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.


Friday, September 01, 2006

Pubes Cubed

I'm a snooper.

My last few posts have dealt with the impending puberty of my twelve year old son. Part of my dealing with his puberty is sneakily giving my son the impression that he has a right to privacy.

I put on my cloak, I unsheathed my dagger and then I asked my son his email ID and password and he gave them to me. I said I was going to make sure he didn't get much spam...and um...I'd snoop from time to time.


Yesterday was a time to snoop. My son asked to check his email in my husband's classroom. Following the cloak and dagger theme, Justin looked over my son's shoulder and saw the word "crush" on the monitor. It was not email spam promising my 12 year old son a gargantuan erection.

When I picked up Justin from school he proclaimed "I think our boy has a girlfriend!"

"No way!" I said...and Justin told me about his over the shoulder reading and I told him I was the keeper of the email password. We rubbed our hands together and cackled. We have to find out what "crush" is all about don't we? For his protection!

My son had sent an email to all his friends asking about their first week of school. In reply a cute little skater girl responded that the first day of school was weird and boring and that this might be dumb but she had been crushing on my son ALL DAY heart heart :x kissy emoticon.

My son responds with "whatttt????????????". I respond with "Awwwwwwww!"

My son doesn't know I've snooped. There isn't any value in telling him. I won't even tease him even though I'm desperately tempted. I think this girl is especially cute and I wouldn't mind her being mother to my grandbabies after college, a long courtship and engagement.

Good thing my son has to wait unil age 16 to date. The womens are after him already!

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