Monday, July 30, 2007

Once Upon a Potty

I held a yard sale this weekend. Amazingly, people in my neighborhood wanted to buy my crap. Even in this heat they wanted to buy my crap.

The one thing that didn't sell? The used toilet seat I'd marked for "$1000 FIRM!" Humph! Didn't they know that I sat on that several times a day? It has provenance!

Home redecoration has been on my mind quite a bit lately. A bathroom is a good place to start. My son's bathroom has rubber duckies in it. It's a likely theme and makes one feel perky whilst on the john. I'd like to theme up my personal bathroom and start off my day enveloped in commode creativity.

Why not base the theme on a new toilet seat? Check out these badasses...


Apt...



This is so practical. I may follow this with an Area 51 theme. I'm marking the handle of the plunger with "Alien Probe".



Forget the Charmin, I'm hanging a Sear's Catalog next to this 'un.



Johnny Cash or Elvis? Ring of Fire or Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love?



Just don't get too comfortable...



I once knew a couple who had a bookcase in their bathroom with the entire Warren Report sitting on the shelves. They have my admiration.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Double D's

Yesterday evening my husband and I shoved some money at my oldest child to babysit and we took off about town. Shucks, a date!

We got a Frappucino at Starbucks. We put a little money into some slot machines and took a lot of money back out them. We watched a woman win nearly $700 in five minutes on a penny slot machine. (We congratulated her and she attempted to give us a $40 tip!) We listened to the house band cover slow country songs and Marvin Gaye.

Dating is good, it's very good.

And the highlight of the evening? Taking home this full color, heavy card stock announcement...


I'm gonna put on my push up bra and go make googly eyes at the star of the bestest celebrity sex tape ever. Adult content? You bet your booties there is gonna be adult content.

"Saved by the Bell" was a teen program from my generation...and I never watched it. I thought it was nauseating. Besides that, I had a job and worked every Saturday morning when it aired. I was more than happy to miss out on the acid washed perminess of it all. I hated 90210 too, not that that has anything to do with anything.

I won't blame Dustin Diamond for my dislike of "Saved by the Bell". He was probably under-utilized. Now that we're both grown ups with comparable amounts of facial hair, I'm willing to go see the man tell foul jokes. I plan on buying a commemorative T-shirt. And I won't heckle...much.

Oh Dustin Diamond, you Celebrity Fit Club and Celebrity Boxing confusing bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right...Nerdy broodiness is almost as addicting as Caramel Frappucinos.

Can I get a witness.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Toddler Prozac

This is just wrong....



Anyone else feel like giving themselves a lobotomy?

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Becky Baggins, Desert Yeti

Many of my readers and other hangers on are aware of my ongoing struggle with the removal of unwanted (uninvited, unimpressive, unnerving...) body hair.

If you are new around these parts and you aren't aware of just how hairy I am, you can reference THIS POST and THIS POST and maybe THIS POST too. Don't be scared. I'm fuzzy...I'm not Cousin It or Chewbacca.

Yet...

I've wasted money purchased an at home electrolysis kit to hopefully permanently remove my goatee and some other funny hairs to which I won't reveal the location of. I don't like these hairs. I want to maim and kill them. I want to damn them to the firey depths of hell.

You're thinking, "Becky, why not have a professional do your zapping for you?" There are two reasons for this. First is, I'm cheap. Professionals are expensive and they make uncomfortable small talk. The second reason is because I live out in the middle of nowhere. There are no lawyers here and no electrolysists either. I'd have to make a pilgrimage for the cause of body hair removal and I just don't feel I have that kind of faith as of yet.

I spent a portion of yesterday electrocuting myself. Today I'm sort of floating in a dreamy haze, savoring the metallic taste in my mouth and the bumpy rash on parts better left undefined.

Still, it's better than the all over body burn I get from depilatory creams. We must be optimistic about these things.


It's good to have goals.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Pretty Posies

I'm not sure if I've violated my marital vows recently or not. I'm asking for outside opinions.

My husband, Justin, despite changing his style this morning from a haute Grizzly Adams clone to Good Ole' Boy Trucker chic, isn't what many would consider to be a grunting testosterone sloshing manbeast. Observe his new "do".


This is the man, that I willingly married without the prodding of a shotgun, who writes poetry and listens to Jethro Tull. This is the man that would rather get a brazilian bikini wax than watch The Super Bowl. This man has never in his entire life put a can of warm Bud Lite next to his lips and thought he was living the high life.

...and I've violated this man's delicate sense of masculinity by doing the unthinkable.

Oh Lord, forgive me!

Sigh...I bought new floral printed sheets which we slept on for the first time last night. He only barely survived.

In my defense, the sheets are blue floral print, and they were on sale! Our old blue striped sheets were getting worn with all the sleeping (yeah, that's it, sleeping...) we had been doing on them.

Will our romance be the same? Will there be a point in the near future where I will have to go to the grocery store and pick up tampons for HIM and it will all be my fault? Is my lingerie safe???

It could be worse I suppose. I could move the floral theme to our bathroom. I could put a fuzzy pink cover on the lid of the toilet make him use matching pink triple blade razors.

Ten-four, Buttercup.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Ode to my Lopsided Underboob Sweat

Two boobs divided in a cotton snood,
And sorry I could not uncover both
And be I overheated, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where the sweat lies upon the undergrowth;

Then took the tother, just as flush,
And having perhaps the bigger claim,
Because it was fuller and more it should gush?
Though as for that the smaller rushed
Had left them sticky both the same,

My underboobs that afternoon equally lay
In states a shower could have gotten just as wet.
Oh, I kept fanning throughout the day!
Knowing how the body is supposed to cool that way,
But I doubted if I should ever dry that sweat.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere in a winter hence:
Two boobs divided in a snood, and I -
I wishing the winter would soon pass by
That cold in summer wouldn't make a difference.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Puckered

I am back and I can claim, optimistically, some success in not suffering from sunshiney constipation.

You can't be constipated if you catch a stomach bug and are forced, yes forced in the public restroom, to spew nasty fluids out of both your northern and southern ends. I'm emptied out right proper. I missed a day and a half of the four day family reunion.

***

It's a beautiful thing to live in a consumer culture. The choices of goods and services available to you is downright astounding.

This is especially true with super salty, sugar encrusted, fat laden snack food. Got a craving? It can be satisfied at any convenience store near you. Thank you and come again.

That is, unless you have a craving for July's Bestest Housewifely Doodad and the bestest snack food ever invented, ever. Any convenience store I hoped to buy this item from had run out of stock. It was only blind luck that I found two cans at the convenience store we gassed up at on our way home.

What is this divinity?



Zotes Dill Pickle flavored roasted sunflower seeds.

There are other brands of dill flavored sunflower seeds on the market. They suck. Zotes is the only brand that sucker punches you in the face with their dill pickle salty/sourness and you thank them for it. I might only be more addicted to these seeds if I smoked pot. Maybe I should start smoking pot for the intense cravings it gives you. I'm definitely not getting pregnant again so I can have intense cravings.

Zotes packages their seeds in handy dandy flip top plastic cans. I do have some issue with the foil cap they weld on to the top of the container, for freshness ya know, because it takes a machete to get the damned thing off. It's worth all the work in the end. They're indeed fresh.

If you are a strange soul that doesn't care for the wonderful-ness of dill pickle you can choose other enticing flavors:

Original Salted
Salt and Pepper
Beer Baked
Tequila Lime
Spicy Nacho
Hot Wings
Bleu Cheese
Garlic Roast
Jalapeno

I have tried the Bleu Cheese and Tequila Lime flavors. Liked Bleu Cheese, didn't care for Tequila Lime.

I paid $1.69 each for my two cans of Zotes. You can get your own from the Zotes website if you don't want to hunt them down at convenience stores paying four times the amount for gasoline.

No, Zotes ain't paying me NOTHIN' for this post. However, I'm open to payment in seeds if they are feeling gracious.

Thank you Zotes, I like you, I really like you.

Monday, July 09, 2007

This post is now titled...but it still contains caffiene.

I'm leaving!

(And this post has no title because the powers that be have decided I cannot place a cursor in the title box.)

I'm not leaving forever. I'm only leaving long enough to partake of two family reunions. My husband's family's reunion is held biennially and it lasts four days. My family reunion lasts an afternoon.

The four day reunion is held at a big pine lodge up where Robert Redford likes to wet his nuts flyfishing. Everyone sleeps together....in separate army style cots. The family isn't that close. Although I've seen 'em all in their jammies. Hell, I've seen Uncle Earl in his underwear. The man doesn't care where he undresses.

There is an aspect of the four day reunion that I'm just not looking forward to. You would think it would be the constant sunshiney family togetherness and you would be right in a way. There is a point, every morning around 9 am, where I require a little privacy.

I can't poop in a public toilet! Really, I can't! The lodge provides a perfectly adequate public toilet with sparkly clean stalls and I can't go in 'em. My bowels aren't extroverted. I once said that my bowels clench up so tight that I fart backwards when it comes to trying to pinch a loaf in a public bathroom. My bowels don't wanna say good morning when Aunt Gertrude is brushing her teeth over the bar of sinks.

I'm anticipating four days of sunshiney constipation.

At a past reunion I tried waking in the middle of the night to go when I'd be quite alone. My colon wasn't falling for that trick in any way shape or form.

I'll be back next week. Wish me luck.

Friday, July 06, 2007

Amelia Earhart, still missing.

Yesterday was "Holy crap, look at what was behind that!" day.

First on the itinerary was pulling out my electric stove to see what was behind it. I was hoping to see a briefcase with a million dollars in unmarked benjamins. What I found was approximately one million cheerios, two dozen marbles, an entire alphabet of fridge magnets and a matchbox car.

Next on the itinerary was pulling out my refridgerator to see what mysteries lurked behind it. I was hoping to find Jimmy Hoffa and a briefcase with a million dollars in unmarked benjamins. What I found was approximately one million cat kibbles, more marbles, a sheet of pizza hut coupons that expired last year and enough cobwebs to knit a sweater.

To round out the day nicely, my husband and I removed the clogged toilet so we could unclog it from the business end. I did not find a million dollars in a briefcase under or behind the toilet. I found approximately seventeen cents in crusty coins and a drinking straw. What was being drunk under the toilet is anyone's guess.

There was some discussion of under my butt to see what was behind it but it was decided that ignorance is indeed bliss. It's best not to look.

***

It's my pleasure to finally announce a Kenny Story winner!

Jerry, host of Life is a Bowful of Jerrys...you are da man. His submission:


"ummm...this really is Kenny as he was in 1982...he is 24 years old now. He is a Mormon now after being convinced one night at a 9th grade Sadie Hawkins dance that he must stop leading the life of a sinner and stop trying to massage his girlfriend Sarah's tonsils with his tongue...Sarah flipped Kenny that year. Kenny's parents watched helplessly as their son was drawn deeper into the Mormon Cult first losing him all day on Sundays and for 2 years during his mission, where he spent the better part of those 2 years with dysentery and parasites while being the jungles of Costa Rica. Yet today he is more and more disillusioned with the Church especially after being seduced by most of the divorced female church members...he will soon escape and get plagued with visits from missionaries trying to lure him back...he will punch one soon and feel good about himself again."


I especially like the bit about dysentery.

For Jerry's efforts he wins a swell prize. I will gladly send Jerry two bottles of:


Thongweiser! A pretty pair of thong panties packaged in a recycled beer bottle. Looks great, less fabric!

Jerry, I was this close to offering the rubber ball that clogged my boy's toilet as a prize but I figured that I'd send something more classy.

Honorable mention goes to Blogarita for admitting she married this Kenny clone.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Being Snookered

My parents used to keep a pool table in their basement. It was a never ending source of amusement for us kiddos. Before puberty, playing 8 ball was fun. After puberty, making out on top of or under the pool table was fun.

Needless to say I became quite good at both activities.

I learned at one point in my adolescence that it was better to only kick my date's ass in the making out portion of playing pool instead of the actual pool playing part of pool. Teenaged boys do not appreciate it when 100 pound girls make mincemeat of them when it comes to sport. I used to throw the game and let the young men I led down to my lair basement win. I'm just that charitable.

I've learned this week that my husband would not care if a 100 pound woman kicked his ass at pool. He does not need my charity.


This is Jeanette Lee. Jeanette Lee is ranked 7th in the world in ladies professional billiards. Jeanette Lee is known as "The Black Widow" for sporting a mostly black wardrobe at billiards events.

My husband sat watching Jeanette on TV, completely mesmerized by her sensual ability to lean way over a table, handle a stick with precision and deftly whack a ball into a hole.

Jeanette will rack up your balls real tight and you will like it.

Did you know that making out after watching Jeanette on TV is just as satisfying as making out after throwing your own game of pool? I'm here to tell ya....

Oh Jeanette Lee, you felt caressing tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She's got biceps of steel.

My biceps are made out of marshmallows.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Personally Spacey

Now that summer is here most everything on TV has turned to reruns. I guess people actually go outside and do, you know, stuff, when the weather is warm.

I've got my Big Love and my Top Chef to keep me happy, but the rest of the time I've been forced to watch home improvement programs on HGTV. Don't get me wrong. I love to see people remake their living rooms for $1500 dollars and the help of a perky size 2 interior designer. It gives me hope. It makes me want to buy spongey paint brushes and decoupage glue.

Besides wearing tiny shirts, a host of a home improvement program must be proficient in the delivery of the most important word in the interior design dictionary. Space. Say it again....Spahhh-accceeee. As in:

"Even though this area is dated, it's such a big spaahhacce."
or
"Some mirrors on the accent wall will make this spahhacce look larger."

Blink.

It's a ROOM. It's not undefined! It's a living room, a family room, a bathroom, a kitchen, a bedroom, a freakin' redwood deck with some mosquito netting. It's not just space! Gah! Stop saying "space"...just stop it!

I would like to visually define "space" for my readers and other hangers on.


The final frontier. Klingons around uranus.


Emptiness denotes the concept space, right? (My apologies to Paris Hilton.) Park here.


Shhhpaceshhh.


and...





I only add the last photo because I just recently remodeled my myspace space. I painted. I put up curtains. I fluffed up all my accent pillows. It's fabulous.

Finally, I will add an impressive space that is bound to make some folks particularly happy they came over to AMHW today.



You're welcome.

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