note to self: accidental vandalism

When exiting a vehicle, it's best to make sure the keys are securely tucked in a pocket or bag when not needed. If held out in the hand in a horizontal position, there's a pretty good chance you're going to trip on the asphalt, fall backwards, and key your own driver's side door.




Trying to rub out the mark with spit is futile.

note to self: dangerous liasions

So the 'rents are finally out of town and you've invited your next potential significant other over for dinner and some unsupervised flirtation. Armed with an airtight alibi and a detailed diagram of where everything was in the refrigerator so you can replace it accordingly, you're ready for a party on the DL: not even the neighbors will know that you had a guest over, much less an unrelated one of the opposite sex towards whom you have dubious intentions.

Despite your foolproof plan, you'll get busted anyway as a result of the men's shampoo you bought on sale at Food Lion and left in the shower and the marks that look suspiciously like lipstick on your pillow case from your late night cherry slushie.

special edition: vintage ads

I don't know what notes to self we can possibly make about these disturbing old ads from 1915 Harper's Magazine -- I just know I have a ton of them and they make me nervous.
This is an ad for B.V.D. men's underwear, or as this ad would have you believe, your ticket to an outdoor Wonkaland where knee high socks stay up without garters and you, an encyclopedia salesman from Jersey, is ferried across the river to a camp of exclusively "red-blooded, right-living men". No subversive foreigners or infidels here! Nope, just an entire island of Jimmy Stewart impersonators in cotton rompers.
Things will probably go great for awhile, until it's revealed what the sport of "tramping" really entails.

note to self: laundry from hell

You thought you were so smart buying that new shirt at Goodwill, didn't you? You get a nice item of clothing, save a few bucks, and no one knows the difference. Maybe you were going to take yourself out for ice cream with the savings.

Wrong.

This shirt is not a bargain. It costs $3.95 plus your sanity.

Being the savvy shopper that you are, you read the tag and see it's hand wash only. Okay, no problem, you'll throw it in the sink with a splash of detergent and it's good to go.

Wrong again.

As soon as your beautiful red shirt hits the water, it's like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre up in there. Your wash water goes from clear to opaque in 5 seconds, and you're elbow deep in it before you know what hit you.

It becomes readily apparent that this is no ordinary shirt, as you cycle the rinse water at an alarming rate. The bathroom looks like a murder scene, your garment is hemorrhaging like a Hanover, and you are powerless to stop it.

After about thirty rinses you realize the damn thing was dyed with unicorn blood and hand stitched by Lady MacBeth.

It is, after all, the only logical explanation.