Category Archives: funny stuff

Boys are Mess Magnets

An Ode to Slutty Halloween Costumes

*I am a horrid poet and I totally know it.
The following poem is purely for jest and fun
and because Mama Kat said I had to write one.

I apologize in advance.

*****

Halloween is a night for witches, ghosts, and ghouls,
yet now often teens and adults look like fools.
Gone are the costumes aimed to frighten and scare;
if you’re a woman you must practically show your underwear.

Sexy fairy tale heroines stray far from their books
and naughty angels and French maids give sultry looks.
And who came up with the idea for a sexy raccoon?
Same guy as the sexy ninja turtle, I’d betcta the moon.

And who wants to emulate anyone from The Jersey Shore
with big hair and hoochie dresses, passing out on the floor?
If you are a woman you are supposed to dress like a vamp
and your costume should show off your tattooed tramp stamp.

As I’ve seen teen girls wearing these outfits looking glib,
I wonder whatever happened to that old idea of Women’s Lib?
Women can be beautiful, strong and smart
without looking like a hooker or common tart.

We should show off our talents, our brains, our grace;

for we are better than this, we’ve earned our place.
If I was to go out and have a good time
I think I would pick a costume representing one of my favorite things — wine!

Wine Goddess

Dionysus God of Wine Costume

(he kind of looks like Hubby anyway)

Wine Wench

Vineyard Vixen

It’s Bubbly Champagne

Rasta Imposta Daqueri Costume

Martini Girl

What do you think? Would any of these outfits make me (or YOU) the life of the party?

Cheers?

Dirty Minds as Dick Has Fun With Jane

7 Replies

Just before Kiddo started learning to read I found a Storybook Treasury of Dick and Jane at our library book store. (BTW the BEST place to build a kids personal book collection on the cheap while you support your local public library branch.)

I vividly remember sitting at my kindergarten table and reading from my paperback Dick and Jane reader. I snatched that book up and brought it home imagining hours of bonding with my child while fondly reminiscing about my own childhood.

Instead I learned that the Hubby and I have very dirty minds. It was the end of our innocence.

We always read to Kiddo before bed. Dick and Jane seemed to be the perfect book to get him started reading to us. Simple little stories about Dick and his sister Jane’s adventures with Baby Sally and Spot and the whole vintage clan. A new word or two is introduced in each chapter and the stories slowly build word recognition and reading skills.

Except it became too damn hard to keep a straight face and not start giggling…especially after a glass of wine.

See, Baby.
See, see.
Oh, oh, oh.
Oh, Dick.
Look and see.
See Baby.

Sounds like something from the latest Top Ten sexually infused rap/pop song, right?

From Puff and Dick:

Come Baby.
Look up, Baby
Look up and see Puff.
Look up and see Dick.
See Dick go up.
See Dick go up, up, up.
Oh, Jane.

See Dick come down.

See Puff come down.
Down, down, down.
Oh, oh, oh.
See Puff come down.

I swear, we were both biting our bottom lips and struggling not to bust out laughing. Come on.

Jane said, “Oh, Dick.
I cannot find the balls.
Come, Dick, come.
Come and find the balls.”
Dick said, “I see it.
I see the big ball.”
Jane said, “Oh, Dick…”

Or how about:

Come, come.
Come and see.
See Father and Mother.
Father is big…

Couldn’t they change Dick’s name to Tom or Harry? Okay, maybe not Harry…and certainly not Willy. I had to have a lovely discussion with Kiddo about how some boys are named Willy and it is not because they resemble a penis. How about Floyd or Milton or Roger…no innuendos hiding in those names.

Since we are past the days of Dick and Jane in our house, I am generously going to pass along this treasure to another family. And I can’t wait to hear if they have dirty minds too.

Why Sharing a Birthday Stinks

Time Destroyed my Thyme: Failures of a Suburban Organic Gardner

19 Replies

I was Queen of the garden, guardian of nature, supreme boss of the land.

These photos showcase delectable memories…

…of last year’s amazing garden.

An army of multi-colored sunflowers stood guard against my garden fence, their bright and showy blooms following their namesake across the sky each day.

Plump, warm tomatoes hung from sprawling branches no cage could contain and mingled with sweet basil and savory green onions. Oregano and thyme trailed over the garden wall, perfuming the air each time we brushed past.

I scavenged through cookbooks and websites in search of new recipes to utilize the bountiful harvest. Graceful flowers mixed with aromatic greenery covered tabletops and counters. The essence of summer permeated our home.

After the success of last Spring’s garden I decided to kick it up a notch: this year I would grow all my plants from seeds. I would be a suburban organic farmer and locovore extraordinaire. Better Homes & Gardens would be knocking on my jasmine covered garden gate begging to do a photo shoot.

I planted my two favorite varieties of tomatoes, basil, parsley, thyme, green onions, chives, sweet red onions, yellow squash, zucchini, four types of peppers and two kinds of corn. I worked organic manure into the soil with my thinly gloved hands. I tied homemade tomato cages together with biodegradable twine. I nurtured my seedlings with daily waterings, organic fertilizers…I may have even sang to them a few times, encouraging them to grow vigorous and healthy. I was going to have a garden to rival Martha-Freaking-Stewart.

Bees and dragonflies darted between the delicate blossoms. Green tomatoes small as peas and mini ears of corn poked from beneath green leaves.

Then the trouble began.

A family of field mice conducted nightly raids on the yellow squash and zucchini decimating the harvest until Hubby wiped them out in revenge. The young plants never recovered (though neither did the mouse colony).

My tender seedlings needed daily watering. The lack of rainfall this Spring doubled my monthly water bill.

Finally the rains came and brought with them a plague of mosquitoes so thick I had to douse myself with half a bottle of Deep Woods Off AND wear long sleeves, pants, and an utterly unattractive scarf/hat combo just to pull a few of the never-ending weeds erupting from the soil.

Then came this Amazonian heat and humidity. Summertime arrived with its red hot guns blaring. June brought afternoon highs topping 100 degrees. Nighttime temps hovered in the 70s. Just a peek at the garden and I was soaked with sweat. All I could do was stay inside and hide in the A/C.

Unfortunately, my garden wanted to do the same…

The weeds and repressive heat threw a coup d’etat on my garden. My harvest consisted of one dish of lackluster tomatoes. One 3 by 5 inch dish. Only brittle skeletons of my beloved herbs and crops remain. The once beautiful plot now looks as if it was the victim of a forest fire or plague of locust. The wild weeds have taken over and mutant mosquitoes reign over the land like Dracula’s spawn.

Bye bye dreams of BH& G. Screw you summer and Martha-Freaking-Stewart. Screw. You.

Next year I’m just going to hit the farmers market and save my sanity and my skin.

I get the point Mother Nature. I know who’s the boss now.

An Open Letter to My Child Regarding His Latest Obsession: Flipping the Bird

24 Replies

Dear Kiddo,

You know I love every cell in your beautiful, rapidly growing body from the tiny mole on your foot to the Molluscum bumps on your chin. I love you when you are being an absolute angel snuggled up to me covering me with kisses and I love you when you hose down the bathroom with errant pee. {You just may not realize my screams and rants are words of love and devotion.} But I do, I swear. Always and forever no matter what.

But I have to tell you, this middle-finger obsession is driving me too close to the brink of sanity.


{Not MY child}

I wish I knew which rotten little ruffian thought he was so cool when he flipped the bird on the school playground last month and exposed innocent children to this crude and obscene gesture. I have a strange desire to coat that brat’s finger with industrial strength Bengay. So he’d have to leave it up. For a long time.

Ever since that day you have a flagrant obsession with everything touching, brushing, bending, or grazing either of your tiny middle digits.

At least 25 times a day (and sometimes 25 times an hour) you come racing over to me, trying to rat yourself out by questioning the appropriateness of your hand gesture.

Mommy, I touched the table and my middle finger was a little higher than my other fingers. I that okay?

Mommy, I was scratching and my middle finger stayed on my arm longer. Is that okay?

Mommy, I was in the shower and the soap slipped out of my hand and my middle finger came up a little…

Mommy, uh, I was eating my sandwich and some jelly got on my middle finger and I licked it off so it was up and…

Mommy, I was peeing and my middle finger was on top, so it was higher than my other fingers…

And several times a day:

Mommy, uhm, I was thinking about my middle finger and…

STOP IT. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT ANYMORE.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why you are hell-bent on ratting yourself out.

In the beginning I was patient and kind. I gently answered each and every redundant question. I have told you IT’S OKAY at least a thousand times by now.

No, you are NOT giving anyone the highway salute, the Bronx salute, the one-finger salute, the bird (as in giving, flipping, or flying the bird), or flipping off someone. You are NOT IN TROUBLE.

I do apologize for the day when I kind of lost it after you told me about your finger for the 68th time and I finally showed you explicitly what you are not allowed to do. I flipped you a perfect, intentional bird. And told you not to do this EXACT GESTURE to someone. That’s it. If you are not doing that exact gesture you are golden. The end.

But you still refuse to let it sink in.

You are a good-hearted and very intelligent 7 1/2 year-old. You can read Harry Potter. You are nearly at my level in math. Just don’t flip anyone the bird.

Tell me all about your day at school or at camp. I want to hear every detail of why Obi-Wan can wield a lightsaber better than Anakin (or is it vice-versa?) or how Sponge Bob can fart bubbles or how the kid in your group eats his boogers, but please, I beg you, not another freaking word about your middle finger.

Or I may have to tape your fingers together like you asked me to do last week.

Why I Can’t Find a REAL Job {Part 1}

26 Replies

It’s no big secret that I have been hunting for a job to supplement our income and give me a bit of my own life back.

I’ve only applied for five jobs so far but my phone has yet to ring with opportunity. Perhaps it’s time to start applying for the jobs listed below. All are real and unedited jobs(except to remove locations and numbers) I found on my local Craigslist yesterday.

Don’t blame the lack of grammar or morals on me…

Bikini Carwash

We are now hiring girls to wash and detail cars in their bikinis.. If you are pretty, look good in your bikini, are loud, have a flirty attitude, and can stand in the sun all day we want you!!!!
We are Rise & Shine Carwash located at XXXX at the Citgo gas station at the corner of Old XX Highway. We have two shifts 11-3 & 3-7.. or you can work all day!!
You will make all of your tips which range anywhere from 20$- 100$ a day… Its really up to you.. if you need are serious please respond to my add with the days and times that you are available
and a picture so i know what you look like and I will respond with my phone number…. Talk to you soon

Compensation: Tips..$40.00-$ 100.00 per day

seeking apprentice for body modification

for any or all of these fields:
Piercing
3D Body Implants
Branding Ear Pointing
Shaped Punches
Transdermal Implants
I’m a very motivated, dependable and reliable person. This is a path that I would like to otake to help shape the rest of my life. Please contact me with anything you think may be of interest to me.
compensation: n/a

ATTRACTIVE LADIES WITH COMMUNICATION SKILLS MAKE A $1000.00 WEEKLY

Growing company looking for attractive women between the ages of 18-35 to work for our bikini maid services…You can make your own schedule and we have morning, afternoons, and night shifts available. The job consist of performing light house chores. You can make a $1000 plus tips a week working part time!!! Serious applicants please send us a pictures of your face and full body!! NO NUDE Pictures necessary!!!If you have any other questions don’t hesitate to ask…

Body wax\bleaching assistant needed

I am looking for an assistant. I have been doing bodywaxing for over 11 years. I am slowly expanding my business. I’m also looking for volunteers to train on with students. I am willing to pay the volunteers for their time. I work in and cater to the adult industry so my assistant would have to be ok in that setting. It pays from $300- $500 a week. No experience necessary I will train.(ladies only)

Cleaning/Janitorial

A CLEANING COMPANY F IS IN NEED OF 2 PERSONS MEN and WOMAN PREFER IF THEY ARE HUSBAND AND WIFE TEAMS. DUTIES ARE TRASH COLLECTION, SWEPT FLOORS, DUSTING,VACCUM CARPET CLEANING, AND ABOUTH TWISE A YEAR CARPET TREATMENT EXPERIENCE AND STRIPP AND WAX EXPERIENCE REQUIRE HAVE OWN TRANSPORTATION., NEED GOOD DRIVING RECORD. BACKGROUND CHECK.
THIS IS A PART TIME BASE ON 2 OR 3 HOUR DEPENDING IN YOUR SKILLS
PREFER IF LIVE CLOSED TO THE JOB SITE THE HOURS START AT 8:00PM
NO ALARM SETTING CODE.,ONLY KEYS FOR ACCES
PLEASE LIVE ME A TEXT. MESSAGE AT xxxxxxxxx BE ESPESIFIC ON THE TEXT,IF LIVE CLOSED BY HOW FAR.,IF HAVE TRANSPORTATION.,IF HAVE EXPERIENCE
Compensation: $7.50 AN HOUR X 2 OR 3 HOUR A DAY X 7 DAYS A WEEK

Experienced Pet Bather

All Creatures Pet Grooming is looking for an experienced pet bather. Must have worked in the field for 2 years, have knowledge with ear flushing, gland expression, and different skin problems. Part time

Compensation: $9-10 per hour

female model or like model

Seeking a female model or like model that wants to suppliment her income or is looking for a great supporter. Must be intelligent, highly independent lifestyle, classy and single, be willing to travel occassionally, and ready to climb the ladder of success, whatever it may take…someone motivated to succeed in life. Please email photo.
I need only real people, fakes and criminals keep out.

Compensation: TO DISCUSS

Real Couples for TV show $$

Divorce Court is looking for married couples on the verge of divorce, or feuding couples that have been living together for at least 3 years. If you are a great talker, and want to bring your story to our show, please call us. Both sides have to participate. We will pay 570 dollars for each side in the argument, and we will cover your flight and hotel in Los Angeles. We want your story ASAP!

Compensation: $570 per person

I wonder if I could get a call back from any of these jobs? Doubtful. Maybe I should send a bikini shot along with my next resume…

Baby Girl’s Third Leg

22 Replies

I sat on the table, the paper crinkling under my slowly expanding bottom, my hands clenched at my sides. The lights were dimmed as the tech squeezed a cold blob of goo onto my abdomen. It was time for my 16-week ultrasound.

It was time for me to see who was growing inside me.

I was nervous as hell, as was to be expected. Pregnancy #1 hadn’t gone to well and had ended after only 11 weeks. This little girl was sticking around though, I knew it, I could feel her strength, I could see my belly slightly expanding, I could imagine her tiny hair follicles growing into downy strawberry blonde curls.

I just needed to see her and she would be real.

The tech smiled as she angled the ultrasound wand around. “Looking good,” she said. My little princess measured at the perfect size for her e.d.d., her little heart was pumping away, her profile looked a bit like an alien, but so what. She was doing okay.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the tech asked.

Hell yes. I was not going to buy all green and yellow clothes for her. I needed to break out all my old Barbies, stuffed animals, and Cabbage Patch Kids to decorate her room. I needed to make a final decision on the nursery set. I needed to have those little knit Mary Jane booties sitting in her drawers waiting for her delicate feet.

I squeezed Hubby’s hand as shivers ran down my spine. “Yes, tell us,” I gushed.

“Congratulations. It looks like you are having a boy.”

My smile dropped faster than boobs after breastfeeding. Did I hear hear right? No freakin way. IT CAN’T BE A BOY! Hubby reached down and gave me a hug, looking so proud of himself for possessing masculine sperm.

“Are you sure?” It was early. How could she be so sure?

She pointed out the painfully obvious fifth appendage on the image.

What’s worse: a girl with three legs or a boy?

I wasn’t sure.

I pasted on my dazed country club smile {no teeth and glazed over eyes} and held it together long enough to reach the parking lot. Then I proceeded to collapse as I broke into hysterical tears.

I can’t have a boy. I was always supposed to have a girl. I don’t have any brothers. I have no clue what to do with a boy. He won’t play dolls, or wear cute dresses and pig-tails while playing with My Little Ponies. He’ll pee standing up and stick bugs up his nose and fight and like sports and comic books and want me to buy him playboys when he’s a teen. I can’t do this. I’M SUPPOSED TO HAVE A GIRL.

Somehow I made it to work. I sat in the lunchroom like a zombie clutching the ultrasound in my lap, just staring at the alien creature growing inside me. A co-worker asked me who’s picture it was. Her eyes grew wide when I said it was mine–I had yet to even announce I was pregnant. She whooped and attracted everyone’s attention when I said it was a boy. Congratulations and well wishes flew around the room like a swarm of mosquitoes. In the end, I was emotionally drained.

Don’t worry. By the time my son was born I was completely sold on the whole boy thing. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I needed a little time to get used to the idea. Much better to break down in an empty parking lot than the delivery room, right?

This post was in response to one of Mama Kat’s writing prompts:
Barefoot and hormonal…describe an incident that upset you when you were pregnant, but now looking back makes you laugh.

Hanging Mickey Mouse

25 Replies

A long time ago in a fantasy land not too far away, there once was a college freshman who longed to escape from both the rigors of college coursework and the protective eyes of her parents for the summer. Some perky and persuasive recruiters combed her campus for the most fresh-faced, malleable, and all-American ~~slave labor~~ students to join their summer internship program. The competition was fierce, so this young and naive freshman pulled out her rows of earrings, wiped off her heavy eyeliner, swore her hair color was natural, and sweet talked the recruiters into paying her minimum wage to spend the summer at
THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH.

After spending eight weeks sweltering in the Sunshine State’s repressive heat and humidity, this soon-to-be-sophomore had finally ~~been released from indentured servitude and~~ graduated from the world-renown program. As her eyes glazed over from exhaustion, she reflected upon what knowledge she had gained through this highly coveted internship.

She gained an in depth knowledge of International Relations and how to peacefully cohabit with six people from five countries in one ~~cramped~~ charming, smoke-filled apartment. She discovered the French were the heaviest smokers and best cooks by far (and usually at the same time); Norwegians often paid for their extensive clubbing wardrobes and blonde highlights by supplying the International Village with any and every drug imaginable; the Germans and the English battled it out nightly for the fiercely contested title of world beer drinking champions; and much to the chagrin to all the roommates, some Internationals could not be taught to flush soiled toilet paper instead of depositing it in the trash can next to the loo.

She learned to ~~tune-out~~ tolerate the stupid tourists of the world. She was taught not to point but to gesture like a beauty queen waving on a float so she would not offend any foreign guests. As mobs of randy Brazilian youths exited from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride chanting “We wants the Redhead, We wants the Redhead” in her face, she learned how control her temper and not knee them in the groin. Eventually her conscience was numbed to the guilt of bilking a family of four out of a hundred bucks for cheap ponchos, a roll of film, and two plastic swords. She specialized in repressing snarky comments when at least fifty-nine overheated and under-deodorized guests per day asked, “What time is the Three O’clock Parade?” Vodka helped.

She discovered the magic was merely a carefully crafted facade, and nearly everyone in life was assigned a role to play. While sweating in her polyester pirate costume, she smiled and posed for photos with Japanese businessmen and hoped the images wouldn’t end up on bedside tables or the internet. She learned not to be shocked when she caught Tweedle Dum groping Alice or Tigger wandering wasted through the garbage-filled underground tunnels. She never looked at fairy tales the same after she caught Cinderella in her underwear, smoking a cigarette, and swearing like a drunken sailor. Childhood dreams are fragile and easily shattered.

After she carelessly shoved her hard-earned Mouster’s Degree into her luggage, she changed back into her own clothes and personality for the journey into the park to say her good-byes. She rode the shuttle bus to the park’s employee entrance for the last time and knowingly strolled to her former outpost. With the help of a few like-minded cohorts, she placed the tiny noose around the stuffed Mickey Mouse’s neck and let him dangle lifelessly in the air.

The dream was officially dead. She had graduated back into the real world.

I am NOT Too Old For a Miniskirt

29 Replies

Who do these people think they are telling me I’m too old to wear a miniskirt? According to some weight-challenged Brits, no one wants to see women’s legs once we have sagged our way to our mid-thirties. A much passed around post in the Daily Mail proclaims 35 is the absolute cut-off for short skirts. Hubby strenuously disagrees with them and is begging me to buy MORE skirts just to prove them wrong.

DietChef, some British diet food distributor (a la Jenny Craig), supposedly administered a poll to 2,000 (British, dieting, and riddled with low self-esteem) women asking the age at which certain items of clothing are no longer appropriate.

These legs can still rock a miniskirt.

The Results:

Bikini, 47
Swimsuit, 61
Miniskirt, 35
Long hair, 53
Ponytail, 51
Boob Tube (aka tube top), 33
Stilettos, 51
Belly button piercing, 35
Knee high boots, 47
Trainers (sneakers), 44
Leather pants, 34
Leggings, 45
Ugg boots, 45
See-through chiffon blouse, 40

How is it possible that 35 is to old for a miniskirt but a bikini is just fine until age 47? Trust me, the general public would much rather be forced to stare at my legs in a short skirt than my bit of muffin flopping over my bikini bottom. And how is it that a mere 14 years later at the ripe old age of 61 women should no longer even be SEEN in a swimsuit? What are we supposed to wear, some kind of geriatric swim costume?

Obviously these people have never been to Daytona Beach, home to the never-ending parade of 85-year-old women proudly showing off their tans, tattoos, and sagging cleavage in fluorescent bikinis. (A few of these former biker babes WAY past their prime have made Hubby shriek and spew Cheetos and Kiddo point as if a painted whale just crawled up from the sea.)

For most women, there is a cut off age depending on her body type and modesty level, but are these pollsters saying that their own Dame Helen Mirren should not be allowed to wear any swimsuit? She looks better than me (and probably you too) at the “old” age of 65.

I am rather surprised by the late age cut-off for long hair and pony tails. As soon as I hit 30 my dad told me I was too old for my long locks and informed me I looked much younger once I chopped them off. (I didn’t cut my hair off for him, I just couldn’t handle the then infant Kiddo trying to scalp me as he practiced grasping and pulling.) Should we all be required to go in for weekly set and curls once we hit the big 5-0? It has to do with style people. If you are trying to look like you did at 16, you are going to look old and inappropriate. No matter the length, if your hairstyle is current you can wear it well at any age.

No trainers (sneakers) after 44? Are we supposed to give up exercising completely or only go to classes like yoga, Pilates, and water aerobics which don’t require shoes? No, that wouldn’t work either. Yoga and Pilates are most comfortable in leggings (forbidden after 45) and swimsuits–well, we already discussed that one. And some peoples feet just need to be covered. I refuse to trade in my walking shoes for colored leather flats with tassels AND pantyhose with shorts. My (well over 44) M-I-L just tried hiking the LA canyons in leather flats. BAD idea. I just won’t do it.

Somehow shorts didn’t even make the list. How can that be? Women, heck, little girls even wear inappropriate shorts at all ages. Have these people never cruised the mall or stepped foot in a Walmart? The amount of erroneous shorts choices is just appalling. Some days you just have to stare at the floor to not get freaked out. Oh wait, the list was compiled by Brits–they only wear shorts while on holiday in some sunny, foreign locale. Try and tell a woman sweltering through waves of hot flashes in the deep South she is forbidden from wearing shorts. Do it and run. I dare you.

We should make a list of all the items MEN shouldn’t wear after a certain age. Starting with:

Speedos–forbidden once potty trained–3
Make-up and nail polish–16 (or once they drop out of their garage band)
High school jerseys, jackets and other paraphernalia–the day after graduation-18
Capris–just pick shorts or pants–4 (because it takes a while for their legs to catch up with their waists)
Disney themed apparel–10 (any older and they will rightfully get beat up)
Heavy fragrance (i.e. Polo, Drakkar Noir)–18 (or when they actually get a girlfriend)
Skinny jeans–16 (and a GIRL)
Birkenstocks--24 (once they graduate college and/or stop smoking pot)
Crocs–10
Tank tops–age 8 (or once they stop coming with the matching swim trunks)
Sports jerseys–unless you are actually on the field/court/rink don’t do it
Bow ties–only with a proper tuxedo and then only black or white
Leather pants–never
Navy blazers with brass buttons–65 and up only

Are you a rule breaker?

What else should be on the Men’s list?

I’ll be sitting here in my boob tube and miniskirt waiting your reply.