Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Itching and Burning

I'm facing an unexpected busy day today...in which has me feeling quite peeved. C'est la vie.

Instead of ranting about Dr. Pheel and Oprah, like I had planned, I'll cop out and give you a graphic. Enjoy.

Monday, January 29, 2007

I'm going to my potty-potty. If my friends could see me now!

Potty training.

Dooce wrote about it recently. It's been the subject of discussion at another forum I visit. I've been exposed to this bit of potty-time anime...

I'm a potty-training lemming...I'm going to jump off the cliff too. It won't be long until I strip my son naked for months on end and attempt the process again.

Good thing I'm a seasoned potty trainer when it comes to boys. I understand how to use a boy's natural inclination to point, shoot and make the appropriate sound effects. This is why I trained my older boys in sort of a violent manner.

They hit the duck! Chugga chugga pow pow pow whirrrrrr! DIE DIE DIE!!

It's a slow death for the sacrificed rubber ducky. First, the duck gets noosed, the other end tied to the toilet hinge. This prevents the duck from dying a merciful and toilet clogging death by being flushed. Then, the duck is subject to water torture, as it's become a bright smiley yellow target. (Alright duck, where did you hide my keys? Fess up you rubber deliquent! I'll teach you to stay silent!) Flush...ducky gets a refreshing whirlpool bath.

Eventually the ducky becomes obsolete and it's unceremoniously tossed in the trash, noose and all. Ducky has pleased the potty training gods. (Keys still lost.)

I've been told that tossing a few cheerios into the bowl serves the same purpose. I would think it would only serve to confuse. Do you eat the cheerios or do you take a great big pee on them? Are cheerios still edible post potty use? Mmmmmm cheerios with sliced bananas. Bananas are phallic....

Apparently the use of a ducky, or cheerios, doesn't matter in the least when you are attempting to toilet train your cat. Observe...

That cat looks thrilled.

To enhance my toilet training skills, I once purchased the "Once Upon A Potty" companion video. It....was....annoying. I gave it to my little sister. I'm sure she appreciates it.

Friday, January 26, 2007

...and put on a sweater!

I'm awfully worried about our youth these days. What happened to the good old days, where kids knew their places!

Our elementary school ends it's day at 3:00 pm. The high school next door releases it's students a half hour earlier. All of the parents waiting to pick up their less hormonal children get a taste of what teenagers turn into as those teenagers walk home taking a shortcut through the parking lot.

Without fail I see girls undressing themselves on the way home. The school's dress code doesn't extend to the neighborhood streets, so clothing is removed in an effort to impress boys that cannot grow more than four whiskers yet. Forget being women and hearing them roar, hello lowriders and tops that aren't much bigger than the thongs they so willingly show. Eventually they'll just paint their clothing on.

I also hear their posturing talk on their way home. Just yesterday I heard Mr. Teenybopper Baggydrawers erupt with a sarcastic "Lick my ballsack!" when his friend, Mr. Shirtdowntomyankles told him he was an emo queer. Both are cute, but I'm disappointed that our youth are insulting their peers without the creativity their potential may allow. (If they were motivated to allow it that is.) I'm inclined to offer suggestions.

How about, "Lick my green furry ballsack?" Hmmmm....

"Gnaw on my sweaty goat sized ballsack." Quaint, but I can do better.

"Gnaw on my Buick sized ballsack, and don't you dare ruin the leather interior and the wax job, holla!"


I suppose these skills come with age and experience. I should be able to offer some ballsack doozies to my great-grandkids. Have a cookie, get an extra snarky ballsack insult. Grandma loves you, sweetie!

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The queue starts back there...

Which lung do my readers and other hangers on want?

...because I'm about to cough one up.

Don't all of you fight over it at once. Didn't your mother ever learn ya to take turns?

When men imagine their women rubbing oil all over their chests, they never ever assume it's mentholated.

Baby oil = sexy. Mentholated rub = not sexy.

Hey, who wants to take turns applying the Mentholatum?

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

A penny for your thoughts.

I'm officially on day 25 of this head cold. Yesterday I felt better but this morning I was made well aware that this cold germ was placating me. Hey, much like Dubya placated the democrat majority the first 20 minutes of his speech last night! Har har, what a segue.


My baby has convinced me that it is a fantastic idea to eat harvest cheddar Sun Chips for breakfast. I issue such smart children. Sun Chips and coffee, breakfast of champions, but what am I a champion of?


I'm currently stringing along a romantic phisher.

You may have seen a story about this on one of those news magazine programs. These people live outside of the US (which is convenient because their phishing would be illegal in country.) They learn enough English to woo women. When the women seem sufficiently woo-ed, they start asking for funds to purchase plane tickets for romantic rendezvous-esses. Of course the tickets, and other accrouments requiring cash, are never purchased after the money is sent. The woo-ed woman either then realizes she's been had or is then again lured by this internet fantasy man and sends him her bank account numbers, credit card numbers and her gold fillings.

My phish-amor contacted me via a popular social networking site. He's told me I'm beautiful and gorgeous and glitter (glitter as an adjective?). He's given me a million cyber hugs and kisses, despite my protesting. He's told me to remember him now and forever!

Sigh...I'm all a tingle.

I'm wondering if I can turn this around and get my phish-hunk to send ME money. If I get any out of him I promise to split it with all my reader's and other hangers on.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

The dog did it...

I believe I've prepared myself for this amazing day in history.

To combat the associated bloat, I've been downing these babies by the dozen. Instead of retaining hot wind I've forced a slow leak. I walk around making this low whistling noise...

"What's happening today?" you ask? Why, they've only announced the Oscar nominations and then later on Dubya is going to give The State of the Union Address!

Justin and I usually celebrate the speech by consuming large amounts of mexican food. Perhaps I should combat the associated effects of this as well.

Speaking of...do you think Dubya will address Al Gore directly with this Global Warming thing? To include this timewise he'd have to push steroid use by pro ball players off the speech...maybe education too.

Or he could just stop interjecting his speeches with "uhhhh".

And the Oscar goes to...

Thursday, January 18, 2007

...and don't put your pinky in the air when you drink your tea either!

This morning, while I was helping my 7 year old son get ready for school, I had the opportunity to impart a little social ettiquette on the boy.

After I gelled and combed his hair, he assumed a rather aggressive body posture and flashed me this particular hand signal...

...and then declared he was "Cool!"

Of course, his use of the signal did not include the explanatory stickers.

I took that moment to make my son well aware that use of such a hand signal was not very cool because of what it means. He didn't understand so I furthered the lesson with another example of a boorish hand signal...

He knows that one isn't nice. Little boys shouldn't flip people off until they are twenty-one with apartments and full time jobs.

What comparing the two signals does is open up the question of the first signal's interpretive meaning. I don't know about you, but I can't explain the fullness of female anatomy and sexual practices to a seven year old who only has fifteen more minutes until he has to be at school. I told him that both were saying swear words without talking.

The only swear word my son is allowed to spout off at this point is "Crap!"

I assume that he learned this new hand trick at school, though I seriously doubt the kids he learned it from knew what it meant either. It's making me quite giggly; the thought of a large group of 7 year olds, their hands all contorted, posturing themselves as cool. I could also assume he learned this from his almost 13 year old brother, who probably also learned it at school just as ignorant.

In any case, it is not...

...to let my boy continue thinking he could repeat his "cool" hand signal.

I am not raising the next Kevin Federline.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Stick a fork in it...

So, any of you readers and other hangers on cold?

It's only below freezing around these here parts. Brrrrr. I've got tender timers going!

(These aren't my tender timers. I'm just illustrating what tender timers are for those who otherwise wouldn't know. If you didn't know what the term meant, in a double entendre sort of way, you wouldn't be offended if I told you that you had nice tender timers.)

In any use of the term, it's damned cold.

The worst part of these below freezing temps is that it makes the chilliest room in my house, my bedroom, particularly frigid. When it comes to marital maintenance...uh...doin' it... I want to obtain my tender timers in other ways besides being stinkin' cold. I've made good use of 2007's first bestest housewifely doodad...

The ceramic space heater!
While this doodad shouldn't be used as a main heating source, it's perfectly fabulous in creating a temporary balmy enviroment in one's master bedroom.

I choose ceramic because this style of space heater does not cause an unseemly red glow. You may like a red glow in the middle of marital maintenance but I prefer my glow to come from the television in our bedroom...copy of "The 40 Year Old Virgin" in the DVD player. Steve Carell...boing...tender timers!

As with any heating device, you must take care in it's use. Do not place your heater on top of the pile of laundry at the foot of the bed. Do not use your heater in preparing hot wax. Do not use your heater to light your post marital maintenance cigarette. Any to all of these activities are dangerous and could very well kill you. You've been warned.

I bought my heater at a local store for around $40 dollars. You can get yours in many sizes, wattages and price ranges from a department store near you. Some even oscillate! Read the directions for your particular model.

Mmmmmm toasty.

Thank you ceramic space heater, I like you, I really really really like you.

Saturday, January 13, 2007


In the morning Germs
created the heaving
and the upset stomach

The upset stomach was filled
With many forms of bodily fluids

It was inside a bubbling kid tummy
covered with darkness.
But the Nature of Germs
was moving it upward

Germs said, "I command thy stomach to spew!"
And the stomach started spewing.

The Mother and Father looked at the spew and saw that it was not good.
They separated the sheets from the blankets
and began washing the blankets as "load 1" and left the sheets as "load 2"
A bath came and then morning cartoons--that was how Saturday began

Friday, January 12, 2007

Snot snot fizz fizz

My new best friend...

Now if only I could get Alka Seltzer Cold to give me a backrub

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Morning Minutia III

Anyone catch Dubya last night on the boob tube? I reiterate my opinion of the man. He's a twat.

I cannot find the last Gert Jonny in my fish tank. None of my other fish have confessed to having an in between meal snack..and neither have the kids for that matter. Goodbye Gert Jonnys. You were well loved before you all bit it.

My lap has become prime toddler real estate. My lap is off limits when I'm in the bathroom and that's final.

My dumb gay cat is NOT allowed to jump upon my table, where all my sewing is currently taking up residence, thinking that he needs to sleep upon my applique work. Cat hairs and tight honeycomb stitching do not mix. I will poke the kitty's ass with a needle, see if I don't!

If snot were gold, I'd be a very rich woman.

Is it just me or are TV weatherpeople causing global warming by their overuse of hairspray?

Bollywood movies are FABULOUS. I love Netflix.

Monday, January 08, 2007

I am that I am


1. Thou shalt not pee anywhere but in the toilet bowl.

2. Thou shalt not clean up dribbled pee with the clean towels or the bathroom rugs.

3. Thou shalt not wad up toilet paper, wet it and then throw it upon the bathroom ceiling.

4. Thou shalt not forget to spray air freshener when thou has caused a foul odor.

5. Thou shalt not forget to thoroughly wipe thou's posterior, therefore staving off undesireable brown streaks in thy underwear.

6. Thou shalt not take excessively long showers when hot water is required by other members of the family.

7. Thou shalt not blow snot rockets in the sink and bathtub and not clean it up.

8. Thou shalt not forget to flush, especially after thy huge dump.

9. Thou shalt not touch every fixture in the bathroom with thy muddy hands in search of the bathroom sink.

10. Thou shalt not mistake spray bathroom cleaners, or spray personal hygiene products, for water pistols and stage a duel.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Shiny Panties

I would like to extend my hand in greeting to all those who have reached my little corner of the internet in search of "shiny panties".

I didn't know there was such interest in my underpants! I have been known to wear underpants at times. Sometimes they are shiny and sometimes they ain't.

Would any of you like to purchase "Absent Minded Housewife" brand panties? (Unworn, perverts.) I can make it happen you know. I've got panty connections. I once purchased a gross of thong underwear to put in beer bottles. Thongwiser was an interesting little seller.

I'm quite serious about the panties. Buy three shiny pair with the AMHW logo on 'em and get some free post-its? What a deal!

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Led by the nose.

I want to delve into your soul in a breath.

Breathing rushed whispers into your ear...tiny warm words, wide eyed words. Do you want it?

My fingertips run themselves fleetingly along your chest, cheeks, ears, collarbone, like moths fluttering against windowglass. Each touch leaves a spark and increasing longing. Muscles tense, gasping.

And when I lean in to touch your lips with mine, you take them ruthlessly...without apology. You part my teeth with your tongue and what you find...

What you find....

Is that I've given you my head cold.


Tuesday, January 02, 2007


Over on my sidebar I describe myself as "living in the middle of nowhere in Nevada." I've written about this a time or two.

Life moves slowly, here in Nowhere. No one is in a great rush to Go and Do and Buy and Consume. Hell, we can reach the other end of town, driving at 30 mph, in about five minutes, so what is the point?

Whenever I make my way into more populated areas, and not just at Christmas time but at any time during the year, I'm reminded on just how competitive it is to rush and to own stuff. There are questions that must be asked when you are the owner of stuff, when you are comparing yourself to the other owners of stuff.

Is my stuff newer, brighter, shinier, and more glittery?

Is my stuff more expensive, higher quality, procurred at a better sale, a gift from people that must love you because they spent?

Is my stuff more interactive? Does it beep more? Does it play better ringtones? Does it flash, wiggle, vibrate and remind me of important dates? Will it discourage carpal tunnel? Can I watch TV on it?

Is my stuff more unique? Do I have the only stuff of it's kind? Does my stuff have a worthy brand name, slogan and/or recognizeable cartoon icon? Am I the first to own my stuff? Am I the very last to get the limited quantity stuff? Will my stuff make me popular? Do I have enough really really really old yet pristine and valuable stuff? Does my stuff carry provenance?

Do I have the proper amounts of stuff? Is my stuff bigger when big is good and smaller when small is good? Is all my stuff stored with fashionable and eye pleasing methods? Can I gracefully move about my stuff in my wide open stuff storing spaces?

Is my stuff all natural? Was my stuff subject to animal testing, pesticides, fertilizers, abuse, politically incorrect crime and societal upheaval? Will I get enough of my family's valuable stuff in the unfortunate event of their demise?

Do I have the stuff my neighbors would want if they realized they wanted it? Is my stuff properly insured in the event that one of my neighbors decides they need my stuff more than I do?

Does my stuff make me appear prettier, sexier, more masculine, more intelligent, more moral, more edgy, older when I'm young and younger when I'm old? Will my stuff decrease wrinkles, frizzy hair, baldness, dry skin, erectile dysfunction and embarrassing flatulence? Will my stuff improve my cleavage and add inches to my member? Will my stuff get me laid?

Is my stuff faster? Have I satiated my need, my need for speed? Will my stuff remain awesome just as long as I need it to, until I replace it with better stuff?

Does my stuff smell good enough?

Does my stuff define me in a satisfying way?

I haven't completely escaped the rat race for stuff out here in Nowhere. I like owning a large cabinetfull of DVDs and staring at my 21" widescreen, flatscreen monitor. It's a quality of life issue right?

Monday, January 01, 2007

He said, She said.

Happy New Year folksters!

Again, for your post holiday enjoyment, I offer a glimpse into the molding forces of my young life by offering quotes from my trip into Utah County for Christmas.

"Mom, you got a big box there!"
- One of my assorted sisters, when Mom was presented with a rather large box which contained a much lusted for canister style vacuum.

"I walked in and the room smelled like ass!"
- My brother in law Brian, commenting on my digestive upset, after a rushed chinese meal, whilst watching "Talladega Nights" in his basement.

"My butt is sweaty."
- Becky, AMHW, mindlessly describing the condition of her posterior after a long meal at a white elephant party with old high school buddies. I received a lovely copy of "Sweating to the Oldies".

"It is."
- Old High School Buddy, confirming manually what I stated about my butt because he is an opportunist.

"Sports bras squish my chest."
- My 83 year old mother in law, when I suggested a sports bra because it may be more gentle on her shingles.

"I got to heat it, beat it and freeze it."
- My Dad, said with an uncharacteristic dirty leer, when describing what the doctor prescribed as therapy for his shoulder, after surgery for a torn rotator cuff. He then pulled out his heat/beat/freeze kit which contained this long rubber device used for working his muscles.

"Mom, you got that book on fashion. Does this mean you are fashion challenged?"
- My almost 13 year old son remarking on the fabulous new costume history book I got at Barnes and Noble for a whole twenty dollars.

And there you have it my dear readers and other hangers on. I hope most of you have tolerable hangovers today.

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