I gots milk.

A long time ago I asked my readers and other hangers on what these were:



Many of you got a cow vibe and guessed they were udders. That would be correct. You can verify this by squeezing.

But why two udders? I've been told that cows only have one udder...unless they are radioactive super cows...because those cows have udders all over the damned place. If Hugh Hefner were a bull, he'd have a harem of radioactive cows. They would hold parties, splashing in the grotto and playing volleyball on the lawn. Everyone would watch their teats bounce delightfully. Bessie, she sure can spike, uh-huh.

So, why two udders?

Because humans have two udders.



You can verify humans have two udders by squeezing.

Flushed

I love toilet cleaning. LOVE IT! How could one not when you are the lone female in a house with four males, one of them still getting the hang of the potty? It's an Tolkien adventure every time you stick your hands into the bowl.

This is how I know toilet cleaning is a hoot.

1. Bleachy toilet cleaning products smell sharp at first, but as you breathe them in it takes on a mellow floaty aspect that is really quite pleasant.

2. Toilet cleaning time is built in alone time. No one wants to hang over you while you perform the task which means you can think deeply about profound subjects...like the Democratic convention and Joe Biden. If you thought about McCain you'd only have to clean the toilet all over again.

3. You can move the toilet seat up and down, like working a puppet, and make it say all the things you wouldn't normally say out loud. If you are caught, justify what you were doing by blaming the toilet's "potty mouth".

4. Plunging has compelling phallic qualities. Plunge and plunge and OH plunge and YES PLUNGE AND PLUNGE HARDER AND HARDER AND OH YES YES YES!

5. You can practice optimism and thank the powers that be that you aren't scrubbing down an outhouse, flushing out a chamber pot, or hanging your posterior over a log in the middle of January at 3 a.m.

6. The sparkle of clean porcelain makes one feel fabulous and sophisticated.




You're right. I need more coffee. I'll get on that right now.

See Thru

Fifteen years ago today, about at this moment, I was at the grocery store buying plastic forks.

What? You don't remember the days you go buy plastic forks? For shame! What a big carbon footprint you must have Grandma!

Of course, my memory is that good because today is my and Justin's anniversary. Fifteen years ago I discovered I didn't have enough forks for my outdoor reception. Or mints. One must have plenty of mints on hand for a reception in Utah or else the marriage isn't valid. I really had nothing else to do until about 3 pm (unlike my soon to be husband) so I hopped into my car, went to the grocery store I worked at and bought several packages of clear plastic forks and Andes mints.

I may go buy clear plastic forks today. The fifteenth anniversary is the crystal anniversary.

Do they call it the crystal anniversary because fifteen years is a good time to look at what was, what is, what may be, with the help of a lens? I sure hope not. I rather hope it means that we are "sparkly" instead of "handle with care or else you'll drop it and it will shatter you doofus".

So, today is my sturdy, clear, dishwasher safe, plastic fork anniversary. Only the rest of my life to go.

I love you Justin.

Furballs

Now that my house is again quiet during the day, I've encouraged more silence by installing a DVD player in my toddler's room and buying him a copy of:



Dudley Moore narrates this adventure of a cat and a dog getting quite lost and then finding their way home again, after encountering and perservering through many obstacles and finding love on the way. (The cat with another cat...the dog with another dog. None of that perverted mixing of the species.) It's cute. It's heartwarming. It's on it's fifth cute and heartwarming showing this morning.

Personable animals making their way through the big world isn't a new movie theme. "Milo and Otis" happens to be my favorite and "Babe 2: Electric Boogaloo" my least favorite. These movies are fine family viewing.

However, if I were making a heartwarming animal film, it would go something like this.

"The Adventures of Guido and Clarence":

Guido and Clarence are happy pets living on a large free range chicken farm. The chickens are their friends and intermittent mother figures.

After being abducted and probed by aliens, they are released thousands of miles away to an isolated campground bathroom, where Scooter the Badger has set up his meth lab. Fearing for their lives and their already sore posteriors, Guido and Clarence stow away on the first RV that stops in this out of the way location.

Guido and Clarence soon learn that the little old man and the little old lady who owned the RV were really mean and nasty baby traffickers. After riding along for several hundred miles and vowing to help the babies escape, our heroes allow themselves to be sold to nearly blind boy band producers.

Guido and Clarence's singing stylings not withstanding, they shortly found themselves refusing to wear tight shiny pants or shaving off their chest hair. They were told there was no "I" in "team" and were kicked off the tour bus (which smelled like Drakkar) at a public park some two hundred miles from their home at 3 in the morning.

Take a guess at where this is going...heh.

Sensing opportunity in lieu of having a wide stance, Guido and Clarence stand at the entrance of the park restroom and implement a cover charge for "use" of the facilities. Over the course of two weeks and a labor day weekend they raise enough money to buy their own RV and to buy all the babies from those nasty traffickers.

Missing for several years, the maternal chickens were overjoyed at our hero's return back to the farm in their new RV, with TV, DVD, air conditioning and mini-bar. The babies thrived at the farm, growing up to become stock brokers.

The End.


Doesn't the inspiration of this story make you misty? I'm thinking Oscar here. I promise to not wear fur to the ceremony and I'll mention all you readers and other hangers on in my acceptance speech.

Slow your roll.

Justin, my husband with the Thor God like thighs, has become dissatisfied with the way his tummy has been ever expanding. He began a diet two weeks ago.

I'm all for diet. I've found that when I eat fiber, and I chew it thoroughly, my southern half gets all mellow. Fiber, it's like pot for your colon. I'm roasting turkeys, peeling carrots, and pooping with delight.

In my search for fiber I've added new foods which my kids think I'm poisoning them with. Last night it was brown rice, which they enthusiastically gagged down. Last week, and again tonight, it's lentils.

We ain't in the land of the McNugget no more Dorothy. DCFS does not consider legumes abuse.

My other requirement in Justin's diet is that I measure his body all over. I measure his neck, his chest, his waist and his butt. This has added an aspect of fun to our marriage that I had not anticipated. Next time I measure him I'm going to put some Barry White on the stereo then have him measure me in return.

After we disinfect the measuring tape we'll share a cigarette.

Flopping Room

Listen.

Do you hear anything?

Hmmm...I don't either.


It's quiet...BECAUSE MY KIDS ARE IN SCHOOL! This summer of having no space to even take a pee is over.


Excuse my while I do the naked floppy dance of joy.

Come on down!

School starts on Monday.





blink...





SCHOOL STARTS ON MONDAY!!!!

And it's not soon enough. My kids are behind me, watching "The Price is Right" and inflating birthday balloons with their noses. My boys are so talented it hurts.

On Monday, after I shove their newly clothed bodies out of my door in the early morning hours, I get to have Drew Carey all to myself. Ooooh he's cuddly.

Move over ladies...It's my turn to adjust his glasses.

I would like to attend a taping of "The Price is Right" if only to have a reason to wear a custom printed T-shirt declaring:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Don't wanna play Plinko
Just let me cuddle with Drew

Sigh...poetry.

Before you readers and other hangers on rally in with your disgust, check out this photo of Drew taken when in was in the Marines.

Close yer mouths, you're drooling.

Now, check out this photo of Drew bathing in beer.

Alright, not quite as cuddly, I admit, and I think beer is yucky, but I sure am aching to have a bath about now.

Oh Drew Carey, you theater game playing bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right, it's because when you tell us to spay or neuter our pets, I know you are saying it in the most virile way possible.

You can take my bid Drew, yes you can.

An edit...

The following post is edited, though it's 97% whole. Parts of the original post made a reference which turned out to be more inflammatory than I had intended so I have removed them. Nothing I removed was anything of offense to my son. I have removed a portion that appears to have mislead a few of my readers as to my intentions for the post.

Soap, because clean is good.

Just a little note to say...

Dear newly pubescent son of mine,

The following items, which I have placed in your bathroom in obvious locations, are to be used in a conscientious manner EVERY SINGLE DAY. Note the caps lock. The caps lock does indeed mean EVERY SINGLE DAY and not WHEN I SORTA FEEL LIKE IT or WHEN MY PARENTS NAG ME ABOUT IT. When you use these items, observe the directions written on the packaging. Any use not specified by the packaging is WRONG. WRONG not AWESOME, YOU CAN MAKE HUGE MOUNDS OF BUBBLES IN THE TOILET BOWL WITH THIS or AWESOME, YOU CAN DRAW ROCKET JET PACK SUPER AIRPLANES ON THE MIRROR WITH THIS.


Shampoo. To be used on your hair. On your head. All the hairs on your head and not just the ones on the top of your head. Use enough to make an adequate lather. Rinse thoroughly. Shampoo keeps your hair from smelling like musk oxen and looking like ramen noodle.


Soap. To be used on the rest of your body. Especially on your face, in and behind your ears, under your arms, down in your no-no areas, and on your feet. Use enough to make an adequate lather. Rinse thoroughly. Soap keeps your body from smelling like a turkish prison and looking like a county fair deep fryer.


Deodorant. To be used under your arms. Apply thoroughly as it actually has to make contact with your skin and not just your underarm hair. Replace the cap. Deodorant keeps your underarms and therefore you from smelling like garlic flavored pickled eggs.


A comb. To be used on your hair. On your head. All the hairs on your head and not just the ones on the top of your head. Take care to pull the comb through your hair in a manner which leaves you able to see. Styling products such as gel may also be used to hold your hair in place. Clean and combed hair keeps you looking like you are alive and in a conscious state instead of dead and zombie-ish.


Son, as you use these products they will be replaced as needed. Deodorant is not effective if there is less than an eighth of an inch in the container. Shampoo is not effective when watered down.

(Parts of original post removed here. Following portion added past original posting.)

Remember son, cleanliness is next to godliness. Please don't smite us with your lingering odor anymore.

Love,

Mother.

Why I'm glad I'm done changing diapers.

I have been having an educational and informative conversation with my two older children. The youngest of my rug apes, the three year old, probably would have enjoyed this conversation too had I not put him in his crib for incessant screaming.

The only one around here that is allowed to scream about having to drink milk in their sippy cup instead of Crystal Lite is me. I also get to scream because we're out of Honey Nut Cheerios.

My older children wanted to know about babies...and if babies peed and pooped while they were floating about the womb.

I try to answer my childrens questions honestly if they ask them. That's how I made my oldest son turn a limey shade of green when he asked what tampons were for when he was around seven or eight. It's how I ended up showing this same son when he was 13 years old educational photos of genital warts. It's how my middle son and I got to watching YouTubes on puppies and kittens being born when he asked me if the babies came out of animal's buttholes. I even used a pointer and proper terms...this is the dog's butthole and here is her vagina. What's a vagina? No, it's not a sequel to a butthole. Boys have penises and girls have vaginas which is what's needed to have babies. If girls had penises and vaginas, there wouldn't be any boys. If boys had penises and vaginas, boys would have places to put their keys all the time.

I told my children when they asked about excretion in the womb that the baby does pee but it usually doesn't poop. Isn't it nasty enough to float around in your own whizz? No baby wants to compound the problem with taking a dump. Babies try to hold it in.

This, of course, led to an in depth discussion about baby's first bowel movement...a sticky black unbabylike goo call meconium. Dare you to go google image search that. (Image search the warts too while you're at it.) My boys decided this was disgusting. I told them that meconium only lasts a couple days and then is replaced by the mustard like poop that is the end result of breastfeeding.

Pooping mustard is hilarious. It is. The thought of it compels one to roll around the floor completely redfaced. After the mustard pooping comes the ketchup pooping. Pooping relish should never happen. If you poop relish, especially sweet relish, you really should go see a doctor. Something is wrong with you.

Pooping chili...that's probably ok.

Rip it off real fast...

You know you're loved when your three year old lifts up your shirt and mashes a big Blue's Clues sticker over your bellybutton.

I am not allowed to surf for porn.

I'm at the high school with my teacher husband again. He's prepping. I'm using an old sticky Dell in the corner.

The ISP I pay good money for at home on my own non-sticky computer with a 22" wide screen is again down. This time it went poof when I clicked the publish button. My post was promptly chewed and eaten, never to be seen in it's original form again. Blogger's autosave function doesn't function without an internet connection.

I was writing about boobs and lingerie. I would have liked to continue writing about boobs and lingerie but I am not allowed to do so at school. Mentioning both in a limited context is pushing it and all the photos I planned on using are definitely out. Believe me, I am just as disappointed as you are.

I'm ok with it now though. The geography teacher next door has invited us over to eat chocolate.

Go get your boobs and lingerie on your own.

It's filthy under the gingham tablecloth.

Wanna see something cute? I know I do! Let's look at cute-ness together, shall we?


Aww!


Adorable!


So sweet!


Serene. What a lovely view.


Oh looky, another cowy cow cow! Isn't it cute?

Wait.

Is that cow poop? It is. Oh my god, that cow pooped! It did! Right where it stood. Oh yuck!



Alrighty, I'll get to the point.

Don't move to the country, to lands peppered by farms, enchanted by the open spaces, the pastures, the slow living, the views of barns and frolicking livestock...and then get upset when that same livestock creates a lot of less than fresh smelling...



Which causes...



Or else your good ole' boy farmer neighbor will up-end cars along your property lines.

Do these people really think that the hypnotically delicious smelling cheeseburgers they order through a impersonal talking box at the drive-thru are magically provided by the cheeseburger fairy?

It's comes right down to the food chain. Ecosystems really do exist outside of the rainforest. Stinky poop and flies, they make delicious smelling cheeseburgers possible. Cow gotta job, seed's gotta job, poop gotta job, fly gotta job. This results in the bun, the patty, the cheese, the tomato, even that heavy layer of special sauce. And bacon, delicious bacon.

I've graduated from Bovine University.

If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go put some cheerios in some fancy victorian illustrated envelopes and market them as donut seeds. I won't make millions but I know I'll at least make back the cost of the cereal and the printing.

I do not care if you freakin' get a third degree sunburn, really I don't.

I'm having spotty internet service these last three days. This is why I'm sitting in Justin's classroom on a school computer, paying my bills, writing blog post. The school computer is a Dell, so excuse my more than usual excreted tone. When we get home I get to call my local, rural, born in a barn, ISP professional instead of one that lives across the continent, workin' on the weekend, phone jockey to complain about not being able to pay my bills at home.

I'm also escaping from my children being here at school. Oh this cabin fever! Why don't they want to go outside? Go. Play. Find lizards or bugs. Run, make mud, throw rocks at the neighbor's chocolate lab, pick your nose. Just GO OUTSIDE for more than ten minutes FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Countdown to the first day of school...two weeks.

Countdown to the return of my sanity? Relative.

One of Justin's newly graduated seniors is here, spouting off profanity like only 18 year olds can do. He's entertaining. He's a novelty. He's much more entertaining than my own children. Surely if my children were spouting off the same bullshit this young man is spouting off I wouldn't find it as entertaining. I can only conclude that this young man's mother is deep down bone tired of him. That's why he's here, in the summer, having graduated. His mother ordered him to GO OUTSIDE.

...and your mother goes around the corner and she licks it up.

Where I live there is no TV reception, at least when it comes to the old school way of broadcasting television and not this new fangled digital television. That's why, here at Casa Absentminded, we are loyal users of satellite TV.

Satellite TV affords us many basic cable channels we would not see otherwise. There are channels for women, and for men, and for home decorating. I can watch evangelists preach the word 24/7.

Or I could watch the G4 network. I could watch their newest reality show entitled Hurl!.

It's about vomit.

Yay!

(Evangelists and vomit...more similar than dissimilar.)

"Hurl! combines speedeating with intense physical challenges all designed to shake up the competitors." says the G4 site.

In other words, eat a buttload of egg salad and then hop on a playground merry go round and take a spin. The first to hurl loses.

I can't tell you how charmed I am by this idea. G4 tells me that I'll publicly decry the show but I'll watch it in secret. I'll tell G4 that they are full of beans. I barely tolerated going to the website.

Just as charming and full of beans is the news of the presidential campaign this morning. Apparently neither Obama or McCain can pin down who first introduced negativity into their presidential runs.

Opening paragraph:

Trading charges anew over who was guilty of injecting race into the presidential debate, a subject unlikely to fade away, the campaigns of John McCain and Barack Obama also blamed each other Friday for its increasingly negative tone.

(Evangelists and politicians and vomit...more similar than dissimilar.)

Scene opens: Obama and McCain, each dressed in Osh Kosh B'gosh overalls, hop on opposite sides of the playground merry go round. Both have a foot off the side pumping the ride into a fast spin and huge lollipops in one grubby fist.

Obama: You did it!
McCain: No, you did it!
Obama: You weren't nice first! You called me bad names!
McCain: Nuh uh! You called me bad names first!
Obama: Cuz you was being mean!
McCain: I was not! You were! I'm telling my Mom!
Obama: Fine, tell her! I'm not a'scared of her!
McCain: Fine, I will! And my Dad will beat up your Dad.
Obama: You're a poohead!
McCain: You're a fartknocker!
Obama: See if you get any votes.
McCain: I'll get a million gazillion votes, you'll see!

And then one of them hurls. End scene.


This is why I watch the Food Network instead of Fox News.