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Flushing. But Not Another Post About Toilets.

***WARNING***  You probably shouldn’t read this post if you just ate.  Or are currently eating.  Or ever plan on eating again.  Thank you.

I’ve been hesitant to write this post this morning, not solely due to the grotesque nature of the topic, but because I have a rather large commitment happening tomorrow — nothing big, mind you — just a baby celebration I’m throwing for one of my best friends in the world and 30-40 of her closest friends — and I don’t want today’s subject to freak my friend — or the dear girls who are helping me organize the party — out.

So let me preface this by saying, I.  Will.  Be.  There.

My whole predicament started about a week ago when my dear neighbor (and she is a dear, dear neighbor) invited us over for dinner.  Fantastic!  Except when we arrived, she sounded terrible, and kept insisting the problem was her allergies.

Turns out, it wasn’t.

And apparently she must have licked all of my food, because I’m pretty sure I’m currently suffering from a wee bit of a cold.  I thought it might just be a false alarm and all I needed was a good night’s sleep last night, but that wasn’t in the cards because Capone decided he was going to be sick as well, and let’s just say that the nastiness coming out of his orifices was far worse than anything currently coming out of mine.


The bad news is it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest.  The good news is I have a couple of cold remedies up my sleeve that, while I might be fairly drained during my prep work today, should hopefully fend this thing off long enough to ensure that I am a fully functioning team member tomorrow.

It’s important to remember that I am not a doctor.  Not even close.  But these are the steps I take whenever I have a cold, and they never seem to last as long as they do with other people:

1)  I know it sounds obvious, but I wash my hands ad nauseam when I have a cold.  Every time I blow my nose.  Right before I touch any food.  Any time I touch… anything.  All.  The.  Time.  To the point where they’re chapped and dry and it makes no sense applying lotion because I’m just going to be washing them again in a few minutes anyway.  This is not only for my benefit, but also for the people around me.

2)  I sneeze or cough into my shoulder — not my hands.  Think about it.  How much stuff do you touch with your shoulder?

3)  Switch out my toothbrush.  Just think of how many germs that bugger must be carrying.

4)  Vitamin C.  I load it up, baby.  Like 3 pills a day.

5)  And finally, my absolute savior, a sinus rinse.  Like I said, I’m no doctor, but not only do these puppies drain all of the gunky nastiness from my cold-riddled head, I do believe it also rinses out tons of germies that would otherwise still be swimming around wreaking havoc in there.

It consists of a simple plastic squirt bottle and some saline packets.

I warm up my water a bit — Just a bit!  You don’t want to boil your nostrils.

Add the saline…

And then squirt it on up.

Obviously, if you’re going to try this, you’ll want to refer to the directions.

Now.  I’m not going to lie and tell you this is a pleasant feeling.  Far from it.  You know how it feels when you jump into a pool and get water up your nose?  Well, it’s like that.  Because… you know… you’re squirting water up your nose.  But just like the uncomfortable pinch from a shot or a good ol’ eyebrow waxing, it’s a necessary discomfort that’s for our own good.  And, I’ve discovered that adjusting the direction of the spray (within the confines of your nostril, that is) can make a difference in just how uncomfortable it feels.

Plus, it’s kinda cool when the water — and other gunk — comes out the other side.

Just sayin’.

Don’t worry, I’ll spare you that picture.

I rinsed once this morning, and already I’m breathing easier and the elephant who’s taken up residence on my chest feels as though he’s losing weight.  So.  Fear not.  I’m doing everything in my power to not be an infectious germ farm come Saturday.  I will. not. let. this. win.

*Contrary to how it may appear, this post is NOT a paid advertisement for NeilMed Sinus Rinse.  That just happens to be the brand I picked up from the Walgreens, but I couldn’t care less which brand you use.  NeilMed did not pay me for this post.  Though if they wanted to, I could care which brand you use.

Plant Nanny Giveaway Winner!

Although I read through all of the comments to the giveaway, I knew the only fair way to pick a winner was to use to select the winning comment number.  Some of your responses to what kind of wine you enjoy cracked me up — and others I’ve added to my list “to try.”


This giveaway is no longer accepting entries.  I used to select the comment number of the winner, and the winner is:

Rebecca! (Who likes a Pinot Noir.)

Thanks to those who participated — I wish I could send plant nannies to all of you!

Poppin’ the Giveaway Cherry


This giveaway is no longer accepting entries.  I used to select the comment number of the winner, and the winner is:

Rebecca! (Who likes a Pinot Noir.)

Thanks to those who participated — I wish I could send plant nannies to all of you!

This morning I promised a surprise, so here goes.

Today, I was shocked – shocked – when I went to the Domestiphobia Facebook Page and saw that 100 people like it:

I mean, seriously?

I don’t think I could name 100 people who like me in real life.  So the fact that you come to this site and read it and maybe actually even get something out of it from time to time, really – and I mean really – means a lot to me.

It’s a better feeling than successfully making coq au vin.  It’s a better feeling than tiling your own backsplash.  It’s definitely a better feeling than breathing in capsaicin.  And it might even be a better feeling than intentionally falling headfirst out of a Cessna Caravan.

Wait, that’s a lie.

I’m pretty sure there’s no better feeling than jumping out of a plane.  Or maybe I should say, there’s no feeling like it.


To celebrate this little milestone (in addition to attending a wine tasting for employees at the bar tonight, because we all know that free wine = good times), I’m doing 2 things:

1)  Announcing that Domestiphobia is now on Twitter.  I created the account about 3-ish weeks ago and still don’t really know how to use it.  But if you’re on Twitter, and you happen to want to “follow” me, it might encourage me to… I don’t know… actually figure out what I’m doing over there.

2)  Conducting a giveaway.  (Is conducting the right word?  Hosting?  Having?  Doing?  I think I’m losing my mind.)  That’s right, my friends – I’m going to give something FREE to one lucky commenter.

Just what are you giving away? you might ask.  Because I know what you’re probably thinking.  You’re probably thinking, I bet she’s giving away a crappy coupon book for free hugs or that old dishwasher she can’t get rid of that’s been sitting in her garage for the past 2 years.

And to that, I say, What the hell is wrong with a coupon book for free hugs?!  Seriously – mine usually go for like $5 a pop.

And while I still think the hug thing is an excellent idea – especially because I’d likely get to travel somewhere new and interesting just to deliver said hug – the giveaway is more along the lines of the dishwasher option in the sense that I’m getting rid of something I’ve had sitting in the closet for quite some time and never got around to using.

Plant Nanny for Wine Bottles

No, I’m not giving you a bottle of wine.  Like one of those would sit in MY closet unused.

Remember when I bought these Plant Nannies to use in my garden?  Well, I never opened one of the boxes, and at the rate my last garden was destroyed by termites, I’m thinking it might be a long while before I use them again.

So today I’m giving away my last box of (4) Plant Nannies!

Plant Nannies

Oh, yikes.  That sounded a lot more exciting before I typed it out.

Is this a crappy giveaway?  If so, I’m sorry.  I’d love to give something more extravagant, but I’m unemployed, people.  So you’ll take my ceramic plant feeders and you’ll like ’em.

And you don’t need a garden to use them.  In fact, they work great in pots as well, if you just want to try your hand at growing one plant at a time.

Wine Bottle Plant Nanny

See?  They make your plants look like winos.

Which is really pretty hilarious.

And if you actually take the time to remove the labels from the wine bottles, it can look quite pretty.

Wine Bottle Plant Nannies

But I think we all know I like to do things half-way.  ‘Cause that’s how domestiphobes roll.

So anyway.  If you win these totally awesome nannies for your plants (because all nannies should feed their kids wine), you can go get all stinky in your garden and grow some beautiful and/or delicious greens to make your life a little better.

And speaking of stinky readers, maybe that coupon book of hugs wasn’t such a good idea.

No offense.

The not-so-fine print:

1.  I’m really really sorry to my international readers, but Justin will only support me shipping this within the continental U.S.  You see, until I’m actually making money, he’s not that thrilled with me giving ours away.  Which, dammit – makes sense.

2.  To enter, simply leave a comment to this post telling me what kind of wine (if any) you prefer.  Chardonnay?  Sweet red?  Boxed?  With some fava beans and a nice chianti?  And if you don’t drink wine, why the hell not??  (Allergies, pregnancy, and legal age limit are the only real excuses I can think of.)

3.  I will use some type of random comment selector thing to pick the winning comment.  All entries must be in by 4:00 p.m. Eastern Time on Wednesday, May 18th, 2011.  Once the winner is randomly chosen, I will announce it on this page and contact the lucky reader for a shipping address.

4.  This box of plant nannies has never been used.  I will pack them as cushily as I can, but I am not responsible for any that might break during shipping.  If any of them do break, I deeply, sincerely apologize.  And I’ll send you a complimentary virtual hug – no matter how stinky you are – to make up for it.

Stormy Weather

This was what Katie and I saw on our walk home from work yesterday…

Looks like a storm’s a-comin’…

Yup.  That’s definitely a storm.

The kind of storm that makes you stop dead in the middle of the road and stare in awe…

The kind of storm that makes you whip out your camera and start taking picture after picture…

The kind of storm that leaves you nearly speechless…

The kind of storm that suddenly reminds that your metal water bottle would make an excellent lightning conductor…

So long, storm!  We’ll be appreciating your majesty from the indoors now.

I Heart Infomercials (Pt. 3)

Continuing this highly uncharacteristic strain of integrity and mental fortitude (don’t worry, I’m seeing a doctor about it later today), here’s the next batch of infomercial reviews, served piping hot and fresh from my lil’ noggin to yours.

And because my brain is much like a runaway train in that any derailing whatsoever could result in mass destruction and devastating casualties, rather than trying to back up to explain what this is all about, I’m just going to refer anyone out of the loop to this and this.

All right, (clap) let’s do this!

Simplicity Compact Fabric Shaver (, $7.99)

According to the product description, this little contraption is designed to remove pills and fuzzies from sweaters, blankets, carpet, Andy Garcia’s back, etc.  So I decided to test this theory out on a favorite sweater I’d worn since the mid-90s that had developed some pesky fuzz-nubs in some rather “titillating” locations.  (Let’s just say I looked cold all the time.)  Anyway, because of this, I hadn’t been able to wear it since back in ‘ought-3, so I was delighted to find that such a device existed to remedy my problem.  However, after the shaver had its way with my poor sweater, the pills had become mangled, raggedy tassels.  (Which, also, were not a good look for this particular location.)

I’ll be honest, I was pretty bummed out.  This sweater had been with me through bad haircuts and good times and all the unholy awkwardness of my teenage years.  We’d seen things together.  Done things together.  Horrible, unspeakable things.  And, frankly, I wasn’t ready to let go of that bond just yet.  But, after the shaver did its dirty work, it was clear there would be no miraculous recovery for my sweater so, with a quivering chin, I took it outside to the garbage can, cradled it lovingly in my arms and told it that it was a good sweater, and then put it out of its misery.

By shooting it.

Kind of spooked the neighbors a bit, I think.

Verdict: Granted, it was my fault for not testing the shaver out beforehand, but you live and learn.  Maybe it’d work better (or at all) on some different kind of fabric, but I’m too bitter and resentful to ever try again.  Fool me once, shaver. That being said, if you’re prone to developing sentimental attachments to garments or despised the movie Old Yeller for robbing you of your sweet childhood innocence, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this device.

Next up…

VuPoint Digital Film and Slide Converter FC-C520-VP-BX2 (, $102)

I bought this as a gift for my parents last Christmas.  I distinctly remember standing in the checkout line, congratulating myself on being such a thoughtful daughter as I imagined the hours of nostalgic joy they’d derive from poring over our old family slides, digitizing the treasured photos of our youth for future generations to cherish.

Unfortunately, we’ll never know how well the slide converter actually works because, as it turns out, my parents have zero interest in that scenario.  Apparently, they’d much rather spend their free time (and children’s inheritance, might I add) jet-setting off to exotic locales, braving the great outdoors, hosting lively parties, and generally being total parental deadbeats.  Kidding, Mom and Dad! (Hah, like you guys read this blog anyway…)

Verdict: This is a great gift for sentimental, loving parents who actually cherish reflecting on their family’s precious memories.  Or, if you’re just a bitter child with an axe to grind.  (How come you never went to any of my school plays, huh, Mom and Dad??)

Whoops, sorry about that.  Moving on!

Swiffer WetJet (available at most retail stores, $8 for starter kit)

In the beginning, there was darkness and disorder.  Muddy shoe prints, dried coffee stains and mysterious sticky spots commiserated conspiratorially out in the open.  Stale crumbs lurked in the shadows, menacing passersby.  Roving rival gangs of cat hair rioted in the streets.  The broom crouched in the corner, quaking in its bristles.

Who could save this lawless land?

And then, just as nearly all hope had vanished, the Swiffer WetJet moseyed into town.  Bringing with it its long, righteous arm handle of justice.

And peace and order were restored to the kitchen.

The end.

Verdict: The Swiffer WetJet is the only reason our apartment hasn’t been condemned for major Public Health and Safety code violations.  So I recommend.

Up next on the chopping block…

Fling-ama-String Cat Toy

My oldest brother put me onto this cat toy, which hangs on a doorknob and whips a string around via a battery-powered elastic conveyor belt.  He’d bought one and raved about the hours of endless entertainment it provided (I’m assuming for his cat) — and, since I’m all about neglectful parenting, I jumped at the prospect of wearing out Roxy and Talula’s fluffy little backsides without having to actually interact with them in any meaningful way.

And it worked great for the first few weeks.  Every time they started getting unruly or obnoxious, I just turned that sucker on and—bam!—they’d gravitate to it like pod people to the mothership, fully prepared to trip their tiny cat minds until either the battery died or they collapsed from exhaustion.  But now, much like Pokemon, slap bracelets and leg warmers, the fad has apparently passed and my cats are so over it.

Verdict: This thing has gotten rave reviews all over the Web and won awards by people who apparently give out awards for that sort of thing, so I’m going to assume my cats are just finicky jerks and heartily recommend this item to any and all cat owners.  However, one word of caution:  Prior to purchasing, you will need to come to terms with the fact that owning this item means that you are, in no uncertain terms, a cat person.

That was a hard step for me to take because it’s generally viewed as being about as cool as wearing a fannypack or collecting commemorative plates.  And, especially unfortunate for Chuckles and me, we didn’t have any other serviceable door in our apartment to attach it to except our front door — which means, this convoluted contraption shrieks “WE’RE CAT PEOPLE!” to every poor sucker who enters our home.  The only thing more obvious would be if we had a six-foot-tall cat tower in lieu of a sofa in our living room or matching T-shirts with their faces screen-printed against a rainbow backdrop.

Anyhoo, that’s enough reviews for a while.  There’s still plenty more where that came from, but even I’m sick of this project by now, so I can only imagine how spiteful and vindictive you guys must be at the prospect of another infomercial post.

Maybe we’ll pick it back up again sometime down the road, but I think we could all use a “break”.

You know, just to kind of clear our heads.  See where we want this to go.

Maybe date other blogs.

Kidding. Katie and I will hunt you down if we find out you’re cheating on us.

I Heart Infomercials (Pt. 2)

Well whaddaya know?

I guess I am going to continue this whole “infomercial bidness” I started way back when after all.

I fully intended to let this topic fade into obscurity like so many of my other empty promises (I mean, why start making good on those suckers now, right?) — but, lo and behold, here we are.

I’m just as surprised as you are about this sudden, uncharacteristic bout of tenacity.

So, where were we when I last posted?  Ah yes.  As I mentioned before, I’m a flaming infomercial addict who… yadda, yadda…

You know what?  Just go back and read it here.

All caught up?  Good. 

So let’s begin…

AAA 42-Piece Emergency Road Assistance Kit  (, $16.27)

Every Christmas since I turned 16, my Dad has gotten me some sort of emergency car kit complete with jumper cables, orange traffic triangles, battery chargers, flux capacitors, etc.  Every Christmas.  I get the feeling my Dad thinks I’m some sort of pathetic, dim-witted female who regularly finds herself stranded helplessly on deserted roads in the middle of the night. 

Which I am

Which is, of course, precisely the reason it’s more probable I’ll choose to accept a ride from a twitchy-eyed stranger with a hook for a hand than waste my time bothering to figure out how to actually use anything in this kit.  But, hey, thanks for thinking of me, Dad! 

Verdict:  Basically, the only time I even remember I own this kit is when I take a corner too fast and hear a vague dull thud from the trunk.  So it’d probably be useful only for those who (a) are sensible, resourceful, capable adults who are vigilant about their personal safety, or (b) morons like me who think it’s comedy gold to to tell passengers that the thud they heard was just a drugged homeless guy in the trunk.   

Next up…


My Lil’ Reminder Keychain* (, $8.95 for 2) 

Technically, I didn’t buy this item.  This was a thoughtful gift given to me by my oldest brother as a way to conveniently record quick notes to myself when paper and pen (or, you know, blood and walls) weren’t handy.  And it probably would’ve simplified my life in miraculous ways if I weren’t entirely creeped out to the very core of my being by it. 

Ok, so maybe my reaction’s a little extreme.  But, the way I see it, considering how often I engage in weird, strange, quirky, and/or bizzare behaviors, it’s only by the grace of the Lord Almighty that I have managed to avoid becoming a hapless, slack-jawed victim of YouTube.  So choosing to use a recording device seems a little too much like thumbing my nose at Fate.  And that prospect alone might’ve been reason enough for me to steer clear, but then add to that the time I was 13 and went on vacation to Fort Fisher with a girlfriend and her family and her Dad got a call from the hotel manager a few weeks after the trip saying that he had us on video surveillance doing cartwheels in the hallway in our bras and underwear in the middle of the night.  

It’s just a bit traumatic to have to carry around for 15 years the knowledge that your friend’s Dad knows that, on occasion, you willfully engage in half-naked cartwheels, you know?    

Verdict:  I recommend this handy gadget for those of you without crippling media phobias or proclivities toward “double rainbows”-style freakouts.  And for those who do, well, God help us.

* Ok, I lied a bit.  This isn’t the exact same brand I own, but I couldn’t find mine online.  I know it’ll be hard to trust me again.  I’m willing to go to couples counseling if it’ll help us get past this.

Moving on…

Debbie Meyer Green Bags (, $9.95 for 20 bags) 

These bags, which are designed to naturally extend the life of your fruits and veggies, are the holy grail for anyone like me who decides, in a guilty, post-weekend-long-S’more-bender, to spend a small fortune on leafy greens, only to sentence said produce to a lonely, smelly, agonizing death in the bowels of the crisper before finally being tossed out a month later. 

Mind you, these bags don’t work miracles — it won’t keep fruits and vegetables fresh forever and it sure as heck won’t make them taste any better than what they are — but it prolongs the shelf-life by about a week to a week-and-a-half.  And that’s usually just enough time for me to have Hoovered up everything else in the fridge (including condiments) and, in a hungry rage, grudgingly resort to those celery sticks and alfalfa sprouts I bought three weeks ago.  

Verdict:  The downside is these bags are a little flimsy (it’d be great to have this technology in Tupperware), need twist-ties, and wear out after about 15-20 uses, but if you’re a regular produce-eater — or just prone to random bouts of guilt-driven produce purchasing — they’re definitely worth the money.

Next on the list…

Braun Silk-epil SoftPerfection Epilator  (, $41.49)

Whether or not to buy this device is perhaps one of the most personal decisions you will make in your life.  It’s the Sophie’s Choice of hair removal.  See, on the one hand, the Epilator works — and, unless you are some sort of Yetti, you will enjoy blissfully hair-free legs, armpits, etc., for up to two weeks.   On the other hand, there is a good chance that, during the initial hair removal process, you will pass out on your bathroom floor and not be found for several days, thus significantly reducing your appreciation for smooth legs during that time. 

Basically, it comes down to what lengths you are willing to go to in order to be hair-free.  Because the way the Epilator works is by ripping out your hair follicles by their roots.  And that is not merely advertising jargon like “Blasts through soapscum!” or “Destroys odors!”  This device quite literally RIPS YOUR HAIR OUT.  Right in front of its wailing follicle family.  And the process can take up to an hour if you’ve got really hairy legs or a lot of surface area to cover. 

I’ll admit I’m probably not the typical consumer here.  I absolutely loathe shaving because it takes me up to 30 minutes, I always somehow mangle my shins while leaving random patches around my knees, and then I have to do the whole convoluted process all over again the next day.  So, for me, the up-front cost is worth the long-term reward.  Also, it helps that (a) I have a pretty high pain tolerance in general, and (b) years of using this gadget have deadened all sensation in my lower extremities. 

Verdict:  If you’re thinking about buying this, I recommend you do some serious soul-searching.  Go for a walk on a beach.  Watch a sunset.  Then take a pair of tweezers and tweeze a few choice hairs as a test.  If you start swearing and punching things at random, you’re probably not an ideal candidate.

Ok, that’s it for now!  Stay tuned for the next installment… which, at this pace, will be around Fall 2011.

I Heart Infomercials (Pt. 1)

So far, you guys have been really good sports to put up with my endlessly trivial ramblings about refrigerator lint and sponges and whatnot.  

But, let’s be honest.  There’s probably only a finite number of those posts you’ll tolerate before you start assembling into a mob hellbent on delivering swift Indian burn- and swirlie-style justice. 

Or just, uh, stop reading entirely. 

Wait, scratch that.  That’s not an option.

Fortunately, with the recent return of my marital manfriend Chuckles, I’m feeling rather magnanimous and altruistic and big-wordy today.  So, in a rare act of mercy, I will forego the inane anecdotes I usually post about and actually dispense some semi-useful information.  

If we were in a late 90’s house party movie, this is where the music would screech to a halt.

I know you’re all like “Say wha’?” right now.

But I’m here to tell you: “Fo’ shizzle.”

So, here goes.  I’ve already confessed that I’m a shameless infomercial addict who’s spent obscene amounts of money buying stuff because some toothy maniac on TV was shrieking at me to, right? 

Well, I figure I might as well exploit my utter lack of self-restraint by imparting my wisdom unto the masses on which products are actually worth buying and which ones are, in fact, the useless crap that they appear to be to just about everyone but me.  

On a side note, I like to think I’m a pretty smart cookie in real life.  I don’t let myself get taken by Nigerian princes or real estate scams selling beachfront property in Iowa.  So I don’t know why I’m so darn gullible when it comes to infomercial pitches. 

Maybe it’s the warm, comforting glow of the television that beckons to my lonely, sleep-deprived heart in the wee hours of the morn.

Maybe it’s watching some schmuck-actor’s mind-blown elation at his long-awaited deliverance from the sheer agonizing torment that had been his life before this product.

Thank GOD someone finally simplified THAT convoluted process!

Or maybe some small, hopeful part of me really wants to believe that at least some aspect of life could be blessedly simplified in just three easy payments of $19.95.

No matter the reason — my loss is your gain today, friends! 

So here’s how it’s going to work:  I’ve got a lot of products to review since I’ve been at this whole ‘infomercial bidness’ for a while now, so I’ll be breaking this down into semi-manageable blog-chunks over the next couple days.  

But since I’ve already reached a massive word count just to preface this little project, we’re only going to have space to review a couple today.  Oops.

So, without further ado…

Shake-It Flashlight (, $8.95 for 2)  

The concept behind this battery-less, bulb-less flashlight is to draw upon your own energy reserves to generate, through vigorous shaking, a reliable, maintenance-free, limitless light source. 

Sounds nice, right? 

It’s not.

After shaking this sucker for the amount of time necessary to maintain a feeble beam of pale yellow light for any extended period, you will no longer require a flashlight, as you have developed a massive, hulking bicep and are now able to punch through car doors, concrete walls or any other pesky obstacle impeding your access to more convenient nearby light sources. 

This isn’t the Shake-It.  I just wanted to use this photo.  Huh-huh.

Verdict:  There might be other shake-able flashlights that work out there, but this ain’t it.  So unless you find a better brand or you’re prepared to start sewing size XXL sleeves onto all your S/M shirts, just take my advice and stock up on batteries.

Up next…

George Foreman’s Lean, Mean, Fat-Grilling Machine (, $14.99)

Thanks to George Foreman, I managed to narrowly avoid malnutrition despite a steady, four-year diet of Bojangles BoBerry Biscuits, late-night gas station hot-dogs and Busch Light back in college — look for my new diet book, available January 2011! 

Occasionally, when my eyes and skin would take on a sickly yellow pallor and it’d smell like a deep-fryer when I sweat, I’d break this puppy out, slap a few protein-rich chicken breasts on it and be nursed back to health in no time. 

Of course, nowadays I look like Gollum from Lord of the Rings if I happen to accidentally skip my 20-vitamin routine one morning, but I digress…  

Verdict: Consider this a great — nay, life-saving — graduation gift for any college-bound kid.

Ok, so that’s all for now!  I’ll be sure to cook up plenty more tasty product reviews for your consumer appetite (can you tell it’s almost lunchtime?). 

But, in the meantime, feel free to chime in below with your own infomercial anecdotes so I don’t feel like such a total loser.