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.

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