You Searched For: elf on the shelf

And you still haven't found what you're searching for. Because my blog got in your way.

At the end of each year I pull up my analytics to see what search terms actually brought people to this blog because it’s incredibly confusing to everyone involved.  2012 was no exception and I’m sharing a few of my favorite google searches that brought you all here (in order of # people searching that term).  Never change, weirdos…

2012 Strange Google Searches That Brought People to The Bloggess.com:

“Knock knock, motherfucker” ~  3,308 

“Sasquatch sightings”  ~ 2,086

“This chicken will cut you” ~ 490

“Thanks for ruining batman” ~ 403

“I have no idea what I’m doing” ~ 288

“No one’s going to be able to relate to a corpsey chocolate vampire and his gay bird lover” ~ 99

“Feet must be covered while sleeping” ~ 79

“Hamster erections” ~ 79

“What size shirt should my cat wear?” – 69

“Chupacabra cobra death match” ~ 59

“zombie chicken porn” ~ 49

“What to do if your wife is obsessed with unicorns?” ~ 40

“What size shirt does a 20 lb cat wear?” – 35

“Nathan Fillion shirtless” – 32

“Green poop at Disney World” ~ 31

“Dead whores” ~ 29

“World of Warcraft blow job” ~ 16

“National Vomit Day” ~ 14

“I hate it when I’m eating and a t-rex steals my chair” ~ 14

“Shit that shouldn’t be” ~ 10

“Meth in vagina makes sex better” ~ 5

“hey my name is rebekah what’s yours? i really like baked cheese and bears and such hahahahahahha i can type without looking at my key board” ~ 4

“Unruly vagina hair” – 4

“How did the hamsters even get jet lag?” ~ 3

“Do predators on To Catch a Predator get paid to be on tv?” ~ 1

“One letter is in my name is misspelled on my meds so will they take it at the airport?” ~ 1

“Cute tabby kittens saying misspelled things” ~ 1

“Nazi outfit on a weasel” ~ 1

“Raccoon albino with mange” ~ 1

“Raccoon albino without mange” ~ 1

“Cheese is funner”  ~ 1

“Would a picture of fork tines sticking out someones butt be considered art?” ~ 1

“Anteaters dressed like people” ~ 1

“bunnies aren’t just cute like every body supposes, they got them hoppy tails and twitchy little noses, and whats with all the carrots, what do they need such good eye sight for any way, bunnies, bunnies it must be bunnies” ~ 1

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In unrelated news, it’s time for the weekly wrap up.

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is sponsored by the lovely Masala Chica.  From the author: “In Hindi, the word “Masala” means spice. I originally wrote a lot about growing up Indian American but most of the posts I write are universal, so the whole “Masala” thing doesn’t make as much sense. But I still like it. I write about family, politics, feminism, music, books and I bitch about a lot of random things. Disclaimer: I like gay people, immigrants and the homeless. Be forewarned.”

Elves are assholes.

The other day Victor brought home one of those Elf-on-the-Shelf things and now I’m inundated with pictures on pintrest of elves doing “adorably naughty” things.  Like, moms (who are far less lazy than me) will throw flour  and applesauce all over the house and then pretend that the naughty elf did it.  Except I would never do that BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO CLEAN THAT SHIT UP.  Personally, I’d rather come back home from shopping and find that the elf has ransacked the house looking for hidden drugs.  That way it’s a learning lesson for the kids.  A lesson about not turning your back on addictions.  And about why I shouldn’t be allowed to have a scapegoat elf in the house.

Our elf right now:

Over the line, asshole.

PS.  Victor just yelled at me for sticking a knife in the couch and I was like “Dude. That hole has been there for two years” and then he yelled at me for not telling him that there’s been a hole in the couch for two years.  So basically I’m getting yelled at by Victor for Victor not being observant enough.  

I blame the elf.

 

UPDATED: James Garfield for Sainthood

SEE UPDATE BELOW

Victor:  I bought Hailey one of those shelf-elves for Christmas.

me:  Yeah, I saw that.

Victor:  And now it’s gone.

me:  Yep.

Victor:  I can only assume you’ve done something exceedingly inappropriate with it.

me:  Don’t be ridiculous.  That’s what the cats are for.

Victor:  Then where is it?

me:  On my shelf.  BEING AWESOME.

No hamsters died for this picture. It was already dead of natural causes. Promise.

 

And speaking of the holidays, if you’ve been here long enough you probably know about the Miracle(s) of James Garfield.  One came in 2010 when we all accidentally came together to raise over $42k to help get presents for kids who would not have otherwise gotten any.  It was awesome, and the next year tons of people who were helped in the past asked if we could do it again because now they were back on their feet and wanted to pass on the gift they’d received, but I couldn’t do it because I was so exhausted from running it that I got really sick.  Sorry.  I suck.  So instead in 2011 we decided to help Project Night Night, which is a program that donates over 25,000 free packages to homeless children (containing  a new security blanket, a book, a stuffed animal and a tote bag).  With our help they were able to donate the 750 packages they needed to hit all of this kids on their list for last December.

This year, Project Night Night just sent 1,000 Project Night Night packages to children affected by superstorm Sandy and they need to get another 1,000 to finish the list of homeless children who still need help.  It’s crazy simple to donate.  An entire package only costs $20.  Plus, you can donate packages as presents in the name of your crazy uncle who already has everything, or your insane aunt who was always kind of a bitch to you when you were a kid.  EVERYONE WINS.

Want to donate?  Of course you do.  Just click here and you can donate directly.  I’m starting it off by donating the first 25 bags in honor of you (the internets) for being so incredibly supportive this year.

PS.  Don’t sweat it if you can’t afford to donate this year.  You can always share the Project Night Night page online or with friends to help spread the word.  Every little bit counts.

PPS.  If we actually raise the 1000 bags needed this will be James Garfield‘s 3rd documented miracle and we can then seriously start applying for Sainthood from the Pope.  It’s going to be awesome and/or very offensively ridiculous.

PPPS.  I also bought you a water buffalo.  I hope it’s the right size because I did not keep the receipt.

I'm glad they specify that it's a "full" water buffalo, because there's nothing worse than getting an empty water buffalo (which I assume would be like a sleeping bag with hooves).

Updated 12/17/12:  I just talked to Project Night Night and we’ve raised 826 bags for children in need of comfort.  174 more to go. We can do this.  It’s $20 to fund an entire bag and you can donate right here.

 

This makes much more sense

Usually when you order my book on amazon it tells you that you’d probably also like to buy something ridiculous, like scissors, or a gallon of milk, or Fifty Shades of Grey.  But it seems that they’ve finally figured me out…

Suggestions for what you might want if you bought my book:

FINALLY, THEY GET ME.

In related book news I did the last #BloggessBookClub session last night and finished off by doing a live reading.  Want to see it?  (Skip to the 7 minute mark if you want to just hear the reading.)

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And on a much less commercial note, this week’s wrap-up.

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed on my sex column (relatively safe for work if your boss isn’t a douche-canoe):

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Sidebark, a super private place which offers personal and private sharing to stay connected with the people who matter most.  You should check it out.

If it's Monday then this must be San Antonio

I’m still on tour and I’m in San Antonio today so come see me if you can! Tour details are right here.  If not, you can just read the continuing chronicles of my best-of series.  This post was from 2011…

Last weekend at a thrift shop I found a small, stuffed monkey, which seemed to have some sort of snout leprosy and would probably murder us in our sleep.

I named him “Copernicus”.

Copernicus.

I immediately picked the monkey up and turned to Victor with wide eyes, as I struggled to keep my voice down to a whisper so that the shop-girl wouldn’t realize how much I was interested.

me:  Victor.  Oh.  Em.  Gee.

Victor:  Oh, holy shit.  Put that thing down.

me:  Are you fucking crazy?  HE NEEDS US.  Plus, he is made of awesome.  And nightmares.

Copernicus: MISTER, CAN YOU SPARE A HUG?

Victor:  Did you just make that monkey talk?

Copernicus:  A HUG IS LIKE A STRANGLE YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED YET.

Victor:  What is wrong with you?

me:  OH MY GOD, HE’S FANTASTIC.  Plus, he just used “strangle” as a noun.  Who does that?  Copernicus the homicidal monkey, that’s who.

Copernicus:  YOUR FACE LOOKS DELICIOUS.  I WILL CHEW ON IT WHILE YOU SLEEP.

me:  See.  He just gave you a compliment.

Then I followed Victor around the store, speaking in a squeaky monkey voice and trying to convince him that Copernicus would save us money because I could use him to make home-made Valentines for our kid to hand out at school.  But he was $15 and that’s a lot of money to spend on a haunted monkey, so I set it on the counter and prepared to haggle with the girl running the shop.

me:  I realize you’re probably very attached to this monkey as you can see his potential, but I was wondering if $15 was really the best you could do.  Because he’s missing a lot of his face.

shop-girl: I just work here.  I’m not really allowed to made deals.

me:  He smells like what I would imagine syphilis smells like.

shop-girl:  What did you have in mind?

me:  Um…$10?

shop-girl:  How about $7?

me:  I think you don’t know how negotiations work.

shop-girl:  Honestly, I don’t want to have to touch it to put it back on the shelf.

me:  SOLD.  No bag necessary.  I’ll carry him out.

Victor:  LIKE HELL YOU WILL.  That thing is not touching my car.

me:  He doesn’t mean that, Copernicus.

Shop-girl: Paper?  Plastic?

Victor:  How about something burlap?  On fire.

me:  He can ride home on your shoulder!  You’ve always wanted a monkey!

Victor:  What?  I’ve never wanted a monkey.

me:  EVERYONE WANTS A MONKEY.

Victor:  Not me.

me:  Well…that’s what’s wrong with you.

Victor:  I CAN NOT BELIEVE YOU PAID $7 FOR THAT.

me:  I KNOW, RIGHT?!

(We were both yelling, but for two entirely different reasons.)

Copernicus:  WHERE DO YOU GUYS KEEP THE KNIVES?

Victor:  SHUT UP, COPERNICUS.

**********

UPDATED:  I’ve already made the first three valentines day cards and I’m pretty sure Hallmark will be calling me this week.

This one feels a little dark for first graders, so I’m going to save it until next year. Because I’m a caring parent.

PS.  Why, yes, actually you can buy Copernicus Cards.

Homicidal monkey cards for hopeless romantics: series 12 and 3

UPDATED: Everyone says “fuck off”

Three quick things.  First off, I’ve decided to hold off on picking the final names for the dead Titanic-esque mice until they arrive and I can get to know their personalities better, but the randomly selected winner of an autographed copy of my book is Christine.  (Check your email, Christine.)

Secondly, I am very picky about putting ads on my blog which is why I can’t afford a swimming pool.  It’s also why I have a special note on my advertising page telling people that pretty much I don’t review anything except taxidermied animals in people clothes.  That’s why I thought it was so brilliant when I got an email from Blogologues (a live theater event that uses awesome blog post as scripts) telling me that they were sending me info about their latest play (which opens this Friday) STUFFED IN THE ARMS OF AN ANTIQUE ALLIGATOR WEARING A BASEBALL UNIFORM.  I immediately promised them a free link simply based on their awesomeness.  Even more fantastically, the alligator should have arrived yesterday but is MIA, which I can only imagine means that it has been mistakenly delivered to the house of some unsuspecting person who just opened a dead alligator dressed for a ball game.  Which is actually almost better than me getting it myself.  Victor agrees.  Mostly because we’re running out of shelf room for taxidermied alligators in people clothes.  Because we need more shelves.

I do, however, have a picture of the errant crocodile who is no doubt freaking the hell out of someone in Texas:

I don't know how all of these awesome alligators ended up in one shop but I'm assuming there was some sort of burglary at THE MOST BAD-ASS HOUSE IN THE WORLD. Victor says someone was probably involuntarily committed. We've agreed to disagree.

Thirdly, a few months ago I made a short children’s poem to explain to kids how to curse properly.  It’s called “Everyone Says Fuck Off” and it’s a lot like “Everybody Poops” but with less poop and more profanity.  My brilliant friend Lori Henriques heard it and decided it needed to be set to music and so (with the help of Peter Suk) she pounded this one out.

So without further ado, Everyone Says Fuck Off:

Everyone Says Fuck Off  (Plug in your headphones and click the link.)

UPDATED:  Guess what my baffled neighbor just brought me?  Victor says this is exactly why we never get invited to neighborhood barbecues.  I say that I wouldn’t want to share hot dogs with someone who opens packages addressed to me.  In her defense though, she was properly punished for her federally-illegal curiosity.

I love you, Blogologues.

Would you like to buy a monkey?

Last weekend at a thrift shop I found a small, stuffed monkey, which seemed to have some sort of snout leprosy and would probably murder us in our sleep.

I named him “Copernicus”.

Copernicus.

I immediately picked the monkey up and turned to Victor with wide eyes, as I struggled to keep my voice down to a whisper so that the shop-girl wouldn’t realize how much I was interested.

me:  Victor.  Oh.  Em.  Gee.

Victor:  Oh, holy shit.  Put that thing down.

me:  Are you fucking crazy?  HE NEEDS US.  Plus, he is made of awesome.  And nightmares.

Copernicus: MISTER, CAN YOU SPARE A HUG?

Victor:  Did you just make that monkey talk?

Copernicus:  A HUG IS LIKE A STRANGLE YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED YET.

Victor:  What is wrong with you?

me:  OH MY GOD, HE’S FANTASTIC.  Plus, he just used “strangle” as a noun.  Who does that?  Copernicus the homicidal monkey, that’s who.

Copernicus:  YOUR FACE LOOKS DELICIOUS.  I WILL CHEW ON IT WHILE YOU SLEEP.

me:  See.  He just gave you a compliment.

Then I followed Victor around the store, speaking in a squeaky monkey voice and trying to convince him that Copernicus would save us money because I could use him to make home-made Valentines for our kid to hand out at school.  But he was $15 and that’s a lot of money to spend on a haunted monkey, so I set it on the counter and prepared to haggle with the girl running the shop.

me:  I realize you’re probably very attached to this monkey as you can see his potential, but I was wondering if $15 was really the best you could do.  Because he’s missing a lot of his face.

shop-girl: I just work here.  I’m not really allowed to made deals.

me:  He smells like what I would imagine syphilis smells like.

shop-girl:  What did you have in mind?

me:  Um…$10?

shop-girl:  How about $7?

me:  I think you don’t know how negotiations work.

shop-girl:  Honestly, I don’t want to have to touch it to put it back on the shelf.

me:  SOLD.  No bag necessary.  I’ll carry him out.

Victor:  LIKE HELL YOU WILL.  That thing is not touching my car.

me:  He doesn’t mean that, Copernicus.

Shop-girl: Paper?  Plastic?

Victor:  How about something burlap?  On fire.

me:  He can ride home on your shoulder!  You’ve always wanted a monkey!

Victor:  What?  I’ve never wanted a monkey.

me:  EVERYONE WANTS A MONKEY.

Victor:  Not me.

me:  Well…that’s what’s wrong with you.

Victor:  I CAN NOT BELIEVE YOU PAID $7 FOR THAT.

me:  I KNOW, RIGHT?!

(We were both yelling, but for two entirely different reasons.)

Copernicus:  WHERE DO YOU GUYS KEEP THE KNIVES?

Victor:  SHUT UP, COPERNICUS.

**********

UPDATED:  I’ve already made the first three valentines day cards and I’m pretty sure Hallmark will be calling me this week.

This one feels a little dark for first graders, so I'm going to save it until next year. Because I'm a caring parent.

PS.  Why, yes, actually you can buy Copernicus Cards.

Homicidal monkey cards for hopeless romantics: series 12 and 3

OMG. LOOK WHAT JUST CAME IN THE MAIL.

So, it comes as a surprise to no one that I broke down and bought myself the giant panda suit. Except Victor.  It was a surprise to him.  Not a pleasant one.  Probably because he was upset I didn’t buy one for him too.  Or maybe it was because he wasn’t expecting an enormous panda to leap out at him, snarling furiously in the middle of his morning conference call.

*rowr*

But this is the kind of thing you have to expect when you work from home.  Victor says having your wife run screaming into your office dressed as a giant panda at 9:00 in the morning is something no one should ever have expect and I pointed out that unexpected pandas are good practice for when you have a home invasion because if you aren’t rattled by spontaneous pandas then you’re probably going to be able to keep your cool during the zombie apocalypse.  If anything, this was like a safety drill.  One that he failed.  We’ve agreed to disagree on this.

I wanted to give you pictures but Victor has pushed a bookshelf in front of his door so I had to take all of these myself with my computer camera.  I call these “Blogging with Dignity: The Spontaneous Panda Series”.

I changed this one to black and white so I'd look more Panda-ish. Also so that you couldn't tell that I arrange my books by color like a mental patient.

This is me trying to remember how to spell "poignant".

What’s weird is that if you darken and crop this I look a *lot* like the Virgin Mary when she’s very disappointed in you. So logically speaking, when it’s not darkened and cropped I look like the Virgin Mary in a panda suit. So now you know what that looks like.

Kind of spooky, really.

In this one I was trying to look all hard and threatening and gangsta-ish, like Eminem in 8 Mile but it kinda just looks like I have a tummy ache from eating too many babies. Which is what I assume pandas eat.

I think the moral of this story is that everyone should own a panda suit because they’re awesome and very warm.  Victor says the moral is that he’s calling a locksmith to install a deadbolt on his office door.  I think maybe Victor doesn’t understand what a “moral” is.

PS.  I’m still really disappointed that the flying squirrel costume was sold out but my friend Jon made me this as a consolation prize:

What might have been.

And now I’m sad again.  Also, I can’t stop singing the panda song.

It’s probably good that I work from home.

I’m on a lot of painkillers, part 2

Okay.  So turns out that my finger is broken, but only in the way that the rest of me is broken, i.e., no bones are shattered but it’s still technically fucked up and useless.  Thus, I’ve had to type everything this week using one hand and I deserve a medal for this.  But I have to write down part two of my cruise experience because I’m on a lot of painkillers and if I don’t do it soon I’m not going to remember it.  If you’re finding this blog for the first time ever I recommend reading Part 1 first because this is going to be confusing for even my most ardent reader.  Or maybe just skip all this and go look at pictures of kittens.  Your choice.

Day 2:  So we arrived someplace in the Bahamas, I think?  And then we took another boat to some other place but I don’t know the name of it.  God, I should work for the Travel Channel.  The important thing here is that we ended up on a tiny pirate island filled with dolphins and crumbling 100 year old towers and rumors of buried treasure.  It was awesome until we were packing up to leave and Hailey got lost for the first time ever and I had a panic attack that I still haven’t recovered from.

"Look mommy! My shadow is a monster! Also, get your xanax out because as soon as you turn around I'm going to run back to the boat and hide in there because your panic attacks amuse me." She didn't say that last sentence out loud but it was totally implied.

Day 3:  Hailey begged me to let her go to the on-board kids camp so I dropped her off and on my way back to the room I realized that I’d lost my lipstick, which is a HUGE FUCKING DEAL.  I have to have lipstick on at all times or I feel naked so I went to the gift shop to buy some, except the cheapest tube they had was exactly the price of an unlucky number that I avoid at all costs so I asked the clerk if I she could charge me a dollar extra and she said no because she wants the ship to sink, apparently.  I told her that I’d just give her a tip and she said she wasn’t allowed to take one which is ridiculous because I’m supposed to tip the waitress who brings me over-priced drinks but I’m not allowed to tip a clerk who might very well be keeping the entire ship from sinking by simply not making me have to use that unlucky number?  I explained that that was totally ridiculous and she agreed although I’m not sure if she agreed for the same reasons and she recommended that I buy the only other tube of lipstick they had, which was $35 but I felt pretty certain that Victor would probably sink the boat intentionally out of spite if he found out I’d spent $35 on a lipstick because of a phobia, so instead I bought the unlucky number lipstick and then I promptly ripped off my thumbnail trying to open the lipstick package.  I blame Victor for this since the $35 lipstick would never have caused this sort of injury.  It was bleeding profusely and the clerk offered to call the ship doctor but I waived it off because it was kind of a relief to know that my bad luck was probably over and also because I knew that if I didn’t go lay down I was going to pass out because that’s what happens whenever I see blood.  So I quickly walked back to the elevator to take me to my room but my thumb was bleeding like mad by that time and there was a small puddle of blood beside me when another couple walked up and looked at it warily.  “Someone spilled their wine” I explained, both because it sounded more festive and also because I didn’t know if they passed out at the site of blood too and I didn’t want all of us passing out at once into a puddle of my blood because that’s unsanitary and also because it would look like some kind of drive-by shooting to whoever found us and that didn’t seem fair to anyone.

Then I got back to the room and used the head of a creepy towel animal as a tourniquet and drank some booze from the mini-bar which I know was over-priced but I was in pain and it was medicinal so stop judging me.  Then I sat down and read a book where the swanky main character toasts to the furniture and I was all “That’s awesome.  I never drink to furniture” so I toasted to the coffee table and the lounge chair and I felt very cosmopolitan but then I reread the paragraph and it turns out she was toasting to the “future”, which makes more sense but is incredibly dull.  Then I toasted the buffet and took horrific pictures of my mutilated thumbnail so I could show Victor what he’d done to me while he was out having a work meeting.   I might have had too much to drink.  Again, I blame Victor.

Day 4:  We’re supposed to be flying home but we have 7 hours before our flight so at the airport we found a guy who said he’d be happy to take us on a tour around Miami.  Because there’s nothing safer than getting into a car with a stranger who hangs around the airport.

Summary of the tour:  “Look kid!  A horsey!”

Hailey, horsey, little Havana.

“And there’s Humphrey Bogart in a car.  For some reason.”

I don't know either, y'all.

“And here’s the shop where you can buy all your animal penises.  I’ll be back to pick you guys up in few hours.”

Yeah. Go back and read that again.  It’s not a typo.

So was the raccoon giant or is the penis giant? Because I can't tell which noun is being modified. The cashier didn't know either and seemed surprised I was even asking her about penis bones. Obviously she doesn't read my blog. Also, YOU WORK IN A SHOP THAT SELLS PENISES. Know your shit, lady.

No shit, y'all. I can't even make this stuff up.

And I didn’t buy any of the penises because I’d already fell in love with Pocahontas Wikipedia who was hiding on a back shelf but I couldn’t afford him so instead I bought a bunch of necklaces with dead bugs in them.  This is when Victor threatened to cancel my credit card because he doesn’t understand art.

Why yes, they *are* totally bad-ass.

In short?  Best Miami tour ever.  And none of us got stabbed.  Bonus.

Comment of the day: Through a weird series of events, I actually own a raccoon penis bone, still in its original package… wait, let me rephrase that, still sealed in a little plastic bag. (The *original* original package would be a dead raccoon’s penis, which would be a weird thing to have lying around the house.) Anyway, I have no use for the damn thing, so it’s yours if you want it.  Also, I need to stop reading your blog at work, because screaming things like, “Oh my God, I’ve got a raccoon penis bone!” never fails to draw concerned looks from my employees. ~ Evn

It’s like they’re just doing it on purpose now.

Remember a few weeks ago when I fell into a shitstorm because of Dr. Pepper and then the next week the questionable Dr. Pepper was missing and instead that shelf was covered in Bawls?

I just got back from Target.  The bawls have been removed.  They’ve been replaced with nuts.

I couldn't even make this shit up, y'all.

Honestly, it’s like the magical shelf of things-to-make-Jenny-suspect-she’s-being-videotaped.

And I actually went and looked for the Bawls since so many people said I should try them but I couldn’t find them anywhere and when the clerk asked me if I need help I said “Um…I’m looking for bawls?” and he said “Like, tennis balls?” and then I said “Yes.  Exactly like tennis balls” because I couldn’t even make myself say “No.  I’m looking for the kind of bawls you drink” and I considered pulling out my phone to just show him the picture I’d taken of their bawls last week but it seemed even more awkward to ask someone to wait while you scroll through your camera-phone photos to find the one you’d taken of their bawls.  I’m sure all the people at Target had a great laugh about this later since they are obviously doing this on purpose just to fuck with me.

Comment of the day: Lowe’s does the exact same kind of thing! Evidently, if you you want to re-caulk your tub, you need caulk softener to remove the old caulk. Because no one likes old caulk, right? The caulk is right where you’d expect, but caulk softener is not. So then you have to find someone and tell them “I have caulk, but I need caulk softener.” Awesome. And then go into a little group and laugh at you (really) and then they call ahead to the caulk-softener aisle, and those folks are already laughing at you when you get there. True story. ~ BonnieAnn