Saturday, November 29, 2008

Fam-damn-ily - A thought for Sunday

In attending a post Thanksgiving poker night with my three sisters and their significant others, sitting around two large platters of taco bean dip, it's logical that your's truly is going to be nicknamed "Flappy".

It's the musical fruit, dammit.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Methane Madness

I am not shopping today.

I do not need stuff. I may need to eat a great deal of fiber today after yesterday's double duty Thanksgiving, but I don't need stuff. My colon is petulant after the serving of strawberry cheesecake and the serving of blackberry pie and the pistachio torte and the pecan pie and of course the pumpkin. Top that with heaping shovelfuls of thick foamy whipping cream chock full of lactose and saturated fats.

I can't imagine that anyone else out to get stuff, roaming in those early god foresaken hours, had less pie than I did. Run, shove, grunt and toot. I noticed that the Walmart had taken up their flooring and polished the cement to a slippery shine. Some tooting grunting shopper is going to fall on their face and their overextended turkey filled bottom halves are going to promptly exlode.

People won't care about the mess either. Theys gots to get 'um a ten dollar MP3 player and free hotdogs and Coke products. They won't notice being covered in Thanksgiving goo. Laptops ahoy!

I'm sitting in my parent's living room enjoying coffee and the quiet.

There is fiber of all sorts in their cupboards. Delicious fibery fiber.

So, if you too are sitting around today, digesting, kudos. Have a roll of Charmin' on me. There is joy in the only stuff you've got being utilized for comfortable cleansing.


UPDATE: I hit the post button, go back to Yahoo, and find that a Walmart worker was trampled and has died in this morning's madness. Christ.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Check out my giblets.

Wishing everyone, at least to those whom it applies, a happy Thanksgiving.




Sexy...and delicious.

Monday, November 24, 2008

It's lucky I don't own a dog.

I know my grumpy neighbor is hating the fact that I'm ever so delicately chucking my kitchen scraps onto the non-lawn portions of my yard. I am hoping that in the spring I will be able to plant some sort of vegetables in this white Nevada dirt of mine. The carrot peelings and tomato ends look colorful and festive.

She's of very delicate sensibilities, my neighbor. My cat can't lay under my tree in the view from her yard. My kids should not make yard noise. Don't ever bang against our shared fence or hang rugs to dry from it.

(However, she's allowed to smoke in her yard, by our shared fence, which is right near my sliding glass door, forcing me to close my windows when it's warm.)

So, I also know that my grumpy neighbor is hating the birds that my spur of the moment composting attracts, including the pair of doves that have been cooing in my backyard since yesterday.

I hope they poop on her patio set.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Happy Pants

I had two goals when travelling to Elko earlier this month.

The first was to renew my driver's license. That was successfully done after waiting for two hours in a hard plastic chair with my spastic, fresh out of the carseat from a two hour drive, three year old son.

When I was seeing the light at the end of the DMV tunnel a man walked in announcing he had driven the same two hour drive and demanded special treatment by way of butting to the front of the line. The dominatrix behind the DMV counter told him to take a number. He demanded again. The dominatrix reiterated that he should take a number. Sir Special-ness did not care for having to wait his turn, had a tantrum which the dominatrix ignored, and then announced that he was "fucking leaving!"

Noting that he did not drag a three year old along to a four hour DMV adventure, I barely held back from physically accosting him.

That's why the bottom half of my face on my new license looks like this:


My second goal in driving to Elko was to procure new jeans.

Seeing that I live out in the middle of nowhere, the two teeny places that sell pants in any form in my town only stock pairs that fit normal average folk and not a walking tree like me. My neighbors have stopped allowing me to walk freely around my town anyway since most of my jeans look like this:


It's not the hole that's offensive. It's the peek of stripey underwear.

Elko has more choice in the way of pants. At least I thought they did. I dug through mounds of jeans only to find two pair that would cover most of my leg parts and all of my bum parts. These I refused to buy because they had those damned kitten whiskers bleached at the groin. I'm 34 dammit.


I drove home pantless. (With a 20 piece bucket of chicken in the passenger seat and a sleeping three year old in the carseat.)

Crossing my fingers, I ordered jolly green giantess pants online. It used to be that jeans for women in tall sizes ended at a 34" inseam...an inch too short for me...but I've found miracles in jeans manufacturing up to 37" for less than $30 a pair on the internets.

My jeans arrived Monday.

The first day of the rest of my warm ankled life arrived Monday. Blessed be, they fit. THEY FIT! ALL THREE PAIR FIT!!!

I have never in my full grown life worn a pair of jeans that fit so exactly RIGHT. Long enough, down to my heels without being too baggy and sliding down my hips. Can you tell what color of socks I'm wearing when I sit? NO YOU CAN'T!

This thrills me so that I may go find Sir Special-ness and accost him in a more affectionate way.

He won't see my stripey underpants so he shouldn't be all that offended.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

When I grow up, I want to open a Discotheque.

Shhhh...it's Xanadu watching day!

(Instant watch it on Netflix with me. Revel in the silky polyester goodness.)



Next...The WIZ!

Monday, November 17, 2008

Humble

In making my post coffee trip to my bathroom this morning I unexpectedly found a spider hanging out in the toilet bowl.

This caused me to have a debate of conscience. Do I compassionately fish the spider out of the toilet and save it's wee little life or do I pay it no mind and just get my business done?

I realized that fishing Charlotte out of the bowl may prove difficult. The spider could end up in the water anyway and die. If I did manage to catch the spider I'd have to put it outside, where it's cold, and it would die. I could have used the other bathroom and eventually the spider would have left the toilet only to be found by my cat and it would die.

Or, I could leave it there and spidey would grow by apocalyptic proportions, completely taking over my bathroom, using up all my expensive bubble bath and leaving questionable stains on everything porcelain. Eight legged biatch ain't doing that...no way no how.

So...I flushed and uncharitably thought, "Sucks to be you."

Karma is coming my way now. I just know it.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Has anyone done a study on how long it takes polar fleece fabrics to break down in a landfill?

I'm throwing away the polar fleece pajama pants I'm wearing. They're baby blue printed with polar bears on purple sleds and several inches too short for my long legs. They're my sexy pants.

Alrighty, obviously I did not buy these pants at Victoria's Secret. Hell, I don't buy anything at Victoria's Secret. I'm not spending $30 dollars on a scant strip of fabric that rests right against the most unhygenic part of my body. If I wanted to place something right back there on purpose it better either be disposable or free.

Anyway, out to the trash they go. I keep pulling out hairs that have worked themselves into the fleece. It's a charming trait with this type of fabric.

And the last hair I pulled? From the inside of these sexy pants? It wasn't mine. At the very least I know whose it was and where it was shed from. It's not a suspicious mystery hair. Still, gah, gross.

I can't be the only one who is deceived by new plushy soft polar fleece pants and ends up having to throw them away because it starts looking like the fourth member of ZZ Top. At the local landfill there is a pile of metal appliances, another pile of car batteries and oil cans and then there must be a large pile of hair ridden polar fleece.

This leaves me with having to replace my sexy pants. I've pulled some blue flannel out of my stash, printed with rubber ducks and soap bubbles, and I'm going to sew up a pair of the proper length.

I can go to the grocery store in my rubber duck pants, hair free, and enjoy my newfound sense of dignity.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Beany Weeny

I was going to write an amusing anecdote about marital maintenance, ya know...doin' it, but I forgot what it was. I made a mental note to remember but I knew I'd forget right before I drifted off to blissful sleep.

It had something to do with the burritos we'd had for dinner and the implications of that when you get naked afterwards.

Perhaps we should all be grateful about my forgetfulness.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

No longer living in a glass house.

My dumb gay cat is angry with me.

Which is fine and dandy because I'm angry with my cat.

Household discord is...heh...a bitch kitty.

My cat has boundary issues. My neighbor owns a large orange cat that violates my cat's boundaries at least once a week by sitting near our sliding glass door and casing our home in the middle of the night. This causes my cat to screech at the hated orange cat and the hated orange cat to screech back through the glass, at ungodly hours, waking us all.

A couple nights ago my cat was engaged in this behavior, waking me up at 3 A.M. I moved him away from the glass, screeching and spitting, and shooed that bastard orange cat off so we could get some sleep. When I reached to calm my dumb gay cat afterwards he screeched at me and nearly succeeded in shredding apart my right hand.

So, in the sleepiest way possible, I made it known to my dumb gay cat that biting the hand that feeds you at 3 in the morning is not acceptable in my home. Housewife angry.

I finally had the bright idea last night to put a sheet of cardboard over the sliding glass door when we go to bed. It looks trashy but trashy is fine when you can't see through it and your cat can't see through it. It might look classier if I decorate it with macaroni and glitter.

This make dumb gay cat angry.

How dare I, the mistress of this house, the deliverer of canned cat food and scraps of dinner meat, block his view of the backyard and keep him from his dutiful screechy posturings in the wee hours?

He expressed his displeasure by woefully yowling.

All...night...long.

That little fuc poohead.

Boundary issues? I'll show him boundary issues. Better not yowl tonight, I tell you whut. No one is going to care if my cat mysteriously comes up missing. I brought you here you whiny feline twit and I will take you out!

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Justin Wurst

School's out for Veteran's Day, which means my veteran husband is home and the civil war fought by my children has now resumed. I plan on staying the course.

Have you hugged a veteran today? If you can't find one I'll force my husband on you. No lingering hugs even if his thighs inspire a swelling sense of patriotism.

Justin is allowing me to scan a photo from his Army days. This was taken when he was stationed in Schweinfurt, Germany, after he'd served in Desert Storm. He and his buddies decided to barbecue german processed meat products in a quaint Bavarian wooded area. Even though Justin does not drink beer he still felt compelled to pipi in the wald.


Thank you for your service and sacrifice Justin. Peace out.

Because we have the whole day free we've invited my husband's co-worker and his wife over to eat food. Potstickers. Sadly, there will be no food on the menu with "furter" or "schnitzel" in it's name. And if anyone pees in my bushes I'm going to make them clean the head with a toothbrush.

This particular co-worker just happens to be our son's freshman English teacher.

Ever want to spend your day off from school at home with your English teacher diagramming sentences and dangling your participles? Heh, we are the most awesome parents.

We've offered my son ten dollars to hug his English teacher despite him not being a veteran and he's refused. We upped it to twenty. He still refused. We offered him a car. He told us that we, his everloving parents, "suck".

Suck is not an adjective, son, gimme twenty.

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Darling Corey

Since it's the weekend past my birthday, I have hoards of family members descending upon Casa Absentminded. They should want to bask in the awesomeness that is me in my mid thirties. It rubs off in the most familial way.

The female version of my husband, my sister in law Corey, is here this morning. Hers and Justin's physical similarities freak me out a little bit. But, she is forgiven for looking what she looks like because she brought me ground coffee from the big city.


They feather and bleach their hairs the exact same way.

Let's interview Corey.

Becky: I'm trying to figure out how to open this interview and where to lead you.
Corey: Will you lead me astray?

Becky: Can I lead YOU astray?
Corey: That would be a neat trick.

Becky: So you know about tricks?
Corey: Yup. There are kids in the room.

Justin: There is this guy, in New York, he does these parlor tricks...
Becky: Justin, you're disrupting the flow of this interview.

Corey: OMG, is Kaelan (my 14 year old son) getting facial hair?
Kaelan: Yes...

Becky: So have you treated your ADD Corey?
Corey: How did you know about my ADD?

Becky: Did you develop ADD before or after you lived in New Jersey?
Corey: Before, but no one in New Jersey noticed.

Becky: Is that a commentary on the smallness of my town?
Corey: What does that mean?

Justin: I had this student in my class and he...
Becky: Justin, I'm not done yet!
Justin gives me a raised eyebrow...

Becky: Now I can't figure out which question I should ask next...
Corey: Why the hell don't you know what the questions are?

Because I haven't had any big city coffee yet. I think I need it on many levels.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

Save the date...

Today is my 34th birthday.

I feel so good today, but I think I'll leave the wild drunken behavior for my next birthday. Being unseemly only works for anniversaries divisible by five. Show up in my town next year and you might see me streaking past our town's neon cowboy planted right in the center of our main street.


He's pointing at my floppy bits.

And if it's just as cold next year as it is today, my neon friend will also be pointing at my...um...pointy bits.

Floppy and pointy. Don't come within five feet of me without eye protection.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

I voted...was it good for you?

Have you voted yet? Have ya? Have ya?

You readers and other hanger's on get another pre-scheduled post today. I've planned to be off voting at the time I usually write quality potty worded posts for you.

I scheduled yesterday's post as well because I was at the DMV getting my fill of Bureaucracy for Dummies. My new driver's license photo was not enhanced by a two hour wait with my three year old child or listening to a angry petulant man, who drove just as far as I did, complain that no one would allow him to get in the front of the line.

Since I'm writing this post the night before, I figure y'all can help me go over my sample ballot. It's 18 pages of pure democracy that I'm holding in my trembling touch screen ready fingers.

The first two pages instruct me on how to use a touch screen. They tell me to INSERT the voter cared, TOUCH anywhere on the box that contains my preferred candidate and then to CONTINUE to the next page by touching the arrow. The emphasis is theirs. Nevada state wants me, a moral upright citizen, to go into a private voting booth to INSERT, TOUCH and CONTINUE. I'm beginning to think that the government should provide me with a sanitary sheet to vote on. Voting is lurid.

Now the candidates (suckas!)

My first vote is for President and Vice President. Right to the point. My vote counts.

My next votes are for state offices...which I don't give a flip about. There is not a campaign notice for any of these people in my town. Not in the papers, no signs in the yards, no news...nada. The opinion of the citizens residing my town doesn't matter. In fact, our town barely exists to the likes of Vegas, Reno and Carson City. So, I'm skipping it.

My next votes are for county offices. A similar dynamic to above. They don't campaign here. I'm not voting blind. Skip skip and skip.

Next are city offices. I'm voting for my buddies. They give me candy. They promised that all my wildest dreams will come true.

Now onto the amendments to the Nevada Constitution, a document which I have never read. However, my husband was required to take a test on this document for Nevada school teaching certification and he tells me that it reads much like our national constitution. I trust the man. He wouldn't fudge on a document that's so present in the life of every Nevada resident, snort. So...Yes on redefining residential voting definitions. Why not on high appraising public use property values. Sounds good on redefining tax exemptions, and a HELL NO on allowing the legislature rights to appeal taxes without a public vote on certain aircraft components.

(Stinkin' aircraft component lobbyists...always got their chubby fingers in our jars of peanut butter.)

I sure hope I get a sticker after I vote. I got one last time and I put it on my chore chart. Good job! Gold star!

One more thought on touch screen voting. Resist the urge to wipe a booger on the screen over the name of the candidate you dislike. It's a passive aggressive way to get votes for your side, mmmkay?

Monday, November 03, 2008

I promise not to lie about my weight.

Thanks to Blogger's post scheduling feature, you get a nice new Monday post whilst I jaunt 120 miles away from my desk. I'm at the DMV. I have to renew my driver's license. It's the law that I have to show up in person every 8 years.

You could ask why in the hell the powers that be don't build a closer DMV but that's like asking why dogs eat their own turds. It's long, and complicated and by now only having one DMV in the county is a filthy habit.

You can also ask why I put this off to around the time of the month that I'm prone to get a juicy pre-menstrual pimple.

I want to give the camera my best blue steel look, but I know I'll just come off looking annoyed. Since they won't let me wear my second place award winning cow costume I'll have to settle for one of three distinctive looks which will minimize the size and redness of my pimple.


Lunchtime? Ooooh nummy time!



Woo, boy, that double bacon chili cheeseburger sure does repeat on ya.



Toilet...need toilet...shouldn't have eaten that cheeseburger, no sir.


Notice any pimples in those facial expressions? I know I don't. Works like magic!

I just hope that if I ever get pulled over my ID doesn't make me look guilty.

Saturday, November 01, 2008

Lactose Tolerant

I went out in public last night, halloween night, wearing this:


And I paraded about with a bunch of strangely dressed people, my cowbell just a tinklin'.

And I won this:


Which was the prize for second place in the contest. Then they took my photo for the town paper.

After that, I didn't mind if strangers grabbed my teats.

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