Friday, December 22, 2006

Pass the figgy pudding.

I got my readers and other hangers on the same thing I gave you all last year?
This is your last weekend to shop like madmen. Don't waste it!

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Fa La La La La! Part II

It's beginning to look a lot like Housework
Ev'rywhere I go;
Take a look in the fridge and sink,
stacked high once again
With leftovers and dirty plates a-stink.

It's beginning to look a lot like Housework,
Dust in ev'ry room,
But the dirtiest sight to see is the cobwebs that will be
Swept up by my dollar store broom.

A pair of carpet stains and crayon on the wall
Is what's left by Barney and Ben;
Graham cracker crumbs and spilled kool-ade
Is the fault of Janice and Jen;
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again.

It's beginning to look a lot like Housework
Ev'rywhere I go;
There's cat barf in the front hall,
some in the den as well,
The sticky kind you stepped in with your toe.

It's beginning to look a lot like Housework;
It's a neverending rut!
And the feeling that it brings makes me throw up my hands and sing
That it can kiss my butt!

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Where should I hang these ornaments?

Is it just me or does everyone else just not feel very Christmassy?

I only put up my $12 faux Christmas tree yesterday. It's not even fully decorated yet. There is a strand of mini lights dangling off it, and a stuffed snowman sitting under it. On the plus side, all the shopping is done.

I've decorated more in my blog header than I have in my house.

Things are bare around here.

Note: When a person goes about searching for a humorous Christmas graphic to illustrate points in her blog, she should not be surprised when she happens upon a photo of a unclothed man with a length of tinsel garland wrapped around his wang...

Monday, December 18, 2006

Choxie choxie full of moxie

I got hit on in Target on Saturday.

(Is that why they call the place Target?)

I would have much preferred being hit on by tall, dark and handsome. Muscles are arbitrary. IQ would be nice. Someone with a deep smooth voice and long sooty eyelashes. Someone with a really huge...vocabulary. Someone with an excellent credit score...

Instead I got hit on by a middle aged woman. Right near the aisle with all the shoe racks and closet inserts.

"Ma'am, can I ask you a question?"...says the not tall, not dark, not handsome lady, leaning into me, fluttering her sorta sooty lashes.

"Sure!" I thought she was going to ask my opinion on clothes hangers. NO WIRE HANGERS!

"Do you use Mary Kay?"

"Why no I don't. I don't use anything!" Couldn't she tell I was naturally natural? No, I don't need a speck of foundation, not a lick of mascara. Yup, Target.

"Would you like a facial?"

"Not especially!" Translated: My Mommy told me not to take candy from strangers.

"You look so nice. (flutter flutter) I'm working toward a car..."

I didn't assume this woman was psychic. I informed her that I live out in the boonies and that I drove 120 miles just to come to Target.

She looked at me funny.

I know she's heard interesting refusals have to expect that when you hit on people in Target...You have to expect that when you are foisting Mary Kay at the unsuspecting...but at least I was telling the truth!

I could have expanded on this truth and asked what her credit score was. Afterall, she wanted to fondle me. I need a little proof of commitment for that sort of thing.

Friday, December 15, 2006

When a problem comes along, you must whack it.


Alright, I feel better now.

Every time I've sat down to write about the winter blahs to you, my dear reader's and other hangers on, there is someone that wants my attention. My baby wants to watch Blue's Clue's. My cat wants out. My baby needs a diaper change. My cat wants in. My baby thinks he needs a cookie for breakfast. My cat needs a diaper change. My baby wants out...


Don't ask me what that means. It's nicer than typing crass words for private anatomy. I so want to be nice because Santa is watching and I really need expensive electronics in my stocking. Didn't I say I going to write evening posts?

It's been suggested by medical types that the winter blahs can be improved by the ingestion of sufficient quantities of vitamin C. I know my winter blahs are about to be greatly improved by ingesting my vitamin C in the form of:

Terry's Chocolate Oranges...

December's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

Just whacking the chocolate, as the packaging recommends, relieves pent up wintertime frustrations. Don't overdo it. Don't whack it with a snow shovel, or with your cat. Cat hairs...'nuff said.

Terry's Chocolate Orange is made with real orange oil! Once whacked, the sphere easily breaks into twenty segments of beautiful silken chocolate coziness. It's enough to share with loved ones in this season of giving....but who am I kidding? Just buy two or three or a dozen.

You can purchase this confection at just about any grocery store for around two bucks. Apparently Terry's Chocolate Oranges come in milk and dark chocolate. I don't care what kind of chocolate it is as long as it's vitamin packed.

Terry's Oranges are a Kraft food product. They are not the cheesiest.

I realize that, technically, chocolate is not a doodad. The question that needs to be asked here is, "Does chocolate improve the lives of housewives?" and the answer is that Yes, yes it does. Therefore this spectacular chocolate gets the doodad nod.

Thank you Terry's Chocolate Orange. I like you, I really like you.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006


Why yes, I'm on 25 peeps again. Please click the nice linky to keep me on.

This occurence fits in nicely with the adolescent theme I've had going on in here the last two posts. I've had much traffic already because the photo I chose this time prominently features my enormous fake boobies!

One would assume I got some stealthy plastic surgery because I'm built like the Bonneville Salt Flats, wherein which I live...but one would be wrong.

I'm modeling these!

I find what people say about flatchested women particularly interesting. Their assumptions manage to wiggle out of their brains and past their lips, right to my ears.

1. "More than a handful/mouthful/teacup is a waste."
This only makes me feel good because I DO try to do my part when it comes to conservationism...even if it's unwittingly. Wouldn't it just be awful to be one of those wasteful women?

2. "Your nipples must be more sensitive!"
Compared to whose? Frankly, I wouldn't know. I've never had anyone else's nipples. I won't have a basis of comparison until my nipples begin shooting lightning bolts.

3. "I know you must be wild in the sack to make up for what you lost on top!"
Keep on with that fantasy buddy. Between you and me, I just lie there and let my extra sensitive nipples do all the work. Zap...zap zap...smoke...

4. "You must be intelligent!"
Why yes, I am. This is not because my body spent time developing brain cells instead of breast tissue. Big boobs doth not equal dumb either.

5. "How did you manage to breastfeed with those?"
Very well, thanks. Moo.

6. "Don't you feel like a boy sometimes?"
Nope. When I suddenly grow a penis I might feel like a boy...maybe...but until then I can rest assured that my DNA has caused me to be decidely female. Giving birth three times really made me feel female.

7. "Don't you hate shopping in the little girl section of the store for underwear?"
Yes I I don't. Other small breasted women exist and therefore there is a whole rack of bras in the women's lingerie section featuring smaller brassieres! God help me if I ever buy another Mary Kate and Ashley bra...

And there you have it. Ittee Bittee Tittees and the myths that make up for the size. Thanks for visiting my site if you've come from 25 Peeps! Thanks for visiting my site if you didn't come from 25 Peeps!

Monday, December 11, 2006

Deck the Balls

This weekend, while I was considering and then deciding against cleaning the fingerprints off my sliding glass door, I spent a good deal of time watching my almost 13 year old son and the neighbor kid of the same age in my backyard.

Neighbor kid was punching himself in the crotch...


And then both boys were laughing uproariously.

Self injury involving delicate reproductive organs sure is a hoot. I figured this was a male adolescent rite of passage, much like fart jokes and giggling over the word "bazongas". If they hurt themselves, I'd be sure to point and laugh at them, but otherwise I'd leave them to their hijinks.

I'm not past adolescence myself. Today I received quite a bit of traffic, via Rockstar Mommy, because in response to her post about uncouth shoppers I posted a link back to my own uncouth shopper story. The story prominently features the passing of wind. I thank her for tolerating my link. Yesterday I wrote about maxi pads and posted a link to a page full of jock straps. Writing the word "bazongas" just now completely cracked me up.

The coop dee gracey? At this precise moment I'm laughing over stretchy penis jokes on a rerun of "The Man Show." Ziggy zaggy ziggy zaggy oy oy oy!

I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid.

The mystery of why the neighbor kid was punching himself in the crotch was solved just today. My seven year old son rushed up to me, cheeks flushed, eyes streaming, as he breathlessly exclaimed, "Wanna see something funny!"

Sure kiddo. Funny is good.

He gleefully screeches, "Merry Christmas, here's a nutcracker!" and punches himself in the crotch. I wonder who taught him that?

That's definitely one way to spread Christmas Cheer...

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Bloody Hell

I know I have one or two...maybe even that read my blog. As to not offend masculine sensibilities I'm offering this warning...

This post is about feminine hygiene products. If the discussion of maxi pads and tampons doesn't leave you feeling April fresh, stop HERE.

(Psst, I'm not mentioning why women go to the restroom in groups.)

Alrighty then...

What's better to write about when you haven't written for over five days...about the length of your normal, average, run of the mill menses? OK, you can think of around ten better things to write about. List 'em in my comments.

I'm tired of pads and I'm tired of tampons. I'm not necessarily tired of menstruating but I'm tired of feminine hygiene products. I'm tired of pink wrappers. I'm tired of floral scented, fresh scented and unscented. I'm tired of ultra thin, thin, regular, super, superlong, overnights, and I've struck oil! I'm tired of soft covers, ultra dry covers and wings. I'm tired of cardboard applicators, plastic applicators, no applicators and applicators that don't have enough ridges on them so you can get a decent grip. I'm tired of pantyliners smaller than my credit card...and pantyliners thin enough to wear with a thong. I'm tired of wayward tampon strings.

When my oldest was four he became concerned over my older sister's scabbed knee, and thinking logically, providing her with a big maxi pad to make it feel better. I'm tired of maxi pads being thought of as just another band-aid.

I'm tired of women not disposing their feminine hygiene products in a hygenic manner. C'mon ladies, wrap 'em up nicely and put them in the proper receptacle in the public restroom. Fresh ones do not belong pasted on the walls, under the toilet seats, in the unflushed toilet or on the doorknobs. Nasty.

I wouldn't mind it if I had my own menstrual hut. Spending a week in blissful solitude, menstruating my little heart out, may be better than choosing the proper protection. There would be no questioning if my pad or tampon can stand up to the rigors of horse riding, bike riding, jogging, chasing heathen children or olympic diving. Perhaps I can hire a man with muscles to serve me sandwiches and chocolate while I'm there.

At least my generation wasn't subjected to the menstrual belt...and for that I will forever be grateful.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

A day in the life of Booger: a dumb gay cat.

My house sits at the edge of a hill and my backyard ends in a steep slope.

My dumb gay cat isn't allowed outside when it's dark, so every morning he makes it known that he wishes to go outside to do his business.

And every morning his business consistes of sauntering out my back door, jumping nonchalantly up my retaining wall, looking around to see if anyone is watching and then suddenly dashing up the hill to the top and rolling gleefully in the dirt.

After again making sure no one was watching, he sits at the top of the hill, surveying his self declared country of dumbgaycatizstan. He makes sure all the trees have stayed where he put them and that no other cats are currently invading.

When this business is done he makes his way back down hill, cool as a cucumber, and yowls to be let back in the house.

Some days I wish I were my cat.

...Except for that pooping in a box thing.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

A one, and a two...

I'm a little sad today.

I've missed one of my favorite re-runs on PBS. It's pledge drive time. They've replaced regular programming with very special programming; trying to convince me to unload my wallet on their commercial free asses.

Don't I wish to make a pledge to support such spectacular shows like the one that PBS is showing you during pledge drive? No I do not! PBS only shows the really good programming during pledge drive, sneakily snatching away my Lawrence Welk. They aren't getting any moolah from me.

Yes, I'm a little sad because there was no Lawrence Welk on today.

Oh shut up...millions have loved Lawrence Welk! MILLIONS!

Lawrence Welk is a costume maker's wet dream...and I make costumes. My pants get squishy when I watch. Every performer's costume is sewn to wide lapel-ed 70's perfection. I become giddy when the camera pans toward the audience and I see long dead little old ladies in catseye glasses.

Oh the sequins! The chiffon! The bullet proof polyester pantsuits!

I think my dream job would have been to work for Larry Welk and the champagne sewers. I'm almost considering moving to Branson.

The last time I caught Larry was two weeks ago. A perfectly coiffed male performer made quite a show in singing "I've got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts". It was rendered so innocently that a person might forget that the song was about boobs. I was moved to snickering.

Oh Lawrence Welk, you accordian diddling bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right...It's because we both like blowing a good bubble.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

No soup for you!

Welcome to the new evening editions of AMHW. Here, have a smiley face sticker.

My toddler has strictly forbidden me from posting in the morning anymore. He seems to think that I should be watching Blues Clues with him while I drink my coffee instead of merrily implementing any brain cells I have left by writing witty posts for you.

He has also strictly forbidden me from anything else I used to do during the day that would set me apart as an adult.

like being in the bathroom long enough to shave off the forest on my legs...
like throwing piles and piles of dirty housewife underwear in the washer...
like calling my bookie and placing my bet on the next Pillsbury Bakeoff...
like practicing taxidermy in front of a webcam for fun and profit...

Posting in the evening is better for my readers and other hangers on anyway because my brain is somewhat sharper after the kids been shoved in their rooms with the strong suggestion that they should sleep.

At this moment I'm watching "On the Road with 16 Children" on Discovery Health. Discovery is fond of featuring the Duggar Family and their efforts in multiplying and replenishing the Earth. Every single one of their children is well mannered. None of them scream bloody murder when you don't fill their sippy cups with Koolaid within a three second time limit.

Mom and Dad Duggar say they are ordinary people. I say that their brains are made up of mostly of the bits that compel a person to be patient....and libidinous.

I wonder what Mom Duggar's legs look like.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Down to Business

I hereby open this posting of AMHW. All who are reading this blog without any pants on say "aye"....

First on the agenda: Catherine Bell.

I think it's absurd that lately I've received a great many hits to my blog because I posted a photo of Catherine Bell in my third post, over 252 posts and a year and a half ago. Catherine Bell was my first Celebrity Tart (Check list in the sidebar.) and due to popularity I'm posting her photo again. Get a good gawk why don't ya.

Catherine Bell, you number #1 celebrity tart, why do you thrill the internets so? Oh, that's right, it's because I haven't posted any of my own bikini photos on the internet.

Don't hold your breath.


Second on the Agenda: Meme

I've been tagged by Domestic Goddess...She who liveth in the same Happy Valley that I moved away from so I could live in Nevada. Nevada doesn't require my fabulous mini van to have emissions testing.

Six Oddities About Myself that I'm Willing to Share with the World.

1. I fantasize about art cars.
You've seen them on TV, those cars with all kinds of crap glued all over them. I want to buy a Ford Pinto station wagon and glue sparkly stuff to it. I want to cover the seats with neon shag fur.

2. Pretzel.
I can put both my ankles behind my neck at the same time. It's a trick that I'm able to do, not because I'm limber, but because my legs are really long. This position doesn't make me look the least bit demure and shouldn't be attempted in public without pants on.

3. Procrastination or is it laziness?
I haven't had a haircut in over two years. Before I became pregnant with the 17 month old rug-ape sitting on my lap right now, I cut over sixteen inches off my mane and donated it to Locks of Love. I haven't had a trim since. My hair is very long and it needs a little maintenance.

4. I don't know what my kids look like.
I don't carry any photos of my children in my purse or wallet. There isn't any real reason for this. No one has ever asked to see photos of my children so I guess I'm off the hook. Nowadays people show you their photos of their children on their cell phones. My cell phone doesn't take photos. Hell, it's barely used to make calls.

5. Don't look at my history.
I've been known to surf the internets looking at photos of naked ladies to use as sketching and sculpting references. There are a LOT of naked ladies out there. Naked men too. Just a lot of nakedness all over. Nekkid nekkid nekkid.

6. What is that smell?
It's guaranteed that if I eat frozen burritoes with sour cream my digestive organs will throw a tantrum and you will not be able to be in the same room with me. I can eat these things separately and be fine, but put them together and the aftereffects will kill cockroaches.

It's moved that I tag George W. Bush for this meme.


Third on the agenda: Clingy Toddlers.

I've spent two hours writing this post because my 17 month old rug-ape is at a really clingy stage in his short life. I am a human jungle gym. In a half hour I will toss him into his crib for a nap...and I will shower and pee blissfully alone.

It is moved that I take up writing posts in the late evening instead of the morning...seconded...passed.


This posting is now adjourned.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Turkin' Cookey

We're back from another Thanksgiving jaunt into Utah County. While we were gone our house didn't burn down, our fish didn't die and the pile of laundry I left didn't fold itself.

Wednesday night traffic on the freeway was so stop and go, at the last fifteen miles, that two of my three children became carsick and were hurling into Walmart bags. Those must have been the only Walmart bags in existence that didn't come with a hole in them. Thank you Sam Walton. Why is it that these two children can manage to aim when hurling into a bag but cannot aim when tinkling into the toilet? It's a mystery! On the upside, my fabulous mini van does not smell like vomit...or urine.

I lost ten dollars at poker after Thanksgiving dinner. I felt better after a slice of blueberry pie. I felt estatic about it when I chased blueberry pie with a slice of pecan.

While shopping on Saturday, Justin and I ventured into a small toy store in a mall. It was oh so cute and oh so overpriced. Off to the side the toy mongers set up an area where kids could play. There, a couple of children were chasing each other with cars, a boy and a girl, non related, both around age four. It's a given that little girls do not know how to play cars properly, as demonstrated by the little boy getting upset at the little girl's method of play. He was so frustrated with her that he burst forth with a far reaching cry of "YOU'RE A HOMO!". This set the whole store laughing.

Now I'm home, where my dumb gay cat greeted us at the door with much ankle rubbing and a pile of cat barf.

So, homos, how were your Thanksgivings? (You Canadian folks can click HERE...)

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Gobble Gobble

Here's to having a thankful Thanksgiving!

When you have your hand up a turkey's bum, think of me.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Metamucil for the blogger's soul.

I'm late in posting today. There is only so much writing you can get done when you are actively procrastinating.

I started a post on O.J. Simpson. I trashed it. I'm not adding anything new about his now cancelled book being a waste of good trees. O.J. needs a cranial enema whether he did it or not.

I started a post on how Thanksgiving and Christmas have been mushed into a month long holiday. Anyone reading this, regular or not, could basically just fill in the blank on that topic.

I started a post on obnoxious toys and obnoxious toy marketing around the mushed up Thanksmas season. (I've been in wonderment over the new generation of Barbie Dolls. They've misnamed all of them. More fitting...Hoochie Mama Barbie, Street Walker Barbie, Pole Dancer Barbie. Does anyone remember when Barbie wanted to be an astronaut? What happened to Barbie's tasteful sense of fashion? God I'm glad I've got sons. So far they aren't putting Star Wars action figures in hot pants.) ....And that's where my toy thoughts end.

Insert blog tantrum here.

What I want is to put out something new...readable...fresh and fruity! What ensues is trying too gosh darn hard and it's not flowing naturally. I don't want to add any more saccharine to your blog reading diets.

Natural flow is recommended over artificial flow by 4 out of 5 dentists.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Soft and chewy Funk and Wagnall's

Isn't it fascinating watching the learning process in toddlers...especially when you are watching my toddler who is the most impressive toddler on the planet? Yes, my DNA is just that spectacular.

My seventeen month old son has just recently realized that the words he does say convey meaning. "Cookie" no longer is a noun, it's a verb when it's used in the proper desperate tone..."I need a cookie (No! Several cookies!) or else I will die the most horrible screaming death on the planet, right here on the floor in front of Blue's Clues, leaving a large wet stain on the carpet!'

He's also learned to place a hierarchy on words. "Candy" is said in awe whereas "Cereal" is said with utter disgust when candy has been refused for breakfast. This floor monkey has no idea how much sugar I put in my morning coffee. I am a hypocrit.

I'm not sure if I should be upset that most of my son's vocabulary consists of food and toy words and that he hasn't shown any interest in saying "Mama". I can concede the fact that I'm not as intriguing as a vanilla wafer, but really, don't I get points for giving him cookies in the first place? He wouldn't know the wonderment of the cookie if it weren't for me forcing them down his tiny gullet. I tell ya, I get no respect.

It's been fun comparing my toddler's current learning curve to my almost 13 year old son's current learning curve. They are more similar than I had anticipated.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Sour Apples

I've spent all morning working on this post for you readers and other hangers on. Appreciate it!

I cannot believe I've neglected possibly the most versatile, useful and common candidate in my many months of selecting Bestest Housewifely Doodads. I use this stuff in my home daily! It was right under my nose!

November's Bestest Housewifely Doodad goes to:

Common Apple Cider Vinegar!

"Why not even more common white vinegar" you ask? Because apple cider vinegar smells and tastes better. That's it. If you prefer white vinegar, by all means, buy gallons.

I was reminded last week of why vinegar should be nominated this month. My husband was steaming asparagus with March, 2006's Bestest Housewifely Doodad and didn't quite add enough water to the pot.. This resulted in a mass of burnt on charry asparagus starch on the bottom...a mess that would require the use of elbow grease.

I dislike using elbow grease in vain. I figured if I poured vinegar in the pot and soaked it for an hour, the char would simply wipe away.

I was right! The mess wiped right off. My aluminum stock pot came out ever so shiny!

Vinegar is a fine cleaning agent. Every so often you should run some through your drip style coffee maker and it will clean out water deposits that make coffee taste like crap. You will have a steamy vinegar fume in your house for a while, but that's ok, the fume will deodorize your curtains.

I've also used this stuff to remove warts. Yes, I admit that I had a wart of the non STD variety. I kept a bandaid moistened with apple cider vinegar over my wart for a couple days. By day three the wart turned black and then it fell off. Now I'm wartless and fancy free.

Vinegar is also an excellent rinse aid for laundry. It's wonderful for removing soap residue and odors. If your man's shirts hang onto your man's manly armpit scents, soaking them in water with a good amount of vinegar, before washing, will take care of the stank.

I could regal you with the hundreds of other practical uses for vinegar, but I don't want to create any more sparkling GIFs. If you want more tips go HERE.

Apple Cider Vinegar is cheap and available at any grocery store.

Thank you Apple Cider Vinegar. I like you, I really like you.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Elizabeth Bustier Boobing

Ode to my left boob, which is a full cup size smaller than my right boob, but both boobs are really kinda little.

How do I consider thee?
Let me count the ways.
I consider your meager depth and breadth and height
That my palm reaches, when feeling the slight
Uneven cleavage and less than ideal cup.
I consider thee to the level of everyday's
Most serviceable bra, by band and underwire bite.
I consider thee freely, as you sit perkily unlike the right;
I consider thee purely, as the nipple raises.
I consider thee with a passion put to use
In much lactation, and with a mother's faith.
I consider thee as volume I seemed to lose
With my lost twenties, --- I consider thee with the breasts,
Of Others of all my life! --- and, because God chose,
I shall consider thee better because you are mine.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Friday, November 10, 2006

Buy one, get three free.

I believe I've mentioned before that I spent my high school years and at least one post high school year working as a checker at a grocery store. It was incredibly stimulating work that required the ability to locate a UPC code on every product in the store. Produce throws ya for a loop.

For convenience I'll call the grocery store "Jim Beam's" even though it was located in Utah and there was no likker to be had in the store.

I remember my Jim Beam's years fondly. I dream about them. Jim Beam's Dreams. In my dreams I'm still employed at the store but I never show up to work. I then wonder if they've fired me yet. In other dreams I'm trying to check groceries with the power out and no money in the till. All the while I hear the constant beep of the scanner.




When I go back to my hometown to visit there are two categories I place the locals in. The first is "classmates and their relations" and the second is "people I knew because they shopped at Jim Beam's". I still remember what these people purchased. Yes, that's the man that purchased four enema kits, a large bottle of prune juice and a can of Comet cleanser.

Working grocery affords you exposure to just that kind of fine consumer.

There was also the man that purposely dropped his change just so he could dramatically bend over and show me his plumber's crack. I was just as amazed as he thought I'd be.

There was also the woman who chose to wear a bikini top under a tank that featured a neckline that dipped to near her belly button. She scratched her chestal area and absent mindedly removed one of her bikini cups off of her breast. She hung out like that for a while and no one seemed to notice except me and my bagger. How do you call attention to a customer's nudity without also calling it to the attention of the people standing all about her? Eventually she felt a breeze and covered herself, but not until the sixteen year old bagboy had the best workday of his life.

There was also the man that winked as he handed me a condom with the wad of bills he was using to pay for his beer and doritoes.

There was also the extremely sweaty man that came back into the store to hand me a note written on the back of his parent's electric bill...only to rush out again. The note offered me his phone number and a request for a date. Unfortunately I had to refuse because I was underage...yeah, that's the excuse. I still have that electric bill somewhere. Later that year that same man showed up at an art show I was participating in because my photo was with the announcement in the local paper. He avoided my parents.

Even though I haven't worked at Jim Beam's for over a decade, and the store has changed management, I still will get asked where items are located if I happen to go in there. Luckily my housewifely skills come into play and I can indeed locate bottles of wheat germ and diet pork rinds. You're welcome.

Don't any one of you dear readers and other hangers on tell my old boss that we used to make large dry ice bombs during our breaks and then blow them up in the trash compactor...ok?

Thursday, November 09, 2006

...and I don't know what to title this post either.

My ovaries must be Republican because they are having absolute fits lately. I wish they'd take a hint from Rumsfeld.

I know when I go to visit the doctor he's just going to want to put me back on some form of hormonal birth control. I got fixed (lovely pictures over on my sidebar, under my birth stories) so I wouldn't have to take that crap. I can't be profane enough when it comes to describing how birth control made me feel.

What I'm liking best about my ovaries, at the moment, is the goatee they are causing me to grow. Goatees are so stylish right now. I have a goatovary. It turns my husband right on.

The weepiness is endearing as well. I was watching The Lord of the Rings the other day and I broke out into wracking sobs when Samwise threw Frodo over his shoulder and schlepped him up a volcano. All Frodo needed, in that scene, was a goatovary and he'd look exactly how I feel. Samwise must be a Democrat.

And now I don't know how to end this post....blah...I think I'll go eat chocolate.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Stuff my ballot box

Have you voted yet? Well have ya?

I will do my civic duty. They give you a sticker when you are finished. Because I am an American and free, that means I get to put my sticker anywhere I damned well please.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Spank Me

My oldest sister, Lori, has saved me the effort of thinking much by supplying me with today's post. I appreciate this immensely.

Today is my 32nd birthday and it's written in the card Lori gave me:

It's your birthday!

I asked this lady at the card shop to help me pick out a birthday card for you, and she said, "WHAT'S YOUR FRIEND LIKE?" So I told her.....

(Ok, make like you are opening the card here....)

Then she told me to get out or she'd call security!

Har-dee-har-har Lori. You'll still always be older than I am.

Friday, November 03, 2006

You can't push a rope

I don't know how to start blogging this morning. The words feels sticky. I am out of practice. I've let my oatmeal get cold pondering all this.

I learned yesterday that a boy that I wish my oldest son wasn't so attracted to be friends with tried to hang himself. I'm not shocked or surprised. This boy has a history of being highly dramatic in an effort to garner attention. His dramatics have earned him several expulsions from school over the years. He is a year older than my son.

Apparently he pulled this stunt at school with a rope and a doorknob last month.

I've actively discouraged my son spending much time outside of school with this boy. Now my son knows why. The best way to describe this boy's personality is that he's the type of person that would shoot up heroin just to prove that he couldn't get addicted to it. I've had little choice but to discourage the son isn't a leader with the ability to influence this boy...he's a follower, easily influenced.

I don't know what this boy's family has done with him, but we've not seen hide nor hair of him for the month of October. Propriety tells me I should feel badly about that, but I don't.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Have your pets spayed or neutered

To the neighbor who was giving out the single serve twinkies for halloween and gave me one too just because, you are awesome.

No, I do not really endorse the use of razor blades in halloween candy, despite the poorly executed joke in my last post. I was tiring of some particular people complaining on how unsafe Halloween is these days! Here is what Snopes has to say about it.

Pictures of costumes forthcoming...mostly because I decided I wasn't feeling real great last night and didn't dress up...and because I didn't take the camera out and take pictures of my kids. It's not like the costumes suddenly disappeared. We can put them on again!


How do you send a resume' to CBS?

You've heard that Bob Barker is retiring next year? I love Bob Barker but I want his job. Barker's beauties? Pshaw, Becky's beauties! Naturally they'll have more cleavage than I do but I plan on having longer legs.

I promise, if I get his job, I will stop dying my hair and just let it go naturally grey. You should see my roots now.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

One Bad Apple

Happy Halloween!
Let's skip the candy, and the bullsquat and I'll just offer you a Halloween razor blade straight up.
Trick or treat, smell my feet!
The quotes in my header?
Roll roll roll in ze hay - Young Frankenstein
With you, never a quickie, always a longie - Love at First Bite

Monday, October 30, 2006

Short post, shorter attention span.

Alright, alright, I'm gonna write a post...ok? Fine!

Should I be allowing my toddler to watch Wonderpets on Nick Jr? That's what I is rather nauseating. At least if we watch The Price is Right he'll learn numbers. He's sitting right in the middle of the floor, eyes glued, bowl of dry cereal to his side. It's never too early to teach Bob worship.

Tomorrow is Halloween right? Did you buy the good candy or did you cheap out? I have dum dums. The good candy is in my bedroom where it will only be eaten by me and my husband. I think it's important to have ethics when it comes to mini twix bars.

I have to get sewing. There are things that need to be sewn onto other things.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Soldier of Love

How does Weird Al know what I do in my spare time? Watch this.

This video excites me. It's not Weird Al doin' it to me this time, even though he does look particularly sexy pushing a lawn mower. This time my heart is all a-flutter over the white 'n nerdy dirty dance moves of...

Donny Osmond!

Full of testosteroney Utah goodness.

You know how I know that Donny Osmond is sexy? I know this because even my gay older sister paid homage to the man. She slept nightly on a Donny Osmond pillow case. She laid her face over his graven image and drooled. But then, when you consider what he looks like in the photo above, you gotta give my sister a little leeway.

I searched Ebay for the pillow case in question but could not find an auction for one. If I had I would have gotten myself a nice little present for my upcoming birthday. Sigh...

I own purple socks too Donny! I'm from Utah County! Donny! I'M A LITTLE BIT ROCK 'N ROLL!

Fine Donny. Stay with Weird Al and your wife of 28 years. See if I care.

Oh Donny Osmond, you broadway missionary bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right...It's because both of our names end in Y.

Monday, October 23, 2006

The Thunder Rolls

I had a lovely phone call this morning from an old highschool boyfriend. We had to kvetch about a mutual acquaintance. It was very nice catching up and has improved my day immensely.

It must be highschool oldhome week because I've also just been contacted by another old date of mine. He wasn't a boyfriend, just a pal. At one point we ended up in bed together in a motel room in Cedar City Logan, UT whilst attending an FFA convention. (edited, wrong town, wrong year. me still absent minded.)

(It was all very innocent I swear! I was wearing flannel jammies! We were watching HBO! I never touched any of his bits in any way, shape or form! You don't believe me! Honestly, FFA trips weren't like band trips...uh much.)

(At one point my FFA pal attempted to touch my little sister's bits. She was not amused.)

I understand the question that the second paragraph in this post raised wasn't if my FFA convention experiences were innocent, but what the heckfire is FFA?

I was a very active member of the Future Farmers of America, even to the point of being a club officer for two years. I raised pigs but I didn't own any shitkickers. I think I was the only member in Utah state who admitted to not knowing the Boot'n Scoot'n Boogie. Garth Brooks did not hold me enthralled nearly as much as Robert Smith. I had cut off my mullet. Lord knows how I ended up in Future Farmer's...but the experience was completely awesome. It was a great club.

No, I am not posting the photo of me during my mullet years (ages 10-11). Nor am I posting a photo of myself during my perm years (ages 13-14). You will have to satisfy yourself with this photo of me during my highschool years in all my blue corduroy FFA jacketed glory. Enjoy.

Saturday, October 21, 2006


Oh looky! Unlike yesterday morning, the little blogger post writing window actually showed up on my screen. What this means is that I can write a nice little post for all you readers and hangers on.

I meant to write about pot yesterday. You know, wacky weed, reefer, ganja, 420, jive sticks! Day late and a dollar short around Blogger.

I'm not one to partake in the old cannibis...I've never had an urge to partake in anything that comes in a baggie except goldfish crackers. I've said before that I wouldn't know where to buy such a thing. I barely know where to buy wine in a box.

On Nov. 7th that might change.

As it's worded in the ever so informative sample ballot I was mailed last week, I get to use the hanging chad-less electronic voting machine and vote YES or NO to persons over the age of 21 legally possessing and using up to one ounce of marijuana. Not just for medical reasons, but for any dern reason you want to use the stuff. I'm also voting on licensing marijuana retailers and wholesalers, taxing mary jane up the wazoo and imposing stricter penalties on driving under the influence.

Will they have to invent a breathalizer to measure how high you are?

If the majority votes yes then my town (and the other Utah border gambling armpit down in southern Nevada) is going to boom. Kaboom! Mushroom cloud! Not peyote...pot. I don't know where to buy peyote either. Utahns come to my town to sin and adding just one more sinful activity will ice the cake.

I didn't read in my ballot where it states in which locations you can use pot. I personally dislike it when I go to the casino from time to time and end up with Hackie McHackerson sitting next to me holding their lit cigarrette in my personal space. Will I have the ability to drive home safely if Doobie McDooberson holds their lit joint downwind?

Also on my ballot are two questions limiting smoking in public places. One limits smoking to just casinos and bars. The other says no to smoking in the gaming areas of casinos but you can still smoke in bars. I admit that when I moved to Nevada from Utah it threw me off to be in a McDonalds sitting next to someone smoking. I think limiting smoking in casinos is a bit silly...but then again would it still be silly if marijuana is legalized?

The marijuana question was shot down in 2002. That's when there was still a little hope in the democratic process and our government. Who knows how the hopeless masses are going to vote now. A little pot in Nevada may start a tidal wave of checks and balances across the US.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

No gold stars...

What is wrong with these children?

CBC News, Manitoba:

A 14-year-old Winnipeg boy suspects young bullies targeted his disability when they trapped him in a playground shed and set it ablaze on Saturday...

Apparently these kids can't get much more than a warning and counseling because of a law that states that you can't prosecute children under 12. The law also states that it works to make parents, or other responsible family members, accountable to the victims of their children's crimes.

Has anyone heard of any follow up stories about this? Any statements from the fire happy kid's parents?

I surely hope that the parents of the zippo clan aren't fighting their responsibility in this. If they are they need sterilization because, god help us, stupid breeds.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Have a happy butt...

Dear Mother Nature,

I am dissatisfied with the job you are doing.

I understand that you have very sound reasoning for causing a woman of childbearing age to bleed monthly, but why didn't you make the process of shedding one's uterine lining more simple?

My menstrual cramps are a bitch kitty and it's all your fault. Damn you.

I'm not feeling April fresh and it's all your fault. Damn you.

I have a three juicy pimples on my chin. Damn you.

My husband won't buy my tampons. Damn you!

All I want, Mother Nature, is to experience menses in a way that makes me feel more like a pretty pretty princess and less like a screaming undead Sam Kinison. Really, is that too much to ask?

I try to do my part Mother Nature. I don't litter. I don't use ozone destroying hairspray. I don't shoot at little birdies with BB guns. Give a little back!

Thank you for your time and consideration,

The Absent Minded Crampy Housewife

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

You Suck.

For the last sixteen months I was unaware of the miracle that had been taking place in my home.

You could argue that because my baby is sixteen months old that he is the miracle. He's cute and stuff but that is not what I'm referring to. Besides, do miracles blow out poopy diapers first thing in the morning because the previous night you fed the miracle grapes, apple juice and ham? That's what I thought.

What has me in awe of a higher power is the realization that for the entirety of my baby's life I've only purchased one package of two pacifiers...and that we've not had to replace them until now. This last couple days we've lost one binky and he bit the bulb off the other.

Do you know of any other baby that hasn't lost over two hundred binkies if they were the kind of baby that needed to use one? Me either up until now.

I wouldn't classify my baby as a binkie abuser. He's not going to get the binky DTs. He just likes to have one when he's put down in his crib for a nap or for the night. During the day he's perfectly happy without one. He'll play with them but doesn't use them for comfort like at night-night boo-boo time.

Now my child is binky-less. I'm wondering if I should replace the binkies or not.

I used the same type of binky with my second baby because he had a high palette and other binkies didn't fit. I wrote the binky company and told them how much I appreciated their design, which was unique at the time. They sent me three packages of twin pack binkies back as a thank you...a half dozen fresh binkies that were lost within hours.

You could ask, "Hey Absent Minded Housewife, why didn't you use one of them pin on binky leashes?" Does my self imposed title say nothing about me? Of course I didn't use one. That would have made some sort of sense.

Thank you Lord for watching over the binkies while they served their time in my home. They were well used and loyal binkies.

There is still hope that we may find the remaining binky. I'll let you know.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Air Biscuits

Two of my Gert Jonnys died overnight. RIP Gert Jonnys one and two. May you shoop shoop in fishy heaven. You will be missed by Gert Jonnys three and four, up until feeding time.


It's that time of the month again...

No, It's not tampon time. It's Bestest Housewifely Doodad time!

When a person thinks of housewifery, it's not uncommon that they imagine the perpetually pleasant face of Betty Crocker. Betty whips up delicious semi-home cooked meals in under thirty minutes without ruining her manicure. Betty never has menstrual cramps.

Betty bakes Bisquick biscuits. Betty uses October's Bestest Housewifely Doodad.

The Pastry Mixer!

I made the mistake of searching for an image of this item under the name "biscuit cutter". Apparently this is not a biscuit cutter because biscuit cutters look like cookie cutters and are used to actually cut out the biscuits from the rolled dough. Fine. When I make biscuits I cut them out with a wide glass. I don't need one of them newfangled biscuit cutters!

The Pastry Mixer is a handy little tool for all of us Betty Crocker crampless wannabes. Using it makes mixing any cold dough an easy chore. I use it to mix not just biscuits, but pie dough, cookie dough, meatloaf ooze, chicken salad, tuna salad, egg salad....

I hear you say, "but I do all of that in my food processor!" That's fine and dandy...but whatever will you do when your power goes out, huh huh? Not to mention that the pastry cutter takes less room in the dishwasher when your power comes back on.

A Pastry Mixer costs three or four dollars. You should be able to find them at Wallyworld but you never know.

Don't use Bisquick to make biscuits though...bleh...or pancakes either. (Don't you even dare mention biscuits in a can...blasphemer!) Bisquick could be proven to relieve menstrual cramps and I'd still use this biscuit recipe:

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Sift together in mixing bowl:

3 and 1/2 cups of flour
1 tsp salt
4 tsps baking powder
2 Tbs sugar
1 tsp baking soda

Cut in until crumbly:
10 Tbs of margarine or butter. (Stick margarine is much better than tub)

Cut in until just moist:
1 and 1/2 cups of buttermilk.

This dough should be handled lightly. Turn onto floured board. Knead gently until dough holds it's shape. Roll to a 1/2 inch thickness and then cut the rounds. Bake 10 to 12 minutes on lightly greased cookie sheet.

This recipe truly only takes minutes to put together. My husband is so happy on biscuit night that he considers going to the store to buy my tampons. He's never actually made it to the store but he's considered it.

In conclusion: Betty Crocker a robot. Pastry Mixer is not a biscuit cutter. Bisquick is evil.

Thank you Pastry Mixer, I like you, I really like you.

Friday, October 13, 2006


Is everyone in blogland just as ass draggy as I've been this week? Blehhhhh.

Oooooh, I forgot I have hot coffee. Be right back.

In between politics, Dancing with the Stars and the weather, I think everyone is feeling a bit meh.

On the upside, I only paid $67 dollars for a Tickle Me Elmo on Ebay. Elmo is never ass-draggy.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Genetic Valtrex

My husband and I are particularly frustrated with certain aspects of parenting lately. When you consider the consequences of the sexual act after the fact...sometimes you think you'd rather choose herpes than conception.

I have a large genital wart with his own bedroom.

Hopefully, unlike genital warts or herpes, this too shall pass.

P.S. Do NOT go googling for an image to illustrate your post using the search term "herpes" or "genital warts". Trust me on this.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Why I'm Super Costume Goddess ...

...because I just explained to a person how to do Kiss makeup on a horse.

Giddyap Gene Simmons!

Friday, October 06, 2006


When I opened the door to my van this morning, so I could take my kid to school, I was greeted a thick wave of french fry scented van air. At that moment I thought it would be interesting to write about the smells of motherhood for my readers and other hangers on to enjoy.

Two seconds later I realized that writing about the smell of Desitin would be as dull as..well...powder. How many smelly tuna noodle casserole jokes can a person make in one post? smelly tuna noodle casserole joke.

My 7 year old son came innocently to my rescue. He told me this morning, after the french fry van air had dissipated somewhat, this little endearment:

"Mom, I wish you would never get old."

Son, I wish that too but that's just not the way things work around here. He furthered this idea with:

"Eating makes you get old."

I honestly don't know how he made this leap. I haven't made any tuna noodle casseroles lately. (Two!)

I asked him, "Should I stop eating?"

He replied with a short no.

I asked him, "What would happen if I stopped eating so I wouldn't get old?"

"You'd DIE!"

Aging problem solved. French fry van air still lingering.


I made it onto 25 peeps. Keep me on and click this stinkin' link right HERE! (Or the one in my sidebar. I'm not picky.)

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, JOLENE!

I think it was the Christmas that I was 8 or 9 that my little sister and I were each given our own portable record players. The players were housed in a suitcase made of cardboard with a print on the front of a generic male and a generic female country western singers forever declaring that they are islands in the stream.

What got played most on our rhinestone portables was my mom's small record collection and my parent's stack of country western 45's. (I grew up on a horse can't expect any Jimi Hendrix LPs.) I was reared in lyrics bemoaning cheatin' spouses and reminiscing about a good dog.

Happening upon a YouTube video featuring Dolly Parton and Boy George recently gave me a hankerin' to power up Limewire and steal me some of them old songs so I can listen to them again. It took quite a bit of searching. Apparently my parent's taste in music isn't popular with the song stealing internet republic.

Mom had a couple Herb Alpert LPs. I remember looking at the cover of this album and wondering if that was really whipped cream or was it lots of soap. It was a very very dirty image in any case. She warn't wearing no underpants!

One of the albums had a recording of the Limbo song. We wore that one out. I think that one song prepared me for marriage.

I looked and looked at this album cover as a kid. The concentric rings made Johnny look meaner than hell.

It took courage just to remove the vinyl out of the sleeve. I wonder now if I should have played this record backwards.

Oh Mom....please forgive us for using up and spitting out your one Elvis LP! You could actually HEAR his pelvis singing directly to you....sigh....

My mom's album is nowhere near this pristine. I drew eyelashes on Elvis. It's covered in masking tape. I want an ascot.

My absolute favorite record in the bunch was a Dolly Parton 45 with a lovely version of "Light of a Clear Blue Morning" on the A side. For the life of me I cannot remember what is on the B side. This 45 was perfect to lip sync to. It started out slow and ballad-y and progressed to a beat you could really jiggle your fake jugs to. I won one or two lip sync contests doing just that, dressed in calico and a bad blonde wig. It takes a lot of rigging to keep your fake boobs from falling out of your costume when you are jiggling them that much.

Back to Limewire. I must download some Loretta Lynn.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Generic Post Title

The writing is coming awfully slow this morning.


Yesterday evening I was asked about this latest rash of school shootings and how I felt about that as my husband is a teacher. I didn't know how to answer such a question. Uh yeah, I hope my husband doesn't ever get shot at work because that would be especially crappy at this point in my life?

When Justin and I were first married he was in the National Guard. He's been out since 1995. If I had to choose between my husband being in the Guard and my husband being a teacher...I'm choosing teaching.


Congressman Foley is a grade A asshat. I wonder if he has a Myspace account?


My husband and I were unwillingly nominated for leadership positions in our HOA. My husband received one vote and I received none. I'm so grateful that I'm unpopular in the neighborhood. The last thing I need to think about is how to solve parking disputes between my neighbors.


Almost 13 year old boy children smell funny.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Friday, September 29, 2006

Morning Minutia

My dumb gay cat is looking at me funny.

My baby has spread the contents of our video cabinets all over the floor.

There is clean folded laundry by the couch, in a basket. It's been sitting there for a week.

My house smells like fish and raspberries. Fish from last night's dinner, which was lovingly cooked for me and was delicious. Raspberry from a candle thingy I bought at the Hare Krishna yard sale in Spanish Fork, UT several years ago. They were raising money to build a temple which is now completed.

My coffee is cold.

There is a man with funny looking hair on The Price is Right. Wait, two men. Neither are Bob Barker.

I just burped.

I'm lusting over this new sewing machine which is on sale. Only $3000 down from $5000. The software to make your own embroidery designs for this machine only costs an extra $865!

My baby has his finger up his nose.

I like cheese.

My baby is attempting to molest the cat. It's only what the cat deserves.

Some people are just not that bright.

It took me an hour to write this post.

Thursday, September 28, 2006


I'm in an amazing state of panic.

I suffer from insomnia. I know experts tell you to not have a television in the bedroom because it's a sleep distraction but for me it's a sleep enhancer. I watch the TV and all the little thoughts that keep me awake are drowned out by Netflix DVDs. I fall blissfully asleep within a half hour usually. It takes me several nights to get through a DVD.

Last night I finished the last episode of the last season of Degrassi Junior High. Oh there is joy in 80's teen Canadian television! There is poutine! (Which I notice they don't call poutine because it confuses American audiences.) There is Aqua Net and pimples and teen pregnancy and Joey Jeremiah! I'm full to bursting with sweet sweet nostalgia.

...and I want more. The last episode ends with the junior high building burning to the ground during the graduation dance. Joey is mackin' on Caitlin. Shane just awoke from a coma caused by an acid induced jump from a bridge. Spike didn't drop out of school because of teen motherhood. These are cliffhangers that will addict you just as much as meth, or fruit flavored chewing tobacco, or fresh, warm poutine.

The series continues, renamed "Degrassi High", with the characters suffering through their puberties in the upper grades. Degrassi High isn't available in the good ole USA on DVD and therefore Netflix ain't got it.



Degrassi High is available on VHS in the USA. I could buy it on Amazon for a zillion dollars. It's available on DVD on Ebay from Australian sellers. I could buy it there for a competitive price and not as much in shipping as you'd think...

What's the use of buying the high school series without owning the junior high series as well? That's five seasons of shows plus the school's out end of series TV movie! This is going to be expensive.

You can send your donations to:

The Absent Minded Housewife Degrassi Relief Fund
The Red Garter Casino Parking Lot
Bendover, NV 89883

Think of the children!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Don't blame the dog.

You must excuse the state of the place. I'm playing with a Halloween theme without totally messing up my entire template. Points to whomever can place the movie quotes in the tombstones above. (No googling, cheaters!)


I've been reading quite a bit about marital consideration lately...specifically the etiquette of bodily functions in the marital home. I'm wondering what kind of coincidence this is when I'm reading about this topic in no less than five unrelated places on the interweb this week. (check Rockstar Mommy if you want a good example.)

There are swell arguments for both sides.

1. Mystery in a marriage is good! Farting and taking a dump are private acts! No one needs to see my grunt face, ok? It just ain't sexy baby.
2. I should be able to freely fart and take random dumps with my S/O present because it indicates a level of unconditional comfort and love! Love me, love my mess.

I prefer a happy medium. I don't want to hold in gas yet I don't want my husband and I to be comfortable enough to light each other's farts with a Zippo. I don't want to hide the fact that I poop yet I don't want to have an audience while I do so. (If it's a particularly evil dump does the audience get to boo and hiss?)

I'm reminded of the story of the woman that requested her loud and proud farting husband only release gas in the bathroom, because anywhere else is crude, only to have him come into the bathroom and fart while she was in the tub. Heh.

It's just crazy that I've been reading about this everywhere lately. Isn't the mind of the masses a strange thing? I'm not above doing my part...

Monday, September 25, 2006

"There and Back Again" by Wayne Newton


...was excellent.

I would have given you dear readers and other hangers on a full report this weekend but I was in a state of transition all over Utah.

It was Justin's 20th high school reunion. We got the invite long after I purchased Wayne Newton tickets. It was necessary that we go attend the homecoming festivities with all the rest of the old farts in Utah County. What this meant was that we drove in on Thursday evening, my parents and I drove back to Bendover on Friday morning to attend the concert that evening, then back to Utah county Saturday to attend the last of the reunion activities with Justin, then we drove home yesterday.

That's near 400 miles (out of 800 total) for Wayne Newton's benefit. I hope he's happy! Wayne has excellent hair. He sang "Mack the Knife"...sigh....he rolled his pelvis...oh sighhhh...

The reunion was pleasant, even though I mistook a dark salad dressing for gravy in the catered buffet line. (It had mushrooms in it!) It's awfully funny to see how different everyone's lives are when they are 38. Two were already grandparents while one of them brought along their week old baby. Spouses were in the age range between midtwenties and midfifties. Most had three kids, all of the same gender, which we attributed to some anomally in the water.

I got some good natured ribbing at the reunion for Wayne-trek. I swear they were just green with envy...or at least green from making the same salad dressing mistake I did.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Lost in Publication

I subscribe to three magazines that are pertinent to my existence.

One is "Good Housekeeping". Dr. Pheel is usually on the cover.

Another is "Ladies Home Journal". Dr. Pheel and his wife Robyn are on the cover.

The third is "In Style". This time these are on the cover...

OK OK, that's not really what is on the cover, but that's all my husband saw! I doubt those are named Dr. Phil and Robyn.

I like In Style magazine as a seamstress. The magazine has excellent photos of couture. I can see the seams and the construction fairly well and then I feel giddy. This month Scarlett Johansson is on the cover. This month Justin feels giddy.

If you can manage to stop staring at those things what you and my husband might find is that Scarlett possesses a head.

Scarlett has said that she likes being curvy. Isaac Mizrahi, clothing designer and fabulous TV personality, also likes her being curvy. He couldn't help but cop a feel at the Golden Globes.

(That's Debbie Matenopolous acting all jealous and copping her own feel.)

I read this month's In Style thinking of which foundation garment would make the most of Scarlett's figure. I admit I wouldn't mind throwing her body into a wasp waist corset for kicks. Justin read this month's In Style thinking the exact same thing. We have a lot in common.

Oh Scarlett Johansson, you pearl earring dangling tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question, she can say more with a subtle facial expression than most people can even if they talked for hours.

I wonder what foundation garments would make the most of Dr. Pheel's figure?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Tickle me Chimpy

"... And some things that should not have been forgotten...were lost. History became legend...legend became myth and for two and a half thousand years the Ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer!

My precious..."

--Lord of the Rings

I've done been memed by The Precious. Long ages have passed, and much deep housecleaning, in which I have tamed the dust bunnies under my bed and the cobwebs on my ceiling fans. The meme was forgotten. The meme serves one master and she has her eye on me and Dubya too.

With much ado...


1. I'm particular about what pen I use to write with. I'm very sensory that way! I buy boxes of Pilot precise V5 rolling ball pens at Sam's Club. When people steal my pens I get perturbed. I also hold my pens and pencils wrong.

2. I'm the worst coffee reheater. I should make smaller pots of coffee so it will be fresh but I don't.

3. I like to keep my armpits hair free but I'm not so concerned about my legs. I'm the absent minded sasquatch. I have a lot of leg and dammit, it's just time consuming!

4. I tend to touch my own boobs a lot just to check if they are there. Sometimes I find my missing Pilot pens.

5. If the towels aren't folded the right way I get miffy.

6. When I go to do the laundry I find bliss in huffing the Tide fumes. Just recently I've discovered the joys of not buying detergent in a bucket. I kind of miss getting a free bucket though. That's OK, sniff the Tide, forget the wanton bucket yearnings.

I'm tagging George W. Bush for this meme.


Yesterday the powers that be unleashed the new Tickle Me Elmo on the world. I saw Elmo in action on the news and was delighted. It's quite adorable! I want one...uh...I mean I want to buy my baby one!

I went to place my order with Amazon, for Christmas...yeah Christmas...for the baby. I quickly decided against it. That whore Elmo was priced at $160 yesterday! Today they are gone! The Toys R Us website lists them at $40 but, of course, they are temporarily unavailable. On Ebay they are selling for anywhere from $70 to $120.

On the streets I can buy a tickle for $20 bucks.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


Aye this morn be talk like a pirate day!

And what a fine day t'is fer Dubya's saucy attempt at sweet speakin t'skeptical UN fer to take a fine stand up fer peace in yon terrorism's violent count'nance!

(He should attempt it in pirate, it might give him some credibility. Arghh!)

Yar Bushy, how did ye landlocked crimson states not know in you, ye scurvy dog, they ne'er be choosin' the lesser of two weevils?

Monday, September 18, 2006

Donkey Shane

Good morning fellow internet-ophiles! I hope you are having a sunshiney delicious Monday morning!

Alright...enough of that.

I'm cordially inviting you to come over to my house, for coffee, witty repartee', TV watching....and if you wouldn't mind, could you possibly change my baby's poopoo diaper? Oh c'mon, I'll give you five bucks! Ten? My everlasting soul?


Be right back.

Phewww...see if I ask you over again! See if I offer you my soul!


I'm looking forward to seeing WAYNE NEWTON on Friday. I'm having random Wayniac fantasies which I would discuss here but then you would find me obscene. Just know that my fantasy Wayne whispers in my ear, all sultry like, "Everything that happens with Mr. Las Vegas stays with Mr. Las Vegas." Oh Wayne!

Friday, September 15, 2006

Automatic, Systematic, Hydromatic


Faster you fools, it's back!





I apologize for scaring you!
I guess my baby just has a runny nose.

You can still panic about the state of his diaper.



Happy midmonth and happy Bestest Housewifely Doodad Day!

I don't believe I've actually put this honor on an actual soap type cleaning product until today. This product is highly effective in many applications, including wiping remnants of "the blob" off everything a runny nose baby has climbed on.

September's Bestest Housewifely Doodad goes to...

Greased Lightning Super Strength Multi-Purpose Cleaner & Degreaser!

"Removes grease, grime, soap scum, mildew stains, mud & much more!" says the bottle.

Yup, I'd agree with that.

You can use this fresh smelling cleaner full strength or you can mix it in a bucket of water and get on your hands and knees to scrub with it. It removes greasy grime effectively. I know this because I recently used it to remove a good layer of grease out of the fan filter above my cooktop. Now it's all shiny. Nothing says housewife success like a grease free fan filter.

I use it to clean my bathtub, no scrubbing and no cleanser grit.
I use it to clean little boy handprints all over doorknobs and walls.
I use it to clean my stovetop.
I use it to clean the hinges of the toilet in my boy's bathroom...groggg...

I shouldn't have used it to clean the little aluminum shelf I put my coffee cups on. It reacts with aluminum and now my shelf has something akin to chicken pox. As with any cleaner, read the back of the bottle for directions. Keep out of reach of children. Don't spray it up your nose or on your eyeballs. Don't eat it!

Greased Lightning is quite soapy so I recommend rinsing.

A 32 oz. container can be easily found in any store offering fine cleaning products for around three bucks...probably less. I didn't look at the shelf price. It also comes in gallon sized containers a bulk warehouses and home improvement stores.

BONUS! Greased Lightning is now holding some sort of contest to send you, yes YOU!, to The Country Music Awards in person and stuff! If you would like to enter such a contest then click this stinkin' link right here. If you win you don't have to take me with you, honest.

Thank you Greased Lightning. I like you, I really like you.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Fishtank Disco

I bought four more fish for my fishtank, because my fishtank lacked multiculturalism.

All my fish have names. The bottom feeder is named (Kevin Federline) Scumbag. The grey loach is named Jon Stewart. The white loach with red eyes is named, appropriately, Redeye. The zebra striped angelfish is named Luis. The strange grey whiskered bottom feeder is named Jussy.

What my little stepfamily of fish lacked was color. I decided to buy a neon tetra.

Neon tetras are just like potato chips. You can't have just one. These fish thrive on peer pressure. I had to buy four of them. Damned things keep going behind the fake plant to smoke doobies and chug wine coolers.

Because you can't tell these buggers apart they needed a group name. I settled on...

The Gert Jonnys. Do you see the resemblance? Fabulous isn't it!

Gert Jonnys are a Swedish rock foursome from the '70s. (...isn't that a surprise.) They've obtained cult status because of their sense of style is being passed around the internets. Personally I think there is a kind of hypnotic quality to their haircuts. I must go buy some mentossssss....

If you would like to listen to Gert Jonnys click this stinkin' link right here. Shoop shoop shoop shooby doo wah!

You'll notice that Gert Jonnys is on my header. I found it was the perfect photo to go with the quote.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

How to clean a crock pot

1. Notice by the smell that the crock pot you left soaking "overnight" is probably done soaking and needs cleaning. Curse under your breath.

2. Carefully remove the lid and admire the science project inside. Curse louder.

3. Run boiling hot tap water, flip the disposal switch, hold crock pot as far away from your body as possible and upend contents into the sink.

4. Gag.

5. Spray the inside of the crock pot liberally with the sink sprayer, while holding your body as far away from the sink as possible. Spray anyone that remarks, "What is that smell?"

6. Spray apple cinnamon scented air freshener. It's supposed to mimic the aroma of Grandma's homebaked apple pie but all you get is Mom's special science project scented apple pie.

7. Put on your pink rubber gloves. Dribble your favorite dish cleaning liquid into the crock pot and attack with your Dobie. Notice that the sink area now smells like Mom's lemon fresh science project apple pie.

8. Add a hefty sprinkle of cleanser. Stick tongue out of mouth while you scrub off the baked on bits.

9. Notice that not only can you smell the sink area but you can now taste it.

10. Fumble with the soap slippery crock pot and drop it. It magically skirts the edge of the sink and drops to the floor, nearly missing your big toe. Curse so loud it scares the cat.

11. Leave indestructible crock pot where it is while you mop up the greasy suds that have sprayed all over your impractical white linoleum. Mop as quickly as you can before the baby toddles into the kitchen to stick his fingers in the bubbles and subsequently into his mouth.

12. Resume scrubbing. Realize that dropping your crock pot has loosened the baked on bits and the rest of the cleaning goes rather smoothly.

13. Check to make sure there isn't too much goo on the hi/lo knob.

14. Rinse with your sink sprayer. Spray anyone that asks, "What's for dinner?"

15. Venture to the clean laundry pile to find a kitchen towel to dry the crock pot with. Notice the pair of jeans in the pile that haven't fit you for several years in which you still haven't managed to fold and put away.

16. Dry crock pot and stash in the cubboard with the rest of the near useless appliances. Feel sense of accomplishment while vowing not to ever use the crock pot again.

17. Order take out.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Five Years

It's to be expected that most bloggers today will say something about 9/11, as it's been five years.

Around the internets it's been popular to post where you were when it happened. I have no problem with this! I was here, at home, getting my kid's ready for school. I logged into my instant messenger and got told to turn on my TV.

What I dislike about this notion, of telling people where you were, is the seemingly competitive nature of it. It's not where you were, or the importance of what you were doing at the time, that makes the event all the more profound for you. (With the exception of if you were actually there or if you were in the middle of childbirth...or both.) That you remember is what is significant.

I was home, glued to my television. I burst into tears when I saw people jump in tandem. Justin was teaching high school, where the kids had no idea to how serious this was. I called my sister while the second tower fell. I got my kids from school later that day and noticed the blank expressions on everyone's faces.

My condolences to those remembering their losses today.


That being said...anyone have an opinion on last night's 9/11 ratings grab on ABC and CBS? I don't...I didn't watch.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Ces ménagères si désespérées...

Yesterday I mentioned that I had committed adultery.

Wait, that's not how I worded it. I said I had a bus boyfriend. I'll let you, my dear readers and other hangers on, decide if I was adulterous or not.

Back in the middle nineties I was ever so fortunate to live in Spanish Fork (that's pronounced Fark), Utah. Justin and I were both attending what we called "UV-Ca-Ca" or "High School with ashtrays". AKA Utah Valley Community College, now Utah Valley State College. One of the best ways to get to school at the time was riding public transportation. Our poor butts could share an el cheapo student bus pass and save on parking fees and gas.

I looked forward to my hour and a half bus ride to and from school. It reminded me of riding the bus to elementary school in many ways except it was quieter and there was less booger eating.

It was on my ride home where we passed an industrial area and picked up a group of folks with disabilities. One of these businesses had hired a bunch from the local "school" so they could gain confidence and work experience. Most of these bus riders were down syndrome, but all kinds of mild retardation were represented. This was the best part of my bus ride. Public transportation is dreary and these folks brightened it up considerably.

I became friends with one disabled man. He made it a point to sit by me whenever I was on the bus. We chatted about all kinds of things, like cartoons and Coca Cola. He'd shake my hand repeatedly.

One day, while we were discussing politics, he lay his head on my shoulder and sighed, "You are so nice!"


The next bus ride he lay his head on my shoulder, proclaimed my niceness again...and he held my hand. Awwww!

The next next bus ride he lay his head lower on my shoulder....
...and the next lower
...and lower the point where I physically lifted his head off my boobs with my hands.

He tried it again the next bus ride. I told him not to lay his head on me again. He smirked at me. He smirked and then I knew...

He'd been systematically chatting me up and using his condition to finally cop a feel!

My married ass had been manipulated by a new brand of suave! I let him hold my hand! I was duped.

He sat in the back of the bus after that. Like in poker, once you reveal your hand you can never go back.


Yesterday I found an interesting link on my sitemeter used to find my blog. It's a reminder to how small this world really is...or how far one can reach into it.

My blog has been mentioned in an article in a May issue of the magazine "La Liberte". I had much difficulty reading this article because La Liberte happens to be published in French. I sluffed French in high school. The article is entitled "These So Desperate Housewives." and is about housewives utilizing the internets.

Here, have a linky to the PDF copy .

I've been mentioned with Bored Housewife. Babelfish badly translates:

...moms with the hearth benefitted from the Tupperware meetings, passed the hours to the telephone or attended the charitable organizations to chatter between them.

Today, there is Internet. Ready to leap when baby opens the eye, they tap on their keyboard of the afternoon or the whole evenings. Some feed from the blogs. They post the last photographs of chérubin, but also speak about their states of heart or their day. Vibrating or tedious, it is according to, and sometimes, with an acute direction of the autodérision.

American the LISA publishes very read "boredhousewife": "I remain at the house and I owe my safety with this blog and my rendezvous with the gym", writes it in this connection. This 30 year old mother is able to develop a nap post-indigestion lengthily. What requires a certain talent, let us acknowledge it. Its compatriot of "absentminded housewife", it, can write almost a news on a simple way towards the school...

I'm assuming the writer of this article is referring to one of two posts I wrote in early May. One where I whine about parents with poor driving skills whilst dropping off their children at school...or another where I whine about farting in my fabulous minivan after dropping my kids off to school.

Farting is almost a news.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Jesus Built My Hotrod

My little family has always been a one car family. We like the Joneses but we've been horrible at keeping up with them.

The reality is that we've always set up our living so that we'd only need one car. First this was out of necessity. It takes money to buy a car, put gas and insurance in it, and we had absolutely no money for more than the Mustang II that I bought in highschool. Justin made good use of student bus passes. I made good use of Justin's student bus pass on days Justin didn't go to school.

(I had a bus boyfriend. I think I'll write about that tomorrow.)

The Mustang II was replaced in 1995 with a 1982 beige Toyota Celica hatchback. When insuring this vehicle I was informed by State Farm that it was a sportscar. I laughed right in the face of the insurance agent and offered to let them come look at the car. Cmon, it's beige! It's four cylinders! In any case the Celica was a good sturdy car that didn't break down for poor college students and we appreciated that very very much. We didn't use it often because we lived two blocks from Southern Utah University so we walked. We didn't even make out in it.

When we traded in our Celica in 1999 for a 1995 Mercury Sable I nearly cried. It was much like having your child grow up and leave home! I was assured that it was going to another very poor college student and maybe someone would make out in it, hopefully while using condoms. We got six hundred bucks out of the Celica and put it toward a newer car to match our newer life in Nevada. We didn't put much mileage on the Sable...we still lived close enough to walk everywhere.

(An interruption. Jessica Simpson is on The Early Show this morning and she's got a really cute haircut! Alrighty, back to the post.)

When we learned that I was expecting rug-ape #3 we knew that life would be much more pleasant if we had a vehicle with three rows of seats. It was absolutely necessary to have the ability to separate one boy from the other boys on our long car trips. We purchased the fabulous minivan new and decided to keep the Sable, just in case. New car...high falootin'!

Some months into owning the fabulous mini van we received a call from a student of Justin's. His family had two cars which both died horrible deaths, one right after the other, and they needed transportation badly. We're we thinking of selling the Sable? At that point we'd realized that the old car had sat in it's parking spot for nearly five months and we hadn't driven it once. That was $200 worth of insurance on it for nuthin. It had a dead battery but otherwise it was in tip top shape. We sold it that day for cash.

I've been seeing our old Sable every morning while driving the kids to school. The new owners have shined it all perty and it's got all kinds of rosaries hanging from the mirror. They know the car used to be Mormon and needed saving.

This morning I passed the old Sable and saw it had been backed into something. It had a rather large dent in the trunk and crushed back bumper. I was sad. It was like it was my kid out there in the world with a nasty scrape on his knee and needing a bandaid! We never made out in the Sable either!

I might be more sad if I'd backed the fabulous minivan into something. It is our only transportion and someday we might make out in it.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Like a Pear

I've been over at The Mama this morning, scrolling through her archives, to find the link to The Shape of a Mother.

What an excellent blog this is! I'm tempted to post my own ever so sexy nudes over there. We need more dinner plate sized areolas on the internet. We need more evidence that real naked women are naturally hairy! I need to free my lopsided breasts! My stretchmarks are my badge of honor!!!!! Uh...

(Calm down Becky. Breathe, breathe...good.)

From that blog I linked to Birth Story Diaries. I'm a sucker for birth stories. I'm such a sucker that I immediately head right to the most graphic stories, with photos, listed on the site.

...And that's why I've been a teary mess all morning. I shouldn't read birth stories before my coffee and my morning constitutional.

Time to go watch Discovery Health.

Monday, September 04, 2006


I have to do laundry.

Happy Labor Day.


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