My Brother Is The Non-Caped Ketchup Cleaning Crusader!

I'm always in awe of the legendary innovativeness of my family.
It's as though we sprang from the sacred hoo-hoo of The Mother of Invention herself!
Anyway, my 22 year-old brother may have lost his job due to to a newer kind of sport I'll dub "EXTREME PROBLEM SOLVING."
See, he's afflicted with a chromosomal disorder similar to Down's Syndrome but he's high functioning enough to secure placement in a work skills program at school.
Alas, Amelia Bedelia Syndrome may also play a part in this sad, sad tale of well-meaningness gone horribly awry.
Anyway, the manager of the restaurant at my brother's latest job site instructed him to go out to the patio and clean all the ketchup bottles.
Always the dutiful employee, my brother did exactly as he was told.
The problem? Well, the problem is that he cleaned the ketchup bottles by meticulously licking each and every one until they shone brilliantly; something only a potent spit varnish will accomplish.
I'm the mother of picky pickers and a sister to a real live ketchup licker.
Awesome!
The teacher in charge called my mom to notify her of my brother's kitty kat-bath-meet-ketchup-bottle cleaning technique in what had to rank as the most awkward conversation ever.
Puzzled, my mom just kept repeating, "But he doesn't even like ketchup."
How many licks to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? The world may never know.
How many licks to clean a ketchup bottle? Ask my brother who is now presumably the newest ketchup-licking champion of the world.
I can't wait for a fast and furious match-up between him and the CATSUP-licking champion of the world because that'll undoubtedly be a feat of condiment epicness that Pay Per View will add to their lineup.
Advice For Ketchup Bottle Cleaning Day:
A cleaning rag that's handy is dandy.......... but to licker is quicker!

You Can Take The Girl Outta The Beach, But You Can't Take The Beach Outta The Girl. True Dat, Beach!

Whatever happened to that perky little surfer girl we all grew to know and love? Did she suffer a horrible fate from a tragic hair dye overdose? Admit it, it's more than a little schizo to go from bubbly blond on the movie screen to bouncy brunette on your TV show. In my mind, I like to envision that one day Gidget happens upon a group of pre-EMO girls laying about all glazy-eyed on the beach, toking it up, and listening to the Rolling Stone's 'Sympathy For The Devil.' Annoyed by her endless sparkly chatter, and spontaneous singing of the Beach Boy's Greatest Hits, they punish Gidget with the worst bikini strap snapping Malibu has ever seen. It was the 'SNAP!' heard round the world. Huh, apparently, not everybody wishes they could be California Girls.

Nobody else could surf like the amazing Gidget. Where else can you freakin stand still on top of a surfboard while a sunny ocean backdrop scene plays behind you to give the appearance that you're actually in the water? Yeah, I could get my fat arse up surfing too with a few cinematic tricks and gravitational miracles. Ain't nobody going to mistake me for a Little Surfer Girl, though. Go on a Surfin Safari with Gidget? Sure, let me get my gun. So, Paula Cole wonders, 'Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?', but I'm insatiably curious as to 'Where Have All The Gidgets Gone?' Did she marry that lame duck, Moondoggie, and spawn a whole gaggle of preening and useless beach bums? Did she make a pact to sell her soul in exchange for becoming an immortal beach bunny? What? And then, while cruising through H-Town last week, all of my Gidget questions gained an immediate answer.

Gidget Goes Houstonian! Instead of 'Beach Blanket Gidget,' she now stars in 'Red Realtor Jacket Gidget,' along with it's sequel 'Straight Up 6% Gidget!' Yes, Gidgets alive and well! If you consider selling real estate in an over saturated housing market trapped in a downward spiral, alive and well.

I wonder if she shows houses in her old, termite-damaged Woody with surfer boy Jack Johnson cranked up on the antiquated stereo system? Listening to Jack Johnson loses you any coolness points you may have once had, Gidget. Does she still wear her teeny-weeny, ruffled bikini underneath her modest realtor uniform so that she can peel it off and go running to the beach at a moment's notice? Oh wait, we live an hour away from the oil contaminated, grungy waters of the Gulf Of Mexico. Maybe she doesn't mind swimming with the debris and brown submarines floating in Houston's famed bayou system? The only Surf that Gidget will find around Houston sits on a shelf at the local grocery store's cleaning aisle. Surf laundry detergent doesn't come with a surfing board. No. Instead, it's usually used in conjunction with an ironing board.

Oh Gidget, California Dreaming on such a Houston day.