As Seen In This Blog

I came to a stunning realization Friday night. Now, you'd think with all the stunning realizations and epiphanies I write about coming to I'd be a very enlightened individual. I don't think I am, I feel like sometimes I'm living my life through mud, and this is one of those times.

Friday night I'd gone to B'burg, had dinner and duets with Mr M, got a nice present from him, and generally had a fine old time. Then I started driving back home, on Rt 460, which I've lovingly dubbed the Betty Bet Bet Inspirational Highway because I drive it more than any human alive. Or dead, or yet unborn.

And I hit a raccoon with my car.

He darted right out in front of me, in a weird zig-zag, like he was thinking frantically, "Take the car? Dodge the car?" And he decided at the last minute to take the car, and that car was mine, and he ran right into my right front tire and I heard him crunch like nobody's business under my car. It was a magnificent crunch, and I felt bad for the little guy, all the while thinking, "Whew. At least it wasn't a dog." As you recall, I hit a dog a couple of years ago, right on that same stretch of the BBBIH, probably not five miles from the raccoon murder, and that dog left me replacing the front bumper on my car.

I got home and had a few glasses of wine to celebrate the life of Mr Raccoon, and the next day I had to run a few errands, and when I went out to my car I saw a big piece of black plastic hanging down from behind the bumper of my car, podmobile2.

And I cussed.

So let's take stock. I got podmobile2 in the summer of 2005. In that fabled and storied time, I've hit the dog and ruined a bumper. I've lost the oil pan cover from underneath the car when the yoohoos at Wal-Mart didn't replace the pins on it and it fell down, then tore off before I could get it there and show them their mistake. I had a headlight go out. I've had to replace two tires because they were worn out (that was within the first year). I had several items (including three of my four music stands and two shirts) held for ransom in the back hatch of the vehicle because the back hatch door wouldn't open. Turns out the lock was broken, and I had to have it replaced. I stood at my open door a few weeks ago and watched podmobile2 get the absolute hell pinged out of it during a hailstorm. And a scant weeks later I crunched Mr Raccoon and have a big plastic thing broken and hanging off. My car's a 2006 model, and it may as well be totaled.

And so Friday night as I heard the sound of little varmint bones under my wheel, I came to the stunning realization. Great Bouncing Icebergs, my car is jinxed.

My previous car, the original podmobile, never - and I know this is going to sound like some sort of sickly joke but it's not - it never gave me a minute's worry until I was driving it at 65mph and the steering wheel came off. I must admit, there was some worry when that happened, but before that, nothing. Original podmobile was not jinxed. Podmobile2 is.

I have never wanted a new car as much as I want one right now. But it's just not financially in the cards for me to have one. I still owe one year on podmobile2, which is a shame, because who knows what'll happen to it in that year. Will the doors fall off? The seat break out from under me? The windshield implode into my face? On the rainiest day of the year? Anyway, at the very beginning of my car-buying life, I promised myself I'd never buy a new car while still owing for an old one. Nothing but heartache and a lifetime full of inflated debt in that.

Anyway, that brings us to tonight's blog, not the having a car that is jinxed, but the wanting things I can't afford. Because for about two years now, I've had the best idea ever for a blog. Not one to replace Betland, but an accompanying one. I can't start that blog, though, because it would take more money than I have now or will ever have.

If I ever strike it rich, though, I'll start the blog, and then you'll see what a generous and thoughtful person I am, because that blog would be a benefit to you all, dear readers.

My great idea is to have a blog dedicated to nothing but reviewing items sold on TV.

And I don't mean your everyday commercials. I mean infomercials, or the really bad TV ads with Billy Mays screaming at us to by Oxy Clean, or the fake doctors telling us what diet pills are going to make us lose inches around our waists while sitting in a chair reading a book. You know the ones. The ones that end with a website or phone number to call and order. The ones that will change our lives, given we can wait the four to six weeks for delivery.

Now, you know and I know these products don't work. Well, I know it, because I've bought a couple. In fact, years ago I did an entire essay about my search for a hair removal product that would free me from the bonds of leg-shaving. I bought and tried three, two jars full of gooey, sticky, substances spread on the legs and pulled off with cloth strips. Neither worked, they were horribly messy, and even more horribly painful. Then I bought a spray remover. It was nothing more than Nair that smelled like an orange, came in a very badly made spray bottle, and was about triple the price of Nair. I chalked these up to experience, it was worth the price just to see if I could find something that worked easily, well, kind of. The bad part of it? About the exact time I re-boxed the items and threw them in the trash was also about the exact time they showed up on my credit card bill.

(I now use the Intuition shaver, and love it. Who'da thunk.)

I've tried Proactiv, the face products that turned Jessica Simpson's face from acne-ridden quagmire to clear as a lake, although I don't know what made it so orange lately. It's either those bad spray-on tans or she sprayed some of that orange hair removal stuff on it. I'm not going to say Proactiv doesn't work. I think I'm going to say it works too well. In drying out my breakouts, it also dried my whole face, to the point where if I walked outside in a stiff wind my face was in danger of blowing clean off my head. There was lotion to accompany the cleanser, but it oiled up my face again. So it worked, and it didn't. And it was very expensive.

(I don't need Proactiv anymore because, magically, I got old. Now if I get a pimple I'm as giddy as a schoolgirl.)

Months ago my newish friend Patrick (he doesn't look newish) did a great blog about trying to move a huge cabinet and the device he used, which was bought from some TV ad I'd never seen. Apparently it was a sling-like contraption used for moving the bodies of the infirmed. And while I laughed at his story, I also thought of a commercial from long ago advertising these magic casters - four tiny pieces of plastic guaranteed to change our lives and move couches, pianos, refrigerators, and Aunt Velma, who, when she sits around the house, sits around the house. (Sorry. I had to.) I always wanted to order those things, even though I really didn't have anything I needed to move, and that may well have been where my first inklings of this blog idea started.

Those casters aren't advertised anymore, which leads me to believe they didn't work, and if you'll notice, none of these products stick around very long. I think that's a dead giveaway. But my blog could save you from buying them before they finally do fade out.

The one that intrigues me the most nowadays is the Billy Mays-advertised (stop shouting at me, Billy!) Magic Putty. This is a stick of what looks like modeling clay that you cut off a slice of, knead it around in your fingers, and stick it on something, where it apparently will hold, well, Aunt Velma to a light fixture. It holds shelves on the wall, shelves that hold an entire stereo system. And yet it's delicate enough to hold the handle onto a coffee cup! And as if that weren't enough, and by God, it is to me, it also stops leaks in pipes (had I only known where my leaky pipe was all those months of the Water Debacle of 08), plugs holes in aquariums (which confuses me - who shoots at their fish?), and can pull a tractor trailer when stuck to a chain.

See, I have plaster walls at the Poderosa, and I can't even hang a damn picture on the wall without drilling a hole and placing a sinker in it. Oh, the wonder of sticking some glorified Silly Putty up there, sticking my picture to it, then when I'm tired of the picture I can just pull it back off and it won't damage my walls! Which begs the question - if I can pull it off when I'm tired of my picture and it won't damage my wall, how strong can it be? Shout me the answer, Billy.

Another product that looks mighty enticing and would make my life a hell of a lot easier is the "sucks your clothes flat" plastic storage bag. We've all seen the commercials for this one. You put everything you own in a clear plastic bag, put your vacuum cleaner tube in a hole in that bag, suck out all the air, lock it up, and your clothes, blankets, bedspreads, coats, towels, and Aunt Velma's panties will remain as flat as a pancake, making them easy to store and keeping dust, mold, and animated (well, in the commercial) spiders off them. Then when you unlock the door on the hole, everything springs back to life, and Aunt Velma has her panties back.

I have a lot of clothes, a lot of clothes I never wear and should really give away but don't, and I have some seriously modest storage space at the Poderosa. Oh, how those suck bags would simplify my life. But guess what, dear readers. I don't even need a blog for this one. I considered giving them a try, and went online to read some viewer comments at a website selling the suckers. (No pun intended. Well, not much.) These things received - well, wait. You know how no matter what you want to buy and read buyer reviews, nothing ever gets five stars because some dildo gives the product a one-star review? Always. I'm convinced it's forever the same dildo, and he just doesn't know how to use anything. Anyway, these things received the worst reviews I've ever seen a product get. I'm not sure anyone gave them as much as two out of five stars. Apparently the locking door doesn't keep them sucked to the suckage they're supposed to have, and after a day or two all the air's back in them and your drawers and closets are just filled with clothes in see-through bags. Unsucked.

There's also a food version of these bags, there's no sucking involved, but they're called Green Bags and they're supposedly made from some super-duper polymer that guarantees a longer life for your food. I don't trust this idea for a minute. I refuse to believe that a fully sealed Zip-Lock would pale in comparison to anything.

However, if I had the money, and for the sake of this imaginary blog and my dear readers, I'd gladly give them a try. I've forgotten to stick certain things in Zip-Locks from time to time, and have dipped my hand into a bag of shredded carrots that felt like the inside of a cadaver, and pulled out onions that have taken on a life of their own. Set up housekeeping in my crisper and yell at me for taking them out and interrupting their Friday night poker game.

I don't have a pet, but that Peticure thing I'm seeing commercials for fascinates me to no end. It's shaped something like a vibrator (not that I'd know), and it doesn't cut your pet's nails, it files them down. The animated portion of the commercial shows a constantly turning object filing the little critters' nails, but the live-action shots aren't quite like that. They're more like "file - turn. file - turn. file -turn." Very slow, and the end product isn't as spectacular as I would imagine they would show on a TV. That beagle's nails are pretty shoddy-looking. However, it really gets fun when they show the cat owners happily filing their kitties' nails, and I'd just love to see Mr M use this item on his cat Alice. I could be at the ready with Billy Mays' Magic Putty to plug up the gaping bloody holes in his face.

Oh. Speaking of Pedi-products, I did buy something from TV that worked. Well, I bought it in a store, but it was advertised in one of those ads. The Ped-Egg, an egg-shaped contraption that scrapes all the skin off your feet and holds the dead skin in the egg till you're ready to get rid of it. Which I hope is soon, as I don't know who'd want to keep that stuff. It was only 10 bucks so I bit at it, and I have to admit, it actually works. The scraper part is OK, I have a feeling you could get the same effect with a cheese grater because the blades look just like one, but so far the ex-feet have stayed in that little egg and not flown around the room. I can't imagine those blades staying sharp for very long, but at 10 bucks, who cares. You throw 10 bucks out in the street, right?

Anyway, dear readers, one fine day I'll strike it rich, and when I do I'll start that blog. Maybe I'll have a little picture of Billy Mays up in the corner. He'll be muted, though. I've heard him shout enough for fifty lifetimes.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* The raccoon fiasco, btw, will only be $74 and a half-hour of my day. But still. Still!
* Sorry there was no acro this week. I was feeling lazy. We'll be back, acro and me.