Friday, December 23, 2005

He Sees You When You're Sleeping

I caught my son snooping for his Christmas booty. He tried to justify himself by quoting the Patriot Act.

Time to turn off Fox News.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Fa La La La La!

On the first day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...a new toilet brush for my john!

On the second day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...two scrubby sponges and a new toilet brush for my john!

On the third day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a another new brush for my john!

On the fourth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges, and another damned brush for my john!

On the fifth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and dammit if my john ain't clean!

On the sixth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a new improved battery powered brush for my john!

On the seventh day of Christmas the housewife gave to shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and where in the hell am I going to put another toilet brush you eejit?

On the eighth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!...four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and really, another toilet brush, can we say OCD?

On the ninth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and don't you dare give me another toilet brush you deranged woman!

On the tenth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...ten slightly used pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and I swear, I'm peeing outside from NOW on...

On the eleventh day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...eleven kids for playdates, ten used pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and I will never defile your pristine john ever again, are you HAPPY???!

On the twelth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...twelve packs of midol, eleven kids for playdates, ten smelly pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a hand knit toilet brush cover for my john!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

A Little Air Up There

I'm trying really hard to blog...really I am!

But nothing comes to me.

I don't even have a decent fart story I can think of. Perhaps I should go about today trying to make a fart story happen so I can tell it to you later. This might require going out in public. You may thank me now for the sacrifices I'm prepared to make for my dear readers and other hangers on.

Four out of the five members of my family have had their turn with the two day horkin' germ. I'm the last hold out. I wonder if I'll come down with it or not? There has been a days rest in between each horkin' family member. If I do my math correctly today would be my rest day and tomorrow I should be horkin'. As long as I get over it by Saturday I'm good. brain is like sludge! I know I have more to say! I'm menstrual again. I need a cookie.

Ginko Biloba can be sent to:

The Absent Minded Housewife Brain Depository
Red Garter Casino Parking Lot
Bendover Boulevard, Bendover NV 89883

Sally Struthers and I thank you.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Do they still make wooden Christmas trees, Charlie Brown?

Today I went about putting up our Christmas tree. My eleven year old son stated that the tree looked small. It is a small tree, only 5' 8" or so. (Even though the package says it's six foot.) I asked him if he knew the story of our old fake tree. He didn't. You, dear readers and other hangers on, don't know it either. Lemme prattle onward.

Justin and I married in on August 25th. Exactly four months later Christmas arrived. Since we were fortunate enough to start our marriage flat broke, we had $80 to spend on each other for Christmas. We had $20 left of our marital Christmas fund and we'd given up on having a Christmas tree in our first crappy apartment. It wasn't that important anyway, we justified.

We were in a Kmart, trying to decide how to blow our $20, when we found our tree. It was 75% off and cost us an entire $12. You have to sell six foot fake trees 75% off when they are missing four inches. We couldn't just have a plain tree, oh no! We bought 18 velvet bows for a buck, a string of red mini lights for a buck, and ten glittery snowflakes for a buck. With the last of our Christmas budget we started a tradition. We purchased one special ornament. Every year Justin and I get a new ornament, and one for each of our children. The first ornament was a naughty mouse peeking out of a toy chest.

And... because I worked at a grocery store at the time... all the free defective candy canes I could carry home. I managed to get 12 green candycanes on our tree. Three years later these candy canes were eaten by a sneaky kid I'd given birth to.

Justin and I have been together for fourteen Christmasses. Thirteen married Christmasses. We've used our short fake tree every Christmas because it means something. For the last three years I've threatened to buy a new tall fake tree, but I never do it. We'll use this tree until it sheds all it's green plastic needles and all the wire bits wear out. When that happens we'll bury it in the backyard in it's box with it's water bowl and it's favorite chew toy.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Observations of the Week

I visited the deli at the local grocery store on Wednesday. I was going to pay for my purchases there but they were reprogramming the cash registers. The deli clerk points to the cash register ring up screen as proof that he is indeed helpless. It's scrolling TESTESTESTESTESTESTESTEST. Do I read this as "test"? Nope! For the likes of me it's flashing TESTES TESTES TESTES TESTES.

This on top of giggling when I asked the clerk to cut the cheese.


When I got my kids home from school yesterday my six year old son, who is usually bright and sunny, suddenly looked very sad. I asked him what was wrong. He said, "Today in school a fart came out of my bum." I asked if he was embarrassed. His usual bright sunshiney-ness instantly returns and he replies, "No, it was hilarious!"

I agree, farts are funny. Son, be loud and be proud.


Yesterday my mom calls to ask my husband what I'd like for Christmas. He doesn't know. I don't fault him for this as I don't even know. He doesn't even know what he wants either. It's a good thing we are married.

I like practical gifts. My mother in law always asks me what I'd like. One year I said I could use some socks. She got me 6 pair of the nicest socks. She also likes practical gifts. We've given her a frying pan and file folders. Gimme stuff I need so I don't have to buy it myself. GIMME GIMME GIMME! ahem...

I get passed the phone and Mom asks me what I'd like. I'd already told her I wanted a studfinder. Not that I have trouble finding studs already, but sometimes they aren't as self evident as you'd like them to be. Mom asks "what else?" I tell her I'd really like some silicone muffin pans. Mom tells me I'm boring. Mom asks me if I need anything personal. I tell her I need underpants.

I have the feeling I'm going to get a jingle bell trimmed thong and some hemorrhoid ointment. Ho ho ho.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Salt Shake-her

Justin and I, for the most part, are finished with the Christmas shopping. There was a shopping emergency because my Mom proved to be the difficult gift receiver this year. In a panic I phoned my little sister Jill and she helped me out.

Where I live there is NO shopping. None. You think I'm kidding don't you! With the exception of a grocery store and some casino gift shops, there is very little to buy. My town is consumerism free. You wouldn't think it would be very pleasant, but actually it is. The amount of running around I do is at a minimum and I like it that way.

We schedule 240 mile round trips into Salt Lake City to do the shopping. The drive doesn't feel so long anymore. You would think that driving over 120 miles of salt flats and barren landscape would get dull. It doesn't. It's amazing how much it changes every time we drive it. It is really very beautiful. This is a picture I stole of the salt flats when the salt mines flood them. Only parts of the flats are hardpack. The rest of the flats look tough, but they are mush. Dry salt on top with a layer of mud underneath. When the salt on top is dry enough the salt mines scrape it off. Dorky people regularly decide to get off the freeway to drive on the flats and end up tire deep in mud. It's really very funny.

So, after driving 120 miles to shop, across the flats and the salty goo and dealing with truckers and more dorky folks driving 120 miles per hour, I wasn't leaving SLC without a present for my mother. What did I get her? I'm not telling! She might be reading this!


Shopping is serious exercise. Shup! I'm not just saying this because I'm female! You can't disagree with me about the stress inducing, panic driven, sweat dripping exercise that is holiday shopping. It's hell...

This is why I'm very grateful that while shopping the day after Thanksgiving Justin bought me December's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

The Percussion Massager! I know God loves me because this gadget exists. (Even though no large photos exist and dammit, I'm too lazy to take one.)

Just plug it in and you can literally beat yourself into bliss. It's a Sado Masochistic dream and your defiant muscles will submit! Bad Girl! When Justin uses this on my back my neighbors call the police to quiet my Thor thundergod-like moans and my satisfied screams. I especially enjoy the attachment that looks like a brush-head. It makes my brain googly.

You can buy this and similar gadgets at many fine establishments. I got mine at Radio Shack for $29.99 after instant rebate. The Radio Shack clerk smirked at me. Damned electronics geeks.

Thank you Radio Shack percussion massager, I like you, I really like you.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

Today I have no horkin' children in my house. One of my children was horkin' Friday and Saturday. We went shopping on Sunday. Then another of my children was horkin' on Monday and yesterday. Keeping home children from school really screws up my routine. I can't spend all day in the bathtub reading Good Housekeeping.

When I take my kids to school in the morning I have an amazing view to the south. There are about twenty miles of flat grassy plain with the road that goes to Ely cutting through it. This morning the sun was low and big casting a shadow of the entire mountain to the east over this plain. The sunlight around the shadow was a glowing pink. Beautiful. My camera can't catch this view. It's too big.

Holy crap, there are like a thousand birds that just flew into my backyard. My cat is going nuts. They will crap on everything!


I was just discussing with some online friends of mine how Justin and I give the bestest white elephant gifts! We are creative white elephant gift givers. We love to wrap up our unused items and we know the recipient will be thrilled with our thoughtfulness!

Our white elephants have included:

A opalescent sequin vest and silver shoes.
A roll of Xmas print toiletpaper.
An uneaten and still kinda warm taco bell hard taco.
A quart jar of vaseline.
A deceptive CD of Christmas carols. There was no clue given on the cover that it was going to be a very merry disco Christmas.

It's not like we've received good white elephant gifts over the years. I once opened a beautifully wrapped package containing BYU dorm dryer lint and Justin got a VHS copy of "A Very Brady Christmas".

Now, why aren't we invited to any holiday parties anymore? I have a jar of cheez whiz and some "ribbed for her pleasure" condoms I ain't using!

Monday, December 12, 2005

I think my husband should... the one responsible for cleaning toilets in this house.

It's the male's DNA that determines the sex of his children and therefore it's Justin's fault we have three boys*.

*The baby boy that is still in diapers is excluded.


My house is a disaster. It's messy in a disastrous sort of way. It's dastardly how disastrous my house is.

I. Must. Clean.

You. Must. Come. Help. Me.

You refuse! Why???

Friday, December 09, 2005

To Whom it May Concern...

Besides keeping my horkin' child at home from school today, I've been having the fun of reporting a kiddy porn site to the FBI website.

Hey asshat! (yes you, dear reader from Mere, Warrington, UK). When you click "next blog" you need to know that if the next blog has a public sitemeter on it that anyone can see what blog you visited last. That includes the disgusting blog I just reported to the authorities containing barely legal photos of adolescent girls spreading in their underwear and the definitely illegal photos of them topless.


To the owner of the disgusting blog I just reported. Thanks for posting your Yahoo ID, your ICQ # and your email address. I will be forwarding this info to I hope to God they nail your ass. We all know what happens to pedophiles in prison.


To the parents of young girls allowing them to "model" in their underwear in barely legal lavicious poses...if I ever met up with the likes of you I'd spit on you. Twice. Hell has a special spot reserved just for your projected narcissism and underdeveloped parenting skills.


If anyone knows how to email someone who can do something at Blogger please let me know. I'd appreciate telling them what they've got their name on instead of using the flag button.


Now that that little outburst is over...check out my progress on my fairy costume! --->

Pedialyte Ho!

My six year old woke up this morning horkin. Let's pronounce hork properly. Get a phlegm wad in the back of your throat and really force out your breath when you enunciate the H sound. Then over pronunciate the K. Ready? guguuugurgleHHHHHHHHoorrrrKah. Again...very good.

So, since I was up since 4 a.m., I did a little sewing in between kid horks. 5 a.m is an excellent time to drape fabric off your dressmaker's dummy. Dressmaker's dummies never hork.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Tagged for Ten Tidbits.

Blazngfyre tagged me. I sense conspiracy.

Ten random lil facts about Becky that you may or may not want to know:

1. Though I was a home ec major in college I took no home ec in highschool. I was not a Future Homemaker of America. I was a Future Farmer of America. I am not a farmer now.

2. I can usually name which TV shows had spinoffs and what they were. Family Matters with Steve Urkel? Spinoff from Perfect Strangers.

3. I dislike shellfish type seafood. It's not the flavor, it's the texture. The only time I want shrimp is when I'm pregnant. I made it so I won't be craving shrimp again.

4. I have nipple hairs and there isn't anything I want to do about them.

5. I see dead people.

6. During lunch hour in third grade I refused to eat with the cutlery the school provided. I ate with chopsticks which I washed daily and kept in my desk. You can indeed eat jello with chopsticks.

7. I've never had the urge to take drugs, smoke or drink to excess. I was told once that this was because of my good clean Utah upbringing. It's not. In fact my non-urge has no real basis in any sort of morality. I'm high on life.

8. I find Mr. Bean sexy. I also find Jon Lovitz sexy.

9. When Justin and I got this computer I didn't even know how to email. Justin had to teach me. Now I know way more about computers than Justin.

10. When I was four I put a piece of shell macaroni up each nostril. I managed to get one shell out but couldn't remove the other shell. Shell macaroni, when soft, acts like a little suction cup. My parents had to take me to the emergency room to remove it.

The End.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005


There is some notion men like sports on TV. I suppose this is true. I have no idea if there are going to be sports on TV tonight but I do know what IS on TV tonight. I further know that many men will be glued to their boob tubes for this program.

Yup, you know what I'm tawkin'bout. It's the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. 10/9 central on CBS.

People sure are interested in underwear these days. I'll even admit to owning a couple pair. Sometimes I even wash them. Sometimes I even try to sew my son's underwear.

Who doesn't own underwear? You don't? You lie! The Fruit of the Loom apple man is going to stalk you now. Underwear ain't a rare commodity dear...someday you'll get a pair in your happy meal.

Underwear has been around as long as there have been people. Everyone is very concerned with covering their bits in one way or another. Despite the freedom and convenience of the fig leaf, us human's have creatively evolved and that includes our intimate apparel.

We make underwear that covers up near everything...

We make underwear that covers next to nothing. (Seriously, where do you put your skidmarks in these?)

We've stuffed our bits into our dainties, hoping for that boost in animal attraction... growwwwllllll...

And, we wear our underwear in the hopes of having good hygiene and as a defense against univited guests.

Underwear goes everywhere we go. Hopefully it's comfortable.

We even manage to force our underwear on the unassuming naked.

I do rather like the Victoria's Secret Fashion show but not because of the underoos. I like it because of the big wings on the angels. They make me salivate. You ask, why all this posting about underwear? I do have a reason besides VS...


It's only a month after Halloween. I found it in my sewing storage closet underneath the yellow silk flowers and the fuzzy green and yellow yarn. Pictures of what I intended to wear for Halloween coming.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Ants in my Pants

When my oldest was seven or eight years old (he's now 11) we had some problems with him getting the idea that it was bedtime and therefore, in the interest of actually sleeping, one must stay in their bed.

One particular night he'd been up to:

Go potty
Go potty again
Get a drink
Check a loose tooth
Go potty
Beg for a snack
Get an extra blanket
Brush his teeth...

Needless to say, I was annoyed. I told him to go to bed, stay in bed, or else the duct tape was coming out. He sighs and goes back to his room.

Fifteen minutes later he emerges doing another potty dance. I declare, duct tape in hand, that he does NOT need to go to the bathroom. I didn't care if he exploded, he was going back to bed! He tells me his penis hurts. I roll my eyes. Anyone that handles it that much going potty in lieu of going to bed is going to have a sore penis.

My son dials up the intensity of the potty dance and his eyes well up in tears. I relent. I tell him I'm going to have to look at the penis so I can see what's wrong with it. He's embarrassed, I'm embarrassed. The pain becomes unbearable and he lets me look.

There is an ant on his penis...

And it's biting the hell out of it.

Don't insects have bedtimes? I brush the ant away and tell him to go to bed. I manage to save my guffawing until after he shuts his door.

The next day I venture into his room to clean up whatever food he'd snuck in there to cause the ants.


At the beginning of this school year my oldest son declared he was too old to wear underwear. I was picking him up from school and this revelation brought him to wracking sobs.

I told him that even I wasn't too old to wear underwear and that not wearing underwear wasn't going to be an option...ever...not even when he's 40.

It took another few minutes of wracking sobs to reveal that he didn't want to go commando but that he felt he was too old for tighty whities. Tighty whities are for babies. He wanted to now wear manly boxer shorts.

I told him his style of underwear was up to him (afterall, I wasn't wearing his underwear) but he'd have to wait for a trip to the store to buy some boxers.

It was at this point I made a "mom" mistake.

I had the bright idea, since I'm a seamstress and all, that I could pull some fabric out of my stash and sew him some boxers! He looked at me like I was insane. I'm not really insane, just randomly dumb...

Whose mother sews their UNDERWEAR for them?

Obviously, my son's mother. I'm going to be a great mother in law someday.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it.

I've been so damned girly lately.

I purchased a can of hairspray today. Aerosol. (What's the term for this? Oh yeah, I'm old schoolin'. Yerrr.) I have not purchased a can of hairspray for years. The last brick walls of my teenaged rebellion have fallen.

I know, I know. It's an oxymoron to be a teen rebel against hairspray. Especially since I was a teen in the late 80's and early 90's. I should have been properly inundated with hairspray and mousse and teasing and hair fluffitude. I resisted. I resisted because my mom is the queen of Aqua Net. We once teased her that if we added up the costs of all the Aqua Net purchased for her use over the last 40 years of life she could have purchased a large yacht. My mom has very precise hair.

I didn't exactly want un-precise hair. I just wanted a do that I didn't have to, well, do. This is why I kept my hair Demi Moore in Ghost short from the ages of 12 to 18. When I got a haircut I could tell the stylist exactly which attachment to use on the electric clippers. I even eschewed hair stylists in favor of an old fashioned male barber in my highschool years. My very short hair naturally fell exactly where I wanted it and it was never a mess, ever. Hairspray? Pshaw!

Yet, all the years I kept my hair boy short I had a recurring dream. I'd dream about suddenly growing yards and yards of silky brunette locks. Masses of long hair reaching out and enveloping people in follicle enhanced love. Only when I began growing my hair did these dreams end.

So...over the next several years...I let my hair do it's thing. Except for a few trims I grow it to waist length. That's nearly three feet of brunette hair with a few grey ones in there for good measure. I stayed far away from perms and mousse and hairspray. I enjoyed my very long naturally flowing hair in many ways. (It's a great toy in the bedroom, ahem.)

Last year I decided my long hair was making me look less womanly and more like a very tall 12 year old. (Not that my flat chest had anything to do with it.) I made an appointment with a hair stylist and cut over sixteen inches of my hair. Chop chop. My braid got shoved into an envelope and off to Locks of Love it went. I left with an adorable pageboy and an adorable mistake.

The dreams came back.

Despite knowing that donating to Locks of Love was a very nice thing to do, I MISSED MY HAIR! I missed buying gallons of Pantene conditioner! I missed pulling it out of folkses armpits when I hugged them! I missed pulling it off my freshly chapsticked lips on windy days! I missed the feeling of it on my nipples during times when it's appropriate to be completely naked! I missed my identity!

So, I start the growing. Growing is helped by my third pregnancy. I'm at a point now where I feel my hair is where it should be and the dreams are gone again.

And it's hairspray that has made me feel less like a nineteen years gone 12 year old. I've recovered womanhood with the discovery that when I put a little curl in my hair I can keep it bouncy with a little spritz. When I get to big spritzes I'll let you know. Nah, I didn't buy Aqua Net. I got some other brand.

Mom, you'd be so proud of me.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

I see you!

Hello image searchers!

I know what you were searching for.
That's disgusting! What would your mother say?

I further know that you've clicked the photo of my tubal ligation procedure and ended up here. I'm Becky..The Absent Minded Housewife. I've been properly sterilized. That's a good thing because I'm as fertile as a cockroach and just as hairy.

Stick around for a while. I'm not going to provide you with whatever perverted subject you were image searching for, but I am funny from time to time. Click here for current posts.
(No. The photo of my tubal ligation is not perverted. It's science.)

...and while you're trying on my literary swimwear, please keep on your undergarments. Thank you.
Post inserted Feb. 14, 2008.

Who am I?

I was supposed to be named Brian.

Before there was ultrasound a doctor would listen to baby's heartbeat and decide by how fast it was thumping away what brand the baby would be. Being in utero was obviously an exciting experience for me because my thumping was faster and therefore I'd be a boy. My parents already had two daughters and a son so another boy would round things out nicely.

But then I was born...lacking a penis.

Had my parents prepared themselves for a daughter? Nooooooo. They had not chosen any girls names. While they pondered the choices it was my oldest sister Lori that finally got the job done and named me a day after my birth.

My given name is Becky Lee.

No, I am not a Rebecca.

It's amazing to me how many folks out there insist that I am a Rebecca. How terrible it is for your parents to name you just Becky! That's a foreshortened name! It's a nickname! It's TWO SYLLABLES!

I've received similar flak for the spelling of my middle name. I spell it wrong for my gender. Lee is apparently male and Leigh is female. I was kinda confused about my gender up to that point but thanks to you, dear spelling fiend, I've cleared that all up!

And why is it that when I use both my first and middle names together I get accused of being from Alabama? I bet people from Alabama don't find that funny in the Cletus? I often use my first and middle names on legal documents because my husband's stepmom is also Becky. Yes folks, we have the same name. She got the privilege of being a Rebecca, however. Imagine my surprise when our hospital records got mixed at one point and I'd learned I'd given birth to nine children. While Rebecca and Becky aren't differentiated, Becky and Becky Lee are for some reason. Go figure.

My parents weren't giving up on the name Brian. My little sister also enjoyed the amusement park that is my mom's uterus, had a faster heartbeat and she was going to get the name. Lacking a penis at birth as well, she was named Jill. syllable...started short and stayed short.

A Brian came into our family several years later when Jill decided to marry one. Brian likes to show people his socks.


Rebecca Leigh

Monday, November 28, 2005

My vagina is angry as hell and it's not going to take it anymore!

When Justin and I started dating we made a mutual agreement about the dynamics of our relationship. We agreed to stay away from gender based generalizations. You know the type...the "men are dawgs" or "women are nags" line of thinking. Justin, at that point in his single dating career (as opposed to his married dating career?) was awful tired of his dates offering up the line, "You wouldn't understand because you're a man." instead of using any effort to converse or explain. I am perfectly happy to explain myself and so I agreed.

Here we are in the wake of Men are from Mars, I'm from Uranus school of thought. (By the way, "Dr." John Gray's only degree from any accredited institution came from a high school. Barbara De Angelis is on her fifth marriage.) Is it really very fair to judge our significant others on a general mass of genitalia restricted behaviors? Does John Boy Gray's explanation of men going to their caves and women yakkin' like it was going out of style really produce one on one results? Should women submit to testosterone patches so we can get along with our hairy male counterparts? Can I get Justin to go shoe shopping with me?

Here is my mostest favorite gender based generalization. This is the one that really makes me roll my eyes. Are you ready? Here we go...

Men are more visual than women.

I call bulltits. I know plenty of visual women. I am a visual woman. Otherwise why would this... ...make many women drool? (and some men too!) There are no indications of this man's personality present here, or his interests or qualities or talents or values or habits. Here all we have is abs and a towel. Here we have a disturbing lack of body hair.

I have to admit I really don't understand the fascination with Brad Pitt. I also have to admit I have a little tingle going when I see a pot belly on a man. Squooshy goodness. Shoulders are good too...and thighs...and uhh...yeah...what was I saying?

Oh yeah, gender based generalizations...

They are a cop out. If you are having issues with your significant other blaming a gender based stereotype isn't going to make your issue more livable or more understandable. All it's going to do is let you avoid for a time the real messy work of actually solving a problem between two individuals. Don't make me point out the key word in that last sentence.

My name is Becky. I am a housewife (which has stereotypes all it's very own, check out my October 17th entry) and I understand mess. I don't understand why anyone would watch ESPN, but dammit, I understand mess.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

I spellchecked "tryptophan"

Ahhhh, back from the beehive.

And busy little bees they were in Utah County. All bumbling about at various malls and Wallyworlds. We are forced by our geography to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving and the day after the day after Thanksgiving. We strategically planned our Black Friday so we wouldn't end up black and blue. Early morning deals? There isn't enough coffee in the world to get me to a Walmart that early in the morning. I dislike being maced.

Despite trying very hard, I did not repeat the Black Friday incident I relay in this stinkin' post right here. I know some of you were thinking it.

We spent our first of two Thanksgiving meals at my husband's uncle's home. He likes hunting. Their family room is a tribute to carnage and fur. Have you ever tried to eat pie in front of a stuffed Warthog as well as 100 other glass eyeballs? I highly recommend it. It keeps you right on your diet.

At least this year I wasn't lulled into a nap by tryptophan and football on TV. There was a year that I fell asleep at dear Uncle Shotgun's feet. Have I lived this down? Nope.

Justin just asked me if I was posting about his ex-girlfriends because he saw the pic of the warthog. The man is amazingly sensitive.

Thanksgiving meal two takes place at my oldest sister Lori's house later that day. The only fur present is from her three cats and her husband. My sister is going to become a grandma! Her talented son has dispensed the contents of his loins onto a lovely girl and baby will be coming in July. Why is my nephew so talented? He undid my two hook bra during a game of Yahtzee with two fingers in about half a second. That's ok...I got back at him by writing "I love titties" on his hand in magic marker. He gets his nimbleness from me.

I also tried to beat up my younger sister Jill. She punched me in the boob. To be fair, I think... but I'm not sure... but I think I punched her there first. My dad broke it up and sent us to our corners. My mom tried to tell us because we insisted on punching each other in the chest growing up that that is the reason we both ended up with small boobs. I disagreed. We both used to punch older sister Lisa in the chest and she got boobs. We came to the conclusion that Lisa is not over the swelling. She's really small chested under all that Tshirt fillin'.

I hope you all had happy...and if not happy at least entertaining...Thanksgivings.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Yeast Inflection

Today is Baking Day! Behold the relatively boring bread making post below.

Bread is my job for the two Thanksgiving dinners that my family has been blessed to be invited to. This year I have to bake for four dozen plus people. (Insert "YAR!" here.) Grandma's dinner is in the afternoon and my Mom's dinner is in the evening.

I'm varying the breads this year from straight dinner rolls. Mixing in the breadmaker now is dough for loaves of honey wheat bread. After this two loaves of straight white. (I don't bake in the breadmaker, just mix and proof.) Add to this a couple loaves of banana bread. Then I'll be trying a recipe passed down from my paternal grandmother for a sweet dinner roll baked in muffin tins. Then....I make the dough for dinner rolls.

This dough (dough? The stuff is goo) is proofed overnight in the refrigerator. That's why I mix it late in the evening. I shape it in the morning, let it rise and bake it. The rolls on the edge closest to the back of the oven are my breakfast tomorrow.

I also have to fold laundry. To look at laundry glass half full...I'm awfully glad I don't have to fold laundry for four dozen plus people.

At this point you can insert all the kneading and dough and bun baking double entendres here. PLEASE liven up my day and give me your best double entendre in my comments.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Does fish poo smell like fish or poo?

I should be cleaning the fishtank.

We have a ten gallon tank with five fish. One fish for each member of the family. They have names. Justin's fish is a bottom feeder which he's named (Kevin Federline) Scumbag. I had a frog which was named Thor, but Thor went to froggy heaven and was replaced by a white angelfish I named Dr. Phil. The kids have fish named Whiskers, Jessa and Junior.

Whiskers is a big white fish. He was the tank bully, keeping Jessa behind the heater in the corner. When I went new fish shopping after Thor's sad demise I was told to stay away from the angel fish because they can be aggressive. Poifect! I purchased Dr. Phil and now Jessa can swim with the other fishies. Whiskers tried to lay some smack down on Dr. Phil when Dr. Phil was the new fish but Dr. Phil wasn't going to take any of that shizznit.

Scumbag wasn't purchased for his looks. He is supposed to help keep the tank clean. But, much like his namesake Kevin Federline, he's lazy and he's learned to mooch. Have you ever seen a sucker fish swim upside down? Scumbag does! He swims upside down and eats the fishfood off the top of the tank. He fills up on the good food and forgets that he's got a job to do. The tank is filthy. Scumbag has grown about three times his size since we got him. Next week, when he dies from over-consumption, we'll have to dig him a hole in the backyard to dispose of him because he'll be too big to flush.

But then maybe Scumbag will manage to get himself married to Jessa and then them pimps and hos can have a baybay. (Meaning, I may buy a snail to do Scumbag's job. But what to name it?)

Friday, November 18, 2005

How to get your 11 year old boy to clean his room in two minutes flat...

You tell him at 3:28 to clean his room because you intend to go to the movie theater at 3:30 so you can buy tickets and wait for the 4 pm showing of Harry Potter and the Goblet of whatever...

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Convection-luted Thinking

I've succumbed. That's right, my flesh is all too willing and my will is weak.

I'm eating a cookie.

Not just any cookie. Oh no! Anise flavored biscotti kissed by dark chocolate and blessed with macadamia nuts. When I dunk this cookie in milk the milk audibly sighs.

...and no, my pre-pregnancy jeans aren't fitting yet. I'm working on this. I bought myself new clothes shortly before that little surprise and as God is my witness, they will fit again!

I deserve a cookie. I'm a good person and doggammit, people like me. I'll do extra yoga tomorrow. I'll eat all my vegetables. I promise I won't make any more bad swears.

I know! I'm craving cookies because I'm menstrual. This is making me deficient in vitamins only found in dark chocolate and macadamia nuts. Very cold milk helps the cookie vitamins be absorbed by my brain cells and that translates into writing a better blog.

I'm eating cookie for you, dear readers. You're worth it. Share? Nope!

Don't make me kick your ass.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Is that a sponge brush in your pocket...

Since the personal renaissance I relayed in this stinkin' post right here, I've been drawing some. Today I've sold my first watercolor. Have a looky.

It's titled "Laverne".

While I like fantasy art, I am of the opinion that in most examples it's tacky. Oh God tacky. Yet, I'm prostituting my talent and I will draw what sells. Fairy art sells. Tackier mermaid art sells. Art with boobs in it sells. Do big flowery vaginas on canvas still sell? I'll paint some of those if they do.

This is why I'm giving my fairy art funny titles. Currently I'm selling a blue fairy named "Ethel". I just noticed the sitcom theme I have going on. That has to be Freudian.


It's the fifteenth. Everyone stand up and cheer because midmonth means it's time to present you with November's Bestest Housewifely Doodad! Ahhhh, feel the warm fuzzy housewifely-ness. I didn't mean you could touch me there, that's perverted.

I cannot survive the trauma that is doing a sinkful of dirty, greasy, post spaghetti sauce dishes without my...

"What's a Dobie?" you ask? It's a simple polyurethane sponge encased in a scrubby nubby plastic cover. Sized perfectly to fit in the palm of your hand, Dobie soaps up your dishes with the spongey goodness inside and powers off the sticky bits with the scrubby nubby outside. Isn't a good man spongey on the inside and nubby on the outside? Good men do dishes.

Dobie won't scratch your most precious dishes. Yes, that includes the margarine containers you use instead of real cereal bowls. For this reason it's also swell to use in your shower to shine up your hard water spotted faucets. You use the Dobie in the shower, not the margarine container...geez. I do not want to know what you do with margarine containers in the shower.

Dobie comes in single and twin style packaging. I like buying two at once. You never know when you are going to need an emergency Dobie.

Thank you Dobie, I like you, I really like you.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Why Dinosaurs are Extinct.

Saturday I took my almost 12 year old son to see Zathura. It is now the coolest most cool and cool-tudinal movie ever. It's the zenith of movie enjoyment. I thought it was alright.

There was almost a movie disaster. It was cut short for the audience of Zathura by a tantrum. Daddy took his toddler daughter to see a movie. He thought he could sneak around on her and see Zathura but she knew better. She knew it wasn't Chicken Little and so she screamed and she moaned and she kicked and she hit. I was already annoyed with this duo for butting in front of me in the snack line and just shrugging off my "Excuse me!" All the cajoling in the world wasn't going to convince this little girl that she would indeed like Zathura. At the point where I was going to start throwing bits of my hot cheesy pretzel at them, they got up and left. AND...miracle of miracles...they didn't return! Did they move into the other theater to see Chicken Little? I dunno, I don't care! Buh bye darlings!

I so love children in movie theaters. Some children handle it fine. Others...well we've all been there. My oldest child was in the "other" category for most of his childhood and we deprived him of early childhood theater experiences. Poor kid, we've damaged him for life!

Let me tell you about some children who should have been subject to more deprivation...

1. I went to see Spanglish. Seated in front of me were two women, a man and three girls, ages 7-11. They proceed to play a game of tag throughout the whole movie. Tag complete with running and hiding and "you're it!" I asked them on multiple occasions to sit, as mama didn't seem to be paying attention because she was too busy talking out loud to the characters on the screen! Dumb me didn't think to complain further.

2. Justin and I went to see Alladin. Of course there will be children. This particular child was running in between the seats pre-movie and generally annoying folks trying to be seated. This is when, clumsy me, I spill my entire 64 oz Sprite on the floor. Someone goes to tell management and Justin and I move a row behind my spill. Running child chooses our previous row to run in and slips then falls into a puddle of Sprite. I think God caused me to spill that day.

3. Justin and I go to see Jurassic Park. Seated in the front row is Daddy and his five year old son. Every ten seconds for the first part of the movie the child asks, "Daddy, where are the dinosaurs? Daddy, you said there would be dinosaurs! Daddy, dinosaurs! Where are the dinosaurs!" Dinosaurs show up...they are large and cute. "Daddy, lookit the dinosaurs! Daddy dinosaurs! Daddy LOOOOK!" The dinosaurs eventually get some attitude and the boy in the front row proceeds to scream in fright the rest of the movie. Good choice there Dad.

4. Justin and I go to see The Phantom of the Opera in Provo. The theater is PACKED. I'm seated next to a sweet BYU spirit who cannot believe that they will be seeing the BEST MOVIE EVER MADE IN ETERNITY besides "The Work and the Glory" (That's a mormon movie about Joseph Smith, if you don't know.) I know she's about to wet herself with excitement because she can't sit still. She pipes up with spoilers all the way through (Like her spoilers were any worse than that movie was...god it sucked.) and bursts into tears during the songs. I think she even had an orgasm during "Masquerade".

5. Our whole family (I'm still quite pregnant at this point) goes to see the last Star Wars. Across the aisle is Mommy and Daddy and small infant. Infant doesn't cotton to the loud noises and cries. Mommy whips out a boob and suckles him. Baby falls asleep until the next loud noise. Mommy whips out the boob and hooks him up. Baby sleeps, noise, boob...well you get the idea. Daddy keeps receiving cell phone calls. Near the end of the movie I heft my nine month pregnant bod out of my chair to go pee. I get dirty looks from Mommy and Daddy (and the infant too, I swear) for opening the theater door and allowing a little light in. Ten more minutes of movie and Mommy leaves baby with Daddy and takes cell phone outside. Baby cries. Movie ends. We pass Mommy on the way out telling cell phone friend that that was the coolest movie and she didn't even see how it ended!

6. I go to see Spiderman. I'm seated behind three teenaged boys who may or may not be my husband's students. They talk through the entire movie. At the end the Phantom gets what's coming to him in the nuts which makes all three of them groan heartily. I say loudly, "Thats what should happen to boys who talk through movies!" They turn around to look at me and the rest of the audience applaud. The teens appreciate my wit and silently watch the rest.


Saturday, November 12, 2005

Hey, How You Doin'?

I regularly check how you folks are arriving at my blog. While I'm still getting most of my hits from this pic of Katie Holmes (yes, I'm using Katie. Don't worry, she likes it.) I get the occasional hit from a search engine. Check out my placement in an MSN search using the term lonely housewife.

Oh yeah! I'm in such FINE company. Whatever can I do to be first?

I know what you were thinking. That's nasty.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Hug a Veteran

Have you hugged a veteran today? I hug one most everyday! Honestly, I don't hug him because he's a veteran. I hug him because he's cuddly and he has nice thighs.

Since it's Veteran's Day schools here are not in session. This means a day off for Justin and a day annoying us for the kids. It's almost 9 am and they are already as fidgety as meth addicts. I have duct tape at the ready.

Also, since it's Veteran's Day, the fare on TV is war movies. Justin likes war movies. I awoke to a loud barrage of gunfire. I love the smell of napalm in the morning?

This morning's movie was a WWII era flick called "Head in the Clouds" starring Charlize Theron and Penelope Cruz. While Justin thinks that Penelope's breasts have a distinctive and glorious shape, he prefers the platinum blonde draw of Charlize Theron.

I find Charlize amazingly talented. Anyone that can go from this:

To this:

And then back again:

...gets points from me. Yeah, I know the monster look is half makeup, but the pot belly in that movie was all Charlize baby! Now what she needs to do is give birth to three babies!

Oh Charlize Theron, you Aeon Fluxing tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She has more than two brain cells to rub together.

I think I'll go wrap up my undressed-ness in one of Justin's old BDU shirts and then proceed to really hug a veteran.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Sclemeel, Schlemazel, Hasenfeffer Incorporated

For my birthday my parents, my three sisters, a sister's husband and a grown nephew came to visit me. What a crew. What this means is that it's CASINO DAY! That's when we all set forth, a mass of loud family togetherness, onto the Montego Bay Casino for brunch buffet and penny slots. (Despite the look of the Montego Bay website, know there are NO tropical plants in Bendover, or beaches, or hunky craps dealers.)

At one point the ladies in my family sit down in a forgotten corner to play a row of Laverne & Shirley and Gilligan's Island penny slot machines. They are especially entertaining because when you hit the bonus round you get the dizzying fun of watching a turntable of coconuts or beer bottles spin your way to riches on top of the machine. I'm sitting at a Laverne & Shirley, my sister Lisa playing Laverne on my right, my mom to my left diddling a Gilligan and my sister Lori to her left also diddling a Gilligan. My sister Jill was behind us content with a keno machine.

(Excuse me a moment, my baby is three shades of stinky and it needs to be taken care of.)

I can't hit a bonus for the life of me. My sisters are hitting boners. My mom is hitting boners. I can't get a boner. I want to watch my beer bottles spin! Sigh. I had been ahead and I cash out of that machine with the same amount I put into it never getting a boner. I'm penny machine impotent. Damn you Laverne De Fazio! Damn you Fonzie!

My sister Jill moves in. She's a covetress. She's on my Laverne like white on rice. What does Jill do in her first couple spins? She gets a bonus. MY bonus. Jill bets 20 cents and gets MY BONUS. Didn't anyone tell her that it was my birthday? Apparently not.

The beer bottles spin, whirly whirly. They land on a multiplier. This is good because you get another spin and it will multiply the amount on the bottle and you win all the more. We cheer, but I cheer less enthusiastically than the others. The second spin lands on yet another multiplier. They cheer louder, I hrmph. We start attracting bystanders with our noise. Spin three...another goddamned multiplier. My family roars. I start cussing. Bystanders cheer. The final spin. Another multiplier. My family bursts into flame. I throw ashtrays. The crowd pats Jill on the back. Four multipliers in a row means a BIG bonus...

What did Jill win on MY bonus? One hundred dollars on 20 cent bet. She wouldn't share. She wouldn't even go find a cocktail waitress for me. Happy Birthday my ass!

Mom and I move so she can recoup the $25 she lost with another machine. She does this nicely by hitting a bonus for $78 with a 60 cent bet. She cashes out at around a hundred dollars happy as a clam. It put her $75 ahead for the day. She wouldn't share either.

I leave with $5 more in my pocket than I came with. More is better than less. Did I share my winnings. Hell no, they are MINE!

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Happy Birthday to Me

Today I'm 31. I'm in my thirties...gawd help us all.

Friday, November 04, 2005


There is no better time to blog than when your kids go to sleep early, your cat is purring sleepily in your lap, your husband is having a good pre-bed gawk at Bill Maher and you are both full of expensive Friday night seafood buffet.

Our family was seated next to an older couple at buffet tonight. They looked at us like we had just sucked the flavor out of the food by our mere presence. I understand this. I don't like to be seated next to the family with two boys and a baby either. However, my boys are typically well behaved in restaurants. We take 'em hungry and who has time to misbehave with a face full of crab legs and prime rib? The female half of the couple approached our table after they'd finished their meals and commented on my well behaved children. Yes, I'm bragging. In Utah there are no adult only restaurants. Every restaurant has a kid's menu and buckets of crayons. You go out to eat and you can expect widdle pwecious seated at the next table over to disturb your meal repeatedly and loudly. When you leave Utah and cross the border into Adult Only Casino Land you don't expect to be sitting next to children during your meal. You throw up your hands because escape is futile! I'm happy that my kids didn't attempt table dancing and doubly happy she thought to comment. Those things make your day. I hope they spend plenty of money in Bendover.

If you notice to the right and down lower I've posted a new feature. I would like to chronicle construction of my costumes on my blog as my own little motivational tool. Halloween is over and I'd like to jump right back into it again this year rather than taking a couple months off. I took all summer off this last year with good childbearing type reasons. I'm quite done childbearing now and I feel like I'm (a) behind. I'll add photos of the process as I go along.

My better half has been nominated by Green Hills Literary Lantern for The Pushcart Prize. It's an honor simply to be nominated. If the press includes Justin's poem in the publication I believe he'd spontaneously would be that big. In any case, Justin, I've always been proud of you. (Insert pushcart double entendre here.)

And now it's the weekend...ahhhh.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Life, Death and Toyboxes.

Saw II...Psycho Freaky Movie. Me likey. Better than Saw one? Oh yeah. I love a good horror flick, one that assumes I have a brain. This movie also assumes I'm going to the movie to watch it and not to impress my naive date hoping to score a hot buttered popcorn rub down. If there was a Saw II in IMAX I'd be the first in line to watch it.


Now that I've introduced this post with horror, I'm going to continue the theme with my yearly reading of my husband's obituaries. Yes plural.

Most every highschool student has had to do the exercise of writing their own obit in an effort to churn out creative thinking. Reading your student's obituaries is a painful process. What is supposed to be creative turns dull after the first three papers. Out of a class of 25 kids, 24 of them are going to be multimillionaires and pro basketball players. None of them die accountants.

Justin turns this around by having the students write HIS obituary. He presents this assignment every year around Halloween. I read them and judge ten or so papers the winners. There is nothing more creative than imagining all the ways your asshole waytoomuchhomework English teacher is going to die.

So far Justin has:
Died from a student's fart
Died from his own fart
Died in a drag queen electrocution
Died from being a failure as a gangbanger, holding up pastry trucks
Died because I killed him after learning he'd faked his own death

And that's only a sampling from the first dozen or so papers.

Justin's students can't believe I sit there laughing as I read. They think I must hate him if I laugh so much. At least they aren't picturing their English teacher doing normal married things, like sitting on the couch burping and farting in front of each other and barely noticing it unless it's an extreme emission. Ahhhh marriage....


I STILL can't find my corset! I will be killing folks shortly if I can't! I've looked in the kid's toyboxes and under the kitchen sink. If any of you are my psychic friends would you PLEASE tell me where I left it? Thanks!

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Bland of the Lost

I tried to post earlier this morning but the newest version of Yahoo messenger kept making my computer freeze. Let's try this again.

Here are some pics from my boy's Halloween party.

Pass the pretzel was a big hit.

This is my middle boy. Don't squeeze the charmin.
This year my son's school decided to not allow the students to wear costumes to class. The reasoning behind this was that there was a negative dynamic between the haves and the have nots. I can understand this. When you have to drive 120 miles to a Walmart for a kid's costume with the price of gas as it is, getting a Disney princess dress is not a priority. What gets me is this...Where is the creativity? About half of the kids I saw trick or treating last night wore street clothes. What happened to taking something out of the back of the closet and making your own? (Like the bloody boy above has done.) When did it become a faux pas to put together Dad's old bell bottoms and Mom's old beads and say "it's a hippie" ? That was all the fun when I was a kid, planning your costume for the entire month of October!

But, alas, I am a hypocrite. I'm in the costume and Halloween biz. I expect you to pay a lot for my skills and expertise! I'm providing you with a necessary service afterall! You need a recipe for fake blood? I gots one. You need a recipe for homemade kid friendly makeup? I gots one. Want to know how to make any costume black light sensitive? I'll lay it on you. Want an ape suit with a big red baboon bum sewn on the back? Right away.

I still can't find my corset. I've even looked in my freezer. I WILL TAKE PICS OF THE GOWN. I will turn my house upside down and I will find what I had out on Saturday. Instead of wearing my gown, I wore something warmer for trick or treating. Why do I need the corset? of the gown hook and eye directly to the corset and then it provides the proper shape and silhouette for the construction of the gown. Plus it pushes up my diminishing chest.

Monday, October 31, 2005


Where did I put my stinkin' know, the one that goes under my 18th century gown? Dammit! I had it right here!

Saturday, October 29, 2005

I am Halloween Super Fun Mom!

Echo Echo Echo!

Stinkin' font sizes...

The party is over...Thank God. I've gratefully used two of my bestest housewifely doodads (August's and October's). Link to right >>>>>

Four boys and one girl attended, all ages 11 and 12. Two no shows. Four pizzas. One gallon of ice cream. Five thousand candy corns ground into my carpet.

One boy came covered in fake red blood. My carpet got covered in fake red blood. And my couch and there is probably some in my new van. Thanks August's bestest housewifely doodad.

Another boy asked to use the restroom and then made a horrendous odor. Luckily it didn't go too far. Thanks October's bestest housewifely doodad.

I went to the store this morning for last minute party supplies. I got pumpkins for 8 cents a pound. This made me incredibly happy. Inside the store not a single Halloween item could be found except for Halloween themed party supplies and bags of candy in discount carts in front of the store. Note the's stinkin' TWO days before Halloween. By all rights I still should be able to buy that big Halloween themed candy bowl that used to be on the shelf that now houses Santa Claus mugs. Nothing is sacred. The store was out of beer...not that I wanted any for a party for adolescents.

Do not give kids expo whiteboard markers to make tombstones....sniffffff.

Do not huff directly from the fog machine.

The kids played games from my youthful Halloween parties. They declared that we had the best party ever, even though no beer was served and it ended at 8. I have photos I will post later.

I'm kinda tired now and the party isn't over for me...hint hint nudge nudge knowhatImean...

Thursday, October 27, 2005

I Want Candy

I was just sharing some of my history with my husband and I thought I'd spread the love and share it with you too.

The boyfriend I had before Justin was an interesting sort. My parents didn't like him. It had something to do with me being 17 and him being fresh out of the Navy and 22. This particular young man gave me a line. This line was unsuccessful.

"Let's paint the head red and pretend it's a lollipop."

Justin, the witty man I married, has this to say about that pathetic line...

"How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop? One...two...three....CRUNCH! Three."


Pressure Gauge Blues

I settle down into bed last night and I hear this strange noise.

"Justin, you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Hear that, that whooshing noise. That steady whoooosh."
"Oh that noise? Becky, it's your boobs deflating."

Sigh. Goodbye big nursing boobs.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

I'm in the Mood for Love...

To the side, like most any blog, you'll find links to blogs I read. I need to update this badly. The last update was to include WWdN: in exile under Wil Wheaton dot Net. I'm a longtime fan of Wil Wheaton. I had Tiger Beat pages lovingly taped to my wall of my Uncle Willy. He has such poise... I discovered Wil's blog two years ago. So fresh and so funny. It's unfortunate that he's had programming issues of huge proportions and has had to get a temporary blog.

Justin and I have been watching I Love the 80's: 3D on VH1. I tell Justin, "Wil Wheaton is on this series!" and he gasps. He knows me likey the Wil. I've taunted Justin with images of Wil on the desktop from time to time. Somehow this Wil worship has led to a marital joke about me wearing Wil Wheaton pasties...I don't know how to explain that one. If you see me IRL someday and I have a funny look on my face and a certain jiggle, I've got a pair on.

We are still watching 80's: 3D for it's own sake. At least I think so. I don't seem to be the only one watching with a schoolgirly dreamboat expression on my face. The only one in that series with tatas is Elvira and Justin isn't blank staring at those. Who's the culprit? Who is going to be the object of my wrath? She is SO going down...
Mo Rocca?

My husband is simpering over MO ROCCA? I know the man is pretty and funny and full of Daily Show goodness, but really! Why couldn't Justin simper over Wil Wheaton? (Because that would make excellent fantasy material.)

Oh Mo Rocca, you lisping nostalgia hyper tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question, it's the undeniable sexy geekiness.

I can understand that.


It seems that every morning, when I drop my kids off for school, my car always manages to be behind a man driving his new Lincoln. This is a shame because this man cannot drive. He's done 30 in the 15mph school zone and then 5 the next day. He uses the wrong blinkers. He goes over curbs like it was going out of style. He passes on the right to turn right when everyone else he's passed also has to turn right, blinkers on, and they didn't seem to feel the need to drive over people's yards to do it.

This morning he simply stopped in the middle of the street. 5 mph and then 0 mph. Dead stop. Why? Because the man had noticed two cats in the yard of the house across from the school mating. I know free porn is free porn, but dude, pullllll over to practice voyeurism and let the rest of us by! It's a blessed thing that cat sex doesn't last more than two seconds because he did manage to put one of his feet on the gas pedal and go. Yes, we honked. Honking doesn't disturb cat love.

This is worse than the mother of one of my son's friends who walked her kid from her car to the school sidewalk wearing an old orange holey Tshirt and bright red new silk pajama bottoms. Her story doesn't end with the morning. The next afternoon I spot her wearing the same pants, this time with a bright pink Tshirt, doing afterschool cross walk duty. I can't make fun of her for this. She's a smart lady. There is no way in those pants that the damned man driving the new Lincoln can miss her and therefore her life is saved for the time being.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

The 7 Habits of Highly Ineffective Marrieds

Married with kids romance is a complicated process. Because the loss of brain cells new love stupidity is gone there are many things a couple must consider...

1. Can we really interrupt the 9:00 pm program on TV? Crap! Is there a tape we can record this show on? We should get TiVo. Let's look over the budget sometime. Let's just buy more tapes...

2. You ate (pickles, garlic, ranch dressing, onion rings, chile relleno, ramen) for lunch didn't you? I can still taste it! You ate (broccoli, burritoes, cheese, sour cream, tofu, pretzels) for lunch didn't you? I can still smell it!

3. That was a kid wasn't it! No wait, it wasn't. Wait, it was. "Go to SLEEEEEEEP!" Did you lock the door. I don't know, go check. Where are my pants? Get the cat off the bed!

4. Take off your socks. It's cold in here! Put your feet here. Ewww no! Honey, do you mind that I haven't shaved my legs for three months? No? I love you. I'm sorry about the socks, I'll take them off...uhh....grunt...they.won't.budge. I'll shave tomorrow, I promise.

5. Is the...garbage out? Dinner pan soaking? Baby covered? Computer really off? Cat in? Chickens plucked?

6. How long IS that Disney video anyway? Fifteen minutes. That'll do. The kids never go in the laundry room, syncronize the watches and I'll see you there at 15.05 hours.

7. Don't worry, I'll make a fresh pot of coffee in the morning. I'll be fine.

You folks got a #8?

Friday, October 21, 2005

Mother, Jugs and Speed.

Life is tough and life is not fair. This is a difficult lesson to learn when you are a little kid. Some of us parents teach it better than others...

My husband is tool clueless. I own and use all the power tools in my house. When it comes to car maintenance we are at the mercy of Jiffy Lube. Justin and I so love the Jiffy Lube. There is something about a virile grease monkey under your car that makes the Newsweek you are reading in the waiting area seem like trashy erotica.

What makes it difficult to enjoy your Newsweek in the waiting area is other people's children. Waiting areas at Jiffy Lubes are located between two car bays; a 10 by 10 foot space. Half of this space is taken up by drink machines and a behind the counter area for employees. This leaves enough room for four chairs each on opposite sides of the room. These chairs are placed so you can look out the windows into the car bays and make sure your car is being serviced (giggle) in a timely manner.

My family had taken up two of the chairs. Justin and I sat with our middle child on my lap and my oldest kid standing behind a soda machine watching them run a monster truck on that spindle doo-hickey. Next to us sat a business man. Across from us sat two more men and a Daddy with two kids, a boy (we'll call him Johnny-Poo) and a girl (we'll call her Widdle Janey), both around age 4.

When we entered the waiting area and sat down we were told loudly by Johnny-Poo that "those are my seats!" and then "Daddy, they sat in our seats!" Daddy explained that no one was sitting there and that Johnny-Poo wasn't using the seats. Johnny-Poo flung himself on the floor and kicked. Widdle Janey, laughing, declared, "Johnny is being a bumhead again!" to which Daddy admonished her because nice people don't use the word bumhead.

Justin and I raised our eyebrows at each other. This wait was going to be FUN.

Johnny-Poo forgot his indignation when he noticed that he could get behind the counter if he crawled under the counter gate. There are plusses to perspective when you fling yourself on the floor. Johnny pssssttts at his sister and Widdle Janey quickly joins him. They giggle for a bit and then wreak complete havoc on whatever office supplies and computer gadgets they keep back there. Daddy is oblivious. Jiffy Lube Hunk tries to get back there to do whatever hunks do back there and can't, so he shoos Johnny-Poo and Widdle Janey out. Johnny again flings himself to the floor and Janey starts wailing. This gets Daddy's attention and he promises candy bars at their next stop for good behavior.

This works for all of two seconds. Excited by the threat of chocolate Johnny and Janey run about the waiting room playing "monkey" and stepping on everyone's toes. My middle child, then about the same age, looks at me with a "what the hell are these tards doin?" face. Daddy looks at my children with disdain, calls back his beasts and tells them to sit...or no candy bars.

Two cars finished. The man sitting next to us and the two men by Daddy sprint out like it's a 100m race. Daddy glares at them on their way out.

Sitting lasts a little longer. Johnny's bottom half sits rather nicely but his top half proceeds to twirl his ragged baby blanket over his head helicopter style. Janey has a baby doll which she flips about her like a possessed Mary Lou Retton. I swear, Daddy swiped my Newsweek fantasy because his nose is buried in the magazine and again he's oblivious. Twirling and flipping are joined by loud "whirrrrrssss" and "ahhhhhhhhsss" because helicopters should whirr and gymnasts should get applause. When poor Betsy Wetsy manages to land on Daddy's Newsweek he shouts, "No candy now!" and buries his nose again.

Justin and I look at each other and roll our eyes. It's a good thing their car is almost done.

Since they will be getting candy anyway, Johnny-Poo and Widdle Janey keep on with their twirl-whirring and flip-ahhing. The volume rises to a level that Daddy can't ignore anymore. He confiscates blanky and he confiscates baby. Johnny and Janey wail in protest...and that's when Daddy comes up with this little gem...he turns to Johnny-Poo and says in his most authoratative voice...


Justin and I look at each other and no way could we hold this in. We laughed so hard that we had to cross our legs tight to keep from peeing. We were still wiping the tears from our eyes when the relieved Jiffy Lube Hunk told them their car was done.

Snuggly was back in the arms of Johnny-Poo within a minute, of course and ice Cream was promised for good behavior at their next destination. Daddy glared at us on his way out. We made a note of which direction they turned so we wouldn't follow them. We didn't bring any spare pants with us.

When life is tough and things don't go your way, just remember that Snuggly is a privilege, then go read a Newsweek. Have a good weekend folkies.


So, I have some sort of flu...blah. I feel like crap.

Not only this but the only time I take a provocative photo ever in all the years I've been using the internets and I post ends up misrepresented on a damned blog-zine. They got a very polite email about the situation.


Thursday, October 20, 2005

I Sit on my Tuffet

I can't blog brain is mush. My mom used to make me eat mush. Should mush be a solid? I will try to get in a good post later this evening.

I took my boys to school this morning where I see the mother of one of my son's friends. She's wearing a large orange T-shirt with holes and bright red silk pajama bottoms. She's usually a sloppy woman but this morning she stood out a little more than usual. I should talk though, I was wearing red sweat pants and one of Justin's blue T-shirts. At least I wasn't double parked.

Back to sewing. (Jill, the costumes are going out TODAY!)

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Plop Plop...Fizz Fizz

I've had a HUGE jump in hits yesterday and it's all because of this pic. I wrote about our little Katie in my Sept. 7th entry. I hope some of you Katie Holmes pic searchers actually read some of my blog content because I'm cuter than Katie is and...well...I have better taste in men. I like men with brains.

Let's get this out of our systems, shall we?



I hope that silent childbirth thing goes well for her.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Why the hell is Desperate Housewives still on TV?

I wrote this particular rant at a forum I read daily over two years ago. I realized then, as I was being pelted with phone calls asking for favors from random folk, that I had unknowingly turned into a walking stereotype. I would touch my head and wonder if the hairdo fairy had come in the night and cut me a nice Carol Brady...

Before you read my rant I want to clarify that I have reasons that work for my one particular family to why I stay home. These reasons don't have to work for you nor do you have to like them nor do they have to make any sense to you. I made a perfectly valid choice (and isn't feminism about the ability to make choices?) to do what I'm doing. If you are doing whatever you do and it works for you and your family, then I'm happy for ya!

This rant is about my battle with the stereotype...


I am a stay at home parent. As such I...

1. am not lazy, ugly or unkempt. On the other side of the coin, I am also not obssesively clean. You can touch things in my house, I won't mind.

2. am not bored, lonely or waiting for a "good time".

3. am not free to watch your kids at any time whenever. Do not call me at 6 am the day you need a sitter because your regular sitter canceled last week. Do not call me when your child is sick at school and you can't miss a meeting. If I agree to watch your sick kid, expect a dry cleaning bill if they puke on my carpet, sofa or clothing. When I watch your kid it's a favor, if I watch your kid consistently it's a job and you will pay me.

4. am not free to do your errands. Pick up your own mail, dry cleaning, groceries, etc. I am also not wanting to do your housework, even if you pay me ten bucks an hour. I am also not wanting to do a majority of the bake sale baking because I'm home and that's what housewives do. Bake your own cupcakes.

5. am not clued in to what is happening during daytime TV. Buy Tivo.

6. am not willing to be on every committee in the community because I apparently have free time. No, I don't care that cows are being mass murdered...I'm heading for Burger King. No I don't want to go door to door asking for donations, in fact, I think that's germy. I gave at the office.

7. am not stupid. I did not give up my brains to be a stay at home parent. I am still perfectly capable of reading, studying and forming opinions. To further this idea...I don't care if you are a working parent, I am not superior to you nor are you to me. Don't treat me like I'm out of the working loop and I won't talk over your head about programming on Nick Jr.


You may have seen my rant before. It got passed around a little and I hope I got proper credit! I'm finding that I'm getting a lot more traffic from search engines with housewife as a key term. These searches go in two files. One for "nasty lil housewife slut whore" and another for "tips for housewives and for staying home". While I can do the housewife tipping (Is that like cow tipping?), I'd rather not deal with that being my only value as a human on the face of the earth.

Besides, I look lousy in pearls.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

How Much is that Doggie in the Window

I'm here blogging at my sister Jill's house. She has very healthy children who deposit healthy amounts of excrement in all three of their bathrooms. How do I know this? One son is odoriffic. WHEW! You can't eat as much as that kid eats and not expect to pull one off like a labrador.

So, in the interest of family peace I've offered to my sister October's Bestest Housewifely Doodad.
California Scents Citrus all purpose air freshener. This stuff is heavy duty air freshening power! I personally use it in my own bathroom and ne'er do I have a stinky smell! One short spray and you are left with a tangy orange grove flourishing in your loo.

What is better is that I bought this fine product at Kmart on sale. It had been marked down from 3.99 to 40 cents. I would pay the full four bucks now. I might even pay 4.01.

I should stick an entire can into the pants of my nephew. That might cure the smell but it won't cure the incessant barking.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Stop, Drop and Roll

Guess which one I put in my coffee this morning?
I usually make my posts late in the evening. I didn't last night. I was tending to this...

I dropped a glass. The are two reasons it didn't shatter on my kitchen floor. Number one being that it landed on my second toe and number two being that it weighed ten pounds. The little piggy that stayed home should have never attempted to do the dishes. Yup, it's broken. The blunt weight broke the skin and toenail and I bled on my impractical white lineoleum. It's really painful.

This makes me sad because on Sunday we were going to go to Lagoon and ride rolly coasties. I will have to wear the sturdiest shoes I've got. Last year we went to Lagoon and I got on this ride...

And I got off a glorious shade of green. I usually LOVE this ride. That's when I figured out that even though I wasn't due for a couple more days that my period was going to be very very late.

Well internets folks, I'm off to pack a bag or two. The family is heading into Utah County this weekend to attend my niece's wedding. I was going to wear nice shoes with my skirt but I think I will attend in my slippers. It will be a scandal for years!

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Oh Great Pumpkin, HELP!

When making deals with your children for certain goals, like actually turning in completed assigned work to be graded on the day it's due, be prepared to pay up on your end of the bargain.

I now have to host a Halloween party for seven 11 to 12 year olds.

Oh, I'm happy to do it. I'm SUPER HALLOWEEN FUN MOM! (echo echo echo) I have 4 or 5 boxes of Halloween type decorations to throw around my house and yard. I will make some kind of green liquid refreshment and float yucky body part thingies in it. I will buy 50 lbs of dry ice for effect and make my heater work overtime. I will hang so many paper bats from the ceiling that conservationists and PETA will stage protests on my lawn. This is the part I'm excited about.

What is difficult about this party is the age group. These kids are between children and teens. Do I make them pin tails on donkeys or do I give them a beer bottle and say "spin it." What keeps these preteen monsters entertained without switching on a TV? Will they find the old games of my Halloween pasts just as charming as I did? Pizza is a given...there will be pizza that they will make themselves. I'm too smart to force any other food on them unless it is filled with lard, chocolate and sugar.

My son is pee in his pants excited about all this. He did earn it. As invites are going out Friday we have to decide if we host the party on Halloween night, which is a Monday and a school night, or we host it Saturday when many parents in this charming rural smeghole I live in take off 120 miles to the city to go to Walmart. They are both equally valid choices and I'm definitely on the fence.


Yesterday I had my TV on for background noise while I cleaned. I had been sorta listening to "The Waltons" and after this "Matlock" came on. I turn off my vacuum in time to hear this line from the wholesome detective show:

"Matlock, Jennifer is my best friend! She knows how much I love Dick!"

God, I wish I had Tivo.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

There is Beauty in the Breakdown

This morning I woke up as usual. I remember it like it was yesterday...uhhh. Anyway, I woke up, did the necessary that most everyone does when they wake up in the morning, then bee-lined for the coffee pot. Oh glorious morning dew! How you lift my night owl spirits!

The kitchen only seems to be in it's usual disarray of dishes half done. I miss one of three piles of cat barf on the impractical white linoleum by the space of my little toe. Hello kitty! My cat wasn't interested in cleaning it up and wasn't appreciative when I did it for him. Why I put up with his shenanigans I'll never know. It's not like he's bringing in any cash.

I end my day with the baby hurling on me. Baby hurl is so much cuter than cat hurl. Don't worry, the baby doesn't seem sick. He's gassy but he's not sick. We'll be retiring to the bathtub after Law and Order SVU. Lavendar baby shampoo smells manlier for a boy child than the orange stuff.


Justin and I just finished one of our favorite movies. HBO knows what we want. "Garden State" has one of the most satisfying kissing scenes in any movie. Zach Braff has a movie making style that is pure bliss to watch.

When Justin grows up he wants to be Zach Braff. He wants to be Zach Braff because Zachy boy lays his lips all over Natalie Portman. She shore does got a purdy mouth.

And talent. She never stares right into the camera!

Oh Natalie Portman, you Jedi pooping tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She is just so genuine!

I wonder if Natalie Portman hurl is cuter than cat hurl too.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Fancy Dijon Ketchups

Five out of my last six posts have been about my history. I thought I'd thrill you with something current.

I was pondering today the appropriateness of my title. Now that my postpartum hormones are leveling themselves out and the baby is four months old and sleeping through the night my ditzy-ness seems to be abating. The issue worked itself out just now because I had to go to the grocery store and retrieve my purse. I left in my cart. I was told the name of the bagger who found it and I immediately forgot that too. Sigh.

Justin, my absent minded husband, has been encouraging me to go down to the casino and win the Megabucks progressive. This is a dollar slot machine and you need to put in three dollars a pull to qualify to win the progressive prize which is several million dollars. We've had one machine hit the progressive in town, some two or three years ago. The man who got the lucky pull had only put two out of three dollar coins in the machine when he made his bet. Out of the several million he could have won if he'd timed that third coin just right he only went home with 10K. At least at a casino they serve you free drinkies because after a pull like that you'd need one.

I think everyone fantasizes about what they'd do if they hit the lottery. Besides filling an empty room with 1000 unwrapped loaves of wonder bread and having my way with Justin on the enriched spongey wholesomeness, I think I'd go nuts in a fabric store. Heckfire, I'd rent the fabric store and have my way with Justin between the fleece and the juvenile prints. No way would I do that near the silks!

And maybe I'd buy a green dress. Nah. That's cruel.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

And this one band 3

In part 2 of this series I blog about receiving one of the most prestigious awards you can be awarded in a high school level marching band. I was proud to know my instructors had recognized one of my better talents and qualities and my generous use of such for the welfare of the band. I was given 1992's...


Upon receiving this award at the end of the school year band banquet, the attendees rose up in a cheer...well except my parents. I think my mom was secretly proud though.

What did I do to receive such an award? Well...I publicly kissed and groped the harmonica* player...a lot. He was damned fine at it as well and that's why I give half the credit to him.

What I will blog about here is what the instructors DIDN'T see at band activities. I know you can keep a secret. Shhhhh!

On the same trip to San Fran where I stepped over a dead bum I also spent most of bus riding time with my hand down the harmonica player's pants. He didn't mind really. Band members were encouraged to bring blankets and pillows from home because we would spend our first night of the trip sleeping while the bus was on it's way to Reno then onto San Fran. The blankets saw a lot of action. Unfortunately this same action made my boyfriend need to pee...a lot. We were always stopping to let him pee. He had the bladder the size of a walnut. And here you were thinkin' we stopped for cleanup! No stopping necessary for that. I had baby wipes.

When we made it to our motel rooms we were divided so girls were on one floor and boys were on the upper floor. Did I stay on my floor? Nope. The animal magnetism from the room above and around the corner was just too much for me to resist. Upon arriving we started a rousing game of strip poker. I purposely lost the first hand and removed my bra from under my shirt. You wouldn't believe the zeal in which teenaged boys play poker when they know you are only wearing 3 more items of clothing, shoes not counting towards the game. I never lose another hand but they do. I had the harmonica player down to his tighty whities.

Time to leave is just before 11:00 bedcheck. The truant officer (a great guy) checked the harmonica player's room first of course, ten to 11. I thought I had more time! My boyfriend and I ran to the shower. On goes the water! We hear, "Where's that Bubba Ray*?" to which we hear his only half dressed roomates reply, "In the shower sir!" Perfect cover and the truant officer bought it. I look down at his wet tighty whities and laugh.

Five minutes later...

I'm scaling down the pole from the second floor to the ground floor. The truant officer had rounded the corner on the second floor and I made my escape! No telling metal stomping noises on the steps for me! I make it to my room with plenty of time before our own female chaperone checks on us. I change quickly and look particularly fresh in my pajamas and wet hair. I then had to share a bed with a girl that had eaten something bad and was up-chucking until she went to sleep. My damp clothes were dry by morning.

The harmonica player dumped me shortly before Thanksgiving break which was only just after the Sadie Hawkins Dance. We used each other mercilessly. He's still a good friend today and so is his wife. Sweet woman.

Incidentals that also got me the award were...
- Exclusively dating a boy the entirety of the year before. We also enjoyed kissing even though he wasn't in the band. This didn't mean he wasn't around band activities like hair in velcro.
- Wearing a pin on my extra cool denim jacket that proclaimed, "Birthdays come once a year. Aren't you glad you aren't a birthday?"
- Being asked on three occasions to share a bus seat with an enthusiastic kazoo* player and turning him down. Nothing against kazoo players but he thought I would maybe feel him up too and therefore he'd lose the extra geek pounds he'd put on around his head. I'm particular to whom I feel up.
- Knowing how to put on and use the condom that other band kids had found in a public restroom. Really kids, it's not that big of a mystery. I forget, they were mormon teens.
- Hanging my turquoise Jacqueline Smith A cup demi bra out of the back window of the bus attracting a car full of college boys which followed us for about 100 miles. Subsequently I'd take off said bra and put it on my car antenna while driving band kids places. What did I need a bra for anyway?
- Enjoying the nickname the Drum Major (the year before it was my sister) gave me. Tornado Tongue.
- Admitting I masturbated to two or three Flags after they asked me and therefore they found me fascinating and disgusting at the same time. (They were asking everyone to cause blushing and therefore they could know who did and didn't masturbate. I didn't blush.) Then one of them promptly picked up her Harlequin novel and began reading.
- Being comfortable talking about sexual functions and not giggling over it like the other girls. This made kids in school think I wasn't a virgin long before the actual de-virginizing happened.

No, I never did stick any instruments up my pussy. Ouch! The last thing I needed was flute player caused vaginal infections.

*Names and instruments changed to protect the naive.

Friday, October 07, 2005

A Thanksgiving's Dayafter Dream

"The term "passive-aggressive" was introduced in a 1945 U.S. War Department technical bulletin, describing soldiers who weren't openly insubordinate but shirked duty through procrastination, willful incompetence, and so on."

My dear friend Anonymous let the cat out of the bag in her comment on my October 4th entry about shopping at Walmart. I said in that post, "I had a creative solution to the problem which I might have to blog about" when talking about an inconsiderate shopper in my past life. If you find bodily functions and 3rd grade humor utterly rude and disgusting this post is not for you. Go here instead.

My little sister Jill and I had decided to risk our lives and go out shopping the day after Thanksgiving. We'd had each spent the day before stuffing our faces and unbuttoning our pants at two Thanksgiving dinners, one our family's and one at our respective inlaw's family's. The plan was to get up and move around the next day so we could unblock our colons.

My colon was union and was protesting working overtime with hot winded speeches. That's understated. Satan had taken up residence in my lower body and I had given him permission with that extra piece of pie drenched in whipped cream.

Jill...and rightly so...was becoming exasperated with me but I didn't see what I could do about the situation besides keep the windows down in the car. Holding it in? Could you hold in Satan? I didn't think so.

We made it to Kmart where they were having a sale on Gameboys. It took all my effort to keep things to myself and I failed in the CD aisle. Rushing away I see a teenaged girl wrinkle her nose and then scream, "Mom, not again!" It's nice to know you aren't alone.

We make our way through a few more stores. I'm clenching so hard that I'm walking funny. Poor Jill...she's a good soul for putting up with my abuse.

At the end of our trip we get to Big Lots. Xmas toy sales abound! The store wasn't especially crowded compared to everywhere else so we decided to take our time.

We'd stop with our cart in front of us to look at a toy. A woman with her own cart would walk up, move our cart about three feet while we were standing right next to it and put her own cart in it's place. She'd scoot her body over and stand shoulder to shoulder with us. The woman did this repeatedly as we moved about the store. You can't let other shoppers get at the good crap before you! Muttering, Jill walked off to get something leaving me with the cart and this insane woman.

I move to yet another toy aisle, stop, park and look. She follows and does the predictable. I stand next to her and continue looking at Moon Me Elmo. We are the only two shoppers in the entire area of that store and I felt like teaching her a lesson about personal space.

I unclench and I FART.

Smiling at her, I take my cart and leave her with it. Did she follow me? Nooooooo. The rest of the shopping trip is peaceful and insane woman free.

Normally I wouldn't think of being so crass. I'm not a pinky in the air proper type of girl, but I do try not to pass wind in public places!

Meh...this woman deserved it.

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