Opto-Mom

Dear Opto-Mom: Response to The Queen's Question

2012-01-14T02:05:00.000-08:00

First of all, I would like to remind fans of reality TV shows to check out my new blog, Unvirtual Reality. We are currently discussing The Bachelor and will add American Idol when it starts next week. I've only got like 3 followers, so I would appreciate it if you would get your sweet asses over there right now and make me feel important!

After my last Dear Opto-Mom post, I received a question from The Queen. I am certainly not one to reject the needs of royalty, so I am giving her my advice and sharing it with the rest of you peons, as well. You're welcome.

Dear Opto-Mom:
I'm pretty sure my neighbor is getting laid on a regular basis. We live in an apartment complex with very thin walls. He's either screwing the hell out of his wife,, or he needs to see a doctor, cause if he's making those sounds when he craps,, it can't be good.... Should I go check on him?

Dearest Queen:
Ahhhhhh, the apartment complex. I fondly remember the days of thin walls, car alarms, meowing cats, and horny neighbors. Our first apartment after we got married was right below a sheriff's deputy's apartment. When we first moved in, we thought, "Wow! This is great! No one will break into our apartment or car with that deputy car parked out front."

However, said deputy was a damned freak! It should also be noted that he was a right portly fellow and when he got busy with his lady friends, tectonic plates began shifting and the patterns of the tides were altered.

And this fellow had STAMINA. Holy bedbangers, did he have stamina!?! One time, I heard the Barry White start up on his cassette player, and I knew it was on. Then the banging of the bed against the floor (which was actually our ceiling) began. I went and took a bath, shaved my legs, dried my hair, and he was still going strong!

The hubs and I thought about trying the “if you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em” tactic. And I do NOT mean that literally, regarding the licking ‘em or the joining ‘em, because just ewwwwwww. But this Master of Love was quite noisy, and his grunts and groans made me laugh. Just for the record, husbands are not generally amused when you laugh while you’re supposed to be in the throes of passion. So we usually just turned on some death metal to try and drown out The Big Loud Copulator.

I’m convinced that his lady friends had to go to the emergency room for a tune up and fluid check after visiting with him. And possibly some sort of front-end alignment.

But my advice to you, My Queen, is to record the sounds of their voracious love-making and then set it to some background music. Kinda like a soundtrack! You can just go with the basics (“Let’s Get It On”) or could get really creative here and use different songs throughout the boinking process.

For example, during the foreplay section, you could play "The Stroke." If it sounds like the wife is getting her head smacked into the wall, you could go with "Bang Your Head," and follow up with, "My Neck, My Back." During the loudest part, use, "Let's Get Loud." When things sound like they are taking a bit of a kinky turn (you hear farm animal noises or whatever), go with, "The Sweetest Taboo." For the big finale, I suggest, "Boom Boom Boom." You get the idea!

After you have made the soundtrack, make lots of CD copies and hand them out to the neighbors. It would be a nice touch to make an album cover with the couple's picture in it.

However, if you find out it's the crapping problem, just tell him to eat more fiber. But the whole coordinating a sex CD sounds a lot more fun, so I hope that's it.

Dear Opto-Mom: Pervert Wife, Stealing Granddaughter, and Whiny Co-Worker

2012-01-09T20:05:00.000-08:00

First of all, I would like to say, "Welcome back to my blog!" Sorry I've been absent, but we are all moved into our new house and I have internet service again, so I'm BAAAA-AAAACK! (More on the new house later.)

Secondly, since I've had trouble keeping up with this one blog, I thought it only reasonable to start a second blog. Yeah, that makes sense. Whereas this blog is very random and willy nilly in nature, my 2nd blog is more specialized: Reality T.V. I am currently watching and discussing The Bachelor, so come on over to Unvirtual Reality and let's get snarky on some bitches!

Just a reminder about the Dear Opto-Mom segments: These are actual questions taken from Dear Abby articles, but instead of including Abby's wise and trusted advice, I have included my own unwise and totally irresponsible suggestions.

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: I met my husband, "Jerome," two years ago. During our courtship, he helped me to find faith. Because of that, I wanted a completely honest relationship with him and confessed to a "less than moral" experience that occurred several years before I met him. Apparently he was able to accept it, because he proposed and we have been married for several months.

Recently, however, Jerome has been saying it's bothering him and he doesn't know how to let it go. I'm angry and hurt that something that happened long ago is now causing problems in my marriage. It has made me question why I was honest with him.

I'm afraid Jerome will never forgive me. He says he feels as though he has to compete with my past and doesn't feel he can live up to it. How do I tackle this problem? I can't change my past, I can't take back what I told him, and I can't do anything to change my husband. Please help. -- HAUNTED BY THE PAST

DEAR HAUNTED: What a lovely story. Now, tell us what your big secret is. I promise we won’t laugh or think less of you. {crossing fingers} Were you a prostitute? Did you cheat on a math test in high school? Did you read the National Enquirer while you were standing in line at Wal-Mart and then put it back without buying it?

Seriously, you can’t write a letter like that and then hold out on the best part. Ok, I’ll guess some more, and you let me know when I’ve got it. Slept with a priest? Replaced your grandma’s Alzheimer’s medicine with Tic-Tacs? Worked your way through college on a stripper pole?

Come on! I’m working my ass off over here. Just tell us! Were you a waitress who spit in someone’s food? Did you leave a flaming bag of poo on the doorstep of some dude who dumped you? Are you a child molester?

If you don’t tell me what it is right now, I’m just going to assume you’re a child molester. Ok….that’s it! You want to play smart with me, I’m going to turn you in to the proper authorities as a child molester. I hope Jerome leaves you forever. You’re sick, you know that? Don’t ever write to me again, perv!

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: My granddaughter, who is 18, had a child last year. She kept the baby and dropped out of school. She is now working and has returned to school to get her GED. My husband has always loved her and helps her financially.

My problem is she has twice stolen from a fund I keep for our church. Although she is the only one who could have done it, my husband refuses to believe it. I now insist on locking everything up.

Abby, if she had asked for the money either time, her grandfather would have given it to her. I think she gets an adrenaline rush from stealing. What can I do about this? -- AT A LOSS IN SOUTH CAROLINA

DEAR POOR GRANDMA: What the fuck is wrong with kids these days? Stealing from a church? I think you should chop off one of her fingers every time she steals. But wait, then she would just apply for disability and milk the taxpayers for the rest of her life. And I‘m sure should would continue to milk Gramps, as well. "Poor little me. I don't have any fingers. Boo hoo hoo. Can I have $500, please, Gramps? Just stick it between my freshly pedicured toes (since I no longer have any fingers)."

Seriously though, Granny. Get yourself a nanny-cam and put it in the room where you keep the money. That way you will have proof to show your husband since he obviously takes the word of a teenager over his own wife. And when you get the proof, please tell him that Opto-Mom said he’s an asshole.

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: I share a small office space with a co-worker, "Tammy," who is going through a nasty divorce. At first I tried to be supportive and listen to her problems, but now I think it was a mistake. I now dread going to work because I know I'll have to listen to a litany of complaints as soon as I walk through the door.

I have tried to encourage Tammy to talk to a priest or a psychologist, but she refuses because she's embarrassed. Is it time to inform our manager? I don't want to get Tammy in trouble, but I feel I'm incapable of giving her the kind of support she seems to need. I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. Please help. -- WELL-INTENTIONED IN MINNEAPOLIS

Dear Well-Intentioned: Oh, sure! Tell the boss so Tammy will get fired. That’s JUST what she needs right in the middle of this suck-ass time in her life. She probably talks incessantly about her divorce because she’s tired of hearing about how your little Suzy went poo-poo in the big potty last night or about little Timmy’s huge win at the state Parcheesi tournament. Way to be a great friend, ya bitch! Maybe next week you can have her car repossessed.

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Now, don't forget to go check out Unvirtual Reality to meet the crazies trying to marry Bachelor Ben!

Sexy Stuff for Your Kids

2011-11-18T12:27:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s pretty much official: we are buying a house!

Halle-freakin-lujah!

We are keeping most of our furniture, but I wanted new bedding and decor for our bedroom and for Miss Smarty Pants’s room.

So, I got online to do a little browsing. I decided to look for cute stuff for MSP first. Since I was pretty sure she didn’t want her room to look like a 1970s-era Florida Motel 6, I searched for “kids bedding.”

I’m sure you’re relieved to hear that I found some really weird stuff; otherwise, this would just be a post about me shopping online, and that would be boring as shit.

In the kid department, I was expecting to find stuff like this for a 10-year-old girl:

However, I was NOT expecting to find stuff like this:

Well, this is TOTALLY appropriate for the child who sleeps with his or her chosen mate.

“Sexy and Pretty” is a great theme for a 10-year-old girl, wouldn’t you agree? And there are two of them from which you can choose. Golly gee, we live in a great country!

Perhaps “Sexy Poker,” complete with the naked woman silhouette is a better option for a boy.

There was a whole series of these for the kid who enjoys online dating. “Say, baby, what’s your sign?”

This one was made from one of Andrew Dice Clay's jackets, circa 1988.

Though these are pretty fabulous for any child, my daughter decided to go with a peace sign theme. Whew!

Because the search for bedroom stuff was so much fun, I decided to check out bathroom stuff. In case you’re not aware, the trash cans, shower curtains, soap dispensers, tissue holders, etc., are collectively called “bathroom ensembles,” which I subsequently learned is code for “outrageously overpriced items for your crapper room.”

Seriously, people, $150 dollars for trash cans and soap holders for the room where you take a shit? Some of the trash cans are $40-$50 alone! It’s a place to throw away snot rags and tampons, for Pete’s sake. The damn thing should make me cookies for that price!

It pissed me off so much, I decided to just focus on cool shower curtains.

Ladies, this one is for you.

Please do not shoot tiny circles out of your abdomen.

This one would make some of my family feel right at home. Wish they had one with prison bars.

If you can’t afford a real chandelier, but still want that little extra touch of class, this is the one for you.

I’m not sure I could make poopy with Edward glaring at me.

Somebody get the plunger! Momma's stuck in the toilet again!

This one is titled North Carolina Outer Banks Vicinity. Wow! I can’t tell you how long I’ve been searching for this exact shower curtain.

DC Transit Map. It would be more helpful if they marked the areas where you are most likely to be the victim of a homocide.

I suggest you get this one for your kid’s bathroom. You will get 50% off if you also purchase one of the sleezy comforters shown above.

There’s nothing I enjoy more when showering than studying chemistry.

If sushi is really this important in your life, please seek psychological help.

Here's a great one if you like to decorate for Christmas? I am just so disturbed by this one, yet I cannot seem to look away from Santa's ass.

But I think I’ve narrowed it down to these two. I would love your opinions on which to purchase for that extra bit of fabulousness for my bathroom.

Classic film

Or Culture and Literature

Happy Hallow-Christma-Giving

2011-10-31T19:24:00.000-07:00

I’m so confused. (Yeah, there’s a shocker.)

Is it Christmas already? Did I sleep through Halloween and Thanksgiving, or did we just skip all that shit and go straight to the Ho Ho Ho Season?

Oh, it’s Halloween today? Well, ya could knock me over with a feather, because I went to The Wal-Mart looking for some Halloween stuff, and thought I had stepped into a Winter-fucking-Wonderland.

There were Christmas dresses and wreaths and lights and various holiday doo-dads all over the place. And hidden behind a lovely selection of Hickory Farms Holiday meat baskets, I finally found 2 bags of low-budget Halloween candy (you know, the kind with mostly those crappy-tasting jawbreakers?), a Superman cape, and a hooker wig.

Luckily, I already had a costume for Miss Smarty Britches and myself (so that hooker wig's still available, ladies!). We took part in a haunted birthday party last weekend. MSB was the Grim Reaper, and I was a zombie.

Just add red lipstick, and I'm Courtney Love!

We really had a lot of fun scaring the shit out of little kids. Yeah, we’re mean.

The kids went on a “haunted” walk through the woods. MSB was up in a treehouse, so it looked like she was floating, and she threw plastic spiders on the kids when they walked past her.

They stuck my ass out in the woods by some fake headstones with a spooky light. I laid down in front of the headstones, and my cousin dumped two trash bags full of leaves on me.

When the kids walked by, I stuck my hand up out of those leaves, and the screaming and crying began! WooooHoooo! I fucking ROCK as a zombie! Then I limped after them a la Jason Vorhees, eliciting even more peewee panic.

So, tonight MSB is trick-or-treating with my sister and her two-year-old, who is the cutest stinking li’l cowboy EVER!

And I’m at home with more than 5 minutes to myself, so I decided to grace you with a Halloween blog post.

Now, last Halloween I did a post about how all of the female costumes were slutty, naughty, or sexy. I suggest you read it HERE, or my zombie self will come to your house and eat your brains.

This year, I've decided to post about what some of you people do to your poor dogs every Halloween. That's right....doggie costumes! Along with what I think these pups would say to their owners if they could talk.

"I hope you get warts."

"Somebody better save me a turkey leg."

"A cat? You dressed me up as a fucking cat?"

"I'm a wild and craaaazy guy!"

"What are the guys down at the park gonna say?"

"Oh yeah. I'm cooking you up something REAL nice. Check your shoe in the morning."

"I couldn't be Toto. Nooooo, I've gotta be that skipping bitch Dorothy!"

"Gilligaaaaan!"

"The bitches love a baller!"

"I'm the bride, and this is MY day! I said I wanted roses, not no cheap ass daisies! It's MY DAY, DAMMIT!"

"Kiss my ass. Really."

"I'm really more of a jeans kind of girl."

"Garsh, our owners are creative...NOT!"

"I am Bark Vader."

"Shit on your rug, I will."

"I bit the sheriff...."

"What do you mean you don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no puppies?"

"I never get my own costume! I always have to wear my cousin, the chihuahua's hand-me-downs. NO quiero Taco Bell!"

"What am I, Jurassic Bark?"

"I am SO chewing your hat later, sailor boy."

"Yeah, I'm Paula Deen's dog."

"Slash can't rock out without his hat and guitar. Bring me my fucking hat and guitar!"

"Hey, Marmaduke. Wassup, big boy?"

"Weiner dogs dressed as hot dogs: yep, that's original."

"Pimpin' ain't easy."

"You've jacked my hair all up. Do you have any idea how much my salon charges?"

"But I'm not even a hound dog!"

"Have the lambs stopped crying, Clarice?"

So, there you go. Hope you enjoyed this year's Halloween post. And for cripe's sake, just let your doggie be a doggie!

Dear Opto-Mom: Babies, Divorces, and Chauffeurs

2011-10-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

Are you ready for a new edition of Dear Opto-Mom? Of course you are!

Just a reminder: These are actual questions taken from Dear Abby articles, but instead of including Abby's wise and trusted advice, I have included my own politically-UNcorrect opinions.

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: Our daughter "Bree" has just announced that she's pregnant with her third child. Her other children are 1 and 2. My wife and I are in our 60s and provide child care three days a week, while the other grandma baby-sits for two days. We also pay for preschool and swimming lessons, as well as cook dinner for them on the days when we baby-sit.

Bree and her husband do not earn enough money to support even one child. We know we'll be expected to finance college for the children. When we agreed to help out, we asked them to promise they would not have more than two kids. This third one will cause us to use up our savings, increase our child care responsibilities and take us into our 80s to continue helping. Is it wrong to feel used? I am very depressed over this. -- OVERWHELMED IN SAN DIEGO

DEAR OVERWHELMED: I suggest that you and your wife move to Tahiti. Send the kids 20 bucks on their birthday and enjoy your retirement. Maybe if Bree has to take care of her own children for once, she will keep her legs together and her drawers pulled up.

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: I'm going through a divorce and have decided not to begin dating until it's final. I'm doing this because I wouldn't be comfortable dating someone who is still married. I told myself I would politely explain this to any gentleman who asks me out, but no one has -- and I'm a little bothered by it. No one approaches me at all. I don't wear my ring and I consider myself to be a very attractive person.

I have had several boyfriends throughout my life, and looking back at them and my marriage, I realize that I was the first to show an interest and ask them out. I'd like it if a guy approached me and made the first move. I'm worried that when I'm ready to date it won't happen. I understand that approaching a stranger is a little unnerving, but I'm beginning to take it personally.

Please don't suggest going to activities outside the home to meet people. I work and go to school full-time, so that's not an option anytime soon. -- LOOKING FOR A DATE --IN THE FUTURE

DEAR LOOKING: You probably have either bad breath or body odor. Have you done the underarm-sniff and the breathe-in-your-hand test? Try this: Go to the Occupy Wall Street protest and maybe some 25-year-old will invite you back to his mom’s basement to have sex. Just make sure to tell him you hate capitalism while wearing designer jeans and making calls on your iPhone and eating Ben and Jerry’s.

Otherwise, I’m not sure exactly what you want. You seem to be upset because no one is asking you out so you can tell them, ‘NO.”

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: My fiance, "Johnny," and I have been together for four years and engaged for 16 months. Our wedding is in a few months. Until recently, Johnny didn't have access to a car. That means for the past four years I have done all the driving, including visiting him at school two hours from my home every three to four weeks.

It didn't bother me because it was out of Johnny's control; his money went to pay for his education. However, because he has a car now, I feel it's reasonable to ask that he do most -- though not all -- of the driving. We live in the same town now and our homes are a mile apart.

Johnny seems to take offense at the suggestion and acts as if I am "punishing" him. I'm not, but I'm tired of driving all the time and would like a break now that he can give me one. What do you think? -- AT THE WHEEL AGAINST MY WILL

DEAR PUSHOVER: Tell Johnny to grow the fuck up. You’re not a chauffeur. If you want a more subtle approach, call him “Miss Daisy” and make him ride in the backseat. Make sure to wear a uniform with one of those snappy chauffeur hats...

*Disclaimer - Please note that Opto-Mom is not a licensed therapist, and you should not take her advice under most circumstances. If you do decide that Opto-Mom's advice is right for you, side effects may include: divorce, headache, being fired from your job, getting shot, getting stabbed, diarrhea, being waterboarded, getting arrested, loss of limb(s), psoriasis, death, separation from your children, syphilis, and being charged with tax evasion.

Dear Opto-Mom: Hookers, Thieves, and Air Travelers

2011-10-11T00:47:00.000-07:00

I was really bored the other night, so I started reading Dear Abby online. Yes, my life has officially sunk to a new level of pathetic-ness.

Anyway, I noticed that all of Abby's answers were so vapid and uninspiring, so I felt the need to take those same questions and provide my own answers.

Get ready for some brilliant insight, with this, the first episode of DEAR OPTO-MOM!

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: My mother and I had a debate about who should pay for dates. She thinks the man should pay, especially if sex is involved because "you don't want to give it away for free."

I disagree. I say the man should pay for the first, and maybe the second date. After that, they can agree to alternate.

I have been seeing a wonderful guy for about six months. I'm pretty sure I make more money than he does, but even if I didn't, I don't feel the need to be supported. I don't agree the guy should always have to pay. Times have changed since my mother dated. What's the general consensus on the subject these days? -- INDEPENDENT WOMAN IN MARYLAND

Dear Independent: I think your mom is calling you a hooker. Seriously. Don’t talk to her anymore. Personally, I say let him pay, and you save your money and buy some new hooker shoes.

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: I go to movies occasionally with my niece "Connie" and her two kids. Although the theater has a sign "No Outside Food or Drinks Allowed," Connie sneaks snacks in in her oversized purse, then doles them out after the lights go down. I'm not talking about a couple of candy bars; she brings bags of candy, chips and cans of soda.

While I agree with my niece that the price of refreshments is outrageous, I also believe it's the theater operators' prerogative to set prices and policy. I suggested Connie skip the snacks during the movie and take the kids out for ice cream afterward, but she said she didn't want to "deprive" them. When I offered to pay, she said it wasn't about the money, it was "the principle, and besides, "everybody else does it."

I feel my niece is teaching her kids it's OK to break rules you find inconvenient as long as you can get away with it. I enjoy the outings with them so I've dropped the subject for the sake of harmony, but it still bothers me. Connie probably thinks I'm a critical old crank who's out of step with the times. I'd love your opinion. -- PAYING FOR MY POPCORN IN OREGON

Dear Popcorn: Good Lawd! Are you always this uptight and bitchy? If your niece brings Junior Mints to the movies, I’ll go with her!

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DEAR OPTO-MOM: Just a quick question regarding airline flying etiquette. What would be the proper way to handle a situation where the flight attendant comes around to serve refreshments and the person next to you is napping? Would it be appropriate to give him a little nudge when the attendant gets to your row, or just order your own and let the person be skipped over? -- UP IN THE AIR IN MASSACHUSETTS

Dear Airhead: No, you should sing “Super Freak” until he wakes up. Start quietly and gradually increase your volume until you’re at full voice during the chorus. If he still doesn't wake up, steal his pretzels.

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*Disclaimer - Please note that Opto-Mom is not a licensed therapist, and you should not take her advice under most circumstances. If you do decide that Opto-Mom's advice is right for you, side effects may include: divorce, headache, being fired from your job, getting shot, getting stabbed, diarrhea, being waterboarded, getting arrested, loss of limb(s), psoriasis, death, separation from your children, gonorrhea, and being charged with tax evasion.

Holy $*@#. Am I Really This Old?

2011-10-04T00:39:00.000-07:00

Oh no! Say it ain’t so!

The Opto-Mom is… is… 40?

Yep, it’s true. My birthday was in September, but I've just now gotten up the courage to admit it.

This was me about 40 years ago:

All together now....."Awwwwww!"

And this is me today:

Fabulous at Forty!

On this prestigious occasion, shall we take a look back through the adventurous life of one silly Opto-Mom? Yes, yes. I think we shall.

Before I could even walk, I managed to climb up the drawer handles next to the refrigerator, and when my mom came back from the bathroom, I was sitting ON TOP of the refrigerator. This was only the beginning of my exploits and, therefore, a life of boisterous merriment for my parents.

When I was a toddler, my cousins and I would sneak into the refrigerator and eat butter right from the stick. Our moms would come in and there would be tiny little tooth prints in the butter.

From the ages of 5-7, I was obsessed with hair. I once took a round brush and rolled it up all the way to my scalp, at which point it got tangled and stuck there. It took 6 hours and 2 hairdressers to get it unwound. I also enjoyed cutting hair…mine and any friends or cousins who dared to get near me when I was wielding a pair of scissors.

My childhood home was right near the railroad tracks, so I adapted by sleeping VERY soundly. My parents would hear a THUNK in the middle of the night, and when they got up to investigate, I would be curled up on the floor beside my bed, still fast asleep. Also, I could sleep through a smoke alarm, which would inevitably go off every time my mom made gravy for breakfast.

When I was about 8, I wanted to sing “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” at church because I thought it highlighted the triumph of good over evil.

My sister is 12 years younger than me, and when she was a baby, I accidentally threw her in the ceiling fan. This has had far-reaching implications on her mental status, with which we are still dealing today.

My mom always told me that if I had questions about sex, to ask her. So I talked to her once about a rumor that was going around school. I asked her if it was true that if you sneezed 3 times in a row, it was the same feeling as when you are “doing it” and have an orgasm. She replied, “Apparently, SOMEBODY'S ‘doing it’ wrong.”

Well, now that I've either bored or entertained you with my lifetime anecdotes, I guess I'll go take a nap. You know, we ~~old~~ middle-aged people need our beauty sleep!

How Antibiotics Thwarted a Zombie Attack

2011-09-15T00:53:00.000-07:00

The Appoccal- the Apockili- Oh, Screw It…The END is Near!

At least that's how I felt last week.

Miss Smarty Britches came in the other night complaining about her arm hurting. I asked to look at it, and was told NOT TO TOUCH IT, MOMMA!

Here is what her arm looked like:

Well, that's just...well...yeah.

That thing was so swollen and it hurt from her hand to her elbow.

It looked like there was a splinter or something in it, so I got the tweezers to try and get it out. As soon as I touched it, that sonofabitch popped open and all manner of gunk started oozing out.

Why can’t this crap happen in the morning so we can go to the doctor? But nooooo, she’s gotta wait until 9:00 p.m. to start the death squirt. Kids are so inconsiderate sometimes.

I finished draining the 4.5 gallons of pus and blood out of this volcano of flesh while my daughter was giving me the Stank Eye and no doubt, wishing a thousand deaths upon me.

Then she told me that her pinkie toe was hurting. Well, shit. Let me look at that too.

Hmmmm, nothing to see there, just a tiny scrape. I cleaned it, treated the arm and toe with peroxide, bandaged them both, and sent her to bed.

The next day, her arm looked like this:

Still giving me the Stank Eye the next day.

The toe was really getting swollen and painful, so I tried to get her a doctor’s appointment, but they couldn’t get her in that day. By bedtime, her toe was developing a black area on it.

The next morning, it looked like this:

Ummm, that's not good.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I kept her home from school and called the doctor and told them I HAD to bring her in today because I suspected a spider bite and her fracking toe looked like burnt hamburger meat. I guess I was convincing (or perhaps it was my insane mom voice shrieking about spiders and toe rot and elephantiasis and Tourette's Syndrome), because they gave us an appointment right away.

Even though it was her toe I was worried about, I thought I would show the doctor her arm, as well, since we were there and all. I took the bandage off, and this is what blasted my eyeballs.

OmigoshThatIsSoDisgustingAndMyDaughter’sToeIsGonnaFallOffAndHerArmHas
BeenInvadedByAliensAndISeriouslyAmGoingToPukeButThisIsMyChildAndIHave
ToTakeCareOfThisButHolyPusBallsHaveYouSeenThatShit!?!

Since they couldn’t find “turning into an apocalyptic zombie,” on the diagnosis list, the official diagnoses were an abscess on the arm and cellulitis in the pinkie toe. The pediatrician took a culture and gave my daughter some antibiotics and a topical ointment.

She didn’t give me shit, so I started myself on a vodka drip as soon as I got home.

After being on the antibiotics for a couple of days, the culture results came back as Staphylococcus aureus, but fortunately, not MRSA.

The arm still looked like zombies had been munching on it, but the attack zone was definitely getting smaller. And the toe? Well, it barely hurt and the swelling in her foot was gone. The toe itself was all bubbled up and resembled a Nerf football, but at least she could walk again.

Toe-lio? MC Hammer Toe? Toe-litis? Lep-toe-spirosis?

At our follow-up visit, the doctor opened the toe up with a needle and it started squirting brownish-red fluid everywhere. I won’t even post a picture of it afterward, because it’s worse than all of these other ones combined. I thought we had struck oil. Or maybe chocolate milk.

Y’all know how I like to find a silver lining in everything, right? Well, I’m using this opportunity as a weight loss program. Cleaning these wounds and changing the dressing 3 times a day has served as a definite appetite suppressant for me.

If it doesn’t go away soon, I’m gonna look like Kate Moss up in here. Calvin Klein, I’ll be waiting for your call.

Read This Or You Will Be Eaten By Wolves

2011-08-26T09:45:00.000-07:00

I got one of those chain e-mails the other day. Not unusual, but since I'm kinda OCD, this one annoyed the donkey piss out of me. I’ll show it to you, and then dissect it with my customary fervor and ruthlessness:

What the HELL? What am I, like 12 years old? And this was sent to me by an alleged adult!

It starts out by saying, “Don’t read this.” Ummmm, ok. Then why in the name of Cooter Brown did you send it to me? Then it goes on to say that now I’ve started reading this ingenious piece of prose, I should NOT stop.

Then it warns about the freakiness of this e-mail phenomenon with random spelling (“tommorow?” Really?) and horrific punctuation.

On to the “tasks” that it gives me: I have to repeat my name, my mom’s name, and my crush’s (the PROPER way to spell/punctuate it) name a number of times. Yeah, because my computer knows whether or not I’m really doing this.

And why am I saying my mother’s name while trying to get someone to kiss me? That’s a little kinky, dude. Not how I roll.

Then I have to paste it to 4 groups, or maybe 5 groups (contradictory much?). And I MUST do this within 143 minutes (random much?). Then press F6, which all computer geniuses know is the key for making your thoughts magically appear on your screen.

If you do all of this you will apparently have an awesome day tomorrow and some gorgeous person is gonna come kiss you on Friday.

Well, let me tell you…I had diarrhea the day after I did this and Matthew McConaughey did NOT show up to my house and kiss me last Friday. Which is probably good, since I had the diarrhea and all. I also have not heard of Justin Bieber running around kissing random pre-teens for no apparent reason on Fridays.

In conclusion, this does not work, so stop yelling out people’s names and re-posting e-mails and fervently smashing the F6 button. Nobody’s coming to kiss you because you send dumbass messages like this. You suck.

Deal with it!

And if you have bad luck one day, chalk it up to “THAT’S LIFE!” and not because you only said your mom’s name 4 times or because you didn’t push F6 with enough passionate fury.

Oh, and if anyone runs into the delicious Mr. McConaughey, please ask him if he had the overwhelming urge to kiss some strange lady in Texas last Friday. Just curious!

My daughter got caught up in this ignorance a couple of weeks ago. She runs in the room, waving her cell phone at me.

"Mom, I just got this text message," she says breathlessly. "If I don't send it to at least 35 people, something REALLY BAD will happen!!!"

She was slightly frantic at this point, in that dramatic way that only a pre-teen girl can achieve. She was worried because she has a pre-paid phone, and she didn't have enough texts left for the month to send the required 35, as directed by the nimrod who sent it to her.

"It says that a girl in Arizona got this message and didn't forward it, and the next day she was eaten by wolves! And a boy in Michigan ignored it, and both his parents died when their house was hit by a hurricane!"

A hurricane. In fucking Michigan.

So, I had to sit her down and have a little talk. "Honey, in this world there are people we call 'fucktards...'"

The Eternal Klutz Rides Again!

2011-08-19T01:39:00.000-07:00

Don’t yell at me! I know I’ve been absent for a while.

I’ve been busy doing lots of important things: designing a new space shuttle for NASA, curing lupus, doing a little foreign diplomacy work. You know…things like that.

Ok, that’s total bullshit. I did take Miss Smarty Britches (MSB) to basketball camp, though. Of course, to a 9-year-old, that’s more important than that lupus and diplomacy shit.

Onward to the klutzy part. On the 4 ½ hour drive (could have been 4 hours if I didn’t drink so much Dr. Pepper and have to pee every 30 minutes), I ran into some construction.

Of course. This is Texas, and there is ALWAYS construction somewhere.

Anyhoo, while we were just sitting there, I had the car window open a little bit.

About this time, an 18-wheeler sped by and threw a rock through the miniscule 5 inch crack in my window.

The damn rock bounced off my temple like one of those bouncy balls in a concrete room.

Here is an artistic rendering of the situation:

Trying not to cuss because my kid was in the car.

As I was checking for blood and brains oozing out of my cranium, I noticed that MSB was oblivious to the whole thing, just rocking out to her MP3 player in the back seat. I'm sure she just would have laughed at me anyway.

We managed to make it to College Station without any further head wounds or loss of brain matter.

And no speeding tickets. Yay, me!

When we arrived at our hotel, we found out that there was a bingo convention in town, and all of the attendees seemed to be staying at our hotel.

There were about eleventy thousand grumpy, senior citizen, bingo fanatics clomping around the hotel. They ate all of the waffles at the continental breakfast, and generally wreaked all manner of skin-hanging havoc at the swimming pool. And one of them farted in the elevator every time we got in.

Now, let’s get back to me, me, klutzy me! We were getting ready to go register for the camp, so I hopped in the shower in the hotel room.

The hair washing was uneventful, but as I bent down to pick up my conditioner, I slipped and fell ALL THE WAY OUT OF THE TUB!

I swear, it was like I was in the Matrix (except with more grunting noises and less coolness).

I fell ass-backwards, hitting my foot on the faucet and then bouncing off the toilet with my ribs, squirting conditioner everywhere, eventually landing flat on my back on the tile floor.

Body proportions determined by the artist may or may not be accurate.

Ummmm, fucking ouch!

I somehow got my naked ass up without slipping on the conditioner and sat in the tub to finish my hair.

I don’t know about you, but our bathtub at home has some texturing on the bottom of it. (Mildew is a texture, right?) But the bottom of the hotel tub was slicker than owl shit. I'm writing to my Senator about making a new law.

I’m not sure how it happened that I took my daughter to an intense sports camp, and I was the one that came back with a knot on my head, bruised ribs, a scraped foot, and my spine practically broken in half.

Admit it, I really am extraordinarily talented.

A little about the basketball camp. It was at Texas A&M University. The women’s basketball team won the NCAA National Championship title this year, and they were the camp counselors.

So this was a great opportunity for MSB, who is a novice at basketball, never having played on an organized team or anything.

But she was on the team that won the 3-on-3 championship for the camp, out of hundreds of girls! Yay, MSB!!!

So maybe she’s the talented one in the family, and I’m just the clumsy one.

Now I'll bore you with a few pictures because it is Miss Smarty Britches's 10th birthday today!!!

With A&M Head Coach Gary Blair

Doing the Dougie with Coach Blair
They totally dance like white people.

With her favorite player, Maryann Baker

One tired girl on the way home.

By the way, MSB is over 5 foot, 4 inches tall and is currently wearing a size 11 in ladies' shoes. I think she's built to be a basketball champion. I hope so, because I fully expect her to reimburse me for the cost of all these expensive-ass shoes.

Happy 10th birthday, sweetie!!!

My Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Ramada

2011-07-24T00:51:00.000-07:00

MILKSHAKE AND SPARKLE

A hooker who goes by the name, “Milkshake” was arrested with her cohort, “Sparkle,” at a Ramada Inn in Waterloo, Iowa.

Allegedly, the police were tipped off that Milkshake and Sparkle had an ad on craigslist, advertising their, ummmm, bidness.

Police called the number, and an undercover policeman was told to go to the Ramada Inn, where he was offered a BJ for $200.

TWO-HUNDRED DOLLARS? Holy gonorrhea lips, Batman!!! I have to say that Sparkle is a pretty young lady, but Milkshake looks like she’s been blended a little too long, if you know what I mean. She looks kinda rough for a 22-year-old.

Perhaps they should advertise like this genius of marketing techniques:

GOING UP?

Samantha Jo Daniel, 18, also from Iowa, was arrested in a sting operation after she wrote her hooking advertisement on the wall of an apartment elevator. "Will Fuck for $," with her phone number.

It's really pretty smart, if you think about it. The ad is concise and to the point.

Also, she's cut out the bane of the hooker's existance...the pimpy middleman, and she operates with low overhead. No pesky paper or fancy flyers for this gal.

Oh, no. All she needs is a magic marker and her womanly "assets."

And why am I feeling the urge to sing, "Love in an Elevator?" Perhaps because this ho looks at least 20 years older than Steven Tyler, and she's only 18!

To be honest with you, I had no idea that Iowa was becoming a hub of prostitutional activity.

I guess with this damn economy...

I’ll Take Weiner For $49.95

2011-07-08T08:11:00.000-07:00

Weiner, Weiner, Weiner.

Until other titillating news overtook The Great Weiner Scandal of 2011, all of America seemed to be enthralled with this goofy bastard.

If you’ve been living in Zimbabwe or something and don’t know about this, Congressman Anthony Weiner was caught twittering inappropriate pictures of his crotch (are there any “appropriate” pictures of one’s crotch?) to women across the U.S.

Now he’s decided to give up his seat. Isn’t that what he was trying to get those women to do? Give up their seats?

Ba-dum-dum! Thank you! I'll be here all week!

So what will the lad do with all of his time now?

Perhaps he should become a photographer. He’s certainly shown a proclivity for self-portraiture.

Or maybe he can get a job at this place:

I just don't think I could eat anything from this building.

I'll bet he could help this place get some business:

Or he could even help to develop children's games...like this one:

Yay! Meat!

I doubt he’s getting any money from this, but Herobuilders has come up with an Anthony Weiner doll. The basic model is $39.95.

However, there is also an anatomically correct version of the doll that is $49.95.

{cricket, cricket}

Am I the only one that finds it hilarious that the doll WITH the penis is only $10 more than the PG-13 version? Guess the doll-makers weren’t too impressed with Anthony’s wiener.

Perhaps I shouldn’t call it a doll. I think it’s actually considered an “action-figure,” which is code for “little-boys-wanna-play-with-dolls-too-but-their-daddies-won’t-let-them-so-they-made-up-a-fake-macho-name-for-them.”

Like G.I. Joe was an action figure. Hey…I wonder if the Weiner doll has the kung fu grip too?

Thank you very much! Please remember to tip your waitresses!

I've Invented The Alcohol/Caffeine/Sugar/Salt Diet!

2011-06-17T01:01:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else find themselves tempted to click on every article that touts “the best diet of the year!” or “reduce belly fat with this one simple tip!”?

Then you get to the page showing the “before” and “after” pics. Apparently, these diets and medications cause women to get a tan, have a teeth-whitening procedure, put on some makeup, and brush their goddamn hair.

Because the “before” pictures look like me when I wake up from hibernation in the middle of winter (picture Don King as a grumpy white woman). And the “after” pics look like a gussied-up, over-tanned teenager before prom.

Fixed hair, got some contacts and a spray tan.

All she did was suck in her gut and take her hair out of that ponytail.

She switched out her grandma's shirt for a fitted tee and then photoshopped the pic.
(Look at the difference in the length of her legs.)

She got rid of that horrible 80's hairdo and that snazzy denim blouse.
And the tan...don't forget the tan!

This is a dramatic weight loss and change in skin color.
Also, doesn't the "before" pic look like the chick from "Silence of the Lambs?"

Hey, I can see my goober now!

Anyway, I clicked on one of these links the other day. I knew better, but gosh darn it…it sounded so promising! I mean, it’s the same diet that Jennifer Aniston or some other skinny bitch uses.

Let me clarify. It’s some skinny RICH bitch that either doesn’t have kids or has the money to pay someone to watch her kids while she “trains” and eats her chef-prepared lunch in her sunroom.

Since I’m absolutely positive that this is the diet that is going to make me look like a supermodel, I thought I would share it with my blog family, just because I’m cool like that.

First of all, it says that some weight gain can be attributed to stress, and the top stress-causing culprits are: sugar, caffeine, salt, and alcohol. So avoid these items.

Wait. Seriously? Sugar, caffeine, salt, and alcohol are the only things that keep me from committing murder at least 4 times a day. So, that’s totally gotta be a mis-print. I’m sure they meant to say that you SHOULD NOT avoid these items.

So make sure to ingest lots of sugar, caffeine, salt, and alcohol every day. Here are the rest of your diet suggestions.

Breakfast for the first day: quinoa flakes or steel-cut oats with fresh berries and flax seeds.

Mmmmmmm. Flax seeds. Yummy. Talk about motivation! I don’t know what the hell steel-cut oats are, but it sounds scary, so I’m gonna skip that part. I’ll just eat a bowl of Frankenberry. See? You’ve got your berries, and I’m pretty sure the little marshmallows can be substituted for quinoa.

So my breakfast will include Frankenberry, a Dr. Pepper (for the caffeine), and some bacon (for the salt). What am I forgetting? Oh yeah…the alcohol. I’m thinking a mimosa would be lovely.

Here is the lunch suggestion: Cut out processed carbohydrates, replacing them with whole grains such as brown rice, bulgur, quinoa or millet.

WTF?

I know what brown rice is, and I like it - when it’s smothered with sesame shrimp. The article didn’t specifically mention the sesame shrimp, but I’m sure it was an inadvertent omission.

But bulgar, quinoa, and millet? Sounds like some Little House On The Prairie shit. They were all pretty skinny on that show - except for that Mr. Edwards. He must not have eaten his millet every day. Anyway, There's no way I’m gonna be able to find all this stuff at Brookshire’s.

Wait! Didn’t we decide quinoa was that stuff in the Frankenberry marshmallows?

Ok, now we’re getting somewhere! So for lunch, I’ll eat Chinese food, marshmallows, and…..and….chips! I’m thinking I saw “bulgar” and “millet” on the ingredient list on a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos one time. And I'll add a bloody Mary for the much-needed alcohol component.

For dinner, it says to make sure to have some protein, vegetables, and lots of water. For the protein, I will have a 14 oz. ribeye. For the vegetables, I will have French fries WITH ketchup (doubling up on the veggies, people. You may worship me!) For the “lots of water” bit, I believe I will have a couple glasses of Jack Daniels and water with extra ice.

Now, I’m quite the overachiever, so I will go one step further and have an entire bottle of wine after dinner. I encourage you to do the same…just go for it if you’re serious about your weight loss, folks!

This may sound like a really weird diet, but, hey! Jennifer Aniston or somebody uses it, and she can’t be bigger than a size 2, so it‘s gotta work, right?

I guess the website just needs a better editor to proofread the diet pages, because there were definitely some mistakes on there. Thank God you people have me here to straighten things out.

I’ll be rocking those skinny jeans in no time! Also, I may have to have a liver transplant.

Rock On, Extremely Drunk Dude!

2011-06-08T23:55:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, the husband and I went to a local festival where they were having 3 tribute bands.

For those who don’t know, tribute bands are bands that dress and perform like a famous band. It’s basically for people who are too cheap to go see the real thing. [Pointing discreetly at husband.]

First was an Eagles band, and then an excellent AC/DC band. The final band, Guns 4 Roses started at 10:00 p.m.

Hey, bet you can't guess which band Guns 4 Roses pays homage to. Hint: It‘s not Aerosmith.

Anyway, by this time, some of the people at the festival were pretty toasted.

And by toasted, I mean drunk as hell, shit-faced, sloshed, plastered, juiced, three sheets to the wind.

And no, this is not an autobiography. Assholes.

The dude who is the focus of this post was all of the above, and probably some I couldn’t think of. I think he may have also been a crackhead, except he wasn’t skinny. Maybe he’s new at being a crackhead, and just hasn’t lost the weight yet. Hmmmmm.

So, after watching the drunk for a while, I thought of you, my bloggy friends, and whipped out my camera. Here is a series of photos, along with a narrative by yours truly (that’s me!).

Let's show some skin and get it started up in this mo-fo!

He's gonna do a trick! He's gonna do a trick!

Eh, never mind. He's just gonna hold up that pole for now.

Whoa! Somebody moved the damn sidewalk!

That's right, buddy. Drink a little more. #nothelpful

"Young man, there's no need to feel down
I said young man, pick yourself off the ground."
AC/DC sang that, right?

Drop it like it's HOT!

And for our final picture, I just couldn't resist popping my sweaty head up in there.

Before I go, I would like to say that my favorite vendor at the festival (besides the funnel cake stand, of course) was Black Top Revolution. Go check them out here.

They had some awesome shirts, rockin' boots, and really cool jewelry. I totally need some of this stuff to appropriately portray my rock 'n' roll lifestyle, so y'all go buy some gear and make sure to tell them I sent you; and PLEASE stress that they should send me some free shit.

Go, do it now! Thanks!

I'm Gonna Hunt You Down, Hit-And-Run Driver!

2011-06-02T00:17:00.000-07:00

I stopped at Family Dollar last night to get some thread because Miss Smarty Pants has a dance recital this week.

Any veteran dance parent knows that thread will be a necessity at some point in the recital. Other required items include: safety pins, scissors, Tylenol, Valium, Mountain Dew, vodka, and pepper spray for other people's unruly children.

[Note: A stun gun can be substituted for the pepper spray.]

Anywhoodles, I went to the dollar sto’ for some silver thread (which they didn’t have, but kiss my ass, because white is just going to have to work). MSP didn’t want to go inside because she was wearing makeup and had her tap outfit on.

So, being the nice (read: lazy) mom that I am, I let her stay in the car. After all, I’d be in and out in 2 minutes.

It actually turned into 3 minutes because I couldn’t find the thread because it was by the goddamned soup.

Way to make shopping convenient, Family Dollar!

So when I come back out, MSP hops out of the car and tells me that some lady hit my car and drove off.

Another lady who witnessed the cruel ramming of my sweet Honda came up and gave me her phone number and a partial license plate number and a description of the perpetrator.

The witness tried to stop the car-abusing bitch from leaving, but the wench just waved her hand vaguely, and said, “Tell her I live over there, and she can come to my house.”

Then she DROVE THE FUCK OFF!

I know you’re thinking, “No she didun’t!” Well, yes she DID!

Ok, now I’m pissed. There’s really not much damage to my car, just a few scratches, but she should have either waited on me or left me a note.

I probably would have told her not to worry about it. But not now.

Oh noooooo! She done pissed off the Opto-Mom now, so I called the police. They drove around “over there,” which was the general direction that the vehicle-bashing asshat indicated with that vague wave of her scummy hand.

They didn’t have any luck finding her, probably because she lives “over yonder,” which is the exact opposite of “over there,” just in case you’re not familiar with Texas vernacular.

It does give me a small amount of satisfaction that my Honda SUV only has a few scratches, but the witness lady said that Miss Shithead’s SUV looked like it had been smashed with a large hammer.

Muahahahahaha! MUAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh, sorry.

Artist's representation - Not the actual vehicle of the asshat.

But I’m not giving up. Anyone here in East Texas, be on the lookout for a white Yukon with a smashed back end. The driver was a black female with a pink shirt.*

Make sure to leave me YOUR ideas of an appropriate punishment for Miss Scuzz-Nugget.

I’m coming for ya, Biotch! Be afraid…

*Please note that the perpetrator probably has more shirts, and has most likely changed out of the pink shirt in an effort to avoid my Sherlock-like detection.

World's Worst Names for a Metal Band

2011-05-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, my husband is in a rock band.

When they started trying to think of a name for the band, they went through several options. The first name they came up with was Dy-Nasty. Like Dynasty, but with a little more “nasty.”

The next name that they considered was Dirty Dick and the Four Skins, but that was nixed because they only had 4 people in the band, and none of them were named Dick. Damn! And I really liked that one.

They finally settled on SnakeBone, which is a good name for a rock band because you’ve got “Snake,” which is kinda sinister sounding, and you’ve got “Bone,” which is creepy.

Yeah. Rockers are into skulls and shit like that.

Because my mind works in mysterious ways, I decided to think up some of the WORST names for a rock/metal band. And share them with you, because I'm generous like that.

Metallicious - Kinda like Bootylicious, but more metal-y.

Rainbow Zombies - Here is a pic to depict the awesomeness of the Rainbow Zombies.

Wretched Kangaroo Abortion - I may have to trademark this.

Buffalo Ballet - And that’s totally NOT a Kirstie Alley reference.

Blonde Spider Apocalypse - Oooh, scary...and yet still sexy, don't ya think?

Shaved Kitten - Ok, I must say that this one is pretty fuckin’ great!

Meow, muthafucker.

Drunken Prius - For the metal band gone “green.”

Immortal Vogue Princess - For the metal band gone gay.

The Chunky Ferrets - I'm thinking Sammy Hagar could front this band.

Head Bangtastic - Mixture of head banging and fantastic-ness.

The Cheesy Skull Boys - Skull for the spooky factor, and cheese because, well…cheese is hella awesome!

Cocaine Diaper Addiction - This reminds me of my uncle. Trust me, you don't wanna know.

Black Avalanche Band - Has kind of a cool vibe.

Iron Unicorn - Not your everyday sparkly unicorn.

Ass of Lucifer - My husband’s totally going to try and steal this one.

On that note, I think we’re done here.

Newsflash - WTF Edition

2011-05-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

Hello, boys and girls!

Today we will be discussing the Adult Baby phenomenon.

I’m not talking about when your husband gets the sniffles and pretends he’s dying so you have to bring him food in bed and give him a sponge bath. And you know he’s totally milking his illness for the sponge bath part, right?

No, I’m talking about Stanley Thornton. Even his name sounds gooberific.

I just made up the word “gooberific.” Feel free to use it in your day-to-day operations.

Stanley, even though he is now 30 years old, lives his life as a baby. He drinks from a bottle, sucks a pacifier, and sleeps in a crib. And he is spoon-fed by his “mommy.”

Oh yeah, let’s talk about his “mommy.” Playing the role of boobalicious baby mama is his roommate, a former nurse who spoon feeds him, and babies him. I’m going to show you a picture of them, but please try not to get too aroused.

Sex-aaaay!

And yes, Stanley is wearing penguin-bedecked footie pajamas. SWEET!

Stanley was recently highlighted on the National Geographic channel's show, "Taboo." Here is a clip. You've totally gotta watch this shit!

Is everyone feeling better about themselves now? Yeah, me too.

And the best part about all of this is that Stanley lives off of our taxpayer dollars! Yay! I'm so happy to be supporting this guy who is able to design and build his own furniture, yet refuses to get a fucking job.

When an Oklahoma senator suggested that we shouldn't be supporting able-bodied individuals with disability payments, widdle Stanley-Poo pitched a big fat baby tantrum. Here is his statement:

“You wanna test how damn serious I am about leaving this world, screw with my check that pays for this apartment and food. Try it. See how serious I am. I don’t care. I have no problem killing myself. Take away the last thing keeping me here, and see what happens. Next time you see me on the news, it will be me in a body bag.”

I think somebody needs his widdle mouth washed out with some soapy-poo!

Here are my thoughts on the situation:
1. Those Legos are way too small and are a choking hazard for an infant. His mommy should take them away and make him play with the big chunky ones.
2. Where do they find diapers that big? Also, I don't EVEN want to know who changes his diapers...gack!

Stanley's diapered ass - What woman wouldn't want a piece of that?

3. He reinforced the playpen to support up to 350 pounds. Stanley may be pushing his luck with that weight limit....just sayin'.
4. If he is able to switch to "adult mode" when he leaves the house, then he can use adult mode when he's at the house. He just chooses not to.
5. His teeth seem kind of yellow. Babies should NOT be smoking!
6. I think that if he wants to be treated like a baby, his driver's license should be revoked, and he should only be allowed to watch Teletubbies and Barney on TV.
7. Lots of people have hard childhoods. Get the fuck over it!

I'll just leave you with a couple of pictures that came up when I Googled "Adult Baby."

I think that's actually an anal plug.

Damn you, Google! Damn you to Hell!

Wash Your Arse, and Leave the Baby with Grandma!

2011-05-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

Well, I went back to Dallas on Friday. If you read my other post about my last trip to Dallas, I know what you’re thinking:

Do this bitch be crazy????

Don’t worry! There were no hookers and butt plugs that would make Godzilla cry on this trip. I went with my daughter’s 4th Grade Choir for a competition being held at a water park. I helped to chaperone 47 9- and 10-year-old kids around a gazillion gallons of water. Now I really know what you’re thinking:

Do this bitch be crazy???

Ummmm, yeah, probably. At least I drove my car and didn’t have to ride the bus. That would have brought back all kinds of disturbing memories from high school (which may or may not have included hookers and giant butt plugs)…but that’s another story.

When we got to the water park, I went to the bathroom, and noticed this sign on the door of the stall.

So, let’s just take these tips one-by-one.

1. PLEASE don’t swim when you have diarrhea, especially kids in diapers.

REALLY? I’m disturbed that they actually had to write this down and post it on the door. Because I know that when I have diarrhea, my first thought is, “Hey, I think I’ll run down to the water park and blow mud in the pool.”

Nothing says “cure for diarrhea” like the scorching Texas sun, greasy food, and thousands of screaming kids.

I definitely wouldn’t want to stay around the house near a bathroom. Oh, nooooo! That’s not nearly as adventurous as having that bubbling feeling in your lower tract and having to race 200 yards, dodging kids, to get to a toilet before you shit yourself.

People, please stay at home when you’ve got intestinal problems. Because having the squirts is definitely a prime opportunity for explosive sharting to occur. And trust me, none of us want to see that. Especially if you’re going down a water slide.

I’ll just leave you with that enchanting picture in your head, and move on to #2.

2. PLEASE don’t swallow the pool water.

Thanks to Captain Obvious for adding this one to the list. Did you even read tip #1?

3. PLEASE practice good hygiene. Take a shower before swimming, and wash your hands with soap and water after using the toilet and changing diapers.

Again, isn’t this obvious? Or are there people out there who think that if they’re going swimming they don’t have to take a shower for a week before? After all, the chlorine will get ya clean.

Never mind that you smell like an emu's ass before you get in the water. We don't mind!

I know I can't stand to go without a shower. I've gotta wash the odor of KY Jelly and gigolos off of my skin.

Wait! What was the question? Ummmm, please disregard that last part.

Let’s just talk about hand washing for a minute. I learned when I was a toddler to wash my hands after going to the bathroom. (Thanks, Mom!) Yet, they have signs in bathrooms all across the country reminding us to wash our hands. Seriously, wash your damn hands after touching your no-no poopy spot. The rest of us don’t want your hiney germs.

4. PLEASE take your kids on bathroom breaks and check diapers often.

If you need a sign in a bathroom to tell you this, you probably don’t need to have custody of your children.

5. PLEASE change diapers in a bathroom and not at pool side.

Yes, PLEASE! While you may think your baby’s tushy is adorable and that their shit don’t stink, the rest of us are not quite so enamored of asses and poo when we’re trying to relax at the pool.

And what is with everyone bringing babies to water parks and amusement parks? They can’t enjoy the slides and rides. They are usually hot, sunburned, and miserable the whole time, so just stop already!

6. PLEASE wash your child thoroughly with soap and water before swimming.

This goes back to #3 regarding showering. Don’t you bathe your baby anyway? If not, please see #4.

So, there are the rules, along with my expert analysis. It basically boils down to: Use proper hygiene and common sense, and leave the babies at home.

By the way, the choir kiddos did an awesome job and got a SUPERIOR rating, which was the highest rating possible. Thanks to the choir director, who is the most awesome music teacher in the world!

A big thank you also goes out to the teachers and other parents who came out to chaperone these great kids! Your patience is amazing, and I couldn’t think of a more fun group of people to spend my Friday with!

Now, let’s go next time WITHOUT the kids.

Archie Comics - Betty's Still a Ho

2011-05-11T07:20:00.000-07:00

I recently posted an updated version of the Archie Comic strip. You can check it out here.

Unless you're a comic book purist, in which case...ya might not wanna go there. Also, get a fucking life, you goober nerd. Comic book purist? Really?

This pic came up when I Googled "comic book purist."

Anywho, here is Episode 2 of the edgier, more relevant Archie:

OMG! Am I Going To Get Sappy Here?

2011-05-08T00:55:00.000-07:00

First of all, I would like to say that my sister, Lacy, is AWESOME!

Really, she didn't even bribe me with bacon to say that. I came up with it all on my own!

Wanna know what she did? Do ya? Do ya?

Ok, keep your pants on (except for you there sir...you can take yours off). I'm gonna tell you.

My sister made a beautiful pictorial tribute to our mom and put it on YouTube.

My mom. Isn't she lovely? (Just say, "YES!")

Our mom died in 2000 before she could see either of her beautiful grandbabies, who I will describe for you now. Briefly, so you don't get bored.

My daughter is Miss Smarty Pants (MSP), and she was born in 2001. My sister's baby, who we will call Rocker Dude (RD) was born in 2009. RD is so named because the child is not even 2 years old, and he already LOVES guitars. He likes to hold them, play them, look at them, lick them, what-ever-the-hell, just give the boy a 'tar and he is dandy.

So, without further ado, here is the video. I've narrated the pics below, just in case you give a shit who all these people are. Also, there are very sexy pictures of my legs included, so try to control your libidos, folks!

Ok, I guess that was WITH further ado, but now there's no more ado, so here is the video:

So, who the heck are these people?

1. Our grandma (Mom's mother)

2. Mom's parents

3-6. Pics of my mom wearing a selection of corny glasses from the 60s and 70s.

7. Mom and Dad - damn weirdos!

8. Me and Mom with a goat and a weird farmer dude. This is why I have an aversion to farms to this day!

9. Mom - more glasses

10. Bringing my baby sis home from the hospital. That's me with the sexy legs. I'm not sure how those skinny things didn't break in half. Good Lord!

11. Me and Dad

12. Mom and me holding kids at a birthday party. I think that's my sister trying to stick her head in the cake.

13. Mom and Lacy (my little sis) - They are so sweet when they're asleep, right?

14. Me, Mom, Lacy

15. Dad, Mom, and me holding Lacy. As you can tell, I got my sexy legs from my dad...but not my socks...

16. Lacy as a baby on the left. Me as a baby on the right. Don't write it out loud on here, but feel free to e-mail me privately if you think I'm cuter.

17. My husband and me.

18. Me lookin' all professional

19. Me and Dad. Grandma in the background picking her teeth.

20. My and my husband - gettin' ready to ROCK!

21. My sis, Lacy, at her high school graduation (the year after Mom died).

22. My cute sister!

23. Lacy

24. Lacy and Jerry Garcia...oh, wait! That's our dad.

25. Lacy

26. My wedding day; My sister's wedding day.

27. Me and Dad; Lacy and Dad - at our weddings.

28. Me after swallowing an entire ham. No. Wait. I was just pregnant. Damn!

29. Lacy with a cute little pregnant belly. I'm going to slap her next time I see her.

30. Holding my daughter for the 1st time.

31. Lacy holding her son for the 1st time.

32. Dad with MSP (1st grandchild)

33. Dad with RD (1st grandson)

34. Lacy with my baby

35. Me with Lacy's baby

36. Me and MSP

37. Lacy and RD

38. Sister and her family

39. Dad, Lacy, me, and MSP at Lacy's nursing school graduation.

40. Husband dancing with MSP

41. My husband playing 'tar with RD

42. Lacy with MSP at Miley Cyrus concert.

43. Lacy and me

44. Me, Dad, Lacy

45. Lacy - thinking she's a damn princess! Whatever!

46. Me giving the stank eye. WHY????

47. Daughter being prissy before she became a tomboy.

48. MSP

49. MSP the biker baby with my dad

50 - 52. MSP

53. RD and MSP - their 1st Christmas pics

54. RD with his faux hawk - Rock on, dude!

55. RD the chubby cheeked wonder!

56. RD and his daddy

57. RD with his 'tar!!!

58. RD

59. Bad hair day for my mom (top), MSP (middle), and RD (bottom)

60. Siblings - my mom on the right. Their aunt in the front

61. Some of Mom's awesome sisters! Love these girls!

62. Mom in the middle with some of her brothers and sisters.

63. Me and my sister lighting a candle in memory of our mom at Lacy's wedding. She shoulda been there. It's not fair.

If you're still here, thanks so much for sticking with me. And please give my sister a standing ovation.

Yes, right there at your computer. Go ahead and do it now, and I'll make sure to pass it along.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!!!

And Mom, I miss you dearly, every single day of the year.

Hobos and Vomit and Dildos, Oh My!

2011-05-05T00:08:00.000-07:00

I couldn’t decide what to call this post.

Since I went to Dallas this past weekend, I originally called it “Shelia Does Dallas.” (If you don’t get that reference, you’re probably too young to be reading my blog.)

But Hobos and Vomit and Dildos, Oh My! sounded quite charming and whimsical, which is totally what I was going for here.

Now, don’t worry! This is not a boring look-at-my-pictures-of boring-stuff-I-did-this-weekend kind of post. There’s lots of action and fun, so read on, readers!!!

I went with my crazy cousin, Tammy, to see Lisa Lampanelli at the Majestic Theatre Friday night.

At the show, there was a whole row of very flamboyant gay men sitting behind us. Most of them were very cool, but one of the men was very loud and rude during the opening act; so my cousin turned around and told him to shut the fuck up. She’s so shy!

I was fully expecting to be ambushed by the dudes in the parking lot. I imagine all sorts of scratching, hair-pulling, and attempted-strangulation with colorful scarves would have ensued.

However, we did make it out safely (probably due to the giant pair of scissors I had in my purse) and then checked into the Hyatt Regency. Here is an over-the-balcony pic that made my butt hole clench up while I was taking it.

On Saturday, we went to Dick’s Last Resort for some great food and drinks.

Our awesome waitress made us some very classy hats.

If you can't see this, the dude has a broken finger, and his hat says, "I broke my finger in her butt!"

For some reason, a group of ladies decided to bring their kids into Dick’s. Bad idea! I was trying to hide my totally inappropriate hat because the kids were staring and trying to read it.

The kids were mostly girls, but trailing them was one young boy. He read my hat, and then waggled his eyebrows at me, and said, “Nice!”

Oh. My. God.

I just received a nice-blow-job-hat eyebrow waggle from a friggin‘ 9-year-old!

Then the tornado sirens started going off in downtown Dallas, and the electricity went off. I went to the bathroom, and thought I had locked the door properly, but hell…it was dark…who knew for sure?

This hooker in a sparkly dress busts into my stall, practically crushing my skull with the stall door.

She trilled, in a very annoying little voice, “Omigod! I’m like, so sorry. But it’s ok because we all have, like, the same parts. Hee hee hee!”

Yeah, bitch, but what about that subdural hematoma you just gave me?

Here is a pic of the stall-slamming whore who wore a sequined evening dress to a restaurant that serves ribs and something called “Chick’n Fry’d Chicky.”

When I regained consciousness, Tammy and I decided to scope out the city. That’s when we spotted a store called “Condoms To Go.”

We just knew this had serious blog potential, so we entered the establishment to do a little research.

Yes, it was totally for research, not because we are perverts. Seriously, stop laughing!

A young lady employee, who we shall call “Cherry” was schooling us on the benefits of a personal shaving product called “Coochy.” With a straight face.

I decided that this was an excellent time for an impromptu blog interview.

Me: So this place is “Condoms To Go.” Is there also a “Condoms To Stay” in the city?

Cherry: Ummm, not that I know of. It’s pretty much a take-out kind of business.

Me: Has anyone ever asked if you have a fitting room?

Cherry: {giggling} No, but that’s an excellent idea!

Me: Do you have any of these edible underwear that taste like chicken?

Cherry: We only have apple and watermelon.

Me: Do these pasties pull the hair off of your nipples when you remove them?

Cherry: You have hair on your nipples?

Me: Uhhh, never mind! I’m doing the interviewing here, dammit! So, about these 12-inch diameter butt plugs...does anyone actually buy these?

Cherry: A few people. Very few.

Me: Can I have their phone numbers?

Cherry: No.

Then she walked off. Hmmph. And I thought it was going so well!

Here are some interesting pictures that I covertly snapped in the store:

Later on Saturday night, we poofed up our hair for a night on the town.

Tammy and I decided it would be a super-fun idea to ride the train over to the West End.

Sometimes "super-fun" actually translates to "super-homicidal."

While waiting for the train, we were accosted by several very aggressive hobos who “just wanted to buy some food, man.”

I’m sure they would NOT have used the money to buy booze or cigarettes, even though they all smelled like 2 a.m. at the local honky tonk.

One of them even pulled out her papers to prove that she had just gotten released from jail that day.

Because that made her seem much more respectable.

Also, we saw someone’s pants in the trash can. I don’t even want to know.

Hey, maybe one of the panhandlers can sell these pants to buy more ~~crack and Wild Turkey~~ food.

When we finally got on the train, we noticed a very strange and foul odor. Checking the seat in front of us, we saw this:

Yes, that’s vomit.

Thank God we had a very short ride to our destination.

We rounded off the evening by eating some excellent sushi, having a few drinks, listening to some music, and NOT riding the train back to the hotel. Taxi!!!

Despite a massive head wound, potential tornados, the vomit incident, monster anal plugs, and almost getting whooped by a band of rogue homosexuals, this was the most fun I‘ve had in a long time!

Yes, my social life is sad.

Now, who wants to go with me on my next road trip?

My Post about Slutty Fruit

2011-04-29T11:47:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I discussed my shopping trip with a Charles Manson twist. One of the more mundane things I bought was some ladies’ shaving gel. Well, I thought it was mundane, but now it's inspired a whole blog post.

To pick out shaving gel, I usually just smell them all and pick out the one that makes my nose happy. I didn’t even look at the name of the one I just bought until I got home and shaved my legs. Then I noticed that the scent was called “Flirty Mango.”

Flirty. Mango.

What the fark? Men don’t have to deal with this shit! Their choices are original and…well, original.

Mango-scented, I can understand. But why does the damn mango have to be flirty?

I keep imagining this:

Or Joey from Friends as a flirty mango:

How about Mango Madonna:

The fabulous Sean Connery Mango:

The romantic and flirty Pepe LePew Mango:

Leonardo DiCaprio Mango:

Can't forget Mango Sheen:

And finally, MangObama:

I also researched some of the other shaving cream scents:

Alluring Avocado - The flirty mango's slutty cousin.

Strawberry Kiwi - I can’t figure out why so many marketing folks are obsessed with frigging kiwi. Kiwis look like monkey balls (trust me….and don‘t ask).

Raspberry Rain - The scent formerly known as Purple Rain. Or Raspberry Beret. Whichever, I’m feeling a strong Prince influence in the shaving cream aisle.

Now, it's not just scents. I was looking online for some t-shirts, and decided to share the variety of colors with you.

You're welcome!

I remember when fuschia became the color of choice in the 80’s. (I may or may not have had a fuschia prom dress.) We dealt pretty well with fuschia, and we even accepted teal and mauve into the mainstream, but today’s descriptions left me baffled.

Camel - I’m praying that this describes the color and not the smell.

Sage - I don't really want my shirt named after an obscure spice. Who the fuck uses sage, anyway?

Rose - Again, is this the color or the smell? Guess it’s better than “Camel.”

Foliage - I just have no words to describe how stupid this one is. It’s GREEN, people! Just say, “GREEN!”

Hollyhock - Is it red? Is it green? Nope….it’s purple! WTF?

Electric Lime - It can’t just be lime green. Oh, noooooo! It’s gotta be friggin’ electric!

French Navy - Do the French even have a navy?

Sun - I had a shirt like this once. We called it, “Yellow.”

Snow - Pretty sure that’s white, unless you count yellow snow, but then they probably would have called it “Sun Snow.”

Coffee - I’m just waiting for Starbucks to start naming shirt colors. “I need a large v-neck in dark mocha cinnamon crema frappa-latte, please. And a biscotti.”

Delph blue - I’m not sure what the hell a “delph” is, but the shirt was pretty.

Green Palm - As opposed to the orange palm…

Tamale - Also available in “Enchilada.”

Eggplant - Doesn’t even SOUND attractive.

Lino - It was plain ole gray, but lino sounds much fancier!

Kiwi - Again with the damn kiwi!

Fresh Raspberry - Ladies, if you want to confuse the shit outta your husband, ask him to bring you your “fresh raspberry shirt” from your closet.

So, there is my consumer report for the day. Now I have to go use my Flirty Mango shaving gel, put on my Tamale-hued shirt and my Cappucino-colored shoes, get in my Ebony car, and take my ass to Dallas for the weekend.

Someone, please put the city on alert.

Shopping With Charles Manson

2011-04-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

I went shopping the other day to get a few household items and an Easter dress for my daughter. (That’s ONE, 1, UNO dress...got it?)

So, of course, I ended up with 3 dresses for her - they were on sale - DON’T judge me!

While I was at JCPenney‘s, I decided that I needed some new undies. I’m just minding my own bidness in the underbritches section, when I saw this.

Omigawd! Is anyone’s ass actually that small? How do you even take a poop when your backside is not much larger than a friggin’ peanut? Here is another picture for some perspective.

That’s a quarter beside the teeny tiny drawers. If we stay with this analogy, my undies could pay down the national deficit.

Even though I felt like a fatass after seeing these miniscule ass covers, I picked out some new undergarments (also on sale - woooohoooo for me!) and headed to The Wal-Mart for my household items.

After my last trip to The Wal-Mart (click here to read about the cashier and her coochie), I know you’re probably surprised that I would go back.

Alas, I am known in this land as BraveLiver (BraveHeart was already taken…), so I stoically entered the store of doom and began my shopping. They were out of my deodorant (assholes), so I moseyed on over to the shoe section to find Miss Smarty Pants some Easter shoes.

[Side note: I was going to buy her some shoes at Penney’s, but they were all, like $50, and her feet grow about eleventy inches a week, so I’m being a cheapskate on these shoes she will only wear once a week for about an hour. Also, she is only 9 years old, but wears a size 10 in ladies shoes, and all of the shoes in that size at Penney’s looked like stripper shoes.]

[Side note #2: Good Lord, does anyone know how to make my kid’s foot stop growing?!?!? Or does anyone know when Shaquille O‘Neal is having a garage sale? And does he have a penchant for sparkly open-toe sandals and flip-flops? Probably NOT??? Well, shit!]

Apparently, Wal-Mart has hired Charles Manson to organize their shoe section.

This is helter skelter right here people!

Speaking of Charley-Boy, I would like to take this opportunity to thank him for his recent thoughts on global warming. I have to admit that I was originally skeptical, but after his expert commentary, I am SOLD!

It sure is nice of those prison officials to let Mr. Helter Skelter out to do hands-on research on global warming. I didn't even know he was a scientist! Now, let’s let him work on the deficit. I’ll donate my underwear……

I Should Be Shot for Doing This!

2011-04-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

Remember the old Archie Comics? Remember what good, clean fun they were?

Yeah, well, I've decided to totally blow that all to Hell by modernizing the old classic cartoon. You know, bring it into the 21st century so the kids of today can relate.

Sounded like a good idea when I started....

First, let's meet the characters:

And now, I present to you, the 2011 version of Archie:

Tune in next week, when Archie fails his drug test.

How To Get Kicked Out Of The Hospital

2011-04-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

My daddy was recently hospitalized for a 10-inch blood clot in his leg. Yeah, I said a 10-freaking-ass-inch blood clot!

Now, we’ve gotta get these sexy legs fixed, right? They have him on some blood thinners, and also some heart meds, because his heart was going into atrial fibrillation.

You may remember that my dad is borderline crazy. Not in a schizophrenic kind of way, but in a lovable half-step-away-from-the-loony-bin kind of way. Of course, this totally endeared him to the nurses.

They loved him! There was one little nurse who he ribbed at every opportunity. She asked if she could get him anything, and he pointed at the oxygen tubes they had up his nose. He said, “Yeah, can you go outside and get some damn grass burrs to run up my nose? Because that would be more comfortable than this thing.”

He was constantly making nutty comments like this. And don’t even get me started on his visitors.

WTF???

This is Dad’s classmate from back in high school, Marguerite. She showed up in his hospital room with this horse head on. They are 60 years old, and still act like little kids! It was pretty freakin’ funny, though!

Then there was my husband. The white board in the hospital room lists the nurses and doctors on call for that particular shift. Well, my husband took a note from Chevy Chase in the classic movie, Fletch, and wrote “Dr. Rosenpenis” on the white board.

We are a fairly loud and rowdy bunch, and I fully expected a team of hospital administrators to storm through the door with discharge papers at any minute.

But I think they actually enjoyed having us there. The nurses seemed to come into my dad's room a lot more often than necessary, whether to see what he was going to say next or to get some of the food he was constantly offering them.

Dad offered one of his favorite nurses some ribs and she snuck into the bathroom to gobble them down, because apparently, the hospital frowns upon nurses accepting barbecue from the patients. Go figger!

But we weren’t the only ones pulling hijinks at the hospital. We were there on April Fool’s Day, and someone in the staff put up a sign by the printer that told employees that they had new software, and the printers were now voice-activated. The sign told them to just say their name and how many copies they wanted.

So, all morning, there were people yelling at the printer, “THIS IS CAROLINE. I NEED 4 COPIES.”

I guess that’s better than replacing everyone’s pain pills with Viagra. That's what I would have done!

My Momma Can Throw Insults Better Than Your Momma

2011-04-06T14:57:00.000-07:00

Well, folks - it’s time for another edition of The Mommy Diaries. Since my mom is no longer with us and she was such a hoot, I decided to share some of her crazy stories with you, my readers.

If you haven’t read the one about my mom jumping off a bridge, then check this one out.

My mom had a childhood friend named Margaret Ann. These two were always getting into trouble together. Getting into trouble tends to be a recurring theme in my mom’s life, in case you haven‘t noticed. You would think she would have grown out of that after high school, right?

Ehhhh, not so much.

They were in their early twenties when Margaret Ann had a little lunch party at her house with my mom and a lady we will call Jean for the purposes of this story (mostly because I don’t remember her actual name, but Jean sounds about right).

My mom didn’t know Jean, but they were all getting along well, perhaps due to the bloody Marys they were drinking at lunch. They started talking about old boyfriends and dates from high school, when my mom piped up with, “Oh my Gawd, Margaret Ann! Do you remember that guy, Marty, that you fixed me up with in high school? The one with the greasy-ass hair?”

Margaret Ann kicked my mom under the table.

My mom didn’t notice, and continued, “I’m still mad at you for that one! Good Lord, if he had one more pimple, he would have had to hold it in his hand. I was scared to touch him!”

Margaret Ann kicked her again, this time a little harder.

Mom apologized for bumping into her leg and proceeded to bash good old Marty: “You remember I had to hide out in the bathroom the entire night just to avoid his breath. Oh, girl! It smelled like he chewed on the ass end of a goat!”

Margaret Ann kicked the holy shit out of my mom, and gave her the “STFU” look.

Of course, my dear mother was entrenched in her story by this time and remained oblivious to the look. She just scooted her chair away from Margaret Ann a bit and continued to regale them with the faults of Marty. “He was so damned bucktoothed, he could eat corn-on-the-cob through a picket fence! I was afraid he was going to put my eye out. Ha ha ha ha.”

She didn’t notice that she was the only one laughing.

Finally, Jean stood up and haughtily announced, “Marty is my brother.”

Artist's rendition of The Marty.

{cricket, cricket, cricket}

Mom: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a nicer personality than that sweet Marty! How is he doing?” [feeble smile]

At this point, Jean stormed out, mumbling something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “Bitch.”

Boy, my mom could really liven up a party!

Newsflash About Teeth...And Strippers...And Guns...

2011-03-30T21:17:00.000-07:00

It’s time for another edition of Opto-Mom’s Newsflash. Today's topic is teeth, but it also involves, strippers...and guns...and marijuana. Oh hell, just read it already!

If you haven’t read my previous Newsflash posts, you should check them out. After all, I want you all to be well-informed readers. If you enjoy reading about sexy goats, golfing transvestites, and healthy dwarves, then read this one. If you like discussions of orgasms and crazy cookie bitches, check out this one. If you appreciate the ability of people to hide items in their rectums, then this is the post for you.

HE JUST WANTED TO SEE SOME BOOBIES

A man in Indianapolis was minding his own business at a strip club when he received the surprise of a lifetime. And I don't mean a free lap dance...or herpes.

Jake Quagliaroli was sitting about 20 feet from the stage when an apparently very aerodynamic stripper shoe struck him in the face, chipping several of his teeth.

Pictorial representation of the event.

So, did he meekly drive home and make up an excuse to his wife about getting his teeth knocked out while saving a group of orphans from a roving band of ninjas? Of course not!

Mr. Quagliaroli did what any modern red-blooded American man would do: he sued the strip club for "lifelong dental injuries."

Yeah, because it's totally unreasonable to expect clothing items to be flying off the stage at a strip club. I have a friend who almost had an eye put out by a rogue rhinestone flying off some hunk's junk at Chippendale's. But did I she sue? Of course not!

Why are you looking at me? My eye is just red because I poked it with the mascara brush. Really!

Seriously, I don't know if he's married or not. If he's not, can you imagine the family of his future bride googling his name to check him out? BUSTED!

Shoulda gone with the ninja story, Jake!

STAY AWAY FROM THIS GUY'S POT!

Waltdell and Walter Davis are brothers from New Orleans. Waltdell found out that his brother had smoked some of his pot. Well, that just made Waltdell madder than a cannibal at an anorexia camp.

Who wants to bet me that their daddy's name contains some version of "Walt" and that they have a brother named "Waltrick?"

Anyway, regarding the pot stealing, Waltdell said, "Ah HELL naw, mo-fo!" and shot Walter in the face with a .22 revolver. Fortunately for Walter, the bullet bounced off of his gold tooth, sparing his life.

[Side note: I'm thinking that maybe Strip Club Jake from the first story should have been wearing some gold teeth. Can I get an AMEN?]

So, all you punk ass bitches hatin' on Flava Flav, better step off. Now we know he wears that bulletproof grill for safety, and not because he's a ghetto freak. It doesn't explain the giant clock or other weird shit that he wears, but I'm sure there's some reasonable explanation for them.

Uh huh. 'Cause nothing says "reasonable individual" like these pictures:

Flava Flav - A genius among men?

And here's a shocker...Waltdell was on probation. [Gasp!] So, he was arrested for probation violation, admitted to shooting his brother, and was promptly charged with aggravated battery and possession of a firearm by a felon.

I think he should have also been charged with being an anti-dentite. Just sayin'...

Well, folks. That wraps it up for another edition of Newsflash. I hope you've learned something, or at least had some fun.

Anyone Know of a Good Place to Bury a Headless Body?

2011-03-23T01:24:00.000-07:00

I remember as a child, if I did something particularly annoying or stupid, my dad would often comment, “Now I see why some animals eat their young.”

NOT that I ever did anything annoying or stupid. I probably never did…well, almost never…though there was that one incident involving the cat and my dad’s electric razor….

Whatever! So, I’ve recently been researching female animals that eat their mates. Mostly because I’ve decided to kill and eat my husband.

{GASP!} Before you send me e-mails filled with shocked outrage, you have to hear these two little anecdotes:

Episode 1: ANNOYING THE OPTO-MOM

To be honest, he probably could have gotten away with this one as a stand-alone affront. Our nine-year-old, Miss Smarty Pants (MSP), was going to work with me one day last week - ahhh, gotta love Spring Break! The night before, she was picking out her clothes to wear the next day, and she comes in with some maroon shorts (that were waaaay too small) and a yellow t-shirt with pink and blue screenprinting. And green blinged-out flip flops. None of this stuff even remotely matched.

Now, I’m not one of those moms who subscribes to that mamby-pamby, let-your-child-wear-whatever-they-want-so-you-don’t-suppress-their-creativity-and-individuality bullshit. If you’re going somewhere with me, your hair will be brushed, your face will be washed, your freakin’ clothes will MATCH, and no booty shorts, for crap’s sake!

Doing what all children do when one parent says, “no,” MSP went to get her daddy’s opinion on her fine ensemble. She returns looking smug and triumphant. “Daddy says it looks fine.”

So, she’s taking fashion advice from the local Ralph Lauren. This is the man who, when we were going out to a nice restaurant, and I asked the inevitable question, “Is that what you’re wearing?” replied, “Well, I hosed my flip flops off with the garden hose.” Yeah.

After much whining (on both our parts), we settled on the yellow t-shirt and some denim shorts that actually fit. I let her wear the green flip flops, because they were light green and could almost pass for yellow, but she had to paint her toenails because they looked crusty.

The point is, the appropriate father response regarding fashion should always be, “Whatever your mother says. She’s a fashion genius.” {Preening in my sweats.}

Episode 2: INSULTING THE OPTO-MOM'S ASS

This is the one that really made me want to go all praying mantis on the husband. We were folding clothes, and he held up some jeans, and asked, “Are these yours or Miss Smarty’s?”

Now, Miss Smarty is really thin, so I was initially flattered that he could even remotely mistake my jeans for hers. I smiled my most winsome smile and replied that they were mine. I might have flirtatiously batted my eyelashes, too.

Then the husband said, “No way! You can’t fit all your junk in these pants!”

Dude, sometimes it’s best to just stop while you’re ahead, or I will have to re-introduce The Stank Eye.

If that doesn't work, or if I have PMS, then this will most likely be the result:

Seriously, don't jack with me.

XLV Superbowl Facts

2011-03-22T23:18:00.000-07:00

Here is another awesome infographic. Definitely check it out if you like football! Or even if you don't, because there's lots of cool stuff on there.

Courses Online

You Are What You Bleed

2011-03-22T22:35:00.000-07:00

I wish I could take credit for making this awesome infographic, but I'm posting it for a company. There is some really cool info on here, so check it out!

Source: Phlebotomy

Newsflash About Assholes (Literally)

2011-03-14T02:29:00.000-07:00

Assholes. I knew putting that in the title would make you look!

I love you, my readers, but you’re really a bunch of weirdos, okay? Some of my most popular posts have titles about coochies, penises, pubic hair, orgasms, and nudity. I think I’ve found my niche.

If you haven’t read my previous 2 Newsflash posts, you should check them out. After all, I want you all to be well-informed readers. If you enjoy reading about sexy goats, golfing transvestites, and healthy dwarves, then read this one. If you like discussions of orgasms and crazy cookie bitches, check out this one.

So, this week's Newsflash involves all things asshole. No, I’m not talking about people who act in a foolish and uncouth manner. I’m actually talking about the rectal/anal area of the body; specifically, odd items being placed up in there.

HE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' WALLET

In Florida, a man was arrested for possession and DUI. During a strip search, dollar bills started falling out of his booty hole. There was a total of $45 stuffed in his manhole.

Dude, you got change for a $10?

This is why my mother always told me not to put money in my mouth because it is dirty. However, she also often said, "I can't just pull money out of my ass!" Ya win some, ya lose some, Mom.

BE AFRAID, MICKEY MOUSE. BE VERY AFRAID!

In South Carolina, police responded to an attempted burglary call and found Noah Smith naked in the home. When they tried to remove him, he slapped and attacked the deputies.

I did a search for "naked man fighting," and found this awesome pic. Also lots of gay porn...

The man was allegedly under the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms (thanks, Olive Garden!) and was taken to the hospital. While there, an x-ray revealed that he had a mouse in his rectum.

A. MOUSE. IN. HIS. RECTUM. Haven't people learned ANYTHING from the whole Richard Gere fiasco?

I is bringing my teddy bear, cuz I scared of dark places.

So, Mister Mouse-Stuffer was charged with ASSault and battery, resisting arrest, and indecent exposure. Ummmmm, what about animal cruelty?

HOW MUCH JUNK CAN YOU STUFF IN YOUR TRUNK?

A Florida man was in jail when officials noticed part of a condom hanging out of his rectum. Some lucky individual removed the condom and found 30 items concealed in it.

On a related note, I just offered up a prayer of thanks that I'm not a rectum searcher for the police in Florida.

Some of the items included a cigarette (Hey, can I bum a smoke?), a flint, 17 pills, an unused condom, 6 matches, an empty syringe, lip balm (This is why you don't share Chap-Stick, people!), a pharmacy receipt, and a coupon (Wait, wait...I think I have a coupon for that cereal....let me just....try to reach it....).

Somebody needs to start carrying a European man-bag.

Well, that wraps it up for another edition of Newsflash. Try not to get caught with anything up your ass until next week!

The Cashier At Wal-Mart Tells Me About Her Coochie

2011-03-10T22:54:00.000-08:00

Oh, how I love going to The Wal-Mart, even though it’s a prime location to catch the swine flu and other communicable diseases. Sometimes I go in there and actually touch a ~~cesspool of germs~~ shopping cart without wearing a hazmat suit.

I’m a risk-taker, people. A rebel. I walk on the wild side. I’m kinda like Charlie Sheen with my Adonis blood. Winning!

I was at our local Wally-World Friday night, and had made it through my shopping without contracting the Ebola virus, so I was pretty pumped. Then I got to the cashier…

[Bom bom BOMMMMM]

That was supposed to be an ominous soundbite there. Did ya get that? I considered using the theme from Jaws, but I didn't know how to spell that music.

Anyway, the cashier (Mesha) was a young lady, probably in her early 20’s.

As she was ringing up my purchases, she began chatting with me. She told me she really wanted to go out with her friend after work, but her boyfriend was coming to pick her up. I was nodding politely and sympathetically.

I should totally be a therapist, or something, and get paid for this shit, because people are always telling me their personal business.

Pay attention now…this is where it gets really good.

Me: Maybe you can just text your boyfriend and tell him you’ll see him tomorrow.

Mesha: I don’t really want to see him tomorrow either.

Me (sensing drama): Really? Are you mad at him?

Mesha: Yeah, he gonna want to have sex, and I don’t want to.

Me: …………oh.

Mesha: Yeah, I done tole him I was on my period last week, so I can’t use that excuse this week, too.

Me: ………uhhh, no, I guess that wouldn’t work this week.

Mesha: Yesterday I tole him I had some weird shit coming out my coochie, so he backed off.

Me: ……… {trying to fake a polite smile, but probably just looking constipated} …….

At this point, I’m thinking that if she had weird coochie stuff yesterday, then the boyfriend probably isn’t going to want to get near said coochie today, right? Ah, contraire…. Casanova had other plans. Read on!

Mesha: He said we can just do it in the butt tonight.

Me: …… {mouth hanging open, not even trying to look polite now} …..

Mesha: Last time we did that, I tole him it hurt, ‘cuz his dick was too big to fit in my bootyhole.

Me: ….{OmigodOmigodWhyIsSheTellingMeThis?}

Mesha: Then he tole me I was boring! While we was still doing it! Can you believe he said that?

Me: {finding my voice} Honey, you are the least boring person I’ve met in a while.

Mesha: So I just been doing it with my friend, and girl, he appreciates every second of what I got.

Me: Awwww, that’s…ummm…sweet.

Mesha: Yeah, but about my boyfriend, I think I’m gonna dump that zero. It’s just hard because he’s got a nice car.

Me: Well, you have to go with the person you like best, and not the car you like best.

Mesha: Hey, that makes sense. Damn, you smart!

Me: Oh, ummmm, thanks and good luck with…like…all of that…you know…stuff.

So I left feeling brilliant and just a little dirty after that whole conversation WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER!

You can’t get herpes from talking about sex with a Wal-Mart cashier, can you? I shoulda bought more hand sanitizer....and Lysol...and Valtrex.

Newsflash Involving Orgasms That Have Nothing To Do With Charlie Sheen

2011-03-01T15:27:00.000-08:00

I did a Newsflash last week, and it was so much fun I decided to make it a series. If you haven’t read last week’s, go check it out here. Then make sure to come back here for your weekly dose of crazy current events that you may not see on your local news. This week’s theme is something we all know and love: junk food.

DON’T TOUCH MY COOKIES, BITCH!

Hersha Howard, a 31-year-old Florida woman, certainly loves her Girl Scout cookies.

Do NOT F*ck with her Thin Mints.

She woke up to find that her Thin Mints were missing, so she began chasing her roommate around the room with a pair a scissors. She then proceeded to beat her roomie with a board and a sign. I wonder if the sign said, “Chill out, bitch. You can always buy more cookies!”

OREOS GIVE HER OH-OH-OH-ORGASMS

This story involves Gabi Jones, a 25-year-old woman from Colorado.

Gabi Jones, a woman who has apparently had MANY orgasms!

Due to a condition called persistent genital arousal disorder, Gabi has an orgasm whenever she eats junk food.

{cricket, cricket}

Oh, sorry! I got distracted there for a minute. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to develop this particular disorder.

Good Lord, this is my dream disease! I could sit around and eat ice cream and pizza and Reese’s peanut butter cups all day AND HAVE ORGASMS! Who gives a shit if you get fat? Because you wouldn’t need a man…just Doritos.

This concludes your Newsflash for the week. Tune in next week for more!

Opto-Mom out!

Look Out, Monster.com!

2011-02-27T23:17:00.000-08:00

Signore Sexy Pants has to travel frequently due to his job. Our 9-year-old daughter, Miss Smarty Pants, is tired of her daddy traveling, because when he’s traveling it means he’s not here to properly spoil her. So, she has decided to find him a new job by making a questionnaire of twelve key items to determine a suitable new profession. I thought I would share these insightful questions with all of you, followed by his responses:

1. Are you afraid of touching other people’s spit? Yes.
2. Can you climb fast? Yes.
3. Are you a good builder? Yes.
4. Are you afraid of getting hurt? Yes. (He wanted to put, “Hell, yeah!” but I wouldn’t let him.)
5. Are you a good massues? Yes. (Not a bad attempt at spelling “masseuse.”)
6. Are you very good at math? No.
7. Are you a fast runner? No.
8. Are you okay with touching blood? Yes.
9. Are you afraid of talking on TV? No.
10. Are you good at drawing? No.
11. Are you good at controlling kids? Yes.
12. Are you a fast digger? Yes.

Based on these questions and the corresponding answers, Miss Smarty Pants has ruled out the following occupations:
Dentist
Rocket scientist
Olympic sprinter
Artist

These are the ones she has determined to still be good possibilities:
Monkey catcher (Prior experience includes chasing a toddler.)
Welder/construction contractor (No experience needed, right?)
Masseuse (I’m vetoing this one. He does that rub-in-one-spot-until-it-bleeds thing.)
Doctor (Yeah, he’ll just start on that tomorrow…shouldn’t take long.)
Actor (He does kind of resemble Vin Diesel.)
Babysitter (Is it bad that his idea of controlling kids involves duct tape and razor wire?)
Grave digger (Perhaps a nice-paying job with the mob?)

So, if any of you are searching for a job or wanting a career change, don't pay for one of those online job search sites. Just let me know, and Miss Smarty Pants will design an appropriate questionnaire for your specific needs. Discounts will be given for regular Opto-Mom readers!

Newsflash That Has NOTHING To Do With Anyone Protesting Anything

2011-02-23T01:28:00.000-08:00

Kit at Blogging Dangerously asked me to guest post for her. Go check it out here! It's about porn. Now I know you're all going to look. PERVS!!!

Now back to your regularly scheduled program:

Since I’m tired of seeing people protest in foreign countries like Egypt, Libya, and Wisconsin, I thought I would start my own news program right here on the Opto-Mom Blog. Some of these issues are recent; a few are a little older, but I felt that they definitely required my attention.

WORKIN’ IT AT THE GOAT PAGEANT

Saudi Arabia recently held its “Most Beautiful Goat” contest in Riyadh. Miss Riyadh, clearly the hometown favorite, won the coveted title, along with a year’s supply of tin cans. Her owner won a year’s supply of K-Y Jelly.

"Help meeeeee! He touches me in my no-no place!"

There was some controversy at the goat pageant when Miss Tabuk took the stage in a skimpy red two-piece swimsuit during the swimwear competition. It was a daring move on her part, but she handled the heckling with grace and strutted her stuff confidently. Her music of choice was “Supermodel.”

I'm too sexy for this cage!

Supermodel, work (cover girl!),
Work it, girl (give us a twirl!),
Do your thang,
On the runway.

Miss Jeddah won the titel of Miss Congeniality, which was voted on by her peers. She had recently overcome an eating disorder, and blew the audience and judges away with her speech entitled, “Fat Goats Give Better Lovin‘.” I tell you, there was not a dry eye in the place.

The Bulging Beauty from Jeddah

The whole pageant was udderly fantastic.

DWARF IMMUNITY

Studies show that individuals with dwarfism in a remote community of Ecuador rarely get diabetes or cancer. I knew those little guys were magical! Maybe it’s the rainbows that keep the diseases away.

I guess this proves the old adage that “bigger is not always better.”

DUDE GOLFS LIKE A LADY

Lana Lawless was a women’s long-drive champion. Before that, she was a 245-pound SWAT member…and a man. The Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) denied her application to qualify for their tour, citing that participants must be born female to compete.

Now ~~Mister~~ Miss Lawless is suing because her rights have been violated. (After all, it says right there in the Constitution that playing pro golf is a right endowed by our creator. Seriously! Google it!)

There is a reason that the women have their own organization and don’t usually compete with the men. In general, men drive the ball harder and longer than women. Just because she got her weiner whacked off and added some boobs, it doesn’t mean that she has lost that advantage.

Her femininity is obvious.

As my grandma used to say, “You can butter my ass up, but it doesn’t make me a biscuit.”

On a related note, I was thinking about growing fur so I could be in that goat pageant next year. I would totally kick those bitches’ asses! Have you seen me in an evening gown? Baaaaaaaah!

Is That a Toaster In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

2011-02-13T20:39:00.000-08:00

Valentine’s Day is coming up tomorrow. If you’re not aware of this, I would like to welcome you back from your coma. We‘ve missed you!

Since I’m all about public service, I thought I would attempt to gently guide you through all of the hoopla and advertisements with which you are constantly bombarded through TV, radio, billboards, etc. I will rate some of the products I’ve recently seen in ads so you don’t buy your loved one something idiotic. You’re welcome!

First, let's review my rating system. I put it in picture form so everyone can understand.

Got it? Ok, let's get started.
____________________________________________________________

The Hoodie-Footie

I have seen at least a hundred commercials for this damn thing. Does anyone see anything remotely sexy about friggin' footie pajamas? Nothing says "HOT" to me more than looking like a pink wooly mammoth.

Ladies, there's even one for the man in your life...if you want your man to look like a pussy.

____________________________________________________________

Lingerie

Pretty lingerie is always nice. Just make sure to get something suitable for your relationship. For example, if you are mostly a "missionary position" kind of couple, avoid leather thongs and bustiers.

If you combine it with a night or weekend at a nice hotel (no, the local Super 8 does not count as "nice"), your rating will be upgraded:

____________________________________________________________

Flowers

I always hear the argument that men don't like to buy flowers because they die after a few days. What a crock of crapola...nothing lasts forever. Let's take food for an example. Just because I drop a deuce in the convenience store bathroom on the way home from a restaurant, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy my meal or that I don't ever want to eat again.

Buy your woman flowers, and I guarantee she will melt into a puddle of Jell-O at your feet. Unless she's allergic to flowers, and then she will melt into a puddle of snot.

____________________________________________________________

Fast Food Coupons

No...just, NO. I've actually heard of someone doing this. If you are dumb enough to give this to your wife for Valentine's Day and she happens to have PMS, they may never find your body.

____________________________________________________________

Vermont Teddy Bear

This is another item that you may be tempted to buy, because they have been advertised like crazy on TV lately. It would be a great gift if you were dating a 5-year-old. However, if your partner is an adult, don't buy these stupid things. The advertisement says that "the Vermont Teddy Bear is unlike any other teddy bear." No, it's exactly like all the other teddies, and will sit on a shelf and collect dust. Yeah, just what I need!

____________________________________________________________

Jewelry

Winner, winner, chicken dinner right here. You can't go wrong with jewelry... earrings, necklace, bracelet, or the gold standard - the engagement ring.

____________________________________________________________

Appliances of Any Kind

Do not, under any circumstances, buy your significant other an appliance or other kitchen-related item for Valentines Day. This is the most unromantic thing I can think of, and is grounds for permanent dismissal or death.

____________________________________________________________

Trip to a Tropical Island

If you're looking for major brownie points that will give you the upper hand in any argument for years to come, bust out a tropical vacation on her. If your woman is bitching about you not taking out the garbage, just remind her of that luxury island that y'all visited last year, and she'll shut the hell up. You can't lose, dude!

____________________________________________________________

So, there ya go! If you are contemplating a gift and are not sure whether it's a "touchdown" gift or a "dickhead" gift, feel free to e-mail me for an analysis of your specific choice.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Super Bowl XLV Breakdown

2011-02-10T01:42:00.000-08:00

With all of the blogging, tweeting, facebooking, and texting going on, Superbowl XLV was one of the most talked about games in recent history. Since I’m so freakin’ hip (holla!), I thought it would be prudent for me to give you a breakdown of the events surrounding the big game.

First of all, I would like to say Happy Birthday to my husband, Signore Sexy Pants. Hey, guess what? You’re still older than me. Nanny nanny boo boo! Also, Happy 60th Birthday to my dad. We tried to have a big ole surprise party for my dad’s milestone b-day, but global warming decided to send us a snowstorm here in Texas, so the party was cancelled. Thanks a lot, Al Gore, you bastard! Anyway, Happy Birthday to my two favorite guys!

So, are you ready for some FOOTBAAAALLLLL? Too bad, because the football portion seemed to be overshadowed by all of the ~~bullshit~~ engaging events going on throughout the whole ~~fiasco~~ extravaganza known as Super Sunday.

Let’s start with the Red Carpet event. Yes, there was a Red Carpet event AT A GODDAMN FOOTBALL GAME! What? The pretty people don’t get to prance around on a plush scarlet floor covering in front of cameras enough in Hollywood?

Granted, they let the football greats walk the carpet too, but they got virtually no attention. “Look, here comes football great, Roger Staubach. Let’s go talk to him…..OMG, is that Catherine Zeta-Jones? Screw Staubach. We must talk to Cat about her outfit.”

Yeah, because that’s totally why we’re tuning in to watch the Super Bowl…on the off-chance that we might be able to discuss fashion.

And everyone seemed to get really excited when Keith Urban arrived. I personally didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was there. Keith Urban is the only man on the planet who could successfully challenge Justin Bieber for the title of “Stupidest Hair.”

Was the whole red carpet thing really necessary? YOU’RE GOING TO A FOOTBALL GAME, not a movie premiere. I guess movie stars and recording artists find it necessary to be the center of attention at all times. Go figure.

So, by the time the teams came onto the field, I was already burned out on seeing capped teeth and fake boobs (yes, I‘m looking at you, Adam Sandler). Then they brought in Christina Aguilera to sing the national anthem.

I must say that she’s a very talented young lady. If, by talented, you mean “can turn a one-syllable word into a short story.” I read half of Crime and Punishment before Christina even got to the part about the ramparts.

During her vocal gymnastics, my husband decided to get another bowl of chili (because it’s just not the Super Bowl unless you’ve consumed at least 3 bowls of fart soup before kick-off). He almost made it out of the room to avoid the howling of Christina when she jacked up the words. He stopped, and turned around to look at me.

Husband: Did she just say……?
Me: Yeppers, the dumb bitch sure did.

Most of us start learning the national anthem at around age 5. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve pretty much got that shit down by now.

Is there any possible way we could get someone to sing the national anthem who not only knows the words, but can also sing it without all the extra runs and oversinging? Christ on a crutch! Try to keep it under 10 minutes, honey.

Finally, the game started and we got to watch some actual football, though it was interspersed with promos of the “Bridgestone Halftime Show featuring the Black-Eyed Peas” about every 4 ½ seconds.

Now, I like the Black-Eyed Peas. They are a cool group, and their music is very vibrant and catchy. But listening to them live made me want to melt down some Bridgestone Tires to make a giant pair of earplugs. Perhaps that’s why Bridgestone sponsored them…

I didn’t even know it was possible to rap off-key, but will.i.am proved me soooo wrong on Sunday night. Fergie has a great voice, but she and Will sounded like flaming shit together. If their sound had a smell, I would describe it as the fetid breath of a thousand syphilitic goats.

The BEP should stick to recording songs in the studio, so they can be edited to within an inch of their vocal cords.

I’ll probably get tons of hate mail, because I know a lot of people were impressed with the show. And, I have to admit that the production was fabulous.

With all of the glow-in-the-dark costumes and flashing lights, it was an ADD patient’s dream. “Hey, they’re playing horrible, horrible music……ooh, look! Shiny!”

I actually loved the costumes. The BEP costumes reminded me of KISS, except without the musical talent. In fact, I think it’s time to bring KISS back to the Super Bowl. They performed in 1999, and they always rock the house.

If you want to go really old school, try for Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder, or Aretha Franklin. They are all veteran entertainers with wonderful vocals. They’re all still alive, right?

Holy fuckin’ cow, I would rather see M.C. Hammer perform at next year’s halftime show. His dancing is a combination of all things awesome. Remember that typewriter move? Ok, get up and do it now. Go ahead…you know you wanna! [2 Legit, 2 Legit 2 quit, hey hey!]

Other awesome choices would be Bon Jovi or Journey. They both have frontmen that can sing their asses off, and the bands have some iconic songs that would have everyone in the stadium on their feet with lighters in hand.

Wait…what? I’ve just received some new information from my staff. Apparently, people no longer hold up lighters at concerts. They use their cell phones now. Thanks to my staff for helping me with my goal of keeping’ it real for my peeps. (holla!)

If you want more flash for the halftime show, go with Metallica, Motley Crue, or Def Leppard. These bands rock, and their music would be conducive to an accompanying elaborate laser and light show. (Oooh, sparkly!)

Does it even have to be a musical act? I think Criss Angel doing an illusion where he disappears and ~~never comes back~~ then reappears on top of the Jumbotron would be pretty damn sweet.

By the way, I really liked Criss a lot better before he had his makeover and started looking like Pat Benetar.

Uncanny!

So, there you have my breakdown of the Super Sunday events. Oh yeah, and the Packers won. (holla!)

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Be Just As F*cking Stupid

2011-02-05T02:26:00.000-08:00

Gini over at The Big Fat Gini Blog wrote a post the other day about people getting her name wrong. Apparently, someone has decided that her name should be “Gina.” So, just to piss her off, hop on over there and call her “Gina,” or perhaps “Vagina.” She just loves that shit!

Anyway, I started thinking about names and how they often confuse me. For example, I have an acquaintance named Amy who has a daughter named Ashley. Ok, wait; I think that’s ass-backward. The mom is Ashley and the daughter is Amy. Or is one of them Abby?

Oh, Hell’s bells! I don’t know! And to really throw me off, both of them use the daughter’s picture as their profile pic on facebook. WTF, people? Just W-T-F??

For the love of Moses, please use your own picture on face book, because you people are confusing the pee-pee out of me. Another current trend is to use a picture of your pet as your profile pic. I find myself thinking, “Gee, Aunt Karen really needs a facial waxing…ohhhh, that’s her cat, Pumpkin.”

I actually have one relative that sent me a friend suggestion on facebook, and the profile pic was a cute little doggy. I was trying to figure out who the Hell “Rosie” was. A distant aunt? A long-lost cousin? Nope! Turns out, Rosie IS the dog in the pic, and she has her own facebook page. By the way, Rosie plays the shit out of Farmville. (Hey, Rosie - if you’re reading this…please send me some nails for my farm. And no, I don’t want to be your friend on Cityville. And stop scooching your butt on the carpet.)

I do understand how Gini feels, though. My name is Shelia, but I’ve been called Shelly, Sha-lie-ah, Stephanie and lots of other things that start with an “s.”

And sometimes things that don’t start with an “s.” But that’s another story.

All you need to know is that my name rhymes with tequila. And that, my friends, is why I’m so awesome. (And you thought it was because of my blogging…)

I have a nutty aunt who re-names all of the baby girls born in our family. She likes to give them old lady names like Bertha, Ethyl, and Sybil. Then the whole family starts calling them by their senior citizen moniker. This is totally confusing for the children at family reunions. “Mommy, why is everyone calling me ‘Gertrude?’”

I also have a nutty uncle (anyone seeing a trend here?) who gives everyone a ghetto name. Mine is Shaquilla. I have to admit that I’m a little disappointed that my ghetto name doesn’t have an apostrophe or an asterisk or anything cool like that. I may change it to Sha’Quilla, or maybe Sha*Quil’La.

Your input and/or further suggestions are certainly welcome. Oh, and Ny*Quilla is already taken (dammit!), so scratch that one off your list.

Speaking of ghetto names, do any of you watch The First 48? The husband and I love watching this show, which is a reality series about police trying to track down the people responsible for murders in their jurisdictions. The majority of the cases are drug-related, so most of the people on the show have “street names.” Here is how the interviews usually go:

Detective: Were you at Roger’s house when he was murdered?
Witness: Who is Roger?
Detective: I think they call him Poolu.
Witness: Oh yeah. Naw. I was at my auntie’s house.
Detective: Well, I’ve got a witness that says you were at Roger’s, ummm Poolu’s.
Witness: Who tole you dat?
Detective: Fellatio told me.
Witness: Oh, well, I mighta been there.
Detective: Did you see anyone with a gun?
Witness: Naw, but Poolu’s brother was there.
Detective: Who is his brother?
Witness: His name Hot Boy.
Detective: So his street name is “Hot Boy.” What’s his real name?
Witness: Dunno, e’erbody just call him “Hot Boy.”
Detective: Ok, was anyone else there?
Witness: I din’t see nobody, but Coco said Cousin been mad at Poolu.
Detective: Poolu’s cousin was mad at him?
Witness: Naw, not his cousin. Dude’s NAME is “Cousin.”
Detective: What were Cousin and Poolu arguing about.
Witness: Mighta been about some weed. Cousin was mad that Poolu sold some weed to Barber.
Detective: He sold weed to Cousin’s barber?
Witness: Naw, man. E'erbody just call him “Barber.”

Holy shitballs! How do these detectives keep a straight face through all of this? I guarantee you they all go home with massive migraines every night!

Here’s a little request for you parents out there. If your child has a “street name,” please immediately chain them up in your basement. If not, they only have 3 options for their future: murder victim, murderer, or witness to a murder.

And celebrities - you are not off the hook on the whole name thing. What the fuck are some of you people thinking when you name your children?

Here is my hypothesis on how some of these morons come up with the names: The celebs have spent so much time cruising around on their personal jets or in their monster SUVs to protest pollution, that they just haven’t had time to come up with a name for their little spawn. After all, they are busy and important people, just trying to save the environment! Then it comes time to give birth, and they realize they still don’t have a name for the kid. So, they name him or her the first thing they see after the kid is born.

Examples supporting this hypothesis:

1. Gwyneth Paltrow has a daughter named Apple. Seriously, Gwynnie, did you just look around the room after you gave birth and see an apple on your hospital tray, and thing, “Goddamn, I love apples. They are so sweet and delicious. Oh! I think I’ll name my new daughter after this fine fruit!”

2. Arthur Ashe named his daughter Camera. Was this his thought process? “Gosh, what are we going to name this child? Perhaps if I take some pictures of her, I could come up with some ideas. I’m so glad I brought my camera. Cameras are so handy at special times like this. I think cameras are about the best things in the world…just like…ohmygod! We can name her after my favorite invention!” Brilliant! No, really.

3. Toni Braxton is a brilliant singer, but her child-naming skillz are not so much with the being brilliant thing. Her son is named Denim. I think she was talking to her husband and said: “Whew! That baby is finally out. Now hand me my jeans and let me see if they fit. Boy, I have missed denim. It really is a wonderful fabric…and…hey…we could name our kid after my favorite pair of pants!” I’m just glad she wasn’t wearing Capri pants that day. Or linen. Or paisley. Or corduroy. Or stretch pants. Or khakis. My Gawd! She could name a whole family after her britches!

[This topic totally reminded me of one of my favorite jokes: An American Indian boy asked his father how Indian children got their names. The father explained that the parents name the child after the first thing they see after the child is born. “We saw a beautiful brook in the distance after your sister was born, so she is Running Brook. And a deer dashed out of the woods at the time your brother was born, so he is Running Deer. Why do you ask, Two Dogs Fucking?"]

I think other celebrities are just crackheads. No, I don’t need actual evidence to say that. This is all the explanation that is required:

1. Erykah Badu named her daughter Puma. {Excuse me, did you say, “Puma?”} Why yes, I did! Maybe when she hits age 40, she will change her name to Cougar. Rawwwr!

2. Nicholas Cage’s son is named Kal-el. And no, it’s not some religious name. Kal-el is Superman’s birth name. Why not just name him Peter Parker or Bruce Wayne?

3. Singer/songwriter Bob Geldof has 3 daughters named Fifi Trixibelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, and Little Pixie. I’m sorry, but drugs are the only explanation for those names. I’m betting on either marijuana or Quaaludes.

4. Magician Penn Jillette is a genius at illusions and trickery, but I just have to wonder how many brain cells he had to lose before he decided to name his daughter Moxie CrimeFighter. This is obviously the result of black tar heroin.

5. It is possible that Sylvester Stallone took too many punches to the head when he decided to name his daughter Sage Moonblood. On the other hand, maybe he just smoked a lot of “sage.”

6. Another celeb who has, perhaps, smoked a few too many herbs is Isaiah Washington. After all, he named his son Thyme. Uhhhh, okay.

7. I think the award has to go to Frank Zappa, though. His sons are named Dweezil and Ahmet Emuukha Rodan. His daughters are named Moon Unit and Diva Muffin. WTF? Can you imagine calling these children to dinner? However, I think I’ll give Mr. Zappa a pass because of this quote from him: "You can't be a Real Country unless you have a beer and an airline - it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer." Is that not the most awesome analysis of foreign policy, EVER? He’s a funny dude, but perhaps he should have quelled his humorous tendencies when it came to naming his kids.

Is anyone still reading this? Lawd have mercy, I rambled on much longer than intended with this post. I guess I was trying to make up for being a slack-ass and not posting anything for the past two weeks. I’ll try to do better from now on. I plan on doing a matchmaking post, just in time for Valentine’s Day, so watch for it! Now I’m off to tell my daughter, Sunshine Maroon Salt, goodnight.

The Cheesiest Sex Post EVER!

2011-01-19T07:42:00.000-08:00

Remember back when you first got married (or moved in together, for you heathens living in sin)? Remember all of the sexy times you had?
In the bed.
Under the bed.
In the shower.
On the kitchen counter (followed by lots of bleach).
On the couch.
In the closet.
On top of the refrigerator.
In the refrigerator. Oh, wait that was Jeffrey Dahmer.

[Side note: I was watching the movie Dahmer this past weekend, and my daughter (who was supposed to be in bed) kept coming in the room. I kept pausing the movie and telling her to get to bed. “But why do I have to go to bed? It’s not a school night,” she whined. I replied with, “Because I’m trying to watch these guys get ass-raped, and that’s totally not appropriate for children.” If you have any awards for Excellence in Parenting, please e-mail me.]

Anyway, after you’ve been married for a while, you may notice the frequency and excitement begins to recede.

In fact, married sex becomes kind of like joining the National Guard. You perform your duties one weekend a month and two weeks a year.

(cricket, cricket)

Following this astute analogy, here are some other ways that married sex is like National Guard service:

1. There’s generally a lot of sweating and grunting going on.

2. You will get to hang out with some privates.

3. No one gives a rat’s ass if you have a headache. Just perform your duties, soldier!

4. You may run the risk of serious injury if you don’t do some calisthenics before proceeding.

5. Extra laundry to do afterward.

6. You may be told to “Drop and give me 20!”

7. There is generally some “shooting” involved (if you’re doing it right).

8. You will probably notice some soreness after your service weekend.

9. You may experience a frontal assault.

10. Insert your own “booby trap” joke here.

If we were talking about the Navy, I could have discussed “seamen” and going to the “head,” but alas…it is not to be this time, dear readers.

I hope this post makes you feel very patriotic, so go forth and perform your duties, my friends! God bless America!

My Totally Realistic New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-12T01:30:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of every year, most folks come up with a list of crappy resolutions that they usually blow by the end of January. People, you are obviously setting your sights too high!

If you haven’t exercised once in the past 12 years, you are NOT all of a sudden going to start doing a six hour workout EVERY day so that you will look like Sylvester Stallone by mid-February.

Did you see what Rocky had to go through to look so buff in the one where he fought the big Russian? Sorry, but your new Ab Lounger is not going to bring you the same results as doing free-fall sit-ups off a hay loft or pulling four tons of wood around through 20 feet of snow.

I'll wager that the Ab Lounger will be communing with the dust bunnies under your bed by March.

If you weigh 300 pounds, you are not going to get down to 150 this year unless some type of surgical intervention is involved. Or unless the bottom half of your body is severed in a tragic tractor accident.

If you’ve smoked 3 packs of cigarettes a day since you were 12, chewing a piece of shitty-tasting gum a few times a day is not going to kick your habit, though I admire your ambition.

We have got to learn to make more reasonable and attainable resolutions. Set some goals you might actually have a chance of keeping.

Just face it. None of us are going to play in the U.S. Open or learn to speak fluent Chinese.

Okay, don’t get all pissy because I’m a Negative Nelly. I’m here to help by presenting you with my New Year’s Resolutions for 2011. Use these as a guide to customize your own list.

1. Most people set a goal to lose weight in the new year. I, however, plan to gain at least 100 pounds so I can wear some gold stretch pants, a net shirt with no bra, platform heels, and a pimp hat to Wal-Mart and end up on the “People of Wal-Mart” website by the end of 2011. See? This goal is attainable; plus, I will have the privilege of being on the most awesome website in the U.S. (well, besides my blog, of course).

2. My second resolution is to not get arrested for public nudity. Seeing as how I shower in the dark to avoid catching sight of my naked self in the mirror, it’s highly likely that I will be avoiding public nudity this year.
I might as well just go ahead and put a check-mark beside this one….or, maybe I should wait until after Mardi Gras, just to be safe.

3. I resolve to NOT have this happen to me.

I promise, if I get a pimple that grows to the size of a softball and smells like rotten eggs and cat vomit, I will go to a fucking dermatologist.

4. This year, I plan to discourage the sagging pants phenomenon by singing “Pants on the Ground” at the top of my lungs whenever I see someone with their drawers hanging out. Seriously, dude - NO ONE wants to see your ass or your underbritches.

LOOKIN' LIKE A FOOL WIT YA PANTS ON DA GROUND!

This also goes for girls wearing see-through shirts so their bras show. Until some semi-retarded drunk guy comes up with a song for this occurrence, I guess I’ll have to make up my own. I think I’ll call it, “Hey, Slut! Put Some Decent Clothes On.”

Yes, Grandma, I'm talking to you.

5. My final resolution is to drink more. I got a bottle of fine vodka for Christmas, and that shit was smooth. Therefore, it’s my new drink of choice. I want to drink vodka until my liver turns so black Angelina Jolie tries to adopt it.

Well, that's all of my resolutions for this year. Let me know if I have inspired any of you to make realistic resolutions for 2011. Happy New Year!

2010 in Review

2011-01-06T17:38:00.000-08:00

I’ve been trying to sit down and do an end-of-year post, but since 2010 is 6 days gone, we will call this a “New Year Retrospective Analysis.” Or how about, “Shelia is a Fucking Procrastinator.” Probably a little more accurate.

This was my first year blogging, so I’m quite the newbie, but I thought I would share some favorite posts from my brief life as a wannabe blogger.
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Swingers, Pubic Hair, and Naked Bicycle Booties
This one seems to be a fan favorite. Or maybe it just gets lots of views from Barney Frank checking to see if I’ve added any more sexy boy pics. Now you’ve gotta go look, right?

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The P90X Exercise Saga
This was a two-part series on my efforts to ~~lose weight~~ give myself a heart attack and die. Suicide by the P90X program. Day One here and Days Two and Three here. Once I get my ankle healed, I shall continue with my suicide mission.

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Fat Girls Make Better Shoplifters

This one was about some goofy-ass bitches who shoplifted a bunch of stuff by hiding it in their body fat and crevices. You don’t want to miss it, because you will be repulsed and amused at the same time.

You'll have to go read the post if you want to see what this has to do with shoplifting.

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Snakes - Yikes!
This is the post where I get freaked the fuck out by snakes.

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The Princess and the Penis
This post got a lot of hits, probably because it has the word "penis" in the title, and you people are perverts. But that's why I love you guys.

Look! It's a penis!

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Hey, TSA...You Can Touch My Junk
Check out this post. I know you want to hear all about my efforts to get a little action from a TSA agent, along with some fabulous Opto-Mom suggestions on how to improve the procedure. Also, you may possibly be offended if you are a goo-goo hearted gimp who doesn't like common sense solutions.

I may or may not have been trying to smuggle this on a plane.

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Viagra and Friends
In this one, I investigate the effectiveness of the Viagra and Cialis commercials. This is hard-hitting journalism right here!

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The Commercial

Here I write about watching a stripper commercial with my daughter. Good times!

Totally appropriate viewing material for children....

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Things That Get on My Damn Nerves
This is where I vent about children being allowed in the arcade at Dave and Buster's, which is the adult version of Chuck E. Cheese.

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Watussi, Cacooch and Other Misfit Words
You've just gotta read this one. I find myself unable to explain it.

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Well, that's all, folks! Don't forget to share my blog with your friends. I plan to be much more of a blog whore in 2011, so I need more followers.

New York - The City That Never Plows

2010-12-31T14:05:00.000-08:00

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!

Dear.....Shopping Idiots

2010-12-29T01:46:00.000-08:00

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?

Signed,
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?

Signed,
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.

Signed,
Holding My Nose

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