The Blog of Bex

My BlackBerry's Big Day Out At The Mall

2008-09-04T11:19:00.004-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I got a new phone. It's a BlackBerry and is so shiny and new - I love it. There is no Cheerio crumb/paste mixture stuck in the edges. There has not been any juice, coffee or cosmo spilled on it. It is pristine. For now.

Later that same day I had to pick up a shirt for one of my numerous kids at the mall so I strapped my snazzy phone on the waistband of my pants, grabbed my bag and away I went. I was browsing around when suddenly I felt the unpleasant stomach bubbles that typically preceed horrific diarrhea. I stopped - dead in my tracks - and waited to see what would happen. It went away and I took inventory, "Am I going to crap in my pants?" I felt ok, so I continued shopping.

Suddenly the bubbles were back, coming in waves about every 10 seconds. I ran with my shirt to the register. There was not a store employee in sight. The retail warriors who jumped my ass with offers of "Could I help you find something in particular? Are you sure???" were now nowhere to be seen. Bitches. More stomach bubbles which caused me to say, "UMMM....HELLLLLOOOOO????!"

The sales person came out, rang me up and then asked me if I'd like to buy some socks. That felt totally random. I'm buying a shirt. Who the hell said anything about SOCKS???! Not me, that's for damn sure. I told her I didn't want any and she said, "OK, but they are $6 for 3 and $10 for 6!" I looked at her as my stomach continued to bubble and said through clenched teeth, "Just. The. Shirt. Oh. And where are the toilets? You know, just in case I need to go later...." I don't know why but I never want to admit to anyone when I have to go. I'm sneaky that way, I guess.

Anyway, the loo was ALL the way across the mall so I ignored her offer to save 15% if I opened up a credit card, snatched my bag and ran to the bathroom, frantic with worry that I wouldn't make it. I kicked the door open, dropped my pants and sat down (after wiping the seat, of course!). And ... nothing happened! After a minute or so I heard a vibrating noise and looked down at my pants. My spanking new cell phone was on vibrate. I slowly realized that the vibration was over the same part of my stomach that was "bubbling".

As I sat there, taking in the aroma of a mall toilet, I tried to embrace the idea that I had mistaken a ringing cell phone for impending diarrhea.

What a fucking genius I am. I want to go to graduate school but I can't tell the difference between an internal bodily function and an external business tool. Perhaps I should be lucky that they let me operate heavy machinery and call it a day.

The Idiot's Guide To Colonoscopies

2008-09-03T10:01:00.005-04:00

My cyber friend, LeighOnline, is going through an ORDEAL this week. She's cutting back on the margarita's, which I think we can all agree is cause for angst in and of itself. Also? Her husband is going in for a colonoscopy this week.

Some of you may know that I am something of an expert on what I like to call "Ass Trouble". And no, I don't want to talk about it. But I do want to share this post to give her (and you) an idea of what her hubs is in store for this week:

A couple of months ago I went to my twentieth high school reunion. I hadn't seen most of these people since the day I accepted my diploma. One exception was a guy named...well, let's call him "Joe" in case he doesn't want to be discussed on a public blog. Anyway, I bumped into "Joe" several years ago on Bourbon Street in New Orleans around 11:45PM on New Years Eve. I don't know about him but we had been drinking since that morning so I didn't remember much about the encounter.

When I saw him at the reunion I brought up the New Orleans thing and we laughed about it. We started making small talk and he said that he was, in fact, a medical doctor. I thought that was pretty cool. After all, this is someone with whom I'd sit at parties and bang heads with while listening to heavy metal bands. And look how nicely he turned out! I asked him what kind of medicine he practiced and he said, "uh, internal." Well, I'm no doctor (nor did I sleep in a Holiday Inn Express last night) but that seemed...a bit vague. A bit like bullshit. So I asked him to pinpoint it and it turns out that he's a proctologist. For those of you who've never had medical issues requiring this particular expertise, this is someone who checks out your lower intestines. He will, for a fee, drug you and then put a 6 foot long tube with a camera on the end of it into your arse.

I've started thinking about this and I have to say, I'm curious. I wonder at what point he had thought, "Screw cardiology! I think I'd like to give colonoscopies for a living."

What's that you say? You've never had a colonoscopy? Really??? Well let me enlighten you: The first thing that happens is a doctor examines you Down There. And then he delivers The News - "I'd like to get a better look at this." Leaving you to think, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!" He pats you reassuringly on the shoulder, gives you a prescription to fill and sets an appointment.

So you go to the drugstore to get your prescription. The store clerks give each other Knowing Looks as they try to find a shopping bag big enough to fit the gallon jug into. You can feel beads of sweat appearing on your brow. But hey, you're tough, right? You can do this.

You take your gallon jug home and read the instructions. In the instructions it informs you that this stuff tastes significantly better if it is cold and advises you to put it in the fridge for a couple hours. That's nice, isn't it? Really thoughtful. So you chill it, take a bath and try not to think about tomorrow morning.

It's time to drink the gallon of fluid. You get it out of the fridge and read the label again. "Lemonade Favored". I always did enjoy a nice glass of lemonade...

You take a tentative sip and immediately suspect that those bitches at the drugstore have poisoned you. This shit tastes like battery acid. And you have to drink a shot of it every 10 minutes for HOURS. It makes you wonder what it would have tasted like had it not been chilled. About 45 minutes into this process you hear something boiling. You look around, alarmed by the sounds intensity. Suddenly your alarm grows as you realize that the sound you hear is emanating from your STOMACH. About this time you double over in pain from the stomach cramps. You sprint to the toilet (hopefully) just in time to enjoy the explosive diarrhea.

There will be no sex tonight, ladies and gentlemen. I don't care WHO you are.

The next morning you wake up and look around for diaper cream to put on your ass as it is chafed from expelling water all night. You aren't allowed to eat anything but this really isn't a problem...you are so grossed out from your experiences you think that you may never eat again.

By now you just want to get this thing over with. So you submit to the ridiculous gown they make you wear. You lie on the hospital bed, all prim and proper and wait DESPERATELY for the narcotics to kick in. The door to your room opens and a few professionals walk in. They are at work and happy, discussing the reality TV show they enjoyed the night before as you were shooting foam out of your butt. They smile at you, ask how "it" is going. Some one puts his hand on your shoulder and invites you to roll on your side and grab your knees.

They tell you this won't hurt and start the procedure. The only problem is nobody told you that this procedure blows gas up "there". They do this to inflate the intestines so they can look around. And nobody told you that this feels EXACTLY like you are 2 seconds away from MAJOR - I'm gonna knock the back of the toilet off - styled diarrhea.

Now don't forget, there is a crowd behind you. And they are all looking in the general direction of your ass. So you start out with a polite warning, "Ummm...you guys...yeah....you might want to...umm...yeah, I think I need to go to the restroom...uh-huh...I'll just be a sec...ummmm....please, you guys....I'll be quick...uhmm, you guys????....Doctor! No, it doesn't hurt, but I...really...ummm....I would like to go to the bathroom...nope...this can't wait... could I just, uh...mmm... Uh Oh. Look out! She's gonna blow! Clear out of there! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....SAVE YOURSELVES!! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!"

And right here, in the middle of your personal lifetime low point, you do the unthinkable. You fall asleep. When you wake up you are all tucked in the hospital bed like nothing ever happened. There is no medical personnel carnage on the floor. You haven't sprayed shit all over the wall. Hmmmm. Was it all a dream? The doctor comes in and smiles at you. I'm thinking that keeping a straight face at this point MUST be the most difficult part of his job. He tells you that it was a false alarm and that there is nothing wrong with your intestinal track. You may get dressed and go home. Woohoo! You are a little woozy from the drugs so you don't even realize that you are walking funny, kind of like a drunk cowboy. But at least you don't have that tube up your ass anymore.

Back to my friend Joe, I wonder at what point he decided that this is how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Perhaps he somehow discovered that he was really good at keeping a straight face after someone makes a total idiot out of herself. I guess I'll have to wait for my 25th reunion to find out.

So good luck, husband of Leigh. Here is hoping that you are a perfect asshole.

PS As you might have guessed by this blog, a colonoscopy is not one of my favorite pastimes. BUT guess what, people. It's a hell of a lot better then colon cancer. So if you need one GET one. There. I've met my unsolicited advice quota for the day. Wait. No I haven't. I also strongly recommend that you go visit humor-blogs. There are several perfect assholes over there....

The birth of the IPIQ

2008-09-01T13:01:00.005-04:00

I was just watching the hurricane coverage and, somehow, I began to wonder about why some people do the stupid things that they do. And then, after the stupid act, they find themselves in need of rescue personnel so they call 911.

I think that there should be an exit-interview with these "victims". Or at least some kind of post incident questionnaire. We'll call it the IPIQ - the Idiot's Post-Incident Questionnaire! Here are a couple of examples:

Questionnaire for the U-Boat driver:

There was a sign posted back there that screamed "WARNING! THIS STREET IS FLOODED AND IF YOU DRIVE INTO IT YOU AND YOUR CAR WILL FLOAT AWAY IN A RAGING TORRENT!!" Why did you drive onto the shoulder of the road (to pass the sign - without scratching your car), tentatively stick the nose of your car into the water before you gunned it, thereby springing your car, yourself and your children into a dangerous raging river where you were swept along until crashing into a bridge? (please check all that apply)

_ I thought that my car was "different" and that the "regular" rules for "regular" cars do not apply.
_ I did not read the sign because I no speaka da english.
_ I wanted to be seen on CNN with my fat ass trying to climb out of the front window so that I could sit on the hood of my car with a dazed expression to figure out my next brilliant move. I didn't know that my pants would get so soggy that they would then slip around my knees thereby showing the whole world what they are NOT missing out on.
_ My car is an "all wheel drive" so I totally thought I could make it. How was I supposed to know that, at a certain depth of water, my air-filled tires would float the whole fucking car up?!
_ I am incredibly stupid. In fact, the very idea that I've even been able to procreate is an insult to the memory of Charles Darwin.

Questionnaire for the Sexual Adventurer:

Why did you shove gerbil food up your butt to entice a gerbil to climb in there where it became lodged, then died a horrific death, and when you couldn't get it out you had to be taken to the hospital where a surgeon was called in off of the golf course to remove it? (please check all that apply)

_ OH, I didn't put it there, because that would be totally disgusting! No, I must have just sat an on a gerbil with food on the tip of its tongue...yaaahhh, that's the ticket!
_ Well, I got to the point where regular sex became kind of...predictable so I thought that we'd do this to spice things up a bit. How was I supposed to know that my wife wouldn't be that "into" it?
_ It was either the gerbil or the family dog. I just thought this would be more humane. I'm a humanitarian, goddamnit!
_ I was looking for an easy way to meet a surgeon.

So there you have it, folks. I'll expect to see an IPIQ passed out the next time I see firemen rescuing some guy who put his tongue on a frozen flag pole in a failed effort to debunk the Christmas Story movie "myth".

If this was funny (I can never tell), please click my HB smiley guy!

Darwin vs. Gustav: It's a Real Nail-Biter

2008-08-30T16:17:00.006-04:00

Three years ago, before Katrina hit the Gulf states, the local government called for a mandatory evacuation. They begged people to flee. And many did go. Yet there were also many who stayed. There was a horrible storm. The levees failed and the region flooded. And then, when the local, regional and national government proved to have their collective heads up their collective asses, the folks who had chosen to stay in their homes seemed mystified that they hadn't yet been saved.

I grew up in South Florida so I know how this shit works. You cannot be on or near the coast when big hurricanes comes. Well, you can, but you risk drowning or getting hit on the head with something big. Like the roof of your house. Maybe I'm just a genius, but this seems very obvious to me. If you live in New Orleans then you live BELOW sea level. A large storm (that has already killed more than eighty human beings) is approaching and it could be pushing along a wall of water that is 15-20 feet ABOVE sea level. It has the added benefit of bringing a shit load of rain with it. And there you sit, below the level of the sea. Do you see where I am going with this?? The water - it will be above where your head is. That could make it difficult to breathe. And there is definitely going to be a big mess.

I was curious about how the news of Hurricane Gustav was being received in New Orleans so I went to a local news site there called NOLA.com. I read an editorial piece written by someone who had stayed in her home for Katrina and intended to do the same for this storm. She was giving advice to others, should they choose to stay also. The piece was lucid and well-written so I've assumed that the author is intelligent. She seems to have a genuine (and understandable) dislike for looters so maybe that's her purpose in staying - to protect her home and things.

But at what cost? It's not only your own life that you risk, you know. It's also the lives of emergency personnel. If something bad happens while it's still storming (which, by the way, happens every single time there is a major hurricane striking land), you're likely to call for 911 help. This puts rescuers in a quandary. Must they risk their own life to save you? It's not an easily answered question, particularly when they realize (as I'm sure they will) that you could have simply saved yourself had you left town when asked.

It also risks the lives of the post-storm rescuers (National Guardsmen, Marines and other volunteers) who must endure the local conditions while performing herculean efforts to get you off of your roofs, out of your cars or wherever you might have marooned yourselves. Oh, and by the way, all of these services are only free to YOU. The cost of them gets put on the tax payers tab. You see, all of the money that makes these services available actually comes from somewhere. And if our government is spending billions of dollars dicking around in dingies in the Big Easy, looking to help people who have, in essence, stranded themselves through their reluctance to leave their homes, well, then that means they are not spending those billions of dollars on education. Or health care reform. Or fixing that big pot hole that can crack an egg in your bag of groceries in the trunk.

So if you guys want to stay, go for it. It is, after all, a free country. I'll just try not to feel sorry for you when CNN shows images of you sick, wet and exhausted, waiting on your flooded roof tops for the National Guard to pluck you up to safety. And I'll also try to not think unfavorably of you when I get my tax bill next April.

Good luck and, truly, best wishes on successfully surviving the storm.

Looking for funny blogs? Click me right here....

Bend Over and Grab Your Ankles, Kids. Your School Board Is "Affecting Change" Again

2008-08-28T12:28:00.005-04:00

You know, it's almost funny. But sometimes the state of affairs in the Georgia education system is INSANE. We are ranked 49th out of the 50 states. My kids attend public schools here and I only have glowing compliments to the schools and teachers. But the SYSTEM. It's nuts. And, frankly, I blame the school boards of Metropolitan Atlanta.

Not long ago the Cobb County School Board was sued because they had (without seeking approval) placed stickers in biology books stating that the process of Evolution is not a fact. The Christian Right was, of course, at the heart of this issue, arguing that their views should be introduced somehow into our curriculum. WHATEVER, Jackasses. All I know is that this whole experience has made me consider that there might be an almighty power who is indeed called The Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Once the news of Cobb County hit the AP wires all hell broke loose. My relatives across the frigging GLOBE shot me emails asking, "WTF?!" What the fuck indeed.

And then, just today, something miraculous happened. Cobb County is no longer the designated asshole of the state. Woo hoo! Yep, that distinct honor goes to Clayton County as their school board lost the accreditation for their entire county. Nicely done! Wow...that hasn't happened to a county in our entire country since the late 1960's when there was civil unrest and shit. Now there are 50,000 kids with uncertain futures. Kids in their senior year are going to have to try to get into colleges without having graduated from an accredited high school. Good luck, you guys. You might want to look into the Barbizon School of Beauty. Or just skip it altogether, accept your fate (that you got FUCKED by your incompetent school board) and take a bullshit job that offers you what I'm sure will be a pathetic hourly wage.

In sum, I hope that The Flying Spaghetti Monster decides he's had enough of this, too, and eats the Clayton County School Board with a nice Pinot Noir. Or that he at least pelts them with old, rank meatballs. They've got something coming, that's for DAMN sure.

Well. I've just re-read today's post and will admit, it's officially a rant. Sorry about that. But I just cannot believe how incompetent these school boards are. Shame on us all for electing these asshats to such important positions. I hate politics like I hate bad shellfish but it's almost enough to make me want to run for office. But they'd probably want me to stop dropping the "F" bomb. And that is SO not happening.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. There! I feel better already....

If you've read this far, then I'm amazed. And I'd feel awkward about asking you to click on my HB smiley because this just wasn't that funny. But I won't get mad if you do. ;)

Bad Boy, Charlie. No, NO!

2008-08-27T07:37:00.005-04:00

Why does this man continue to marry and breed?? He has a 25 year old daughter from his ex Paula Profit, 2 girls from his ex Denise Richards and now, apparently, another on the way from future-ex Brooke Mueller (btw, she's not, by any chance THE Pasta Princess of Mueller fame, is she???)

How does he even talk these women into walking down the aisle?? Don't they have girlfriends?! You know, real friends who will say, "Oh, Brooke, Brooke, Brooke! What the fuck are you doing? He likes you, there is no doubt about that. But he LOVES coke and hookers. Ask anyone! Even my Great Aunt Suzie knows that."

This is the kind of guy you party with. Go to Vegas with him. Have a nasty three-way with him and a 17 year old model at a coke fueled rave. But marry him? No thanks.

And how did she even get pregnant? Normally when you get married you don't have to worry about condoms for protection against STD's. But this rule doesn't apply to someone like Charlie Sheen. Nope, he's what we in the business refer to as "a triple bagger".

Remember, his ex-wife Denise left him when she was like 8 months pregnant. I think this might be a meaningful clue into the type of guy he is. Perhaps he gave her a baby plus a raging case of herpes? Something catastrophic must have happened. But I'm sure that in the end Brooke will be fine. She'll have a cute baby to make excuses to about his fathers behavior, and then she has a lucrative realty show just waiting in the wings for her...maybe she knows what she's doing after all???

Please click on my HB smiley below to give me a little vote! And while you're there, check out some of the other funny blogs listed. It's an excellent way to kill some time!

Dancing Donkeys

2008-08-26T07:55:00.001-04:00

Looks like Grandma might have had a little drinky before the convention got started....

I think that pretty much every politician is stupid, a piece of shit or, worse, a stupid piece of shit. Every single time I cast a vote it is with a heavy heart, trying to figure out who is least likely to really fuck up the country.

So needless to say I don't really follow the Democrat and Republican National Conventions. And when I do watch it it's only to see which old white guy is trying to boogie it up to a song that he secretly loathes but feels like he needs to dance to it anyway to appear relevant to younger generations.

Last night, as I was switching channels, trying to find something good on, I caught a glimpse of Senator Joe Biden at the DNC getting funky in his seat (bless his heart). His little pink head was flushed and sweaty with the excitement it all. And Lenny Kravitz, if he was watching, will probably never play that song again.

I was hooked, watching all of the politico-wackos with their 15 pieces of flair on their shirts, huge bedazzled hats and improbable facial hair. I continued watching until the interview with President Jimmy Carter. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO HIS LEFT EYE???! That poor interviewer. He must have been staring at it. But then he'd feel himself staring at it so he'd try to only stare at the right one. And then Jimmy would be like, "Hey, Pal. Why the hell are trying to bore a hole through my right eye? That's how this happened..."

I feel like I might have gone blind myself, seeing it. Bless his heart but holy SHIT. I can't find a good picture right now, but when I do I'll post it and then your eye will bleed in sympathy. Why the hell didn't someone put a patch on him or something? They could have bedazzled the hell out of it with a donkey or peanut or something.

Speaking of bedazzling, it is with a very heavy heart that I introduce you to this lady, who, based on the phallic peanut on her head, I would guess she is from my home state of Georgia. Sweet niblets. She looks like she's waiting for the mother ship to come back and pick her up. If only it were that simple.

"Excuse me, Madam, but you seem to have a flamingo on your head...perhaps your enormous shades prevented you from noticing...."

Now I find myself looking forward to the RNC. You just know that they are going to have killer hats!

Please click on the smiley icon below and vote for me and my convention hats!

The TSA: Not Just Another Ineffective Government Run Agency

2008-08-25T10:45:00.001-04:00

Well, well, well. What do we have HERE???

So I'm back home. Last night we flew from Portland to Atlanta and BOY are my arms tired.... (I can't believe I just typed that.)

Anyway, I noticed something along the way, at the airport specifically, and feel the need to comment. There is something inherently fucked up about airline security. (Oh yah, I'm going there.) Here is the thing - I want to believe in the TSA. I really do. Further, I definitely do not want to be in a plane that is blown up or crashed. And for these desires I am willing to put up with all sorts of absurdities, such as:

- waiting in the long and serpentine security line with my squirmy 2 year old.

- worrying so much about whether or not they were going to take my kids sippy cup of milk away that I began to have an upset stomach.

- frantically digging through my Mary Poppins bag in search of my lip gloss to make sure it is less than three ounces so "they" won't make me throw it away. (It's MAC lip gloss and I LOVE it. It be POPPIN!!!)

- checking my suitcase instead of carrying it on because I need more than three ounces of shampoo and conditioner to get my moppy hair washed. I actually used to pride myself on being a "carry-on" kind of girl. No more, I'm afraid.

Then I saw this man standing in line by himself - Mr. Lonely. He was corralled in some kind of stall, holding his bags and looking just kind of bored and somehow accepting of his state. Finally, a little old lady wearing an imposing TSA uniform came over, opened his rope and led him to some kind of Xray machine he was to stand in. He knew where to stand because on the bottom of it were the outline of two feet. So he stood there and suddenly, without warning, the machine blew on him. HARD. So hard that his shirt untucked and blew up towards his neck. He stood there another minute and then had apparently passed whatever test they had given him and was permitted to pass through to his plane.

I said out loud, "What the...? What is that? Do we all have to do that???" Nobody answered me. I stood there, trying to remember which bra I had donned that morning. Was it my cute Victoria's Secret bra that cuts the circulation off to my rib cage or the unsexy yet practical Playtex cross my heart and bet my ass that my tits won't be going anywhere in this sucker... Nope. It's the one that screams, "Yoo HOO...Hey, fellas, check ME out...I have given birth to and breastfed THREE babies!!!"

I rounded the corner and the checkpoint came into view. I looked up at the TSA screener who would screen my bag. My mouth dropped open in shock. He was, I kid you not, an Osama Bin Laden look-a-like. I swear he was!! I almost yelled, "Holy SHIT! I found him!" Turban, long flowing beard...the whole works! I actually rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things. The only difference was that he was in a snappy TSA uniform (verses the long white robe) but still.

I immediately felt bad for my thoughts. This guy looked like he was working hard. Every bag that went through the machine got his undivided attention and scrutiny. He kind of reminded me of this guy:

But I could no longer reflect on the bin Laden-ness that was checking bags for bombs and shit. Because I found myself in a sudden flurry of activity where I performed the following tasks at break-neck speed:

1. Took four rectangularly shaped boxes.
2. Pulled laptop out of protective bag, put in a box by itself.
3. Put purse, computer bag and boys backpack in separate box.
4. Threw two plastic baggies filled with my lip gloss and my sons sippy cup in yet another box.
5. Frantically took of my sons shoes (yes, they really make you take baby shoes off, too) and put them with my own sandals in a - yep, you guessed it - another box.
6. Made the boy get out of his stroller - barefooted - so I could clumsily fold it up and put it through the machine.

My son refused to walk through the xray thing by himself. The TSA guy tried to lure him with a sticker (what's next..."want some candy, little boy???"). My kid wasn't having it. He slowly shook his head, looked up at me and then wrapped himself around my leg. I was proud that he wasn't going to be bought with a stupid TSA Junior Officer Sticker Badge. Take that, Copper!

But we made it through, Osama didn't sweat a sista; I got to keep my lip gloss. And it's good to be home.

Porno Lips By Day, Farm Girl By Night

2008-08-20T23:37:00.002-04:00

Can you guys keep a secret? I'm not actually at home. SSSHHHHHH!!!!

My dad lives in the Pacific Northwest (aka B.F.E.) and had one of his knees replaced this week. So I sent my daughters to school, stocked the fridge for them and the hubs and then my 2 year old boy and I hopped on a plane from Atlanta. A FIVE hour flight. We sat next to some poor girl who will probably keep taking birth control pills until she's 90 after her experiences with us.

But, we made it, the operation went great and Pops is coming home in the morning. As for me, I have been caring for actual livestock. As in a boy PLUS hens and roosters, thank you very much. I've been checking the crops (blueberries, yes; tomatoes, not quite yet) and making sure that the cat gets her food in the morning.

There are a couple dozen baby chickens running around and I have to make sure that they get enough to eat because the lardo hens bulldoze them over to get what looks like cat litter that I throw in their general direction. Every time I see it I think, "Jeez. Where's the fucking LOVE??? I'm guessing that some of you old bags gave birth to these chicks...show some compassion!" But it's obvious that they don't give a shit.

I don't have any dungarees or other farming accouterments so I wear my city clothes and my dads black boots that come up to my knees when checking the crops and animals. It's very sexy.

Today I picked blueberries as the sun was rising in my jeans skirt, blue sweater and dads' black boots. My freshly cleaned hair was blowing in the breeze. I started to get an identity crisis. Who AM I? Why am I humming old slave songs while I pick berries off of a frigging vine instead of listening to Nine Inch Nails while I blog for hours on end??? So I quickly applied my MAC lip gloss and all felt a little better with the world again.

I'm supposed to come home on Friday but I know that when I leave I'll pass a longing glance at the boots that have a clod of chicken shit with feathers in it stuck on the heel. Plus I'll never dispassionately glance at a pint of blueberries again. Do you guys have any idea what a pain in the ass it is to pick them?!

OK, It's 9:30PM here and time for a farm girl to go to bed. 'Night, John-Boy....

link to humor-blogs

Dry and Hacking, Shoulders Slacking

2008-08-18T19:05:00.009-04:00

Sometimes, when I get sick, I get a dry, hacking cough. It is - how do you say in your language - tres sexy. On more than one occasion this has happened and someone I don't know well has offered me a cough drop. When you have a dry, hacking cough you are at the mercy of others. Your eyes water mercilessly so you can't see anything. And you obviously can't talk, what with all the dry hacking. So you blindly nod your head.

Inevitably your "savior" will hand you something from the dark and wet recesses of their handbag. It will be partially unwrapped with a chunk missing. And let's not forget all of the hair and bits of crap stuck to it. Suddenly it looks like a lint brush that is four inches wide. Your head pulls back in fear as it is being passed towards your face.

What to do? WHAT TO DO??? Wipe it on your sleeve? Blow on it?? Throw it and run away?!

The irony is that everyone in the room is horribly annoyed by you and your dry hacking. They stare at you expectantly, waiting for you to take the stupid lozenge so you'll no longer be spreading the bubonic plague. So, you man up, stick it in your mouth and hope that nothing resembling a pubic hair get stuck between your teeth. You are then expected to nod your head and smile thoughtfully at the lozenge giver, not unlike you've had a sip of exceptional wine.

In other coughing news, you may already know this, but one of the most horrible sights in the world is a naked woman who is in mid-hacking cough. I happened to notice this phenomen the last time I got sick. I had undressed for bed and was sitting in front of the bathroom mirror with the closet mirror behind me.

Suddenly I had a coughing fit and happened to glance in the mirror behind me midway through the fit. Sweet niblets. It was horrifying. Slack shoulders, heaving up and down. Skin pulled taut, just trying to keep up with the shoulders. And this is why, folks, that whenever I'm sick I always wear a parka. Now you know.

Bex, OUT.

Who's yo Momma???

2008-08-18T13:54:00.005-04:00

I took down my story because it looks like the poor little guy isn't going to make it. :(((

Crisis in Georgia

2008-08-15T17:54:00.005-04:00

So I live in Georgia. Did you even know that? What's more is I had Russians living in my house until this very morning. Naturally when CNN announced that Russia had invaded Georgia I thought, "No shit. They've been here since May. What's the big whoop??"

Then I realized that Georgia, in addition to being the poster child for childhood obesity, has a country underneath Russia named after it. So I relaxed a bit.

And that's when I heard the REAL news. Two men said that they found a deceased Big Foot in the mountains of Georgia. So they did what any reasonable person would do - stuffed it in a freezer and then drove it across the country, all the way to California.

Okaaayyyyy...you find a 500 pound dead animal who strongly resembles a human being. And then you get back in your truck, go home and get a deep freezer. First, of course, you'd have to remove all of your frozen redneck food. Then you and a buddy (who is undoubtedly called "Shane") load the empty freezer into your truck which is missing its' muffler. You also load a case of beer because, after all, you are very clearly manly men who will need some beer to get them through the next few hours.

You go back to where you found your Sasquatch (which, incidentally, you have no idea how to spell) and start chewing tabacco, which is integral to your discussion of how to "stuff 'er in there to git'er done, by the grace a god". After you've consumed the case of beer you decide that brute force and rolling is the only way you're going to get this sucker in your freezer.

You finally load it in and then look at each other with blank stares - now what?? Call the police? Nooo. That'd be ridiculous. You could take it to your Uncle Bocephus. That sumbitch could stuff anything on the wrong end of your shotgun ("Hey, Bubba, remember what he did with our pet Opossum??"). But Shane, the better educated of the two (graduated from the 8th grade, yessir, thankee very much!) states that this wouldn't work as they would no longer have "that there goddamn DNA" to prove that what they have is indeed Big Foot.

So the decision is made to drive to Palo Alto, California. Naturally. Because anybody who knows anything knows that's where you take 500 pound primates you "find" dead in the same hills where they filmed Deliverence. (I can hear the banjo's strumming...damn, boy - you got a purrrtttty mouth....)

But the thing I'm MOST excited about is how this will impact the public perception others have of the fine state of Georgia. We're not ONLY 49th in education. No! We have so much more to offer then that silly, insignificant statistic! We find giant dead primates and stick them in a freezer for a cross country road trip! Woo hoo!!!

It's The Tori Horror Show!!!

2008-08-14T11:12:00.000-04:00

I try not to be too mean here on the Blog of Bex; I would never want to write something that would be hurtful to another. But sometimes...that gets a bit hard. Particularly when I go to the doctor's office and pick up a People magazine to catch up on my celebrity stuff. I would NEVER actually purchase this magazine because that would make a statement about me that I'm not yet ready to embrace. But when I go to the doctors office I will knock over a geriatric to sift through piles of National Geographics in order to dig up any copy of People I can get my little hands on. In fact, it's a safe bet that if ever say anything about a celebrity I've been to the doctor within the past few days. Just a little Bex Factoid.

ANYWAY...I think that maybe someone slipped me some crazy pills or something. Because I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why Tori Spelling is still around and somewhat famous.

I used to know who she was because she was on that show, 90210. I actually felt kind of bad for her as she doesn't...well, she didn't really seem to have the natural beauty of some of her co-stars. But, frankly, my real beef with her is that her boobs were kind of scary in a "oops, we're deflating", lopsided kind of way.

They just seem kind of, oh, I don't know...lumpy and hard. And I think it's pretty widely accepted that the only reason she had a gig on that show was because her crypt-keeper father was in charge of it.

But then he died and stiffed her in the estate. So I would have thought that she'd have blown away into the wind (albeit in a lopsided twirl due to the fake boobs throwing her off center).

I'd heard that she had some kind of reality TV show but that isn't terribly surprising. In fact I think most B-listers do that on their way out of "the game". So why I had to find this while flipping through a People magazine is beyond me.

At first I thought it was just a breasty drag queen and her gimp, but no, it's Tori and her goofy husband doing a Sonny and Cher impression. Oh. The hilarity. Stop it. My stomach.... Seriously. Please stop. STOP! I don't feel so good....

And then there is this:

I filed this under "Oh, NO you didn't!" Are they really gonna bring Johnny and June CASH into this madness???!

This is the only one that I kind of liked:

But then I immediately felt dirty and bad. I didn't want to like it. It just sort of - happened. The only thing I know for sure is that Tori is going to get her ass kicked if Courtney ever sees it.

Yet all of these pictures are just a warm up to the grand daddy of them all. Its image is so disturbing I find myself averting my eyes from fear that it would steal my soul. Here is what is going to keep me up at night, shivering in the fetal position:

That expression on her face is SO creepy...it looks like Joan Crawford in a wig. Any minute now she's gonna start whipping me with wire hangers while her husband dances a gay gig across the stage. I may never stop screaming....

Tori and What's Your Name - please stop the madness.

Ok. I'm all done being mean. Until my husband gets home, that is. (Obviously.)

Pregnancy Pacts (and other GREAT Ideas)

2008-08-13T09:59:00.001-04:00

The scene: Gloucester High School Algebra class in Massachusetts about one year ago. Two girls are supposed to be learning math but are instead frantically texting each other.

Girl 1 - My mom is such a stupid bitch.

Girl 2 - Mine, too. She has no idea how hard it is to be a kid.

Girl 1 - None of them do. OMG!! I got a great idea!!

Girl 2 - omg...what??

Girl 1 - We should totally play a joke on our parents and school!

Girl 2 - omg...omg...LOLOLOL...i'm IN. What should we do?

Girl 1 - Let's all get pregnant, like, at the same time!

Girl 2 - ...........O.M.G. .....That would be, like, too funny!

Girl 1 - Sweet. Tell everyone, K?

Girl 2 - K!!!

Flash forward about 6 months. Two boys are sitting in Algebra class, supposedly learning math. Instead they are frantically texting each other.

Boy 1 - WTF is up with the girls at this school?

Boy 2 - Huh? You mean cuz they are all so easy?

Boy 1 - No! I mean cuz they are all fat and stuff.

Boy 2 - But they're easy. As in will totally do IT.

Boy 1 - Maybe they used to, but now they're all like super sensitive and crying all the time and shit.

Boy 2 - Word. You know bitches get crazy. Maybe they're on that rag or somethin.

Two months later, at the community baby shower, the girls are laughing hysterically about their super awesome prank. Girl 1 says, "Bwah ha ha ha ha....OMG...we sooooo got everyone on this one..." Suddenly her expression sharply changes from happiness to puzzlement to pain.

The other girls look down and start laughing, "OMG...you totally peed your pants. I'm gonna put this on youtube ... BWAH HA HA HA..."

The first labor pain hits Girl 1 and she doubles over and starts crying about wanting a "Do-Over" and her mommy. Confusion and then eventually fear covers the face of each girl in the room as they realize that they are watching a preview of what will soon happen to them as well.

The stork is working over time, dropping off snotty nosed kids with lightening speed. A month later a bleary eyed Girl 2 sends a text.

Girl 2 - There is something wrong with this baby.

Girl 1 - omg. what??

Girl 2 - she won't fucking sleep. and she won't stop crying! And she shits like, all the time.

Girl 1 - OMG. Mine too! Do you think that means they're retarded???

Girl 2 - dunno. but i never sleep. and my BF (boyfriend) broke up with me, said I'm not fun anymore.

Girl 1 - STFU (shut the fuck up)! My BF told me that i'm totally fat and gross. Guys are such fucktards. Well, at least we showed our moms, right??

Girl 2 - ...um...i guess, yah.

There is a period of silence as both girls realize that perhaps they hadn't completely thought through the prank as they didn't know that they would have a baby living with them afterwards. Babies who would want to - GASP - eat from their breasts. Plus they'll shit in their diapers at least once a day for at least 2 or 3 years (if our young heroines had actually paid attention in math class they'd know that's at least 700 poopie diapers). And then the girls will be living with toddlers who might actually want to play and learn with someone. But at least they'll all have the same taste in music.

The babies will get older and enroll in the public school system where they will spend lots of time avoiding learning with impressive diligence and texting each other about how stupid and bitchy their mothers are.

Well played, Girls. You showed us all.

Forgive Me Father, Cuz I Totally Just Sinned

2008-08-11T20:35:00.001-04:00

Let's file this under "Give Me A Fucking Break" shall we?

The Catholic Archdiocese in Cincinnati just produced a list of things that their priests are no longer allowed to do with children. They are NOT allowed to kiss, wrestle or tickle kids. Also on the "no-no" list are bear hugs and piggy-back rides. Are these not a bit...self-evident? Seriously, are there really piggy-back giving priests out there who aren't out to get in your pants?? My hubs grew up Catholic...maybe I'll ask him. He was, in fact, an alter boy AND a boy scout and managed to get out with his corn hole intact. So I guess there is hope.

But I think they might have forgotten to add a little something called "MOLESTATION" to their list. Because, if memory serves, tickling kids is still legal in most states. As is a friendly peck on the cheek. But putting your hand down a kids pants...NOPE. Not ok, not even a little bit.

I also noticed that this list only defines appropriate behavior with kids. Does this mean that it's ok to tickle adult parishioners? I'll admit that getting tickled by a priest is on my List of Things To Do Before I Die (it's listed right after I have a drunken threesome with an HIV+ Haitian whore and Donald Rumsfeld - meow).

I know that there must be millions of Catholic priests who have managed to keep it in their pants over the years. Nicely done, Gents. But this list sucks, is stupid and it's ineffective. Because although I'm not a Catholic, I'm going to guess that the "no hanky-panky" rule with the children in your parish was already well established before the Naughty Priests started getting it on with the youngsters entrusted to them.

If they really want to put a comprehensive list of inappropriate things (that does not include the inappropriate things that have already been happening) I think that they should add that priests aren't allowed to watch kids eat ice cream or have pillow fights in their underwear. And let's make lustful glances inappropriate while we're at it.

Oh, and pro-Catholic people?? I totally do not want to get a bunch of emails chewing on my ass for this post (leave that task to my Haitian hooker, thank you very much). I went to one of your schools. I've married one of you. So please. Let's think of me as a 'Catholic-In-Law' and not a 'Crazy-Bitch-Dissing-The-Church'. Because I'm not dissing your church. I'm dissing your pervy priests.

PS I tried to get some images to put on this post (because some of my readers...well, let's just say that they only read books with big pictures). But everything Google showed me looked like it could be construed as offensive. So we're illustration free today, folks.

Humor Blogs talks slowly and has lot's of pretty pictures, by the way (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more).

First Day of School Recap

2008-08-11T08:39:00.004-04:00

6:15 My alarm went off.

6:16 Told myself that I'd just close my eyes, for only a second, then I'd go wake up the girls (who are 7 and 8).

6:26 Wake up with a start, realize that I almost enabled the whole family to oversleep the first day of school.

6:27 Called self a jackassing moron on way into girls room.

6:28 Attempted to wake girls up with hugs and kisses.

6:31 Resorted to angry threats and kicking the bed.

6:35 Went downstairs, poured cereal into bowl, got two spoons, realized we're out of milk.

6:36 Called self a jackassing moron again as I realized I had to actually cook something.

6:40 Girls casually mention that they failed to do the homework they were given at the schools open house.

6:42 Girls scramble, as they try to fulfill their assignments in 5 minutes or less.

6:45 Eggs are ready, girls began eating. Very S L O W L Y, almost as if they can feel my blood pressure rising and are taunting me.

6:55 Food is gone, girls go to brush their teeth so they don't have kitten breath on the first day.

7:00 No sign of the girls and I happen to know that they just aren't that "in" to their own dental health so I open the bathroom door to find them engaged in a toothpaste fight.

7:01 Girls cower under my hissed voice and pick up toothbrushes.

7:02 Girls leave bathroom announcing their teeth are clean, I call bullshit and send them back in for another go.

7:04 Girls leave bathroom again and may have actually allowed a toothbrush to touch their teeth this time.

7:05 Girls are outside, waiting for the bus with their bags, snack and half-assed homework.

7:07 Bus comes, takes the girls away for 8 hours - Woo hoo! Maybe I'll sit down and have a cup of joe.

7:08 Two year old son wakes up crying. He comes downstairs and says he's "hunry" and wants some cereal. He spends the next hour walking around saying, "Where'd the milk go?? Where'd the milk go? Milks all gone? Milk went bye-bye???"

I'm just glad that he doesn't (yet) know how to say, "What kind of jackassing moron doesn't have milk in the house on the first day of school?!"

Check out humor-blogs!

Coming Soon to a Jerry Springer Show Near You...

2008-08-08T12:28:00.005-04:00

So. About my two year old boy. He loves to wrestle. But he calls it "fight". As in, "Momma! Wanna fight???" He's my first and only boy so I'm not sure but I keep telling myself that this is normal behavior, given species and gender.

The issue is that he cannot pronounce the "_ight" in "fight". And as many kids do, he has substituted a noise that he can pronounce easily.

His favorite words, thus far are: Truck, Duck, Muck, Stuck and Yuck. He has the "uck" phonics down and speaks them with impressive clarity.

So I guess it should come as a surprise to nobody that he has used that sound to replace the ones he cannot pronounce. Yes, gentle readers, this means that he says "fuck" instead of "fight".

And this is why, to all of you giant, judging assholes giving me weird looks in the mall this morning, that I had a two year old chasing me around screaming, "Momma!! Momma!! Wanna FUCK?? Let's FUCK! Please, Momma, can we fuck now???"

The saddest part of this entire story is that, as it was happening I thought to myself, "Jesus this is mortifying. But, it'll make for a good blog entry." And then I smiled a little self-satisfied smile, probably amplifying the impression to others that I am a certifiable freak. (::sigh::)

My Zoo Report

2008-08-07T09:30:00.004-04:00

Yesterday morning I had a wild hair and decided to go to the zoo with my three kids and one of their friends, which would make my 'me to child' ratio 1:4. One of my biggest fears is to be in this kind of situation and lose a kid or two so on the drive there I gave them my "if you can't see me, I can't see you, which means the next time I do see you I'm gonna smack your ass. So don't get lost!" speech.

After that there was a deafening silence in the backseat and so I decided to break the ice with a lecture on the majestic animals that we would be seeing shortly. The King of the Jungle. The Noble Gorilla. We're gonna do it all, Baby!

The first thing you see at Zoo Atlanta are the fascinating flamingos. Interestingly enough, the first thing you smell is flamingo fecal matter. There was a lot of dramatic plugging of noses and gagging noises from my brood. I have to admit that I showed uncharacteristic restraint by not chiming in with a request that someone light a fucking match.

Next we walked to this huge area that is supposed to resemble an African plain and of course it had all of the appropriate animals. One of them was a rhinoceros who was eating bugs or something off of the ground. The kids were mesmerized. After 10 minutes it finished its snack, turned and then waddled its mud encrusted butt away. We were all stunned to silence at the sight.

There was ... something between its legs (please cue the Jaws music). My kids friend said, "Oh...there is the vagina..." and we received some glances from other parents. But I looked straight back at them as if to say, "Yes??? So???? This kid calls it like she sees it! And if you can't deal with that, then you are clearly not ready to bring your kid to the fucking zoo!"

Fortunately I said nothing because the "vagina" began to unravel in the most curious, telescoping way. It looked like a lightning bolt slowly unfolding and extending until it finally looked like this:

Yes, there was another moment of silence while we realized that this animal had magically grown a fifth leg. The family standing next to us had a four year old kid who said, "Daddy! What is that?!" I glanced sideways at the father and could tell that he felt inadequate to answer. So my 7 year old summed it up, "Uhhh...Oh! That's a boy rhino. Right Mommy?"

Right indeed, Honey. Right indeed. Then I spent a good part of the day wondering why female rhinoceroses don't seem happier.

Next we went to the Gorilla area and I watched my two year old taking in these animals who seem alarmingly similar to us. Only lazier (if that's possible). There was a smallish gorilla who was having a staring contest with my boy. They both seemed mesmerized, almost as if staring into a strange mirror.

Then the gorilla, as if in slow motion, poked a finger into his nose, slowly pulled out the contents and then dragged it into his mouth. My son looked up at me and then began sagely nodding his head as if thinking, "Now this is someone I could relate to."

And then, when I got home, I had a margarita as big as my head and suddenly life seemed like living again.

I've heard unsubstantiated rumors that Diesel (at humor-blogs) is built like a rhino. Which end, I'm not sure.

I have something warm for the hairy fairy...

2008-08-04T23:03:00.007-04:00

You know what I did tonight??

Let me break it on down for you:

The 3 lovely Russians who live (temporarily) in my basement went to bed about 2 hours ago. My husband went to bed an hour and half ago. And then half an hour later I stuffed a dollar bill into my own cleavage and then began surfing blogs. And that's where I still am at this moment. Surfing, dollar bill peeking out.

As for the blogs, I went on a sort of a stalking tour. I checked out the website of Just A Girl which is funny in and of itself. But that wasn't enough to satisfy me. NO! I needed more! So I went trolling around on her blogroll for shits and giggles. And that's exactly what I found! Nice job, JAG! You have some winners on the old roll! Thanks for sharing!!!

As for the dollar bill, my eight year old lost yet another tooth. I've already forgotten the tooth fairy thing twice this year and I'm afraid that she wouldn't fall again for the "Well, maybe the Tooth Fairy couldn't find your pillow cuz it's such a friggin dump in here. I'll bet if you clean your room up she'll bring you something tonight..." So, I figured if I put the dollar in my bra I'd remember the tooth fairy when the money falls out of my shirt when I get ready for bed.

As long as this guy doesn't come anywhere near my house tonight I think we'll be ok. It's not so much that I'm afraid of him. It's because my two year old boy has a toothbrush fetish and I don't think he'll be able to understand that "We don't know where that has been."

It's a brand new ME!!!

2008-08-04T09:33:00.001-04:00

My daughters are fighting (school starts one week from today - bring that shit ON!). My 2 year old boy got into the pistachios last night and has been churning out rancid chunky peanut butter into his diaper all morning long (please stop bringing that shit on). It's that time of the month and my stomach is cramping. Today is Monday or, as I like to call it under my breath, "Mother Fucking Monday Fucking Laundry Day".

But through it all I feel really good today. In fact, I feel down right sexy. Know why?? Because a Blogging Goddess has made me my very own BANNER. It's that sassy thing up top with the neon and lips I'd love to have. Last week, I was a plain Jane with my beige and brown understated blogging template. This week - I am pink and shiny, standing proudly with my low-cut sweater on. Every time a man walks by I wink, make a little click noise with my tongue and say, "How you doin'??".

Just who is this Blogging Goddess, you might be wondering? It is none other than Leigh of LeighOnline.com. I'm not sure why she graced me with her generosity but I'm eternally grateful. Please help me repay her by visiting her blog, showering her with heavily lipsticked kisses and plenty of smiley votes at Humor-Blogs.

I'll be busy practicing batting my eye lashes in the mirror while saying "omigod!!" with a squeal. Yep. It's a big day.

Spam Gate, 2008

2008-08-02T16:03:00.002-04:00

Oooohhh...I love it when my title rhymes! So my blog was shut down by Blogger.com for a while. Every time I told a friend or family member this they said some version of the same thing, "Oh yeah? Is it because you're so dirty / profane / vulgar / much of a filthy whore??"

At first I thought it was funny. Then I was like, "Hey...I'm not that bad... just the occasional "F" bomb, nothing too major...." And yes, for a while there I did have an unintended fecal theme. But nothing that the FBI is going to kick my front door in for. Why is it nobody thought it was such a reach that some authority figure would shut down the little ole Blog of Bex???!
Anyhoo, some guy named Brett at Blogger sent me a notice letting me know that they had had a global system problem and that many innocent (more or less) blogs such as mine got taken down. So there you go.

But on to the BIG News! My home girl Leigh, at the world famous LeighOnline, has made me a banner thingy!!! I'm going to make some changes to my fuddy-duddy blogger template and them BAM! New banner, new look...I might even put a dress on! You just never know....

Here is my link to humor-blogs. It's pretty much the happiest place on earth.

My Sensational Shiticle Story!

2008-07-31T13:20:00.001-04:00

OK, so it's not sensational. I just happen to be a huge fan of alliteration. Anyway, I'd like to thank Meg over at Prefers Her Fantasy Life for helping me learn something new!

Yesterday she made a comment on my post about MILF's and Cougars. She said she doesn't mind the term "MILF" but prefers the term "SILT".

I, of course, had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Not to be out done I went to the online Urban Dictionary, which can be a lifesaver during these kinds of scenarios. I typed "SILT" into their search engine and they returned with "Shiticles".

Now I was really curious! What the hell is a shiticle? Do I have one? Or am I one?? Is it related to the elusive SILT? Can I catch it on a public toilet?

Clearly I had more questions than answers. So I read the definition:

1- Left over particles of feces lingering at the bottom of the toilet, nearly unflushable and as fine as silt.

2- Small particles of shit and or toilet paper or other very small pieces of anything lodged in your ass crack after wiping, usually discovered when washing your ass-crack during a shower.

"I tried to flush away the remaining shiticles before my girlfriend came over, but they just wouldn't dissipate."

"I had shiticles lodged in my ass."

"The shiticles in my underwear ended up staining them."

Huh. Sounds like a synonym for dingleberry. Now that I know the definition it all seems so obvious. And I love it when dictionary's use the word in a sentence so you can really get a sense of how to utilize it. I've always thought that an extended vocabulary is the sign of an intelligent mind. And here we all are, one step closer to intelligence, thanks to Meg!

BUT, I still don't know what a SILT is. So, Meg. Why don't you help us all get our learn on and enlighten us!!!

Link to humor-blogs.

The MILF vs. The Cougar

2008-07-30T09:13:00.005-04:00

A few of months ago I went out with a girlfriend to a bar. Some guy walked up to us and said, "So, just a couple of cougars, out for the night, eh?" I almost punched him in his fat head. A cougar?! What the fuck does that mean? All I know is it doesn't sound entirely complimentary. And I've been wondering about it ever since.

And then there is the MILF. It stands for "Mom I'd Like to Fuck" but it does not mean that if you happen to be a mom, and get some guy to poke you that you're a MILF. No, I think it's generally accepted that if you are a MILF then you are also a Hot Mom. But they can be sweet and committed to their baby daddy's. Which is different from a cougar. Cougars are rarely sweet. They are direct and forthcoming about what they want. And that is directly behind your zipper.

While on vacation a few years ago we met a couple of Canadian guys who were hilarious. One morning at breakfast they were discussing a scandal that had occurred the night before. Apparently there had been some kind of missed sexual opportunity and Jerome was pissed off at Verne for being a shitty wingman.

Verne's take was that Jerome wanted him to hook up with a scary looking cougar who was a 6 foot tall Swedish chick who smoked each unfiltered cigarette in one inhalation and looked at him like he had a pork chop tied to his pants. And if sealing that deal was what he needed to do for Jerome to qualify him as a good wingman, then Verne was willing to accept his Shitty Wingman status. Fair enough, I say. Besides, I saw her. She would have snapped him in half.

This is probably a common problem among single men. One girl is cute, the other - a beast. Who takes the hit for the team?? Not Verne, that much I can tell you.

The other day I heard a song on the radio that must be the Cougar Anthem - Give It 2 Me, by Madonna. Here are some of the lyrics:

Got no boundaries and no limits
If there's excitement, put me in it
If it's against the law, arrest me
If you can handle it, undress me

Don't stop me now, don't need to catch my breath
I can go on and on and on
When the lights go down and there's no one left
I can go on and on and on

Give it 2 me, Yeah
No one's gonna show me how
Give it 2 me, Yeah
No one's gonna stop me now

I've also seen the video and now I'm wondering; How much longer is Madonna going to dance around in her underwear? I think she's around 50 now and she really looks great. But this cannot last forever. Put some fucking pants on, lady! It seems like she's trying just a bit too hard to be sexy. I guess she's always done that, but I think it's becoming inappropriate. The good news is for her daughter, Lourdes. There won't be much that she'll do that her mom can bust her chops for. So at least we have that.

Here is the cover for her latest album, Hard Candy. Nice money shot, Madonna.

My guess is that her next album, when she turns 60, will feature a picture of her with her feet behind her ears. But, all things being equal, I suppose that Madonna is a MILF and a Cougar. Which is probably not bad work (if you can get it).

Link to humor-blogs.

My Super Duper Widget Poem

2008-07-29T11:40:00.001-04:00

I'm not a girl from Nantuckett.
Regardless, today I'll say 'Fuck It'.

'Cuz I can't figure how
To load my widget now

I'm pretty sure I'm an idget.

I have never written a poem before in my life but was inspired because I cannot for the life of me figure out how the hell to add my "widgets" that will help people vote for me to increase my ranking on Humor-Blogs.

Here is what I want to add to my website:

Isn't it cute?? It is called a widget and is supposed to show up on the bottom of a post to let folks know how many smileys (votes) I've been given. Then, if the reader is so inspired, he or she can click on it to easily cast their vote for or against me.

I've seen other blogs with this and decided I should do it, too. So I went to my handy dandy FAQ page of the HB site and found these directions:

Step one is read the directions. Step two is comprehend the directions. Ahhhh...fucked on step number two. I spent one hour today trying to figure this shit out. AN HOUR. I've cut and pasted goddamn widget code on every nook and cranny of my stupid blog and - NOTHING has changed. Now I've started feeling like that little laughing head that I coveted and loved so dearly is actually laughing its ass off. At me.

Not to be outdone, I next went to Blogger.com for help and guidance. Like it's not enough that they gave me a free spot to park this literary masterpiece I call The Blog of Bex and spew my "thoughts" each day. Let's see what they had to say:

"Now with that out of the way..." WHAT?! What is out of the way? Closing a tag? WTF are you people talking about?!

Compounding my frustration is the fact that I've been trying to figure out the Blog Catalog website so that I can mix and mingle with my funny, blogerific friends but I don't know what the fuck is going on there, either.

I keep getting emails inviting me to be friends with a cool blogger and I think, "Yes! I'd love to be your friend!! But...I...do I click something?? Subscribe somewhere? Wave my magic fucking wand???!" You guys are super busy, rating each other and joining fancy-shmancy neighborhoods. I'm still looking for the front door. So if you see a little pink nose, pressed up against the Blog Catalog window, don't worry. It's just Bex....

PLUS everybody else has some cute little logo that personifies who they are. Everybody but me, apparently. How do you get one of those? Or, more importantly, how do I get one of those? Since I haven't loaded one they put a silhouette of the Unibomber up next to my name. Thanks, guys.

I think I look super awesome. For a unibomber stamp. Stupid blog. Stupid widgets. (Stupid Bex.) And that's the thing! I'm not stupid! I am, contrary to compounding evidence, quite computer savvy. I wish that I could buy one of you Blog Brains a margarita for you to just hook it up for me. But no, it'll just be little old me trying to upload a picture that doesn't give to much away (like my address or, God forbid, my weight).

And let's not forget the widget. If I had my magic wand I'd put it RIGHT HERE.