Ask Me About My Colon

I'm doing some Christmas shopping and can't find what I'm looking for, so I select a Squatty Potty instead and unashamedly carry it around the store. What do I care? It's not like someone's going to stop me and be all, "What's that?"

So then of course some guy stops me and asks, "What's that?" I matter-of-factly tell him it's a Squatty Potty. It's supposed to be good for digestion. "Does it work?" Are we really having this conversation, stranger? I pretend like I'm not familiar with the product and tell him my friend says it's life-changing, which she does. We get into a ridiculously in-depth conversation about how it straightens out the colon to achieve the desired results. I get the sense he wants to continue the conversation, but I am heading to the register. Please let this not be a new pick-up strategy.

The Bed Bath & Beyond self-serve gift wrap station is all out of big bags, so I ingeniously put two square boxes together to make the most giant box. It takes forever to assemble this and then cover it in yards of paper, but in the end it is a most glorious presentation! The staff probably think I'm making a big show of gift-wrapping to hide that I really bought it for myself.

Then I remember that I walked a mile to the store, so I walk home carrying a massive package on my head and on my side and on my other side, and when I get home my arms are so sore I almost can't pick up a glass of water (that I quickly down after all the exercise I just did).

See how my mutant box dwarfs the other gifts, and verily the tree itself!
Merry Christmas.


Eligible Bachelors Click Here For Free Gift!

Actual sentence said to me at Thanksgiving: "Do you want to be included in the couples' gift exchange?" Why... am I a couple now? Oh no, that's right, I'm the only one of the six siblings not part of a couple. Of course I said yes, because otherwise on Christmas I will have fewer significant others and fewer presents than everyone else.

So now I have fewer than thirty days to get a boyfriend and proceed to convince him that it's not too soon to meet my family. This should be a piece of cake.

On the other hand, if I participate in the couples' gift exchange as a single, I don't have to share my present... win-win.


Severe sleep deprivation + PMS = just stay in a padded room

Being sleep-deprived is like being drunk and hungover at the same time. I am probably not okay to drive and I have a terrible headache. Then add PMS into the mix and I am really a danger to myself and society.

Why is sleep so hard...


It's kind of hard to concentrate after getting shot to death.

My workplace's idea of a scary Halloween celebration was to have a "violent actor" training while in costume. I decided against strapping a weapon to my pirate thigh on this particular day.

This was no earthquake drill -- we spent almost two and a half hours on this training. First we listened to a presentation, during which we were asked how we might become aware of the presence of an active shooter. Gunshots, people screaming, people running, people bleeding, etc. Duh. Then we watched a video of a dramatized mass shooting (during which some colleagues were already crying), and then we tried to survive our own drill. Just go back to work as usual. In about ten to fifteen minutes, someone's going to come to kill you. Good luck. It's just like a haunted corn maze except that you're trying to do mail merge while waiting for psychos.

Of course no one could focus after that, so instead we discussed our options. Should we run? Do we hide? Would scissors make an effective weapon?

When the alarm went off, though, we had seconds to shut the blinds (because somehow that took higher priority than locking or at least shutting the door that was propped open), but before I could take a single step -- BANG, BANG, BANG BANG BANG (actually a guy yelling "BANG") -- my whole office was eliminated. I thought back to that dumb question the officer asked us and added one more answer: You might become aware of an active shooter when you see him in the doorway and your colleague next to you just got shot and the gun is pointed at you. I think I was casualty number three out of forty. And in real life the alarm would not even have sounded yet because we would have been the reason for the alarm. You never think you're going to be first.

We had a debriefing and then I was still supposed to work another hour. Right.

I found the training useful for people who are not first, and I can see why they left the fourth possibility -- dying -- out of the training. That's what we're trying to avoid. But if you're first...goodbye. It just seemed absurd, not only because of the costumes, but because we even have to do this at all. It's likely enough that someone's going to randomly kill us that we need to do something about it, so let's practice running and hiding and fighting. (And dying.) And then let's keep teaching people English as a second language and doing mail merge to improve their lives. Not that I have a better solution.

Oh hello crazed shooter, just a moment while I refer to my pocket guide...

I know I've said this before, but... I don't think I get paid enough.


Next they're going to kick us out for taking showers.

Sorry I disappeared for so long, but I didn't have internet for awhile after moving. Anyway, the new place is great... in itself. It became immediately evident, however, that the landlords are completely incompetent scumbags. Ever since we moved in, we have had one problem after another. Pretty much everything that can leak, is, and multiple attempts at "fixing" them have failed.

Now we come home to find this on our door:

OK, this wasn't on our door. The version minus the stickers was on our door.
These fools gave us their last key to their own property, consequently did not have access to their own property as required by law, and are proceeding to try to evict us for their own mistake.

I'm still looking for an appropriately ridiculous frame before I display this on the wall in a prominent location for the next time the "maintenance" people come over. They should just rent out our guest bedroom since they're here practically every day anyway.

I'm just waiting for the ceiling to cave in from our bathtub leak that they keep "fixing" and then get charged for it.

The cherry on top of this absurdity is that before we moved in, they changed our doorknob from one that locks from the inside to one that only locks from outside so that we wouldn't lock ourselves out and come running to them for a key. HAHAHAHAHAHA


The internet confirms: I am Pirate Cinderella.

I wanted to be Cinderella for Halloween but I only had a pirate hat... so Pirate Cinderella, it is. If you Google "pirate cinderella," you find this picture of Cinderella wearing a pirate hat with my name on it.

It was meant to be.
How did you know, Google? Are you in my brain??


I think my blood is trying to tell me something.

I got my results back from the lab and hoped I only had six months to live so that I could shuffle off this mortal coil, but alas, everything was normal. Everything except...

Stop looking at my abnormal bun.
I am quite sure I do not have any bunions, so I indignantly showed my mom the report. She read it, paused, looked me in the eye and said, "Your buns are low." Thanks, Mom.

I did some research and it turns out that I am not sentenced to an early death, so I guess I'll keep shuffling on...


At least he used the magic word... mom taught him well.

I'm not sure why this is happening, but it seems that the older I get, the younger the men I attract. This was a record, though. After church service, this scrawny kid walked up to me and wordlessly handed me a note. I took it and read: My name is Carter. My number is ###-###-####. Really? Cute! I wasn't sure how to respond. I didn't have any paper, so I just used the speaking-words. I believe "um... I'm old" are the specific words that came out of my mouth. I asked him if he was in college and he said no, but he's twenty-one. Twenty-one! He handed me another note: Can I please have your number? Sparing him the horror of my age number, I nonetheless insisted that my phone number was not a thing he wanted, and he left.

Awkward enough... then his mom showed up and wanted the scoop! She assured me that he was a sweet boy but was going down a wayward path, so when he calls me I should just try to get him back on track. I explained that her son was ten years my junior but didn't have the heart to tell her that I wouldn't be exhorting him because I didn't actually give him my number.

People, I have visible gray hair. I don't know if I need to dress differently or what.


I failed my gyno exam

...not in the sense that I was diagnosed with an STD. More like the opposite. Read on for too much information...

I am a thirty-one-year-old virgin (by choice, obviously.) Because I haven't had a physical in years, and I haven't had sex in, um, ever, this was my first Pap smear. (I figured this is the only action I'm going to get for awhile so I might as well take advantage. Just kidding.) It's always funny how the doctors don't readily believe me. No, I'm not; no, I never have been; no, not even oral.

First she wanted my tongue and then she felt me up, I guess wanting to run the bases in proper order. She told me it wouldn't hurt, so I wasn't expecting it to be so painful. She had to try the smaller size speculum. (I wear a size two so I don't understand why she didn't choose the smaller one in the first place... who are they for, middle schoolers?!)

Afterward she just left me lying there naked, but came back to discuss the future of our relationship. She advised me to start using something called a dilator in order to prevent pain next time. She informed me that such a dilator can only be purchased at an adult shop. I can just see myself now... Doctor's orders, I swear!


T-Rexes are nowhere mentioned in the dress code.

I went shopping for "work clothes," and all I came home with was three bracelets and these:

If I wear them to work, that counts, right?


I was in denial until I started suffering withdrawals at work.

Mom: Here, have my month's supply of Ambien! According to my doctor, it's totally not addictive at all!

Me: Brother try this Ambien, it's like magic. We're giving it out like candy over here! I am totally addicted. Ha ha, just kidding, because it's not addictive.
Brother: Indeed it works. Do you have more of that?
Me, protecting my last pill: MY PRECIOUS!!

Me: Doctor please give to me the Ambien... I uh... I hear it's good stuff.
Doctor: Well you know Ambien is addictive.
Me: ...Is it?

Me: Ambien is addictive!
Mom: Well, my Doctor didn't say it wasn't non-addictive...
Me: Get your devil pills away from me!

Me: Ugh, all day I have been so dizzy and nauseous and I don't know why. It's really unusual.
Coworker: Maybe you should eat something [and keep your rehab at rehab].


Just because I tolerate you doesn't mean you can come over whenever you want.

I'm not afraid of spiders, but I don't appreciate coming home to some creep waiting for me in my bedroom, uninvited and butt naked...



There's no such thing as a sexy pineapple.

Merry Christmas!

 Oh, you're not ready for Christmas in August? Happy Thanksgiving!

No? Too soon? Happy Halloween!

Basically you can have your pick of inappropriately early holiday decor. Even the lamps are getting into the spirit of things with their Halloween costume ideas...

Lamps are the only ones who don't use Halloween as an opportunity to dress sexy.

No one knows if Roger is dressed up or not... how embarrassing.


Don't make me eat your shoes.

Hello Kitty: "I don't like this any more than you do"
Look what they're trying to make me wear this time. Do I look like a feline to you? Have you still not learned your animals?? Meanwhile, the ACTUAL KITTY gets to prance around in his birthday suit, winking and taunting, "Well hello yourself, big boy." And then they wonder why I chew up their favorite shoes. Fashion justice must be served.


Go home luggage, you're drunk.

No I will not take you for another spin on the dance floor, Judy. You've had too much to drink and you've been actin' a fool all night long. I can't believe you even left the house wearing head-to-toe paisley in the first place. Frankly, this midlife crisis has gotten out of control.


Bad Life Choice #52: Voluntary Amputation

Sometimes I regret all the bad choices I have made in life, even though I didn't see better alternatives at the time. Then I thought of that guy who cut off his own arm to save his life. Under normal circumstances, spontaneously amputating your own limbs would be classified as a Bad Life Choice. But for this guy, it's probably the best decision he ever made. I bet he never goes around wishing he hadn't cut off his arm.

Then there are those people who want to be amputated for no apparent reason.

I don't know where I'm going with this except that I hope I am more like Aron Ralston and less like sufferers of BIID. Because sometimes cutting off your own arm is the only way to get unstuck. But sometimes it's just going to make it really hard to play the accordion.


One crappy sock per crappy job. How fitting. Or not at all, apparently.

Five months with nary an interview, and now I have four jobs. And was just offered another one out of the blue, which I obviously had to decline for scheduling reasons. I hardly know what to complain about anymore.  Oh wait... no. I'll start with sock liners...

Is there a reason it's so hard to get low-cut sock liners right? We can put a man on the moon, but we can't make socks that don't show?

 By the way, clothes-makers? "Nude" color never looks nude. FYI.

A rare instance when polka dots don't make it better.
...But that doesn't mean you should just throw in the towel and make it patterned!

It's like you're not even trying.
 Why is this so hard?!

Now you're just mocking me.


Doctor's Orders

-Eww, why are we marketing hospital sheets to consumers? Nobody likes hospitals. Nobody wants hospital anything.

-What if we put this guy on the package?

-I will buy those sheets. I will buy anything he prescribes.

-I will buy that zebra Snuggie.

-Yes Doctor, I will increase my Spam intake.

-Give me all of your tiny useless boxes, stat.


In seven more days I will likely be married, deathly ill, and a unicorn.

Last Wednesday: Started a new job that I was unexpectedly offered just two days earlier and that I had all but written off after interviewing two months ago.

Friday: Was suddenly informed by my landlord that he is selling the condo where I have been living for only eight months after moving five times in as many years and determining not to move again for at least a year.

Sunday: My roommate moved out. At least that was expected.

I'm glad for the job, and I'm glad my roommate will be reunited with her husband, but this week is just a compact slice of the last five years of constant change. And the condo... I almost cried.

I didn't realize how much I liked this crappy place until now that I have to leave. As much as I make fun of the hot tub under the skylight surrounded by "fancy" white pillars and decidedly non-fancy exercise machines, it really is so peaceful. And with all the old people here, the pool rarely gets taken over by screaming children and I often have it all to myself. And who's going to water my plants while flirting with my upstairs neighbor playing catch with his adorable four-year-old son if I'm not here?!

But I think the worst part is just moving again. I remember when I used to have actual hobbies, like sewing and baking... for the last five years my downtime has largely been spent researching jobs/apartments/roommates/churches, filling out forms, packing, unpacking, etc. I will be happy to never spend another weekend moving my belongings from one place to another place. It's enough to tempt me to get rid of everything and live under a bridge.

Seriously... is there some reason I'm not allowed to have stability in my life, no matter how I try?!


Amputee dragons are still dragons.

Umm why has a river parade never occurred to me before? And why is this not happening at every major river?! I am totally starting this in my town and riding this dragon:

Amputee dragons are still dragons.

The only problem I foresee is with the marching band. They're going to have to wear Aqua Joggers, and still the music is probably going to sound like crap because there will be water in the tuba and the drummers won't be able to move their arms at the correct tempo and let's not even talk about the marching in step part.

Other than that, this river parade is gonna rule. I'll be waving at you from my giant snake amputee dragon.


The New Gerbil: An Academic Paper, Obviously

I decided to write an abstract for my blog, since it's never been properly introduced. Remember, an abstract is like a little story...

Once upon a time, college degrees were useful all by themselves. That time passed, but the memo was not. This causes our heroine, Abra Hagans*, to be upset and start a blog with a readership of 2. This blog begins with a review of unfavorable life circumstances directly or indirectly caused by the uselessness of a college degree. Suddenly, without warning, the blog disappears for years!! Later, back-dated entries mysteriously compensate for years of missing data. Then, unfathomably, the blog disappears for a second time while rumors circulate about Abra's enrollment in graduate school!! In an unexpected turn of events, the second section of the blog exposes not the seedy underbelly of an actual career, but questionable merchandise sold by a chain retailer. Further research is needed in the areas of homelessness, C-PTSD, and miracles. Sallie Mae is living happily ever after.

*Names have been changed to protect the author's paranoia


Speaking of low expectations...

...at my other job, the temp one, my boss doesn't seem to have any expectations at all. Today she gave me step-by-step instructions to delete something, starting with "click here."

She also informed me that an abstract is "like a little story." Huh. I have a bone to pick with my advisor, then... 

You never told me there was supposed to be a narrative arc and character development! My whole degree is a sham! Maybe if I had included more sneaky plot twists in my abstract, I wouldn't be working this ridiculous temp job!!


Summer Job Annual Review

Today was my annual review at my summer job, which means I guess I should start calling it my job. My boss will be living in another country in a few weeks, so she was all "You have exceeded my expectations in every available column, sign here." I'm a little curious about what her expectations were to begin with. Then I was informed that I will get a raise.

Then I realized that this is my first raise EVER, not counting minimum wage increases. Then I realized that this raise still puts my wage several dollars under what I make at my other jobs.

Then a couple of middle school punks gifted me with some Pocky, which was nice of them because they probably make more money than I do, or at least more than I receive in food stamps. And buying Pocky with food stamps is something I'm saving for right before I off myself that reminds me of college, and thinking of college makes me wish I would have told those nice kids "JUST END IT ALL NOW" "DO NOT MAJOR IN PHILOSOPHY."


I keep a raw egg in my purse for just this reason.

Oh sweet, finally someone thought to offer a "tester" frying pan:

Try Me!

Still looking for the tester stove...


I don't think this box has even read the Bible.

Love is a Journey - Jeremiah 29:11

Um, what? Pretty sure that's not what that verse says.

Count Your Blessings - 1 Corinthians 13:13

Nope. Not even close. But this is a great business idea for me...

Bacon is Delicious - Acts 10:13

Shut Up - Job 13:5


Thank God for Extinction

Creature lamps are apparently all the rage right now:

Camel lamp

sorry I don't know my fauna
Mammal lamp

Bird lamp

These are fine I guess, but if I'm going to get in on this trend I'm going to require something more fierce and exotic, like a cheetah, or a shark... or a T-rex.

"Have you seen these teeth? And you want to put me in your sitting room with your pink pillows and scented candles?! Thank God for extinction."


Twice as Soft as Hard as Hoof: They Don't Call it "Miracle" for Nothing

-All right, team, we've got to come up with a name for our company.

-What do we sell again?

-We make mani/pedi products... I feel like your heart is not in this.

-You don't know my heart. How about Nice Nails?

-Who hired you?

-Okay, Cool Claws.

-What, are we marketing to animals now? If we're gonna go that route, why not Pretty Paws? Even better, Paw and Claw. I'm sure women will love that.

-Ha, yeah, just call it Hoof and let's go home!

-Ooh, that'll be great for our nail strengthener: Hard as Hoof! Beat that, Sally Hansen's Hard as Nails!

-I think metal nails are actually harder than hoof. Hence horse shoes. Furthermore, how many robots have you seen wearing shoes made of hoof? Zero.

-...Well. Compared to robot shoes, toiletries seem like a totally normal thing to associate with horse parts. Welcome to Hoof, y'all. Meeting adjourned.

Next meeting...

-Uh, guys? How is "Hard as Hoof" going to fly with our foot softener?

- ...Just go with it.


Intercultural Communication class did not prepare me for this

Laney: We have a triple crown winner! Woohoo! Go American pharroh! I can die happy now! ! !

Me: Huh?? Was this message for someone else?

Laney: Yep you! Yeehaw! Thought u should know. Ive been waiting my whole life for this day!

Me: No idea what you're talking about...

Laney: Horse racing! Lol. Sorry! :-) triple crown are 3 races...big time! Hasn't been a winner in 37 yrs til today!

Me: Oh!! my gosh. I thought you were having psychosis again. Hooray I'm super happy for you!!!

Laney: Lol! Love you! Bahaha! U never know!

Me: First I thought you were watching American Idol and then I thought we had a new President but it seemed like the wrong year for that. Apparently I'M the one with psychosis!


I also wanted to do face-painting at inventory, so there's a possibility it's just me

Distorted mirrors. Pretend lights. How does this not scream carnival?!?
Boss: Here, make a display with these dressers.
Me: Just use the dressers? Everything else is up to me?
Boss: Yep.
My brain: What? The store is my playground? Just go wild?

10 minutes later...

Boss: Um...
Me: Too crazy? I was trying to evoke carnival.
Boss: ...It's a little too eclectic. It needs some kind of theme.
Me: The theme is carnival. Was that not clear? There's even a monkey.
Monkey: I don't think she shares your vision.
Me: Which part would you change?
Boss: It's just so random!
Me: Good thing you got here when you did. I hadn't even added the silver antlers yet.
Boss: Oh my... What about using some of these pretty white things?

10 minutes later...

The obviously carnival-themed dressers are now mismatched with gaudy, pearly white, reluctant vases. And silver antlers.

On the other hand, I didn't get fired from making displays, I just got demoted to this tiny square platform to contain a portion of my madness.

The accommodations are much more modest, but the monkey says he is happy here.


Silly rooster, don't you know you're lactose intolerant?

Tea parties too elegant? Here, have a rooster vomit into your tea, and the tea of your guests.

Pinkies up!


Peace Be with You

"Gabriel, we were sent here to give a message to Buddha, not to become Buddha."

"Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace: Om..."

"Ugh, this is SO. Boring. Can we please go back to paradise now?"

"Peace comes from within, Raphael. Om..."


Bling Bling

Rudolph: Dude I think Im gonna get my nose pierced
Dasher: Cuz yr nose doesnt get enough attention? Lol
Rudolph: Well maybe get my antlers painted or something
Dasher: No way brah remember what happened to Blitzen?!?


The Exact Same Thing

Problem: You're dying for these gorgeous Italian leather sandals, but you don't have 300 euros to spare.

Solution: Splurge on these paper clips imported from Italy instead. It's almost the exact same thing.

No one at the office will be unimpressed by you now. Imagine handing that report in to your boss...

Boss: Say, are these... fancy Italian paper clips?

You: They sure are. I'm a bit of a paper accessories snob, if you really want to know.

Boss: Why, they must be individually hand-painted!

You: ...That's plastic coating... but yeah basically.

Boss: Well, these are clearly superior to ordinary domestic paper clips! I'll have these ordered for the whole office from now on. And you're getting a raise!

Paper clips: And now you can afford those sandals too. Non c’è di che.


It's Never Too Late

Umm... how did your senile grandma's trash-art project make its way to the home goods store? And how is she charging $19.99 apiece for these?! And why have you never asked her to mentor you in business tactics?!?


Paris can wait.

Ten years ago you planned a trip to Europe, but it got postponed indefinitely because you could barely afford the Olive Garden, much less an international vacation. Nine years ago you received an all-expenses-paid trip to Paris, but you exchanged it for somewhere much more exotic because of course you'll make it to Paris eventually. Paris can wait. Seven years ago you intended to make that trip to Europe but it didn't happen because it was a road trip... on North American roads. After that you took an extended sabbatical from pretending you were going to Paris.

One day you will go to Paris. You will review your high school French. You will pose in front of the Eiffel Tower. You will smile at Mona Lisa. One morning, a few weeks after returning home from your trip, something about the air will remind you of Paris, and you will be in the mood to take a stroll outside. "Come on Roscoe, let's go for a walk!" you will propose to your roommate, who will be a canine. At the word "walk," Roscoe will excitedly jump up and run over to the door while you go grab the leash. But as you glance in the mirror on your way out the door, you will realize your mood requires a wide-brimmed hat. Luckily you will own one of those, so you will put it on, but then your whole outfit will be off. "Wait a minute, Roscoe, I have to change," you will say, and you will return in ten minutes looking très chic. Then you will feel bad for plain old Roscoe, so you will find a tiny scarf and wrap it around his collar. You will change Roscoe's name to Pepin. Then you will finally be ready. You will lock the door behind you and make it as far as the front lawn before noticing that your garden desperately needs more roses. And the weather will be just perfect for gardening. But your outfit will not be appropriate for gardening at all. "Lemme just change again real quick..." you will say, turning back toward the front door. Through all this, Pepin will just look at you and smile. Because he will love you. And love is patient. Just like Paris.

And in case you thought Paris + Bible was a one-hit wonder...
...it seems the Eiffel Tower is the Lord's new mascot. Maybe next Christmas or Easter, He will hire me to dress up in an Eiffel Tower costume and dance around in front of the church waving a sign about Jesus. That seems like a good job for me.


Queen Size

This morning I went to work at six to unload the truck, and I thought I stacked the boxes especially neatly. Later, one of these boxes had to prove me wrong and slide itself smack into my forehead as I was naively looking down, attaching giant gaudy beads to an outdoor chandelier. The thing almost knocked me to the ground. After I stopped prematurely grieving my own death and started feeling like I just got in a car accident, I slashed open the kamikaze box to find three sets of soft, pink, grossly overweight queen-size sheets.

I estimate that it took no longer than one second for the box to hit me in the head, the same amount of time it will take the chiropractor to fix my neck, except that I will be paid approximately $0.003 whereas the chiropractor will certainly be making at least an amount that doesn't round down to zero. Although actually, I cannot afford to go to the chiropractor, so I guess I am making more money per second after all. Probably the only sheets threatening his head are the ones on his bed, though. I don't know... I still don't think I get paid enough.


Don't Hate

We all want to do our part to Save the Earth. But it's hard. We have things, and we need things to put our things in. Some things are very small. Small things require small containers. Some small containers are bad for the environment. WHAT TO DO???!? The problem can seem overwhelming. But rest assured you can now buy a tiny box for your tiny things that is biodegradable. I know. This whole time the globe has been warming, the Earth could have been Saved for just $0.79.

Sunglasses are actual size



Q & A

As much as I am enjoying my minimum wage job [actually not sarcasm], I should probably try to work more than the 12 hours a week it offers. So now I get to do my favorite job of all [definitely sarcasm]: applying for jobs.

Following is part of a rigorous application I completed today. Note how the instructions are italicized, as if for emphasis. Next, an explicit label, so there is no question what we are dealing with here. In case that's still not clear enough, the letters Q and A show up to squash any stubborn confusion.

Right-o. Trying to trick me, weed out the dummies? Too bad your italics gave it away.

Nice try! Although I'm pretty sure Mundane Tasks is not a real category on Jeopardy. (And they did get me to put in writing that I am available for "swing shfits," which could mean anything, really.)


Come Lord Jesus... and bring a frisbee

Bear Designer, what were you thinking? When this bear walks on the beach, the words imprinted in the sand are going to be backwards. Idiot.


Fry up some eggs IF YOU DARE

You are shopping for a kitchen utensils-holder when, lo and behold, you see this:

Is that... blood? Your eye keeps going...

Oh the relief! No, someone has not designed a container dripping with blood to guard your slotted spoons and your unslotted spoons and that one thing you don't know the function of -- it is rather a can of paint! Of course. To go with your hardhat mixing bowl.

You frown, realizing you don't have a hardhat mixing bowl. You do, however, have a drawer full of sharp knives...