New Mexifail!

Whoooo! Some homestate love once more on the Failblog!

Oh Fair New Mexico!!!

Wait. That’s not the shape of New Mexico.

Uh…..

I know, I know…the *name* of the company is New Mexico Soap. But…it’s still confusing.

Maybe the label could be…”State Shaped Soap, brought to you by New Mexico Soap” or something similar to avoid the perils of the Failblog?

For the record, the people at New Mexico Soap also carry this little product:

There ya go! That’s the right shape! They left off that little jut up near Oklahoma, but that’s ok.

I’m sure the people who live up in the jut (uh, that would be round about Clayton, NM) don’t mind being left off the soap. Much.

By the by, this is not the only New Mexico fail on the failblog. Here’s the one I posted back in October.

And so it came to pass….

….that living in the Land of Schwarzenegger, in the area of the Bay, there came to be a fish. A small fish. A fish who was filled with faith and hope.

A fish purchased under the accursed impulse-purchase vexation.

The fish was of the Betta clan, and was given the name of Benito, meaning “blessing” or “blessed one” in the Spanish culture (and meaning tiny little dictator in the Italian tradition).

And so it was that Benito came to live in the house of The Good Man and true to his name, blessed us all.

Benito swam and ate of the bloodworm. And it was good.

Until it wasn’t good.

And forsooth, Benito ceased to eat, and lay on the floor of the tank, flat on his side, and took on a gray pallor.

Which only raised memories of Frank, also of the Betta clan, who came before Benito and expired so painfully.

And so it was that The Girl wept, felt necessary to rend her garments, gnashed her teeth and howled to the heavens, “Why! Why must I have the curse of killing helpless fish?”

Then The Girl resigned herself to the knowledge gained that she was not meant for fish ownership.

Another matchbox coffin was prepared, and sadness befell the house of The Good Man.

In the last, desperate hours, The Good Man proclaimed, “he who believeth in the bettas shall never die.”

Thusly, The Good Man brought his mighty hand down and created freshly treated water and added the miracle of the antibiotic powder.

The limp body of Benito of the Betta clan was deposited into the fresh, medicated water and hope was not held out.

In the break of the morn, The Good Man, in his grace, went to the tankside of Benito of Betta, and proclaimed, “Yea, tho I believe this crazy fish is hungry!”

And chopped up pieces of bloodworm were deposited in the tank, and verily Benito of Betta did eat.

“No %$&#ing way!” came the cry from The Girl, who stared in disbelief at the miracle The Good Man had wrought.

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up,” The Good Man admonished, but despite his downplaying the whole thing, The Girl did ignore him and did in fact get her hopes up.

And forsooth! Benito of Betta did continue to eat. And became more upright, and began to flap his fins in a normal manner.

And Benito of Betta was thusly nicknamed the Lazarus Fish, having risen from the dead.

So it is that some two weeks from coming to the house of The Good Man, Benito of Betta continues to live and eat and could almost be described as thriving.

And with the focus on a new, recovering fish, The Girl finds the sadness over the loss of Frank is beginning to ease.

With the help of The Good Man, guardian of the broken pets, The Girl may in fact learn to be a suitable owner of small helpless fish.

And for the moment, it was good again.

But don’t get your hopes up.

P.S. Margaret, female of the Betta clan, and The Good Man’s fish, continues to thrive quite nicely, thankyouverymuch.

When being thrifty throws you into the wayback machine

So I was at Target the other day, picking up many items on my household list.

You know, toilet paper, dish soap, etc.

On my list was a need for some new razors. You know, the weather is warming up a bit, might need to take a weed whacker to the ol’ winter legs…

TMI, I know.

So anyhow…razors are expensive! Dang expensive. So being a child of depression era parents, I did what any overly fiscally conservative girl would do.

I grabbed a pack of razors from the clearance bin.

Hey, they are Schick Xtreme 3! That’s a good brand!

So tonight, I decided to take a long soak in a bath after a chilly rainy day, and I broke out one of my new razors to get some smooth skin happenin’.

Suddenly, my bathroom smells like Louie’s Backyard on South Padre Island at the high tide of Spring Break.

You know, that odd chemically tropical combination of Malibu spiced rum and way too much Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil?

Yeah.

That’s weird.

Why does my bathroom smell like that?

Turns out the clearance rack razors come with “Scented Handles by Hawaiian Tropic”.

Ew.

Apparently I’m not the only one that thinks a scented handle on my razor is weird. Hence the very deep discount in the clearance bin. Schick’s weird marketing idea is my gain!

With three, count them, three blades, my legs are super smooth.

Spotty memories are but a small down payment on the steep price of beauty.

Clampetts come to town

So there I am today, at the Target store. They got in a fresh load of summer wear, so I tried a few on and made fun selections.

I’d picked out a pretty cute loose flowing skirt and had it in the basket, ready to buy. But then I wandered through more of the ladies clothing section and found another skirt almost exactly like it, but a bit different.

I thought I might like this newly found skirt better.

So did I go back to the dressing room and try it on?

Nope.

Did I toss it in the basket thinking I’d try it on later at home, and bring it back if it didn’t fit?

Nope.

I yanked the skirt off the hanger and pulled it on and up over my jeans.

It had an elastic waist….(as if that’s any defense).

Hey, you know what, it fit fine and so I bought it.

A few minutes later, The Good Man came over to the ladies section with a pile of clothes he’d found over in menswear.

“Hey, what do you think of this shirt?” he asked, holding it up.

“I like it,” I replied. And I did.

“I wonder about the fit, though,” he said.

So he whipped off his button down shirt (he had on an undershirt) and put on the store shirt.

“Yep, fits fine,” he said, then took it off, and dropped it in the basket.

And then, I laughed.

This is what we’ve become.

The Clampetts. None of the class, all of the charm.

I remember as kid out shopping with mom, and she’d do the, “here, just try this sweater on over your tshirt.”

“But moooohhhhhhhoooom!” I’d howl! It was *so* embarrassing.

Now I’m that lady, trying on stuff in the aisles. And I don’t even care.

You know…Mark Chesnutt has this song about when “ol’ country” comes to town.

That’s my excuse. I just don’t know any better.

I have no idea what excuse the city-born Good Man’s is using.

Maybe I’m setting a bad example?

“Whooooa, let me tell ya story about a man named Jed…..”

Strange day

Among other things, April 18th marks the date of:

The Great San Francisco Earthquake in 1906

And in 1881 Billy the Kid escapes from the Lincoln County jail in Mesilla, New Mexico. (the jail is now a tchotchke shop in Mesilla Plaza.)