I learned something tonight. The Welsh word for fart is bram, as in Bram Stoker. Really, it's true! Check my documentation: Dylan Thomas: A New Life by Andrew Lycett, p. 37. What a revelation, and how serendipitous, seeing as how I'm currently listening to the unabridged book-on-tape version of Dracula by Bram Stoker--now known by me as Fart Stoker, which I find absolutely hilarious. Call me crass. I don't care!
I meant to make a note last week of my latest fancy drink invention. It started when my next-door neighbor, who sometimes likes to try "witch doctoring" me with aromatherapy oils and related therapies, gave me a big spendy bottle of a magical fruit juice blend, and rehearsed to me some other people's testimonials about how it cured their cancer and depression. For a few days, I remembered to take a shot before each meal, and while I didn't notice any sort of physical or emotional transformation, I did appreciate that the dark nectar had a pleasant enough flavor. At least it didn't offend me with that musty bellybutton taste that is the key note in Tahitian Noni Juice. Gack! Well, our groceries were low enough one day that I had to get really creative with the few remaining ingredients in the fridge. I like making fruit smoothies, and I had some yogurt and rice milk on hand, so I poured them into the blender with a generous shot of my happy juice, and voila! An exotic drink! I didn't realize until a bit later that what I had created was actually brilliant enough to consider contacting the Patent Office. Get this: Berry Young Juice + plain yogurt + rice milk = a Berry Young Lassi! I nearly laughed myself sick over that one. Then, when the phrase "You are what you eat" got stuck in my head, I yukked it up even harder. Isn't it nice to enjoy an unintentionally clever moment? Those just don't come around often enough.
I still need to reveal the winners of my two psychology tests from back in September. I did write about the results in a longer post I meant to include in the blog earlier this month, but before I could get that entry saved, I guess I pushed when I should have shoved and I lost it, along with the gumption to re-write. Anyway, I awarded to Jamie a full sample pack of non-greasy (as promised) Swiss Arbonne skin care products, because she correctly guessed how many times I . . . I mean Zuzu . . . washed her hair with Ajax Dishwashing Liquid before turning to Suave for help. To J'oga I gave a bar of the soap she didn't believe existed, the fragrant and never-intended-to-be-shampoo Happy Hippy Bath Bar, in spite of the fact that she did not guess correctly how Zuzu would handle her hair's hygiene on an unlucky Sunday. J'oga's answer was so comically and dizzyingly analytical, and to top it off she so knowingly pulled in those personal and knitting references; how could I not give her the prize? Thanks to those players for humoring me and trying to get into Zuzu's head (hair). It was fun.
I attended a Relief Society gathering at my church tonight, called Enrichment Meeting. I got there late, but in time for a mini-class on faux paint finishes and another on essential car maintenance. The food spread there inspired me to come up with another lyric to one of my favorite Talking Heads songs (I usually sing my other equally silly invented verse about other people's children):
Other people's crock pots
They overwhelm my mind
They say Velveeta is a virtue
But it's not one of mine