Fire Mountain Gems: Coronavirus Edition

Heyo! Esther Pollock here. As you probably know, I'm the head honcho over here at Fire Mountain Gems. I'm pictured here with my fellow FMG designers, Scotty Blumpkin and Dan Pizzazz. Don't worry, this picture was taken a long time ago; we are all responsibly social-distancing as per the CDC and the great state of Minnesota. We just want you to know that Fire Mountain Gems is here for you during this uncertain time. And I know some of you are concerned that our entire catalog of products is manufactured in the People's Republic of China, but rest assured I am drowning that shit in sanitizer and prayer.

After several months of mandatory isolation, I can now say with confidence that I am a cross stitch master:

I've been keeping my mind sharp; I have read every issue of TV Guide from 1967 to 1992. I have seen every episode of New Girl, twice. The sound of my husband's voice makes me want to whip him to death with a slightly used cat o' nine tails I picked up at a swap meet. I have enough toilet paper to last until Spring 2046. If I have to eat one more bean, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

Luckily, with so much time on their hands, my team has been hard at work to bring you these quarantine chic designs. I'm very proud of what we've done here amidst this crisis, and I hope you can appreciate the craftsmanship as I do.

I can hardly believe it myself, Louise! Who doesn't like disembodied heads of conjoined twins, I ask you?* Connected by Louise Shadonix reminds us to stay connected but non-physically because you don't want to catch the coronavirus and get decapitated like these poor bastards. Decapi-tantalizing!

I would wear this to an African Wildlife Foundation charity gala, if such a thing still existed. I met Joe Exotic at the last one. Nice fella. A little liberal with the Drakkar Noir though.

*[I was later told this was supposed to be the disembodied heads of a mother and baby giraffe. Either way, disembodied heads, am I right?]

I mean, ok. Rainbow Rock Garden by Sarah Machtey doesn't have any rocks in it. I just want to be upfront about that.

This piece is perfect if you are an elementary school art teacher with nothing to lose. The online school year is winding down and you've got fake leaves in storage that are taunting you from the crawlspace. You could whip this up in 2 minutes in the comfort of your own home and still have time for a cam-show before you take a few online surveys to earn Amazon gift-cards. Can be worn all seasons, tits in or out.

Ilaria, you've done it again. Once Upon a Time, I nearly gagged on the elegance of this piece. Medieval meets magnifique! Versatile doesn't begin to describe this complicated mesh of fantasy themed elements like weird babies lustily cupping landscapes, double dragon castle times, and a fancy fairy dangling from the bottom by her teeth. Just throw this on with any old thing: some peachy scoop-neck flowy top; why not? Sure to be a conversation starter with yourself since you can't go anywhere or see anyone. I guess you could wear it on a video call. Wear it on a Zoom call! Or Skype! Do people still Skype or is that only for masturbating?

That's all for now, my little gems. Stay tuned for more jewelry you can wear at home with your cat while you bury your children under the shed. Stay safe! Wash your hands! No mouth stuff, only hand stuff! Then wash you hands again!

Best,

Esther Pollock
Head Designer
Fire Mountain Gems

Science Fairs and Underwire

I attended my first 3rd grade science fair today. You're probably thinking, "But you don't have children. Isn't it a little creepy to be going to a 3rd grade science fair?" Yes. But, I do know a 3rd grader.

That sounds creepy too; allow me to clarify.

I helped my boss's daughter, Bennie, with her science project. She made nebula jars and painted a picture of a NGC 3132. Naturally, I was delighted to be invited to the science fair to see her in action. I also met an interesting young man that used lemons to conduct electricity. So there's that.

Fig 1.1 Nebula Jar. Thanks, Pinterest!

Fig 1.2 NCG 3132. Thanks, Hubble Telescope!

* * * 

Interesting fact: When Bennie was 6, she told me she was going to wait until I was asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

Once, I absentmindedly said something was "fugly" in front of her because, being in jewelry design, that's a word we throw around a lot. If you are unfamiliar, it is a portmanteau of f*ck and ugly. Fugly. It's an industry term.

She smiled at me like a child of the corn and said, "What does that mean? Fun and ugly?" She was clearly toying with me because after a beat, she said, "The F word?"

"You didn't hear that from me. I was never here." I said, before fleeing.

Some kids are too smart.

* * *

Back to the Science Fair!

As I toured the auditorium, there were a number of impressive displays, none of which were made by these children. I appreciate a sloppy project that was clearly done by an actual child. What I cannot abide is a project that was obviously done by a parent. As a child that always did his own projects, I take issue.

That's a pristine space shuttle made of milk cartons, Megan. Too bad you don't have the motor skills necessary for the construction of such a vehicle.

I'm very impressed by your expertly crafted polymer clay scale model of the solar system, Chastity. But I highly doubt you have a steady enough hand to paint Jupiter with such accuracy.

Oh, Blake. You aren't fooling anyone with your perfectly aligned phases of the moon poster. Look how straight these lines are! I know grown men who can't draw a straight line! I know grown men who can't pronounce the word "gibbous"! 

I'll take a shoebox full of  badly painted foam balls and scotch tape any day of the week. I don't want stenciled, perfectly spaced, letters and battery powered water features! I want chicken-scratch and potato lamps!

The adorable Lemon Boy obviously had help from his Dad, which he mentioned during his absolutely heart-melting presentation. But it was messy and clearly he did it with his father. And it worked! He flicked a switch and a light went on! WITH LEMONS! Thanks, citric acid!

I used to want to have kids. Then I didn't. Now? The jury is still out. Because it can go a few different ways. Village of the Damned seems like the most likely scenario, but you never know. Might get lucky and get a lemon kid. Or a kid that will wait until I'm asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

* * *

Later today, on our way to lunch, I found a lonely piece of underwire on the floor of my co-worker's car. I didn't realize that's what it was at the time, but still I picked it up and positioned it under my boob and said, "What's this?"

Lucky guess.

She wasn't sure how it ended up there. #mysteryoftheday

How did a solitary piece of underwire manage to free itself from it's bra prison? Naturally, we all assumed it was some kind of sordid nude encounter that took place in the car, but she assured us that was not the case. Some kind of struggle? Surely not. Perhaps we will never know.

* * *

For one reason or another, I refer to a naked breast as a "raw breast". I didn't realize this was wrong until it was pointed out to me. I persist in my terminology unhindered.

"G, do you have to try bras on?" I asked innocently.

"Yeah, you have to." She replied patiently.

I immediately panicked, imagining hundreds of women trying on the same bra.

"You mean you put your raw breasts in it?"

"My raw breasts? First of all, who calls it a raw breast? I'm not a chicken. It's the same thing as you trying on a shirt."

I relaxed, "Ok, I see your point."

* * *

Today, I got very cold and wet in a hideous slop storm. I went to an elementary school that smelled like all elementary schools smell - industrial cleaner and tempera paint. I danced around my office with a hank of beads on my head like a wig. I watched an Egyptian themed stripper video with a coworker recovering from ass-augmentation surgery. I designed some bracelets. I ate a hamburger.

What is the moral of today's story? All that glitters isn't gold? A stitch in time saves nine? A closed mouth catches no feet?

I'm not sure. Lemon Boy probably knows.

"Fluff and Chow"

For the dozen or so of you reading this blog, my apologies for no entries the past few days; I was busy and didn't much feel like it. I also knew I had a family engagement to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday coming up, so I figured I would hold off as that was sure to yield some gems.

For one reason or another, they have an unhealthy fixation with Chinese buffets, so we tried one we hadn't been to before. The previous buffet was visibly higher quality, but my brother was leery to return there due to a confrontation between my aunt and a man she felt was hogging all the raw oysters.

The attendees were as follows:

Mom: Road-rage legend. No filter.
Dad: Conspiracy theorist. Chinese chicken-wing aficionado.
Gail: Dads's girlfriend. Talented artist. Dog enthusiast.
Dane:  Middle brother. Wild Card.
Bobbi Jo: AKA Slubbybubbercans. Sister-in-Law. Birthday girl.
Dylan: Baby brother. Favorite past time - shooting mom in the face with nerf darts.
Justine: Dylan's girlfriend. Strong silent type. Ate pizza at a Chinese buffet.
Me: Epicurean in a lilac polo shirt.

We wasted no time taking our coats off and bee-lining for the expansive selection of food. I was fairly put off by a majority of the offerings at the Flaming Grill & Supreme Buffet ("The Flaming Asshole Grill" - Mom) on Route 23. There were a number of unidentifiable and/or unappetizing dishes, most notably a whole grey-skinned fish that had taken on a glossy gelatinous sheen. Oh, and calamari which my mother looked at and said "That's pig rectum" matter-of-factly.

After fixing a conservative plate of green beans, fried shrimp, and chicken variations, I sat down with my family. The green beans were delicious. The chicken was rubbery, if it was in fact chicken.

* * *

"I thought this was shrimp!" my mother said, referring to an amorphous fried nugget.
"It's sweet and sour chicken, mommy," I said.
"But I didn't get any sauce!"

* * *

I quit smoking cigarettes about a month ago:

Mom: I'm going out for a cigarette, you're coming with me.
Me: No I'm not. I quit and it's cold outside.
Mom: David! Come with me. What if I get robbed or raped?
Me: [Shrug]
Mom: It's ok - I wore my rape pants.

* * *

[Upon her return]
Me: How was the raping?

* * *

After discussing the pros and cons of DNA ancestry tests (particularly the possibility of getting cloned), government spooks, and chem-trails, Dane looked around to the now vacant area of the restaurant we occupied and said, "We cleared that out pretty fast."

Gail told us about a tutorial she'd seen using old Tic Tac containers for spice storage when camping. Dane insisted that you could just bring your spices with you rather than go to all the trouble of filling Tic Tac containers with spices that you probably wouldn't need anyway since you were camping. Gail clarified that they would be glamping, which I understand is a portmanteau of glamor and camping, two words that should never be used together or combined to form a new word.

Fig. 1.1 Tic Tac Spice Storage

While it's a cute idea, I have a number of issues:

1. Why would you need nutmeg or garam masala on a camping trip, glamorous or otherwise?
2. Other than salt and pepper, please name one other spice of any use for food you'd be preparing on a camping trip.
3. Why would you take the time to do this when this exists:

Fig 1.2 "Multi Spice" Jar

According to my sources, she already has a number of these Tic Tac containers saved and ready to go. I predict that despite our well-meant criticisms of this project, she will continue unhindered.

Back to the buffet.

Dylan sustained a small oral injury from the sharp edge of a fried wonton. I mocked him all evening like a good big brother.

Upon returning to Bobbi Jo's (Slubbybubbercans if you're nasty) and Dane's place, my mother had some gifts for us. Lego mini-figures and shell magnets for all. Then I was shown what she made Bobbi Jo for her birthday:

This is a hot-glue project made from driftwood, sharks teeth, and seashells. It is also a magnet. After requesting one for myself, I suggested she sell these on the side of the road during the Summer. Dane suggested that it was actually a prehistoric bread knife.

We also each received a small ziplock of fresh basil, two large cans of crushed tomatoes, and a large bag of rice, pictured below:

Fluff and chow

Apparently, concerned the world was going to end via North Korea, she purchased a 20lb bag of rice; like ya do. She then sat on her bed and divided the bag up between her three children and in permanent marker wrote the instructions for how to prepare the rice. She insisted that it was "the good stuff", to which I countered "Nothing good comes in a twenty pound bag." I also let her know that I would never be eating this rice as I now considered it a family heirloom.

"Fluff and chow. Love, Mommy"

FIN