Thursday, August 30, 2012

Like when we used to climb the rope in gym class.

Just moments ago I wrote a check which confirms my membership in the "irrelevant" club.  I addressed this check to SHS Class of 1993 Reunion Commitee.

I'll wait while you count on your fingers.

Yes, that's how many years I've aged past cool.  Is cool still a thing?  What is the thing?  That's the thing?  Who thought that idiotic thing up?  Asphinctersayswhat?

High school was a pleasant enough time for me that I'm willing to show up in a banquet hall, maybe wearing pantyhose, probably wearing these shoes, and see and talk to all those people again. 

The point is, we've all changed. We've grown up.  Some of us in ways that are positive and all of us in ways that are wrinkling and sagging.  I know I have. 

Many of us might try to create the illusion that we haven't changed at all.  That we still have it...and our "its" are still relevant, if not attractive.  There will have been a rash of diets to tame our paunches. Clothing will be worn that will pull us in, thrust us out or push us up. Hair will be combed over, under, dyed, sprayed, fluffed or shaved off entirely. 

Some of us went off and became Democrats or Glenn Beck drones, of all things.

I have three weeks to sew a dress to wear.  I have three weeks to invent Post-it notes.  I have three weeks to prepare my life for the scrutiny of my peers.

Oh screw it.  They've probably read all about it here anyway.  Type "virginity" into the search line on the right sidebar.  Just do it.

After that, we'll have no reason to point out each other's love handles and bald spots.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

From Becky, with love...and indigestion.

Dear Politifact,
What is the secret ingredient in your website that makes it so delicious?  So addicting?  Is anyone on your staff related to Colonel Sanders?  Paula Dean?  Jimmy Dean?

Every time I’m on Facebook and I’m reading the discourse of my peers, I suddenly find myself craving the gooey chocolate, crispy bacon, cool butter notes of your fact checking.  Especially last night and more than likely tonight too, when all this harrumphing is happening in Tampa.  The hyperbole filled chorus of yeas or nays keeps me hungry and what you deliver is blessedly fat free so I can partake as much as I like.
Is Obamacare the largest tax increase in the world?  No! 

Is Obama gunnin' for our guns?  No! 

Does Mitt Romney want to outlaw all abortions for any conceivable reason?  No!

Is Barack Obama a liar liar pants on fire? 

Is Mitt Romney a liar liar pants on fire?

Is Ron Paul the one with all the sense and just none of that hot pepper sex appeal? 

Between now and November I'm sure you're going to add all kinds of tasty treats to your menu.  We've had strong Republican aperitifs.  Next a greasy garlicky Democrat appetizer.  Soup, salad and entrees with the debates.  Then to outdo last election cycle's baked alaska for dessert, you'll serve up reality so sweet and gooey, you'd think it would cause arterial blockages.

I've undone my pants.  Feed me Politifact.  Feed me until I burst.

Then I'll post links so everyone can get a taste.


Becky...The Absent Minded Housewife

Monday, August 27, 2012

Time to sharpen my pencil. Sharpen it good.

Yeah, I haven't written much in the past two, three, weeks or months.  I apologize.  Summer is my season of reduced space.  Everyone is home.  Everyone needs something.  People I have given birth to need feeding, picking up aftering and entertaining.  Usually I attempt to not do any of the three in an effort to learn them those skills for their own good and what results is constant requests for all of them with constant refusals on my part.

No, you may not eat just the yellow and red popsicles and leave all the green ones.

No, you may not watch more than twelve hours of cat videos on YouTube at a time.

No, you may not play with the kid that keeps pushing you off your scooter, keeping your knees in a constant scabby or bleeding state.

No, you can't go to the community pool at 6 AM, which is way before I plan on being awake.

No, you can't build a Rube Goldberg machine on your brother's bed out of all my tupperware containers, dried pasta and masking tape.

No, you can't stay in the shower that long.

No, you can't read Fifty Shades of Grey.  I'm not even going to read that crap.  Who told you about that anyway?

By the end of the day, when they've finally consented to sleep, the mental capacity it takes to tap more than a sentence or two is gone.  By the end of summer vacation I've had all the vacation I can take.

Today is the first day of school.  Today I get to clear out all that claustrophobia.  I get to enjoy sitting in my backyard, the hummingbirds dive bombing at my head, drink my coffee, and not hear one single neighborhood child scream until 3 PM.


I'm gonna go buy me a Happy Meal!

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Promoting Upward Mobility

With Mitt Romney's announcement of Paul Ryan as his running mate, the internets has turned into a frenzy of policy debate.  Real and interesting policy debate which is quite unlike the frenzy that presented itself when Sarah Palin was announced.

You can't get much back and forth out of "You can actually see Russia, from land, here in Alaska."

Yes, I suppose you can.  Can't refudiate that one.

Paul Ryan is just as polarizing a choice however.  Either you really like the guy and his record or you really don't, that is, except on one important issue...

...In my readings around the internets, there has been much oversharing on both sides of the aisle from women who've had sex dreams about Romney's next president of the United States.  Sex dreams involving many scenarios, positions, fluids and kitchen appliances.

Which I find disturbing.

Granted, I tend to lean to the liberal side and having a sex dream about someone who sees all black and white and no grey areas when it comes to my uterus isn't something I wish for.  My uterus is complicated.

No, what's disturbing is that the announcement is only three days old and already throngs of women are getting it on in dreamland with Mr. Laffer Curve. 

Paul Ryan IS a handsome guy.  He looks...rugged. Lean. Passionate.  He looks like he smells delicious.  Musky with citrus notes.  He looks like he wears boxer briefs and undershirts that never have armpit stains.  He looks like he knows that office desks can be used for more than just paperwork...


I think I need a nap.

All this feeling disturbed, it's made me sooooo sleepy.

Monday, August 06, 2012

All is meow. All is meow.

When I listed "cat lady" as my religious affiliation on Facebook, I wasn't being all that facetious.  Cats are awesome.  Since I was born in Utah, I could have listed the religious affiliation popular in that state but that set of thou shalt nots hasn't been on my radar for some time.  Instead, owning and babying my cats seems a much more satisfying practice.

Behold, tidings of cat joy!

When you find this bit of wanton destruction on your bedroom floor first thing in the morning, you thank the lord that you slept through all of it.  Or blame Republicans for the mess.  Or both.

What might surprise all my Utah readers and other hanger ons who know of my love of cats, my love of drinking hot morning beverages, my love of using certain expletives from time to time, my love of going shopping on a Sunday, my love of talking about sex every moment of the day, my love of teh gayz and teh gay marriage, and my love of my liberal leaning non-red state ways is that I also love inviting Mormon missionaries over to my home so I can cook them food.

Yup, I actually invite them in.  I do not shut the door on their faces.  I bake them cupcakes and tonight when I fed a pair of those nice young men, I frosted those cupcakes with pink icing.

Which begs the question...why, why would you do this thing?

(Or, I wouldn't cook for them, they are religious nutjobs, can't you see it?)

(Or, I would cook for them, but I'm a believer and why would you offer meals when you're such an apostate?)

The answer is...because it's nice.  It's a nice thing to do.  These boys are away from home, from their families,  away from their little girlfriends and their hobbies and the free media and their own pets, thrust into a world full of social pressure from all sides, testing faith or building faith or losing faith, wearing cheap wool suits and other clothing that just doesn't breathe well in this heat, and doing a crap job that only pays in brownie points from above. 

These boys were once the boys I grew up with.

Because I am the mother of boys.

Having these kids at my home and filling their bellies fills my heart even though I'm not interested in why they were sent in permanent press pants and stain protected ties to my house.  Too many people just aren't very nice even if they disagree and these boys are too young to feel badly about those kinds of experiences out in the world

Plus, my cats try to get in on the belly action and try to get theirs rubbed by new people.

A long time ago I said I wasn't going to be writing about the Mormon church and I think I've stepped lightly here.  No need to go into all the drama drama drama involved with that... just that I can separate my experiences with a turn in kindness. 

However, Ceiling Cat does not approve of that porny fifty shades of South Park narrative you've had in your head since the fifth paragraph.  You're filthy.  Or you're a republican.  Or both.

Wednesday, August 01, 2012

Chick Filay Magnet

I'm not one of those folks who went out of their way to eat themselves some Chick-fil-a today.  I'm not one of those folks boycotting chicken sandwiches either.  There isn't a Chick-fil-a where I live and since I've never eaten at one of their establishments, I didn't find it compelling to seek one out and end that lucky streak in any way.

Instead, my husband and I took one of his former students to lunch at one of our fine casinos.  Food was probably better.  Anyhow, this kid is busy living the dream, singing his way across the state, and it shows:


What's more adorable was our family unfriendly conversation while we ate mounds of pork and beef products.

I mean, not having the cause du-jour in a location convenient to us, why not do our part in the next best location?  Talk of bodily fluids and premarital sexual positions over bacon-pastrami-swiss burgers punctuated by the sparkling sounds of slot machines?

As we left the casino a methy looking patron criss-crossing the parking lot asked if we'd like to purchase her beautiful ladies ring.  We declined knowing that security would find her before long.

She wouldn't pay taxes on the sale and I can't be supporting that.

Absent Minded Archives