A future in funerals

Excuse my absence, friends. I've been out of town at an unexpected funeral.

Pretty much the only funny thing that happened to me this whole week was at the funeral home. My kids were there, aged 2, 7 and 8. They were playing outside and my oldest found a dead bird. She came running into the building, breathlessly describing it. I told her that maybe she should go bury it. She left me presumably to do that just.

A few minutes later the undertaker approached me and informed me that he had assisted Thing One in this endeavor. He said that she was really sweet (he's totally right about that). He also mentioned that she has a beautiful future in the undertaking business. I'm pretty sure that the horror splashed across my face summed up two things:

1. Although I have respect for this guy I sincerely hope that my kid doesn't choose the undertaking arts for a career. (Please, please, please.)
2. I also wondered how much a bird funeral would add to the impressive bill of the human one? And how would it be subcategorized? Feathered Friend Burial???

Feed to humor-blogs.com

Is that a Batter Blaster in your pants or are you just happy to see me??

All right, ya'll. Hang onto your hats. Today we're going to delve into Product Development and Analysis. It's gonna be super awesome. And, go....

So there I was, cruising through Costco looking for ginormous containers of food for my family. I was near the dairy section when something new caught my eye. Without further ado, here is the product:

Apparently it is AMAZING! In case you can't see the image well it is, in essence, pancake and waffle mix in a pressurized can. Oh! And it's organic! Because everyone knows that parents who are willing to feed their kid breakfast from a pressurized can (with some syrup on it) really give a shit about the product being organic. Is it me or is this kind of like making organic Twinkies??

So it occurred to me that I should make sure that there aren't organic Twinkies available if I was going to make sarcastic comments about them. I've just been to google and as a result I am now aware that there is something called "The Twinkie Problem" and that it basically consists of health food advocates who are pissed off that it is possible to have an organic twinkie. They are mad because a Twinkie is the quintessential junk food and therefore shouldn't be able to make something certified organic because everybody knows that it's chock full of unhealthy crap. Huh.

I can't imagine being the guy who gets pissed off at something like that. He and his wife are at a cocktail party and someone broaches the subject. The guy starts sweating profusely and pursing his lips. The wife says, "Now, Dear...remember your blood pressure...."

Back to the AMAZING organic waffles in a pressurized can. I have a feeling that these are going to be like those frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with no crust. The first time I saw these at the store I thought to myself, "Jesus. The day that I don't have time to make a fucking PB&J is the day that I'm gonna end it all..." And here I am with a freezer full. So, I think the waffles are ridiculous. But I am already warming up to the idea and will probably, at some point, buy a can. Of pressurized organic waffles. That are apparently AMAZING!

I'll keep you posted.

You'll never believe what Humor-Blogs keeps in a pressurized can! Check it out...

I'm not a Gynecologist (but I'll take a look)

I have a funny gynecologist. This wasn't necessarily an attribute I was initially looking for but, now that I've had time to reflect on it, if you are going to be between my legs doing things that don't feel good then you need to be at least funny.

I had my dreaded annual exam this morning. This is something that I loathe and just seeing the metal clamps makes me cringe. And when I cringe, my muscles constrict. And when my muscles constrict it is extremely difficult to put the clamps ANYWHERE. I think I should probably give up my kegel exercises. Ahem. So basically what I'm telling you is that my doctor had to fight for entry. And I was busy negotiating with my knees as they were involuntarily snapping shut, therefore making his job even more difficult. It was a busy morning for all involved.

At any rate, when he was done with his "business" he tugged on the clamp and it didn't budge. He put his hand on the sheet (so he could see my face) and said, "Hey, Bex, can I have my clamp back please? You're going to look funny walking out of here with it crammed up your hoo-hah. It'll be like a gynecological maracas!"

Like I said...he's pretty funny. For a gyno. With clamps. I should get him a spot on humor-blogs!


Is it weird that I totally want this T-shirt??

The Less Than Gifted

Oh how the times are a-changing. I just waited in line for 20 minutes at Costco for the privilege of paying $87 to fill up my car with gas. I actually, in a weird way, don't mind paying a lot for gas. I think it should cost a lot so that we use less of it. Maybe. Although just a couple of years ago it cost me $25 to fill up. It's a huge difference that definitely makes an impression on our family budget. Jesus. Listen to me talking about the price of gas. The next thing you know I'll be telling you my memories of Grover Cleveland as our President. Anyway, the thing that pissed me off was the lady in front of me.

She was middle aged and was driving a small pickup truck. Yet it appeared that this was her first time - ever - pumping gas. It was all a complete mystery to her. She studied the screen carefully with her wallet in hand. Reading. Every. Word. Why is it that I always get behind these people? Like at the bank. Every time I need cash I seem to get behind someone who is trying to refinance their mortgage via the ATM machine.

In case you've never been to a gas station at Costco here is what you do: The first thing is you stick your Costco membership card into the receptacle. Then you choose how you'll pay for your gas and push the appropriate button. Next you decide what type of gas you want, stick the hose in your tank and depress the thing on the hose that makes the gas come out. When your tank is full you remove the hose, close up your tank, take your receipt and leave. The mentally challenged need not worry as the above directions are very clearly bulleted out for you on the pump in case you can't retain them.

But our friend seemed excruciatingly challenged by this. She pressed her nose against the screen, presumably to better read it, and then stood motionless. Obviously she processes information very slowly. I'm thinking that if it takes you 10 minutes to read and then follow the instructions on a gas pump then operating a car in general just isn't going to be your bag. What does she do on the interstate when there is a directional sign? Pull over and contemplate for 20 minutes that she's been warned that the bridge will freeze faster than the street??

It seriously took her around 15 minutes of dicking around before I saw her take her receipt. Witnessing this accomplishment caused me to commence (prematurely) celebrating in my car which caused her to look up at me with a startled yet dull expression on her face. At which point she let go of her receipt. Fan-fucking-tastic. She very s-l-o-w-l-y looked down at her feet to see if perhaps it had dropped into her shoe. No such luck. With the pace that a retarded sloth could have beaten she looked under the truck to retrieve the little piece of paper that she will never, ever need again.

Maybe there should be separate line for people like this. If we start that I'd also like to see something similar at banks as well as at airport screening lines. I always seem to get behind the family of 12 that have never before left their town, never mind flown anywhere, and they don't know that they are expected to take off their shoes, belts, watches, jewelry, cell phones, and so on. It really is getting pretty ridiculous. They should at least play some slow jazz or something to make people feel more comfortable stripping in front of thousands of strangers. And then, of course, you have the post-coital, frantic and rushed re-dressing that happens after the screening. Nobody looks you in the eyes as they've lost all respect for you as you struggle to find your shoes before you step on something gross.

Boy. I really went all over the place with this post. The price of gas. The bank. Costco gas. Sloth Lady. The Airport Screening Line. Slow Jazz. Final destination? Humor-Blogs! Check it out for some funny stuff!

Do you have a hotdog or a hamburger in there???

In my professional opinion about 1% of the general public are androgynous. This is a really polite way of saying I don't know if they typically urinate from an upright or seated position. When I encounter someone like this I find myself staring. Are those breasts or simply man-maries? Is that your wedding tackle in your pants or a well placed item in your pocket? Either way, I hope that you're happy to see me....

I saw someone yesterday who could have easily convinced me that s/he was either a man or a woman. I just had no idea. So I found myself staring. I become so engrossed that I think my mouth opened a little bit and just kind of hung there. (Now you know yet another ugly truth about me. When I think hard I become a mouth breather. Tres sexy, non?)

Anyhoo, after a while I realized that s/he saw me staring and was openly staring right back at me. I wonder if s/he knew why I was checking him/her out. Ok. Let's call her/him Pat so that I don't have to keep worrying about the fucking pronouns. So, I wonder if Pat could tell why I kept staring about crotch level. If it was a man he was probably thinking, "Jeez. Take a fucking picture. These soccer moms are so sad...."

If it was a woman she was probably wondering if she had forgotten to zip her fly. Just like when someone is looking at me and they wipe their nose I immediately wipe mine thinking they are trying to tell me that I have a bat in the cave. And then they, of course, wipe their nose again thinking that I was trying to tell them that they need to hit it again. Back and forth, back and forth until one of us summons the courage to ask, "Do I, um, have something on my nose?" And then the other one will say, "No, do I?" And then we'll both laugh. Good times.

Back to Pat. What I'd really like to know is if Pat actually knows if s/he appears androgynous and enjoys the anonymity that must come along with it. People don't know if they should expect you to play football or to knit doilys so you spend your days doing whatever the hell you want to without worrying about gender expectations. Hmmm.

Here is my humor-blogs link. Click it, please? For me, the annoying mouth breather???

Maybe Next Month It'll Be Playboy...

OK. I swear that I am not unnaturally fixated on Miley Cyrus. I like one of her songs, my daughters are big fans, but that's about it. So when the big broohaha started about her Vanity Fair pictures I thought, "Meh...who gives a shit."

The above picture is in Vanity Fair this month. Do I think it is a strange portrait of a father and daughter? Pretty much. Would I want my 15 year old daughter topless on the cover of a magazine? Um, no. But I didn't boycott her music or tell my kids they couldn't watch the show anymore. I guess Miley's "people" are grooming her for more adult things in the future. It is, afterall, a business and it sounds as if she might be their cornerstone product. (Although I would have thought that, at some point, she might have said, "Gee, Daddy? Do you think you could get your hand off my ass?!" Typical kids at this age insist that their parents drop them off at the mall from a block away so that their friends don't see the very uncool spectacle of a teenager exiting his moms minivan. It is kind of hard to imagine a teenager agreeing to do this shoot.

So she took some risque shots. Big deal. HERE is the weird thing...I was at the gym the other day and was flipping through a stack of magazines. In this stack was a magazine I'd never heard of called Christian Living Magazine. On the cover were none other than Miley and her Dad, Billy Ray.

Now is it me or is the composition of this photo significantly different than that of Vanity Fair? Notice the halo-esque sun setting behind Miley's head. And the peaceful look on Billy Rae's face that screams, "I really hope nobody at this religious magazine notices my Satan beard." The only thing missing from the picture is a lamb or two grazing in some green grass and maybe an angel sitting on the clouds.

Meh. What do I know. When I was her age I (along with a girlfriend) flashed my boobs at a car full of boys and then was truly surprised (and terrified) when they chased our car throughout south Florida all night long. Live and learn, right? But it does seem like this kid has really broken out of her shell over the last couple of months. Let's just hope that it ends here and not with a million dollar deal with the Girls Gone Wild Schmuck.

Girls Gone Wild Go Wilder at Humor-Blogs. Look it up, it's true! I checked it out on snopes.com...

Yoo hoo...

I have a mechanism on my blog that allows me to see where you are coming from. More specifically I can see where your Internet Service Provider is located. Now don't freak out - I can't see your names or that you aren't wearing any pants or stuff like that. But I can see that, if you use a search engine, what search terms you used to find me. I guess Important Blogs that actually make money and are famous and stuff use it to help guide their topics du jour (rather than throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks like I do). Anyhoo, I was perusing my sitemeter and looking to see who my recent visitors were, etc.

Just a few minutes ago somebody googled "dudes naked blogs" and they were somehow directed to me. More specifically they were directed to this page on my blog. Incidentally this happens to be one of my very most favorite blog entries. At any rate, if you're still on, HELLO! Please put your pants back on. I wish that I had some sort of questionnaire to give you as I'm now quite curious. It would look like this:

1. Did you really mean to click on me??
2. Did you find what you were looking for?
3. Is the word "dudes" really in your everyday vernacular? 

4. I have a firmly held belief that a persons body odor is indicative of his/her mental health and therefore people who smell pretty good (or at least don't smell pretty bad) aren't going to use my epidermal layer for a lamp shade or something. Do you smell good?

Lastly, I've made the top ten in the mattresspolice caption contest! Woo hoo! I'm not holding onto any hope of winning but if you get a chance check it out...watch me proudly accept the fifth place prize!  

Well, that's about it for today, folks. The rest of my day kind of sucked. A few buzzwords: illness, bloody diaper rash, runny nose, big zit coming in from NOWHERE on the neck of a grown, 39 year old woman. It's been a full day with a little something for everyone. 

Feed to humor-blogs.com.

Nice Headlights!

I have some very exciting news. The Blog of Bex has received - for the very first time - a topic request for a new blog entry!

What is the topic request, you might ask? It was to be about headlights. I'll be honest...I don't know much about them. In fact, I hate it when I have a burnt out bulb in the car. Changing a bulb at home is easy. It's changing them in the car that is the challenge. Honestly, the problem is that I can't see where they go! The light itself doesn't unscrew, therefore it's an impossible task for me. Am I totally retarded on this? (Wait...don't answer that.)

As far as the "other" headlights go, all I know is that when it happens to me I feel VERY self conscious. I don't know if it's better to ignore the fact that my nipples are ready to rip through my t-shirt or to cross my arms a little bit high to block the spectacle from others.

So there you go, Diesel. It wasn't my best effort (or even my breast answer - ba dum CHAH) but I gave it a shot.

So here is what I wanted to talk about today:

A few weeks ago my 2 year old sons swimming lesson was canceled at the YMCA. The instructor called me at home (thoughtful, eh?) to alert me so that I didn't have to do the frantic "hurry-up-get-his-bottle, where-is-his-suit, what-about-a-change-of-clothes, hurry-the-hell-up-we-are-going-to-be-late" dance first thing in the morning.

I was kind of glad as it's a major ordeal to get ME anywhere on time, never mind when I'm rolling with him. So I got kind of chatty with the instructor and asked why we weren't having class. She said that the pool was closed because they had to "Super Shock" it. She further explained that this is required by law if there is fecal matter in the pool. I said that someone's kid must have had a leaky diaper to which she replied, "Ummm...this happened at 5:30 in the morning. There weren't any kids in the pool."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation as we each contemplated the events that must have lead up to and then followed an adult taking a crap in the pool at the Y. I imagine an older person swimming his or her laps thinking, "Whew...I shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee with my bran muffin! I've gotta go pretty bad...but...I think I can make it for another lap or two...OH MY HOLY HELL!!! I just shit in the pool! What to do...WHAT TO DO???!"

The practiced liar wouldn't make any sudden splashes so as not to attract attention to himself. He'd just mosey on over to the steps swimming a graceful sidestroke whilst simultaneously shaking his ass so the remaining shit would fall out of his pants before he climbed the steps and exited the pool. The rookie liar would probably panic and begin treading water at a frantic pace while looking around to see who might be looking at them. Then they would do a scurrying dog paddle to the closest exit and never again return to the YMCA. Or did they do what some do when they fart - deny, deny, deny. This is the guy who would stay in the pool and pretend that he didn't notice a shit floating around. When the lifeguard instructed him to leave he would become irate and scream at all of the other swimmers, "Jesus Christ! Which one of you fuckers SHIT in the pool?! What kind of animals are you, anyway??!"

Whichever outcome I wonder what happened in the locker room. Did they shower off, throw their bathing suit away and then sneak away? I guess that's the only real option. It's not like they'd say, "Yeah...SO?? I shit in the pool...so sue me. I just thought I had to fart...."

Regardless, I didn't have to get into my bathing suit (which might have incited my headlights) and drag my two year old around in the pool. And that, my friends, was a good thing.


Headlights and bran muffins are served with every purchase at humor-blogs.com.

The Camel Toe (and other crimes against nature)

There are few things in this world that I just completely loathe. Snakes are at the top of the list. As is the piece of gristle I always seem to find when eating hotdogs and hamburgers (what the fuck is that thing anyway?! A knuckle?? A nipple?? A ::gulp:: toe nail or something??! WAIT. Don't tell me. I can't handle the truth.).

But just as offensive as the above has to be the dreaded camel toe. For my mother (and any other readers who don't know about this phenomenon) I will explain. Here is what the toe of a camel looks like:



A camel toe is found on women who have their pants crammed impossibly up their hoohah's and there is a visible crack. You can clearly see the outline of their junk. You may even, dependent on a good light source, be able to screen for genital warts and other physical abnormalities. (Note: my husband said that this was too gross to print. But I did it anyway. I've always been an ass when it comes to that kind of stuff. I really have no idea why he married me. Except for the very fact that I rock. Back to the camels...)

Pretty much the only time it's ok to have a camel toe is if you look like this:

If you look like this, you will be forgiven but everyone will still laugh about it behind your back.

Of course if you're a woman of a "certain age" and choose to wear a subcutaneous skin-tight cat suit some might deem it less of a "Camel Toe" and more of a "Cougar Track". You be the judge.


This...there is NO excuse for (bless her heart).



If your hoohah looks like the ass of an average sized man...it might be time to lay off the twinkies. (I'm just sayin'....)

If you believe in working towards a Camel Toe Free Society, click here! And if you don't believe in my society then you really need to begin researching some kind of a 12 step program for why you are so fucked up. There might be other people out there like you and you should go and find them.


A Camel Free Link to Humor-Blogs is RIGHT HERE! It's just that easy, folks!

And the winner is...

I know you've probably had trouble focusing on all of your other very important work while waiting to hear WTF this is:

I was planning on having a poll to determine the winner but the fact is one of you knew exactly WTF this thing is. Color me surprised! Besides, figuring out how to use the poll creator software would have taken me forever. So, without further ado, let's give a big hand to Alice of Honey Pie Blog fame! If you have a second go check out her blog...she's a funny lady!

OH! I almost forgot - the winning answer. Smarty pants Alice knew that this is a Bush Baby and it was probably saying, "If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill...as God is my witness, I'll never blink again."

All I know is that this fucker is haunting my dreams.

Kudos, Home Girl!!! Way to know your rodent-esque mammals!


Feed to humor-blogs

OK, kids, one more day to enter my inaugural contest which is tentatively called, WTF is that???!

Click here to enter:

Let's close it by end of day Tuesday, shall we? Good luck!


Feed to humor-blogs.

WTF is THAT?!

I have a challenge for you. It's a little game I like to call WTF is that?!

So take a look and then let me know WTF you think it is and WTF you think it is saying/thinking. Because I really want to know. I also want to know if it bites or if it just stares at you with its hypnotic yellow stare until your brains squeeze out of your ears.



The winner of this contest (yes, it's officially become a contest since I wrote the last paragraph) will get (more of) my undying adulation. Not to mention NOTORIETY, which is pretty super awesome. And did I mention the adulation??


Humor-blogs! Don't go to the light! We need you..........you....complete...us....



PS Mom - if you are reading this WTF=what the fuck. Just thought you should know that to appreciate the essence of this particular blog post. It is, after all, important stuff we're working on here.

PPS Here is a little something that may, or may not, be related to the creature above:




I've said it once and I'll say it again - WTF is that?!

Hoping for a Housekeeper

I don't have a housekeeper which is unfortunate as I suck at cleaning stuff. And this is why I live vicariously through my friends and neighbors housekeeping experiences. And as soon as someone comes to my blog and spends millions on my Amazon.com link then I'll be able to afford somebody. Ooops. Does that make me sound bitter??? Cuz I'm not. Just click on my humor-blogs link to nowhere and I'll be happy.

Anyway, on to today's topic. There is one lady who cleans for the majority of the neighborhood. She's from Brazil and doesn't speak any English.

The funny thing is that she doesn't speak any Spanish, either. She speaks Portuguese, which is what most people from her country speak. But some folks in my hood just seems to ignore that fact and continue to speak to her in either broken high school Spanish or in slow English that is this loud.

It must kind of suck to be so misunderstood. It's bad enough that scraping your husbands errant urine off of the toilet is in her job description. Of course she always has the option of learning a little bit of English so that she can say,

"Listen, Lady. I have two things to tell you: ONE - I speak PORTUGUESE. Which is NOT Spanish. Which means that when you use pigeon Spanish on me like "como es usted?" I think that that you are sort of stupid and obviously don't give a shit that in my country one would say "como e voce" if they wanted to know how you are today. Also? When you don't speak a language it is not at all helpful to have someone shrieking it at you. I'm not DEAF.

And here is my second issue - tell your pig of a husband that he needs to have his prostate checked as it just isn't possible that a healthy one would be so incapable of actually shooting the urine INTO the toilet. COMPRENDE???"

Still...I'd love to have a housekeeper. Yo quiero...




Here is that helpful little humor-blogs link in case you missed it above.

Et tu, Cesar?

Cesar. If you are listening, I would like to offer my most humble apologies. I did not intend to moon you. After all, I barely know you. And I gave up mooning virtual strangers months ago.

Why did I do it???! I have no idea. Here is what happened: Cesar is a handsome Latino who speaks little English. He came by yesterday to look at our basement so that he could prepare an estimate to finish it.

This afternoon I had to go tee tee and was therefore - as I do sometimes - sitting on the toilet. My cell phone began ringing in the kitchen and as my husband has been sick I did a quickie wipe and then ran out of the bathroom to retrieve to phone to ensure that the husband hadn't passed out or something. My pants were somewhere between my knee's and ankles.

It wasn't the hubs. It was Cesar. Who was at my house. Outside my front door. In eye shot of the potty from which I fled, pantsless. It's nice to meet you, too. Thank you for hand delivering your proposal and for calling me to announce your arrival instead of ringing the doorbell. I couldn't understand a word you said but it was probably just some stammering about how you didn't want to wake up my baby in case he was napping. That's fine. I'm just glad that I didn't turn you to stone or anything. Cuz that could totally happen. Go home and rest your eyes. You'll be fine.



I'm going to put a link to humor-blogs.com even though my stuff doesn't seem to be going through. I guess they are still having issues. Did you know that whenever you click on the humor-blogs link that my blog gets a vote? So click for me and my moon, please!!

The Day in Review

Things that suck about today:

Husband has influenza. And, according to him, nobody has ever been sicker.
Dog is still bleeding from her tutu. Having a dog in heat is HIGHLY overrated.
Both daughters cannot find their sneakers. Seriously - what are the odds??
Son is still two years old (and therefore having tantrums in every public forum we forage into).
Hubs and I are both on a diet. He's lost 14 pounds. Me? 6. (that mother fucker)



Things that don't suck about today:

I don't have influenza. Yet.
My kids aren't sick. Yet.
It is a beautiful day in Atlanta.
Humor-Blogs.com is back up! Woo Hoo!

There you have it, folks. The Monday afternoon, pre-cocktail update. Cheers!

Go with the flow...

I have some very interesting news. It's kind of gross. And if you are married to me you don't want to know the following information. So kindly go click elsewhere (but remember that we're having steak and martini's tonight - so don't forget to come home!).

Guess who got her very first period???

Can you guess? You know it isn't me.... But I have two daughters, right? Could it be one of them??? Nope...it's THE FUCKING DOG.

She's not a baby anymore....

What a cruel, cruel joke. I have three little kids and I saw little spatters of blood throughout my house. I began freaking out and looking for cut off fingers in the corners of the house and under the sofa to no avail. Further, I couldn't find the bleeder and nobody was crying. Then Honey (or, as she'll be known from now on - THE FUCKING DOG, or TFD for short) walks by me leaving little plops of blood in her wake. Fan-fucking-tastic.

So the girls start freaking out and I explained to them what it means and that we'll need to get TFD fixed ASAP as she came from a litter of NINE puppies and that would push hubby over the edge of sanity. Thing One started crying because we're "denying TFD the chance to be a mommy". I say I'm ENABLING the chance that she will continue to live with us here at the house. Besides, at this point I feel like I'm helping her out. I'm gonna stick my neck out and take a guess that having nine offspring isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

I began wondering about how long her cycle would last so I spent a little bit of time on Google which is where I saw this:

At first I thought that they were some crotchless fetish panties from Victoria's Secret or something. But then I saw that these are "Satin Dog Panties". All you do is put a panty liner in them and you're little girl is ready to go! They are $20 a piece! Sorry, but I REFUSE to buy TFD underwear that costs more than MINE did.

Here is the other thing. I've just started my period, too. You know how they say that women who spend time together often times menstruate together? Well I'm now wondering if that isn't true for all mammals, rather than just humans as I had previously thought. So does this mean that all of the female squirrels living in my yard are currently pissed off at their mates, craving chocolate and have stomach cramps?? Hmmm....



Hopefully it's NOT true for those who blog together. If so, it's gonna be kind of bitchy at humor-blogs for a few days....

Other People's Kids

I've never been a huge fan of other peoples kids (OPK). I guess I'm just an ass that way. Other women talk about their biological clock going off whenever there is an infant around. I must be a mutant as I am most definitely missing THAT gene. (Thankfully.) So when you've just had a baby and you want ME to hold the baby and I say "No, thanks" I'm not just being polite. I really don't want to hold the baby. I'll do it if you need to go cop a squat on the can or something, but I'm not dying to hold your kid. Nothing personal.

Today I took Thing Three to check out a preschool in my area. He's two now and I think it's about time he learn how to search and destroy in someone else's shit for a while. We were on The Tour when I noticed two little girls sitting primly on their little carpets. I didn't like them already. They had hair bows like this:

I had the urge to tap them on shoulder and say, "Hey. Nellie Olson called from Little House on the Prairie. She wants her ribbons back." I mean REALLY. If the ribbon is big enough to propel a helicopter then it is too big for your kids hair. Period. There should be some kind of equation for this kind of stuff for the people who don't know any better. It'd look like this:

If bow = > 0.5(head circumference), then bow = TOO FUCKING BIG

And Another Thing...

The other thing that pissed me off is they had a sign up that someone in the class had a peanut allergy therefore nobody could have anything with peanuts in it for lunch. When the hell did this crazy logic start??? If your kid is deathly allergic to peanuts then I think you need to teach him not to eat anything with peanuts in it. And if he's so allergic that being in the same air as a PB&J would kill him then you need to either send him to school in a plastic bubble or keep him at home. Or maybe start a Happy To Be Peanut Free School for the Nut Challenged. But to impact the lunch choices of 19 other kids in the class? Bite my ass, please.

I guess I'm done bitching. For the moment. Until the next time.

Sent to humor-blogs for shits and giggles.

I AM The Spud Queen

I love cooking dinner for family and friends so we tend to have a lot of dinner parties. It's funny, though, how sometimes things go unexpectedly wrong. Many moons ago we had invited Wayne and Melinda over for dinner. I had prepared steaks and twice baked potatoes and Wayne had just said how delicious everything tasted. He was about half way done with his spud and taking another bite when all of a sudden there was a CRUNCH about THIS big. Needless to say, conversation came to a screeching halt.

We all stared at him in shock. His face seemed similarly surprised and his jaws had quit moving. He very slowly began taking inventory of his teeth with his tongue. Eventually he pursed his lips together and very slowly (and with great apprehension on my part) produced a stone from his mouth. Everyone at the table stared expectantly at me so I began stammering, "....what the...well...how did THAT get in there??" (Cue the awkward silence as everyone spent some time thinking about what I might have done to fuck up dinner.)

My husband eventually cleared his throat and said, "Huh. Well, the potato must have grown around the rock. You know, in the dirt. Where potatoes grow. (::ahem::)" We all sat there in more silence contemplating that I had already baked these potatoes, cut them in half and then scraped out the insides to mash them with my cheese and whatnot. I must be a shitty masher to have not noticed the ROCK in mashed potatoes. I'm just glad he didn't lose a tooth.

Talking about potatoes has me WANTING potatoes. Did I mention that I'm on an Atkins diet? Yup. No spuds for me for a while. With or without the errant stone. Here is my current favorite spud recipe. Ya'll try it and I'll live vicariously through your carbohydrate consumptions.

Michy Potatoes:

A word to the wise, you'll need about twice as many as you think as people will try to bogart these.

In a large mixing bowl put 1/4 cup dijon mustard AND 1/4 cup course grain mustard. Add a half cup olive oil, about a tablespoon of seasoning salt and freshly ground pepper. Cut up a small onion and throw it in. Stir it well. Cut up about 4 medium sized potatoes (I leave the skin on.) and throw them in the bowl mixing well.

Roast them at 375 on a baking sheet with a rim. Stir them every 15 minutes or so until their done. It takes between 45 minutes to an hour. Add more salt if necessary.

They are really awesome. But watch out for the rock.


I'm feeding my potatoes to humor-blogs RIGHT NOW. Yummy, yummy!

You funny, funny little tax man!

Those IRS guys are just SO funny. Truly hilarious. Stop it...my sides are killing me.... At least I assume that they are joking. I mean, they MUST be joking. They don't really think that after SUFFERING for hours to fill out their ridiculously complicated forms that I'm just dying to give my three dollars to the friggin' Presidential Election Campaign. Right?? RIGHT??!

And am I crazy or would they use this money to do what I DEPLORE, which is run back-to-back advertisements when I'm trying to watch TV and then have recorded messages call my house when I'm doing something really important (like writing this blog)?

Does anybody give money to this? It must be the IRS' extremely feeble attempt at cracking a joke to ease me into the realization that I just paid a shit load of money for my kids to go to the World Famous Georgia Public School System where the motto is, "We're 49th! We're not the worst in the country! Yee haw, ya'll!"

So here is a list of things that I will do BEFORE I ever consider give up my three bucks:

* Purposefully slam my hand in the car door.
* Bite off at least one inch of my tongue.
* Have unprotected sex with a Haitian prostitute.
* Run for President (after the prostitute - obviously).

I hope this clears things up.



The taxation rate at humor-blogs.com is LOW, LOW, LOW. Check 'em out!

The Truth About Balls

I happen to be a big fan of vasectomy's. In fact the only issue I see with them is that not enough people get them. Even worse is the problem that the guys who do get them are the ones who have good, strong qualities that are worthy of being passed down to future generations. The other guys - you know the ones I mean - propagate their species like there is no tomorrow and produce legions of lazy, abusive and, far worse, unattractive children.

My point is, men who step up to the plate and get a vasectomy are heroic. Really. And I've become a little bit fixated on the matter ever since one of my friends told me about his experience. He said that he was led into a FREEZING examination room. (That just seems mean, doesn't it?) He was a little bit nervous and sat there twiddling his thumbs. Eventually a very large female nurse came in and invited him to remove his pants and underwear. He was instructed to sit on a METAL table in the cold room - pantsless. Here is where the weird thing happened...she - without appropriate warning, mind you - grabbed the end of his penis and PULLED it (like I said, it was a very cold room). She then duct taped it to his leg, leaving him to think WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?! She never explained the purpose. In fact, she never even said, "So. How's it going?" or "Listen, man, brace yourself as I'm getting ready to try to find your penis which will have retracted itself into your stomach as it's cold as hell in here. Then? I'll yank it really hard and tape it to your leg. And, go."

She must have sensed his need for retrospection as she left him alone in the room - for 30 minutes - naked in a cold room with his dick taped to his leg. While he was sitting there he was trying to imagine why this action might have been necessary. The procedure is done on the balls. Was his package so enormous that they were worried it would be in the way? Maybe the guy before him got an erection and they now tape that shit down to prevent something similar from happening and embarrassing everyone? I really want to know. And this is why, every time I meet someone who has had a vasectomy I ask my question, "So...did anyone grab your junk and duct tape it to your leg??"

I have yet to have anyone else say yes. SO. Where does that leave us? Should my friend sue? Leave a tip for above and beyond service?



Please either turn your head and cough OR click on the humor-blogs link here. I'd guess that, after a week of being on vacation my ranking is somewhere below the Save the Dust Mites Blog.

That Thong Thing

I'm not sure why but this morning I wore thong underwear. Don't worry, I didn't get another tattoo like I did HERE. It might have had something to do with my Laundry Situation which involves all of my clothing being anywhere in the house EXCEPT folded and in my room. But that's another story.

Back to thongs. Wearing one got me wondering about the first person to invent the thong. I imagine a woman sitting on her bed, admiring her favorite underwear. She'd be thinking, "These are almost perfect. But they restrict my outer ass TOO much. And...now that I'm thinking about it I'd like to have my inner ass MORE restricted. In fact I'd like to have the underwear material actually mashed up against my sphincter muscle. That would be PERFECT."

And here we are, centuries later. I wonder if this woman could have envisioned the legions of women who dutifully shove lycra up their butts due to her invention. Strippers, sunbathers, Fat Grannies who have NO business in them but do it anyway to see people try to swallow their own stomach bile at the sight, etc.

Of course, if it was a man who invented the thong his inner monologue was probably more like, "My wife is a total bitch. I'm going to teach her a lesson by mutilating all of her underwear so that she has to wear it shoved up her butt. Tee hee hee!"

Either way, I'm glad that we have them. Sort of. For the most part. Unless I'm doing a lot of walking and then my downstairs area starts feeling a little chaffed. And not in a good way, either.

End of thong story!

So listen. The Blog of Bex is taking a break. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone! And you should totally go by Humor-Blogs! There is some funny stuff there, like, all the time! Bex, OUT

Toilet Tendencies

My kids believe that I am omnipotent. And to be honest I don't have a problem with their misconception. I find it to be helpful in many cases. Here is an example of my power - I can walk into any bathroom in my home and tell who the last kid in there was.

I know what you're thinking...HOW do I DO it??? I'm going to break my code of silence and tell you my secrets.

OK. Here goes:

If it was Thing One I'll know it was her as the toilet will not be flushed and there will be enough toilet paper on top of the water to create a nest for Big Bird.

I think the "H" stands for "HEY! Why don't you try FLUSHING that fucker?!"

If Thing Two was the last one in the bathroom there will be yellow water and an impressively sized dump in it. No toilet paper whatsoever. She's not a flusher either, for the record. I guess she could be using toilet paper like this...

...but I can also go into the laundry room at any given time and easily point out which panties she has worn. 'Nuff said.

Thing Three is still in diapers. Ironically he is the only kid in the house who does flush the toilets. Unfortunately he does this chronically and without cause or reason. Possibly he has seen me going through the house in the morning on my daily Turds in the Unflushed Toilet Patrol and is mimicking my behavior. Happily he doesn't repeat the running commentary which is usually something like, "Well, I'd better go look in the girls bathroom...JESUS CHRIST. Is it SO hard to flush the fucking toilet?! WHY must they leave this for ME to find. I was in labor for three damn days and THIS is how they repay me???! While I'm up here I'd better go check the guest room toilet, too...OH MY HOLY HELL...."

Thing Three follows me around and watches with interest as I flush his sisters shits. He also seizes this golden opportunity to use every single toothbrush that he finds on the way. I'm not really sure what his deal is with the toothbrush fetish. But, as I've already pointed out, there are worse tendencies he could have.

When you click HERE a toilet flushes at Humor-Blogs headquarters! Try it....

Kraut Katastophe

Well wouldn't you know it. The fucking "air-tight" (HA! My ass!!) plastic container slipped out of my hands spilling juicy sauerkraut all over the carpeted floor. In desperation I got the dog and encouraged her mightily to consume it. This is why, when my kids followed the strange sounds coming from the laundry room, they found me standing over their dog hissing in my Darth Vader voice, "EAT the fucking kraut! EAT the fucking kraut!"

Suddenly she's, like, all particular about what she'll eat. THAT'S rich, considering this is the same animal who has consumed puke that didn't originate with her (I don't know why that seems MORE disgusting to me than eating her own yak but it does) eggs that were 3 days old with ants on them, her own fecal matter, poopie diapers from Mr. Nasty, etc.

She had a couple of bites and suddenly her ears retracted to the back of her head. She slowly looked up at me like she was really seeing me for the very first time and then ran away to play with my children. Thanks for NOTHING.

So. Honey was not intimidated by me. There are strings of kraut dangling all over the floor, the bottom of the fridge as well as the door to go to the garage. And it does indeed smell like something really bad happened in there. Of course, the smell will probably pale in comparison to Honey's farts when she processes what little bit of the kraut she actually ate.

Yep. Everybody's a winner today, folks.

If I were you I'd go to Humor-Blogs and read something funny. Hopefully it won't be something quite so odiferous. (That's right. I used a big word. Four syllables, folks.)

Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!

I have to make this quick as I am BUSY today. BUT. Did you hear about the woman in South Florida who was mauled by two cheetahs? I read that headline and thought to myself, "Holy shit! I'm going there in a couple of weeks! What? Are there cheetahs roaming the streets there now? Are they in the Everglades? How will I protect myself and kids from this danger???"

Then I opened the article and realized that this woman ENTERED THEIR CAGE. She went in to do a demonstration and the people at the "cat sanctuary" (?!) said that one of the cats was distracted by a bouncing ball outside of the cage and then pounced on her, biting and clawing her.

I know that I'm not a cheetah. But I have actually been distracted by a bouncing ball myself. And not once, after many of these occurrences, did I knock someone to the ground and scratch and bite their back. NOT ONCE! When asked for a reason as to why the cheetahs attacked the lady I think the sanctuary spokesman should have said, "Because it's a fucking cheetah!" I think they made that bouncing ball story up just so it wouldn't seems so bad.

Cheetahs aren't like humans who have a very distinct pecking order of mammals they will and will NOT eat.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I think that it would be more newsworthy if someone entered a cage with two male cheetahs and walked away unscathed. Cheetahs eat other animals. It's what they DO, who they ARE. It's like walking into oncoming traffic, getting hit by a car and then saying, "What the fuck did you do THAT for??!" And then you mumble "...asshole..." under your breath as you stumble away.


Hit me up on Humor-Blogs! It is SO like, you know!

Oohh...I LOVE a good streptease!

Well. I'll be a monkey's uncle. I took my three kids to the pediatrician this morning to find out...Hot Damn! They all have strep throat! What glorious, glorious news!! This explains why I've been feeling like I had mono...I just figured that my laziness was coming to a head. But, no, I'm pretty sure I have the funk, too.

So everyone stayed home from school today and it has sucked. The girls have been fighting, the baby has been leaving snail trails of snot everywhere he goes...you know, your basic suck fest.

So that's my first set of issues. My second is that someone in my 8 year olds