Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Drive Thru Voting, I want fries with that.

Twat.

Ahhhh. I haven't typed that word for so long. Feels good.

As many of my readers and other hangers on recall, I was more than open about my opinion of our previous president being a twat. I had several reasons why I came to that conclusion based on the man himself. None of those reasons included his political affilliation. I didn't think Reagan was a twat. I didn't think George senior was a twat. Mondale was sort of a twat. Maybe he isn't anymore. I'm unsure.

In other words, I don't think Republicans are twats simply because they are Republicans. I don't think Democrats are non-twats simply because they are Democrats. Each party includes their fair share of twats generally acting in a way where there is no question that they've earned the title.

If I'm reading political commentary, and you address one party or the other
in an inflammatory way to shore up what you're blabbering on about, I'm done listening to your point of view. It's not worth reading because we've just lost logic and reasoning. Why to call our enemies in war by derrogatory slurs? Because it makes it easier to dehumanize them to kill them. No room for that in a democratic culture. Individuals are twats based on their unique merits and ideas.

Polarizing...it's whats for dinners.

Now, here we are, the day of the State of the Union address with a new shiny president and I haven't named a new twat to replace the outgone twat and I haven't decided on a new annual address menu. The old menu, in honor of Bush Jr., consisted of any dish made up of a majority of beans. Chili. Burritos. Refried. Delicious and ultimately noisy.

New twat? I'm still pondering. Glenn Beck is up there and it's not because he's a Republican. Plenty of reasons to catapult him to twathood. Mentholatum, yup yup.

New menu? I'm thinking anything covered in cheese. Loads of gooey constipating cheese. Yes we can...grunt...can.

Pizza, enchiladas, nachos, mac and cheese, lasagna. I dunno. We had spaghetti for dinner last night.

Or we could just gnaw on a hunk of government cheese. Delicious.

Votes for new twat are being accepted. List at least one reason. List twenty if you like. Look over those attending the state of the union for inspiration while you suck back cheese.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Parentstrual Cramps

I'm watching women give birth on Discovery Health.

Makes a person's uterus clenchy.

Now the Duggars are on.

Again, makes a person's uterus clenchy.

As they name off all of their progeny I wonder how different all of them are. If you aren't paying attention closely you could assume they are little clones of their parents. Of course that wouldn't be the case. Every single one of them has a unique personality with unique talents and unique moods. One of them J names is going to go Sex Pistols, I know it.

My own kids are so damned different from one another. While they all look like they were issued from my clenchy uterus they don't look similar to each other necessarily. They act differently. They whine differently.

Needless to say this has my sixteen years old next month son in a whirl of confusion and frustration on top of the Hoover Dam of hormones. Me too. Why is it that I can do everything so perfectly and so humbly and yet my kids aren't like ME?

This teenaged son of mine struggles so, with direction, with motivation, with identity, with self worth. He's always struggled. My ten year old son, in deep and stark comparison, does not. Thoughts and talents come easily to him. The four year old has asked for soda or candy for breakfast every morning for half his life and has been told no every morning for half his life.

Naturally my first born thinks I favor the second born or the third. Sigh. It's difficult.

It wasn't exactly my dream for my 16 year old to go Sex Pistol. He's not wearing black eyeliner yet but it's only a matter of time. He wears his disgruntled attitude like a wetsuit though. Tight. Smells like pee.

Next month my boy gets a job. Gainful and meaningful employment. Yet another life lesson to to sink or swim with. It won't be long and it really will be sink or swim when it comes to his own life and his own choices.

I wished I'd clenched my uterus just a little harder and kept him a child for just a little while longer. This inoculation is going to be sore for a while.

Ripping off the Looney Toons bandage is going to sting.

And I'm sterile. Woot!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

It's gonna happen in Vegas and stay with me forever.

I don't recall if I mentioned one of the more awkward features of the school district sponsored trip to Vegas my husband and I took last June. Gimme a minute and let me see if I threw this interesting detail in there.

Oooh I didn't. Good. I mentioned Liberace quite a bit. There wasn't any awkwardness at the Liberace Museum. There was only spasming joy.

Awkward came in the form of a large mirror placed directly over the bed in our tower suite at Caesar's.

No, there are no photos. Jeezum crow. We barely withstood the shock of looking at such things ourselves. I honestly don't know why you think you need a peek of our turkey cold cuts.

The idea of a mirror over the bed is much more compelling than the reality of it. Eventually a married couple, parents to three kids, has to swallow their pride, turn off the lamps and close the neon blocking drapes.

That's why the next time we make our way to Vegas we'll skip the room with the visual enhancements.

The next time we go to Vegas we have other sights that take priority.

Priority #1.  Go to that Pawn Stars pawn shop with one goal. Screw buying anything.  Screw the mirror, I want to cuddle with Chumlee.



He's just so...so...squeezable!

Like that grape jelly in a tube.  White bread.  Toasted.  Love.  Turkey cold cuts not necessary.

The idea of cuddling with Chumlee better not be more compelling than the reality of it. A prospective Chumlee cuddle has been keeping me warm.  Priority #2 in Vegas...grab a giant plastic tube of weak margarita to cool me off.  Drink the margarita first to keep things from being too awkward.

Oh Austin "Chumlee" Russell, you gold coin gnawing bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right, I want to see exactly where you have that Tennessee Tuxedo character tattoo.  And I want to dress you like Liberace.  Both could be accomplished at once.  Spasming joy.

Don't want to see the tattoo or the sequins in a ceiling mirror though.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Guess where I wear my ear muffs?

My mother just called. She's in a chipper mood.

Why wouldn't she be? She and my dad are on a two week Caribbean cruise. She called from Acapulco to tell me that the weather was warm. Sunny. Lovely. Balmy. Equator enhanced.

I'm glad my dad refrained from purchasing and wearing a Speedo in light of that phone call.

Sure, I'm thrilled for them but it snowed here this morning. It's been damned cold for three weeks. Not just winter cold, but witches titty cold. I've worn threadbare spots over the nipple portions of all my sweaters. Maybe that vision in your head is a bit nicer than my Dad in a Speedo or maybe not. Just thought I'd put that out there for you to consider. My Dad's a furry guy. Speedo nipples. Booyah.

At least the fog rolled in this last week no matter how much more pointy the humid air has been making my nipples. It's been a dry cold and that means plenty of static electricity despite leaving the bathroom door open during showers. Every stray hair in my home has congregated on my flannel pajama pants in my sleep.

I have a cat. I wake up hairballed. Hairy speedo nipples.

The static was at such a level that other evening, when I opened the door to my fabulous mini-van in the grocery store parking lot, a zap of static electricity arced from the door and zapped my ear! I heard it, thought, "Don't tase me bro!" and then my ear went numb! All the peach fuzz that was growing on that ear promptly fell out and then stuck to my clothing.

Numb hairy speedo nipples. Disorienting.

You think Acapulco can compare to electrocution by mini-van? Or the chest colds my family is now hacking away at?

Yeah, don't answer that. Excuse me, but I have an Amish fireplace to purchase.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

You'll put your eye out.

I meant to write today while my son was in preschool...when I had a couple blessed hours alone in my home to fart around wearing pajama pants and drink coffee all irished up.

However, I forgot that I had agreed to volunteer at my son's preschool. Dammit.

Considering my morning, which consisted of waking in a suckass mood, continuing that suckass mood through a showing of Dr. Oz and his little vulcan ears, and reaching the suckass pinnacle of moodiness when I realized I didn't have enough time to go get some paste chicken McLumps for lunch, I was not at all pleased to remember I'd scheduled to volunteer.

Twenty one four year old germ ridden eejits. Woo. Hoo.

(Why in the world do I send my own kid into such a war zone? Oh yeah...he loves it, snot and all.)

It's OK. I'm happy I missed McLumps. This is why:

One of my son's classmates is missing his hand. Another classmate was missing her underwear today and another had missed the tiny little toilet. I'll keep to the child missing his hand. I know nothing about how stump construction is best performed surgically, if shape and aesthetics matter or what, but this boy's stump is all the more useful for how pointy it is. He was using his stump to dot glue on paper projects and mold playdoh. When the other kids washed their hands he took time to wash his his stump. Stump, it's handy?

Alright, that was bad. I'm sorry.

Anyhow, when another child who apparently woke in the same suckass mood I fell victim to this morning began tormenting the kid without a hand, it made perfect sense that this handless child pop that moody child with the point of his stump right in the eye!

Four year old stump assault...that's all it takes to lift the chunkiest of soured milk spirits. Even irished up coffee can't top that one. It's been two hours since stumpmania and I still can't stop giggling about it.

Just deserves would be if I too got assaulted for the handy joke.

That's OK though. Not a single child sneezed, coughed our had an out of control nose. I'll take a poke in the eye in gratitude for that.

Time for Oh-pur. (Oprah to you well speakin' folks.) Insert Star Trek body part reference here.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Listen for the scream.

It's really not my fault that it's this cold and my feet are only following suit.

Justin's home today. I'm going to put my toes on his butt upon the suggestion of a friend. It'll be a delightful surprise for everyone involved!

Monday, January 11, 2010

Stash n Trash

My husband and I spent Saturday morning cleaning the garage.

I found no hidden bodies, just in case you were thinking it. There have been hidden bodies in my neck of the woods. They found one nearby last week. If ever there was a place to hide bodies, my little corner of rural NV casino hell is the place. Someone must have been exceedingly lazy with their body hiding because it surprised me it was found at all. Even psychics can't find bodies out here.

What's interesting is that moments before the news announced this random body I'd filled out a questionnaire from the county's Jury Commissioner explaining why I'd be the best jury member ever. Coincidence? Karma? Maybe. I've been called to jury duty twice before. One I showed up for hoping beyond hope I'd get a free motel room in fabulous Elko, Nevada for a couple nights, but I wasn't selected. The other I got excused from because, unless it's my husband's summer vacation, it's not a good idea to take our one car 120 miles away from my family for a trial lasting more than a day.

Alright, murder and body stashing ain't funny. My garage being as dirty as it was isn't all that funny either. My garage was a haven of shame.

I'd stashed many items that maybe, someday, if I'm crafty and thrifty and creative, might have a use. This stash was nearing 5 feet tall, taking up the half of the garage that wasn't home to my one vehicle, and it was on the verge of collapse.

Example? I'd kept several 60 oz. Sam's Club bulk non-dairy creamer canisters with molded grips and handy pour lids. Almost big enough to hide a body in.

I had four of these canisters which I put away in my garage carefully washed and with a promise that someday it would be their turn to hit the powerball number in the recycling lottery. Why, they could be used in all sorts of capacities, besides storing bodies.

I could have filled them with foodstuffs that are normally sold in flimsy bags. If you are from Utah like I am, you know how important it is that you hoard plenty of foodstuffs for inclement occurrences, like nuclear war or nights that American Idol is not on TV. The canisters would be perfect for storing macaroni noodles, dry cheese powder, beef jerkey and dehydrated peas. A short water purified reconstitution later and you have a healthy meal to feed your starving family. Remember, toilet paper can be used as currency.

(The canisters would make fine pee jugs now that I think of it. Wide mouthed. Convenient.)

I could have stored small children's toys in them and then allow the children to decorate the canisters with permanent markers and stickers. However, I've thrown away all the small toys for their sheer annoyance factor and now storing them would be moot. Beyond that sort of wastefulness, permanent markers cause hallucinations and that's the last thing my children need in this house.

Cut in half, the canisters would have made fine planters and then I would only have to store the lids in my garage and reduce the five foot pile by 7 inches at least. Could use the lids for ashtrays even if I don't smoke. Someone might wanna smoke someday.

Oooh! It's a good width and size to keep next to my toilet for soaking my recyclable and washable toilet paper before I toss them in my washer! That is if I had washable toilet paper. Time for me to cut some fabric up for that purpose. Real Charmin will be used for currency.

But since I hadn't made use of my canisters in any of these ways I went ahead and threw them away. 240 ounces of limited usefulness now at the dump.

Is it healthy to drink up that much non-dairy creamer? From the above it's apparent that it's not. Permanent markers isn't the only substance causing hallucinations.

I keep drinking it up like that I'm sure someone's gonna have to stash my body.

Maybe the Jury Commissioner. This blog is my ticket out of that gig.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

World's Largest Sour Grape

Now that the season of good will is over I can allow myself to become cantankerous. I've had my fill of warm fuzzies. My vacuum is clogged.

The grocery store is no longer stocking delicious eggnog flavored soy milk. Communists.

Which leads me on to start the new year with a list of generalized complaints and whining. Why make resolutions to better myself and the world around me when I can observe how other people should go about bettering themselves and therefore the world around me? (BTW, this post was supposed to be published yesterday, but other people's generalized complaints and whining interrupted my flow.)

Bah....


1. None of you should attempt to set or break world records by constructing giant servings of food anymore. Worlds biggest brownie sundae? So? Worlds hugest cupcake? And? Oooh a two ton vat of spaghetti bolognese? Imagine the possibilities of that one! Or don't, because it's bound to cause yeast infections. This is not why we subsidize farmers.

2. Your Igadget is not your Identity.

3. Mommyhood isn't a lifestyle and even the word makes me phlegm up. I didn't have babies so I could join the precious club of mommyhood, with all it's pastel accoutrements and stretch marks as badges of courage for the hardest job in the world and those awesome mom jeans. I had a baby because I had some damned good sex and got pregnant.

4. Before you obtain tickets to see a viewing of The Price is Right you should work on your math skills because then if you are lucky enough to come on down and then further lucky enough to end up in a showcase, you don't have to sit behind a podium with your bid and a dumb look right on the front wondering if you won when Drew announces the actual value. You can figure out the difference in your head and get to your hybrid car that much sooner. It's becoming an epidemic.

5. Bella, Edward and Jacob are not deities.


There, my contribution to world peace. Get started on this soon 'kay? Thanks!

Now to unclog the vacuum. My suction...it sucks.

Monday, January 04, 2010

Maternity Leave

Hello Routine, I missed you! How have you been? Yeah, I hear ya there, those holidays sure can be a kick in the ass. I know, I was all bound up too. I'm still using the same roll of TP that I installed last week.

Nevertheless I'm back from the overwhelming fertility I felt while visiting family in Utah County. Swear to Jeebus my ovaries went Orville Redenbacher, popping out eggs drenched in tropical oils, with nowhere to go and nothing to wear anyway. Babies everywhere! Go to the mall? Swarms of babies. Eat at a restaurant? You tip in babies. We went to a cell phone kiosk, picked up new phones and my husband and I each got a complimentary baby with unlimited texting.

The scent of baby lotion everywhere was almost obscene. I escaped just in time.

Onto the annual post Christmas quotes:

"What do you do? Bitch bitch bitch!"
- Left as a farewell by my deceased old goat father-in-laws's sister Shirley, after discussing the holidays, the weather, the flu, aging and death, and getting hardcore on the local newspaper for not delivering the daily issue right smack in the middle of the front porch in front of the door.

"Guess what BIG thing Dad got me this year?"
- Delivered excitedly and innocently by my Mom...with an unfortunate and misleading hand gesture.

"You have a Woody!"
- From me, directed at my four year old son, who wanted to show me his cousin's new Toy Story doll. No misleading hand gestures required for my family to get all giggly at this one.

"I like to wear nightgowns to bed because they ride up and my legs are bare."
- From my 85 year old mother in law, who was kind enough to gift me with pajamas with legs attached for Christmas.

"We've been your best customers alllll dayyyyy long!"
- Me again, consoling a young salesmen at the cell phone kiosk, when we assured them we only wanted our phones to make phone calls. We didn't need apps. We weren't picky about the color or the cover or the ringtone. We weren't going to have fits over pricing plans or rebates or tin foil hats. Hell, YOU pick our phones and we'll pay! Oh good, free babies...

"Kick ASS!"
- A movie patron sitting next to my husband during a showing of Sherlock Holmes, a phrase he ejaculated at least thirty times during the movie. Wish we could have kicked his...or given him a baby.

There it is, all I could remember. Happy New Years folks.

2010, another damned baby.

Edited to add: The audio advent calendar entries were courtesy of April Winchell, which I found following a long string of Wikipedia entries. Click the MP3s tab at the top of her website to enjoy more non-holiday hilarity.

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