Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Pubes Deux

In my last post I asked about a mother's role in discussing puberty and sexuality with their sons. I got the overall idea that this was dependent on the dynamic between mother and son. I fully agree. Here is my dynamic... I'm a mom who is more comfortable than I really should be on the topic of sexuality and since my sons have me as a mother they get to hear me yak about it nonstop whether they get all blushy or not. Works for me!

When discussing sexuality with your children it pays to be factual and compassionate. Therefore you shouldn't spout off this kind of stuff:

1. You must make sure a colored condom matches your socks and underwear or it's less effective.

2. It will fall off if you don't wash it with antibacterial soap. With a washcloth. Keep your hands off it.

3. If you don't name it you aren't a man. If you give it a wussy name you still aren't a man.

4. The bigger the boobs, the more your jaw should drop. Drooling is optional.

5. Warts are nature's way of saying "It's ribbed for her pleasure."

6. She won't get knocked up if you both pray really really hard before the deed. Better keep her shirt on too.

7. Beer is an aphrodisiac.

8. If your bed squeaks the hand lotion you keep on your nightstand will ease the telling noises nicely.

Instead of saying any of those things, draw a 6 foot tall anatomically correct diagram, grab a pointer and lecture sternly, "Don't let anyone touch this, and this, and this, and this and especially this....or I will kill you."

My dumb gay cat has made his first appearance on Stuff On My Cat today. Yay!

Tuesday, August 29, 2006


Blogger sucks dog balls today.


I've been participating in a discussion this morning on how involved a mother should be in educating their sons in puberty and sexuality. I've been told that a mother should allow a man to take the lead in educating a young man because that young man's embarrassment in discussing such things with his mother could impede the fullness of education, not to mention that a woman never experienced male puberty.


Monday, August 28, 2006

I think I'm getting the black lung, pop.

No one likes openly admitting to the whole world (and the internets besides) that their children have personality traits that are much like running fingernails down a chalkboard. It reflects badly on a person...

Here I am and I'm admitting it. My oldest child is sometimes a real eejit. I'm rather frustrated with one particular aspect of his personality lately.

For the last three years my boy (twelve, new to junior high) has fancied himself as unique and special among all human beings because he thinks he's stricken with a disease that will ruin him for all of his lifetime on Earth.

The disesase? Asthma.

Oh sure, asthma can really effect a person, no question about that. It can really be debilitating! My son, however, doesn't have asthma. He thinks he does because it's easier to claim this as an identity rather than working on his talents and character.

This is a particular pet peeve of mine when other people do it. It's extra endearing when my own son does it.

He's used asthma medications in the past when some mild germies settled in his lungs once. That was three years ago with first a cold topped with a week long bout of strep. Nowadays he works himself into a dramatic huff and puff tizzy to avoid going to sleep on school nights. He scrunches up his shoulders and claims in the voice of the dying that he's wheezing. He doesn't know that wheezing makes noises and changes your breathing patterns. The tizzy stops as soon as the Primatene Mist is promised.

He's not had a tizzy all summer. It's because there is no school in summer. He never has one any summer. He never has one when he's doing something he enjoys.

Yesterday I had to call his dramatics to his attention.

He was watching TV when a commercial calling for donations to the American Diabetes Association, to find a cure for type I diabetes, came on. Two of my sister's children have type I diabetes, as well as my Aunt Evelyn who passed away from complications from the disease in 1998. My son knows that diabetes is a swell disease, with a daily regime, that sets a person apart from the norm...but it's disease he can't lay claim to. After the commercial he turned to me with wide misty eyes and a slack mouth and said, "I wisssshhhh there were a currrrrrre for asthma!"

Geezus H. on a cracker, kid, not this crapola again...

I made it perfectly clear at that point that he doesn't have asthma, hasn't been taken to the doctor with asthmatic symptoms in years, doesn't have any prescribed asthma medications or an emergency inhaler... and he runs around ALL DAY LONG in the dusty desert with nary a huff or a puff or a wheeze to show for it. One more word about his supposed asthma and I'd remove one of his lungs for him. Then, maybe, I'd give him an aspirin.

The problem my declaration leaves him with is that he has to set himself apart from the rest of the human race by his works and his beliefs. This is difficult for him because he's always been a child that will spend hours deciding on the best way to get out of doing something or only doing to the level of passable with the least effort. If his passable isn't regarded highly he's sorely disappointed.

Justin and I have six more years to try to instill some kind of a value for excellence in him before we shove him out the door. It's not about the's about the process.

Here's to hoping he doesn't become the most excellent hypochondriac this side of the Mississippi.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Lucky 13

When Justin and I married thirteen years ago today we had made the decision to postpone the honeymoon.

Our biggest reason for this was because we needed whatever money we had for such luxuries as rent and food. We didn't want to begin our marriage and our college educations by financing anything. Those things could wait.

A good friend and mentor of Justin's, knowing the virtues of a motel bed on one's wedding night, gave us a week stay at a motel ten miles from home as a wedding present. This was especially nice since we'd learned right before the wedding that our apartment wouldn't be available until five days after we'd married. Seriously, who wants to spend their wedding night in the bedroom next to your parents? We were considering packing up a tent and taking it up the canyon above my house. When the canyon is rockin.....

The Super 9 Motel is a haven of romance. It's set in the hustle and bustle of south Provo, built on what once was a swamp. Kmart and Sizzler sat across the street. This was good because I'd forgotten to pack my toothbrush in our rush to get nekkid.

Our room had cable! Our room had MTV! The soundtrack to our activities was "No Rain" by Blind Melon. MTV wouldn't stop playing the video and we couldn't be bothered to interrupt ourselves to turn off the TV.

On the fourth day I woke up with my belly just a'churnin'. Before long I'd run into the bathroom and christened the Super 9 Motel toilet with the last nights italian dinner. Because of my "condition" when I married I assumed it was morning sickness. That notion came and went by the time I'd christened the toilet for the fifth time in about that many minutes.

This particular morning was also the morning that our room's air conditioner decided to quit on us.

There is nothing like repeated vomitting in a motel bathroom, keeping your head over the toilet because the heat in the room is also making your nose bleed.

Aren't honeymoons supposed to be sexy and stuff?

At one point Justin took off to the Kmart to get me some Gatorade and iced tea. Housekeeping knocked on the door and I answered (thinking it was Justin) on my way to the toilet. The housekeeper forgot whatever she was going to ask when she saw what color of green I was.

Early evening Justin got a bit fearful, packed me in my Mustang II and drove me to my mother. She hadn't expected to lay eyes on me for another week.

The next day I felt much better. I'd lost ten pounds though. If that italian restaurant was still in business I'd tell you where to go to get a fine case of food poisoning.

Justin and I expected that marriage would have it's ups and downs. We quite understood what we were vowing to when we made our vows. But gee, in sickness and in health shouldn't show up on the honeymoon!

So, today is my thirteenth anniversary. Only the rest of my life to go.

I love you Justin.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

If it's sin I'm in


That's right, I said PORN!

It's a scourge infecting the lives of everyone! We must think of the children when it's so blatantly displayed in a public library!

My radio alarm went off this morning and what finally got me up and moving was the DJ reporting this story.

Apparently, uber talented Utah fantasy artist James Christensen is responsible for the sexual arousal of young boys and girls visiting Davis County libraries! In his art book "Voyage of the Basset" included in it's pages is this painting:

Well, I'm disgusted! I'm further disgusted that my young impressionable boys can pick up this book in a public library and look at naked fantasy creatures all lithe and floating and BLUE! Not to mention that one of those mermaids is an adult and one is a child and what the heckfire is that implicating hmmmmm?

I've loved the art of James Christensen since I was 15 years old. I own his books. He officiated at the wedding of good friends of mine. He's a swell guy. I hope he doesn't get angry about me displaying his work without permission.

But The man painted this while he was a professor at BYU for god's sake! What dawned on these parents to get all up in arms at the library about this? Better hide the National Geographics before we create hordes of uncontrollable little sex addicts!

Some parents just have too much time on their hands...and too few brain cells.

PS. This painting would also be against Ebay's nudity policy. Even if it's artwork any graphic nudity must not be shown. If I seller wished to auction of a print of this painting they'd have to alter the photo to not show nipples. After that they can get their auction pulled if it's deemed they've altered the photo too much...

Monday, August 21, 2006

They don't bake cookies any more.

Ahhhh, the first day of school.

My twelve year old got up and ready for junior high, including shower, breakfast, hair combing with gel, and bookbag packing, in 12 seconds flat. I made him wait to walk to school for a good forty minutes. He spent those 40 minutes watching cartoons. Ahhh the irony.

My seven year old was adamant about wearing his glow in the dark Superman Tshirt. I honestly don't know when he'll get a chance to get it to glow at school. I walked him to his classroom door this morning. His teacher is so teeny and little and sweet! Some of the second graders had to be bigger than she was!


Dubya Bush is on TV this morning. It's putting me off my coffee. Not having my coffee makes my colon frustrated. Dubya Bush is the cause of my constipation!


Yesterday my cousin Debbie and her new husband stopped by. They'd spent the weekend in my corner of casino hell (see previous post) and found they needed somewhere to hang out until it was cool enough to drive home.

We went to lunch and then I gave them a tour of the town. Must see sites included:

  1. The WWII Airbase. It's in a terrible state of disrepair. The best feature is our little airport. They would not let me take my fabulous minivan on the runway.
  2. The block of plain white trailer homes that the Utah side of town planted by the airbase because they thought people would be running and jumping to live there. There are no trees, or lawns, or even a paved road. The dirt is white, the trailers are'd go blind.
  3. The twelve foot tall pile of garbage collected by a man over several years that he absolutely refused to part with. He died a couple years back and finally someone is cleaning it up. It's taken two years to reduce the pile by half.
  4. The porno hut....called that because the building is a tall triangle. The hightlights? A DVD entitled "Guess What? Grandma is a Whore!" and staring at a poster of a muscular tattooed bald man with a vagina. No, I didn't buy anything.

Happy Monday folks.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Welcome to Nevada ya bastards!

It's strange living in the little corner of Nevada casino hell that I live in.

I've talked before about this town being on the border with Utah and about our sole existence basically being a place for Utahns to sin. Because I like the town, and the slowwwwwww speed in which I live, whenever I'm out in public with the tourists the travel agent in me comes out.

Justin and I went to buffet for dinner last Monday. (The catfish was excellent.) Our favorite weekday buffet has a dessert bar that hosts no less than a dozen different varieties of cheesecake, plus cakes, cookies, pies, jello, custards. You name it, they gots it, pretty much. The server at the bar hands you whatever your heart desires, that's if your heart desires dessert. Non locals have a very difficult time deciding. I offer suggestions so I can get my slice of tiramisu or custard soaked, whipped cream topped, heavy white cake all the faster. Yes, I've tried all the desserts. It IS a buffet afterall.

I am Dessert Ambassador! (Ambassadress?)

"Ma'am, the pecan cheesecake is divine."
"Sir, they will certainly heat your slice of peach pie for you."
"What's that? Why it's orange cranberry cheesecake with a crumb topping! Yes, it's very very good."
"It's not fattening...really....look at me. I eat this all day!"
"Dammit, get the damned carrot cake already!"

Besides buffet my town now offers new entertainment. The casino gods have built a 900 seat concert hall right on the drag. I haven't seen any Osmonds show up yet, but I am rather excited to go see...

...on September 22nd.

Danke schein you barrel chested man beast!

And thanks for shaving off that mustache too.

I'm preparing to throw panties at Wayne with my phone number written on them. Yes, they will be clean...and very large. It's safer than throwing a can of Aqua Net.

Oh Wayne Newton, why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh that's right, it's because he's Mr. Las Vegas and I'm Bendover's Only Showgirl. We gotta represent, yo.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006


Today I had the pleasure of registering my twelve year old little boy for JUNIOR HIGH.

He nearly melted down this morning because of the excitement of getting a locker. When we did get his locker number and combination, he ran to it...the same way he'd run toward the ice cream truck if the damned truck actually came to my block instead of staying in the neighborhood by the golf course.

I know his combination. I'm gonna break in there from time to time and hang fruit scented tree shaped air fresheners. Maybe I'll leave a note in there that says, "Remember, your mother loves you!" with all kinds of sparkly hearts and smiley faces on it. All the cool boys have mothers that leave them sappy notes, right? Covers up the Sports Illustrated bikini ladies.

Next week he'll have his first experience in a gym class that requires a locker room. I don't envy him in this. When I was his age and changing for gym class, I was udderly embarrassed because I lacked the proper equipment...namely a bra. I'm sure my son doesn't want a bra for gym class but will the embarrassment be reversed when he goes to wear his first jock strap? I hope he doesn't put the thing on backwards.

I am not in charge of teaching the kid about jock straps, thank god. Justin is responsible for that role and as such I'm prevented from writing "Remember, your mother loves you!" on it.

That's what Dads are for.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Rubbing it the right way

I was knee deep into writing another post on another topic when I looked at the date and realized...

It's August's Bestest Housewifely Doodad day!

I saved my other post as a draft. Half my posting labors are done for tomorrow. Woo!

I hadn't prepared at all for it being doodad day. It snuck up on me. How dare it? I cannot disappoint my readers and other hangers on with my surprising absent minded avoidance of the doodad.

After much walking about my house I've come upon the winner. August's Bestest Housewifely Doodad is...

Wright's Copper Cream!

The success of any housewife can be measured by how mellow-ly her copper bottomed pots and pans gleam in the flourescent light of her spotless kitchen.


So, OK, I get around to shining my copper bottomed pots when I'm feeling especially energenic. The best part is that Wright's Copper Cream makes the work so easy. I don't know what's in the stuff but the moment it hits my copper bottomed pots the pots get all shiny and stuff. Afterwards I feel triumphant and clever.

To use you make sure the copper is warm to hot by rinsing it with hot water, then apply the cream liberally with the nifty hexagon shaped sponge included. Mush the cream around, polishing thoroughly, and using a little more muscle action on the dirtier bits. Rinse. There is no offensive chemical smell and no need to wear rubber... gloves that is.

Your copper will look as pretty as Muhammed Ali. Float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.

I'm unsure how much this stuff costs. I found several containers at a close out store for a dollar a piece. They've lasted me for several years. I'm fairly sure you can find Wright's Copper Cream at any fine Wallyworld type establishment. The close out store I bought mine from ran out.

Thank you Wright's Copper Cream (Since 1873), I like you, I really like you.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Smooth as a baby's bottom

This is my 200th post. Bows...thank you thank you...

I just deleted my intended post. I was about thirty-five facts into the "100 more things about me" list. My brain isn't taking the strain of the task of listing 100 more things none too well. For the record the first line on that list was "I need to pee". It's not a great way to start a list and it all went downhill from there.

(Enough about me, let's talk about you! What do you think about me?)

Justin has returned to work today. Summer vacation for school teachers is over. The kids return to school next week. Justin spent a great deal of time last night shaving off his lazy summer beard. His face is all naked. Our baby did not recognize him this morning. I miss his beard already. It had certain advantages...

Friday, August 11, 2006

The Internets and A O Hell

AOL users, check out this article.

AOL's disturbing glimpse into users' lives

A little creepy isn't it?

It brings up the question: How much privacy can an individual reasonably expect while using the internet?

Most of us blogophiles use a sitemeter. I like mine! It tells me where you are from (Sitemeter has me coming from Herndon, Virginia...a place I didn't even know existed before but thanks to my ISP I'm now a resident), what some to all of your IP address is, what ISP you may be using, how much of my blog you read and for how long, what referred you to my blog and what search terms you may have used to find me. Currenly I can track the last 100 users but if I pay Sitemeter money I can track thousands!

It's not spot on accurate but it'll do, pig, it'll do.

Housewife Sex is one of the search terms that leads a soul to my blog. Hi, I'm a housewife! I'm not a virgin. I'm considering putting a list of the search terms that kind of stand out in my sidebar just for giggles.

AOL would of course have all this search information on it's users and then some. It's well known that AOL as well as other search engines have turned over it's cumulated information to the government so Dubya and his ilk can weed out the terrorists who also search for "housewife sex".

So, interweb users, are you comfortable with this?

I can imagine what some outside party could conclude about some of my last search terms. Feel free to come up with your own conclusions:

housewife sex
giant isopod
vash the stampede
stuff on my cat
vinegar wart removal
deluxe superman costume

Yes...I'm sick and twisted. I'm a threat to home and hearth! OK, I'm not...but still, do I want the powers that be knowing that I may be perimenopausal and/or warty?

If you notice, in my sidebar I've also included a link to "Save the Internet". A quote from the site:
  • "Congress is pushing a law that would abandon the Internet's First Amendment -- a principle called Network Neutrality that prevents companies like AT&T, Verizon and Comcast from deciding which Web sites work best for you -- based on what site pays them the most. If the public doesn't speak up now, our elected officials will cave to a multi-million dollar lobbying campaign."

As if the first dot com boom and then crash wasn't enough. All hail the pop up ad!

...don't even get me started on parental responsibility on children using the internet and how it relates to MySpace...

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Menage A Trois

A conversation between a husband and wife about the annoying neighbor child:

Justin: "God he's annoying!"
Becky: "Aww Justin, you know that could be the kid that cures cancer one day!"
Justin: "He IS cancer!"

My submission to Stuff on my Cat:

My dumb gay cat wouldn't allow me to take any more photos with Fred the Head. Later I have to stuff Fred in a priority mail box and ship him off.


School starts in 11 Days.

Thank God.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006


I seem to have a big theme going on these last few days. Big Bugs, Big Boobs...


Heh, sorry, couldn't resist.


Since I can't think of anything else to write about I guess it's time to go do housework.


...Edited...My "big font" doesn't seem to work...sigh...big elipses...sigh.

Monday, August 07, 2006



OK, maybe not, but check out what has been flying around my backyard in droves lately. If you read my husband's blog you'll know he's already written about this, but this morning they are nearing plague proportions.

It's called a Tarantula Hawk. Bigguns ain't they? They are aggressive waspies too. Don't piss them off. They chase my dumb gay cat.

The photo above was stolen from the interweb because no one in my house is willing to get close enough to one of these to kill it. I wanted to show you it's size and I'm definitely not holding one of these alive. Could you imagine the splat one of these would make if it hit your windshield at 75mph?

At this moment I have a good two dozen of them in my flowering scrub trees in my backyard.

It's named "Tarantula Hawk" because it lays it's egg in a tarantula. See, it stings the nice tarantula, the spider falls into a coma and then it unwillingly becomes an incubator to a cute little wasp baby.

What that means to me is that if I have Tarantula Hawks flying around by the zillions in my backyard is that I also have a zillion tarantulas legging about.


Friday, August 04, 2006

It's only a flesh wound

I'm so nipple tingly excited this year over the new stuff in my catalogs for the Halloween season!

We have the spring loaded knockers of death. (As seen in action, modeled by me, on this blog, in that video, in that previous post.)

This is to go with my usual big seller...the happy sleepy pillow tatas. Ebay makes me cover the nipples for their auctions because of their stupid nudity policy.

That's not the end to weird appendages! Look what I made Justin wear!

Thank the good lord that I do not have to diaper that thing. I can't imagine what kind of foulness it might issue. Then again, technically, it doesn't have a butt.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

A little preview to my big seller this Halloween

Boy, that really messed up my template. Sorry I had to remove my little video screen.

Click this link instead...same video...less template messing up goodness.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Happy Bloggerversary!

I've been BSing you for a year today...

Has my absent mindedness improved any?



Absent Minded Archives