Barking Mad

DIY Skin Tag Removal . . . or Not

image credit 

I just discovered an awesome new way to get rid of those pesky skin tags around my neck.   I'm now going to share this little technique with you, so you too can experience freedom from those annoying hanger-on'ers, because I’m generous like that.  

 Remember, this method is only useful for skin tags on the neck.  If you’ve got them elsewhere on your body, you’re on your own!

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Get in your car, (make sure you fasten your seat belt!  Not only is this to keep you safe and prevent you from becoming a personal projectile missile in the event of a collision, but it's germane to my discovery) and start driving somewhere - anywhere, it doesn't really matter.   Go to Target.  You never need a reason to go to Target.

As you're driving along, slam on your brakes as hard as you can when the asshat in front of you in the 1976 powder blue Ford Pinto Runabout (named after the horse, not the bean), with no functioning brake lights or turn signals decides to stop in the middle of the street and make an illegal u-turn. 

As a result of the sudden unanticipated stop (well as long as your brakes are fully functioning) your body will be thrown forward with such force, that as the seat belt does its job to keep you from being launched through the windshield, it will also act as a scalpel of sorts and shear off a few of those nasty skin tags.    Depending on the age of your car and condition of your seat belt (and whether teenagers have been driving your car; there’s no telling what kind of crap they get all over the seat belts.  Honestly, you’re probably better off not knowing anyhow) your seat belt might also act as an instant exfoliator for your delicate décolletage area.    

Now, if you don’t happen to be traveling more than 35mph, you probably won’t experience the added benefit of the seat belt not only acting as a not so precision scalpel, but as an instant cauterizer , thanks to that great little phenomenon known as “seat belt burn.”   You’ll probably have to be on the highway in order to reach speeds sufficient enough (when you suddenly slam on your brakes to prevent your automobile from become a lethal weapon) for the seat belt to not only slice the skin tags off, but cauterize the open wound as well. 

Because I was driving along at a measly speed of 35mph, I will now return to my corner with my book, “How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You” and sit there while I slowly bleed to death. 

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Seriously kids, don’t try this at home.     Just get some dental floss and tie those sonsofbitches off and wait for them to turn black and die, then fall off your neck one by one.  Oh and get a scarf, because I’m pretty sure that’s not the most attractive look, and possibly hard to pair with whatever shoes and handbag  (or okay, manbag – I don’t want to exclude anyone) you decide on – unless of course that Coach bag you pulled out of the closet happens to come in a deep, reddish-brown necrotic tissue tone, then you might be able to get away with it.    

I’ve also heard of something called the “Steampunk Approach” where you slide little paperclips over the offending skin tags and leave them there for a year however long it takes for the skin tags to eventually die and fall off.    I’m pretty sure this method is only recommended for those who have several skull and crossbones tattoos in visible places, a safety pin pierced through their eyebrow from which a silver (well I think it’s silver, it’s starting to turn green, so it’s pretty much anyone’s guess as to what sort of metal it really is) chain is attached that runs down and along the nose and is attached at the end to a hoop that’s been pierced through the upper lip.  Bonus points if you can then run the chain from your upper lip to your earlobe where you have a hole in your ‘lobe that is the approximate size of a golf ball, thanks to years of stretching with a gauge.   If you’re really creative, you could probably run a dainty little chain from each of those paper clips, connecting one to another. 

I’ve also heard of people using Compound W on skin tags in an attempt to get rid of them.  Maybe I’m wrong, but isn’t that stuff for wart removal?   I’ve only ever had one teeny tiny little wart in my entire life, and I used Compound W to get rid of it.  It sort of created this rock hard, whitish, volcano shaped mound over the wart.   Eventually the volcano fell off, taking the wart with it.    I guess, if you are insane aren’t too fussed by having several little volcano shaped chemical mounds on your neck, and you’re fairly certain all that Compound W won’t burn right through your skin, leaving you looking as if you have several blow-holes,  you could always give it a try.

Or, and this is just a thought,  you could always do what any sane person does and just go to the doctor and have him cut them off, one by one.   Of course, there’s no blog fodder in that, and you’ll have to pay for the privilege of sitting there, waiting for the inevitable snip of the surgical-grade scissors, followed by the not-so-subtle sting and then the pain.    If your doctor is really handy with those scissors, you might not even bleed . . .much.  

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You aren't really going to make me say it again are you?   Well OK, because I don't trust you . . .

Don't do this at home.  

Don't do any of it.  

Get out of your car and go right back into your house!  No!  Put the dental floss down, and don't even think about heading out to Staples to get a box of paper clips!  

Seriously?  You're going to call Walgreens to see if they have any Commpoud W in stock?  

Just get off your computer altogether.  You don't even deserve to have access to the internet!  

These Weren't Supposed to End Up Looking Like Chocolate-Dipped-Candy-Coated Penises!

Out of the 5 or so things I've made from ideas I've seen posted to Pinterest, I've had a ratio of 3 out of 5 . . . in other words, 3 turned out reasonably well, and the other two?  Utter failures!   I don't know why, but the one where you put a bar of Ivory soap into your microwave and end up with a veritable mountain of what looks like frosting that you can then mold and play with, once it cools off?  Well, in my case, I didn't end up with so much soapy, fluffy, frosting.  I ended up with the Mt. Vesuvius of Ivory Soap Bars literally filling my entire microwave.   It was, to say the least, an unmitigated disaster!    The next time I'm out on Pinterest and see a pin about sticking anything other than a hot dog in the microwave, I'm just gonna move right on by!  Believe me, it's better for everyone if I do.  I still can't get that damned  "Pure. Simple.  Naturally Clean" taste out of the food we put in the microwave. 

The other disaster was me trying to swap out organic whipping cream for Cool Whip (because Cool Whip is pretty much all chemicals!)  in a recipe that called for it in order to make cookies that were supposed to be light and fluffy and really tasty.   Yeah, that's pretty much not what happened.  I ended up with flat pancakes the size of the bottom of a jar of mayonnaise with about the same consistency!   I flunked chemistry in high school, so why I thought I could alter a recipe and have it come out the same is beyond me.  I never claimed to be very bright.

There have been other times when the things I've made that I found on Pinterest turned out really well!   Of course that's what made me go and get cocky and assume I could pull off another couple of successes by using ideas I found on Pinterest.   I also thought they'd be so simple that they'd be easy enough to make and then take into Gaby's first grade class at school.   Isn't there a saying that goes something like "Pride go'eth before the fall" . . . Something like that anyhow.

The first thing I made were little cupcakes with Peeps on top.  You know what Peeps are don't you?  They are those little indestructible brightly-colored marshmallow birdies.   They are also gross.  Putting one in your mouth is akin to eating a soft emery board.   Oh and did you know what else you can do with Peeps?  You can stick those motherfuckers sugary treats in your microwave - two of them - and have something called "Peep jousting contests."    This is apparently a thing.   All you need are Peeps and toothpicks, oh and a husband that allows you within 50 feet of your microwave.   I've heard it said that the loser in Peep Jousting gets eaten, but I'm not so sure I'd want to put a hot, sticky, sugary, emery board in my mouth.   With my luck I'd forget to take the toothpick out, and the molten marshmallow would still be hot enough to vaporize my tongue.  However, if I didn't currently have a microwave-restraining order,  I would totally get my Peep on.  I'd name one Joffrey Baratheon and the other Daenerys Targaryen.    You just know that Daenerys would be all over Joffrey's ass in no time, because she is the mother of dragons after all!  I suppose, if you don't watch Game of Thrones, then that whole "mother of dragons" thing is totally lost on you.

So where was I before I went off on a Peep Jousting tangent?  Oh yeah, Peeps on cupcakes.   So, I saw this cute photo on Pinterest of Peeps sitting on frosted cupcakes and thought to myself, "Self, how hard can it be to do this?"  I couldn't find the neon peeps, and I forgot to get cupcake sleeves (what the hell are those things called anyhow?  I can never remember their name.  You know what I'm talking about - the little paper things you dump the batter in?), so I just went with the colors I could find . . . blue, purple, and yellow.    So much for a great photo like the one in the Pinterest image! 

I baked the cupcakes, whipped up some butter cream frosting, and then thought to myself, "Self, let's make it look like the Peeps are sitting on a nest."   So I dug out the green food coloring, loaded up my frosting shooter thingy, and went to town. 

Please note, I am physically incapable of frosting cupcakes without one of those aforementioned "frosting shooter thingys."    If I try and frost them free-hand they end up looking like I target-vomited the frosting onto them.  It's not pretty.

Once the cupcakes were done, they didn't turn out half-bad.  

They're actually pretty cute if I do say so myself.   Mr. Peep looks pretty pleased that his ass is firmly planted on that cupcake rather than sporting a toothpick and about to experience his own personal hell in a nuclear-themed jousting contest!

Then, because it wasn't already late enough and because I am not yet used to the new dosage of my Wellbutrin (I had a wee teensy "vital breakdown" last week  . . .  we'll talk about that later) and I couldn't get to sleep, I figured that I needed to make something for Gaby's teacher, and her teacher's aide.  And for the school principal and her secretary.    They've all been really nice to me and have never treated me like the social reject I am, because I ask ninety million questions.   I decided to use some of the jars I ordered from Ball last week - which if you love Ball and Kerr jars then you'll want to get your butt over to their site because they have a limited-run production of those really cool blue jars!   Oh, but just be careful when you Google "Blue Ball jars"!  Actually, you really should just Google Ball Jars or Kerr Jars.   Just take my word for it.   Here, I made it simple for you and saved you the agony of seeing certain things you can never unsee . . . Ball, Heritage Blue Jars. 

Back to the jars themselves and the other Pinterest idea I thought I could take on.

I saw a pin similar to this, except the long cookies were placed in a Ball/Kerr jar and they didn't have those annoying adorable little bunny Peeps stuck to them.   I wish I would have pinned that one, that way you could get a better idea of what I was going for.   You basically take the Pirouline cookies, dip them in white chocolate, then roll them in edible sprinkles or sparkles, let harden, and then stick them in a jar.  Sounds simple, right? 

Not if you're me it's not.

First of all, the organic white chocolate I had, didn't so much melt as it did congeal into something akin to the texture of hummus.   So I had all of these Pirouline cookies, blue jars, sprinkles and nothing else except a hunk of organic Belgian milk chocolate that I'm pretty sure my husband - the one who happens to consider chocolate a legitimate food group unto itself - would kill me if I used. So of course I grabbed it and melted it.   It melted perfectly!  What the hell is up with that?  Why can't I ever melt white chocolate and get it to the smooth consistency that I do when I use dark or milk chocolate?  I feel like it's this huge universal conspiracy against me because I can't stand regular chocolate, but love white chocolate, which technically isn't even chocolate I guess, which probably explains why I like it . . . especially when it's dipped in Creme Fraiche.  Yeah, don't ask.  It's a habit I picked up in Brugges, Belgium.    Fast forward to me sitting there, at 2:17AM, dipping Piroulines in melted milk chocolate, then rolling them in sprinkles, standing them up to dry, and finally collapsing around 3:30AM this morning. 

I woke up this morning and took the Piroulines out of the fridge, where they were getting hard overnight (and when you see the picture I'm about to post, you'll know exactly why I'm giggling like an 11 year old boy after saying, "getting hard overnight") and was a little, well, I was a bit embarrassed at what the finished product resembled.    I knew I wasn't imagining things, because when my husband came out into the kitchen where I was, around 6AM to find me sitting there, staring at them, he had this big cheesy grin on his face.  He asked me what they were for?  I told him they were for Gaby's teachers, the principal, and the office secretary.   He chuckled and then said, "The very same teachers, principal, and secretary at our daughter's Catholic school?"    That's the moment I knew that he thought these chocolate-dipped-candy-coasted Piroulines resembled penises, too.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm not ever going to be invited to bring treats to Gaby's classroom ever again.

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Hey, do you want $300?   Well, unless you don't like money, or have lots of the stuff laying around, then maybe you don't . . . so you can just skip this part.   However, if you would like $300 either in the form of a VISA gift card, or sent directly to your PayPal account, or in the form of a brand new Kindle Fire HD (the larger one), or a $300 Apple Store gift card/credit, then you'll want to head on over to this post and enter for a chance to win it.  I'm giving it away, because I'm crazy like that.   Details on how to enter the giveaway are near the bottom of the post I linked to, above.     Good luck!

Tell Me About Your Worst Domestic Disaster for a Chance to Win a $100 VISA Gift Card and a Baby Cakes Cake Pop Maker!

I'm going to make this short and to the point. 

Remember me telling you about my cake-pop debacle last night?   Or perhaps you're more familiar with one of my other many domestic disasters?   Yes, yes, I am the one who got her hair caught in her vacuum cleaner, super-glued her fingers to her steering wheel, accidentally shaved off my eyebrows and the eyelashes on one eye,  and has had all sorts of manner of animal come into my home, or actually come into my home and then die...in my toilet.   So are you surprised that I'm hosting a giveaway where I'm asking someone else to share an cherished  embarrassing  horrifying amusing domestic disaster with the rest of the world me?

All you need to do is leave a comment on this post, telling me about what happened, or you can write your own blog post and link to it in the comments of this post, it doesn't matter, whatever works best for you.  That will get you one entry.   Tweet the URL of this post and then cc @Barking_Mad, and that will get you another entry, then come back to this post and copy the URL of that tweet into another comment.    Two entries possible.   

I'll draw a winner on Friday the 13th.    The winner will receive a $100 VISA gift card and a Baby Cakes cake pop maker. 

Now for the fine print:

Void where prohibited...which really is just my fancy way of saying that if I've had sex with you,  you gave birth to me, if I gave birth to you,  if you are a sibling (rivalrous or not), or in any, way, shape, or form related to me,  you can't enter the contest.   I have not been given the VISA gift card, nor was I given the Baby Cakes cake pop maker in exchange for writing about either item.  I haven't been reimbursed by VISA or Baby Cakes. 

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I hate to post and run but I have a fascinating game of "Draw Something" awaiting me.  I have gotten completely sucked into that silly game.  What's even better?  I can't even draw so much as a stick person with my own two hands,  but I can rock a tee pee or can of soup using my thumbs and an iPod!

P.S. My husband just told me that I drew him the most craptastic bow ever...he went on to boost my confidence by telling me that it looked like a hot pink polka dot bra.    Obviously he's not very familiar with fine art!

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COMMENTS FOR THIS ENTRY ARE NOW CLOSED!

Oh, Balls! Oh, and a $100 VISA Gift Card

In the middle of dealing with a sick child (I'm not going to elaborate publicly because I don't want something I write about a very unpleasant time in Gaby's life to be used as fodder against her years down the line, by immature bullies who happen upon her mom's blog!), researching more and more diet (what have we said about the word "Diet"????  Come on now...it's a nasty four letter word!) information,  running term papers I have been asked to proof, through Turn It In, (Oh my God, how do these kids get into college when 30% of everything I'm running through that site ends up being plagiarized?), and realizing that I am altogether too fond of parenthesis, I have been busy.   So busy.

But...not so busy that I didn't have a wee bit of time today to see if I couldn't coax my dormant Martha Stewart gene into showing it's beautiful little face. 

Alas, no matter how much prodding, begging, and outright coercion I try, I am now firmly of the opinion that I do not possess said gene.   Nor have I ever.    Along with the missing Martha gene, I seem to have no ability to photograph food.   Pricey, ancient camera?  Check!  Lens I saved for almost a year for?  Check!  Beautiful photographs of my creative endeavors?  Um, not so much.   Of course it probably didn't help that I was taking pictures at 10PM in the poor light and had a crap subject to begin with.

What have I been trying to create you ask? 

Cake pops.

Can I just say that those little buggers look a hell of a lot easier to make (I personally don't care for them, especially the ones that are made with mashed up cake and frosting! Gag! So I got a Baby Cakes cake pop maker a few months ago, thinking these would be something fun for Gaby and me to do together and that I'd be able to create brilliant little pops with the pop maker...except no where do the directions tell you that you're going to end up with something that looks akin to Saturn, from your first few batches! ) than they actually are? 

Hello Saturn! (these next three photos were cell phone pics)

Eventually I figured out the right amount of cake batter to squirt into the little round thingys...oh and using a condiment squirter is key to this! 

I ended up with nearly 60 cake balls.  Balls everywhere!

There are balls in the fridge, balls in the freezer, balls in a bag on the counter, balls in Gaby's lunch (shhhhh, don't tell anyone at her school!  She's not supposed to take anything like that in her lunch.  Normally she wouldn't be taking anything like that in her lunch but I've got to do something with all these damned balls!), and I'm sure if I looked around, there would be a few balls rolling around on the floor. 

So, as if fiddling around with a little kitchen appliance that gets hot enough to melt gold wasn't enough, I decided to use candy melts to dip the cake pops into and then hopefully end up with something that was a work of art.   I had no idea  that "work of art" would end up resembling something Picasso's grandson created.

Those candy melts?  Didn't.

Well OK, that's not entirely true.  They melted, in the double boiler, just not into anything that I could dip a cake ball into.   The melting mixture of goo separated and looked like an albino oil spill in my kitchen.    Nothing I did could salvage an entire bag of white candy melts.  

After my very own meltdown, I decided just to dip the damned balls into softened frosting.

The end result was not very pretty, so I thought to myself, "Self, you have some Luster Dust/Pearl Dust, why not put some of that on those annoying little balls from hell?"   So I did.  I not only dusted the balls, but my counters, the stove top, the sink, the faucets, my cleavage, my hair, the toaster, the left over chicken and dumplings.    That crap gets everywhere.    If I walk outside tomorrow morning, without having showered first, and the direct sunlight hits me, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be mistaken for a Cullen.  Well, OK, a long lost relative of the Cullens.  A relative that's been dining on every animal from here to Chattanooga!

Anyhow, the end result looks like a bizarre appetizer from a 70's disco party...like the kind they'd have had before going out to see Saturday Night Fever.

I give you,  Disco Balls From Hell....

"Whether you're a brother
or whether you're a mother
you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Feel the city breakin
and everybody shakin'
and were stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive...."

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Now that I've given you all an ear worm, I guess I'll just go ahead and throw it out there that on Friday April 13th (dammit, Friday the 13th is going to be a good day!) 2012, I am going to be giving away a $100 VISA gift card.  Why?  Because I want to.    And because I love you so much, I'm going to be tossing in a Baby Cakes cake pop maker as well!   No, no one is paying me or giving me anything in return for this post.  It's just another one of my random giveaways. 

Tomorrow I'll post more details about the giveaway.  Basically I think it's just going to be a entry for a comment type of thing.  I'd love to know what some of your more creative disasters have been.  OK, I really just want to know that I'm not alone in not having a Martha Stewart gene. 

More on all of that tomorrow.  I need to go de-luster dust my kitchen.  While I can find the humor in being mistaken for a well-fed Cullen in broad daylight, something tells me that my husband is not going to find being coated in pink, gold, and silver luster dust, so amusing.

Day 6 of My "31 Days of Giving" Challenge - I Gave and I Received!

How many times have you walked into your child's bedroom and immediately wanted to post a sign like this to his or her bedroom door . . .?

!!DANGER!!!

DISASTER AREA

KEEP OUT!

You spend a great deal of time cajoling your child into cleaning his or her bedroom, usually after you nearly maim yourself stepping on a Lego, Polly Pocket, Bakugan, Lincoln Log, or some other assorted plaything that is truly a weapon of mass destruction masquerading as a toy?    As the pain from stepping barefoot, on a Lego shoots up through your foot, into your leg, makes your eyes water, and the hairs on your head stand on end, and only after you utter every single expletive known to man as well as some that aren't - under your breath, you tell your child that the bedroom will be cleaned up before bed or every single thing left on the floor, under the bed, tossed into the dirty clothes hamper that isn't actual clothing is going to be shoved into a Hefty bag and they won't ever see those toys until they have kids of their own!

Does any of the above scenario sound familiar?    It's an all-too-common occurrence around here, and frankly one that I've grown really tired of!    It happened last night as I went in to tuck Gaby in for the night.  I stepped on one of her creepy unusual looking baby dolls, and as my ankle literally rolled off the head and I howled in pain, I yelled those oft heard words, "You will clean up this room before school tomorrow morning or I'm taking all of this away and I'm writing a letter to Santa Claus, and I'm writing another one to the Birthday Faerie (Gaby's birthday is the day after Christmas no less!), and I'm then going to write another one to the Tooth Faerie (her two top teeth are on the cusp of falling out!), and I'm going to tell them all just to skip out house!" 

"OK mommy, OK.  I'll clean it up just as soon as I'm up.  I promise."    It's the standard response I get when having nearly hobbled myself on a toy in Gaby's bedroom.     Because she tends to run slower than molasses going uphill in January, in Alaska, she left for school this morning with her bedroom looking like a bombed Toys R Us. 

If we're in there with her, encouraging her to put the toys where they belong it usually gets done.  Every so often she even takes the initiative and does it herself.   "Every so often" being once in a blue moon.    I tend to get a little antsy when my house isn't tidy and to be honest, it bugs the dough outta me that Gaby can let her room get to the point where it's a hazard to walk in their barefoot!   I swear, kids must be immune to the pain caused by stepping on one of their little toys.   I've never heard her once get mad at a toy, or have tears well up in her eyes because she's damn near impaled herself on one of Tinker Bell's wings. 

So, after I blew off some steam walking around the block twice, came home and had a nice breakfast of Irish steel cut oats with apples and raisins, I got down to brass tacks and decided that I would "gift" Gaby with a spotless bedroom.    I was going to rearrange her furniture and run out and try and find some curtains in the colors she wanted but that didn't happen.  Some of her furniture is incredibly heavy and requires two grown men (who've been bribed with many beers and burgers!), to move.    I decided to wait on the curtains and take her with me so that she could pick them out.  

By the time she got home from school I was really glad I'd decided to tidy up her room.   As she stepped off the bus her poor little face was the picture of complete wretchedness.   We got home and she flopped on the floor in the living room, looked up at me with tears filling her big, brown, beautiful eyes and told me that a little boy at school had told her that only blue eyes were pretty and that brown eyes were boring and looked like poop! 

After a long snuggle in her rocking chair, several books, followed by a few tears, she finally noticed her bedroom.   Gaby wrapped her arms around my neck and told me I was the best mom in the whole entire world!   That hug and those sweet words made the few hours I spent in there, getting everything the way it should be, all worth it.    None of her hugs are ever ordinary but there was a gift for me tucked inside that warm embrace . . .the gift of gratefulness from one so small. 

Gaby still had a few tears and it was then that her best buddy took over the job of comforting her.   There's just something soothing about all that fluff and fur.  She cuddled herself down next to Geronimo, and as he purred she fell asleep wrapped in contentment and warmth.

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Join me in taking the "31 Days of Giving" challenge and enter for a chance to win a $150 VISA gift card from Barking Mad!