Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Can you hear me now?

I purchased an otoscope from Amazon this week.  It should be arriving on my doorstep any day now.  Squee!

An otoscope is not a sex toy.  At least no one in my house should be using it for that purpose.  One uses one's otoscope to look into someone else's ears.  If that is what constitutes kink in your house, well, that's ducky for you.  You can keep your stories to yourself.

My sons inherited my husband's twisted (kinked?) ear canals and develop such wax plugs that, as a parent, managing to remove makes me feel triumphant.  Only this afternoon we used the blue bulb to squirt out my middle son's left ear and discovered Jimmy Hoffa.  The local doc, who is adorable, instructed me on how to remove teamsters from my kid's ears safely.  My insurance premiums will not go up for the sake of Q-tips.

Hence the otoscope.  Now it's possible to see plugs instead of psychically intuit plugs.  There are no tarot cards to tell me about inner ear health.

Just for the educational value of it, my boys and I turned to YouTube to learn about ear health.

My sons and I bonded over clips submitted by a witty Indian ears, nose and throat specialist.  We ooohed over plugged ears, aahhhed over the removal of insects, exclaimed over tonsil stones and screamed over abscesses. 

Viewing maggots congregating in some unfortunate person's nasal cavity is good family fun.  Not quite the quality of The Enchanted Tiki Room at Disneyland, but close.

Yeah, I'll throw you a link to Dr. Janakiram's YouTube channel.  You knew I would.  Watch at your own risk...or delight.

Have a link to the otoscope too.

I love Bollywood.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010


There is no preschool this week.  There won't be any preschool next week either.  Spring break.

What this means is that for two solid weeks my four year old son is going to go frazzedly and solidly insane.  There will not be enough playdough or Yo Gabba Gabba to keep my kid from bouncing off the ceiling or requesting, every quarter hour, the sugared cereal that he saw on TV.

Frazzedly?  Is that a word?  That can also explain my reaction to the situation.  Frazzledly?  Frazzy McFrazz Frazz.  The Frazzinator. 

Life with the four year old has not been pleasant these last couple weeks besides.  We cleaned his room and found that we had to throw away his favorite toys which we have not yet replaced...that is if we felt inclined to replace them.  My boy, and this is altogether logical which proves that we are geniuses behind our frazzled natures, wrapped stretched strings of ABC bubblegum around 3 out of 4 of his Spiderman action figures.  The only reason Spiderman 4 (who is not Tobey Maguire I hear) survived this attempt at web slinging is because he was tossed and forgotten under some furniture.  This gum was stolen from the room of his older brother, chewed in nano-seconds, stealthily wrapped in all it's sticky super hero glory, and ultimately could not be removed.

Needless to say I've not gotten much accomplished past room cleaning since Friday.  Or rather, I've not gotten much accomplished that requires more thought than the five minute window I've been allowed between whines for juice or entertainment.  Do something useful for five with the something useful for five minutes...refuse more sugared cereal...for the next two weeks.

At least on Sunday I managed to shave my legs so at least my frazzles aren't literally poking through my pajama pants.

Last Wednesday was preschool parent/teacher conference.  With my oldest kid I may have asked questions like, "Can he trace his name?" or "Does he color in the lines?" or "Can he recite his phone number?"  You know, the questions that concerned parents with new experiences ask.  Kid #1 gets read all the educational books and is supplied with proper educational toys with black, white and red coloring.  With this kid I ask, "He's ready for kindergarten next year right?  Please tell me, for the love of God, that he's ready to wipe his boogers on their walls instead of mine!"  Educational toys consist of cardboard boxes and bits of broken crayons.

Yes, he's ready.  He acts perfectly well at school apparently.

And I'm ready.  I act perfectly well when the kids are all at school. 

Monday, March 22, 2010

Not taupe either.

I'm going all girly on ya.

Though I don't think that means I'll swap out stories about farts for stories about how adorable five hundred dollar handbags are...because they aren't adorable and fart stories are still's just that I'm becoming increasingly interested in smelling and looking feminine and less in acting like a trucker.

Sniffing truckers, it's as good of a hobby as any.  Most don't seem to mind if you ask permission first.

No offense to any of you female truckers or crossdressing male truckers out there.  You probably smell delicious if you let me sniff at you.

Check this out.  I'm wearing a matching bra and panty set today in a color that is not neutral.

...and perfume.

...and dangly earrings!

...and a real blouse designed for a female figure and not sold in the clearance section of the boys department, like most of my sweaters and T-shirts.  Wearing those shirts comes with the expectation of an elastic sprung bra and a juicy fart story with sound effects.

...Did my hair too. 

Skipped the makeup and hairspray though.  I have my limits.  I am not throwing away my Chuck Taylors.

Most important, I slapped on some of my girly hormone cream too.   I quit using my hormones because I felt better in the fall and have now realized that doing so in the midst of this very grey winter was a misguided idea.  Those low hormones.  They sneak up on a person.  Suzanne Somers is loud for a reason.  WOMAN, YOU NEED YOU SOME PROGESTERONE!  You cannot replace proper hormones with black coffee.

I look marvelous and I feel a little more human.  Female human.  Elipses female human.  Kinda frisky.

Spring couldn't come soon enough.

Even the truckers smell April fresh.

Monday, March 15, 2010


Hello bloggy, my old friend.

Anyone else having a sunny day today? You know, that fiery round doo-hickey in the sky that beams warm and light filled rays onto the surface of the planet, causing the snow to melt and my cat to decide it wants to go outside to beat hell into other cats?

Which is better than the grey, foggy, overcast days that have filled up the entirety of my winter months causing my mood to turn into pulsing angry B-movie type radioactive sludge.  Put on a pointy bra, run from the giant earwig and get to blogging already

This post WILL be full of expletives of a sort. There is no other way to describe this winter's foulness. My seasonal affective disorder chamber pot needs a good toss out the back duck...this 'uns full.

Don't approve of expletives? You may go HERE.

I went to the dentist last week. He told me to floss more. I told him I would but inside I was thinking, "I do fiddlin' floss you fletching tooth twerp. Bite me." If my dentist is reading? Your hair looks good and I really do think you are one of the better dentists that I've had in my mouth. I apologize for my mood.

After the dental appointment I stopped by the grocery store where a high school club of a less athletic sort had set up a table in the foyer selling baked goods. I spent four dollars on brownies and cookies. The kids put my treats nicely into a bag but I was thinking, "Don't fark up my brownies. I will frackin' kill you."  I apologize for that...the brownies and cookies were good and didn't cause any food poisoning. Lord knows I need more carbs this winter.

Apologies are extended to a state level politician who used a computer calling service to inform me I could participate in a telephone town hall meeting. That prompted a vocal, "Telephone town hall meeting? That's furping stupid.  You call that a fribbing telephone conference because you ain't got a motherfrigging geographic location!" and I'll stand by that.  If I get no more calls from a certain party I know I have been recorded without my consent.

Apologies also go to my cat, who I cursed at in a sleepy moment when he stepped on the snooze button on my radio at three in the morning. Usually I'd just throw a balled up sock at him and leave out the, "Get off my flapping radio you retarded animal!" completely out of the equasion.

Only this morning I flipped, fetched and farked at my coffee maker, my garbage disposal, my detachable shower head and my tax filing software. 

Sun's out now though.

Dried my euphemisms right up.  None too soon.

Monday, March 08, 2010

Everyone else may have put toupee' tape on their decolletage for coverage but I put mine there because the stick makes me hot.

It's been how many hours since the red carpet and I'm finally posting? Yeah. Too many. All the fashion has been piddled over already. Every single swarovski rhinestone has been inspected, reviewed and declared either delightful and chic or atrocious and nauseating.

This Oscar year I expected to be more interested. No, expected isn't the right term, I wanted to be more interested but the show turned into a snoozefest. This entire winter season has been a snoozefest. The Oscars aren't at fault. My brain is craving something, anything, new and my yearly watching of The Oscars was just more in a series of the same.

Which is kinda too bad because no one looked outright atrocious this year. Gowns fit better this year. Gowns were more colorful this year. Gowns were more classic this year.

Maybe if I wore Sarah Jessica Parker's yellow satin barrel and kicked myself in the ass I might pull myself out of the cloudy day that's lasted all winter. As it is, I'm hunched over like Miley Cyrus trying to keep herself from having a wardrobe malfunction in her too small strapless cup
Still, these ladies weren't the worst dressed. It's my pretense and my pleasure to award The Absent Minded Oscars Best and far as I cared about them. As usual, I stick these awards on the ladies as a tuxedo is a tuxedo is a tuxedo.

One standout for worst dress. There were badly dressed, and tackily dressed, and under dressed, but any of those still looked passable. This one Barney gone homosexual.

Suddenly I want to set up the Fruit of the Loom guy in the bunch of grapes costume on a blind date. Worst dressed goes to Zoe Saldana. We see you. We sure do.

Onto best dressed...which nearly went to J-Lo. Nearly. I would have if one of the petals in the side train on her perfectly fitted gown didn't wave about every time she moved.

Best Dressed goes to Penelope Cruz.

Sigh. Perfect. Lovely against her skin.

Speaking of skin...did everyone else notice that it was fine and dandy to be seen as one's natural skin tone this year? As in, if you are the same color as mozzarella cheese, there wasn't a need to spray tan yourself fabulous?

Except for Demi Moore, whose dress matched her fake bake. It's 2010 Darlin'.

Maybe, just maybe, my natural skin tone, which is as lilac as Ms. Saldana's skirt, will be in by 2030. By then I'll be overrun by spider veins which had better be fashionable as well.

Monday, March 01, 2010

It's hard for me to kick against the pricks.

An acquaintance of an acquaintance of mine, being very concerned with all this seismic activity around the globe, has done her part for natural disaster relief by making a righteous observation about all the nations of the earth being called to repentance.

As in, fire and brimstone, y'all.

Not knowing the will of God as well as she does, all I can do is remark on the end of days in my own unsure and fallible human way. I woke up to my own 6.0 earthquake not long back and I feel I'm in a position to offer an opinion on Armageddon. That and my carbon footprint is amazingly small.

Screw repentance. This is the one time in existence where mayhem is going to be the norm and I'm going to make the most of it.

If the world is ending I want to try some pot brownies. I've never been one that found illegal or controlled substances attractive before but if this is the end of days I want to get a hardcore case of the munchies. No one has told me where I can procure marijuana though and that's probably safest for everyone.

I'm gonna jaywalk, woohoo!

If Armageddon can be put off until the warmer months I just might jaywalk without any clothing on. That makes it difficult to carry a concealed weapon and the associated ammunition but I can deal. No way in hell am I going to be doing laundry when the world ends.

I'm going to rip up the pledge I made to Oprah to not talk on my cell phone and drive...or worse, text and drive. No need for a pledge. No need to pay my cell phone bill! No need to text my vote to American Idol, not that I ever voted before.

Finally, I'm going to realize my dream of making a barbecue grill out of a grocery cart.

Until I'm sure it's gonna happen, and I think the same book that advises us to repent is pretty clear on how many horsemen are going to show up, I'll just live my normal everyday, fully dressed on the most part, existence.

...and I'll give because I can.

...and I'll not pay the acquaintance of an acquaintance any more mind. Hope there is enough room on the grocery cart for her ideologies after I spread out the carcasses of my yard gophers I caught to eat in a pinch.

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