The Absent Minded Housewife

Kathie Lee should be glad she got out when she did.

2009-12-05T09:57:00.000-07:00

When I think of Christmas Cheer, I think of combovers!

Day 5 of my audio advent calendar brings you Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer enthusiastically sung by Regis Philbin and Donald Trump.

If I had antlers, they'd be tingling.

They refuse to undergo gender reassignment or lobotomies, so I'm screwed.

2009-12-04T09:53:00.000-07:00

How is it that some of you people were able to breed children with girl type anatomy and I was not?

Because, you people with female offspring can't have possibly experienced what I experienced last night. Girls don't pull those kinds of shenanigans. It doesn't even occur to them. They'd rather die than do what my fifteen year old son did to my ten year old son.

Keep in mind that my ten year old is a gentle kid. He's a boy sure. He likes to blow things up too, but when he expresses his desire to do so he wants to make sure everyone has a blanket and hot chocolate first.

The fifteen year old would stand there with lit explosives in his hands wondering how big the boom will be when it does go off.

So while my older boy doesn't have sense enough to remove himself from possible danger he does possess enough logic to know that if your stomach is a wee bit upset from eating all the crap teenagers are compelled to eat and you're passing foul winds that passing said winds in your brother's room keeps the smell out of your own room. If your brother is in there quietly playing video games when the bomb hits, well, all the better.

And if your mother walks into the quiet son's room to put something away and has to run back out gagging? Cha. Ching!

When I regained my senses and discovered that the reek was just the result of a SBD and not a clandestine dead pet I demanded my oldest spray disinfectant, change his clothing and chug some Pepto. He was warned that farting in such a way again would result in assault charges. As in, charges on me, because I'd beat him.

(Oh shush...I know what you've read here before. Do as I say, not as I do.)

How I fear for my oldest son's future spouse! The apologies start now. I'm so sorry. I am so so so sorry. Know that I did try to instill a little couth into the boy.

You parents of girls, this doesn't happen in your house, does it?

Yeah, don't ask MY parents that question. They have four daughters.

***

If the above didn't make you sorry enough, day 4 of my audio advent calendar brings this lovely rendition of Little Drummer Boy sung by Marlene Dietrich.

Put the drumsticks down.

Squawk

2009-12-03T10:56:00.000-07:00

Never ever shake the presents under the tree that have ventilation holes.

Day three of my audio advent calendar, Santa Face is Bringing Me a Budige by Freddy Davis.

In my house that would be a Christmas treat for the cat.

Because I started this damned thing, guess I'd better continue...

2009-12-02T08:55:00.001-07:00

Day 2 of holiday cheer, can you dig it? Of course you can! Today's audio advent calendar:

Rockin Disco Santa from the American Song Poem Archives.

Bummer, I got a polyester rash....

The power, the absolute power!

2009-12-01T11:00:00.010-07:00

It's not often around this little corner of the blogosphere that I display my serious side. Content of The Absent Minded Housewife will more often than not have references to my boobs, or my groin, or to 70's porn films or farts. Serious schmearious, there have been too many bodily functions in my existence to not make light of them.

Besides, that stuff is funny. Matches my decor.

One can't be funny all the time. Between the farts I have deep thoughts and a couple of brain cells to rub together.

There have been places on the internets where I could go to express myself in more adult and less lewd ways, to the chagrin of many. Places where I can use my great big vocabulary and cultivate a part of me that gets underutilized in the daily raising of my rug apes. It's natural that some of these spots in my online world come and go. A few have run their course and I miss them terribly. A few have stopped meshing well with my personality and life views. Some are too anonymous and others aren't anonymous enough.

Though all my meanderings in front of this screen and under my mouse there has been one constant. I've grown there in ways that I'm beyond grateful for. Yet, in all my years and participation in this particular forum, it never occurred to me that I was a likely choice to step into the role of moderator when a woman I respect and have quite a lot of appreciation for stepped down.

My silly fart joke loving self is now moderator of About.com's Marriage Forum.

Oh lordy, do they know what they're in for? Do I? Where is Scut Farkus when you need him? Who says this stuff isn't real life?

In any case, I'm truly honored. The Gas-X is in my desk drawer and I'll do my best.

****

December 1st? Time for caroling!

For your listening pleasure, day 1 of my audio advent calendar, Dominick the Christmas Donkey by Lou Monte. Enjoy.

I gots a widdle owie.

2009-11-30T11:27:00.003-07:00

I apologize for getting around to this late today. I had to interrupt my day to go pee in a cup.

Don't I always tell you when I have to go pee in a cup? That's how much I love and trust all of you, my readers and other hangers on. This flu which I'm finally getting over has resulted in my immunities taking a spa cruise and now whenever I pee my eyes water.

So I went to see my town's new doctor this morning.

When the hell did I get old enough to start seeing doctors who are younger than I am? He's feeling up my kidneys and explaining everything he knows about urinary tract infections and I'm the old crotch telling him that this isn't my first ride on the pony, just give me a damned prescription already! Is that a stethoscope or a pacifier?

He's forgiven though. New doc is CUTE. He's now christened Doctor HuggiePants for being so adorable. I had an urge to lick my fingers to paste down his cowlick and then make him a fluffer-nutter sandwich.

Of course the old Pap Schmear question arose.

When was your last Pap? What were the results? Did they use a swab or a spatula? Would you classify yourself as republican, democrat, independent or other? Who do you intend to vote for in the next election? Better buy ammo because they are gonna take away our guns!

I may schedule my next Pap with Dr. HuggiePants just so I can see if a Fisher Price gynecology set is molded out of pink plastic.

When I'm done in the stirrups I want a sticker.

My turkey is never dry.

2009-11-25T10:36:00.005-07:00

Since my entire family is hacking and spewing viscous substances, we've bowed out of driving into the crazy happy beehive that is Utah and are going to stay home to baste our turkey. Yes, Utah is crazy. Never question that.

Oh, you're not. You're just enthusiastically agreeing with me. Sharing my pain. Thanks. This is why I blog. Share my pain, not my flu.

Having my Thanksgiving here in Nevada means everything I do to my turkey in Nevada stays here in Nevada.

I gots your pillar of salt right here.

2009-11-24T10:03:00.003-07:00

I feel like God.

That is, I sneezed and lo and behold, primordial ooze!

I'll be here all week.

I'll know something's up when I grow 4 more teats.

2009-11-23T10:36:00.001-07:00

Since Wednesday my throat has been coated in Bic disposable razors and Tabasco sauce.

Could that statement be an effective pick up line in a bar? One of you try it out and get back to me.

Maybe it's swine flu. I didn't get a vaccination. Not that I didn't think I needed one but in my small community and because of limited supply, other people needed theirs a hell of a lot more than me.

I just sneezed and now every time I breathe in through my nose it does smell kinda porky.

Better than mouthbreathing and having it taste like bacon.

Or chitlins.

Ode to Oh-pur

2009-11-20T10:48:00.003-07:00

The morning Oprah wore her anchor suit and reported news of one kind

and another

the public called her "THE OPRAH!"
and Oprah said "HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?"
so she signed a syndication deal and began a diet.

That very night in Oprah's room an empire grew.

and grew-

and grew until her ceiling hung with shadow reducing stage lighting

and the walls became a set all around

and a video camera panned by with a filtered lens for Oprah

and she taped through mornings and afternoons

and in and out of seasons

and almost near a quarter century

to where the housewives are.

And when she came to the place where the housewives are
they cheered their adoring cheers and smiled their adoring smiles

and jumped up on their adoring feet and clapped their adoring hands

till Oprah said "AHA MOMENT!"
and tamed them with a giveaway

of placing a self help book under all their studio chairs without charging them anything

and they were estatic and called her the most influential TV personality of all

and made her queen of all housewives

"And now," cried Oprah, "My favorite things!"

"Live your best life!" Oprah said and sent the housewives back to their realties

with all kinds of tips and goodies. Then Oprah the queen of all housewives was lonely

and wanted to be where she could live her best life of all.

Then all around from far away across the world

she smelled good things to eat

so she gave up being queen of daytime television.

But the housewives cried, "Oh please don't go-

how will we live?-we love you so!"

And Oprah said, "No!"

The housewives cheered their adoring cheers and smiled their adoring smiles

and jumped up on their adoring feet and clapped their adoring hands

but Oprah stepped back behind the camera and waved goodbye

and closed a quarter century

and in and out of seasons

and through mornings and afternoons

and arrived at the dusk of her very own reality

where she found an aha moment waiting for her

and it was still hot.

No health insurance premiums ever again!

2009-11-17T10:35:00.001-07:00

I've finally decided what I want to be when I grow up.

At 35 years old it is time to grow up. Soon I'll have every kid I've ever given birth to within institutions of book learnun and my days of bon bon eating will be done for. I'm looking forward to not being asked by nonsensical people what I do all day.

In considering a career path it's important it mesh well with your personality and goals. I'd like to have a lot of interaction with people from all walks of life. Make a difference. Do something filled with creativity.

The economy factors in as well. It would be silly of me to decide on a career path that offers little future and a poor retirement package. I don't have to make millions but financial comfort would be nice.

This is why I've decided to become a vampire.

Vampires are AWESOME.

I have the skillz to become a vampire too. I have the hair. I have the teeth. I have the overbearing sensuality. I have the daytime sleeping habits right down. Dad gum, I'm right pale!

All I need is a bustier, some smokey eyeshadow and hypnotic powers. Maybe some work on my backwoods vocabulary.

It's easy to be a vampire in just about any location too. There are no worries about outsourcing or outdated production and technologies. No layoffs. No commute. No office supplies. No TPS reports.

Ultimately no customer complaints either.

Of course, no career is without it's downsides. That whole stake in the heart thing. Can't say I'd look forward to that. I'd miss fruit smoothies too. And chewing gum.

What I don't have is any contacts. Help me network people. Tell me where to send my resume'.

Gotta get in on the ground floor before the market is flooded.

Extruded

2009-11-16T10:34:00.001-07:00

Today I volunteered to help at my child's preschool.

Apparently I'm to assist in the mixing of homemade play dough.

I know. I'm laughing about this too. Once I had a brain that was actually capable of complete thoughts and rational decision making. Now I'll be making play dough with a dozen and a half four year olds, at least two of them smelling like pee and one like vegetable soup. Goody!

After the play dough is made it would be prudent of me to fight the inclination to make inappropriate things out of it. There are so many things you could call a long roll of play dough and all of them hilarious. Average length? Poo. Extra long and skinny? Diarrhea. Twelve inches long and thick? You've eaten your fiber.

Snicker. I know where you went.

I'm dealing with four year olds here. They know and appreciate poop humor. When I volunteer to make play dough with you folks we can act more sophisticated.

Hopefully none of you will smell like pee.

Going Viral...requiring bedrest and fluids.

2009-11-13T10:51:00.002-07:00

I've sifted through a lot of video this morning to bring you one that is appropriate considering the hour of the day. You should thank me. There was nudity, and vomit, and pus and something involving a pair of lovely young ladies and a singular receptacle.

I could use a breakfast burrito. I'm starving.

It was either do this post or watch Dr. Memet Oz show off a pair of cadaver testicles on his show. Hope to Cletus that they came from a cadaver because if they didn't what Dr. Oz is trying to teach us all about testicular health doesn't apply to one unlucky guy.

For illustration, from all the clips I perused, here is the cleanest and most politically correct of the entire 105 in the list.

I apologize for the crappy video quality. This copy is from YouTube instead of directly from the Tosh.0 website. The embed function from Tosh.0 wants to post multiple copies of the clip all down my screen. Watching that took the image of cadaver testicles right out of your mind, didn't it?

Tosh.0, the internet video clip show on Comedy Central, is hosted by comedian Daniel Tosh. He's an adolescent.

...and I want to sniff his hoody.

Are you a little surprised? I am. Daniel Tosh is typically not my type. He's well groomed enough but I can't get past the frat boy essence even if we are the same age. I'm menopausal and he's going to go out and ride his scooter.

He brings out the junior high in me and not the parts that are undeveloped and awkward. For that, I so totally XOXOXO him 4evah.

Oh Daniel Tosh, you son of a preacherman bowhunk! Why am I so unexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right, you aren't above appearing mostly naked on your show, except for that annoying and convenient blurred spot, and that takes testicles. Real ones. Not floppy dead ones.

And salvia.

Buzzwords

2009-11-09T10:37:00.001-07:00

Alright, say this real quiet, all hushy like:

Marital aids.

Stop giggling.

Wait. I don't have to explain what a marital aid is, do I? I sure hope not. Wouldn't that be an indelicate conversation? It's not kosher for me to explain their varied uses in this venue, both practical and decorative. Just know that they call these convenient devices "marital aids" because if you employ them without the benefit of marriage you'll end up sporting coke bottle glasses.

My parents and two of my three sisters and their respective spouses visited yesterday and it's all they could talk about. Yak yak yak about some doo-dad called "The Thruster" or "Terminator" or "Todd the Rodd". Something of that nature. Along with describing any sounds, smells or tastes associated.

I'm aware my parents were adults long before I was born and were doing adult things that resulted in my presence on the planet...but when did my siblings and I get so non-hushy about "Thor's Hammer" around good old Mom and Pop? All of us siblings got past our twenties and lost all discretion!

Now don't get the idea that I actually own something I'd give testosterone-y sounding names to. I admit nothing.

When I was around 14 or so my Dad took me to the store to buy maxi pads because my mom was unavailable. That was embarrassing for both of us. When I was 30 or so my Dad took me to the store to buy maxi pads and stool softeners and I wasn't in the least bit embarrassed. In fact, I discussed stool softeners with my Dad. It was fascinating.

Moving on to discussing anything made out of vulcanized rubber is only logical.

So my family has either become comfortable or we've all gone a bit nutty.

They make them shaped like squirrels you know...

Tiny little party hats.

2009-11-06T10:27:00.002-07:00

Today is my 35th birthday.

Today is the day that I stop allowing myself to think I have a future in super-modeling.

Which kind of sucks in a way. I've always wanted to stomp down a runway wearing couture sheer enough to show off my nipples. Girlfriend went right from the office to the club. Flip the jacket, flip it!

I will never have 20 year old nipples again. My nipples are entering middle age. My nipples need support hose. My nipples need fiber.

Now that's disgusting, the way you're thinking that way about rice cakes. Stop that. At least stop before you get to the peanut butter part of your thought. Have a little self control.

Now there is pressure to give up all the adolescent things I have enjoyed up to this point. If turning 30 wasn't officially adulthood, 35 definitely is.

Obviously I'm not catering to that pressure.

Just wait until my nipples turn 40.

We don't bite our friends.

2009-11-04T10:04:00.002-07:00

It was a glorious day yesterday.

I'm regular these days, so I wasn't referring to that. If you aren't regular and you too had a glorious day yesterday, I'm thrilled for you. We've all been there.

Yesterday was thrilling because this four year old child of mine, my last child who has awesome whine on cue powers, was dressed in real clothing complete with socks AND shoes and taken to preschool from 12:15 to 2:45.

I gleefully missed two and a half hours of Dora, Diego and Max and Ruby. Screw you Backpack. Not on MY time. I want no part of whatever you're keeping under that zipper of yours. FREEDOMMMM!

Since all this nasty flu is floating about the lessons this week in preschool are germ and safety oriented. It's important that after you pick your nose and wipe your booger on your playmate that you wash your hands. My son was sent home with brightly illustrated literature in which we can reinforce these lessons at home.

The more you know:

Wear your seatbelt.
Know how to get to safety if there is a fire.
Don't put small things into your mouth while playing...you could choke.
Don't drink poison! Even yummy looking house cleaners.
Play nice on the playground!
Don't swim without supervision!

And most importantly...don't play with guns.

Which I can indeed reinforce at home. We don't keep any guns in our actual home. All the guns my husband likes to play with in the safest way possible are stored at other locations which may or may not be the Buick sized bomb shelter I secretly built under my patio.

Below is the educational cartoon I scanned right out of my son's book. No joke.

Can you put the storyboard in the right order? Boots? Dora?

Because after wiping a booger on your playmate we don't need any retribution.

An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises.

2009-11-03T08:40:00.002-07:00

Our once anonymous commenter, Robyn, outed herself and has won prize for her part in convincing my husband to dress like this:

However, my husband didn't win. He didn't even place. The judges felt moved to give prize money to three undeserving and unimaginative costumes which caused the crowd to boo.

Nevertheless, the high point of the evening was when a man wearing something like this:

...offered his services to Justin.

Results? Them's balloons.

Justin received many fine compliments on his carriage and manners.

So, Robyn, throw me an email through my profile and you'll find a lovely pair of sterling silver vampire fangs in your mailbox shortly!

A hard man is good to find.

2009-10-30T09:57:00.000-06:00

I need your help.

There is 250 bucks on the line!

If I can convince my unshaven husband to dress in my blue velvet befeathered Mae West costume tomorrow evening, complete with blond wig, much lipstick and huge feathered hat, I'm sure he'll win the top cash prize.

Of course we'll have to rig him up some bosoms. I have balloons and duct tape.

Justin's on the fence.

He's not a dress up kind of guy. Yet, the money has him tempted.

Last year, I won second place, got my udders in the paper. It was an honor.

Please, help me convince him that it's his turn to be honored! Best argument may win a prize!

I'm gonna put some whiskey in my swiss miss.

2009-10-29T10:03:00.003-06:00

Like every mother out there...or any mother with good intentions anyway...I try to create sweet family moments that my children can look back on when they finally grow into self sustaining adults.

Caramels and apples were on sale. Popsicle sticks were free.

In other words...a sloppy sticky mess and second degree burns were on sale. The sugar mania is free.

I had this vision in my head, fed by mail order clothing catalogs where the square jawed models wear layers of geometric design sweaters in warm tones, that my little family will gather around a shimmering tablescape to dip gleaming crisp apples into warm melty autumn. We'll give our treats time to cool while we all pile into a horse drawn wagon, sitting on golden bales of straw sprinkled with emberlike maple leaves whilst sipping hot chocolate that didn't originate from a paper packet.

Did I just use the term "tablescape"?

That'll smack ya right back into reality.

My expectations are right where they should be. Afterall I'm working with a kid who's got yet another jar of ants in his room, another kid that thinks that "pull my finger" is the funniest joke ever, and the last kid who spent yesterday snacking on a hidden bag of cap'n crunch knockoff cereal and putting the portions that aren't crunch berries, which he'd already sucked on, back into the package because they don't contain as much artificial coloring.

The horse that draws the wagon has to lift it's tail to poop sometimes. That's probably what our caramel apples are going to look like once we're done.

That's OK. My family makes it's memories around the manure. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Shagged and Bagged

2009-10-27T10:23:00.000-06:00

I broke things off with someone yesterday.

What I feel today is an overwhelming sense of relief. What I felt yesterday was an irrational apprehension and a hairy sense of guilt. This relationship had gone on for far too long. It had to end. I'd led them on.

Instead of sitting with such silly feelings I spurned myself into action and started tearing up my hall carpeting. That also had to be done. We bought a house with impractical white linoleum and more impractical beige carpeting. Beige carpet + three boy children + hurling cat = gross.

After a year or more I finally told the nice and pleasant smelling 80 year old JW lady that I didn't want any more visits to my door. She didn't take it well.

I've never had a problem telling other people no. Watch your kids? No. Bake six dozen cupcakes for the 5th grade power yoga team fundraiser? No. Sew you a rubber pony suit? No. Would you like some beautifully illustrated religious literature? Um...uh...I guess...sure...um...thanks. Come back soon.

Spineless is me.

Really, I'm not going to sew that pony suit. Quit whining to me about it. Whinnying? Whatever. The answer is no.

What upset me is the idea that this woman pities me for ultimately deciding that my spiritual path was my own and by her belief I wouldn't be "saved". As if coming to my door from time to time gave her a clear view into my heart, as floppy as it's been when it concerns receiving a brochure.

I may be worldly and want to commit sins but she wears orthopedic shoes.

Besides, I'll be cleansed with new carpet and paint by spring. Hallelujah.

Stomach Bug

2009-10-26T10:18:00.001-06:00

Woke up early to a hurling child this morning.

Anyone who is a parent type knows that hurling commences from 3 to 6 in the morning and that a portion of this hurl must either land on the floor or on the wall.

If you are really lucky your nauseated child comes into the parental bedroom before he or she has hurled in their own beds, complains of impending hurl, and then hurls a split second after the complaint. Being half awake the closest parent is compelled to try to catch the hurl in their hands, like a zoo gorilla, which only results in hurl being splattered on them as well as on the floor and the wall.

Hitting the hurl lottery includes the impending hurl scenario above and the child losing his or her bladder or bowel control whilst hurling. Hurl on the parent, on the floor, on the wall and nether fluids finding themselves in the same locations depending on what the child wore to bed.

I'm happy to announce that I'm not lucky and I didn't hit the lottery. The kid hurled once on his sheets. No complaints and no catching. Minimal odor. Only a singular drop hit the floor. No diarrhea. The sheets and blanket have been washed and dried.

But then the cat hurled something green and foul all over my new kitchen floor and the dream was lost.

That bastard.

Go to Wally and buy a housecoat already, dammit.

2009-10-23T10:08:00.005-06:00

Attention anonymous halloween type web searchers!

A request to procure a "housewife costume" does not include a pair of my unwashed underwear in any of the styles below:

Thongs
Briefs
White cotton briefs
Tent sized briefs
Sailboat sized briefs
Slippery nylon godzilla sized briefs

Or any style NOT mentioned. Thanks for asking.

I may be behind on the laundry but you don't have to constantly remind me of the fact!

Skinning Cats

2009-10-20T10:18:00.004-06:00

My dumb gay cat meowed all night long.

I'm amazed that I'm so chipper this morning considering my cat had an announcement to make every hour on the hour. It only goes to show that my progesterone cream is working because if it wasn't my cat would be a grease smear on the wall this morning.

That my husband didn't make grease smear out of the cat can only be attributed to a miracle.

One of the kids gets up in the night to use the bathroom? Meow. Meow meow meow. Meeaaaaooowwww.

The cat has to go take a crap in his litter box in the night? Meow meow meow meow MEOW MEOW!

It's raining outside? Meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowdammitmeow.

I farted in bed? Meow um meow um meow um meow.

It's dark? MEOW. MEOW. MEOW. MEOW.

From what I read around the internets the cause of all this feline asshattery is boredom. My cat cannot figure out how to keep himself entertained all night long. He figures out how to keep himself entertained during the day well enough. He sleeps. During the night he wants everyone to know that he can't do a stinking crossword puzzle or surf the internet for porn.

Since my cat suffered a large abscess in his paw I've kept him inside. This accounts for the boredom. He's no longer allowed to go out and rub himself against shrubbery or poorly attempt to put the beat down on other cats or poorly attempt to mate with any cat that happens into area, in heat or not. I accept the blame.

So it's up to me to help with the cure and apparently this cure is to play with my cat during the day.

However, you cat advice givers, my cat has never been all that playful. He hurled on that page of his cat manual. He has his moments but otherwise if you attempt to play with him in a manner that would be acceptable to other members of his species he just looks at you like he pities the fool.

This leaves me with two methods to help relieve my cat of cabin fever so we all can get some sleep. Either my cat finds a indoor substitute to relieve sexual frustration or I can beat him.

And no...you don't get a vote in this decision.

Neither does my cat. Thank Bast.

Will sew for some semblance of dignity...

2009-10-19T10:51:00.000-06:00

I can't say I'm a huge fan of reality TV. If the choice came down to watching Survivor or attempting to put my entire fist up my nose the choice would be the fist, hands down. Or hand up. Whatever.

News about Dancing with the Stars or The Biggest Loser or American Idol or Wife Swap or America's Got Talent or Amazing Race or The Real Housewives of Wherever goes right over my head. Does that British nanny lady still go into people's houses to make the parents actually parent? I don't know but I have a naughty chair...yes I do.

However, I love Top Chef and Project Runway. Do not bother me on Thursday nights. I will eat your first born.

Since launching a large, shiny and life threatening mylar balloon has already been done, there are many things I'd do to make an appearance on Project Runway. Ooh, what it would be to compete! Don't want the prize though. I have no use for 100K to put a collection on the runway. The goal would be to make it to the final four and then sew up a Farrah Fawcett Charlie's Angels style polyester leisure suit so Heidi Klum can declare me out.

Sure, it was an evening gown challenge but I was just trying to think outside of the box!

What would I do to sew for Tim Gunn?

-Well, eat your first born. I already said so. Rare. With mustard.

-Have my eggs harvested to conceive Tim Gunn's fabulous baby. His firstborn, which I might also eat rare with mustard.

-I'd compete naked in an Emperor's new clothes sort of way. Find me a horse because I'm taking a ride through da village.

-I'd clone Farrah.

-I'd attend more than one Amway seminar depending on who the featured speaker was.

-I'd listen to hours upon hours of inane cartoon chattering on any number of cartoon and kid networks, up to and including Ed, Edd and Eddie and the episodes of Blues Clues hosted by Joe instead of Steve.

-I'd read every one of them Twilight novels. Some Dan Brown crap too. And some romance novels featuring heroines that knit.

This is my level of dedication folks. Gimme a dressmaker's dummy and an industrial sewing machine and I will give Tim Gunn a reason to live.

Because we don't want Mr. Gunn to hide in a box in his attic ever.

Costumes I refuse to tell you how to make this Halloween season...

2009-10-16T10:23:00.001-06:00

Because I have ethics and standards.

Or I try to have ethics and standards.

Shuddup about the boob ad to the side.

Anyhow, this time of year I'm always asked to come up with witty and unique costume ideas and how to put together such witty ideas for less than five bucks. I enjoy this challenge. Makes me feel like MacGyver. Virile.

But...I'm not going to make your Halloween costume contest dreams come true by recommending you go as any of the following:

- Kate Gosselin, Jon Gosselin, conjoined Gosselin twins or conjoined Gosselin sextuplets. Though a half man/half woman costume made up of Jon and Kate would be amusing.

- Thriller style Michael Jackson. That's just morbid! Especially when you tote around an IV.

- Glenn Beck...or any other costume that is so mucousy. I know it's Halloween and all but lay off the constant teary oozing which can be created with unflavored gelatin. It's germy. Speaking of germy, lay off any costume with porcine qualities which represents the swine flu. You are ruining bacon's good name.

- Anything not traditionally slutty. Forget it. If you want to show T or A, or anything else Britney Spears would show, do it in an expected way. I will not engage in slutting up Dopey the Dwarf or Barbara Bush or the Dalai Lama or any of the characters on Yo Gabba Gabba (except one.)

- I know vampires are really really really popular. Let's not mix vampire traits with costumes that aren't traditionally vampire-ish. It causes cognitive dissonance. Dress as a cute kitty...don't dress as a cute kitty vampire. Dress as a pirate...don't dress as a pirate vampire. This includes all the slutty costume no-no's above.

- David Letterman...specifically, don't dress in a long double breasted overcoat with nothing underneath except cutouts of David Letterman's face over your bits. The man's sorry enough for his crude behavior, alrighty?

If you planned to go out on Halloween in any of the above, I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the design.

Me? I'm putting the usual sheet over my head and calling it good.