Thursday, September 29, 2005

Body By Marv Albert

All you ladies out there in blog-land, get ready to get jealous. Ready? Here we go!

Justin, my incredible husband, does not watch sports on TV. (Exception being the Olympics.) ESPN is not programmed into our Direct TV menu. He avoids pro football and basketball and baseball and soccer and wrasslin'. He doesn't know stats or averages or even the player's names. He avoids Sports Illustrated!

That's a lie. He gravitates toward one issue a year. You know THAT issue.

He's thumbed through the swimsuit issues of Sports Illustrated plenty but in the whole 12 years of our marriage he's only purchased one copy. This copy is the Michael Jordan of all swimsuit issues. It resides in a special place on the bookshelf on Justin's side of the bed.



I've made an agreement with Justin. If Tyra Banks shows up at our door and says breathily, "Justin, you, me and a jar of vaseline, baby!" , he's allowed to go with her with my wholehearted consent. Have a good time and pick up a couple of gallons of milk on the way home.

Oh Tyra Banks, you million dollar bra wearing tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She's got a really fun personality.

Are you ladies still jealous?

Update! As of April 18th, 2008, it was voted that Tyra's sins were too great and has been stripped of her tart status. She may redeem herself in the future.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Happy Little Bushes

In high school I never fit into one little niche of teen angst society. I know it's cliche to say so but I didn't, ok? Gosh! I got decent grades and was considered brainy. I was a flag twirling marching band geek. (Remind me to tell you some band camp stories, because mine are COOL.) I was secretary of my school's Future Farmers of America. I had a sexual reputation. I was an art fart...

Let's not get stuck on the sexual reputation bit. This post is going to be about my returning to art, not how many boys thought I was sleeping around in highschool, which I didn't do...uh much. (Remind me to tell you some band camp stories, because mine are COOL!)

Anyway, like, I'm returning to drawing. I put it down in any seriousness years ago when I had my first tiny, sticky, food throwing rug monkey. I'd also discovered costuming in a big way. I Love Costuming. Costuming includes my sketching skills. You have to put down on paper what you are going to sew. You could tell people all day about what you are sewing but the moment you put pen to paper and draw it for them, they know.

Since getting spayed and experiencing my own natural levels of hormones for the first time in my adult life, I'm experiencing a surge of creativity. When this happens my skin tingles and my mind itches...poison ivy of the soul...and I have to get it out. This time it's pencil, watercolor, pen to 90 lb. cold press paper. At this exact moment I'm quite buzzy from the delicious fumes from a fine point sharpie marker.

I'm not interested in "serious" art. Screw artwork that has hidden (or even obvious) political agendas. I don't care if my artwork means anything! Want profundity? Buy it on Ebay, cheap. I'm not interested in leading unwashed sheep off the cliff of life, unless you give me money to do it. I'll prostitute my talents, yes I will.

In celebration of my return to one of my better skills, I offer you a swell activity! See me draw on Art Pad. Draw your own! Lemme see!

***

Speaking of "lemme see", I said I may or may not post photos of my uterus. I decided that I may. Warning, these photos are graphic, showing my entrails and gooey bits. If you don't want to see then don't click this stinkin' link right here. I have a gorgeous uterus, fine and sturdy, producing skinny male children. I don't think my uterus is a talent though, so don't ask me to prostitute it.

Did you read my first paragraph? God, I was a dork!

Sunday, September 25, 2005

They Plump When You Cook 'Em.

My fallopian tubes have been properly assaulted. I have had very little pain, tee hee, down there and I feel pretty good. The breathing tube they inserted (standard procedure at that hospital for tubals) left me with the worst pain. I lost my voice for a morning and I still have a very swollen uvula. (Google that you perverts.)

When I woke up I was surprised to learn that I had been the receiver of a stealth enema! My head has been filled with images to how they managed to bend my body to perform such a procedure. I would have gladly gotten the enema while awake but I suppose it's so much quicker and easier to do one on the unassuming. There is nothing like waking up so squeaky clean.

I was not dragged to Up-ChuckaRama, thank the lord. I did have some fabulous family run mexican fast food though. Amazing chicken enchiladas.

More later. I have many thoughts about many things that I'm sure you will be aching to read about. I also have a nice photo of my uterus that I may or may not post.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Sucking a Golf Ball Through a Garden Hose

Wednesday I visit with my OB/GYN again so he can brutally assault my belly button and my fallopian tubes. I enjoy conceiving babies but my husband has bribed me with a big gulp. He knows I'm cheap.

When I went in for my six week postpartum checkup my doc felt mushy and gave me a side hug. I felt mushy too! If you are a postpartum woman and you've regained your tight bod at six weeks, well, you can kiss the remaining 25 lbs of the 75 I gained. And you can thank me for the privilege. I'm expecting to get a full on massage from my OB/GYN this time. It's the least he can do, after all he's billing me so he can assault my fallopian tubes.

We live pretty far from any hospital so we are going to be at my parent's house in Utah County. I expect at some point to be dragged to the buffet hell that is a restaurant called ChuckaRama. I live in a casino town folks. We have BUFFET. Not buffet but BUFFET. Up-ChuckaRama just doesn't compare. And not to be insulting, but I feel like the only family in the joint that didn't try to pay for one plate for their kids to share. Did I say I'm cheap? I'm not THAT cheap. I will actually spring for my kids to have their own plates. I'm just that kind of mommy.

When I get back to you all I will be properly sterilized. Here's to misguided ovulation!

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Two Ways to Skin a Cat

This is not my cat. I found a picture that describes my mood this weekend. The only thing this cat is missing is the greasy unwashed hair look.

This is my cat. His name is Booger. He was tortured by my son and the neighbor child. This picture was taken in May, 2004.

I've taken Bob Barker's advice. I will be getting spayed on Wednesday. Come on down!

Thursday, September 15, 2005

License Plates and Lavatories.

I tried to audioblog at the DMV, really I did...but it just wasn't happening. Why? Because I was the only unfortunate patron at the DMV when I stopped in. You heard it folks, an EMPTY DMV. God does perform miracles, hallelujah! I was in and out of the DMV in ten minutes.

The DMV folks weren't cranky either. Three of those minutes were spent with those lifeless souls cooing at my baby! They refused to change my kid's diaper however.

I've never been so happy to hand over a big chunk of tax money in my life.

I attempted to audioblog in the Walmart but the post was mostly indecipherable. I wanted you all to hear the tired and cranky mommy screech at her three tired and cranky children. She was also kinda paranoid. Would you run away from a nice woman holding out her cell phone and mumbling something about an empty DMV? I didn't think so.

In between Bendover and Elko is a place called Independence Valley. There is only one building in Independence Valley. While I'd really like that building to be a 7-11 I have to settle for the building being a prison. That's right folks, the irony is delicious. Do not pick up any hitch-hikers.

***

It's the 15th and it's time to announce September's "Bestest Housewifely Doodad".

Pumie! What's a Pumie? It's a pumice stone with a convenient handle. Get that image out of your head you perverts.

Pumie is two dollars and thirty five cents of toilet cleaning joy. It removes the nasty stained hard water ring in your crapper with ease! There is no reason to wear gloves using this product because there are no chemicals that will dissolve your skin. I know you enjoy sniffing the chemicals, but really, that kind of thing makes you screech at your kid's in Walmart.

Thank you Pumie, I like you, I really like you.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Highway to Hell

If you live anywhere in the SLC area, I can tell you which dealership to NOT buy a car from. Plenty of dumbasses running that place! Because of two weeks of their mistakes I had to hold off driving up to the DMV in Elko until tomorrow and my temp tag expired. They are paying for any tickets and penalties I get. (Breakin' the law, breakin' the law!) Needless to say, my husband is plenty pissed about the whole situation.

Do you think if I tried to audioblog in the DMV, people would look at me funny? Man on the street (Street? Man in the DMV line!) interviews would be nifty! Excuse me sir? Have you seen Tom Cruise in "Days of Thunder?" I know, he's a sexy manbeast. What are your views on Scientology?

When you drive on desolate UT and NV highways you can always expect to see a constant on the sides of the roads, especially on exit ramps. There is nothing like the golden sparkle of emergency coolant in the hot sun. Considerate people leave milk jugs, or plastic coke bottles, full of the lifesaving liquid right on the sides of the roads just in case! I've never overheated on the highway but I sleep better at night knowing that I won't be stranded long.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Whatever happens in the DMV stays at the DMV

We all hate the DMV, right? Is there anything worse than standing in long lines to pay money for a rectangular piece of tin you are supposed to put on the ass of your car? Yep, there is...that's having to drive 120 freakin miles to the closest god foresaken DMV.

pause...

When I'm on my instant messenger I don't stop strangers from messaging me. I've met many interesting and only slightly insane conversationalists. How do you start a stranger to stranger instant message? ASL. Age, sex, location; the pick up line of a computer geek near you. (Napoleon, don't be jealous that I've been chatting online with babes all day.) I'm convinced that comp geeks living in their mother's basements, typing one handed and wearing only socks have no knowledge of geography.

anonymouscompgeek: Hi asl
becky: who are you?
anonymouscompgeek: asl
becky: 30... you really can't tell what my sex is by the name? ...NV
anonymouscompgeek: whts NV
becky: Nevada
anonymouscompgeek: u in vegas
becky: nope
anonymouscompgeek: u in reno
becky: nope
anonymouscompgeek: I thought u said u were in nevada...
becky: I am.
anonymouscompgeek: got cam?

Could you please type with both hands? I know there are only two cities in Nevada and I'm sorry I avoided living in either of them.

Yep, I avoided living in any real Nevada city and that's why I have to drive 120 miles to the god foresaken DMV tomorrow. Yeehaw Elko.

PS. Do not buy a fabulous new minivan in Utah when you live in Nevada and expect them to have any understanding on how to register and pay the taxes on it. The dealership at least owes me a free spitshine.

STFU

It's 2:48 am and the cops have just shut down the loud party next door. I guess politely asking them to tone it down at 1:00 wasn't good enough. Bastards.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Salt, Slots and Sluts.

I've had this ^ witty title in my head for near a month, but how to write about it hasn't occured to me until this morning. Let's dive right in.

In the middle nineties Justin and I were poor college students. We were both attending Southern Utah University and trying to raise our one child at the time. Ohhhhh we were poor. Once while shopping with our limited grocery budget we found a real bone in, real not pressed, real not meat product ham for seven dollars. It was HUGE. Our eyes glazed over with porcine lust as we picked it up and put it in our cart. I don't know what defect made that ham so cheap, and I didn't care at the time, but we ate that ham for a week and felt like lords of creation. At least we were kings of the redrock.

When college was over we moved back north to Utah County. We'd learned that I had conceived our second child just before moving. We had all the energy of Dorothy embarking on the yellow brick road, discovering what wonders the future held. Justin had maintained a 4.0 average at SUU and we knew he'd be hired in a history or English teaching position right away. We were still poor, but hope sparkled in every corner of our lives.

Time went on. Justin interviewed...and interviewed...and interviewed. Nothing. Our second child was born. Justin interviewed, people were impressed, but not impressed enough. School budgeting issues came up...Justin not being qualified to coach a sport came up...one interviewer didn't hire because we drove a pathetic beige '82 Toyota Celica. Our meager savings was drying up. Justin applied for nearly every job in the paper that kept him away from using heavy power tools. Nothing. Our newest baby was only six weeks old when I started applying for work.

We had $200 to our names and the rent due when the call came. The principal at Bendover secondary in Nevada wanted Justin. He NEEDED Justin. Southern Utah University had recommended Justin. Could Justin coach football? No? Don't care! You drive a Toyota Celica? We'll forgive you! Bendover needed teachers and Justin left to interview.

My heart was in my throat the whole time Justin was away. Grandpa, the old goat, drove Justin up to Bendover, then on to Elko. To go off on another tangent, Grandpa drove like a sneeze, going from 0 to speeds of 100 mph in 1.5 seconds. Not only was Justin worried about the interview but he was holding onto the dashboard of Grandpa's car for dear life. It's a good thing that the road to Bendover, then onto Elko is mostly straight.

Justin and Grandpa got back just after dinner on interview day. Not only was Justin hired, but he was hired at a lot more than the pittance they offered first year teachers in the cheap Utah state school system. We held each other and felt like we'd hit the lottery. When you go from a family of three living on 11K a year to a salary that doesn't make you buy ramen (unless you want to!) all the sparkles in the corners of life return.

In the next two weeks we pack up and move to Bendover for the 99-2000 school year. We find a crappy apartment and move in.

Bendover is an interesting community. Our town is split in two, with one half on the Nevada side of the state line and the other half on the Utah side. You may have heard about our town in the news. We are trying to move the state boundary so the entire town can be in Nevada. All we need is an act of Congress now. Both sides of the town, and the states have agreed to move the border.

We are on the edge of the Bonneville Salt Flats. (Salt) Geographically this is about the only place on land where you can look out and see the curve of the earth. In fact, you can see this from my driveway. My view of nearly 40 miles of salt flats is amazing. Looking out over the flats in the summer is strange. The salt looks like fresh snow.

You can assume that this town exists for Utahn's to come here and sin, and you'd be right. This is a border casino town. (Slots) We have some pretty amazing buffet. One casino offers no less than 12 varieties of cheesecake on any given night. There is also booze and porn, which you can't get in Utah without a lot of hassle! You can also enjoy a nice smoke right in the McDonalds if you want.

If porn isn't enough for you, drive 50 miles to the west and visit the little pink house that the prostitutes live in. Prostitution is legal in my county. (Sluts) There was a vote a couple years back to bring a brothel into Bendover, but it was defeated. If you don't want to drive an extra 50 miles you'll have to settle for the two tee tee bars in town.

I don't live close to the casinos or the tee tee bars.

When I go back into Utah to visit I always run into people I know. They ask where I live and I tell them. Their faces get sour and they ask what in the world we do in Bendover. (Yes, I live there and sin all day long, even on Christmas!) When I explain that Justin is a teacher at the high school, their faces soften and I'm forgiven. (Every one is a missionary.) You know, we'd live in Zion if we could make a decent living at a job Justin loves.

The sparkles in the corners of life? Neon Baby!

Friday, September 09, 2005

Take My Husband...Please!

Let's blog while I do my Ebay and while I pull stray hairs off everything. I just brushed my hair and I'm seriously pulling handfuls of hair off of my shoulders and out of my brush. When I finish shedding, I might dye my hair. Recommendations appreciated unless you are going to tell me to go blonde, get those damned trendy tiger stripes or get a perm.

Justin and I are arguing. Sigh. I am of the very correct opinion that I am funnier than he is. He, of course, disagrees. My oldest son says Dad is funnier. My middle son says Mom is funnier. The baby is biased because I'm his only source of food and so he doesn't get to vote...and...well...he can't talk.

Ponder this while I pick up my boys from school.

I'm back, did you ponder?

I know, I know. No one is funnier than I am! Thank you for agreeing with me. I love you.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Xenu, Warrior Pimp

Last night Justin and I were remarking that there was finally some news on TV that was worth watching. We've all had our hearts touched by Katrina and those in the midst of it. This is real news, not the fluff that journalists tell us we should care about.

I'm betting that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are firing their publicists right now for the loss of TV screen time. Damn those acts of god. Why Oprah, why???

Justin woke himself up this morning dreaming about Katie Holmes. Apparently that little tramp had agreed to marry my husband in his dream! Not only that, but she was jumping on a couch happy about it. She was going to bed my "all too willing to be seduced by celebrities" husband and show him her bewbies!

I can't believe I've been tossed on my housewifely ass for a dream enhanced starlet. She so fake bakes.

Oh Katie Holmes, you girl next door tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question, she is just so easily led!

Where is my fly swatter? I have to slap some thetans.

Monday, September 05, 2005

What's under a ponytail?

They say that bringing a child into the world is a beautiful journey...and it is...until you are postpartum.

Oh sure, there are plusses to not being pregnant anymore. Things like being able to sleep on your stomach and being able to see your own crotch again. These things have made me happy in ways you couldn't imagine. Very happy, very very happy...

But now I'm to the point in my postpartum where I'm shedding. My cat is jealous. I'm leaving a trail of hair, like spiders leave webs, behind me for my family to walk into. I've pulled stray hairs out of my baby's mouth, out of my family's meals, off of all static producing electrical devices. When I do laundry I don't empty lint out of the lint trap, I pull out mountain fresh Downy hair-wads.

They say that bald men have solar panels because they are love machines. Am I destined to become a love machine? I don't think I can manage love machine status with three kids. All I could ever aspire to is maybe the toaster level of love machine no matter how bald I get. Maybe, in 20 years, I'll get promoted to John Deere tractor status.


Kinda hairy for love machines, ain't they?

Sunday, September 04, 2005

I Wanna Do Ron Popeil

I sliced into my thumb doing the dishes. Why do they make those blades in food processors so sharp? I almost feel like blaming Dubya Bush for it even though it's not his fault. I think I'll blame Dick Cheney instead. Yes, I'll blame Dick because I sliced through thumbnail too.

Since my brain has been all over the place lately I've been centering myself playing simple games online. Two of my favorites are Psychobabble and Alchemy. Try em out. If you really want to work your brain, work up to the hardest levels of the Dyson Vacuum game. You will begin to bleed profusely out of your ears. After cleaning yourself up you will vow to never buy a damned Dyson vacuum because of the torture that is the game.

Speaking of slicing and head injuries, check out one of my favorite halloween props. I've sold these for a few years.

This is Fred. Everytime I get a shipment of Freds my older boys like to toss them around like footballs. I sometimes worry about how I raise my children.

Friday, September 02, 2005

There is a Season

I could blog about Katrina, but I won't. My husband has said his piece and that's that.

I could blog about how George Dubya is a moron, but I won't. Either George Sr. and Barb didn't beat him enough as a child, or they beat him way too much. Sheesh, that was blogging one sentence too much.

I could blog about three buck a gallon gasoline, but I won't. My baby has gas today and he's fussy.

I could blog on this ongoing useless damned war, but I won't, dammit.

I think what I will blog about is the things I am grateful for. I'm grateful for my creativity and the way it enhances my family's life. I'm grateful for the huge amount of knowlegde and information available to just about anyone that wants it, whether it be through a free library or the relatively small price we pay for media. I'm grateful for the love I have for and from a man with integrity. I'm grateful that I have a sense of humor and I see life as half full most of the time. I'm grateful for duct tape.

It's exciting to think of what may come in the future, despite the ignorance and tragedy around us. It probably won't turn out the way we plan, but there is beauty in the passage of time.

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