Monday, August 31, 2009

An open letter to Sylvia Browne

Or Brown, depending on the legal function.

Dear Sylvia,

I've been a housewife for a long time. Eons. Which means that I had opportunity to watch Montel Williams on TV near daily up until his show went off air. Most of those days he wore a vest. He looks spectacular in a vest. Wednesdays on Montel were special days because YOU were the guest of honor!


No psychic powers necessary to predict Montel's wardrobe.

What's motivated me to write to you today is learning that in the spring you'll be hopping on over to my neck of the desert to do a show at our fabulous casino concert hall. What a change from working on cruise ships right? Heads up though...you still might need some Dramamine when visiting the casinos.

I would like to know how much tickets will be. They don't go on sale until near Christmas and I'm not as talented as you are about precognitzerizing those details. That close to the holidays one needs to budget you know. After all, a phone reading with you will set me back 850 bucks. Seeing your manicure in person could cripple what little retirement fund my husband and I have left in these troubling times.

Wow...them are some talons.

Do I have questions for you! None of them are about dead people however. I figure that if dead people wanted to talk to me that they can figure out how to do it themselves. None of the people who I know to be dead were especially dense in life. They were pretty competent people. If a message was really important they'd call or at least text.

No, what I want to know is if Brad and Angelina is a happily ever after story. I so want it to be. They are so pretty.

No, wait, I want to know if Katie will end up divorcing Tom because he's weird.

No, no, wait! I want to know if we'll finally get a Walmart or Kmart in my town. Like soon. It makes absolutely no sense to pay for shipping for stuff with the "As seen on TV!" labeling on the box if I don't have to. That zebra print Snuggie is calling my name.

Finally...what is that smell? My god, is it my cat? Or was it me? You know it's bad when you can't tell the difference.

With the exception of the smell question, I think everything else can wait until spring. No rush. No phone call necessary either. We wouldn't want you to strain your voice yakkin' at me.

Love,

Becky..The Absent Minded Housewife

Friday, August 28, 2009

Better than watching Planet of the Apes.

Am I awake yet?

I've not slept really well for the past two weeks. Having to deal with stupidity in one's life will do that. In a year or less I'll detail what this stupidity is because that's when the stupidity will be over. I decided not to publicly yak about this stupidity during the stupidity's term for stupid convoluted ethical reasons. This job ain't worth wages.

No, this has nothing to do with anything that is truly a priority with me, like family, friends, this blog and sipping on a good cup of coffee...and yes, I'm still quite sterile. This is outside stupidity.

To deal with the lack of sleep and the overuse of the word stupidity this morning I needed a good cry. Which wasn't coming naturally. Instead of punching myself in the nose to accomplish a little stress release, I avoided embarrassing and suspicious bruising by turning to YouTube and watching childbirth videos.

The moment there is crowning I turn into a faucet. That's a whole ten seconds into the first mucousy home water birth. Crying accomplished. Mommy crying, Daddy crying, Baby crying, Becky boo-hooing like my pony had broken a leg and we had to shoot it behind the shed.

I feel better now.

There is only one video I'd like to embed in my post. This is the one that had me wiping my nose on the knee of my pajama pants. Now, you readers and other hangers on, this is a childbirth video and there is plenty of goo. You've been warned.



Poo, I'm gonna cry again.

Good.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

It's OK, you don't have to hold my hair.

Today is my husband's and my 16th anniversary.

Is that grammatically correct? It doesn't sound right. In my anniversary gift reading a manual of style was never mentioned as a proper anniversary present.

However, travelling to Mexico was mentioned as a suitable romantic trip for the 16th year.

Those people have no idea what too much spicy food does to my digestion. I already ruined my honeymoon with obnoxious smells with an automatic play sound file. I've been in this thing too long to not have learned a thing or two about my body along the way.

I love you Justin.

Monday, August 24, 2009

2 out of 3 dentists recommend sniffing whiteboard markers.

My four year old whiner is sitting on my lap, as I type, faking inconsolibility, because he too wants to go to the first day of school. The other two children have recommenced stuffing their brains with knowledge away from my home to my great relief.

I have not allowed the four year old to sit on my lap wearing his spiderman backpack which is stuffed full of all the essentials he thinks he needs for school. His singing spiderman. His spiderman car. His spiderman winter hat and his red halloween cape with spider webs stitched on it. There ain't no room on my lap for those kinds of superpower shenanigans.

That cape would either make him the most popular kid in class or he'll come home with a wedgie so tight he can't blink. It would depend on how well he pulls a spiderman pose maybe.

Or he could give his classmates money.

When you admit to being glad that your children are back in school some people find your mothering atrocious and just an all out affront to humanity. Children are precious. Have precious moments with them, even when they are acting like hoda-beasts. This time will be gone so fast!

What's this pressure to feel sad or wistful about another year of their growing up? My kids are growing up! Yay! Isn't the game won when you shove them out of the house and they get to fend for themselves? Isn't another first day of school like passing Go and getting your 200 bucks? Isn't this just another step to them someday providing me with grandkids where the goal is to feed those hoda-beasts as much junk food as possible and then not have to get up with them in the night when they puke because you've sent them home?

Admittedly it would be pleasant to skip the whole puberty thing but I won't feign some kind of feeling that parenthood should be a journey full of constant wonder and Hallmark card joy.

I like my kids and I'm glad they are back in school so I can use my bathroom with the door open because it looks out directly onto my bedroom television.

There's the precious wonder, right there. Morning news shows on the john.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Essay

School starts Monday.


Do I need to write more than that?

Thursday, August 20, 2009

It's a chicken sized chicken nugget.

I got my tummy patted yesterday.

And a congratulations.

Being kind of wordy I usually have witty replies for such situations but I was stunned. Afterall, it's not safe to assume that anyone is pregnant these days unless you actually see the baby exiting the birth canal.

Sure, that only gives you moments to verify a pregnancy, but what precious slimy moments they are!

Also, I don't recommend you try to view a baby exiting a birth canal without the assumptive pregnant woman's permission. Getting that permission when you don't know the woman in a very personal way is iffy.

Which means, unless you accidentally see a baby exiting the birth canal of a woman you don't personally know, it's just best to assume that the woman had a really large lunch. Asking what a woman had for lunch is in safe territory.

I am not pregnant. I had chicken nuggets and a couple of bananas and I've been fixed.

The belly patting felt kinda nice anyway.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Shamu

I went to the dentist last week.

He's got fascinating male pattern baldness. No hair up there, lots of hair poking out of his collar. You look at his collar kitten like you'd look at clouds, making out shapes. Oh look, there's a sailboat!

He prescribed me a mouthwash to help with the swollen gums my hormone pills cause. My hormone pills make any number of my mucus membranes sensitive. Good in some parts, annoying in others. Insert a literal and figurative snort here.

On the upside, my teeth have never felt so deliciously smooth. Sensuous.

On the downside, the mouthwash gives me dry mouth.

Yeah, dry mouth is sensuous.

When I talk to people with my stilted hard consonants that causes, they'll look at the Diana Ross wig coming out of my mouth and think, "Oh look, there's a whale!"

At least my gums feel better.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Drill Instructed

Things have been HOT 'round 'bout Casa Absentminded.

Sexy like.

All erotically charged.

I'm not complaining. How could I? My legs are made from red jello (not that weird green or yellow jello) and I have a hickey that looks like Richard Nixon on my sternum. Things are fah-hine.

What's changed from our usual mode of marital maintenance? It's a valid...wait...responsible question you ask there friend. Maybe you can implement our muse into your own relationships. Couldn't hurt anyway.

R. Lee Ermey has my husband's motor revving.

And the testosterone a'pumpin'.



R. Lee Ermey insists that you are a maggot whilst shooting guns and straddling tanks on TV and if you've been glued to the khaki of it for an hour you're ready to bronco bust your wife.

Hey, my husband does not watch NFL, NBA or Nascar. He's due.

It wouldn't be so off to admit that R. Lee has a certain authoritative quality that makes me squirm in a happy way. Drop and give him twenty? Yes sir. YES SIR. I'll count 'em off.

Oh R. Lee Ermey, you uniformed bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh that's right, it's because not only are you a spokesperson for Glocks but you've lent your personae in the cause of selling Tupperware.

Excuse me, I'm going to go burp my lid.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Them's peaches.

I bought an orange bra this week.

Breasts have always been compared to fruit. If breast size was a slot machine, pulling the handle and getting a couple grapefruit on the reels means you won the jackpot. You make back your bet if you roll apricots. You lose your bet if you come up kumquat.

Kumquat. Heh. That word sounds dirty.

Anyhow, I am the owner of a valencia orange sized and colored bra. It's pulp free. It was on sale for 6 bucks! Wow!

8k more and I could be sporting jack o'lanterns....

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

I need a bigger shoe horn.

I'm still visiting family in Utah, and since I'm scheduling posts at my sister Jill's house, I might as well interview her husband. He's got enough balls to live with the woman and all these flaming moose. He drinks a lot.

Becky: So, Brian, I understand you support my sister and all her moose by selling western style boots?
Brian: Yup.

Becky: Get off the Wii and talk to me about boots.
Brian: What?

Brian farts...and it's not pleasant in any way.

Becky: Good lord, talk to me about boots!
Brian: Whaddya want to know? (He made sure it was whaddya and not what do you. Picky.)

Becky: I want to know if in your zeal to sell boots you've ever done something really stupid...you know...idiotic. Basically, have you been yourself while you've sold any boots?
Brian: When I'm fitting a boot I have to make sure it fits snug, but when I ask the customer I'll ask if the boot is "snugger." I do that a lot.

Becky: So you like 'em snugger?
Brian: Yes...and my boots too.

Becky: That couldn't have been an off color reference, could it?
Brian: Yes, and that's why I like tiny women. I lock them in the dressing room.

Becky: So, when you fit boots on tiny women, and you say "snugger", do you get all flustered and blushy? You are sorta irish looking. Freckles. That kind of embarrassment has to show.
Brian: No. But I do say snugger in a nice baritone voice.

Becky: You have an awfully nice mustache.
Brian: It's due to a special conditioner. It's called "soak it cider".

Becky: That's definitely not an innocent reference.
Brian: Your sister just moved and it smells like fart.

Jill: That's not nice!

Becky: What do you expect amongst all this moose?

Becky: Anything else you'd like my readers and other hangers on to know about your career in western footwear?
Brian: No, but, I do have a funny story I tell my customers about my funny blogging sister in law that lives in Bendover.

Becky: This cannot be good.

Brian: Over dinner, your dad at the table, you told us all an improper and personal sex story, which resulted in even the neighbors smoking a cigarette. It scared people.

Becky: I did? And you tell your boot customers this?
Brian: Yes, because they buy boots when I tell them where you live.



Brian: Are we done?

Brian: Get off my computer.

Jill: I got a story!

Jill: Did you know that an ambulance was at the golf course today? Somebody broke his leg...badly. He fell off the ball washer!





Becky: Help me.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Southern Exposure.

I have the honor of sitting in my sister's house, in Utah suburbia, where the neighbor has just come over with a strange looking bottle of free jam. Personally, I'm a fan of free jam. The jam you buy is so impersonal. It's like whoring out the berries.

So, for your reading pleasure, an interview with my little sister Jill. Neither of us went through puberty until our late twenties.

Jill: I went through puberty after the birth of my third child.

Becky: Me too. It was horrible.


Becky trying to figure out puberty, age 25


Becky: I wanted to talk to you about the overuse of the moose theme in your home decor. What is up with that?
Jill: I got cowboys too.

Becky: Let's not try to get off the subject. You have a hell of a lot of moose. The whole antler thing, is it Freudian? Cowboys don't have antlers.
Jill: Mooses make me happy.



Becky: Like moose as Xanax?
Jill: Moose look good with my fireplace.

Becky: That is definitely Freudian. Flaming antlers. Do you need psychological help?
Jill farts...then laughs.

Becky: I'm unsure that it's healthy being in your home at all. All these flaming gaseous antlers. Suddenly I feel I should prance. Hold my nose, and prance.
Jill: Prance your ass back home then.

Becky: Yeah, well, your mother dressed you funny.
Jill: Our mom bought us the same clothes.

Becky: Cowboy clothes...70's polyester cowboy clothes.
Jill: Polyester breathes.



Becky: Does that explain the moose thing then? Polyester? Flaming yellow polyester?
Jill: No.

Jill: Am I being difficult?

Becky: It's to be expected in this environment.

Jill: Shit.

Then she farts again.


Moose. Beware of moose.

Friday, August 07, 2009

Driving in my bathrobe.

It's time again that I peel myself off my computer, cram my kids in the car, and drive a few hundred miles to visit family.

For once I'm sitting here and not packing everyone's clothing. They are packing their clothing. I'm trying to jump start my body with caffiene and Facebook. I'll get up eventually. Someone has to remember to pack the toothbrushes and the hormone pills.

Then someone will have to remind one of my children to refill the catbox because when you have children catbox duty becomes their job. It's family law. Ya don't give birth and then spend your time emptying your own trash cans and weeding your own flower beds.

Then someone else will have to make sure the cat isn't snuggled up near some moving component required to make the fabulous mini-van move from point A to point B. Then the child that had catbox duty would whine about the needlessness of the chore.

After that someone has to secure things and lock things and close things and open other things. Leave some things on and other things have to be tripled checked so that they remain off. Toilets have to be flushed...you know how often boys remember to flush...then someone has to check that they're flushed again after one boy remembers he has to go moments after you've pulled out of your garage.

And someone has to remember to put a tube of sunscreen in the passenger side door of the van because driving long distances in the afternoon is sure to result in sunburn on one half of the body.

Not to mention that someone has to write down the address to that swanky joint you all salivated over when it was featured on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. There is corned beef hash to be had.

Sigh, this is excellent coffee.

Screw it, my family doesn't need toothbrushes.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Mamacita Peluda

I only took my kids to Pizza Hut last night so my husband could conduct a phone call without his phone friend having to endure background shouting, screaming, whining or fart noises made in one's armpits.

My kids thought I took them to Pizza Hut to stick quarters in machines that dispense cheap toys and stale gumballs while they shouted, screamed, whined and made fart noises in their armpits.

Unfortunately their dreams of turning the handle and getting the giant sticky hand inside that plastic egg instead of the inferior miniature sticky hand were dashed. My youngest son pulled a dainty and lead deadly necklace out his egg, which is now leaving a green line around my neck. My middle son put his quarter in a fake tattoo dispenser and got this*:


*ACTUAL SIZE!

Since I am a girl of some sort I was given this prize. Mom law says I have to proudly display it somewhere on my person.

The somewhere is up for debate. Can you say tramp stamp? Say tramp stamp! Say tramp stamp!

My boys giggled and suggested I display such fine temporary ink on my posterior. It's not a bad location. Swiper, no swiping! Swiper no Swiping! Swiper NO swiping!

It was also suggested that I put Dora on my butt and not tell my husband. Surprise, it's Dora the Explorer!

...but where is her little friend Boots?

Better get The Map.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Type D personality. D is for Dense.

Don't you hate it when something stupid takes up the bulk of your brain?

Or someone stupid?

And not only can that stupid someone claim stupidity as their only trait. They can also claim obstinancy and mouthiness?

Gah! I'm so frustrated!

I know exactly how to deal with stupid. This is real life stupid, not internet stupid. For internet stupid you just put your mouse on the little X in the corner and make it go bye-bye. For this real life stupid I just have to be as obstinate and mouthy at it is.

What I need is a method to put a little X in the corner of my brain and make my frustration with my current stupid go bye-bye.

Afterall, when you are faced with stupid you can't expect that stupid to wake up and start acting reasonable, can you? This particular stupid only pops up from time to time like Wack-a-Mole at the carnival. You have to quickly bop it on the head to get it to behave. There is never a stuffed prize though. There is just Wack-a-Mole carpal tunnel after you obsess over it for a week.

Blink.

Have a bunny.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Drop on the deck and flop like a fish.

Oh Brothers and Sisters!

It's with the highest love and compassion that I invite you to worship with me at my new church.

Don't worry brethren. If you have cable you will never have to leave the comforts of your own home in the search for salvation! You too can be reborn! Hallelujah!

Yes, I witness to you, that I've been washed clean of my sins through two to three hours of the perfect knowledge of SpongeBob SquarePants every single morning!


Glitterfy.com - Glitter Graphics


Little children shall lead them, and so mine have. Oh Glory! Oh Krabby Patty!

I have put on my ratty yellow bathrobe and held the huge fluffy carwash sponges and cried in relief! I have marvelled at the message in high definition! I have given myself in humility to Nickelodeon!

Oh fie on you Squidward! Get thee back Plankton! I will not accept your fruit off the tree! You will not get the secret formula!

My heart is so full about being able so share such a profound and life changing message with you.

I'm yours in faith and jellyfish.














School...it starts in three weeks...praise SpongeBob

Sunday, August 02, 2009

Changed my hairdo...

But still picking out nits.

It's new template time! I made it myself.

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