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Okay, look. I am as pro-baby rock on with your bad self awesome women who shoot fruit from their nether bits as the next girl. But, dudes. I have my limits.

I HAVE MY LIMITS. These dolls, well these dolls are my limit.


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I remember when I was little and my mom would tuck me into bed. Snug, warm, secure. She would kiss my forehead. smooth my hair and snuggle my favorite toy into the crook of my arm.


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When I get bored at work, I do random things to kill time.  I browse the internet, write blogs, read books, chat with friends, and occasionally even knit.  I do not, however, glance around my desk and think things like, “Hey, I bet I could make a super freaky squirrel doll out of that staple remover.”

But apparently, someone does.


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(Come to think of it, that could be the title of about 90% of my posts).

My blog header says I am old. How old? Old enough to remember when sushi was gross.

Yes, children, I remember a time in the mists of ancient history when, if you said “Sushi,” people either said “What?” or “Oooh, gross, raw fish!”

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Last week, I brought you this. The hell with that.

Ladies, I give you ….. the Wine Rack !


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This weekend when hanging out with a wise friend, I was privy to this gem of an observation: “If you have trouble developing an interesting personality that’s another thing you’ll probably try-wearing a crazy hat.”

Or possibly making one!  (And then trying to sell it for $450).


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