Monday, October 31, 2011

In another ten minutes, I'm turning off my porch light and hiding my miniature bags of pretzels.

Several folks about my real life and the internets have asked me what I'm dressing as this Halloween.  It's a fair question considering I sew a lot of halloween costumes all year long.  I'm my best advertisement, right?

Well, I'm foolish.

I have a toothache.

...and something going on with my sinuses.

I barely got my own children dressed today.

Otherwise I'm staying home, drinking tea, and watching PBS.

What I want to say is that I went trick or treating, and not with my kids but on my own, as every costume that a person will not find on the racks of political correctness.  At least on my bottom half.  From the waist down I'm incredibly offensive.  My knees are knobby with cliches.

From the waist up I'm not just skanky, I'm topless.  Halloween?  It's the time of year to scare folks with my cleavage.  Which I've glittered up all Twilight like.

It's 52 degrees out there tonight.  Why not?

Boo.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

What I want to know...how do they avoid ingrown hairs?

I'm enjoying the irony of watching the Duggars on TV while I describe how raunchy watching a male strip show in a casino located on the Nevada border is.

The whole ordeal...I've never seen anything like it in my life which is saying quite a lot as I'm as fresh as a newborn calf in the spring sunshine.  Just like Ma Duggar.  I'm going to imagine this retelling with Michelle sitting on one side of me shooting back syringes full of blue jello and vodka.

One of the gals managed to get our tickets comped and front center which is all the trouble you need right there.  No ducking behind the middle aged ladies in front of you.  No hiding in the back.  No jumping up and down smack in the middle trying to get some attention paid to you.  Front.  Closest to this guy:


Which is extra special because he wore several different pair of snazzily decorated underpants that look like this:


To which he took the opportunity to flop around in some very intrusive ways with a whole lot of ladies, including introducing my face down front into the cave of wonders.  This act cost me a dollar and some of my dignity.  I cannot believe I'm even admitting this to everyone and sundry.  Just call me Jezebel.  Jezebel was not allowed to take any photos.

All the girls, me and imaginary Michelle Duggar, we got pounded, hounded, felt up, laid down, used and abused.  Altogether they got six of my dollars and my fingerprints.  As in, my fingers were placed far down the back of this guy's underoos:



Then the audience...that was a show in and of itself.  I watched drunken ladies perform some sort of mating ritual where they cavorted and bounced on each other, acting like poodles in heat, completely ignoring anyone near naked and glistening on the stage.  Clothes were ripped, buttons were lost, seats were wet and psychological tests were ordered.  They do not teach this stuff at charm school.

Imaginary Michelle Duggar absolutely lost her shit. 

When we left all we wanted were plates of deep fried food and pitchers of water.  None of us had much to say.  Hang your head in shame and walk toward the door.

...And dig your hand sanitizer out of your purse.  Three squirts at least.

***

The Absent Minded Housewife is on Facebook.  This is where I advise my readership in the naming of kittens.  I think Tits McQueen is an excellent name for a cat.








Friday, October 21, 2011

Check out her smile.

My husband is a tolerant open minded man. 

We have the kind of marriage where we can point out exceptional examples of the opposite sex to one another without jealousy.  We're human.  We like to look and then tease each other for being old and lecherous.  I keep a drool towel in my grandma purse.

Take last weekend for example.  It was time for our bimonthly trip to Sam's Club to stock up on carbs in bulk and afterwards, dinner at any one of the fine chain restaurants nearby instead of filling up on samples like the rest of the sheep.  Did you hear about that sample hawker who mixed in his semen with the tiny cups of yogurt he was offering to people?  This is not the ingredient that makes Jamie Lee Curtis regular though it might be how Christopher Guest avoids prostate trouble.  I'd rather my appetizer be a blooming onion, thanks.

Anyhow, we were told by our hostess that our waiter had a good shot at the winter Olympics.  We chatted with him a bit and left him a good tip.   I won't out him by his sport, but this type of athlete wears tight catsuits and has to have an ass of steel to compete.

...and yes...it was steel.

I enjoyed my meal very very much.

What's more, Justin had a good laugh at my expense for checking out what was on the dessert menu.  When you bake good pies at home you can look at the pies elsewhere but you don't feel compelled to actually eat them.  Everyone likes pie, ya know?  So look good and hard at a well baked pie.  Appreciate the fruit fillings.

This weekend I'm going to look at more pie.

My husband's female coworkers asked him if I'd like to go see a male dance revue for Deer Widow's Weekend.  Nothing to hide.  Nothing to get upset over.  No reason to ask me in person.  Justin's right there at work and he knows me better than anyone, so just ask him.  "Justin, would your wife like to go with us to watch undulating oily beefy men wearing eye patches over their ticklish bits?"

He replied that I would indeed like such a thing and though I haven't been to anything like this since attending a coworker's 40th birthday party when I was all of 17, I think I would too.  Why not?  It's my birthday early next month.

There is the worry of what to wear and what to bring with you.  Skirt?  Push up bra?  My knee length high heeled black boots?  Do I shave my goatee off?  Do male lap dancers care if you have a goatee if you have enough dollar bills?  How many dollar bills does one keep accessible?  Will I need hand sanitizer?  If I have a hot flash do they mind if I bring a cold pack?

What if they sweat on me?  Either the dancers or the other women?  What if I have to kick someone's ass for getting to pushy and shove-y?  Again, either the dancers or the other women?  Where do I buy pepper spray?

Maybe I'll need to take Justin with me considering my concerns.  It'll be a bonding experience.

He's declined though.  I can't imagine why he'd want to miss this.

His call.

To return the favor maybe I'll find a joint who has hired a Girls Gone Wild participant.  It's not the Olympics but it's the best I can do.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Sooey Baby

I've been sewing today.  Mostly pattern drafting but at one point I did mend one side of a well used and slightly wet burlap bag of catnip.


Since I still have to draw in the bumpy pokey jodhpur bits on the pants of an Oompa Loompa you get my annual edition of farm amore.


Have some pig porn.





You're welcome.




Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Twenty one anchor babies jumping on the bed.

Today's weather was absolutely beautiful...so why am I ending my daylight hours by watching the GOP presidential debate?

The rhetoric is making every muscle in my whole body sore. 

What's funny about this whole thing is that the passing of the buck, blame and flame is not unlike any other reality program on TV.  I once was forced to watch an episode of Survivor, after Thanksgiving dinner which seemed kind of ironic to me, and I'm not seeing much difference in the snarky process of voting someone off the island. 

I think there is more sexual tension between the candidates than between contestants though.  Just sayin'.

Tonight alliances are forming against Pretty Witty Mitty.  Eventually they are all going to tie their party provided red bandannas around their schlongs and start measuring.  This includes Michelle Bachman.  I dislike her politics but that woman has got balls and a wide stance.

Insert 9-9-9 joke here.

I wish our modern day political debates ran more like the reality TV royalty, The Duggar Family.  Perhaps the whole tone of politicians talking over one another would be more palatable if they utilized the same rules as a family raising 21 homogeneous children.

1. Always use soft words, even when you don’t feel well.

2. Always display kind actions and joyful attitudes, even if you have been mistreated. Have the right response by quickly forgiving others in your heart even before they ask.

3. Always be enthusiastic and look for opportunities to praise others' character.

4. Always deflect praise and be grateful to God and others for the ways they have benefited your life.

5. Always use manners and be respectful of others and their belongings.

6. Always do what is right, even when others may not, or when no one is looking.

7. Thank God for how He made you, for what He has given you and everything He allows you to go through. (Romans 8:28)

8. Don’t mock or put others down. Develop compassion and pray for others.

9. Never argue, complain, or blame. Quickly admit when you have done wrong and ask for forgiveness (even if you were only 10% at fault). Don't wait till you’re caught. Be sure your sins will find you out. He who covers his sin will not prosper, but he that confesses and forsakes it shall find mercy.

10. Have a tough accountability/prayer partner to daily share your heart with and to keep you in line (your parents, spouse). The power of sin is in secrecy.

11. Be attentive and look for ways to serve others with sincere motives and no thought of self-gain.

12. Think pure thoughts (Philippians 4:8, Romans 13:14).

13. Always give a good report of others. Don't gossip! Never tale-bear unless physical harm will come to someone. (Use Matthew 18.) 14. Never raise a hand to hit.

14. Never raise a foot to kick.

15. Never raise an object to throw.

16. Never raise a voice to yell.

17. Never raise an eye to scowl.

18. Use one toy/activity at a time. Share!

19. Do your best to keep your surroundings neat, clean and organized.

20. Never let the sun go down on your wrath. (Don’t go to bed angry or guilty)

21. Amendment J.O.Y. - Put Jesus first, Others second, Yourself last.


I admit, I'm a registered middle of the road Democrat, but oh, if I could vote for conservative Jim Bob Duggar for President, I would. 


We may not agree on gay marriage or evolution Jim Bob, but you've got my support. 

Here's your bandanna.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Quickie

I love Basia Bulat.  Have a listen.  You could have a look but it's just a static image.  Just close your eyes, take off 90% of your clothing and let her voice move over you.




Now, take a shower.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Perhaps a box of tissues is decoration enough.

Ahhh, it's about time to decorate my porch and yard for Halloween.  It's the happiest time of the year!

Except that I'm not decorating my porch or yard because I know, KNOW, deep down in my ghoulish little heart that all my awesome decorations will come up missing.

Check out Fred the Head.  I have a yearly infatuation with Fred that's bordering on obscene.  Fred likes it when I nestle him in a velvet lined box or place him ever so gently in my freezer.


Someone has rendered Fred portable which is convenient for the little miscreants that live nearby. 

Also in my Halloween box:


Face cutlet.  A necessary ingredient in the cultivation of budding petty thief.

And this:


My little zombie baby cutie pie...actual baby sized which seems to foster the idea that it's adoptable.

And these:


Which are more hideous than any of my other decorations.  I wouldn't actually mind if these got stolen except for the principle of it. 

Perhaps if I get my teenaged son in on the fun, we can decorate, hand out stale candy by the handful, and still keep all my spooky stuff on my porch and not stuffed under their poorly constructed Walmart skank costumes or in their pillow cases.

Observe a relevant YouTube:


This is excellent.  Teach you to try to take off with Fred the Head!  The psycho woman down the street with all the disgusting Halloween props WILL take you down if you get light fingered.  Muahahahahaha!

Chances are though, instead of stealing my best decorations. miscreants will spray pee or vomit on them in the midst of their fright.

Back to the drawing board.  Cleaning up my kids puke or piss is one thing.  Cleaning up anyone else's is out of the question.

Thursday, October 06, 2011

Colonel Mustard on the monkey bars with a jumprope.

I'm raising a homicidal maniac.

Sure, he's only six, but you can tell these types of things real early.  He's all violent.

This isn't the first time I've had an impromptu afterschool meeting with any of my sons schoolteachers.  Concerns have to be addressed sometimes.  Worked on in both the school and home environment.  Nipped in the bud.  As the parent I'm the first one responsible for my children's idiot habits.  My son's first grade teacher may have him eight hours a day but I've got that kid for life.

With a very long face and the most serious of demeanors, she wanted me to know that at recess today my son killed a butterfly.

I did not ask how.  It seemed this crime was beyond the details.  Butterflies are beautiful and we don't make grease spots of them.

Besides, I know how many ways there are to kill butterflies.  When I was his age I killed plenty of bugs.  Butterflies, moths, bees, bumblebees, caterpillars, tomato worms, spiders, slugs, potato bugs and millions of earwigs.  That's life growing up on the farm.  Tame the feral cats, roll about in horse manure, play in the irrigation ditch, and then lift up a rock and make mincemeat of anything squirming around underneath it.

What is the difference between killing earwigs and killing butterflies?   If butterflies had giant pincers on their butts no one would have any mercy on them.  You'd swat them and their pokey asses like mosquitoes. 

Or you'd enslave them and use them like carrier pigeons.  For when your cell phone is low on batteries.

Looking at the teacher through the window of my van, I commiserated with her on the butterfly issue.  I get it.  You don't go to school to practice your baser instincts.  You go to school for abstinence education in sex ed.

Then I asked where my son's glasses were.  He wasn't wearing them.

He'd lost them at lunch.  She hadn't noticed.

She didn't grow pincers and I didn't swat her.  Sigh.

Monday, October 03, 2011

I'm listening to Foster the People on Spotify and I like it so don't push it, dammit.

Shuddup.

I'm cranky.

Let's get through this post without using an expletive describing a close and physical act between two people who love each other very very much.  I'm trying to have some dignity here or at least a PG rating for when my 7th grader discovers my blog on the school's internet and shows his widdle friends.

CRANKY!

It's not the new drop off/pick up/parking system they implemented today at the elementary school parking lot either.  Finally they designed one that might serve to keep parents from running over other people's children.  It's a goddamned good thing and I flippin' appreciate it.

And this hell hole I call a house is clean.  My new mattress is soft and comfortable.  Sleeping in it is fetchin' delightful.  It's a stinkin' foot taller than my last bed and I feel like a damned queen.

This crank is brought to you by my hormones.

The progesterone cream I rubbed into my shins and calves this morning has worn off, at least two hours ago, when I rolled my eyes at the news program I was watching because they were giving away an 11/11/11 wedding package.  All the trimmings.  Parade float dress and a chicken dinner for every great aunt still living.

I am really really really farkin' tired of these cutesy fortuitous wedding dates since the turn of the millennium.  Oooh, you got married on 1/1/1 or 2/2/2 or 7/7/7 or are planning to get married on 10/11/12.  How speshul are you!  That's a story you'll tell to your grandchildren if someone doesn't run over them in their own elementary school parking lots.  Bet your fancy wedding date won't help you then.  Better guarantee one of them nosepickers is born on 4/4/40 or you are a failure.

You know what?  I furkin' love my husband and we got married on a Wednesday in 1993.  That's not a good round even number is it?  It's awkward and inconvenient.  None of the numbers in my dates are matchy matchy.  My anniversary is one black nylon dress sock and one pink argyle sock but my feet are flubbin' warm  WARM.  If you don't quit staring at my ankles I'm going to pop you in the kneecap.

I made fakkin' good spaghetti tonight for dinner, alrighty? 

Fine.

Hand me that tube of hormones. 








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