of this post. My beautiful beloved  freshly washed sparkly white Santa Fe was the only commoner car in the parking lot of the garden center. Everything else was a Mercedes, an Escalade or a Lexus. Coiffured women with Louis Vuitton bags hanging on their forearms were strolling ahead of carts pushed by garden center employees as they chose two of these and two of those. I have been to this garden center many times, usually on the weekend – in fact, it is the home of the déclassé meerkat family water fountain – and I have never seen this crowd here before.

Full disclosure: I did have a garden center employee help me get a giant flower pot down from a high shelf, but I had to shout across three aisles to get his attention. (I subsequently abandoned that pot for a smaller one that I could reach myself.) (I don’t know why I said that. It makes me look like a bad, inconsiderate customer. Which I am not. I’m just a Gemini.)

The Use Of Capital Letters Should Be A Tip-Off Here

The boss creek worker banged on our front door this morning at 7am. FINALLY after abandoning us on December 20th, they have returned to make right the muddy mess they left us then. AND THEY ARE DOING IT WRONG.

BAD MOOD ALERT! I have a day off from work today. Finally I have the time to do the little things I can’t do on a normal working Friday (which would be lounge around on the deck and enjoy myself) and now I can’t because I’m all crabbed up. I have already tried to change my attitude by buying 2 things from Amazon and was just about to fire up my online search fu for Mexican flowerpots but now I think I’m going to have to leave the premises so the top of my head doesn’t blow off from aggravation.

It’s a beautiful sunny morning outside so maybe I’ll bomb down to the Corningware Outlet and see what’s shakin’ there.

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