Monday, November 30, 2009

I gots a widdle owie.

I apologize for getting around to this late today.  I had to interrupt my day to go pee in a cup.

Don't I always tell you when I have to go pee in a cup?  That's how much I love and trust all of you, my readers and other hangers on.  This flu which I'm finally getting over has resulted in my immunities taking a spa cruise and now whenever I pee my eyes water.

So I went to see my town's new doctor this morning.

When the hell did I get old enough to start seeing doctors who are younger than I am?  He's feeling up my kidneys and explaining everything he knows about urinary tract infections and I'm the old crotch telling him that this isn't my first ride on the pony, just give me a damned prescription already!  Is that a stethoscope or a pacifier?

He's forgiven though.  New doc is CUTE.  He's now christened Doctor HuggiePants for being so adorable.  I had an urge to lick my fingers to paste down his cowlick and then make him a fluffer-nutter sandwich.

Of course the old Pap Schmear question arose.

When was your last Pap?  What were the results?  Did they use a swab or a spatula? Would you classify yourself as republican, democrat, independent or other?  Who do you intend to vote for in the next election?  Better buy ammo because they are gonna take away our guns!

I may schedule my next Pap with Dr. HuggiePants just so I can see if a Fisher Price gynecology set is molded out of pink plastic.

When I'm done in the stirrups I want a sticker.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

My turkey is never dry.

Since my entire family is hacking and spewing viscous substances, we've bowed out of driving into the crazy happy beehive that is Utah and are going to stay home to baste our turkey.  Yes, Utah is crazy.  Never question that.

Oh, you're not.  You're just enthusiastically agreeing with me.  Sharing my pain.  Thanks.  This is why I blog.  Share my  pain, not my flu.

Having my Thanksgiving here in Nevada means everything I do to my turkey in Nevada stays here in Nevada.



Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I gots your pillar of salt right here.

I feel like God.

That is, I sneezed and lo and behold, primordial ooze!

I'll be here all week.

Monday, November 23, 2009

I'll know something's up when I grow 4 more teats.

Since Wednesday my throat has been coated in Bic disposable razors and Tabasco sauce.

Could that statement be an effective pick up line in a bar?  One of you try it out and get back to me.

Maybe it's swine flu.  I didn't get a vaccination.  Not that I didn't think I needed one but in my small community and because of limited supply, other people needed theirs a hell of a lot more than me. 

I just sneezed and now every time I breathe in through my nose it does smell kinda porky.

Better than mouthbreathing and having it taste like bacon.

Or chitlins.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Ode to Oh-pur

The morning Oprah wore her anchor suit and reported news of one kind

and another

the public called her "THE OPRAH!"
and Oprah said "HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?"
so she signed a syndication deal and began a diet.

That very night in Oprah's room an empire grew.

and grew-

and grew until her ceiling hung with shadow reducing stage lighting
and the walls became a set all around

and a video camera panned by with a filtered lens for Oprah
and she taped through mornings and afternoons

and in and out of seasons
and almost near a quarter century
to where the housewives are.

And when she came to the place where the housewives are
they cheered their adoring cheers and smiled their adoring smiles

and jumped up on their adoring feet and clapped their adoring hands

till Oprah said "AHA MOMENT!"
and tamed them with a giveaway

of placing a self help book under all their studio chairs without charging them anything
and they were estatic and called her the most influential TV personality of all

and made her queen of all housewives

"And now," cried Oprah, "My favorite things!"








"Live your best life!" Oprah said and sent the housewives back to their realties
with all kinds of tips and goodies.  Then Oprah the queen of all housewives was lonely
and wanted to be where she could live her best life of all.

Then all around from far away across the world
she smelled good things to eat
so she gave up being queen of daytime television.

But the housewives cried, "Oh please don't go-
how will we live?-we love you so!"
And Oprah said, "No!"

The housewives cheered their adoring cheers and smiled their adoring smiles
and jumped up on their adoring feet and clapped their adoring hands
but Oprah stepped back behind the camera and waved goodbye

and closed a quarter century
and in and out of seasons
and through mornings and afternoons

and arrived at the dusk of her very own reality
where she found an aha moment waiting for her

and it was still hot.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

No health insurance premiums ever again!

I've finally decided what I want to be when I grow up. 

At 35 years old it is time to grow up.  Soon I'll have every kid I've ever given birth to within institutions of book learnun and my days of bon bon eating will be done for.  I'm looking forward to not being asked by nonsensical people what I do all day.

In considering a career path it's important it mesh well with your personality and goals.  I'd like to have a lot of interaction with people from all walks of life.  Make a difference.  Do something filled with creativity.

The economy factors in as well.  It would be silly of me to decide on a career path that offers little future and a poor retirement package. I don't have to make millions but financial comfort would be nice.

This is why I've decided to become a vampire.

Vampires are AWESOME.

I have the skillz to become a vampire too.  I have the hair.  I have the teeth.  I have the overbearing sensuality.  I have the daytime sleeping habits right down.  Dad gum, I'm right pale!

All I need is a bustier, some smokey eyeshadow and hypnotic powers.  Maybe some work on my backwoods vocabulary.

It's easy to be a vampire in just about any location too.  There are no worries about outsourcing or outdated production and technologies.  No layoffs.  No commute.  No office supplies.  No TPS reports.

Ultimately no customer complaints either.

Of course, no career is without it's downsides.  That whole stake in the heart thing.  Can't say I'd look forward to that.  I'd miss fruit smoothies too.  And chewing gum.

What I don't have is any contacts.  Help me network people.  Tell me where to send my resume'. 

Gotta get in on the ground floor before the market is flooded.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Extruded

Today I volunteered to help at my child's preschool.

Apparently I'm to assist in the mixing of homemade play dough.

I know.  I'm laughing about this too.  Once I had a brain that was actually capable of complete thoughts and rational decision making.  Now I'll be making play dough with a dozen and a half four year olds, at least two of them smelling like pee and one like vegetable soup.  Goody!

After the play dough is made it would be prudent of me to fight the inclination to make inappropriate things out of it.  There are so many things you could call a long roll of play dough and all of them hilarious.  Average length?  Poo.  Extra long and skinny?  Diarrhea.  Twelve inches long and thick? You've eaten your fiber.

Snicker.  I know where you went.

I'm dealing with four year olds here.  They know and appreciate poop humor.  When I volunteer to make play dough with you folks we can act more sophisticated.

Hopefully none of you will smell like pee.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Going Viral...requiring bedrest and fluids.

I've sifted through a lot of video this morning to bring you one that is appropriate considering the hour of the day.  You should thank me.  There was nudity, and vomit, and pus and something involving a pair of lovely young ladies and a singular receptacle.

I could use a breakfast burrito.  I'm starving.

It was either do this post or watch Dr. Memet Oz show off a pair of cadaver testicles on his show.  Hope to Cletus that they came from a cadaver because if they didn't what Dr. Oz is trying to teach us all about testicular health doesn't apply to one unlucky guy.

For illustration, from all the clips I perused, here is the cleanest and most politically correct of the entire 105 in the list.







I apologize for the crappy video quality. This copy is from YouTube instead of directly from the Tosh.0 website. The embed function from Tosh.0 wants to post multiple copies of the clip all down my screen.  Watching that took the image of cadaver testicles right out of your mind, didn't it? 

Tosh.0, the internet video clip show on Comedy Central,  is hosted by comedian Daniel Tosh.  He's an adolescent.




...and I want to sniff his hoody.

Are you a little surprised?  I am.  Daniel Tosh is typically not my type.  He's well groomed enough but I can't get past the frat boy essence even if we are the same age.  I'm menopausal and he's going to go out and ride his scooter.

He brings out the junior high in me and not the parts that are undeveloped and awkward.  For that, I so totally XOXOXO him 4evah.

Oh Daniel Tosh, you son of a preacherman bowhunk!  Why am I so unexplicably drawn?  Oh, that's right, you aren't above appearing mostly naked on your show, except for that annoying and convenient blurred spot, and that takes testicles.  Real ones.  Not  floppy dead ones.

And salvia.

Monday, November 09, 2009

Buzzwords

Alright, say this real quiet, all hushy like:


Marital aids.


Stop giggling.

Wait.  I don't have to explain what a marital aid is, do I?  I sure hope not.  Wouldn't that be an indelicate conversation?  It's not kosher for me to explain their varied uses in this venue, both practical and decorative.  Just know that they call these convenient devices "marital aids" because if you employ them without the benefit of marriage you'll end up sporting coke bottle glasses.

My parents and two of my three sisters and their respective spouses visited yesterday and it's all they could talk about.  Yak yak yak about some doo-dad called "The Thruster" or "Terminator" or "Todd the Rodd".  Something of that nature.  Along with describing any sounds, smells or tastes associated.

I'm aware my parents were adults long before I was born and were doing adult things that resulted in my presence on the planet...but when did my siblings and I get so non-hushy about "Thor's Hammer" around good old Mom and Pop?  All of us siblings got past our twenties and lost all discretion!

Now don't get the idea that I actually own something I'd give testosterone-y sounding names to.  I admit nothing.

When I was around 14 or so my Dad took me to the store to buy maxi pads because my mom was unavailable.  That was embarrassing for both of us.  When I was 30 or so my Dad took me to the store to buy maxi pads and stool softeners and I wasn't in the least bit embarrassed.  In fact, I discussed stool softeners with my Dad.   It was fascinating.

Moving on to discussing anything made out of vulcanized rubber is only logical.

So my family has either become comfortable or we've all gone a bit nutty.

They make them shaped like squirrels you know...

Friday, November 06, 2009

Tiny little party hats.

Today is my 35th birthday.

Today is the day that I stop allowing myself to think I have a future in super-modeling.

Which kind of sucks in a way. I've always wanted to stomp down a runway wearing couture sheer enough to show off my nipples. Girlfriend went right from the office to the club. Flip the jacket, flip it!

I will never have 20 year old nipples again. My nipples are entering middle age. My nipples need support hose. My nipples need fiber.

Now that's disgusting, the way you're thinking that way about rice cakes. Stop that. At least stop before you get to the peanut butter part of your thought. Have a little self control.

Now there is pressure to give up all the adolescent things I have enjoyed up to this point. If turning 30 wasn't officially adulthood, 35 definitely is.

Obviously I'm not catering to that pressure.

Just wait until my nipples turn 40.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

We don't bite our friends.

It was a glorious day yesterday.

I'm regular these days, so I wasn't referring to that.  If you aren't regular and you too had a glorious day yesterday, I'm thrilled for you. We've all been there.

Yesterday was thrilling because this four year old child of mine, my last child who has awesome whine on cue powers, was dressed in real clothing complete with socks AND shoes and taken to preschool from 12:15 to 2:45.

I gleefully missed two and a half hours of Dora, Diego and Max and Ruby. Screw you Backpack. Not on MY time. I want no part of whatever you're keeping under that zipper of yours. FREEDOMMMM!

Since all this nasty flu is floating about the lessons this week in preschool are germ and safety oriented. It's important that after you pick your nose and wipe your booger on your playmate that you wash your hands. My son was sent home with brightly illustrated literature in which we can reinforce these lessons at home.

The more you know:

Wear your seatbelt.
Know how to get to safety if there is a fire.
Don't put small things into your mouth while playing...you could choke.
Don't drink poison! Even yummy looking house cleaners.
Play nice on the playground!
Don't swim without supervision!

And most importantly...don't play with guns.

Which I can indeed reinforce at home. We don't keep any guns in our actual home. All the guns my husband likes to play with in the safest way possible are stored at other locations which may or may not be the Buick sized bomb shelter I secretly built under my patio.

Below is the educational cartoon I scanned right out of my son's book. No joke.




Can you put the storyboard in the right order? Boots? Dora?

Because after wiping a booger on your playmate we don't need any retribution.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises.

Our once anonymous commenter, Robyn, outed herself and has won prize for her part in convincing my husband to dress like this:



However, my husband didn't win. He didn't even place. The judges felt moved to give prize money to three undeserving and unimaginative costumes which caused the crowd to boo.

Nevertheless, the high point of the evening was when a man wearing something like this:



...offered his services to Justin.

Results? Them's balloons.

Justin received many fine compliments on his carriage and manners.

So, Robyn, throw me an email through my profile and you'll find a lovely pair of sterling silver vampire fangs in your mailbox shortly!


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