Throw Away. Do Not Eat.

The warning you see on the image above has always puzzled me.

Throw away. Do not Eat.

Many of the gift boxes we give our customers in the retail store I work contain these silica packets. And every time I see them I always pick one up, read it, and say…. “WTF?”

WHY? WHY? WHY?….would anyone ever think it was something to eat?

I understand that the warning is most likely there to prevent accidental ingestion by a small child.

But tell me…how many small children do you know today, under the age of 5, who can even READ a label without the use of kindergarten TEXT MESSAGING?

And if the warning is there for parents to keep it out of reach from their children that’s understandably wise, but why would an adult have to be told that something like this is not edible?

Do these manufacturers actually believe that a customer would think that perhaps a surprise packet of candy came inside their purchase?’

I mean couldn’t they just print the word silica and Keep Away From Children on the packet?

A few years ago I tore open one of these packets to examine it's content and discovered tiny odorless beads of hard silica.

Very uneventful.

Yesterday while I was at work I decided to test fate and risk my life for science and humanity by placing two of the beads on my tongue, just to see if they could possibly be mistaken for Ju Ju Bee candy.

They were totally tasteless.

Very uneventful.

Two of the ladies I work with suddenly screeched out in horror, “Ron…what the hell do you think you’re doing. Are you CRAZY??”

“Yes…I’m crazy. And just be ready to call 911 and a priest if I should suddenly start reacting like the little girl from the movie The Exorcist”

But nothing happened.

Very uneventful.

I had absolutely no immediate reaction what-so-ever.

Later that evening…..

VERY eventful.

Wishing you an uneventful weekend everyone!

Update: I'll be in NYC all day tomorrow (Saturday) working, and will be responding to comments later in the evening. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Peeling Away My Nine Layers

I know you’re probably thinking that an extraterrestrial took over my blog in the middle of the night and placed a MEME here without telling me, but no…it truly was me.

I saw this one on The Daily Meme while googling for photos, and the questions had a lot of variety, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to share more about myself. I apologize that it’s so long, but considering I’ve never done one, this meme is three years rolled into one.

However, I’m not calling it a meme.

I’m calling it an interview...

Layer One:

Name: Ron Carnavil.

Birth date: 10-2-55

Birthplace: Philadelphia.

Current Location: Philadelphia.

Eye color: Blue

Hair Color: salt and pepper.

Height: 5’ 7”

Righty or Lefty: Righty.

Zodiac sign: Libra.

Layer Two:

Your Heritage: Italiano.

Your weakness: Vince Vaughn.

Your fears: Flying, performing onstage, and spiders.

Your perfect pizza: Thin plain cheese.

Goal you’d like to achieve: To always know the difference between wanting and needing.

Layer Three:

Your most overused phrase: “OMG…..”

Your first waking thoughts: Coffee!

Your best physical feature: I believe it’s my hands.

Your most missed memory: Christmas, when I was a child.

Layer Four:

Pepsi or Coke: Coke (w/a wedge of lemon)

McDonalds or Burger King: Mc Donald’s.

Single or group dates: I have no preference.

Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate, definitely chocolate.

Cappuccino or coffee: Plain coffee.

Layer Five:

Smoke: Yes.

Cuss: Fuck, no.

Sing: Yes, I’m a baritone.

Take a shower everyday: Everyday, twice a day.

Do you think you’ve been in love: Yes. Once.

Want to go to college: No, I was born with a Street Smart Degree.

Liked high school: Only my last year.

Want to get married: No.

Believe in yourself: I believe that I sometimes doubt myself.

Think you’re attractive: Yes, in an interesting way.

Think you’re a health freak: Yes, of course, I smoke Marlboro Lights.

Get along with your parents: Yes, especially my mother - she’s fabulous.

Like thunderstorms: I absolutely love them!

Play an instrument: I wonder…does my pee-pee count?

Layer Six: In the past month….

Drank alcohol: Yes, red wine.

Smoked: Yep.

Done drugs: Yes, I took two hits of Advil.

Made out: No.

Gone on a date: No.

Gone to the mall: No, I avoid malls.

Eaten sushi: Gag me with a tablespoon…NO!

Been on stage: Yes, but my whole life is a stage.

Been dumped: Not in the past month, but yes, I have.

Gone skinny dipping: Yes, in my bath tub with a rubber duck - honest!

Layer Seven: Have you ever….

Stolen anything: Yes, napkins from Border’s Café.

Played a game that required removal of clothing: No, truthfully, I’m very shy.

Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: No, half a glass of wine is my limit.

Been caught “doing something”: Yes, staring at a man‘s ass.

Been called a tease: No, but a flirt.

Gotten beat up: No, because I know how to SCREAM.

Shoplifted: Yes, if you consider shoplifting napkins from Borders Café.

Changed who you were to fit in: I only change for my underwear and socks.

Layer Eight:

Age you hope to be married: No age.

Names of children: Don’t have any.

Describe your dream wedding: Vince Vaughn and I.

How do you want to die: Freezing to death in Antarctica.

What do you want to be when you grow up: I will never grow up.

What country would you most like to visit: Italy.

Layer Nine:

Number of drugs taken illegally: If I did, do you really think I would say on the Internet?

Number of people I could trust with my life: One.

Number of piercings: Two in my left ear lobe.

Number of tattoos: One. A little devil on my right shoulder.

Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper: Many, when I was in the theater.

Number of things in my past I regret: Nothing…because I now believe it happens for a reason.

The End

I Have Issues With Spelling

Let me be totally honest and say that spelling has never been one of my strong suits.

In fact, let me be more totally honest and say that I SUCK at spelling and seem to be getting SUCKIER as I get older.

Once a month, the nun’s in catholic grammar school were evilly notorious for having a surprise spelling bee. All the students had to stand around the classroom forming a large circle as Sister would randomly call our names; asking us to spell a word. As each student failed they were asked to take their seat until only one student was left standing, whereupon they were awarded a special packet of #2 pencils and a pink rubber eraser that had been blessed by the Pope.

Needless to say, I was always the first student asked to take my seat.

Sister: “Ronald, please spell the word CAT.

Me: “K-H-A-T.”

Sister: “No…I’m sorry Ronald, please take your seat.”

Me (under my breath): “How dare you try and use a tricky word on me!”

I think the strangest idiosyncrasy I have about spelling is that I can’t spell a word out loud. In order for me to spell a word I have to either write it out on a piece of paper or type it out using a keyboard. For some reason I need to SEE a word as I spell it. I’m always embarrassed when someone asks me how to spell something because I suddenly have to say, “Wait! Wait a minute…I need a pen and a piece of paper.”

It’s funny, because for the past three years since I’ve been writing more through blogging, when I actually should be getting better at spelling…I’m getting worse.

I use to have a dictionary on my desk at all times, but now with the invention of spell check I’ve disregarded Webster all together. However, I do try and take the time after using spell check to LOOK at the word thoroughly, so I can remember it for future use.

(I just want to let everyone know that I had to use spell check in order to spell the words idiosyncrasy and embarrassed in the paragraph above)

And I need to confess something to you, my blogging friends….

…whenever I leave a comment on your blogs I always have a window open with Word Processor, just in case I need to use the spell check before publishing my comments.

(aren’t I a sneak?)

I honestly think that spell check should be added to commenting systems on every blog hosting company.

Wouldn’t that be fabulously convenient for someone like me?

I think it would make me feel more confident if I ever left a comment on one of your blogs and needed to spell a tricky word, such as….

…Khat.

A New Walking Law in Philadelphia

I've decided to pass a new walking law in Philadelphia.

The law will be very similar to driving on any major highway.

Those of us who know HOW to walk in a city should stick to the left-hand side of the pavement. While those who walk with their heads in their ass should stick to the right-hand side of the pavement or they should immediately be pulled over by a state trooper and given a traffic ticket and a breathalyzer test.

It's quite obvious there is a huge percentage of people in Philly who failed Drivers Ed in high school.

Walking the streets is not only annoying, but also life-threatening.

I've seriously considered attaching an airbag to my chest and carrying a roll bar.

First of all, the majority of people in this city walk with the speed of chronic constipation.

Even my brother Tom, who came to visit me the first year I moved back, said, “Damn…the people here walk so slow, don‘t they?”

(and that came from a man who lives in the South)

There’s nothing more irritating than getting STUCK behind people who move as if they're taking their final walk to the execution chamber…

…“Dead man walking!”

Or those indecisive pedestrians who enjoy walking in an S-formation; swerving from side to side because they can't quite figure out which side of the pavement they like best. Which means that everyone behind them is trying to second guess if their next swerve will be to the right or the left.

And I just adore all the walkers who suddenly change lanes without using their blinkers; slamming my body into the side of a building or a city trash can.

But my all-time favorite people are the ones I walk behind, who just STOP in mid-walk because they suddenly remembered they forgot to turn the iron off at home which causes me to RAM into them; having accidental anal intercourse without a lubricant.

I think all these people should be given a $250.00 traffic ticket for illegal moving violations and be required to return to high school to take a 16-week course on "How to Drive Your Body Vehicle" and have it mandatory to graduate with nothing less than a 4.0 average before they're allowed to safely return to the pavement.

Oh hell, I don’t know….

Do you think I’m being too severe?

"Yes, Mommie Dearest"

Wishing you a safe-walking weekend, everyone!

Reiki...and the Teachings of a Cat

I would like to preface this post by saying that what you are about to read is something I had written three years ago for one of my other blogs.

Some of my readers here already know what Reiki is because they, like myself, are Reiki practitioners.

For those of you who have never heard of Reiki, please go here if you wish to find out more.

In order that you will understand this post, let me briefly say that Reiki (ray-key) is a form of hands-on energetic healing which is slowly becoming more of a respected natural modality used within the medical community. Reiki energy is something we are all born with and is always available to assist us physically, mentally, and spiritually. Someone who chooses to become a Reiki practitioner is one who then uses the energy to assist others in becoming more aware of the power of Reiki within themselves.

As you will discover from reading this post, Reiki does not always bring a physical healing, but rather a healing of what is needed. And sometimes that means….acceptance.

Ironically, my greatest teacher of Reiki was Jerry, my longtime feline companion. And it was through the final transition of his life that he gave me a clear glimpse into one of Reiki’s most profound understandings.

I was at a pinnacle point of my own personal and spiritual growth at the time of his transition; going through a deep surrendering process. Confused, lost, frightened and very angry, I had no other choice but to accept and trust. Not only was I confronting the limitations of human power, but I was also learning the lesson of allowing myself to be supported by true power.

In 1999 Jerry had been diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. And after initially hearing the different options from a traditional veterinarian, I decided to use alternative healthcare to assist him (as I do with myself). Through the advice of a holistic veterinarian, along with much Reiki, Jerry’s health returned to a balanced state. With hyperthyroidism there are highs and lows which is to be expected using any type of healing method. So I watched him very carefully; adjusting his healthcare as his condition fluctuated.

In 2001 I decided to make a move back to the northeast, but was very concerned about whether or not it would stress Jerry to the point of affecting his health. After some blood work and a physical examination, the vet was amazed that he was doing so well. He said he could see no reason why we shouldn’t go ahead with our plans and that Jerry would make the move smoothly - which he did.

So off we went.

About 6 months after settling into our new life, Jerry’s health took a nose dive. It was at this point I intuitively knew nothing else could be done and that it was time for me to accept. So I made a choice. I had witnessed Jerry coming into this world 19 years prior, and I wanted to witness him as he left.

On the last day of his life Reiki was the only assistance I offered Jerry. It was he and I alone. I watched, as this compassionate energy, gently and calmly supported him through his final transition. As I struggled with my own feelings of loss, Jerry let go by simply accepting and embracing. There seemed to be a natural flow to what was happening to him and he seemed to have the inner knowing to flow with it. And as he did…..he found peace.

It is my own personal belief that animals are placed on this earth as teachers.

Along with their ability to love unconditionally, they seem to have a natural understanding of acceptance.

Animals also seem to understand how Reiki works. Perhaps it’s because they accept that Reiki is within them...

...always assisting for their highest good.

Thank you, Jerry

Let's Get Macho, People

Warning: whether you’re a man or a woman, today’s post may induce a rush of testosterone; making hair grow on your chest or give you a sudden urge to go out and buy a Ford pickup truck.

Saturday afternoon while I was sitting in the park listening to some music, I discovered a CD that someone had burned for me many years ago which contained a compilation of various disco songs.

Towards the end of the CD I began to hear the familiar beat of a song that immediately transported me back to the early 80’s….

…Macho Man, from the Village People.

I sat under a tree nonchalantly bobbing my head, curling my biceps, and gyrating my hips.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the Village People, *they were a disco group formed in the late 1970s. The group was well known for their on-stage costumes, catchy tunes and suggestive lyrics. Original members were: Police Officer (Victor Willis), American Indian chief (Felipe Rose), Cowboy (Randy Jones), Construction Worker (David Hodo), Biker (Glenn Hughes) and Military man (Alex Briley). The band's name references New York City's Greenwich Village neighborhood, at the time known for having a substantial gay population and got their inspiration for creating an assembly of American man archetypes based on the gay men of The Village who frequently dressed in various fantasy attire.

I had always wanted to be a Village People. I thought it would be cool if they added me to their group, dressed as hot and sexy Paramedic; offering “mouth-to-mouth” to audience members who past out from sniffing too much amyl nitrate.

Anyway…

…like all disco queens, I loved the Village People.

All through the early 80‘s I was virtually a disco addict, so it was nothing for me to be out clubbing 4-5 nights a week. But that also meant I had to have a completely new outfit to wear each night. God forbid if anyone ever saw me in the same polyester Nik-Nik shirt within the same week.

Being a disco addict also meant I had to have the latest in men’s disco cologne, which at the time was Ralph Lauren Polo. And I didn’t just “dab” Polo on like a normal person, I douched with it. The second you walked into any club back then, you would immediately be smacked in the face with an invisible WALL of Polo. And as everyone got nice and sweaty on the dance floor, the scent magnified like a powerful aphrodisiac.

Between the cologne, the sound of the Village People, and the intermittent dramatic fall of confetti from the ceiling…we were all having multiple orgasms.

I would like to conclude this post by leaving you with a Monday dose of testosterone.

So, put on your Nik Nik shirt or your polyester dress and strappy heels, splash on some Polo…and allow yourself to feel MACHO, man!

Tortured and Haunted by Produce Stickers

Does anyone know what the glue is made of that’s on those annoying little stickers that garnish every single piece of produce?

Well, whatever it is I think I could use it if I ever had the desire to suspend a 900 lb. baby elephant upside-down from the ceiling of my apartment by applying that glue to the soles of it‘s feet.

That shit won’t budge!

Which brings me to my second question…

…does anyone know how to remove those annoying little stickers without having a total nervous breakdown and ending up in a sanitarium; wearing a straight-jacket?

The other night while I was watching a DVD collection of Will and Grace, I decided to eat one of my recently purchased Fuji apples. However, I wasn’t able to eat the apple in it’s original form because by the time I got the sticker off, I had completely transformed it into apple sauce.

I dug and dug with my index finger until I thought I was going to SCREAM. And when that didn’t work, I took a teaspoon and began STABBING the label until the apple turned to mush.

One time I remember getting so frustrated that I ended up biting the sticker off with my teeth and then spitting it out of my mouth like Hannibal Letcher.

And I especially love how if by some miracle I DO get the sticker off, my next torturous task is trying to get the annoying thing off my finger.

A few months ago, right before I was getting ready to go into work, I tried to remove one of those stickers from my finger. I began flicking and waving my hand like a cat with a wet paw; eventually getting the damn thing off. However, I had no idea where the sticker went. And to be honest, I really didn’t care because I was in a hurry to get to work. Later, one of my co-workers found it….

…it had adhered itself to the backside of my dress pants.

Apparently, I was walking around for the first thirty minutes with a tiny name tag on my ass that claimed I was a Fuji apple.

I also feel as though I’m being haunted by these nasty stickers because once removed, I will mysteriously find them all over my apartment. I’ve found them stuck to various things inside the refrigerator, on pieces furniture, lamp shades; I even found one cleverly stuck to my bath towel.

I mean, how the HELL did they get there?

Do you know what I think?

I think those little fuckers are trying to drive me insane…

Wishing you a "sticker-free" weekend everyone!

Love,

Joan

Memoirs of Baby Oil and Iodine

You’d never know it by presently looking at the color of my skin, but I use to resemble a tan Malibu Ken.

However, now I resemble a pale Grandpa Munster.

I’ve turned from a sun-worshiping Greek god into a sun-avoiding Transylvanian vampire.

I’m forever walking on the shady side of the street in fear that if the sun ever casts a single ray upon me…I will suddenly disintegrate into a pile of ash.

I’m sure many of you remember a time when mixing iodine with baby oil was on everyone‘s summertime must-do list. This concoction was believed to be the perfect tanning elixir. And how naive we were not to realize that the iodine was merely staining our skin and the baby oil was merely burning it; creating the perfect landscape for the possibility of future skin grafts.

I can still envision myself like a mad scientist, pouring a small bottle of red iodine into a large bottle of baby oil and then shaking it; making sure each precious drop was blended to perfection.

I remember carefully laying my beach towel on the sand, and then meticulously applying the oil to every inch of my chalky flesh.

I remember the smell of the air, as warm wafts of baby oil and iodine floated across the entire Wildwood, New Jersey shore.

I also remember hearing the sound of The Four Seasons singing, “Sherry Baby” on my RCA transistor radio.

Such fond memories.

Later, when I moved to Florida, I discovered additional aid in tan acceleration - I started using one of those silver beach mats that magnified the sun’s rays. So, between using baby oil and iodine, and my tinfoil microwave mat…I was able to cook in half the time.

I often felt like a hamburger patty being charbroiled, because whenever I would flip my body over to tan the other side, I would actually hear myself sizzle.

Tssssst!

And knowing how I am now; not being able to tolerant heat at all, I cringe at the thought.

It’s strange how I’ve gone from saluting the sun to howling at the moon.

However, I will admit…I really enjoyed the time I spent tanning.

I loved how it gave me that nice, healthy glow…

Would you care for some Red Lobster...anyone?

Excuse me...am I disturbing you?

Gee whiz…

I haven’t shared a vent about cell phones for some time now, so I think one is due.

For those of you who have just recently started reading this blog, may not be aware of my torrid love affair with cell phones.

Let’s just say that I love cell phones about as much as I love the Estee Lauder women’s fragrance, Youth Dew.

And if you’ve never experienced this fragrance before, just close your eyes and try to imagine what SATAN would smell like.

However, let my clarify by saying that it’s not cell phones I dislike, but rather the compulsive and addictive manner in which many people use them.

I’ve often wondered how these people ever managed to inhale and exhale before cell phones were ever invented.

I recently had a young gentlemen, when discovering that I didn’t own a cell phone, screamed at me, “HOW CAN YOU NOT HAVE A CELL PHONE, DUDE?”

I said, “It’s easy…because it’s not a necessity in my life, therefore I don‘t need one”

He then said, “Look, dude…to live properly, a cell phone IS a necessity.”

I guess cell phones have become a necessary life sustenance, which apparently I’ve been minus.

No wonder I feel so unnecessarily lifeless.

Anyway…

I won’t even go into how I think cell phones should be forbidden while driving a car. I myself, have almost been hit several times by a moving vehicle while the driver was busy talking on the phone. And one time it was by a cab driver.

Another place I feel a cell phone has no business being is while on the job.

I don’t know whether you’ve noticed lately, but it’s becoming more and more of a common practice for employees to be walking around the job, chatting their little hearts out while getting paid to work.

It’s one thing to use a cell phone during a lunch break, or perhaps if someone may be expecting a call about an emergency situation, but to be talking to a friend about personal stuff while customers are waiting to be serviced is totally unprofessional.

And I would like to know how this practice suddenly BECAME professional?

I’m sorry…but work is work. And talking to a friend on a cell phone is your time off.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone into a store when a cashier was deliciously enthralled with their cell phone conversation, where I actually felt like I was inconveniencing them by asking them to ring up my sale. In fact, not too long ago I had an employee complete an entire sales transaction without ever looking at me or saying one word - not so much as a hello, thank you, or a good-bye.

Is it just me, or am I the ONLY person on this planet who feels the need to take someone’s cell phone and place in a nice, tight, dark spot?…..

Cleaning Tile Like Joan Crawford

Why is it that whenever I clean the bathroom tile I always feel like Joan Crawford on a vodka induced cleaning binge at 2 am?

Yesterday morning while I was brushing my teeth I happened to glance in the shower and thought, “When the HELL did my nice white tile grout suddenly turn brown, orange, and fuzzy?”

It looked like a Petri dish.

I guess because of the summer humidity the mold and mildew were having a party.

It’s funny, because I can still hear my mother saying to us kids, “Don’t EVER throw your old toothbrushes away because you can use them to scrub the tile in your bathroom.”

Since then, they’ve come out with so many wonderful tile sprays that you can just spritz in the shower after each use; preventing mold from ever forming.

(however, I haven’t been using one of those lately)

The worst…and I mean the WORST mold and mildew I’ve ever experienced was while living in Florida. Nothing in Florida ever dries so no matter what you do to combat mildew, it instantly reincarnates.

Anyway….since I had yesterday off and no pressing engagements, I made myself some strong coffee and decided to clean my shower the “Joan Crawford Way.”

I thought this would be the perfect time because it was getting to the point where I needed to switched to a new toothbrush, as my current one was starting to look a bit haggard. You know what I mean, when the bristles start flattening out to the sides like someone slowly ran over it with a steam roller?

So I took a handful of Comet cleanser and my old toothbrush and began scrubbing the tile like a crazed Crawford after she just got fired from MGM.

“SCRUB, TINA….SCRUB!”

And after 30 minutes of scrubbing until it felt like my fingers were going to snap off, I stood back and looked at the results.

Hot damn!…my shower looked FAAABULOUS.

I thought I’d share the results with you in a before and after photo…..


Before:



After:

It looks like a completely different bathroom doesn't it?

It's amazing what a little Comet, an old toothbrush, and some scary-ass Joan Crawford can do.

Have a great weekend Mommie Dearest's!

I Heart My Job

Without actually telling you where I work or what company I work for, I would like to share about how much I love my job and how grateful I am for it.

As you already know I work in the beauty industry and have done so for the past 25 years.

On one hand, working with the public can sometimes be a pain in the sphincter, but on the other hand, it teaches me how not to be as a customer.

And to be perfectly honest, I enjoy having a job in which I closely interact with people.

I like meeting new folks everyday and finding out a little bit about them, other then what they are coming in to purchase.

The most important thing for me about my job is believing in what I sell and then offering it to the public with passion. I cannot sell anything I don’t believe in. I’ve had jobs in this industry that I’ve ended up quitting because I didn’t care for the product.

The company I presently work for is one of the best experiences I‘ve ever had. I’ve been with them for over 4 years now, and mainly because they genuinely care about their employees. And even though they are a major corporate company, they still manage to treat their people as if they were part of a family.

They offer incentive bonuses and health benefits to part-time employees. And they never forget to say thank you for a job well-done.

They’re a smart company. They don’t waste money, but at the same time they’re not afraid to spend money to produce the BEST products.

It’s a company I’m proud to represent.

One of the greatest perks about my job is that I’m given a certain amount of hours to work, but can arranged those hours anyway I feel best. I don’t have to go into work at a specific time everyday, as long as I put in my allotted hours.

My boss trusts me; knowing I will work during the most lucrative times to produce figures.

I have goals to achieve, but I am never harassed about making them like most people are in this industry.

I have an outstanding sales team that supports me; whom without, I couldn’t make it.

Another thing that’s really wonderful about my job, is that I work for a period of time and then have some time off. Slow season for the beauty industry is in July and January, so it is at some point during these two months that I take a break and focus on other things I enjoy doing to supplement my income.

It also gives me time away from the industry, so that I can recharge and stay fresh.

I feel incredibly blessed in having this job, and even more so with the economy the way it is and many people struggling.

I live paycheck to paycheck just like most of us do. And I am by no means a monetarily wealthily man.

Yet, I feel wealthy.

So yes, folks….I really love my job.

In fact, I love it almost as much as….

But not quite.

Me and Children

A few weeks ago a friend of mine, Akelamalu, asked me a great question in her comment which has inspired me to write a blog post.

So thank you m’dear!

Since I often mention children on this blog, Akelamalu asked me if I had ever considered having any.

My answer to her was that I've always “idealize” about having a child, but being someone who has a tendency to be rather self-centered with my life, I didn’t think I would be a wise candidate for the incredible responsibility that goes along with a child.

I know myself well enough to realize that I would not want to actually raise a child.

However, that doesn’t change how I will always love and respect children, nor my enjoyment of being involved with them in some way.

I sense myself at some point volunteering with terminally ill children; sharing the alternative healing modalities I practice.

I’ve always had a special connection with children. I like them, and they seem to like me.

Perhaps it’s because they can act silly around me; sensing that I'm a silly man.

And for as impatient as I can be at times, I seem to have a great deal of patience when it comes to children.

I admire them.

I admire their ability to say what they feel as they feel it.

I admire their ability to freely express their emotions.

I admire their ability to ask for what they want without fear.

I also admire their ability to walk up to a complete stranger and say, “Hello.”

Children remind me of the things that as adult, I sometimes forget.

Many years ago while I was living in Florida, I had the immense pleasure of teaching a creative dramatics class as part of a children’s summer camp. I taught six classes a day, five days a week. The age range was from 4 ½ to 13.

(the 4 ½ year olds were without a doubt my favorites)

And at the end of each day, for as exhausted as I was at times, I loved every single minute of it. I always went home knowing that the children taught me more than I ever taught them.

I would like to conclude this post by saying that if I ever DID have a child, my preference would be to have a girl.

And the reason being is because with my 25 years experience in the beauty industry, I’ve always imagined teaching her all the valuable things I’ve learned about elegant hair, makeup and wardrobe.

I mean can you imagine how envious her girlfriends would be, going to her first formal party?….

Ronda Carnavil II

Happy 4th and Something French

This post is not only to wish you all a Happy 4th of July, but to also tell you about one of my favorite foods…

…french fries.

I find french fries to be one of life’s simple, yet most enjoyable pleasures. I can eat them until they literally protrude out of every orifice on my body.

I realize that french fries can be enjoyed all year round, however, there’s something about the summer holidays and my childhood memories that makes me enjoy them even more.

There's nothing like eating a nice juicy hamburger or a plump hot dog that’s been grilled over a charcoal flame, with a side of crispy french fries and an ice cold coke with TONS of ice.

(how American is that?)

This year I won’t be going to any picnics, however, I will most likely be walking over to my favorite hamburger joint; indulging in a french fry Roman-style food orgy.

The french fries at this place are beyond INCREDIBLE.

They’re always served hot, crispy, and perfectly seasoned.

I love them so much that I will usually eat all of them first by slowly dipping each one into a sea of ketchup, then proceed to eat the burger.

Many years ago while I was spending a summer in Amsterdam, Holland, I discovered a unique cultural difference in the eating of french fries. The Dutch use mayonnaise rather than ketchup. And however strange it felt at first…I actually ended up enjoying the taste. In fact, when I got back to the States I not only occasionally used mayo, but I also tried dipping them in tarter sauce.

Talk about YUMMY.

(trust me. try it…you’ll like it)

Anyhoo…I hope everyone has an faaabulous 4th of July.

And please don’t forget "safety" when playing with firecrackers.

I don't want to see any missing finger photos on blog posts, ok?

Personally, this is why I only partake in sparklers - they’re safe and fun. I like to hold one in my right hand, while holding a book in my left; pretending to be the Statue of Liberty.

Oh, and before I forget….

…I want to give a BIG thanks to the people of the country who have provided me with one of my favorite foods.

The French…..

ooo la, la!

Have a French tickler weekend everyone!

I Want to be a Pussycat Doll

I’ve already decided that in my next life I’m coming back as a woman, so I can audition for the Pussycat Doll burlesque troupe.

And knowing my karma, I’ll probably come back with the face and body of Ernest Borgnine.

I can still remember the first time I saw the Pussycat Dolls performing to the song Sway, in a special feature that was at the end of the DVD movie Shall we Dance.

Oy chee mamba!….these women were HOT.

I actually felt the need to grab the nearest fire extinguisher and put out the flames of my inner drag queen.

Even I couldn’t help but get a titillating excitement after laying my peeps on these gorgeous ladies.

I immediately called my brother and said, “Tom…have you ever seen the Pussycat Dolls?" He said, “Yeah.” I said, “Well…your otherwise gay brother, just got a “warm fuzzy" looking at them.”

And what I really enjoyed about them was that their performance was very classy - nothing crude or raunchy. It was more about “teasing.”

(which is what burlesque is all about)

I just recently discovered that not only do the Pussycat Dolls have a burlesque troupe, but they also have a Pussycat Dolls vocal group.

Who knew?

Yesterday while I was as work, one of the cosmetic counters had a CD player going with a song that was slowly enticing me to performing erotic dance movements right there in the middle of the store.

Before I knew it, I had the overwhelming desire to do a pole dance for a customer.

The song was fabulously sexy and had the most incredible beat.

And after it was over, I asked the salesgirl at the counter who the vocal group was and she informed me that it was The Pussycat Dolls.

I said, “Holy cat shit...you’re kidding me?”

She said, “No…I kid you not.”

And I’m like, “Ok, that’s it…I WANT TO BE A PUSSYCAT DOLL…NOW!!”

"Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me...don't cha?"

Meeeow!