Thursday, November 21, 2013

Yes: MRI Like it!

A happy time.
For a long time, I was afraid of the idea of getting an MRI. The thought of being crammed into a coffin-like tube appealed to me about as much as being crammed into a tube-like coffin. But then a wacky discovery in my spinal cord bought me a ticket for a whole bunch of these MRI rides.

The first of these took place in the winter months. Another thing I don't really like is winter. I'm always cold. But when I voiced my concerns about the upcoming MRI to my sister, she said "I bet it's warm in that tube. You are gonna love it!"

Encouraged, but still wary, I presented for my MRI.  Did you know if you have metal stuff inside your body like pacemakers, the MRI could kill you? Apparently, the magnetic pull of the MRI could rip that sucker right out of your chest cavity, like you were in Alien!  

Also, if you are a robot masquerading as a human, the MRI will find you out. Be warned.

As this MRI was for my spine, I didn't have to worry about the freaky head cage accessory you get to wear if you're having your head examined. (In later months, I did get to wear that and it was freaky alright.) I informed the technician that I was nervous and asked if she could slide me in and out of the tube before beginning the procedure. I knew I would be okay as long as I knew I could get out of that tube if I wanted.

After positioning myself on the MRI plank-like table, the tech slowly slid me in, stopping when all but my lower legs were inside. "This is where you'll be for the test," she told me.  I mentally tested: while tight in there, I deduced I could, in fact, shimmy myself out of there if I had to. I don't know why I would "have to," but I was comforted knowing I could escape.

"Oh, so I could get out if I wanted to," I spoke aloud.
"No!" said the tech. "Once we start, you can't move!"
"I know," I said. "I just mean, if I wanted to, I could get out."
"No, you can't move!" she said again.
"I know, it just makes me feel better knowing I could get out if I had to," I said.
"You can't move!"

I rolled my eyes at her in my tube. This action gave me my other piece of comfort: I saw when I crammed my eyes up in my skull, I could get of glimpse of the wall outside the tube. Barely, but yes, the wall outside the tube was visible. Another potential escape route. I decided not to share this info with the tech.

Test ride completed, the tech slid me out, fitted me with the IV that I would need later for an injection of dye for the last part of the test, gave me some earplugs and popped me back in. Earplugs because it's loud in there. Banging and beeping and clanging and chirping. Kind of like the sounds one used to hear when using AOL dial-up internet, but louder and more frenzied.

It wasn't all fun and games. Every now and then I would experience a brief but jarring feeling of "Help, I'm trapped in a tube!" I'm told many folks who fear MRIs keep their eyes closed the entire time. This doesn't work for me as being trapped in my head can be far scarier than being trapped in a tube. When those shocks of fear came over me, I'd center myself by counting the holes in the little speaker that was right over my face. If there had been something to read, that would have helped immensely. A little sticker or something placed where patients could read it without moving. Perhaps something like "If you think this is bad, be glad we didn't have to do an autopsy to get this information."  Anything with words would have helped.

In any case, I survived the procedure and came out none the worse for wear.  Also, I learned three things:

1. I don't have claustrophobia. What I had was a fear that I might have claustrophobia.  That's kind of funny.
2. You can request copies of those images to take to your doctor or for your own personal enjoyment.
3. I am filled with all kinds of fun things:

No: Weeki Wachee Springs

I would not want to live at Weeki Wachee Springs, otherwise known as "The Only City of Live Mermaids," located in Weeki Wachee, Florida.

You'd think this would be right up my alley, what with the glitz and bling and whatnot. Plus, I can swim alright and I like sea friends.

But I wouldn't want to live in Weeki Wachee Springs.
Here's why:
  • How much you wanna bet the "treasure" in that treasure chest above is just cheap crap?
  • Water up the nose
  • "Boy, would I like a piece of that tail, har har har!"
  • Pruney, waterlogged fingertips
  • The undoubtedly tacky gift shop where I would likely have to work when not being a mermaid
  • Tight, thigh-hugging mermaid tails making me feel like a fat sausage
  • Bad, 80's-style blush: 

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

No: Wax as Food

You know what I don't like?


I'd like to know who came up with the bright idea of labeling an inedible substance like wax "candy." Wax is not candy and neither is dirt, Vaseline or paper. We don't eat these things. Nobody, for example, fills a paper tube with lemon meringue and peddles it as "candy."  So I don't know how the creators of these waxy bottles got away with it.

I do know I did eat one of these things many years ago and remember the experience well: a bite into flavorless wax only to be rewarded with a disgusting belch of syrupy discharge.  I can't remember if I ate the wax or spat it out, but I can't imagine that either choice was rewarding.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Yes: Bobbing for Wieners -- with Dogs!

Playing Bobbing for Wieners with dogs is probably not a very nice thing to do.  When the wieners go in the water, the dogs are unable to smell them.  With the scent removed, it's basically like bobbing for invisible wieners. But I venture to guess that most dogs enjoy a joke like anyone else.

Bobbing for Wieners I:  Lola, Clancy, Toshi

Left to right: Lola, mixed breed; Clancy, mixed breed and Toshi -- a wiener dog.  Toshi wasn't recruited to bob for wieners because she's a wiener dog, but you must admit, this certainly ups the excitement factor. The wieners were initially placed in large tub with about two inches of water. You can see the reaction. Lola and Toshi are clueless and while Clancy has his eye on the wieners, he's not even close to getting in a bob:

So the wieners were moved to a small dish.  While Toshi and Lola put forth an effort, Clancy apparently became engulfed in a wave of depression or disgust and refused to engage.  There's a lot of looking going on but still no bobbing:

Cheese was added to the tin of wieners. This boosted Toshi's determination but Lola gave up. All we see of her here are her (sad, dejected)  feet:

At last! Toshi goes for the cheese!  Here she is, mid-chew:

Is anyone remotely surprised that the wiener dog won the Bobbing for Wieners (and Cheese) competition? *Because Clancy and Lola were big, fat losers, they were not given any cheese or wieners at the end of the game, but instead had to watch Toshi eat everything.

Bobbing for Wieners II: Carter

Round II of Bobbing for Wieners had only one competitor: Carter, a long-haired German Shepherd. Carter has a reputation of eating any turd that comes his way: cat turd, deer turd, goose turd, his own turd. Doesn't much matter to him. Consequently, a round of Bobbing for Turds was briefly considered but ultimately rejected on the grounds that it would have been fucking disgusting.

This round went lightning quick.  The wieners were placed in large red tub. Thinking they are turds, perhaps, Carter goes right for 'em:

He zooms in:

And gets the wiener!

Bobbing for Wieners II was over before it hardly started.

There should have been a Champion Wiener Challenge between Toshi and Carter but that couldn't happen. One, because Toshi was a foster dog who is now happily reunited with her owner. The other reason is the possibility that Carter could have confused Toshi for a wiener -- or a turd-- and ate her.

I don't think Toshi would have enjoyed that joke.

*All three competitors received plentiful portions of wieners and cheese at the end of the game.

Monday, October 28, 2013

No (Way!): Frogs

One thing I don't like at all are frogs.

When I was growing up, there was a pond next to my house and it was packed with frogs.  My brother and I would go down to the pond with nets and catch them.  Sometimes we'd haul a bunch of frogs back to the house in a bucket and plop them into a wading pool. We'd watch them do creepy frog stuff for a while then release them back into the pond.

One time my cousin and I packed about 5 frogs into a pickle jar semi-filled with water.  One of them (jerk!) started emitting that horrible, high-pitched sound that frogs do and we screamed and dropped the jar.  They were okay.  They went back into the pond.

All this frog relocating required frog handling.  I did a lot of it. I picked these things up all the time. Even though frogs creeped me out even back then, I was able to do it. I think that may be exactly why they terrify me today.  I think I gave myself some kind of PSTD Frog from that.

If you could take a frog apart (which I never did back then, though you might think so), I would have no trouble with a frog's head:

Large eyes, happy smile, roundy-chubby cheeks.  From this picture, you might think the frog could be a good friend for me.

Then it all falls apart:

Moving past the head, there's not one thing to like here. Those front toes are unfathomable.  The strange lump on the back is grotesque.  I can barely even bring myself to think about the back legs but for this post I will:

I hate this.

Worse yet, when they dangle

There is no need for legs like this anywhere, ever.

If you're one of those people who like frogs -- and for some reason, there are many of you -- I've got some news for you: frogs are not the innocent, lily-pad sitting, fly-catching creatures you might think they are.


Here's your BFF the frog eating a snake.  He looks pretty happy about it, too.  There's no delicate pink tongue gracefully unfurling to catch an insect. Instead, we see the frog apparently about to pack himself with a whole lot of snake.

It appears frogs will eat damn near anything they think they have even a remote chance of swallowing:

 This frog is eating a bird.  I hope he chokes.  

It gets worse:

"Please let me out, oh please, please!" says the mouse.
"Hahaha, fuck you!" says Stupid Fat-Ass Frog.

Frogs don't care. They will eat anything. Including each other:

"Hi, I just ate my brother," Frog says cheerily.  

You know know what though, you gross, gluttonous, frogs?  Turn about is fair play for you guys:

Ha ha, Frog. Ha ha on you!

I'm not saying I would ever hurt a frog. In fact, on rainy summer nights I damn near kill myself trying to avoid hitting them with my car.

Here's what's funny though.  The town I work in has a thing about frogs. There's some story about some stupid townies hearing a bunch of frogs making stupid frog sounds and thinking it was Native Americans or the end of the world or something.  As such, the town apparently decided to adopt the (stupid) frog as it's spirit animal.  They're everywhere.

Look what I get to drive by nearly every day:

"Ha ha, Kim, Ha ha on you!"

Sunday, October 27, 2013

No: March of the Penguins

Not a good time

Remember when March of the Penguins was released in 2005 and everyone was going crazy over it?  I tell you what, the only good thing about that movie was baby penguins in grey sweaters: 

Granted, the good factor in that is huge, but every time I think about setting up residence with those penguins, I remind myself that they had the shittiest life imaginable.  All they did was make impossibly long treks in the snow or stand around on top of their babies, trying to keep them warm. Guess what? Half those babies died anyway.

But if you like watching fluffy babies weaken slowly, sitting around and walking forever then this is the place for you. 

No: Devil's Island

I would not like to live at Devil's Island.
Not from 1852 to 1951 anyway, when it was part of the whole French Guiana penal system.

Some guys, like Papillion and Rene Belbenoit, they managed to get lucky from Devil's Island by acquiring fame. Still, I don't think Devil's Island was a very good place.

Here's why:
  • Guillotine
  • Malaria
  • Monkeys 
  • 17 hours of forced labor
  • 12 hours of forced standing 
  • Risk of being coated with honey and left for the ants
  • Hiding valuables in a little tube in my ass

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Yes: Mama Pig

Look at that baby in this picture. That is one happy baby.  Look at that pig in this picture.  That is one fine pig.  Look at that lamp in this picture.  On second thought, don't look at that lamp.

That baby is me and that pig is Mama Pig.  Clearly, I am quite taken with Mama Pig.  Besides my happy face, it appears as if my legs could be going crazy with excitement.

Unfortunately, my brother puked on Mama Pig and she went to the dump.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

No: Bad Crazy

Karl Largefeld and his betrothed, Choupette.  Awesome.
There's Good Crazy and there's Bad Crazy. I don't like Bad Crazy and I don't like it at all.

Please note that I am not using "crazy" to refer to genuine mental illness or developmental disabilities.  I'm not and I wouldn't because disabilities aren't crazy and they aren't funny.  For the purpose of this post, you may choose to interchange "crazy" with "eccentric," "off-beat," "screwy" or "quirky" -- but throw a stinking heap of pure crazy in there.

Good Crazy is Cyndi Lauper in the 80's, designer Karl Largerfeld wanting to marry his cat and The B-52s' "Rock Lobster" (but not "Love Shack.")   Good Crazy is Johnny Thunders saying "At least I have my health!" right before he falls off the stage . It's also this guy and his delightful/terrible (and sometimes, sweaty) monkeys:

Bad Crazy, by contrast, is a bald Britney Spears smashing a car window with an umbrella. It's the stranger who insists on starting a conversation and no amount of monosyllabic, terse replies on your part will deter him. It's that damn Tom Cruise jumping around on a couch. It's Carrot Top. Bad Crazy is even thinking about singing "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" at Karaoke. It's finding out about this guy and thinking the art is possibly sort of cool --  and then you find out he could have been a pedophile or child murderer.

Good Crazy is Frank Black screaming about slicing up eyeballs.
Bad Crazy is Glenn Danzig demanding hot onion soup and refusing to play a show because it's too cold.  
Good Crazy was Cher showing up at the Oscars in that near-naked Bob Mackie dress as a big F.U. when she didn't get nominated for Mask.  
Bad Crazy was Lady Gaga's meatdress - because who wants to wear 50 pounds of stinky meat?

Note: riding a unicycle down Main Street, choosing to write your novel on a old typewriter instead of a computer and generally being "ironic"all the time isn't any kind of crazy. That's just overplayed dumb stuff.

What I hate most about Bad Crazy is when Bad Crazies try to draw you in to their crazy show. Sometimes Bad Crazies will get crazy in pubic as they are wont to do. Then, you are inadvertently sucked into the crazy show because you must work hard to pretend you don't see the crazy show. There's a crazyshitshow right in front of you but God help you if you catch a crazy eye.  So you pretend you don't hear the yelling, singing, chortling or muttering and you don't see the dancing, flailing, staggering or shuffling.  It's hard work.  

What I do when this happens is to pretend I'm at the circus.
I don't like circuses but when I pretend I'm at the circus during a crazy show, sometimes it makes me laugh out loud. 

Which, admittedly, is Bad Crazy but who cares?

Sunday, October 20, 2013

No: Zeigler's Limeade

I'm not a fussy eater: I'll eat pretty much anything (including, maybe, you).  I microwave food from boxes clearly stating "Microwave not recommended." If I'm impatient, I'll eat these microwaved foods partially frozen and not much care. I had little trouble eating vegan some years back as soy "meat" products tasted just fine to me. I can tolerate all sorts of flavors, ranging from wasabi, which I'll happily eat in globs right off my chopsticks, to the aftertaste of the Sweet and Low I've been putting in my coffee for decades.

In fact, there are only 4 things I won't eat:

1. Watermelon
2. That spoiled mushroom I popped in my mouth back in 1997.  That mushroom had turned.
3. Once, craving something sweet but having nothing remotely satisfying in the house, I spread peanut butter on a piece of bread and plopped a generous pile of Nestle's Quik on top.  It was awful. It became even more awful when I threw it in the trash where it sat petulantly on a pile of scooped cat turds and urine-soaked litter.
4. Zeigler's Limeade

Zeigler's claim they are "Committed to satisfying your thirst all year long." "Natural" and "not from concentrate" and what not, it all sounds pretty great and why not try a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade?

I'll tell you why not: because you will rue the fucking day.

My (now ex but not because of the Zeiglar's) (well maybe because of the Zeiglar's) husband picked up a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade a few summers back while grocery shopping. He put it in the fridge, closed the door and that was apparently that. Except it wasn't. Apparently Zeigler's Limeade sat there in the dark, working itself into a rancid funk.

Sometime that evening, I opened the fridge and saw the Zeigler's Limeade.  I'm not a big lime fan, per say, but it looked pretty good. I poured a glass and took a large drink.

Right away, my mouth filled with a foul, bitter taste.  A second later, the taste turned from bitter to chemical. As in cleaning product or antifreeze.  As in something that does not belong in the human body because if it gets in there, you will most certainly die.  I spat that mouthful right into the sink.  There was no relief: the foulness remained on my taste buds as surely as if I had gargled with it.  I turned on the tap, filled my mouth with water, rinsed and spat.  And again. Still no relief. The Zeigler's Limeade's aftertaste would not budge.

After numerous rinse and spits, finally the taste began to fade. I poured the rest of that crap down the sink. For an hour or so afterward, I sat around waiting  to experience convulsions or maybe sudden blindness. When these didn't happen, I went to bed.

A few weeks later at the grocery store, I saw a young couple take a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade off the shelf and place it in their shopping cart.  I wanted to warn them.  I imagined this happy-looking couple planning a nice lunch or dinner and Zeigler's Limeade was going to fuck their plans right into next week.

I said nothing.  Because due to the fact the Zeigler's was (and is) still churning this stuff out, I had come to believe I must have a sampled tainted bottle. There is just no other explanation.

However, I will never buy another bottle to test my theory. I shall never again go gentle into that green shit.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

No: Phish

In 1995, I was at a party at someone's house in DeKalb, Illinois. I don't remember which party, it was just one of the many my friends and I attended after the bars closed.

Arriving, I heard some jangly, largely non-melodic noise that I didn't like.
"What is this?" I asked a hippie-looking guy standing near the boom box. (Ipod docks had yet to be invented.)
"Phish!" he crowed happily.
"Oh," I said.

Fast-forward to about two hours later. It's still Phish. It's been Phish all night.

I find another CD in the house, don't remember what it was, but it wasn't Phish.  Asked the guy to play it. Told him I was tired of hearing Phish.

"Why can't you have an open mind?" he yelled at me.

Fuck Phish.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

No: Disneylandworld

Fuck this shit. Seriously.
I've never been to Disneyland -- or it is Disney World? There's two, aren't there? I don't care, I'm not Googling to find out.

Disneylandworld has many things I don't like:
  • Long lines. If I'm going to wait in a long line, it's going to be for something that might involve Bob Mould and free kittens -- not for some over-hyped pirate ride.
  • In fact, pirates. When did everyone start loving pirates?  Pirates and bacon are very big these days.  I don't really like either. 
  • Mickey Mouse. He doesn't even look like a mouse.
  • Star Wars.  I think Disney bought Lucasfilms.  There was brief hubbub about something like this on my Facebook news feed a while back. I know everyone loves Star Wars but I just don't. I saw the film in 1977 when it was released. It was good.  That's pretty much all I have to say about Star Wars.
  • Throngs of adults acting like giant children.  There's "childlike" and "childish." I don't like the latter and you can bet your britches there's tons of that crap happening in Disneylandword all day long. 
  • It is decidedly not a "small world."  I drove to Nashville once. It took a long time.
  • That hidden penis on The Little Mermaid VHS cover years back. No one likes sneaky penises. There is no way I'm being surprised by a penis in Space Mountain.  
I think maybe the thing I would hate most of all about Disneylandworld is there's too damn much of it. Plus, Epcot -- I don't even know what the hell goes on over there. Admission is $95 to just to get into the "Magic Kingdom." I'd be running around that place desperate to get my money's worth and I'd end up not seeing a damn thing.

There's only one thing I might like about that place and that's Bambi.
But I don't need to go to this loopy place to see him.  

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Yes: Air Supply

In 1975, two guys met in Australia while working on a production of Jesus Christ Superstar. During down times, they jammed and the room was heavy with magic. That magic became Air Supply.

I have exceptional taste in music. Ask anyone. I don't like Rod Stewart's Adult Contemporary stuff but I do like Bachman Turner Overdrive's "Sledgehammer" -- and Air Supply.

I like Air Supply because I remember first listening to them in seventh grade and hearing the short Air Supply guy's voice and thinking he was a girl. Tricky!
I like Air Supply because you know they're gay because they're Air Supply but if you Google you'll find out they are, in fact, straight. Tricky again!
I like Air Supply because all I ever need to own by them is a Greatest Hits album.There's no need to get all "deep cuts" with these guys.

But mostly I like Air Supply because when I discovered punk rock at age 19, I had to hate everything that wasn't "punk," "indie" or "alternative." So of course I had to hate Air Supply because everyone hates Air Supply. Untill I saw Todd Solondz's fiim Happiness.

It's a good film but to date I've only watched it once because it creeps me out.  In any case, there's a scene where a man and a woman dance together in a crappy bar. It's sad because the man doesn't care a shit for the woman: he's all wrapped up in Lara Flynn Boyle's character.  The woman, however, does like the guy, a lot. So they dance and it's sad because the man is "settling" but the woman thinks it's mutual and guess what's playing on the jukebox?  Air Supply's "All Out of Love." It's a poignant moment and if you think for one second Solondz could have pulled that off without some Air Supply magic, you are wrong.

Air Supply is good for other things. A while back, a Facebook friend posted that he was gearing up to watch Mothra movies and something called Giant Monsters All Out Attack. The "All Out" reference naturally brought to mind Air Supply's "All Out of Love" and shortly after, my other super-favorite Air Supply song "Making Love Out of Nothing at All." Then I thought about making Mothra out of nothing at all -- because if anyone could make Mothra out of nothing at all, you know it would be Air Supply.

Finally, I made this out of nothing at all (except some stolen images from the internet):

So while you're playing your Death Cab for Cutie or your Black Sabbath, I'll be playing Air Supply.

Well, actually, I probably won't because I only listen to them maybe twice a year.

But Air Supply is magic wearing a magical crown and as such, anything could happen. So, while you're playing your Death Cab for Cutie or your Black Sabbath, there's a (slim) chance I could be playing Air Supply and every star in the sky could be taking aim at my eyes like a spotlight.

Except probably not because I suffer from mild night blindness and don't really like spotlights aimed at my eyes.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Yes: Giant Big Boy

"Hi, I'm Big Boy!
See my crazy overalls and swirly-ass hairdo?
See how that hamburger I'm about to cram in my mouth is larger than my head?
That's pretty great!
Too, I have my name on my shirt -- just in case I forget who the hell I am."

I also will say "Yes" to dressing up as Big Boy for Halloween.
Because who else is going to be Big Boy for Halloween if not you?

Monday, September 30, 2013

No: Andes Mountains, 1972

Remember that plane crash in the Andes Mountains in 1972 when all those rugby players were stranded for 72 days?

I wouldn't want to live there.

It's not for the reason you'd expect: cannibalism. Meat is meat when you're starving and the people they ate were already dead. I'm not saying I'd run to the corpse, cutlery flashing in the sun, but I'm quite certain I could do it.

Consider yourselves warned: if ever you and I take a flight together and we crash and you die, I am totally going to eat you.

I wouldn't want to live there because of: 

  • Below freezing temperatures
  • Snow
  • Avalanches
  • Being forced to eat toothpaste for food
  • Septic infections
  • Undoubtedly wet socks
I hate all of those things.  

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Yes: Purple and Brown

See, now, we all could learn a bit from Purple and Brown.  When things go bad for these guys, they just laugh.

Purple and Brown was a claymation short series that first aired on Nickelodeon in March 2006. Purple and Brown are largely non-verbal and they have no arms or legs.  They don't care.  

They don't, in fact, care about much.  When a boulder drops on Brown, he laughs.  When Purple gets crapped on by seagulls, he laughs.  When Brown observes his friend Purple getting eaten by some nebulous green things, leaving only his head and his spine, he laughs. So does Purple:

Whenever anything nasty happens to Purple and Brown, they observe the situation with curiosity and then laugh.

This is a pretty good way to live your life, I think.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

No: Mary Shelley at Lord Byron's estate

I would not like to live as Mary Shelley at Lord Byron's country estate in Geneva.
You know, like in the film Gothic.
True, Mary Shelley obtained a place in every English major's library after that.
Still, I'm never living there.

Here's why:
  • I bet Lord Byron was a snot. What with that "Lord" title and all.
  • Maybe drugs!
  • Plaguing myself with the notion that perhaps science is going too far.
  • Being married to a guy with a mama's boy name like "Percy."

Yes/No but Mostly Yes: Scented Candles

I like scented candles.  I go for the warm, holiday scents like Macintosh Apple, Autumn Harvest and Buttercream.  When I lived in Illinois, 1000 miles away from my family in Connecticut, I'd light my Pumpkin Pie candle and swear I was in my mom's kitchen on Christmas day.

The problem with scented candles, however, is some of them trigger allergies I didn't even know I had or just plain make me sick.  You'd think, with that holiday jones I got going on, I'd be all over a Christmas Wreath scented candle.  My sister fired one of these up a few years back, however, and I instantly got a sore throat and felt nauseous.

It seems any candle with any kind of strong or perfume-like scent makes me ill so I avoid any floral or heavy smells like lavender, pine or eucalyptus.  But candles don't list ingredients and therefore, you can't be sure of anything.  I once bought a candle called Beach Walk because I like the beach.  The test smell I gave it in the store was pleasant and I detected no potential harm in Beach Walk.  I got it home and set it aflame and 15 minutes later, sore throat. Some beach walk.

Then too, there's other people's allergies to consider.  Last winter, a friend and I made plans to spend an evening together at my house.  In preparation, I kept a Blueberry Scone candle burning all afternoon so the house would smell nice.  When my friend arrived, she took one whiff and instantly begged me to open all the windows. Blueberry Scone assaulted her the way Christmas Wreath tore into me.  These things are unpredictable allergy bombs and thus carry a huge No factor.

There is, however, one candle that pushes scented candles firmly into the Yes category for me: Yankee Candle's Whoopie Pie.

Last December, I went with my sister to the Yankee Candle Store in Deerfield, Massachusetts. Having recently purchased a Red Velvet candle that may as well as been called Ass Cake by the way it went over with everyone who smelled it but me, I was looking to purchase a new holiday scent. I don't know what the hell was wrong with everyone. Red Velvet smelled just like a red velvet cake and who doesn't love that? Tell you the truth, I've never had red velvet cake but it looks good:

The Yankee Candle Store is crazytown, by the way.  There's food, mechanical men playing mechanical instruments, dark rooms with icy-looking castles and snow falling from the ceiling.  It's nutsville and you'd best be prepared if you visit this place in December.  I was okay with all this stimuli overload, it being the very beginning of the holiday season and thus, weathered it with aplomb. Still,  I was anxious to get to the SUPER GIANT ROOM OF CANDLES to find my new scent.

I walked around that room, lifting lids and smelling.  At one point, my sister began grabbing strangely-named candles and while hiding the label from me, would challenge me to name the scent.

"Guess this one!" she'd say.
"Um, I don't know ... pea soup?" I'd reply.
"Nope! Treehouse Memories!" she'd sing, triumphantly.

Seriously? Who even has a "treehouse memory?"

Finally, I see a deep brown colored candle.  A deep brown color somewhere else could be an ominous sign, but at Yankee Candle, deep brown probably means chocolate so I move towards it. The label reads Whoopie Pie and has a nice picture of a precious little sandwich cookie cream thing on it.

I've never had a Whoopie Pie. Apparently, I've missed out on a great deal of good stuff: no red velvet cake, no Whoopie Pie, no treehouse memory. Tell you what, however, I damn near ate the candle because that's how good Whoopie Pie smelled.

Here's where it gets weird:

1. I bought Whoopie Pie, of course.  To date, I haven't lit it because I don't want to it to get all black and drippy.  I do walk by it on a regular basis, pick it up and inhale deeply.

2. I had brought ol' Red Velvet with me to the store, planning to exchange it for a new scent.  I couldn't, though and do you know why?  Because I felt bad for Red Velvet.  I felt bad for an inanimate object.  That's the kind of of thing that can happen to you at the Yankee Candle Store.