Yesterday in the U.S. of A. we celebrated a holiday known as Halloween. If you are unfamiliar with it, it is the time of the year where children (and ghetto adults) dress up in costume (or more ghetto-riffically, they just put their backpacks on the fronts of their bodies and wear regular clothes) and go from house to house, begging for food-like substances that are usually filled to the top with artificial color, artificial flavor, TBHQ, BHT, high fructose corn syrup and if you’re lucky – a few partially hydrogenated oils.
Since I believe sugar is a narcotic and addictive substance that has been scientifically proven to react in the bodies of humans in the exact same way as crack cocaine, I don’t usually want to pour it down the throats of myself or my lovely family. In fact, I'd quite rather avoid this type of "sugar"/quasi-food.
Here’s the problem. Most people don’t think that way, you see, and so, being a bit uninformed on such subjects, they think you’re just being a mean ol’ drooling evil ogre who thinks there is obviously nothing more rip-roarin’ fun than shattering the rainbowy and glittering hopes and dreams of every child on earth and beyond. I might personally say the opposite is true, but hey – what do I know?
So I had to come up with something, something good. How can I avoid my devilish ogre persona and still save my family from death poison? Now, to be clear, I really don’t care all that much what other people think since the reason I’m doing it is because I believe it is best for my family (and other people ought to have the liberty to snort piles of cocaine – or not - if they really so desire) and, as you can see from my other posts, I’m quite used to being (shall we say) on the fringe of mainstream society. And that is just peachy keen with me.
But I didn’t want my family to think, “Aw man, she stinks! She’s taking all of our fun and grinding it up like a fenugreek seed!” Then they’ll get older and think I was born to torture them and they’ll have to go to psychotherapy and have to discuss years and years of suppression of wanting to smoke crack/eat sugar and their wicked, evil ogre never let them. Hideous, really. Then they’ll hate me and make me go into a nursing home that serves GMO food at every meal and I’ll turn into a three-headed radioactive monster that appears to have been born in the Detroit River. I ain’t goin’ out like that, homeboy!
Thus, my plan was born, in six gloriously simple steps.
Step 1: Make homemade (mostly organic!) chocolate peanut butter cups so they won’t miss out on TBHQ/BHT/partially hydrogenated oils Reese’s. (One of our family flavorites.)
Step 2: Go trick or treating anyway, collecting the poison the whole way.
Step 3: Upon arriving at home, allow the children one or two pieces of poison.
Step 4: Weigh the bag o’ crack.
Step 5: Pay $2/pound to each small one for the surrender of the bag.
Step 6: Dispose of narcotic, take the bittys shopping for something that will last a lot longer than the sugar high they’d be on otherwise.
Happy crack-free peeps all around! Hooray!
Peace, love and here’s to a narcotic-free family,
Ms. Daisy
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Peanut Buttery Cuppys
Non-TBHQ/BHT/partially hydrogenated oil peanut butter cups
You need:
A pile of soy lecithin-free chocolate chips (12 oz.)
1 cup (8 oz.) of organic heavy whipping cream
Globs of organic peanut butter
A small bowl full of crushed up organic O’s cereal
Mini paper cups/mini muffin tins (or you can use regular size if you’d like)
1. Warm up the heavy whipping cream on the stove, but don’t boil it. Just get some eeny bubbles on the edges going.
2. Dump in the soy lecithin-free chocky chippers
3. Stir until they’re all a homogenous melty goopy pile of chocolate warm goodness.
4. Get that pot off of the heat and let it chillax while you –
5. Smash the O’s cereal to bits until it looks like a powder.
6. Drop the globs of organic peanut butter into your smashed powder O bits.
7. Stir the peanut butter and the O’s until they are also a mostly homogeneous glop.
8. Slather the chocolate onto the bottom of the muffin cups, spreading it a little sideways so it goes up on the edge of the paper.
9. Drop a glob of your peanut butter mix onto your chocolate muffin cup goodness.
10. Cover with more chocolate and stick the whole thing in the fridge or freezer (whichever you prefer) until they are firm.
11. Try not to eat the entire pan at once. Share, baby, share.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Urban Farming, I Hate Cold and Love Sofia Jannok
You'll be so surprised to hear that I picked up a copy of a magazine that I never knew existed before called "Urban Farm". Here's their website: Urban Farm Online
Oh to see the shock on your face, eh?
Yes.
Well, anyway, I was reading an article on chickens and the author was talking about how the egg production slows as the days get shorter (darker) and she lets them just take their rest and do their thang. (Apparently there are other people who are so intense with their egg production that they force their chickens to keep on laying by introducing artificial light or something. I do not know. I do not have chickens. Yet.)
But even though this is awesome and great, that is not the thing I loved most about this article.
This woman, I'm pretty sure, is 100% (maybe even more than that!) awesome. Her name is Kelly Wood (from Portland, Oregon) and the name of the article is called "Egg-laying in Winter". (Urban Farm, p. 52-55)
She starts off her article describing how she loves the summer. She loves waking up to the sunshine, it makes her feel productive and energized. She gets in her garden and works it and often doesn't come in until the mosquitoes have bitten her up in the evening. She says she even LOVES THE HEAT AND HUMIDITY. Sigh! (I was nearly jumping and screaming with joy at that sentence.) Then she contrasts it with the disgusting cold and (okay, I may have added the "disgusting" part) the short days. She says it makes her want to sit on the couch with a blanket and knit and read books.
And probably just cry and wish it were summer again.
(Okay, fine. I may have added that last bit, too.)
So I read it to my husband aloud and he remarked that she sounded just like me. Maybe I have a twin out there somewhere. Probs. Except she already HAS chickens. So jealous.
I love being warm. When I have the somewhat rare opportunity to be in a car by myself, I turn the heat up all the way as hot as it can get and then turn the fan blasters on at the highest level to replicate a sauna (shout out to all my suomis out there!). In fact - when I drive home from my morning post-pool workout, I often dry my hair with my car. This is very effective when you want to look like Medusa. So pretty, oh, so pretty! I'm pretty sure if I do it often enough, it will eventually become a very popular style and everyone will try to emulate me and then I'll be in Vogue magazine in an interview and tell everyone my secret to great hair is to saturate it for an hour with chlorine and dry it with a car.
It is dreadful to be cold. And all those layers! Ugh! Your seatbelt has to stretch farther, you get all squooshed in your clothes and on your neck, you can't do cartwheels as easily (or other super important things!) - I could go on and on!
Do you know in the summer when it is 100 degrees F or so, what one of the most fun and amazing things to do at 3:00 in the afternoon is? Why, sit/lay on cement and absorb heat and sunshine, of course! It is like your own personal outdoor sauna (If you just said "sana" in your head, you pronounced it wrong. It's "sow-na". It's Finnish. Get it right or we'll come after you. That's like saying "tortiLLa" with an "L" sound. Ick! Or pronouncing the "S" on the end of Illinois. Epic failures all around.) And that, my dears, is delicious.
Why on EARTH are you looking at me like that? Pish posh. Have you tried it before? See. There ya go.
Okay, so you're one of those people who likes that gross thing called "cold weather". Okay, I get it. I must admit, I do have some things I like about winter too.
One of those things is (OBVIOUSLY) snow skiing. It is pretty much the funnest (yes, I am a word inventor) thing you can do in the snow. Another fun activity is putting on your Yaktrax and going out for a run in the softly falling snow (even though you can't feel your legs or face for like eight days afterwards). Probably worth it. Frostbite what?
And then there is the landscape of winter in it's clean delight. One video makes me appreciate this very much. You can see it here with Sofia Jannok singing "Irene". It's in Sami and she sings joiks (Swedish yodeling). And it's probably the cutest thing you'll ever see on earth. She is adorable. She flops around in the snow and can really crank out the sound with a passionate flourish. She is so one of my flavorites. Oh please, go watch that.
Did you do it? Why not!? You'll totally love it. I promise I'll wait for you. Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease????
Thank you!
That's all that I can think of at the moment on the positive side of frigid death.
Well, gotta go out to thesauna car now. Stay warm and cozy, my dearies!
Peace, love, chickens, summer and joiks,
Ms. Daisy
Oh to see the shock on your face, eh?
Yes.
Well, anyway, I was reading an article on chickens and the author was talking about how the egg production slows as the days get shorter (darker) and she lets them just take their rest and do their thang. (Apparently there are other people who are so intense with their egg production that they force their chickens to keep on laying by introducing artificial light or something. I do not know. I do not have chickens. Yet.)
But even though this is awesome and great, that is not the thing I loved most about this article.
This woman, I'm pretty sure, is 100% (maybe even more than that!) awesome. Her name is Kelly Wood (from Portland, Oregon) and the name of the article is called "Egg-laying in Winter". (Urban Farm, p. 52-55)
She starts off her article describing how she loves the summer. She loves waking up to the sunshine, it makes her feel productive and energized. She gets in her garden and works it and often doesn't come in until the mosquitoes have bitten her up in the evening. She says she even LOVES THE HEAT AND HUMIDITY. Sigh! (I was nearly jumping and screaming with joy at that sentence.) Then she contrasts it with the disgusting cold and (okay, I may have added the "disgusting" part) the short days. She says it makes her want to sit on the couch with a blanket and knit and read books.
And probably just cry and wish it were summer again.
(Okay, fine. I may have added that last bit, too.)
So I read it to my husband aloud and he remarked that she sounded just like me. Maybe I have a twin out there somewhere. Probs. Except she already HAS chickens. So jealous.
I love being warm. When I have the somewhat rare opportunity to be in a car by myself, I turn the heat up all the way as hot as it can get and then turn the fan blasters on at the highest level to replicate a sauna (shout out to all my suomis out there!). In fact - when I drive home from my morning post-pool workout, I often dry my hair with my car. This is very effective when you want to look like Medusa. So pretty, oh, so pretty! I'm pretty sure if I do it often enough, it will eventually become a very popular style and everyone will try to emulate me and then I'll be in Vogue magazine in an interview and tell everyone my secret to great hair is to saturate it for an hour with chlorine and dry it with a car.
It is dreadful to be cold. And all those layers! Ugh! Your seatbelt has to stretch farther, you get all squooshed in your clothes and on your neck, you can't do cartwheels as easily (or other super important things!) - I could go on and on!
Do you know in the summer when it is 100 degrees F or so, what one of the most fun and amazing things to do at 3:00 in the afternoon is? Why, sit/lay on cement and absorb heat and sunshine, of course! It is like your own personal outdoor sauna (If you just said "sana" in your head, you pronounced it wrong. It's "sow-na". It's Finnish. Get it right or we'll come after you. That's like saying "tortiLLa" with an "L" sound. Ick! Or pronouncing the "S" on the end of Illinois. Epic failures all around.) And that, my dears, is delicious.
Why on EARTH are you looking at me like that? Pish posh. Have you tried it before? See. There ya go.
Okay, so you're one of those people who likes that gross thing called "cold weather". Okay, I get it. I must admit, I do have some things I like about winter too.
One of those things is (OBVIOUSLY) snow skiing. It is pretty much the funnest (yes, I am a word inventor) thing you can do in the snow. Another fun activity is putting on your Yaktrax and going out for a run in the softly falling snow (even though you can't feel your legs or face for like eight days afterwards). Probably worth it. Frostbite what?
And then there is the landscape of winter in it's clean delight. One video makes me appreciate this very much. You can see it here with Sofia Jannok singing "Irene". It's in Sami and she sings joiks (Swedish yodeling). And it's probably the cutest thing you'll ever see on earth. She is adorable. She flops around in the snow and can really crank out the sound with a passionate flourish. She is so one of my flavorites. Oh please, go watch that.
Did you do it? Why not!? You'll totally love it. I promise I'll wait for you. Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease????
Thank you!
That's all that I can think of at the moment on the positive side of frigid death.
Well, gotta go out to the
Peace, love, chickens, summer and joiks,
Ms. Daisy
Monday, October 29, 2012
Fenugreek and Your Mapley Armpits
Hello and welcome to another edition of Crazyland, I’m Ms. Daisy, and I’ll be your host.
So. I love sprouty sprouts on my sandwiches. Don’t you? Say you do. They’re so yum. Well, I got this great sprout mix from the local health food store in seed form so I could just sprout them on my windowsill to my heart’s delight. Which, of course, I did.
And this is exactly what I did on the sprouts.
Shock and awe, right?
I know.
So let’s just say I thought they were so delicious and wonderful that I started eating them every day until they were all gone. Yum. I ate them on crackers, in sandwiches and just plain by the handful.
Then something strange happened.
There was this smell. This mapley-syrup smell.
Coming from where, say you? Ah, yes. It was only just coming out of my armpits. Naturally!
This was slightly alarming, but it was the exact same smell I smelled last year when I took this herbal concoction of Fennu-Thyme. Fennu-Thyme? Wait a minute - it was the FENUGREEK! Eee-gads!
I mean, it went away last year after a while so I wasn’t too worried. But still.
So I called my dear friend, because she cooks food with flavor and yummy-ness and I knew she probably used fenugreek at times. I happen to get her on speaker with her hubby and I asked them if perchance, maybe, when they ate fenugreek, did they have it sweating out of their armpits later?
Their answer was laughter and a resounding “no”. She said that she doesn’t usually eat it in raw sprouty form, and just usually cooks up the seeds or uses the ground up powder, so maybe it was different.
Uh-oh. Great. Well.
So I go back to my health food store (because I love it) and I happen to be talking with the manager about plenty of things (because that’s what I do) and I ask her if she’s ever sprouted the zingy trio – and I’m in luck, she has. I then ask (in a tone trying to sound as nonchalant as I possibly can), “Have you ever…um…had the smell of fenugreek coming out of your armpits later? Like when you’re sweating?”
Response, “Um, you better look that up online or something.”
Fan-freakin’-tastic. Even the manager of the health food store – a person, I’m sure, who has heard the most insane problems ever known to humanity - thinks I’m a freak! She suggests maybe I’m one of those people who has a special gene that I can smell things that other people can’t. Yeah, I’m special all right. Like an Ohioan. Great.
So I think to myself, great, I have some disease. I have Maple Syrup Fenugreek Armpit Disease or something. That must be it. I’ll look it up online. I look up “sweating fenugreek”.
There is really not much out there on this. Either most people are not sprouting fenugreek (possible) or most people don’t smell like a Vermont forest in March after its consumption (also possible).
And then I find it.
It’s this site, titled something like “the largest raw food site on the net” and they have a forum. Within this forum, they have a post about sweating out fenugreek. Glory! Jackpot. Apparently it is an herb that is used often to boost volumes of human lactation (Eeks, don’t need that! Not now, anyway, thankyouverymuch.).
A woman asks if anyone has ever experienced a maple syrup smell sweating out of them after eating fenugreek. The responses are varied, but they mostly seem to rejoice in this (sigh of relief/eyebrow of perplexity) and one person says, “Who needs patchouli when you have fenugreek?”
Oh. Yes. Obviously.
I am pretty sure I am going to get my Certified Organic Granola Crunchy Hippie status certificate in the mail any day now.
Peace, love and pancakes, anyone?
Ms. Daisy
So. I love sprouty sprouts on my sandwiches. Don’t you? Say you do. They’re so yum. Well, I got this great sprout mix from the local health food store in seed form so I could just sprout them on my windowsill to my heart’s delight. Which, of course, I did.
 |
| Picture is thanks to NOW foods.com |
This lovely mix has 3 types of sprouting seeds in it: clover, fenugreek and radish. Check it out! It’s zingy and tasty. A delicious combination for any sandwich in need of some sprouts to cheer it up! Obviously, as you know by now, I have somewhat of a tendency to go slightly (shall we say?) overboard (tomato eating and whatnot).
Shock and awe, right?
I know.
So let’s just say I thought they were so delicious and wonderful that I started eating them every day until they were all gone. Yum. I ate them on crackers, in sandwiches and just plain by the handful.
Then something strange happened.
Coming from where, say you? Ah, yes. It was only just coming out of my armpits. Naturally!
This was slightly alarming, but it was the exact same smell I smelled last year when I took this herbal concoction of Fennu-Thyme. Fennu-Thyme? Wait a minute - it was the FENUGREEK! Eee-gads!
I mean, it went away last year after a while so I wasn’t too worried. But still.
So I called my dear friend, because she cooks food with flavor and yummy-ness and I knew she probably used fenugreek at times. I happen to get her on speaker with her hubby and I asked them if perchance, maybe, when they ate fenugreek, did they have it sweating out of their armpits later?
Their answer was laughter and a resounding “no”. She said that she doesn’t usually eat it in raw sprouty form, and just usually cooks up the seeds or uses the ground up powder, so maybe it was different.
Uh-oh. Great. Well.
So I go back to my health food store (because I love it) and I happen to be talking with the manager about plenty of things (because that’s what I do) and I ask her if she’s ever sprouted the zingy trio – and I’m in luck, she has. I then ask (in a tone trying to sound as nonchalant as I possibly can), “Have you ever…um…had the smell of fenugreek coming out of your armpits later? Like when you’re sweating?”
Response, “Um, you better look that up online or something.”
Fan-freakin’-tastic. Even the manager of the health food store – a person, I’m sure, who has heard the most insane problems ever known to humanity - thinks I’m a freak! She suggests maybe I’m one of those people who has a special gene that I can smell things that other people can’t. Yeah, I’m special all right. Like an Ohioan. Great.
So I think to myself, great, I have some disease. I have Maple Syrup Fenugreek Armpit Disease or something. That must be it. I’ll look it up online. I look up “sweating fenugreek”.
There is really not much out there on this. Either most people are not sprouting fenugreek (possible) or most people don’t smell like a Vermont forest in March after its consumption (also possible).
And then I find it.
It’s this site, titled something like “the largest raw food site on the net” and they have a forum. Within this forum, they have a post about sweating out fenugreek. Glory! Jackpot. Apparently it is an herb that is used often to boost volumes of human lactation (Eeks, don’t need that! Not now, anyway, thankyouverymuch.).
A woman asks if anyone has ever experienced a maple syrup smell sweating out of them after eating fenugreek. The responses are varied, but they mostly seem to rejoice in this (sigh of relief/eyebrow of perplexity) and one person says, “Who needs patchouli when you have fenugreek?”
Oh. Yes. Obviously.
I am pretty sure I am going to get my Certified Organic Granola Crunchy Hippie status certificate in the mail any day now.
Peace, love and pancakes, anyone?
Ms. Daisy
Thursday, October 25, 2012
You Can Do EEEET!
Do you know? Do you have ANY idea of how capable you are?
I am not telling you this in some pretend "achieve your dreams" cheddar cheesy way.
I am here, today, right in front of your monitor/screen/whatsit telling YOU - you can be more self-sufficient. If I could produce my smiling face through your device, reach my two arms through the screen and grab you by your shoulders and shake you (lightly, I am not here to abuse you), I would say, "You can do EEET!" (Well, I would say it in a weird accent, first of all, because it's more humorous, second of all because if I am so weird that I'm acting akin to PeeWee's Play House genie head all up in a box, well, I guess that talking weirdly would just be expected. Thirdly, BECAUSE YOU CAN.)
And that's really the main point.
You can make your own things.
There's no rocket science thing going on here.
Or at least in my kitchen. I guess if you want to do rocket science in yours, go ahead. You can! Because golly gee whiz, you're smart enough.
(If I seem a little distracted, sorry, it's because the soundtrack in the background while I write this is my husband singing along to every single 70s/80's song he's ever known in a falsetto voice. And yes, he knows EVERY word. Goodie.)
Okay, think about it. What about bread? Check this recipe out! If you haven't made your own delicious homemade bread, go there, try it. It's so easy, you just might be tempted to strut around in awesomeness.
There are so many things you can do on your own that you probably never thought of! What about making your own laundry detergent? Automatic dishwasher detergent? Blankets? Soap? Curtains? Pasta? Ice cream? Perfume/cologne? Mustard? Granola? Eye makeup remover? Carpet stain remover? Kombucha? Lotion bars? Crackers? Skirts? Marshmallows? Face powder made of eggshells.?
What do you want to learn how to make? There are so many resources out there that you can go to to get some good info.
One of them is one of my absolute flavorites - Crunchy Betty. She is the bomb, baby. You can look up how to make your own booty butters (yes, for real, in coffee bean flavor), lip stuffs, glass cleaners, eye makeup remover, and about twelveteen hundred other things.
One of the easiest concoctions I learned from Ms. Betty* is the aforementioned eye makeup remover. Have you ever read the ingredients of an eye makeup remover potion? It's like twelve ingredients and the all start with poison and petrol. Please slather more of that directly into my eyeball, thank you. Great idea. Why don't we just go out to the gas station and wipe that on our eyes when we need a good cleaner? Right. Exactly. Because that's insane. Let me implore you to take a look at your ingredients and ask yourself if you may have a bottle of insanity in your precious hands.
Crunchy Betty has a two ingredient magic potion (TWO! Much better than twelveteen. Or whatever yours might have.) for eye makeup removal. And guess what? They're totally normal things. And it costs like 41 cents to make it. No, for real. Actually, probably less.
Ready? This is your first assignment, should you choose to accept it. (Homeboys, I think you could make this for your wifies and surprise them with your creativity, thoughtfulness and kindness. Or buy flowers. But this is way cheaper.) Are you sure? Okay, this is gonna be really hard. Go get the following ingredients:
- olive oil
- witch hazel
Wow. That was a long list.
Now for the difficult part. Mix them in equal proportions in a whatever type of bottle you want to. I usually do put an eetsy bit more of the witch hazel because I tend to zitify more than dry out. Close the top. Shake. Squirt on a cotton ball/round/rectangle/panda-bear-shape, etc. and use to wipe off your eye makeup. Then, with a triumphant voice, shout, "I CAN DO EEEEET!!!!!"
Holy cannoli, you did it. You really did. And it was so hard. And you just saved yourself like a year of your life with the anti-petrol and $6.99 in your wallet.
So super easy - you could even make it as a little gift for the holidays coming up! You could label it as Petrol-Free Eye Makeup Remover. Everyone would wonder at you in amazement.
So, that's one thing you can do on your own. What are some things you have dreamed of making but have never quite done yet? Any good "recipes" for homemade stuffs out there that you've found?
I'd love to hear 'em!
Have a blessed day, m'dearies!
Peace, love and please for the love of all that is good and decent stop putting gasoline in your eyeballs,
Ms. Daisy
*Totally not her real name, her name is actually Leslie.
I am not telling you this in some pretend "achieve your dreams" cheddar cheesy way.
I am here, today, right in front of your monitor/screen/whatsit telling YOU - you can be more self-sufficient. If I could produce my smiling face through your device, reach my two arms through the screen and grab you by your shoulders and shake you (lightly, I am not here to abuse you), I would say, "You can do EEET!" (Well, I would say it in a weird accent, first of all, because it's more humorous, second of all because if I am so weird that I'm acting akin to PeeWee's Play House genie head all up in a box, well, I guess that talking weirdly would just be expected. Thirdly, BECAUSE YOU CAN.)
And that's really the main point.
You can make your own things.
There's no rocket science thing going on here.
Or at least in my kitchen. I guess if you want to do rocket science in yours, go ahead. You can! Because golly gee whiz, you're smart enough.
(If I seem a little distracted, sorry, it's because the soundtrack in the background while I write this is my husband singing along to every single 70s/80's song he's ever known in a falsetto voice. And yes, he knows EVERY word. Goodie.)
Okay, think about it. What about bread? Check this recipe out! If you haven't made your own delicious homemade bread, go there, try it. It's so easy, you just might be tempted to strut around in awesomeness.
There are so many things you can do on your own that you probably never thought of! What about making your own laundry detergent? Automatic dishwasher detergent? Blankets? Soap? Curtains? Pasta? Ice cream? Perfume/cologne? Mustard? Granola? Eye makeup remover? Carpet stain remover? Kombucha? Lotion bars? Crackers? Skirts? Marshmallows? Face powder made of eggshells.?
What do you want to learn how to make? There are so many resources out there that you can go to to get some good info.
One of them is one of my absolute flavorites - Crunchy Betty. She is the bomb, baby. You can look up how to make your own booty butters (yes, for real, in coffee bean flavor), lip stuffs, glass cleaners, eye makeup remover, and about twelveteen hundred other things.
One of the easiest concoctions I learned from Ms. Betty* is the aforementioned eye makeup remover. Have you ever read the ingredients of an eye makeup remover potion? It's like twelve ingredients and the all start with poison and petrol. Please slather more of that directly into my eyeball, thank you. Great idea. Why don't we just go out to the gas station and wipe that on our eyes when we need a good cleaner? Right. Exactly. Because that's insane. Let me implore you to take a look at your ingredients and ask yourself if you may have a bottle of insanity in your precious hands.
Crunchy Betty has a two ingredient magic potion (TWO! Much better than twelveteen. Or whatever yours might have.) for eye makeup removal. And guess what? They're totally normal things. And it costs like 41 cents to make it. No, for real. Actually, probably less.
Ready? This is your first assignment, should you choose to accept it. (Homeboys, I think you could make this for your wifies and surprise them with your creativity, thoughtfulness and kindness. Or buy flowers. But this is way cheaper.) Are you sure? Okay, this is gonna be really hard. Go get the following ingredients:
- olive oil
- witch hazel
Wow. That was a long list.
Now for the difficult part. Mix them in equal proportions in a whatever type of bottle you want to. I usually do put an eetsy bit more of the witch hazel because I tend to zitify more than dry out. Close the top. Shake. Squirt on a cotton ball/round/rectangle/panda-bear-shape, etc. and use to wipe off your eye makeup. Then, with a triumphant voice, shout, "I CAN DO EEEEET!!!!!"
Holy cannoli, you did it. You really did. And it was so hard. And you just saved yourself like a year of your life with the anti-petrol and $6.99 in your wallet.
So super easy - you could even make it as a little gift for the holidays coming up! You could label it as Petrol-Free Eye Makeup Remover. Everyone would wonder at you in amazement.
So, that's one thing you can do on your own. What are some things you have dreamed of making but have never quite done yet? Any good "recipes" for homemade stuffs out there that you've found?
I'd love to hear 'em!
Have a blessed day, m'dearies!
Peace, love and please for the love of all that is good and decent stop putting gasoline in your eyeballs,
Ms. Daisy
*Totally not her real name, her name is actually Leslie.
Monday, October 22, 2012
This Means War
No, I am not talking about Petra. Not today, anyway.
I am talking about an all out, full-blown, weapons of mass destructions-type war. No, not war on Monsanto. Yet. I am thinking with the whole up for vote thing going on in California, that might be coming down the tube.
No, not war on Big Sugar, King Corn or Big Pharma.
This war is all physical, and a blood-sweat-and-tears kind of thing.
This is the war on the leaves.
Some person, long ago (I'm assuming) made up this nice word: "autumn". Um no. That person probably lived in Miami and thought it was cold and wintery at the oh-so-brisk temperature of 65 F. I prefer the shorter, uglier, and more descriptive "fall". That would be because everywhere I look, I see hunks of crunchy, crusty, disgusting, browned-up leaves crapping from the sky onto my lawn.
Fall in the mountains is lovely, I'm sure. You can see it from a distance! Look at those lovely colors! Or perhaps down a country lane, just like in a commercial and the swirls of leaves fall in behind you like a sprinkling of fairy dust. Or you can conjure up images of a lovely Amish town, buggies speaking to us in the time of yesteryear, reminding us of scents like pumpkin pie, spiced cider, and lovely candles in each window.
But in my crib, this AIN'T that.
Yes, I said ain't. That is how distressed I am. This is upsetting enough to get me standing in front of my window with my neck "oh-no-you-didn't-ing" all over the place while my hands and fingers are whipping this way and that as snaps fly left and right as the outrageously uninvited piles of deciduous blarg slop down on my grass.
(And yes, thank you for asking, the grass is doing just great. It's actually turning back to that phenomenal color called green. And those little sprouts! They're popping up everywhere. My insanity is paying off. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should take a look at this: http://daisybleedspinkglitter.blogspot.com/2012/10/lets-talk-about-how-to-make-your.html It's the concrete evidence of insanity, essentially.)
I wake up. I open the shades. I look at my lawn. It's trying to obey. It's trying to raise itself up by it's bootstraps and get out of it's ghetto ways. It's doing a nice job. I mean, hey. No more Ratty McCatskins over here, and it's turning back to the normal shade it's supposed to be. And then what happens? The demon-possessed maple tree decides it's done, it's had it, it's gettin' jiggy wit it and off come the leaves. Excuse me? Where do you think YOU are going? It doesn't care, it doesn't listen. It's like it needs to get on Nanny 911 asap. If I could put it on a naughty step, I would. If I could chop it down and not have it fall on fifteen houses because it's so big, I would also go for that. If it didn't cost like two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars to pay someone else to do it, I would lynch that sucker in ten seconds flat. But, alas, here I am, all qualmed up. Kill neighbors homes vs. two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars vs. me picking up so many leaves that you could fill a barn with them.
Bring it.
Oh it's ON, BABY. LIKE DONKEY KONG, BABY. (if you didn't read that in a sassy voice with your eyeballs bulging out of your head, you need to restart and try again. Don't forget the head wagging.)
So yeah, I cranked out like 4 hours of yard work today and yes, my lawn is like 23 square feet or something. Whatever. I rounded up. Don't hate. And now, what have we got? Green. Open the window, mira! It's grass.
Today's score - Ms. Daisy: 1, Demon-possessed maple tree: 0
As you know, fall isn't over. We've got another round to fight. I'll be ready. I've got a leaf-blower, a rake, my lawnmower, a broom, and all the compost bags I'll need to cram those uglies in.
And for now, I will go off to dreaming of ways to hang gigantic tarps from the sky above my grass so that they can just slide off, like in a tent-ish fashion away from my lawn forrrreeevvverrrr.
I'll get you my pretties, and your little dog, too!
Wait, what was I saying about insanity before? Oh, nothing. Never mind. Probably doesn't apply here. Right.
Anyway - peace, love and a two-speed leaf blower,
Ms. Daisy
I am talking about an all out, full-blown, weapons of mass destructions-type war. No, not war on Monsanto. Yet. I am thinking with the whole up for vote thing going on in California, that might be coming down the tube.
No, not war on Big Sugar, King Corn or Big Pharma.
This war is all physical, and a blood-sweat-and-tears kind of thing.
This is the war on the leaves.
Some person, long ago (I'm assuming) made up this nice word: "autumn". Um no. That person probably lived in Miami and thought it was cold and wintery at the oh-so-brisk temperature of 65 F. I prefer the shorter, uglier, and more descriptive "fall". That would be because everywhere I look, I see hunks of crunchy, crusty, disgusting, browned-up leaves crapping from the sky onto my lawn.
Fall in the mountains is lovely, I'm sure. You can see it from a distance! Look at those lovely colors! Or perhaps down a country lane, just like in a commercial and the swirls of leaves fall in behind you like a sprinkling of fairy dust. Or you can conjure up images of a lovely Amish town, buggies speaking to us in the time of yesteryear, reminding us of scents like pumpkin pie, spiced cider, and lovely candles in each window.
But in my crib, this AIN'T that.
Yes, I said ain't. That is how distressed I am. This is upsetting enough to get me standing in front of my window with my neck "oh-no-you-didn't-ing" all over the place while my hands and fingers are whipping this way and that as snaps fly left and right as the outrageously uninvited piles of deciduous blarg slop down on my grass.
(And yes, thank you for asking, the grass is doing just great. It's actually turning back to that phenomenal color called green. And those little sprouts! They're popping up everywhere. My insanity is paying off. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should take a look at this: http://daisybleedspinkglitter.blogspot.com/2012/10/lets-talk-about-how-to-make-your.html It's the concrete evidence of insanity, essentially.)
I wake up. I open the shades. I look at my lawn. It's trying to obey. It's trying to raise itself up by it's bootstraps and get out of it's ghetto ways. It's doing a nice job. I mean, hey. No more Ratty McCatskins over here, and it's turning back to the normal shade it's supposed to be. And then what happens? The demon-possessed maple tree decides it's done, it's had it, it's gettin' jiggy wit it and off come the leaves. Excuse me? Where do you think YOU are going? It doesn't care, it doesn't listen. It's like it needs to get on Nanny 911 asap. If I could put it on a naughty step, I would. If I could chop it down and not have it fall on fifteen houses because it's so big, I would also go for that. If it didn't cost like two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars to pay someone else to do it, I would lynch that sucker in ten seconds flat. But, alas, here I am, all qualmed up. Kill neighbors homes vs. two million bazillion hundred squillion dollars vs. me picking up so many leaves that you could fill a barn with them.
Bring it.
Oh it's ON, BABY. LIKE DONKEY KONG, BABY. (if you didn't read that in a sassy voice with your eyeballs bulging out of your head, you need to restart and try again. Don't forget the head wagging.)
So yeah, I cranked out like 4 hours of yard work today and yes, my lawn is like 23 square feet or something. Whatever. I rounded up. Don't hate. And now, what have we got? Green. Open the window, mira! It's grass.
Today's score - Ms. Daisy: 1, Demon-possessed maple tree: 0
As you know, fall isn't over. We've got another round to fight. I'll be ready. I've got a leaf-blower, a rake, my lawnmower, a broom, and all the compost bags I'll need to cram those uglies in.
And for now, I will go off to dreaming of ways to hang gigantic tarps from the sky above my grass so that they can just slide off, like in a tent-ish fashion away from my lawn forrrreeevvverrrr.
I'll get you my pretties, and your little dog, too!
Wait, what was I saying about insanity before? Oh, nothing. Never mind. Probably doesn't apply here. Right.
Anyway - peace, love and a two-speed leaf blower,
Ms. Daisy
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Random Nancy Perkins vol. 2 or Deep Thoughts
1. On a computer, why isn't the opposite of "shut down", shut up?
2. Why is it that you can make it rain by washing your car, windy by clearing away all of the leaves from your lawn, and cause the price of gas to fall $0.10/gallon six hours after you've filled your whole tank?
And, somewhat related-ly:
3. Why does dirty clothing appear instantly in the wrong places (a child's dresser drawer) the moment after you've just washed all of the laundry?
If you know the answers to these (and many more) questions, please feel free to comment.
I would love to know. In fact, if you have some ideas for the prevention of such madness, please share it with the rest of the class.
Sigh.
Peace, love and serenity now,
Ms. Daisy
2. Why is it that you can make it rain by washing your car, windy by clearing away all of the leaves from your lawn, and cause the price of gas to fall $0.10/gallon six hours after you've filled your whole tank?
And, somewhat related-ly:
3. Why does dirty clothing appear instantly in the wrong places (a child's dresser drawer) the moment after you've just washed all of the laundry?
If you know the answers to these (and many more) questions, please feel free to comment.
I would love to know. In fact, if you have some ideas for the prevention of such madness, please share it with the rest of the class.
Sigh.
Peace, love and serenity now,
Ms. Daisy
Friday, October 19, 2012
Don't Talk to Strangers
Yesterday I asked myself the question, “Is this really my life right now?”
And so begins every story: What you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
It was a dark and stormy night…
No. Wrong story. I got into prefab story mode for a second with all that schpiel at the beginning.
Okay, the real story is as follows. My friend who moved away (they all do, it seems) had a baby girl. Her name is Anna*. I have been thinking about her a lot as she had a c-section and has a pile of boys running around her at home. Recovering from a major abdominal surgery is a good reason to put your whole life on pause, except for when you can’t since you have a pile of boys running around you. So I was thinking of her quite often, praying for a full and quick recovery.
I sent her a text that said something along those lines – “Congrats on your baby girl! I am thinking of you and praying you recover well soon! Hugs!”
I got a text back – “This isn’t Anna*, but if you let me know who this is, I can get her the message.”
Uh…oops. So I look at my contacts and yes, it is under her name, and yes, she has moved, but I knew she had the same number. I figured out that I had saved her cell under the house icon and I must have texted her husband (who I must have assigned the cell phone icon).
So I replied, “Oh, hopefully this is Jacob* and not some random person. Sorry about that! Congrats to you, too! This is Daisy.”
Response – “This isn’t Jacob*, but randomly I have a daughter who is named Anna* who also happens to be pregnant.”
Whaa? Oh no. Weirdsauce fail.
I reply, “Ha ha! Oops. Sorry. Congrats anyway!”
Person responds with a text that says, “[Sent by voice: thanks text anytime anyway] to listen, go to http://blahblahblah.com*”
At first, I think to myself – I am so not going to listen to that because it’s probably a weirdo. Why would any stranger send their voice back unless they were extra weird? Or is it because they’re driving? Um, I dunno.
Curiosity got the better of me and an hour or two later, I check the link.
It’s totally a weird old man.
Hello, my life. Hello, blocked numbers list.
I love my life.
Until next time – peace, love and here’s to NOT talking to strangers,
Ms. Daisy
* totally not the real name
And so begins every story: What you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
It was a dark and stormy night…
No. Wrong story. I got into prefab story mode for a second with all that schpiel at the beginning.
Okay, the real story is as follows. My friend who moved away (they all do, it seems) had a baby girl. Her name is Anna*. I have been thinking about her a lot as she had a c-section and has a pile of boys running around her at home. Recovering from a major abdominal surgery is a good reason to put your whole life on pause, except for when you can’t since you have a pile of boys running around you. So I was thinking of her quite often, praying for a full and quick recovery.
I sent her a text that said something along those lines – “Congrats on your baby girl! I am thinking of you and praying you recover well soon! Hugs!”
I got a text back – “This isn’t Anna*, but if you let me know who this is, I can get her the message.”
Uh…oops. So I look at my contacts and yes, it is under her name, and yes, she has moved, but I knew she had the same number. I figured out that I had saved her cell under the house icon and I must have texted her husband (who I must have assigned the cell phone icon).
So I replied, “Oh, hopefully this is Jacob* and not some random person. Sorry about that! Congrats to you, too! This is Daisy.”
Response – “This isn’t Jacob*, but randomly I have a daughter who is named Anna* who also happens to be pregnant.”
Whaa? Oh no. Weirdsauce fail.
I reply, “Ha ha! Oops. Sorry. Congrats anyway!”
Person responds with a text that says, “[Sent by voice: thanks text anytime anyway] to listen, go to http://blahblahblah.com*”
At first, I think to myself – I am so not going to listen to that because it’s probably a weirdo. Why would any stranger send their voice back unless they were extra weird? Or is it because they’re driving? Um, I dunno.
Curiosity got the better of me and an hour or two later, I check the link.
It’s totally a weird old man.
Hello, my life. Hello, blocked numbers list.
I love my life.
Until next time – peace, love and here’s to NOT talking to strangers,
Ms. Daisy
* totally not the real name
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Ratman Returns
Hello, my dearies. Today I shall tell you another story in the long and winding saga of Ratlandia. Our story begins here: My story of rats and a perpetual fire.
Let's move on now to chapter twelveteenhundred.
As our story opens, the Jefferson's ratpartment building has been torn down and burned up. We begin with an ignored (or really an unheard) knock upon the door by Mr. Ratman himself at the house of Ms. Daisy Princess. Since he was not heard, he meanders along the perimeter of the castle in the ever-pressing effort toward rooting out and exterminating the evil rat population. Ratman is looking over fences, squinting and doing is best to use his eagle-eye peering skills to spy out any trace of rat harbor.
Ms. Princess exits her castle to greet Mr. Ratman. Ratman asks permission to spy out the outer gardens (a.k.a. the backyard in other vernacular) and she grants permission to do so. Ratman tells her that she must excavate her properties outbuilding (= prefabbed shed). She assures him that the rat population is not being harbored in her grounds and isn't there something we might be able to work out? She loves her dear properties outbuilding (shed) because it keeps the stinky gasoline powered equipment out of her carriage house (a.k.a. garage). Ratman flinches in a moment of pity and admits that perhaps her properties outbuilding (shed) may just quite actually fall under a certain clause wherein, due to it's size (smallishness), it may escape total and utter destruction. It may, if Princess could twinkle nice enough-ly, even have a chance that it would neither be required to move out of it's current location nor be annihilated. But in order for this to occur, it must be moved for an inspection to verify that there aren't any ratty ratsicles building ratpartments beneath the twinkling, sparkly, lovely properties outbuilding.
Glory! Princess smiles thankfully and promises to keep an eye out for ratness and says that she will indeed move her properties outbuilding (shed) for him to come back and inspect with all of his eagle-eye might.
Prince Charming, however, is the one to do the moving. Princess would not be the one to tip a properties outbuilding (prefab shed) upon her sparkly self (even though she is obviously so tough she could handle it, yet she prefers not to, strictly out of principle). Thus, Prince Charming moves the properties outbuilding (shed) and tips it on its side (after it was emptied, of course. We're not that daff.).
Princess was a little disturbed when the properties outbuilding was tipped as she found a white, flattened, disintegrating (approaching skeleton-ism), gigantic rat beneath her outbuilding. It was quite the size of a cat. Or an opposum. Or Michael Jordan's shoe. Whatever. Gigantic. Not normal. Like it had eaten a quarter of a cow when it was on sale. In one sitting.
Because these things are disgusting and disturbing, Princess decided the very best thing to do with Rat Cat was to obviously get Prince Charming to dispose of it and pretend it never happened. Tut, tut! And with a dusting off of the hands, *poof*, Rat Cat was gone.
I'm pretty sure that thing could have been a source of food for an entire rat army.
So let's not tell Mr. Ratman and pretend we didn't notice it. Announcement: this didn't happen! No rats here! Excellent. Well, no live ones and neither are there any rat tunnels. (I bet that thing got in there and was so huge it couldn't find a way out. Ten years ago. Maybe I should have sold the rat skeleton on ebay. Oh well.)
Where were we?
Ah yes, nothing to be concerned about. So sparkly Princess and Mr. Ratman must meet again. Mr. Ratman comes out, inspects the lovely area where the castle's outbuilding sat (and is now at this point quite sideways on the ground), puffs triumphantly, waves his magic wand and violá - issues the magic ticket! "Approved".
Team Sparkle and the Outbuildings: 1, Ratsicles: 0
Unfortunately, the moving of the building has created an uneven ground wherein now there are gaps in areas abutting the shed, er, properties outbuilding. They're just right for a rat family to move right in and make themselves at home. Thanks, Ratman.
I'm glad we had this enlightening experience.
Please join us next time for another exciting adventure (cue theme song) in the life of...(bum ba da bum!) Ms. Daisy Princess!
Let's move on now to chapter twelveteenhundred.
As our story opens, the Jefferson's ratpartment building has been torn down and burned up. We begin with an ignored (or really an unheard) knock upon the door by Mr. Ratman himself at the house of Ms. Daisy Princess. Since he was not heard, he meanders along the perimeter of the castle in the ever-pressing effort toward rooting out and exterminating the evil rat population. Ratman is looking over fences, squinting and doing is best to use his eagle-eye peering skills to spy out any trace of rat harbor.
Ms. Princess exits her castle to greet Mr. Ratman. Ratman asks permission to spy out the outer gardens (a.k.a. the backyard in other vernacular) and she grants permission to do so. Ratman tells her that she must excavate her properties outbuilding (= prefabbed shed). She assures him that the rat population is not being harbored in her grounds and isn't there something we might be able to work out? She loves her dear properties outbuilding (shed) because it keeps the stinky gasoline powered equipment out of her carriage house (a.k.a. garage). Ratman flinches in a moment of pity and admits that perhaps her properties outbuilding (shed) may just quite actually fall under a certain clause wherein, due to it's size (smallishness), it may escape total and utter destruction. It may, if Princess could twinkle nice enough-ly, even have a chance that it would neither be required to move out of it's current location nor be annihilated. But in order for this to occur, it must be moved for an inspection to verify that there aren't any ratty ratsicles building ratpartments beneath the twinkling, sparkly, lovely properties outbuilding.
Glory! Princess smiles thankfully and promises to keep an eye out for ratness and says that she will indeed move her properties outbuilding (shed) for him to come back and inspect with all of his eagle-eye might.
Prince Charming, however, is the one to do the moving. Princess would not be the one to tip a properties outbuilding (prefab shed) upon her sparkly self (even though she is obviously so tough she could handle it, yet she prefers not to, strictly out of principle). Thus, Prince Charming moves the properties outbuilding (shed) and tips it on its side (after it was emptied, of course. We're not that daff.).
Princess was a little disturbed when the properties outbuilding was tipped as she found a white, flattened, disintegrating (approaching skeleton-ism), gigantic rat beneath her outbuilding. It was quite the size of a cat. Or an opposum. Or Michael Jordan's shoe. Whatever. Gigantic. Not normal. Like it had eaten a quarter of a cow when it was on sale. In one sitting.
Because these things are disgusting and disturbing, Princess decided the very best thing to do with Rat Cat was to obviously get Prince Charming to dispose of it and pretend it never happened. Tut, tut! And with a dusting off of the hands, *poof*, Rat Cat was gone.
I'm pretty sure that thing could have been a source of food for an entire rat army.
So let's not tell Mr. Ratman and pretend we didn't notice it. Announcement: this didn't happen! No rats here! Excellent. Well, no live ones and neither are there any rat tunnels. (I bet that thing got in there and was so huge it couldn't find a way out. Ten years ago. Maybe I should have sold the rat skeleton on ebay. Oh well.)
Where were we?
Ah yes, nothing to be concerned about. So sparkly Princess and Mr. Ratman must meet again. Mr. Ratman comes out, inspects the lovely area where the castle's outbuilding sat (and is now at this point quite sideways on the ground), puffs triumphantly, waves his magic wand and violá - issues the magic ticket! "Approved".
Team Sparkle and the Outbuildings: 1, Ratsicles: 0
Unfortunately, the moving of the building has created an uneven ground wherein now there are gaps in areas abutting the shed, er, properties outbuilding. They're just right for a rat family to move right in and make themselves at home. Thanks, Ratman.
I'm glad we had this enlightening experience.
Please join us next time for another exciting adventure (cue theme song) in the life of...(bum ba da bum!) Ms. Daisy Princess!
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
"Natural" = nothing
Do you ever just say, "What the crap!"
No? Well you should start.
"Pray tell, why?" Thou sayeth to me.
"Becauseth", say I. "The word 'natural' now means absolutely, positively, completely and wholly nothing."
"Natural" is a word that the conglomeration of industries slap on to their bottles, boxes, bags, and other packaging materials in a marketing strategy effort to deceive the masses into thinking that what they're buying is totally awesome. And healthy. And great.
I am here to tell you that, no, my dearies, do not fall in with that fold. Do not go astray. It would be baaaaaaaaaaad (that's a sheep noise).
Realbeauty.com reports that many BABY shampoos and washes contain the extremely toxic ingredients of formaldehyde and 1,4-dioxane. See the list right-o here-o: http://www.realbeauty.com/hair/baby-bath-products-dont-have-toxic-ingredients-listed_ .
Part of it is that the FDA (and other oh-so-very-special-agencies-with-acronyms) does not regulate the word "natural", so you can put it on anything. You could legally put "natural" on pretty much everything. So, great and awesome and lovely companies do just that. That's mainly because most people are complete morons. (If you are reading my blog, you are clearly NOT a moron.)
This spans food, health products, hair and body glops, the whole nine. The thing is filled with preservatives, chemicals and poison and they're all like, "New Poisonberry Crunch BHT! Totally natural!" Riiiiiiight. Awesome. I'm so buying it.
Do you know why they get away with this? (Cry out with me, "WHY, WHY, WHYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!???")
Because, me lovies, most people don't read the ingredients label. Seriously. I know. You're like, what? How could people not read the ingredients label!?
Wait, what?
Did you just say that YOU don't read the ingredients label? Well, girlfriend/homeboy, you betta start!
Seriously, they are cramming crap in there at flamboyant rates. If it has an abbreviation/acronym, there's a reason. They are trying to keep it a secret. I guarantee you can look that puppy up and it will have its own MSDS sheet and give you hazmat info.
One time I looked up some ingredients in the cosmetics I had. I looked it up on MSDS and it said to keep away from mucus membranes. MUCUS MEMBRANES! It was something like lipstick or mascara. Good thing those don't get near any openings in your face. That would be dangerous. Yeah. Um what?! Good plan.
What the crap! Exactly.
See, told you.
If you have any shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, cosmetics, hair styling product, etc., let me encourage you to test it into the EWG (Environmental Working Group) website. You will thank me later. After you die of horror initially, that is. It really should be a crime for them to market total poison so you can slather it all over your largest organ, but, alas, it is not. Maybe that's because those companies are besties with the governmental agencies that are supposed to regulate them. (It's like an ironic sick joke! Ha ha ha. <-- That's a very un-hearty laugh there.)
Here, check it out: http://www.ewg.org/
You will be so unpleasantly surprised. I'm sorry, I know. You're like, YEAH THANKS, AWESOME, could you please come and rain on my sunshiney day some more please!? Yeay, I come here, wanting to be entertained and you're just telling me I'm being poisoned. Great. HA HA HA. I LOVE YOU. THIS IS SO FUNNY I CAN'T STAND IT.
I know. But think about it this way - if I didn't tell you, I wouldn't really be a very nice friend, would I? I'd just let you go about your sunshiney day with sodium laurel/laureth sulfates on your head and in your mouth from your shampoo and toothpaste and you'd just die a slow, evil, cancerous death and then where would your sunshine be?
What the crap!
See? It's really a very useful phrase. You'll get used to it.
(Apparently especially if you keep reading this blog.)
So, I dare you. Do it. Go grab a shampoo bottle and plug it in to the EWG. Then have a party and grab some cleaning products. Then grab your lipstick (no, not you, homeboys.) and your mascara and your foundation and your...whatever else you use...and check it out. I told my mama-in-law to try hers and she thought she would be set because she uses expensive stuff. But, NO! They even poison you if you like to spend a lot of money. And you know for sure if you're using Wet N'Wild, you're pretty much going to die in ten minutes. Not to be dramatic. Or anything.
What the crap!
Hee hee!
Okay, okay, okay. Let me know. How did your stuff measure up?
Until next time - peace, love and a whole lotta what the crap,
Ms. Daisy
No? Well you should start.
"Pray tell, why?" Thou sayeth to me.
"Becauseth", say I. "The word 'natural' now means absolutely, positively, completely and wholly nothing."
"Natural" is a word that the conglomeration of industries slap on to their bottles, boxes, bags, and other packaging materials in a marketing strategy effort to deceive the masses into thinking that what they're buying is totally awesome. And healthy. And great.
I am here to tell you that, no, my dearies, do not fall in with that fold. Do not go astray. It would be baaaaaaaaaaad (that's a sheep noise).
Realbeauty.com reports that many BABY shampoos and washes contain the extremely toxic ingredients of formaldehyde and 1,4-dioxane. See the list right-o here-o: http://www.realbeauty.com/hair/baby-bath-products-dont-have-toxic-ingredients-listed_ .
Part of it is that the FDA (and other oh-so-very-special-agencies-with-acronyms) does not regulate the word "natural", so you can put it on anything. You could legally put "natural" on pretty much everything. So, great and awesome and lovely companies do just that. That's mainly because most people are complete morons. (If you are reading my blog, you are clearly NOT a moron.)
This spans food, health products, hair and body glops, the whole nine. The thing is filled with preservatives, chemicals and poison and they're all like, "New Poisonberry Crunch BHT! Totally natural!" Riiiiiiight. Awesome. I'm so buying it.
Do you know why they get away with this? (Cry out with me, "WHY, WHY, WHYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!???")
Because, me lovies, most people don't read the ingredients label. Seriously. I know. You're like, what? How could people not read the ingredients label!?
Wait, what?
Did you just say that YOU don't read the ingredients label? Well, girlfriend/homeboy, you betta start!
Seriously, they are cramming crap in there at flamboyant rates. If it has an abbreviation/acronym, there's a reason. They are trying to keep it a secret. I guarantee you can look that puppy up and it will have its own MSDS sheet and give you hazmat info.
One time I looked up some ingredients in the cosmetics I had. I looked it up on MSDS and it said to keep away from mucus membranes. MUCUS MEMBRANES! It was something like lipstick or mascara. Good thing those don't get near any openings in your face. That would be dangerous. Yeah. Um what?! Good plan.
What the crap! Exactly.
See, told you.
If you have any shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, cosmetics, hair styling product, etc., let me encourage you to test it into the EWG (Environmental Working Group) website. You will thank me later. After you die of horror initially, that is. It really should be a crime for them to market total poison so you can slather it all over your largest organ, but, alas, it is not. Maybe that's because those companies are besties with the governmental agencies that are supposed to regulate them. (It's like an ironic sick joke! Ha ha ha. <-- That's a very un-hearty laugh there.)
Here, check it out: http://www.ewg.org/
You will be so unpleasantly surprised. I'm sorry, I know. You're like, YEAH THANKS, AWESOME, could you please come and rain on my sunshiney day some more please!? Yeay, I come here, wanting to be entertained and you're just telling me I'm being poisoned. Great. HA HA HA. I LOVE YOU. THIS IS SO FUNNY I CAN'T STAND IT.
I know. But think about it this way - if I didn't tell you, I wouldn't really be a very nice friend, would I? I'd just let you go about your sunshiney day with sodium laurel/laureth sulfates on your head and in your mouth from your shampoo and toothpaste and you'd just die a slow, evil, cancerous death and then where would your sunshine be?
What the crap!
See? It's really a very useful phrase. You'll get used to it.
(Apparently especially if you keep reading this blog.)
So, I dare you. Do it. Go grab a shampoo bottle and plug it in to the EWG. Then have a party and grab some cleaning products. Then grab your lipstick (no, not you, homeboys.) and your mascara and your foundation and your...whatever else you use...and check it out. I told my mama-in-law to try hers and she thought she would be set because she uses expensive stuff. But, NO! They even poison you if you like to spend a lot of money. And you know for sure if you're using Wet N'Wild, you're pretty much going to die in ten minutes. Not to be dramatic. Or anything.
What the crap!
Hee hee!
Okay, okay, okay. Let me know. How did your stuff measure up?
Until next time - peace, love and a whole lotta what the crap,
Ms. Daisy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)