Friday, March 31, 2006

A dumb gay spring break.

My dumb gay cat is sleeping in the crib with my baby. (No word on if the baby is dumb and/or gay...if that is the case I'll let you know.)

When my parents were ever so fortunate to learn of my impending arrival my Dad went about building a crib for me. He got the metal workings from a buddy who had some in his scrapyard...and I'm fairly sure that the wood was scrap from the building of their house. Out of meager beginnings and master craftmanship arose this delicate and sturdy crib.

It's been my bed, my sister's bed...the bed of two nephews and a niece...and it's held all three of my sons while they were either screaming or sleeping, take your choice. It's been in service as a crib for thirty one years.

I doubt my Dad ever predicted that it would become the napping spot of choice for a dumb gay cat.

After my baby is done with the crib I'd like to turn the crib into something else. Keep it around ya know. I'm unsure of what to do with it at this point. I will think of something fabulous! It's not staying a dumb gay cat bed.


In the history of spring breaks, this year's spring break at my house has to be the most boring spring break ever. (With the exeption of acquiring a brand new big ass computer.)

I've gotten to play with the Sims 2 game I've had for over a year. The old computer didn't have a graphics card that could handle it, even though the specs on the game box said I did. I made characters based on Justin and myself. The game went along fine until I managed to get pregnant and then I died. Now the Justin character lives alone and he farts a lot. I'm trying to hook him up with some fine Sim women but they aren't being very accomodating.

Oprah, my blue beta fish, died. She was a replacement for Dr. Phil, a white angel fish...who was a replacement for Thor, a frog. I have to go buy a new fish and figure out a name for it.

We would have gone somewhere if the baby hadn't up and gotten a snotty cold. Babies don't let you wipe their noses easily.

See? DULL spring break. Not once have I paraded about drunk and topless. Sigh.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Size Matters.

"I hate girls, so I'm going to have to kill them." - My seven year old son Alec, during yesterday's trip into Salt Lake City.

Ahhh...the ages between birth and eleven...such a golden time to raise boys. Girls are still infested with cooties and they will never ever ever get married, much less kiss a girl with tongue or without.

I wish I could just seal my boys in Mason jars when they turn twelve. That would definitely save me all the hassle of constant cleaning. But... will that curb the homocidal tendencies?


Spoiled rotten, yup, that's me!

We plunked down our hard saved money for a really HUGE computer. All the numbers describing how much memory and speed this monster has are big numbers. The screen is 21". My poor little eyeballs are rubbery looking at it.

Our old computer was HUGE when we bought it six or seven years ago. Much like the size of my breasts after giving birth, it's use and relevance have dwindled away leaving only fond memories of what was.

No, I'm not upgrading the boobs.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

The Pink Stuff

Last night, Justin and I were watching Henry Rollins on HBO. If you don't know who Henry Rollins is, click this stinkin' link right here.

Anywho...We were watching Henry Rollins...and he gives an amazing spoken word/monologue type performance, covering many topics. He's thoughtful, sincere, political and profane. He's intense, which is an extremely sexy quality. Not to mention he's got amazing shoulders.

He had me drooling up until he closed his monologue describing his unfortunate experience with food poisoning. There goes the fantasy.

Blah...what's up with vomit in our entertainment these days? It seems that every "serious" film has to have it's token vomit scene so we know the story is "real". There also seems to be a lot of vomitting in reality TV, not that I'd know because I don't watch that crap. It's real because there is hurl? Puh-leaze.

Just tonight there was kid hork on The West Wing...ugh!

There are only two valid upchuck examples in entertainment. These are "Mr. Creosote" in "Monty Python's: The Meaning of Life" and "Lardass" in "Stand by Me". Any other graphic vomitting scene in entertainment is unnecessary. Why can't they imply hurling like they imply sex scenes? Oh wait, they stopped implying that people had sex in the movies...but then, people want to watch other people have sex. At least I do! (Disregard that last comment...uh.) But who wants to watch vomit? (Emetophiles need not answer.)

I'm sick and tired of puke in entertainment and I'm not going to take it anymore! Damned if I can think of any useful protest though. Maybe I'll stop buying beef vegetable soup...or stage a full on hunger strike. That'll show em!

Better yet, I'm going to pour my investment funds into Pepto Bismol. There is obviously money to be made in relieving entertainment induced nausea.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Eat them up...yum!

I took a little detour from posting when I signed into blogger. (Read, I procrastinated.) I wondered if I should change my little profile picture again.

My first profile picture was this -

This is my current picture -

They say change is good...not to mention it's officially spring now and I'm I want to change my profile pic once again.

I need your help! Please vote!

A. B. C. D.

Yeah, that's a fish head. This fish head has a lot of profundity for me. For those that will ask, it's a long past dead and eaten cut-throat trout.

Weeeee...we are getting a new computer! Gimme computer suggestions with your vote!

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

The San Francisco Treat

I'm about to recount a little funny story about me. I figure there is no better way to foster an intimate setting with my readers and other hangers on than to recount embarrassing personal history. It's important that you all know what has expired to mold me into the upstanding adult I am today!

I was four. I did normal four year old things, like play with bugs and abuse my dollies and cut my own hair. I enjoyed mud! I enjoyed arts and crafts!

That day's arts and crafts attempt was stringing macaroni for necklaces. We were given an entire bag of dry macaroni which also contained the odd shell shaped noodle...for variety. I think Mom just wanted me and my little sis out of her aqua netted hair long enough to enjoy watching Family Feud.

Oh the possibilities! Adorning oneself with yards and yards of stringed macaroni is so enticing at that age.

What also seemed to be extremely enticing was shoving a shell shaped macaroni up each nostril...

Yes, you read that right.

Did I have any reasoning in my little four year old brain behind such an act? Do I even have to ask that question?

One shell I managed to get out on my own without much problem, but the other wouldn't budge. I shoved my finger up that nostril and only managed to push it closer to my nonreasoning brain. Panic set in after my zillionth nosepoking. I had to tell someone...HELP!

Through tears I explained to my mom that the pretty shell macaroni was up my nose. My parents tried in vain to remove it but could not. When shell macaroni gets soft in a moist environment, like a pot of boiling water or one's nasal passage, it acts just like a little suction cup. The macaroni had claimed squatters rights.

I was whisked away to the closest emergency room for a macaroni-ectomy. I remember being held down while a doctor shoved various instruments up my nose, to no avail. In a final ditch effort some kind of stinging liquid was squirted up my nose. I remember shouting, "It burns! It burns!" How Exorcist of me. The doc held a tissue up to my nose and told me to blow hard. The force of my exhale could have ripped his hand off his wrist had he not steeled himself. Defeated, the macaroni popped out easily.

I was given a sucker and a sticker and sent home. Shell macaroni was banned in our home for several years after that.

Say...anyone hungry?

Monday, March 20, 2006

Blogged enough for a man, written by a woman.

My dear friend Clarabelle tells me, "Becky, write something new!" to which I replied, "Oh dearest Clarabelle, dearest silly Clarabelle, I've tried writing something new all day and I've failed miserably!"

And that's the truth...I've tried! I've tried so hard I've had to eat some bran flakes to get things a movin' and a shakin'! I ate some Fritos too....and some refried beans. I havent resorted to a blogger brand enema yet.

What's to write about when we are in the time of the year that reminds one of unwashed armpit? It's overcast out there, and wet, and drippy, and beastly. Sigh...

Isn't Google image search awesome? That's not even the worst of the photos I found! You can thank the powers that be that I did not include the photo of the blistery pustule armpit rash.

I'm so ready for spring! My neighbor's daffodils are coming up. My roses are perking! My day lilies are sprouting!

Sprouting? Please please don't shave the daisies.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Onto your regularly scheduled program...

If I have to watch or otherwise listen to one more Nickelodeon cartoon, I am going to start maiming small animals.

Thank you and goodnight.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


Gah! I've done worked myself up again participating in an online debate on why most men aren't shit. It's killing my funny! I don't have a shoebox to bury my funny in!

What gets me most is that one of these male bashers IS a man. Wah? My head simply isn't stretchy enough to wrap itself around that one. I wonder how he escaped the genetic pool of poo that he declares most men crawled out of?

Besides that, if I insist, repeatedly, that I'm funnier than my husband is or ever will be ever...and he's male and therefore that such an accomplishment afterall? Yay, I'm funnier than a turd!

Nevermind...I think farts are funny. 'Nuff said.


If you haven't had enough toilet humor, I'll lay some more on you.

I've been ever so blessed to enjoy some of the most tender and succulent asparagus that god has seen fit to bestow unto my local grocery store for purchase. $1.29 a pound! It's been ever so lovely.

To enjoy this asparagus properly it's best prepared in March's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

Me loves the adjustable vegetable steamer!

By gently placing this doodad into the pot of your choice, adding water and simmering with the lid on, you too can have perfectly tender/crisp veggies bursting forth with much needed vitamins and minerals! Don't boil your carrots to a mush...coddle them with a day in a sauna...before you slather them with butter, chew them to a pulp and swallow them.

Veggie steamers come with a convenient handle that you may grasp to retrieve your bounty of colon cleansing fiber without spilling it all over the counter. Those veggie steamer designers are always thinkin'.

Apparently the veggie steamer is dishwasher safe, because I chucked it in there and it didn't melt or disinegrate. Stainless steel is a wonder!

Justin purchased my steamer for me, so I'm unsure of how much it costs. It probably wasn't a thousand bucks.

Asparagus makes your pee fragrant.

Thank you adjustable vegetable steamer, I like you, I really like you.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Todays program is brought to you by the letter "R"

"Did you ever hear loud, scary sounds on television? Well some television programs are loud and scary, with people shooting and hitting other people. You know, you can do something about that. When you see scary television, you can TURN IT OFF. And when you do turn it off, that will show that YOU'RE the strongest of them all. It takes a very strong person to be able to turn off scary TV. Mmm-hmm. That's one of the ways you'll be able to tell that you're really growing. You're learning so many important things, and I'm so proud of you."

-Mr. Rogers

It's amazing that babies can crawl around their little worlds and soak up life like sponges. They soak, examine and imitate. I've watched this process with my 8 month old, especially nowadays when he's learned that he that possesses the remote control is he who has the power.

In our house there are no less than three remotes controlling the various functions of our entertainment center. They are shiny with buttons and power and buttons and clicking and buttons. If any of these three remotes is within reach, they will end up being manhandled by the baby. Manhandled remotes don't seem to work as well as the kind escape abuse.

We figured we'd cure the problem. We're ahead of the parenting game! Justin and I gave the baby two old remotes. Remotes that were saved for who knows what reason, but control exactly nothing. Remotes that could be sacrificed to the torture of Mr. Stinky Bottom himself.

They were not good enough.

These remotes weren't any less shiny, or clickable, or buttony. They looked and tasted and smelled the same. They were placed within reach! Why oh why were these remotes not good enough?

It was because we had nothing more to do with these castoff remotes and therefore he would have nothing to do with them either. Where was the value if Mom and Dad weren't telling you that you couldn't eat them?

Where do you send old remotes? Is there no island of misfit electrical gadgets? I guess I'll just forget the idea of letting the baby play with an old computer keyboard. There is no dignity in a detached keyboard.

Monday, March 13, 2006


Let's see if this works!

It's a beautiful day today, and I'm gonna take advantage of it!

Sunday, March 12, 2006

The night time, coughing, stuffy head, sneezing, sore throat, runny nose, so you can bash men medicine!

I finally feel better after hackin' through this really bad cold my oldest son gave me. He gave it to my husband too. Who knew that phlegm was like a package of skittles? Taste the rainbow! I missed you folks, rahhhhllly I did.


I've been involved in a rather heated debate lately (which has been hampering my funnay, another reason I'm behind.) The gist of it is this...most men are assholes/cavemen/dawgs/shit...discuss.

As much as I want to pin all the evils of the world on a generality, I just can't quite do it!

I suppose you readers and other hangers on remember that I've posted on this subject before. Meh, I thought I was done. Apparently there is more in me left to be said!

The basis of the "men are shit" argument, as it was presented to me, is that they are shit because men overwhelmingly commit the crimes of rape and molestation. While this is true, does this group all men or even most men? And, if men are the ones committing these crimes, are men more tolerant of these crimes in society? Does the "boys will be boys" standard hold up?

I could let myself dally in the "men are shit" camp, even though 95% of the men I know are honorable. I could! It would give me a psuedo sense of power and security simply because I have a swell set of genes and some interesting looking genitalia. What would be better than to base my worth on a uncontrolable biological circumstance instead of any qualities or characteristics that I may want to develop? That would be really easy and super awesome!

Yet, I can't dally with that mentality. I've got three sons. I dally and what the heckfire will I raise up to be "men"? And how will that mentality effect their future worth and happiness?

But then, all women are bitches...there is no hope!

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Sunshine Day!

I realize it's been quite some time since I've updated you on my journey through postpartum. You would think that since my baby is 8 months old that I'd be done dealing with the aftereffects of pregnancy and birth. Yeah, you'd think that but you'd be wrong!

Back in my September 5th post I write about becoming increasingly bald with postpartum hair loss. I shed EVERYWHERE. It wasn't adorable.

I'm mostly done shedding. What is happening now is that my thinned hair is growing back in. It's like my hairdo is partial mullet! Involuntary mullets are the best kind.

I's not a mullet. I'm the new Jan Brady.

Notice those side curls? I'm growing a set of those! When I'm postpartum I lose all the hair around my temples. When it grows back in, it grows in curly. The rest of my hair is fairly straight. The powers that be have decided I should grow a pair of ringlets to hang off the edges of my forehead. Right on!

My new growth is a good inch or more long. This means my pre-ringlets are curling straight up. Lunatic Fringe, dern tootin'! This time my hair is growing in with more grey than ever too. Grey hairs are sexy.

It's a good thing that I own a dress to go with my groovy look.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Buttons and Bows

We like The Oscars at my house. There is always much talk about what all the women are wearing. The red carpet commentators (Joan Rivers is nauseating, the woman is half rubber) will always comment on the tuxedoed men, but really, who cares...tuxedoes are tuxedoes are tuxedoes. Show me the dresses. Show me cleavage!

It's my pretense and my pleasure to bestow upon Hollywood the Absent Minded Oscars Best Dressed and Worst Dressed awards.

Best Dressed...the award goes to, drumroll...Keira Knightley!

Classically beautiful...great lines. The dress, without trim or fluff or doodads speaks for itself. It's excellent on her skin tone and brings out her face. The jewelry has to be just as dramatic as the dress...Keira's choice is perfection. A downside, while I like the ponytail, it was unnecessary to add the bow to her hair. It detracts from the necklace. Her hair should have been rubber banded and then a lock of her own hair wrapped around the band to hide.

Worst Dressed...There were two ladies vying for this title but the washed out and fraying Naomi Watts was edged out by a bright, drumroll...Michelle Williams!

What's bad about this dress is that it tries so hard. When you design it's important to adhere to a basic theme. This dress has four themes going. There is the wrap portion at the hips. There is the belted waist (which goes against the wrap.) There is the pleated neckline (which goes against the wrap.) There is the self fabric floral trim at the back of the dress (which goes against the pleats and the belted waist.) Had the dress stuck to one or two themes, Michelle would have looked more tied together. The wrap portion of the dress is it's strongest point and should have been carried across the bosom, then we could have forgiven the dehydrated pee color.

To even further blast the look apart, Michelle wears a clashing necklace and lipstick. She's a pair of lips walking down the red carpet.

Michelle's hair is lovely.

And you thought I'd give the worst dressed to Dolly Parton...nah. She plays a character and dresses as such. Anything less and you would have wondered if Dolly felt ill and been tempted to put your palm on her forehead.

Friday, March 03, 2006

He puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes you crave it fortnightly, smartass!

Yes, I drove to Elko yesterday (see yesterday's post) and took care of all the crap I had to take care of. It took fifteen minutes to find the building I was supposed to go to, ten minutes sitting in the waiting area and around seven minutes to prove in person that my baby really does exist. Funny, the lady at the desk didn't want to see graphic photos of my son's birth. She just didn't realize that I was offering to show her my best side.


Bendover has excellent food. Our restaurants and buffets are superb. Even our fast food is pretty darn good. Yet, for all the really good food we do have in the middle of nowhere, there is food we don't have.

We don't have a chinese restaurant anymore. God their eggrolls were divine.
There is no place where you can get any indian food.
Good luck finding a real barbecue joint.
There is no taco hell or taco slime. Taco Time commercials piss me off, it looks so good.
There is no KFC.

Since I was in the "big city" yesterday, I took that opportunity to drive some food home that we cannot get in Bendover. There is no torture equal to inhaling a bucket of original recipe chicken for 120 miles. I only managed to resist by munching on the 7 layer burrito I got from taco hell.


In life we are all faced with choices. Some are made easily while others are complicated and without any satisfaction. I don't believe I've faced any choice as difficult as choosing between this:

and this:

When I asked my darling husband which one he'd choose, Justin replied, "Becky, I'd only choose you baby." What a very proper answer that won't get one's nuts in a vise.

I do know who'd he choose. It's Portia De Rossi by a nose. She has the most perfect dern nose too. Awwwww. And she's cute and she's adorable and she's funny and she's cute.

Justin likes her hair.

Oh Portia De Rossi, you lipstick lesbian tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question...she's got such a lilting accent.

Time to go watch "Sirens" again.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


Monday I was supposed to drive 120 miles to Elko and take care of some damned red tape concerning my new kid. This red tape is best done in person because the powers that be can verify that I exist and my baby exists. I didn't because my kid was cranky with a cold and the trots and I was headachey. I don't remember if I had the trots too, or not.

Tuesday I was supposed to drive to Elko and take care of the paperwork that I didn't take care of on Monday. I drove 30 miles to the west, got to the Pequops mountain range and decided to turn back and go home. Competing with semi trucks through mountain switchback roads at 75mph during a blinding rain and snow storm isn't exactly my cup of tea. Later, when I picked up my kids and husband from school, the short walk from their schools to where I parked our fabulous minivan absolutely drenched them. Justin was glad he and the kids didn't have to walk all the way home in the wet.

Today I was supposed to drive to Elko and get this god blasted paperwork done. I didn't because I managed to remember I made a dentist's appointment for two of my three children. Neither of them have ever gotten a cavity. The dentist didn't have to work especially hard. I got free floss and toothbrushes. Score! Dentists seem like kinky people.

Tomorrow I will finally drive to Elko to take care of the paperwork that's been sitting in the van since Monday....unless....

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