Edible Infants.

You know how they can take a picture now and stick it on a cake? Yeah, that's weird. Like it's Grandpa's 75th birthday and here you are at the family party, eating part of his chin or working your way through his right arm. Festive.

Well, that's nothing. Because I was recently made aware of the 100% horrifying marzipan babies phenomenon. Like, miniature, realistic-looking babies THAT ARE MADE OUT OF SUGAR AND ARE EDIBLE. And evidently, twisted freaks like to give them out to nosh upon at baby showers.

I have good news. Turns out, I'm like five years behind the times and this all turned out to be a nasty rumor. I Snopes-ed it out and they're actually just these weird little figurines that some artist makes. Which, really, is kind of bizarre enough in itself. Weirder still is that I checked out the website and for some reason (read: to make an extra buck), you can buy little outfits for these mini babies and dress them up. What is the scenario like where someone is sitting around doing that? At least they're not eating them, I guess.

Bathroom Attendance.

Oh, man. There are lots of crappy-ass jobs out there: crab fisherperson, proctologist, uninsured day-laborer... But one of the worst has to be that of bathroom attendant.

Ugh. The fact that someone has to spend their entire day in a public bathroom is almost too depressing to bear. I can think of fewer places I'd rather be. I mean, it beats like, living in a box or whatever worst case horrible situation you can think of, for sure, but man...

And as a human who needs to use the bathroom from time to time, I'm also kind of resentful that in order to attend to an unstoppable biological need, I am forced to be confronted with an awkward situation which ALSO includes tipping, to make it that much more awkward. Some people have "shy bladders", you know. If someone is in that bathroom with them, it just prolongs the transaction. And I can actually get my own paper towel, but I sincerely thank you for offering one to me. I'll also pass on the perfume, but thanks again. And if I'm at this event or whatever for longer than 2 hours, I'll probably be seeing you several times. Do we need to go through this dance each time? And should I leave a tip each time? I'm running out of singles.

I just hate everything about it. It gives me the sads. Thoughts?

Umbrella-ella-ella.

As if it's not bad enough trying to dodge becoming a cyclops via an errant umbrella spoke in the eyeball during a downpour, now chumps are using umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun. I place the blame for this alarming trend firmly on Jacko, who was fond of this type of nonsense.

Listen: if you're not sitting outdoors somewhere at a table with a hole in it or laying on a beach, there's no call for this type of behavior. And if you're going to insist on pulling a Morticia Aadams and strutting around with one of these damn parasols, how about not poking my eyes out while you protect your precious alabaster complexion?

Or better yet, put down the stupid umbrella, be normal and develop melanoma like the rest of us.

The Pro-NO-sal.

Don't you hate it when you go to a picturesque cabin with your hotass coworker who you're pretending to be married to so you can get a green card because you're Canadian and it turns out that you are both single and lonely and the only thing keeping you apart (besides you being a Canadian) is your pride and dedication to maintaining your reputation as a hard-edged businesswoman and then when you're in the cabin, you and your hotass coworker both suddenly - whoops!- find yourselves accidentally nude and on top of one another and then like, maybe Cloris Leachman or Murphy Brown pops her head in and says something bawdy and then you realize that you're really in love after all and screw the USA and its stupid green card laws, you're moving to Canada with your hotass coworker who is now your husband?

I hate when that happens.

You have now officially seen that new Sandy Bullock/Guy Who is Married to Scarlett Jojoba and Who is Ironically Canadian in Real Life movie. You're welcome.