I’m not dead!

Admit it, internets, you were worried about me, weren’t you? I mean, no one has e-mailed me or left an inquiring comment, trying to find out why Mega-Mouth has been so quiet lately, but I KNOW you’ve been weeping into your collective pillows every night worrying about me. Right?

Okay, then.

When I got up this morning and checked my e-mail, Pookie had sent me a little gift. A gift that made me so happy that I didn’t even walk into work and announce, in loud tones, “I swear to God. Just give me a reason to quit.”. Which was a refreshing change for my co-workers, who sometimes think about giving me a reason, just so I’ll shut the fuck up already. And really, who can blame them? Sometimes I wish I would shut the fuck up already. Never happens though.

Anyway. Go here to view the funniest bit of music video I have seen, maybe ever. And that’s counting the David Hasselhoff videos. Oh, and you want to wait till the kids are out of the room to watch it. It’s got (gasp) dirty words in it.

I am now a little in love with Bob Saget. Which, if someone had told me yesterday that I would ever type that sentence, I would have punched them in the neck. Because, eeeeew. Bob Saget? Bob ‘ I was the overshadowed star of perhaps the most insipid bit of fluff to ever launch the careers of twin bulimics’ Saget?

But now? Now I kind of love him a little. To quote the great Brett Butler, ‘Don’t you judge me!”.

Oh, and my (much) older brother, Charlie, has a Live Journal. I like to think I was his inspiration. His sisterly muse, if you will.

I wasn’t, of course, but I like to think it.

Y’all should go check him out. He’s funny, and good lookin’, just like me!


I’ll take asshats for $200, Alex

Remember Ken Jennings? He won Jeopardy! 11 million times in a row (I’m estimating here.)

Turns out Ken has a blog, and he’s pretty damned funny for a devout Mormon millionaire.

He wrote a fairly hilarious entry, containing a letter to Jeopardy complete with ‘suggestions’ as to how to bring the show in the present.

You can read it here, but I’ll share some here too, because it’s easy and I’m lazy:

First up, the categories. Maybe when Art Fleming was alive, America just couldn’t get enough clues about “Botany” and “Ballet” and “The Renaissance,” but come on. Does every freaking category have to be some effete left-coast crap nobody’s heard of, like “Opera,” or, um, “U.S. History” or whatever? I mean, wake me up when you come up with something that middle America actually cares about. I think it would rule if, just one time, Alex had to read off a board like:

* PlayStation
* The Arby’s 5-for-$5.95 Value Menu
* Reality TV
* Men’s Magazines
* Skanks from Reality TV Who Got Naked in Men’s Magazines
* Potpourri

And this is perhaps my very favorite part:

Whenever Alex says “Correct!” to a contestant, he should do the two-index-finger point, like Isaac in the Love Boat credits.

That shit is funny, right?

That entry was posted on the 19th of July. On the 25th of July, this article by Michael Starr was published in the New York Post. A few exerpts from that article:

ALL-time “Jeopardy!” champ Ken Jennings has emerged from the “Where Are They Now?” shadows to bite the hand that fed him $2.5 million just a short time ago.

In a snarky “Dear Jeopardy!” letter {…}, the winningest contestant ever needles the game show for being out of step and out of date.

The article goes on to quote Jennings’ post out of context again and again, never even hinting that it was supposed to be funny and silly. He goes out of his way to make Jennings look like an ungrateful git. Unless he really believes that Jennings would like to see physical challenges involving angry bees as a part of the show’s format.

Here’s Jennings response, via another blog entry on July 25th.

Now, I am not the president of the Ken Jennings fan club, mostly because he’s both smarter and richer than me, by a good shot on both counts. But I think he got done wrong here.

What do y’all think?

Yep. It’s Monday. Again, UPDATED!**

Ways I can tell it’s Monday:

1) The feeling of impending doom.

2) I don’t just kind of hate the idea of going to work. I really, really hate it.

3) For some reason, the electricity went off about 30 seconds after I woke up and I had to get dressed in the dark.

4) The girls over at Snarkywood are hating on the Hoff. Also, it’s funny, so go see it.

Monday, Monday, go away
Come again another day.

Or never. That would be good too.

Have a good day everyone! (that was sarcasm, in it’s purest form, right there)

**Update…..And, I’m home! The conference call I dread every other Monday was relatively painless and also short.

Y’all will be happy to know that I managed to avoid injury this weekend, so I’m canceling that restraining order I have against myself for the time being.

However, Pookie may have caught my bad luck as he seems to have a kindey stone doing it’s level best to kick his ass.

TGIFF! (3 guesses what the extra ‘F’ stands for)

Good morning, sunshines! I have to dash off to work so I can get done and start my weekend off, which is a rare occurence. I know y’all are all probably doing the same thing. Unless you’re independantly wealthy. In which case, could you adopt me? I don’t actually require parenting, but an allowance would come in handy!

Anyway, here’s a few tidbits from the last week. Mostly involving wildlife, for some reason.

  • I saw the world’s biggst squirrel in my backyard. Pookie disagrees that it was, in fact the world’s biggest, though he did agree that it was bigger than the squirrels we usually see. Who died and made him the squirrel expert? (that sucker was huge, y’all)

Internet experts? Your opinion? Did I, or did I not, see the world’s biggest squirrel?
(Hint: I did.)

  • A cow trotted alongside my van for about 20 seconds as I drove to work. Which was so surreal that I pressed the wrong button on my camera phone and then the two guys who were trying to catch it chased it off the road and now I do not have a picture to share with you. I thought about getting jiggy with Microsoft Paint, but I do not draw well with pencil and paper, if I attempted it with a mouse, people would injure themselves trying to figure out what the hell it was.
  • In the ever alarming trend of me causing painful, but ultimately minor, injury to myself, I cut off a bit of the knckle on my left index finger. Yet another in a long string of boo-boos that will irritate the crap out of me but are not bad enough to get me out of work. Damnit.
  • As I was leaving work yesterday, I saw a little bitty bird chasing a great big old bird. It would catch up to the big bird, bite it in the vicinity of it’s ass, the big bird would flounder for a moment, and then they’d start all over again. It was much like watching a Chihuahua chase a pit bull and bite it in the ass.

I don’t know what the big bird did to piss off the little bird, but I’m betting he won’t do it again anytime soon.

So, anything interesting happen to y’all this week? And before you say no, refer to the above list and understand that my criteria for ‘interesting’ is perhaps not so stringent as yours.

Yin and Yang *

I was a tomboy. A serious one. I climbed (clamb? clumb?) trees, played ball, stayed dirty, picked up and handled snakes and lizards, fought regularly and tormented my siblings.

In other words, I acted like a boy. No offense to you boys out there. I’m still firmly convinced I had more fun than most girls growing up.

My daughter though? She was a princess. Almost literally. She had the tiara and the loyal subjects (in the form of my entire family) and the outfits. I took her to Lowe’s one time and the greeter said to her, ‘Hello, Princess!’. My daughter looked up at me (she was maybe 6 at the time) and said, ‘See??’. The ‘I told you so, Bitch, now step off and get me a juicebox‘, being tacitly understood.

Now as a former tomboy, I never assumed my daughter would be into the princess thing. If anything, given my love of all things boyish, I assumed my daughter would, well, be like me. Because who wouldn’t want to be like me? (No need to hear from the peanut gallery here!)

But, she was a girly girl. Refused to wear pants. Learned how to fix her hair early on, because I was really only good for pigtails (which she hated) and ponytails (which were only minimally better, in her opinion). Shaved her legs for the first time at age 9. Which she totally did not have my permission to do, in case anyone was questioning my sanity.

But what makes one girl a tomboy and another a princess?

Was I a tomboy simply because I grew up with 4 brothers in a neighborhood full of boys and it was an environmental thing? Maybe. It seems reasonable. But somehow, I think I would have been a tomboy no matter what.

Is my daughter a princess because I bought her frilly clothes and Disney princess movies?

Well, I also bought her her first baseball glove at the same ridiculously young age as I did her brothers. I taught her how to throw and catch baseballs and footballs. I taught her how to dribble and shoot a basketball.

She didn’t mind those things, and in fact was quite good at them. She simply wasn’t all that interested and mostly indulged me until she could get back to her Barbies.

She’s still quite the princess, though she’s modified it a bit. She’s 1/2 Valley Girl (like, OMG!) and 1/2 Goth. Which is interesting when you consider that (a) she’s never been to California and (b) she’s never been dead (she’s been close though. She’s about one eye roll away from a pine box at any given time).

Oh, and I’m still a tomboy. A tomboy who hates bugs and will beat you up if you come near me with one. Oh, and also, I like jewelry now. And I’m not talking about attaching an empty Cicada shell to my shirt, either.

So which are you? Tomboy or Princess? Obviously this question is intended for the girls in the audience, but if you boys want to share, we’d love to hear about your princess proclivities. Heh.

Also, what makes one a Tomboy or a Princess? Is it Nature or Nuture?

* which always sounded vaguely dirty to me.


As you may or may not remember, my oldest son in is the Army. We are obviously very proud of him.

To be perfectly honest, though, we weren’t sure he’d do at all well, especially through basic training.

Before he joined he was your basic spoiled suburban kid. More interested in video games and skateboarding than in deciding what he wanted to do with his life. He was 18, working a series of minimum wage jobs and not at all interested in continuing his education right then.

We had always told him that if he went to college, he could live at home until he graduated if he needed to. We would happily continue to feed, clothe and house him until graduation if need be, if that’s what made it possible for him to go to college.

Conversely, we also told him that if he wasn’t going to go to school, he needed to find a job that would pay rent, utilities, etc. on his own place. Of course, our hope was that our stand on the issue would be an incentive for him to decide on college.

Yeah. No. That didn’t really work out like we hoped.

So one night we had one of those hard conversations. The upshot being that it was time for him to shit or get off the pot (didn’t Shakespeare say that?), figuratively speaking. Either enroll in college or find a good paying job, because Bub, the gravy train, she is coming to an end.

He announced that he was thinking about joining the Army. I think maybe he was trying to bluff me out, given my prediliction for being an over-protective mother. Maybe he thought I would fling myself across the dining table and beg him not to do it. However, while I am still over-protective with my children, I’m trying to curb that impulse when it comes to the grown man who is my son.

One of our issues at the time is that he wanted to be treated as an adult and he felt I was treating him like a child. He was right. It’s very hard to make that transition, as I’m sure the older parents among you could verify. Part of the problem was that he wanted the rights of adulthood without the responsibilities. The other part of the problem is that I was/am in denial about my BABY being grown.

So. We talk to the recruiter, who did a masterful job of making the U.S. Army seem like Club Med, only better. That is his job and he was really rather good at it, I must say.

My son tested well on the ASVAB test, which enabled him, if he decided to join, to pretty much pick the job he wanted.

He made the decision to join and chose ‘Calvary Scout’ as his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) (also know as JOB), in good part because Pookie was a Scout when he was in the Army.

He did well in Basic Training, but he was homesick and it was diffcult, as it was for every one the men he was training with. We missed him. So badly. His little brother most of all, I think. We joked when we went to visit him in the middle of Basic that we were really only the Little Brother Delivery System. He was happy enough to see us, of course, and we, him, but really, it was mostly about getting to see his baby brother (and how lucky are we that our older kids love their little brother so much and are so good with him and feel a stake in his future?).

So, now he’s stationed across the country and he’s…happy. He has friends, a girlfriend, a job, a life that only includes us on a peripheral level. Which, hard as it may be to accept, is really what raising your kids right is all about. Don’t get me wrong, he loves us and misses us. It’s just the way an adult living his life loves and misses the folks back home, instead of the way a child away on an overnight would.

He called yesterday, to let us know he’d received an expected promotion, to PFC. He also told us that he’d been bloodranked. As I understand it, this means that when they add a rocker to the chevron on the chest of his uniform they follow it up with a good hard smack, thereby causing the little pins to go into his skin under his uniform. Followed by everyone of equal or higher rank who had also been bloodranked doing the same to him.

This was something he’d hoped for, as it signaled the respect of his peers and those who rank higher than he does, and after all, isn’t that what we all want? Anybody comes close to me a stickpin, though, and POW, right in the kisser, Alice.

Now, it sounds a little barbaric to me, but this was such an honor for him, that he made a seperate phone call to Pookie to discuss it at length, because Pookie was also bloodranked back in the day and understood the honor.

He’s so proud of himself and we’re so proud of him.

He sent me a picture of his chest, and I promised to post it, so here it is, in all it’s blurry glory:


Although, it’s NOTHING compared to all the dog and cat (and snake and iguana and bird and so forth) bites and scratches I’ve had over the years.

I’m just sayin’.


And then y’all can help come to terms with my David Hasselhoff obsession

In honor of the many responses I got on my last post, where most of y’all agreed with me (hee!) , I have decided to make the internet my marriage counselor.

Our latest contretemps:

This morning, Pookie was touching my face. We were still sleeping in case you think this is one of those ‘Mom, make him stop touching me!’ deals. I generally do not object to him touching my face.

However, when he does it when I’m asleep, it reminds me of the time I woke up with a spider on my mouth* (an event that haunts Pookie to this day as he woke up to me beating the shit out of the bed and yelling. I’m sure he thought that I had finally snapped and was attempting to kill him in his sleep, as I’d threatened (jokingly!) about 37,000 times.

Have I set the stage for how I don’t want ANYTHING touching my mouth while I sleep? Good.

So I might have started batting his hand away, repeatedly, even though it was actually ‘away’ at this point. In my sleep/spider hating induced state, I may have smacked his hand many many times. Which, after a while, surprisingly, woke him up. Whereupon he told me to stop it (a reasonable enough request, I have to admit).

I told him that he had been touching my face. He denied it. Now, I’m as crazy as the next bedbug, but why would I have woken up enough to smack his hand repeatedly, if I didn’t know for a fact that he was touching my face? Also, what the hell does he know? He was ASLEEP.

So, that’s it, internet, what do you think? Also, this is about as interesting as my marital discord gets. We don’t even argue about money or housework (not that there’s a whole lot of either around here. Ha!). I promise, if y’all will be my marriage counselor, we’ll try to jazz things up around here.

Hey! Maybe he could take to smacking me for adding too much spice to the spaghetti sauce, like that asshole in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (a true cinematic masterpiece, and I am saying that without a trace of irony). Or maybe I could start spending too much money on frivolous things (which actually hurt me to type, so, NO, I will not be doing that).

Ok, on to other things (‘Thank GOD”, you’re thinking. I know. It’s okay.)

Jo, my best beloved cousin and the cutest little ole thing you ever saw (she’s teensy!) sent me a couple things y’all need to see. NEED.

Remember the David Hasselhoff video I posted way back when that had the women simutaneously laughing at the cheese and thinking how hot The Hoff is and had the men saying things like ‘He beats his wife! And he’s a bad actor! And you women need to quit saying how hot he is because it makes us feels insecure and less of a man!”. Remember that? (Check out the link. Because if you don’t, the dachsunds will be sad)

Well, he’s done it again! This is awesome. Oh, and for you boys, KITT is in it too. And if you don’t know who KITT is, I would like the address of the cave you were living in during the early to mid 80’s.

Also, there is a website devoted to making The Hoff number one in the UK charts. From the home page of this site:

“Think what he’s given to the world. Knight Rider. Baywatch. The reunification of East and West Germany. Untold laughter from forwarded e-mails of him in hotpants.

He’s given a lot. It’s time we gave something back.”


Oh, and here’s his official website.

* Did y’all know that in the avergae lifetime, a person will swallow 8 spiders while they sleep? Does this make anyone else want to never ever sleep again?