Friday, February 29, 2008

I'm a big kid now.

I've begun the absolute rapture and joy that is potty training.

mumblemumblemumblerapture
mumblemumblemumblejoy

At this moment my child is running about the house without any sort of covering on his southern end. This is convenient...and dangerously messy.

I had been putting off potty training until the weather was warmer. It's far easier when the potty seat isn't at Antartic temperatures. My son has developed a yeast based diaper rash which has inspired me start earlier. The best thing to clear that up is to expose everything to fresh air, as much fresh air as possible. Diapers impede breezes.

The second best thing to clear that rash up is a little yeast infection cream, found in the feminine hygiene aisle.

I hate to think that I'm infringing on my son's sense of masculinity by slathering his bum with girly goo. The next thing you know the boy will be staging Barbie evening gown parades and redecorating the parlor. I'm going to have to put my good shoes higher up in the closet.

I don't have a parlor though, but if I did and he were to redecorate it, I hope he does so having developed continence and a preference for pants.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

ASSHOLE!

This epithet is what I yelled toward the TV this morning, thinking that Dubya could hear me through my screen.

This is also what my two year old is yelling as he walks about the house, playing with his little Lego toy men.

Surprisingly I didn't call Dubya a twat, as is usual. Now that I think about it, that part of the anatomy is generally quiet. Assholes are chirpy and our Prez is engaging in one long whining chirp, interrupting my morning news. I'd turn him off but I'm a glutton for punishment.

Isn't this election exciting? It's been a long while since I've seen people so enthused about the political process. I mean, how enthused could you have gotten about Walter F. Mondale anyway? In this election we've gotten more choice than a Starbucks menu!

Why oh why did I just imagine Hillary Clinton lathered up in caramel mocchacinos? That's some kinky stuff right there. High in calories too.

I'm eager to see who America's next commander in chief will be. Marking time by these changes in the world is quite amazing.

And I need to teach my toddler new epithets.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

I'm washing my apron....

I'm declaring today Naked Housework Day.

With the exception of cleaning my self cleaning oven and dusting the coils behind my fridge I'm spending my day completely and udderly nude. At least until 1 pm, when I go pick up my kid from school. I'll put on a pair of pasties...without the tassels. No need to dress up more than I have to just to go to the school.

I need to feel unencumbered.

You can join me in celebrating Naked Housework Day if you like. In your own homes, alrighty? I expect spotlessness.

Photos are optional.

Monday, February 25, 2008

No Glam for Young Women

Anyone watch TV last night? They had on some show where celebrities attended some inane charity function. Save the hairless burrowing mole or the inland brine shrimp or something. I think they hosted a grand opening for a new grocery store too.

Oh wait, those were the Oscars! Silly me...I couldn't tell by the way any one of them was dressed. They threw a gold statue at the costume designers for "Elizabeth: The Golden Age" and that's when I had it figured out.

Mmmmmm costume movies....

On the whole, everyone looked nice and presentable and mostly wrinkle free. Very few had any Hollywood glamor. The event was wow deficient.

These buy one get one free sale choices in fashion on Oscar's 80th year makes my annual post easy. It's my pretense and my pleasure to bestow upon Hollywood the Absent Minded Oscars Best Dressed and Worst Dressed awards.

As usual, I'm skipping the men...mostly. A tuxedo is a tuxedo is a tuxedo.

I suppose it's fitting that most every actress on the red carpet wore black this year given the doom and gloom theme to the best movie nominations. Plenty of dead folks in four of the five movies and therefore a wake was called for. Hilary Swank looked boudoir beautiful in her black. Penelope Cruz only skinned one Muppet for this year's black dress rather than a herd for last year's. Save the Muppets.

Speaking of fitting, there were serious issues again this year with the hold-uppiness of the dozens upon dozens of strapless gowns presented. Laura Linney is the only actress to have figured out that half your boobs are not supposed to spill over the bustline of the dress much like a beer gut hanging over the waistline of a drooping pair of Wranglers. When your strapless fits properly you can both breathe and avoid removing toupee' tape on the boobies at the end of the night. Stop tape abuse.

If a dress wasn't black, it was red. All the black ones were gone and when you think about death, red is the next best color. Miley Ray Cyrus, Heidi Klum, and Katherine Heigl all turned up in splashy, well tailored, red gowns. Support your local Rainbow Coalition.

The only actress with wow factor this year, who looked truly amazing, and very much deserves the Best Dressed here at AMHW for two years in a row, is last year's Best Actress Helen Mirren!


This woman is so well put together that you do not have to pay extra for an extended warranty. She's not cutting a ribbon at a grocery store like the rest of 'em, oh no, she's kicking red carpet ass. She's stomping all over actresses half her age and twice her height.

The clavicles on Helen...sigh...

The worst dressed was just as easy to spot as the best. I was split evenly between two ladies, but alas even though Daniel Day-Lewis' wife was doing her best bordello madame impression:


(Where did either of them find those shoes?)

...Our worst dressed goes to a painting plastic sheeted, and Best Supporting Actress winner, Tilda Swinton.


I love Tilda Swinton, I do! She was born with lovely skin and that natural red hair, but dear dear dear, she's been swallowed up by a mutant radioactive bucket of tar. I know Tilda has a nice body...wherever it's hiding. I wonder if she's wearing any sort of undergarments because a person would constantly be picking that dress out of any nooks and crannies they possess. Heck, that dress gives the people standing next to you wedgies.

A little makeup would have probably done some good too.

If you haven't seen "No Country for Old Men" then go and see it right now. Make sure you pee before you sit to watch. You will not want to get up and theater managers get grumpy when you wet the seats.

Best Evil Bastard in a movie ever.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Grizzlina Adams

For those of you on rural northern Nevada earthquake watch, there have been 28 earthquakes in the last 24 hours. It began with the 6 point rumbler at dawn yesterday and then a regular spattering of aftershocks anywhere between a 2 and a 4.6.

I shouldn't have eaten the whole thing.

I've only felt two of these because they are quite deep and I'm 30-40 miles away.

I don't want to feel any more. What I want to do is hunt down the "educational professional" at my child's school who has been warning all the children that an even larger earthquake would be taking place in the middle of the night while they slept.

You sent my nine year old kid home terrified you dumb twit. He thought his house was going to fall down around him while he was in his bed because of your daft prediction. Feeling his bed boogie against the wall yesterday morning, along with the deep rumbling noise, was enough to make him so scared he felt ill....and you thought it was your duty to add to that?

If you persist in your story today I'm heading to the school to have a calm and logical talk with the people who need to hear my complaint. Safety and disaster education is one thing...unfounded Miss Cleo style predictions are another.

I can't be the only one in Mama Bear mode this morning.


Grrrrrr....

Thursday, February 21, 2008

I haven't had my coffee yet

7:00 - My alarm goes off. I don't want it to go off. I'm having a really nice dream. That's what they make a snooze button for, isn't it?

7:09 - My alarm goes off. I don't want it to go off. I'm warm. I'm cozy. I don't have to be up just yet anyway. Ahhh...snooze button.

7:16 - Earthquake goes off.

Yeah, Earthquake. 6.3* Earthquake. Epicenter 30 miles from my home.

Where is the snooze button for that? I didn't want that to go off.

Everyone in my town seems to be alright, as far as I know, but the teeny town nearest to the epicenter is scrambling this morning. They've had buildings fall but no word of any injuries as of yet.

I felt a small aftershock not long after, but nothing for the past hour.



...note. My town is on mountain time instead of real Nevada time. I know it happened at 6:16. Honest, I didn't mistype the time.

* It's been downgraded to a 6.0.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Morning Minutia VII

My boobs are sore.

Every time I see Wilford Brimley's die-uh-beet-us supplies by mail ads during The Price is Right, I get a little jolt of sexy going on. It's the mustache. (Not related to my sore boobs.)

The pickles that come in the gallon jar from Sam's Club are really huge.

Project Runway!

I cannot quietly convince my toddler that toothpaste is not on the breakfast menu. I have to convince him loudly and with a lot of foot stomping and flailing.

What do Nascar drivers do, during those long long races, when they gotta take a whiz? What if it's more than just a whiz? What if their jumpsuits ride up and they have to adjust...do they worry about their steering while they do that? What if they ate something garlicky and they have to breathe in all their exhale in that helmet?

It's a spandex obsession.

My teenager is under the impression that his personal hygiene is something that can be negotiated in this house. He gets a haircut today. Surprise! I'm fully in favor of him keeping his hair the way he likes when he also decides to keep it washed and runs a comb through it. Next on the agenda, toothbrushing 101.

Diego on Nick Jr. is telling me to say "Superzoom!" I question his sexual orientation.

Coming to my mailbox soon, courtesy of Netflix, XANADU! Jealous?



More Minutia

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The Victorian Era is really really over.

I enjoy learning all manner of new things. It keeps my mind supple even though my body is moving ever southward. Boobs beginning to droop, brain perky. This is as it should be.

I've learned quite a lot about a certain subject this last week. I didn't seek out this learning. It came to me quite unexpectedly. Those close to me could tell you that I know quite a lot about this kind of thing already...in a general non-participatory kind of way...because I find the facets of this subject fascinating.

I've had an MSN search engine burst. People are seeking out images of the sexual fetish of their choice and happening upon an image of my tubal ligation procedure. This leads them to click on my uterus and then my sitemeter registers the search terms they were using.

It's been a long time since I've been shocked about the proclivities of others, given that I thought I knew the most obscure terms for all kinds of "hobbies", but this last week, boy howdy!

Honestly, should you be doing that unhygenic activity with your family members? Rubber trees are dying by the millions because of you. Britney Spears may be a little nutty, but I don't think she does that. My God, just flush it already! Soylent Green is people!

...and that's seeing what popped up when I've got MSN set to moderate search. Lord help me if I turned the safe search off.

All these MSN searchers have been directed to my November 2005 archives. I couldn't allow their presence go unnoticed! I entered a post in the archives, so it would be the first post they see, welcoming them to The Absent Minded Housewife. I'm nice that way.

Do not send me the link to TubGirl. I've seen it...and I'm disinfecting today.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Barbarino-oh-oh-ohhhhhh

Happy Valentines Day!


I made this for you...
sorta....





Turtleneck-a-licious.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Purrge

I woke up this morning to the sounds of my dumb gay cat regurgitating.

My cat barfs a lot. He's a healthy cat, but he gets exciteable and then he hurls. Of all the qualities my cat is blessed with, this is the one I don't love about him.

Untrue...I'm also not particularly fond of my cat trying to cock-block my husband. He gets all possessive and jealous (the cat and the husband.) In my cat's little kitty world he recognizes that I am the well deserved leader of the clowder, his furry ass is second (the cat, not the husband) and my husband is running a distant leg crampy third. The cat likes to sit on my chest and stare my husband down, daring him to lay a hand on me.

My husband just shoves the cat off and proceeds to do what makes him happy in his little husband world.

(A clowder is a collective group of cats...ain't I vocabulated!)

Because I'm first...the leader...the matriarch, I'm responsible for searching out the location of where my cat has barfed when the noise wakes me up.

I now have a cleaned and disinfected bedroom window sill in my little housewife world.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Got Bleach?






I washed my nearly fourteen year old son's bedding yesterday...





That's all I have to say about that.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Fluffing Dummies

I spent most of my weekend up in my attic.

There is a lot of fluff in my attic. It resembles what's going on in my head a great deal. It's not even pink fluff up there, but this odd loose grey stuff. It's dusty randomized fluff. If my dumb gay cat had a way to get up into the attic, I'm sure the fluff would be infiltrated by dumb gay cat doodles.

This weekend I further stuffed my attic full of well marked boxes of things I didn't have the heart to throw away or sell at last summer's yard sale. Highschool photos and love letters, my children's schoolwork and drawings, a thirty year old stuffed Curious George doll, Justin's army BDUs and combat boots that haven't lost that combat boot smell even if they are fifteen years old. Stuff, fluff, life.

If my house were older my attic might be a more interesting experience. Old houses have attics full of fitting dummies and trunks of stock certificates now worth zillions, don't they? There is no fluff anywhere. There might be a demon and a mouse or two, but no fluff. No cat doodles.

My parents have a neighbor on the opposite end of the block whose house has an amazing attic space. All the neighborhood's kids, including myself, spent several hours there playing hide and seek type games, drawing, hosting haunted houses. That house has character. If that house were to ever come up for sale I'd pawn my soul to the demon up in the attic to buy it...even though that would have me living within inches of my parents and two of my sisters. (Communes are sexy.) At the very least my neighbors would already know me and wouldn't be surprised at the odd noises at all hours of the night. They'd whisper and point, but they wouldn't be surprised.

Afterall, my husband refuses to engage in any nooky in our attic as it is now. The fluff gets in all your nooks and crannies.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Curl up and dye

Rapture!

Joy!

Peroxide!

It's at home hair dying day!

I might as well dye my hair. I have three inches of roots and plenty of hairs that look like this:


I plucked that hair from my tender scalp just for you. I won't be plucking all the hairs that look similar however. That would render me mostly bald in the front. At thirty three years old my salt and pepper look isn't as distinguished as I thought. I started going grey at 16. I'm not outgrowing that phase and I'm definitely not distinguished. I'm flat chested and I think fart jokes are hilarious.

My hair has changed every time I've given birth to a baby (because I've yet to give birth to anything else.) Sure, it grows lush and full when a person is pregnant, but then that person ends up not being pregnant anymore and all that lovely hair falls out en masse. Each time my postpartum hair has started growing back in it grows back blonder, and curlier. Half my hair was my usual stick straight dark brown, the other half curly and blonde and the third half grey and curly and wiry and stickystraightuppy.

My hair is multicultural. I've held it back from declaring it's candidacy for president. It's got skeletons in it's closet.

Because I don't remember what color I dyed my hair last time, I had to buy two fresh boxes this go around. It takes two boxes because I have that much hair. I'm trusting you, my dear readers and other hangers on, to remember my haircolor for me. Meet the twins.


I'm giddy because buying two boxes means I get an extra pair of rubber gloves. There are just so many entertaining uses for rubber gloves!

No, I hadn't thought of that use. Pervert.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Sick sick day.

I woke up this morning in a state of nausea that was ever so charming. It's a germ that's been going around town. The charm of it should only last until tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, I'll leave a space for you to imagine your very own AMHW post.























Wait a minute, you can't think that sort of filthiness in my blog! Give ya an inch....

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Voting is for pussies.

It's Super Tuesday, and for those to whom it applies I'm putting on my boss hat and telling you to go vote.

Just do it. Vote. Go. Now. C'mon. Get it done. It matters, so go.

I did my voting last month because that's when Nevada decided to hold their caucusses. I registered with a party...bonus, this party served damned good gourmet coffee...and I got my vote on.

I even used the word "twat" at one point in the caucus. Democracy is special that way. I can say twat without fear.

Heh, heh, heh, she said "caucus".

***

Speaking of reproductive organs, mine produced an amazing kid nine years ago today. He's requested a dinosaur fossil cake, complete with dinosaur footprints and a nest of dinosaur eggs.

I'm off to make a cake that hopefully doesn't resemble the La Brea Tar Pits.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Back Seat Eater

My cuddly husband Justin has been trying to give up the eating of the fast foods lately. He has been denying himself delicious cheeseburgers and greasy breakfast sandwiches and the divinity that is anything that is deep fried in trans-fatless oils.

It's just un-American. I've pledged allegiance to the bacon cheese Whopper and I'm feeling a little bit betrayed by his new found admiration in food that isn't served in waxed paper.

What he's not giving up is his rapt attention to the television, namely Sonic Drive-In commercials.

Observe:



If this woman told my husband to eat a gooey oozing Sonic cheeseburger he'd do it. He'd make Barry White style love to that cheeseburger. He'd go at that thing with both hands, a tarp and a bottle of baby oil. French fries? That's the cuddle after the main event. Milkshake? Get ready for round two baby.

If we had a Sonic in my town I'd be in big big trouble and so would he. You don't make friends with salad.

Justin's got a craving and it ain't for chili dogs and dino-nuggets.


Oh Molly Erdman, you Second City slushie slurping tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. Her dry wry jokes are like getting extra napkins with your combo meal, when you need them you're so glad you've got them.

Now, maybe, my husband will let me eat my fried cheese in peace.

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