She walks, she talks, she crawls on her belly like a reptile. She's almost human. It's.....THE OPTO-MOM!!!

Friday, December 31, 2010

New York - The City That Never Plows

Well, New York City certainly has a big fat snowy mess on their hands, don’t they? Now down here in Texas, we turn into a bunch of asshats when it snows. We have no flipping idea how to drive when there’s frozen precipitation on the roads. We oscillate between the “yahoo” Texans who try to see how fast they can drive and the overcautious “pokey-asses” who drive 25 mph and just get in everyone’s way.

However, I expected better of NYC. They are supposed to be prepared for this type of situation, and know how to deal with snow. It’s in the North, for cripe’s sake!

I’ve heard a myriad of excuses floating around, including that the city’s union sanitation workers stalled their plowing efforts a bit in protest of budget cuts and layoffs. You know, if the city had already laid off 400 workers and were planning further budget cuts, I think I would get my ass to work.

Let me give you a little hint: This is NOT the way to keep your job. Ineffectiveness during a crisis will not be a gold star on your resume, mmmm-kay? So get your overpaid asses on those machines, and PLOW! In this economy, you should be glad you still have a job, you dickwads.

 I’ve also heard that the independent contractors didn’t show up with their snowplows, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. WTF? If they have a contract with a business, and they don’t show up to do the specified job (like plowing snow after a big ass snowstorm), then their contract should be immediately voided, and their business dropped from consideration for any future contracts.

Even way down here in the South, we were aware that a blizzard was about to hit New York several days ahead of time. Perhaps it would have been prudent to contact these snow plowers and get their collective ducks in a row BEFORE the storm hit. But that would require using some common sense, and we all know that that’s not how government works.

The other rumor is that it was just not affordable to run all of the snowplows because it costs a million dollars for each inch of snow to be plowed. You’ve gotta be shitting me! You people need to learn to negotiate better. Just go car shopping with me, and I’ll school you on the art of negotiation. I can’t reveal my secrets on here, but I will divulge that it involves a lot of bullshitting and a gallon of battery acid. I’m like the McGyver of negotiating.

There was about 20 inches of snowfall, so that would be $20 million dollars, right?  I’ll tell you what, Mayor Bloomberg…I will help you save 50% on this deal.

You give me $10 million, and I will drive my happy ass to New York and plow the damn snow myself. For that price, I could buy a few snowplows and hire some homeless people to drive them for $5 an hour and a gift card to Cooter’s Liquor and Spirits, and I would still come home richer than when I left.

For $10 million, I would buy extension cords and hair dryers and melt the goddamn snow.

For $10 million, I would kill baby seals and use their warm blood to melt away the 20 inches of accumulation.

I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Mayor. I accept PayPal, or you can just wire the money directly to my bank account.

Anyone want to be on my snowplow team? The benefits are undeniably lucrative!

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Dear.....Shopping Idiots


I've linked up with Dazee for her Dear_____. You can write to anyone or anything and let us all know what you think. In honor of the recent holiday season, I've decided to focus on shopping for my Dear ____ letters.

Dear Hobby Lobby,
I adore you! Also, you suck for being so fabulous that I can blow 12 hours and a week's salary with you. I have drawers full of crafty shit that I AM going to use...someday. Gotta go now, because I have to make another wreath and cross stitch a picture of Jesus. But first, I have to finish my paint-by-number of an Italian villa and complete a scrapbook of my favorite episodes of Breaking Bad. I'd really like to try out the new embossing kit I bought, as soon as I find something around here that needs to be embossed. And I would really like to finish the 47 stockings for the whole freaking family by next Christmas. Oh shit...I'm out of sequins, so I'm going to put on my hand-crafted flip flops and my Bedazzled jeans and head back over to see you, Hobby Lobby. I'm just glad you aren't open 24 hours a day, or my child might starve to death because I spent all my grocery money at your store. At least she would look good in her rhinestoned jacket and hand-beaded necklace, right?

One Crafty Biotch

Dear Creepy Man in Target,
I have a few questions for you. First of all, do you own any shirts from this decade, or are all of them circa 1983? Secondly, do you own any shirts in YOUR size (XXL, according to that gut hanging out from under your shirt), or are all of them circa size medium? Also, why the hell are you hanging out in the toy section? Doesn't that violate your restraining order?

Watchdog Momma

P.S. I know it was you who farted over there by the board games.

Dear Wal-Mart,
Your annual profits are about $13 billion. I am all for capitalism, and think that's just dandy. However, would it kill you to take a teeny portion of those profits and hire 2 or 3 extra cashiers during the holiday season? And maybe - but this is just my opinion - 1 person to clean the bathrooms? Otherwise, I'm going back to Target and shop with that fat farting pervert.

Holding My Nose

Go visit Dazee, and play along.  You know there's something you want to say in a Dear ____ letter!

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Jose Cuervo Helps Me Make Cookies

Let's learn to make cookies with our friend, Jose Cuervo.

1 cup of lemon juice
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup of brown sugar
1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups of dried fruit
1 bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Pour one level cup of Cuervo and drink to check for quality. Quality control is very important in this recipe!

Take out a large bowl and the electric mixer. Take another shot of tequila to make sure it's still ok. Beat one cup of butter in a big fluffy bowl.

Add one peastoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point it's best to taste the Cuervo one more know, for that whole quality control dealy.

Turn off the mixerer thingy and lick the beaters. It's best to turn off the mixering machine BEFORE you lick the beasters.

Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.

Pick the frigging fruit off the floor. Rinse it with tequila.

Mix on the turner.

If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaters just pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who geeves a sheet. Check the Jose Cuervo. Is it still ok? Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.

Add one table.

Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. If you don't have any sugar, then add some other sweet shit, whatever you can find. Pour in half a bottle of cinnamonomon.

Add some baking power and then have a shot of Cuervo with your cat.

Mop up the cat vomit with a broom or sumfin like that.

Greash the oven.

Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over.

Don't forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, finish the Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the wishdasher.

Cherry Mistamas!

Friday, December 24, 2010

Crazy Christmas Ornaments

Yeah, I'm totally mailing this one in. Give me a break, though. It's Christmas Eve!

Here are some goofy Christmas ornaments for your enjoyment!

Ok, that's all I have.  I hope the fat guy brings everyone something great!  Ummm, and by fat guy, I mean Santa bringing presents, not Michael Moore bringing lice.  Just clarifying.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Shopping Guide for the Freaks on Your List

Do you find it difficult to find useful, original gifts for some of your loved ones? Or perhaps you’re looking for a present for the person who has everything.

Well, I’ve decided to make my very best talent available to you. No not that one…that’s illegal in most states…I mean the OTHER talent. That’s right - I’m talking about shopping.

So without further ado, I present to you (drum roll, please)…


Do you know someone who is a dog lover? Or someone who has lost a cherished pet this year? Then this is the gift for them! Bring back fond memories of shit bombs all over their house and yard.

Give the gift of poo in a monthly view with THE 2011 DOG POOP CALENDAR.

The gift that keeps on giving - all year long!

Now, here is a gift that everyone can use, but it is especially appreciated by those with gastrointestinal difficulties. If your friends enjoy Taco Bell, but not the mess it leaves behind, then this is a perfect gift for them.

Let your friends be distincter with a sanitized sphincter - buy them FANNY FLOSS!

Flushable and biodegradable. Not recommended for multiple use.

Oh, looky! A calendar for the ladies.  Also, if you have a friend, or perhaps an uncle, who has a little sugar in his britches (that’s Southern-talk for “gay”) then buy him this adorable new calendar so he can keep up with his gay pride activities and hair appointments.
See hot dudes and cuties, but no naked booties in THE 2011 HOT GUYS AND BABY ANIMALS CALENDAR.

Does it seem creepy to see a half-naked man holding a sheep?

Since kids today have so many electronic devices to enjoy, it's important to nurture their creative sides by encouraging them to do crafts and do-it-yourself kits.  This one seemed to test well in focus groups.

Your kids won't be hostile with this up their nostril - it's the LINE-O-COKE do-it-yourself kit.

Recommended for ages 7 and up.
This next item is a must-have for the Rocky fan on your list.  You can select from Rocky, Mr. T, and Apollo Creed, and plug their man parts right into your computer as they do crunches!

What could be cuter than Rocky's crotch in your 'puter?  If you said, "nothing," then buy the ROCKY AND FRIENDS USB DRIVES!

Sorry, Adrian!  He's mine now!
Everyone knows that little girls like baby dolls.  There are dolls that poop, pee, eat, cry, and sleep.  But this baby will really make your little princess appreciate all that she has.

Your kid will be pumped for this dolly with stumps. It's the AMPUTEE DOLL!

Nothing says fun like a double amputee doll.

Well, I hope this shopping guide has been helpful for you.  Let me know how your loved ones like the fabulous gifts!

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

This is the post where you can call me a dumbass.

Back in early October, I wrote about my fabulous ass-busting, ankle-twisting episode right before I was leaving for Las Vegas on a business/pleasure trip. If you are a new reader, here is the link to that gem. I can’t believe that some of you may not have experienced my entire body of work in order to fully appreciate my depravity. Get to work, people! READ!

Anyway, this was over 10 weeks ago, and since then my ankle has continued to swell and I’ve been limping around like Horace Pinker from the movie Shocker.

You totally need to watch this movie!

Notice from this movie poster that Horace Pinker was executed on October 2nd. This is the same date that I hurt my ankle. Coincidence? Hmmmmm….

Anyhoo, I never had my ankle x-rayed, but when I went to my OB/GYN last week (don’t freak out men, I’m not going to give any details) he was concerned about my ankle swelling and made me an appointment with a podiatrist, Dr. W.

My husband had an accident about 4 years ago and shattered his heel, so he was referred to this same podiatrist. Now, I’m not one to just go around gawking at men (probably because most of them aren’t worth my gawk), but this doc is HOTT! And you know I’m serious when I add an extra “T” on the end of the word.

I showed up at my appointment and the nurse took me to get x-rays and then showed me to an exam room. By the way, I love going to a doctor’s visit where they don’t weigh you. It’s like when you put money in a vending machine and it spits out an extra bag of M&Ms. BOO-YAH!

So Dr. Hottie came in the room and asked me this very important question:

“Ummmm, why are you naked?”

What? I wasn’t sure what all he needed to check out. You know what I’m sayin’? {Wink,wink}

So he starts pulling and pushing and poking around. On my FOOT - okay, people? He kept asking stuff like:
“And it’s been HOW long since the injury?”
“So you’ve just been walking around on it every day?”
“Have you ever seen a naked podiatrist?”

Ok, he didn’t really ask that last question. I was just making sure you were still with me here.

Then Dr. McHandsome looks at the x-ray, and guess what he saw?

My goddamn fibula is broken! By the way, this is the point where you get to call me a moron/idiot/dumbass for waiting so long to take care of this. Go ahead…I can take it!

So now I’m in a walking boot thingy for 5 weeks, at which point I go back to see Dr. Fabulous. He was also pretty concerned about the ligaments on the outside of my ankle, but he wants to get the bone healed and then we will think about an MRI if it’s necessary.

Between now and then, I think I will buy a sassy piece of lingerie to wear to my next visit. Because, APPARENTLY, it’s frowned upon to be totally naked in the podiatry office. Who knew?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Things That Get On My Damn Nerves - facebook Edition

Do [fill in the blank] To Support This Cause

I am all for supporting great causes, but some of the crap that takes place on facebook in the name of these causes is just ridiculous. The most recent example: “Change your profile pic to a cartoon from your childhood. The goal? To not see a human face on FB till Monday, December 6th. Join the fight against child abuse and copy & paste to your status to invite your friends to do the same.”

Exactly how the hell is this supposed to work? Maybe an abusive parent sees Scooby Doo on facebook and says, “Well, shit! I don’t think I’ll beat my kid today!”

Or perhaps Papa Smurf will induce warm and fuzzy feelings in the abuser, and he will take his kid out for ice cream instead of making the poor child live in the closet (like my pool boy, Ruben, and that greasy naked guy from my last post. Go ahead and look ladies - and some of you gentlemen - I‘ll wait).

What if the abuser sees a pic of Wile E. Coyote and starts ordering all kinds of gadgets from Acme to use on his poor child? Yeah, you didn’t think about that, did you? We’ll just see how you feel when the news comes on and reports that some child had a giant anvil dropped on his head or was blown up after eating Fruit Loops mixed with gunpowder. WAY TO GO, FACEBOOK USERS!!!

So, after thinking about how totally ridiculous and futile this campaign was, I promptly changed my profile pic to Foghorn Leghorn. Not to prevent child abuse, but because the FogLeg totally ROCKS! “Ah say, ah say, boy! Don’t beat yore kiddo!”

If You Don’t Re-Post [this long ass diatribe] Then You Hate Jesus

Have you ever noticed that facebook has a lot of people with way too much time on their hands? (Hello, Black Kettle…I’m the Pot!) And they LOVE to issue challenges. Like this one:

One facebooker has challenged all believers to put this on their wall.....In the Bible it says, "If you deny me in front of your peers, I will deny you in front of my Father, at The Gates of Heaven." This is a simple test. If you love God and you are not afraid to show it, repost this.

Well, damn! If I don’t post this, then apparently I’m going to Hell. It says so right there on facebook! What about the fates of all those people who died before facebook was invented? Oh, crap! Everyone who has died before last week went to Hell!

After all, isn’t there something in the Bible that says, “No one comes to the Father except through your facebook status?”

Maybe in Leviticus???

Don’t get me wrong. I love Jesus and the troops and the children and the cancer survivors and the Chilean miners and the Haitians (except for that one topless chick with the droopy boobs - don't they have Victoria's Secret in Haiti?), but can we get over the condemning shit? Just donate some money or screw a soldier (or a Haitian). I’m sure they would appreciate that more.

Well, gotta go change my facebook status to where I keep my purse: “I like it under the coffee table.”

And then could someone please get over here with a crane and some sort of pulley system to get my naked ass out from under the coffee table after my husband misinterprets that whole little post?  You might wanna bring some Vaseline or Crisco, as well.

{Sigh} And while you’re at it, bring me a hand basket so I can get packed….

Friday, December 3, 2010

Fat Girls Make Better Shoplifters

I’ve got a little story that will make you proud you are NOT from the state of Oklahoma. For those of you who are from Oklahoma….uhhhh, sorry, I guess.

This seems like a classic Wal-Mart story, but it actually took place at a TJ Maxx in Edmond, OK. Allegedly, 28-year-old Ailene Brown and 37-year-old Shmeco Thomas are facing felony shoplifting charges after being caught by the loss prevention officers at the Maxx.

It may not seem like much of a story so far. Shoplifting happens all the time, right? Well, read on, reader people.

Ailene and Shmeco were (allegedly) using their bodies to conceal the items they were (allegedly) stealing. These paunchy plunderers were (allegedly) sticking items under their breasts, belly fat, and beneath the skin hanging under their armpits.

Ok, still not impressed? Stay with me, folks! I’m about to tell you what they were shoplifting (allegedly). Here is an alleged list:

Four (4) pairs of boots
Three (3) pairs of jeans
One (1) wallet

Perhaps I should add a pictorial display just so you can fully appreciate the magnitude of the items this dynamic duo were (allegedly) stuffing into their crevices and overhangs.

Four pairs of boots

Three pairs of jeans - probably size XXXL

Holy giant globs of fat, Batman!  I can't imagine all of this, $2600 worth of merchandise, fitting under the blubber layers of two women.  I'm (allegedly) pretty well-endowed in the chest area, so I tried to put a pair of boots under there at home.  KLUNK!  They fell right out.  I was able to successfully walk around with a bottle of nail polish under there, though.  So how much flippin' fat do these beefy bandits have be toting around to (allegedly) conceal 4 pairs of boots?  And that's not even including the jeans, wallet, and gloves!  DAMN, Gina!

Oh, when I was searching for pictures of boots, this came up:

Ahhhh, look at
I tried to hide him under my boobs, but he was kinda greasy and kept sliding out.  So I locked him in the closet along with my pool boy, Ruben.

The one question that is burning in my mind is, "What did the loss prevention officers do with the merchandise that they (allegedly) retrieved from the body canyons of Ailene and Shmeco?"  Did they put it back on the shelves for other unsuspecting shoppers to purchase? 

Just in case, I suggest that you don't buy any boots or jeans from TJ Maxx this season.  And I think you should probably smell any wallets or gloves before you purchase them.  If you catch a whiff of gub'ment cheese, sweat, tuna, and J.Lo perfume, put them back on the rack and back slowly away.  Then go home and sniff some bleach.

So let's meet the fleshy fashionistas.  
Ailene and Shmeco - The Portly Pilferers
And what the hell kind of name is Shmeco?  Is it Yiddish?  For some reason, her name reminds me of the word "shmeckel," which means "small penis" in Yiddish.  Oy vey!  Somehow, I don't think that's what her mom was going for. 

In a related story, a teenager in Brooklyn (allegedly) jacked an $84 turkey from a deli.

First of all, HOLY SHIT!  Eighty-four dollars for a farkin' turkey?  Maybe you should eat more ham, Brooklyn!

By the way, when I was searching for pics of "turkey in my pants," this picture came up:

Well, alrighty then!

But I digress.  I tend to do that...a lot.  Anyway, back to the story.  The larcenist lad, Deon Williams, had 2 yoots as lookouts when he (allegedly) crammed a 12-pound turkey down his britches and walked outside.

A hooker on the street corner asked, "Is that a turkey in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"  Okay, that part didn't really happen, but it would have been wicked if it did.

The butcher, Sergio Marte, chased the thief out of the store.  Deon yelled, "I'll give it to you - don't touch me!"

The butcher quipped, "I don't want to touch you - just give me the turkey!"  The heister dropped the turkey and the butcher bent over to pick it up.  At this point, the little piece of shit (allegedly) hit the butcher in the jaw!"  The butcher, being a tough Brooklyn boy, picked up the poultry and returned it to the deli case.

[Note to self:  If you buy a turkey in Brooklyn, beware of a distinct "crotchy" odor."]

This entire fiasco was captured on video surveillance, and young Deon was captured a couple of days later.  The judge will probably sentence him to 30 seconds of community service and warn him to steal steaks next time because they are easier to conceal in your drawers.

Moral of this way-too-long, rambling story:  GET A FUCKING JOB AND STOP (allegedly) STEALING!

This post has been read and edited by my attorney (allegedly).

Monday, November 29, 2010

...And Don't Call Me Shirley!

Well, the Opto-Mom is sad….very sad. Actor Leslie Nielsen has died {sniff, sniff}.

I’m not ashamed to say that I absolutely adore goofy comedies. Nielsen played Dr. Rumack onboard a near-fated flight in “Airplane!” and the hapless Detective Frank Drebin in the “Naked Gun” movies. If you haven’t seen these movies, then you are seriously missing out on some insane silliness that will keep you in stitches.

Let’s just use this post to review and enjoy some of the choice lines from these two Nielsen characters. In other words, I’m mailing it in today.

Rumack: You'd better tell the Captain we've got to land as soon as we can. This woman has to be gotten to a hospital.
Elaine: A hospital? What is it?
Rumack: It's a big building with patients, but that's not important right now.

Rumack: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
Ted Striker: Surely you can't be serious.
Rumack: I am serious... and don't call me Shirley.  [my favorite!]

Rumack: Captain, how soon can you land?
Captain Oveur: I can't tell.
Rumack: You can tell me. I'm a doctor.

Rumack: What was it we had for dinner tonight?
Elaine: Well, we had a choice of steak or fish.
Rumack: Yes, yes, I remember, I had lasagna.

Frank: That's the red-light district. I wonder why Savage is hanging around down there.
Ed: Sex, Frank?
Frank: Uh, no, not right now, Ed. We’ve got work to do.

Hapsburg: I don't recall your name on the guest list.
Frank: That's OK. I sometimes go by my maiden name.

Frank (on his love, Jane): But there she was, just like I remembered her. That delicately beautiful face, and a body that could melt a cheese sandwich from across the room. And breasts that seemed to say, “Hey, look at me!” She was the kind of woman that made you want to drop to your knees and thank God you were a man. Yeahhhhh. She reminded me of my mother all right, no doubt about it.

Dr. Meinheimer: Lieutenant, I really do hope you find the people responsible.
Frank: Well, I’m sorry I can’t be more optimistic, doctor, but we have a long road ahead of us. Like having sex, it’s a painstaking, arduous task that seems to go on and on forever, and just when you think things are going your way… nothing happens.

Hapsburg: You do speak French, don’t you?
Frank: Unfortunately no, but I do kiss that way.

Frank (on the environment): I want a world where Frank Junior, and all the Frank Juniors, can sit under a shade tree, breathe the air, swim in the ocean, and go into a 7-11 without an interpreter.

Frank: It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girl dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.
Jane: Goodyear?
Frank: No, the worst.

Thanks for indulging me today. Surely this has brought a smile to your face.

I know, I know...stop calling you Shirley!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Take My Thanksgiving Quiz - Seriously! It's FUN!

As I was cooking today, I started thinking about my bloggy friends from around the country.  I thought it would be interesting to do a little Thanksgiving quiz.

No, I’m not going to ask what you’re thankful for today. I’ve seen enough of that on facebook lately: my family, my job, my friends, my health, blah blah blah.  This is more about your Thanksgiving meal, traditions, and vernacular.  I’ll ask the questions and put my answers underneath.  You guys can put your answers in the comment section.  I look forward to reading them!

1. Do you call them sweet potatoes or yams?
Sweet potatoes, or occasionally sweet taters, if I'm feeling particularly redneck-ish.

2. Do you stuff your turkey or serve your dressing/stuffing separately?
Separately. It’s quite an ordeal, as I make enough for 150 people, even though we only have 5-10 people eating here.

3. Do you call it dressing or stuffing?

4. Anyone have any weird or unusual traditions?
I usually perform an interpretive dance to “U Can’t Touch This,” but my ankle is still bothering me, so I just sang it this year.

5. Do you dress up for the Thanksgiving meal or go casual?
Casual. OMG, I barely have time to put on pants, much less dress up, though we do use our nice china for the meal.  I'm usually decked out in my Texas A&M t-shirt or sweatshirt (depending on the weather).  Gotta be ready for some football after the meal.  Gig 'em Aggies!!!

6. Do you have a traditional turkey dinner or do you have Chinese takeout or PB&J or something?

7. What is your favorite pie and/or dessert.
Banana pudding.  Just ask my newly enlarged ass.

8. What is your favorite side dish.
Asparagus. It’s yummy and it makes your pee smell funny…what other side dish can do so much?

 9. How do you like your sweet potatoes/yams prepared?
I like the sweet potatoes mashed, mixed with sugar, butter and vanilla, then topped with brown sugar and pecans. (Let me know if you want the recipe…it rocks!)

Now wasn’t that more fun than “What am I thankful for?” Because honestly, I don’t want to hear it; unless, of course, you are thankful for me. In that case, please ELABORATE…ARTICULATE…TITILLATE!

I’ll get you started:

10. I am most thankful for Opto-Mom’s:
a. wit
b. hotness
c. dancing skillz
d. blogging

11. The Opto-Mom blog post that has made me the most thankful this year is _____.

12. My thankfulness of Opto-Mom can best be described by this one word: ____.

13.  Opto-Mom is my favorite blogger of all time:
a. True
b. Totally!
c. Hellz yeah!

Golly, that thankfulness thing WAS kinda fun! Hope you all participate!
Truly, I am thankful for all of the new readers and friends I’ve met since I started blogging earlier this year.  I love you all!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

They Can Take My Life, But They'll Never Take My Gravy!

Ok, readers. I’m really pissed off. First of all, I went to the airport to get one of those pat-downs, and I was turned away. Apparently, you have to buy a ticket and actually plan to get on a plane before they let you in the security line. UGH!

Seems discriminatory against someone trying to get a little touchy-feely action, but that’s just my opinion.

So, I was going to buy a ticket to Wisconsin and get my pat-down on. However, it turns out that the TSA has banned several items this holiday season. Here is a list of these banned items:

Cranberry sauce
Creamy dips and spreads
Snow globes

What the hell, TSA? Just. What. The. Hell???

This means that I can’t take my cheesy Ro-Tel dip on the plane with me. And how am I supposed to endure a flight without gravy?

I can understand the banning of liquor, because they want you to buy the fine liquor they offer on the plane. That’s just simple economics and marketing. Fine. But until they start serving gravy on the plane, I feel that we should be able to bring our own. What am I supposed to dip my pretzels in?

I just can’t seem to relax during a flight if I don’t have my little container of spinach-artichoke dip with me. Can I get an AMEN over here? I already have my Chicken in a Biskit crackers packed in my carry-on bag, but now they shall go dipless. It’s a damn travesty, I tell you!

And can someone please tell me what the TSA has against snow globes? I never go anywhere without my “Bigfoot Riding a Sled” snow globe. I think this should be classified as a national emergency. Take us to DEFCON 4!
Me TRYING to have a Happy Thanksgiving

The worst part of it is the ban on cranberry sauce. If I’m going to visit my sister-in-law in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, what am I supposed to do about cranberry sauce? What if they don’t have cranberry sauce in Wisconsin? Someone call the ACLU, because my cranberry rights are totally being violated.

I assume that some wacky terrorist has tried to hijack a plane with strawberry jam and a cheese ball (I just flippin’ love those cheese balls!), so they have ruined it for the rest of us.

Thanks a lot, terrorists!  No, really...THANKS!

Monday, November 22, 2010

The Mommy Diaries - My Mom Jumped Off a Bridge!

My darlings, I have introduced you to a few members of my family, including my dad and my grandfather. As you can tell from these stories, I have quite an eccentric family.

My mom, Susan, was no different, but I haven’t really talked about her because she passed away at the young age of 46 due to a stroke.  It totally freakin' sucks every day of my life, but she was so funny and left me with so many great memories, I thought I would share her with you guys.  I’ve decided to introduce you to the adventures of Susan through a little segment I call “The Mommy Diaries.”

Now don’t worry, I’m not going to be all sappy and mopey. I shall continue to blog with my usual semi-amusement and attempted hilarity.


Let’s start our story with a little bit of background. My mom (Susan) was raised with her sister Julia and her brother Jimmy. When my mom was 12, her mother got re-married to a man with 2 kids, Jan and Brad. Here are the kids’ ages when the couple got married:
Susan 12
Jan 13
Julia 14
Brad 15
Jimmy 16

Yeah, it was like the Brady Bunch, but these people actually had hormones, and I‘m pretty sure they never said anyone was “absolutely dreamy.”

With five teenagers in the house, you know it’s got to be wild, but my mom and Jan (the two youngest) were the ones who gave my grandmother the most trouble. For some reason, they always did the exact opposite of what they were supposed to do.

Now, we’ve got a big bayou that runs through our little town.  Back in the 60’s this bayou flooded, and the result was lots of contaminated water.  Of course, you had little urchins that insisted on jumping into these sewage-filled waters because the water level was high enough that they could jump off the bridge without suffering a broken neck. 

My grandma worked at the hospital and had seen lots of illnesses (but no broken necks!) from the contaminated water, so she warned all of her kids, but especially the adventurous Jan and Susan, NOT to jump into that nasty ass water.

Yeah, you can see it coming, can’t you?

The next week, my grandma went to Susan and Jan and asked them if they had been jumping off of the bridge. “Of course not,” they replied with big innocent eyes.

I think this is the look they were going for:
Who, me?

Then my grandmother pulls out the town newspaper, and VOILA! Guess whose picture was on the front page in MID-FUCKING-AIR jumping into the crusty bayou water? If I have to tell you the answer, you apparently haven’t been paying attention.

Front page news in my town.
Watch for more "The Mommy Diaries" segments, including when my mom made a kid pretend to smoke cigarettes and when she stuck her foot in her mouth with a royal flair!

I Am The Finder Of Lost Children

I was at The Wal-Mart (the ninth circle of Hell) this weekend and there were some young ladies selling baked goods outside. They were all about 11 to 14 years old and were trying to raise money for their church youth group trip.

Of course, I stopped by to make a purchase. Not because I’m a hog-ass who was craving cookies, mind you. It was for the children, people! For. The. Children. And…and…for Jesus! Yeah, that’s the ticket.

For Jesus and children, not chocolate and muffins.

For faith and humanitarianism, not gluttony and cravings.

I’m a selfless individual sacrificing my figure for those in need. Got it? Ok, good. Now we can continue.

After I made my purchase and a small donation, I turned around to walk off. The young ladies, who were very sweet and polite, were calling out stuff like, “Bake sale!” “Everything is just $1!” They had a lot of goodies left, so they were really trying to get rid of this stuff.

Then one of the girls called out, “We’ll dance for you!” Then another one said, “Just a dollar!”

Shit! I could practically hear every child molester in the county perk up and run to their non-descript white vans, in search of $1 dances by churchy pre-teens.

I really don’t think the girls meant anything bad, but it still creeped me out, and I wanted to go stand near them with my .38 and shoot anyone who tried to mess with them. Did I mention that there were no adults supervising these little ladies? No adults. I believe they are old enough to sell baked goods by themselves, but would it have killed one of their parents to stand out there with them, just to make sure they were okay and that none of them said anything stupid? Like, perhaps, inadvertently making offers of dancing that could attract some of the more unsavory members of our society…

Let me tell you, nothing pisses me off more than child predators. I think death is too pretty a fate for these asshats. I think prison is too good for them, even if they acquire an unwanted cellmate/boyfriend named Big Bubba and a raging case of anal herpes.

These “people” will never be rehabilitated or cured. They will just get better at avoiding prosecution, usually by murdering the child so they can’t tell anyone.

I think convicted child predators should have their body parts cut off with a dull butter knife, starting with their ding dongs. Each day they would have another body part removed, without the benefit of anesthesia, of course. I’m sure that went without saying. Just to mix it up a little, I think a rusty chain saw or machete could be thrown in from time to time. Whack off a finger one day, a toe the next, until there is nothing left but a torso and a head.

Then send the nub to live on Anthrax Island. And surround the island with hungry sharks and lots of stingrays.

And that’s actually my “nice” plan. I’m keeping my “naughty” plan in the vault in case someone ever messes with any of my family members. I can tell you that it involves cockroaches, a scalpel, and rubbing alcohol.

I recently went to Chuck E. Cheese for a birthday party. Many of you know how I feel about this place of torture. Here is a refresher for those who need it. I attempted to get out of it by sticking an ice pick up my nose (which, consequently, is also part of my naughty plan for dealing with child molesters) and feigning a nosebleed. No one was fooled, so I had to go. DAMN!

I was TRYING to play skee ball when I noticed a little girl who was about 2 or 3. She was crying and looking around for someone she knew. The poor kid was terrified! I called my daughter over to make the toddler feel more comfortable. We tried to get her name, but she wasn’t talking at all, just crying.

My heart was breaking at this point. She held my daughter’s hand, and we looked around for her mom. The child didn’t recognize anyone, so we found the nearest Chuck E. Employee, and handed her over.

About 20 minutes later, I saw the little girl walking around again BY HERSELF, still crying! WTF, Chuck E. Employee? My daughter and I again took responsibility and walked the child all over the restaurant and gaming area, asking each parent if they were missing a child.

No one was even looking for the kid! I would have been tearing the place apart if I had a child that young who was missing. That’s the nice thing about having a 9-year-old. I can sit over in the dining area and drink Dr. Pepper and sneak pieces of pepperoni off of the pizzas and stick my finger in the cake icing while she plays games. But who the hell lets a toddler roam around with absolutely no supervision?

Chuck E. Cheese, for all its faults, is a pretty secure environment. Though now I wonder, since the Chuck E. Employee just gave up on finding a little kid’s parents, and turned her loose to fend for herself.

I finally asked for a manager, and she assured me that she would find the kid’s parents. She told me later that the parents were outside smoking, and that’s why we couldn’t find them. I personally think the dumbass parents must have been smoking crack. Would any normal parent just leave a baby to wander around by herself? Hell no! You’ve gotta be a crackhead to do that! And this child was lost for at least 45 minutes. I don’t know how long it takes to smoke crack, but my guess would be about 45 minutes.

This was not the first time I found a lost kid at Chuck E. Cheese. It also happened a couple of years ago, but I found the mom really quickly. (She was actually LOOKING for her kid - imagine that!)

I think I’m going to become like Eddie Murphy’s character in The Golden Child. You can just call me The Finder of Lost Children. Hopefully, I won’t have to go to Tibet or fight any biker gangs. For real, I just got my nails done.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Hey, TSA…You Can Touch MY Junk

I guess you’re all aware of the TSA’s new so-called safety procedures. Have you seen the blogger who told the TSA agent not to touch his junk while he was receiving one of the new enhanced pat-downs? That sounds kinda fancy, right? “Enhanced” usually means to make something better. So, are these new groping pat-downs better?

Well, hells yeah they are!

I’ve decided I’m going to start flying A LOT more. I want my junk touched! It’s like I can be molested in the name of national security. Awesome!

WHAT? The Opto-Mom needs a little action over here! Don’t judge.

The deal is, they have these new full body scanners, which basically show you totally naked. If you refuse the full body scanner, you get sexually molested by a TSA agent.

From now on, I’m refusing the body scanner. After all, I would be totally embarrassed for some stranger to see me naked. I don’t think I look all that good naked. However, I FEEL fabulous! I’ve got some nice firm areas and some fantastic soft parts. Ok, I have mostly soft parts, but they feel lovely, if I do say so myself (and I do!). If you fondle me with your eyes closed, I am frickin’ HOT! Or so I’ve been told by my pool boy, Ruben.

{Oops, did I say that out loud?}

The reason I don’t want to do the body scanner is because I’m afraid the scanner watcher people in the other room will have this conversation:

SW1: Oh my God! Come look at this, Scanner Watcher 2!
SW2: What the hell?
SW1: I’m not sure what *this* area is supposed to be.
SW2: Is that her…ummm…
SW1: No, that’s over here.
SW2: I’ve never seen one like that.
SW1: And what is this hanging down part?
SW2: Dunno, but that can’t be good for anybody!
SW1: {holding head sideways} Is this a weapon?
SW2: No, I think that’s hair.
SW1: Who has hair in that area?
SW2: I guess this lady does. Up here, is that cheese?
SW1: Yep, looks like Swiss.

So, no body scanner for the Opto-Mom! I think I could totally have fun with the pat-down though. Here is how I imagine it would go:

TSA: Now I’m going to feel near your groin.
Me: Okay. Mmmmm, Mama likey!
TSA: Ma’am, I’m just checking you for weapons.
Me: Yeah, could you check just a little to your left? Ok, now faster. Uh huh, that’s right!
TSA: Turn around. I’m going to check you from behind.
Me: I’ve heard that before.
TSA: I’m going to place my hand….here.
Me: Ooooh! Guess I got my Christmas goose early!
TSA: Now I’m going to check under your breasts.
Me: Not unless you buy me dinner first and call me your sweet love dumpling.

I wonder if they would let me on the plane after all that. Who cares? I could just buy a ticket to another flight and get violated at another gate. Good times!

I suggest you take the whole family along. They will even give one of these enhanced pat-downs to your toddler. Try explaining that to your kids when you have the whole good touch/bad touch conversation.

“Honey, it’s not okay for anyone to touch you in your private areas. Not Uncle Zeb. Not your teacher. Not the priest. The one exception is that chubby, hairy dude at the airport with the bad breath and sweat rings. He is going to prod all of your private parts to make sure you’re not a miniature terrorist. Oh, I mean ‘enemy combatant.’”

These TSA agents are pretty sharp. They are not fooled by a three-year-old girl with pigtails and dimples. No siree! That’s terrorist enemy combatant material right there!

{Are you feeling the cynicism here, readers?}

However, there is talk that Muslim women will be exempt from these pat-downs. They can only be searched around their heads. Well, that’s really freakin’ helpful…if she decides to smuggle a bomb in her goddamn nostril. I don’t feel it’s even worth the time to search the 3.5 inches of flesh they are allowed to show. Does everyone see the irony here, or do I have to say it and piss off the politically correct crowd? Do I?

Okay, let’s put it this way: If planes are being blown up with Polident, you should concentrate on searching little old ladies. If planes are being hijacked by middle-aged men in funny hats who drive tiny go-carts, then focus on all the Shriners who come through the line. If the weapons of choice for terrorizing our flying machines are juice boxes and stuffed animals, then feel free to frisk all of the toddlers getting on the plane. However, if 99% of hijackings are inflicted upon us by Middle Easterners, then perhaps the TSA could use a little bit of fucking common sense and give a second look to Middle Eastern passengers.

Or we could just perform anal probes on every single passenger to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.

I have a few suggestions for the TSA. Hopefully, they will take note so we can all be happier:

1. Have someone of the opposite sex do the fondling. I think we would all enjoy it just a little bit more. Unless you’re a homosexual, and then you can be fondled by an individual of the same persuasion. If you’re from Yemen, they can have specially trained goats to frisk you. No discrimination…everyone should have fun while having their sexy bits felt up at the airport.

2. Make sure that Agent Groper is good looking. Seriously, no one wants to be probed by an ugly person. If the travelers enjoy the violation of their bodies, they are less likely to complain.

3. Two words: hand warmers.

4. Institute a “Get to Know Your TSA Molester Day” at the airport. They can have hors d’ouvres and cocktails (no pun intended), and perhaps we can play some of those super fun icebreaker games.

5.  I think that all passengers should receive a back rub before their pat-down.  It will be kind of like foreplay.

If this whole enhanced pat-down thing doesn’t work out, I have another idea.

Pay attention here; this is good:

Each passenger will step into a specially designed booth. This booth will have sensors that detect explosives. If an individual sets off the sensors, then he is automatically detonated. Case closed. No long drawn-out trials and hearings. It’s just bye-bye terrorist…oops, I mean, “enemy combatant.”

That, my friends, is what is known as the perfect deterrent. BAM!