Archive for February, 2006
-image-That’s not curry.
And it’s not mustard on my jeans. That leaves…poop. Ah yes, a quick sniff test confirms. Jojo has leaked fec onto me. Jojo, Purveyor of Exotic Curries and Butt Mustard. Master Pee. Stinky von Stinkerstein. Sir Stink-a-lot. Colonel Crappypants. Poopy McPooperpants. Butters. Butters Butterton of Butterville. Butters von Buttnuggets. So many more… but they’re more of the moment names.
And speaking of speaking and of the moment…mama needs to STOP swearing. I tried ridding myself of holy fuckballs and the like during my pregnancy, but honestly, I didn’t try too hard. And when my assclown mailman pissed me off the other day, I calmly pointed out to Curry Master J that the mailman was a dickweed. That probably needs to stop. Right? yeaahhhh, no shit! See. If you guys are going to swear, how can I avoid the occasional slip-up? We need to work together people!!
Any suggestions out there? My husband suggested getting me a bracelet with WWNFS on it, that I could gaze upon with calm and introspection when the rising heat of anger and annoyance brews within and I need some guidance. Seriously, HollowSquirrel…what WOULD Ned Flanders say? Great MoogelyDoogely?! Jeepers?!
And YES, I did hear a mom exclaim “Jeepers!” the other day when she was getting the verbal beatdown from another not-so-Flanders-like mom. The Jeepers lady was totally in the right to take this parking space, but the other crabtacular mom didn’t think so and screamed from her minivan that she’d been waiting 10 minutes for the spot (uh…then you’re a lazy idiot…and it’s illegal to turn that way into that spot with traffic backing up behind you, bitch, oops, but anyhoo), so the Jeepers lady cheerfully protested, ending her explanation with an upbeat yet exasperated “Jeepers!” To which the bitter minivan driver yelled back “FAT ASS!” NICE! Too bad I didn’t about-face into the karate studio where they were both headed to pick up their kids to see further interaction. Because you KNOW their kids are friends and Billy is going to ask his bitter mom if Jimmy can come over to practice roundhouses. Awwwwwkkkkwwwaaaarrrrddddd!
In the meantime, maybe one of you go-getters out there can work on a swearing cessation patch or somethin’ for me? K thanks.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:04 am |
-image-Out of touch
I forgot to add this from my recent TPIR viewing… did you know I love game shows?
This really nice old woman, Jenny, made it to the Showcase Showdown. She bid on the following fine prizes: a bedroom suite, a huge ass flat screen tv and a 6 or 7 night trip to Brazil. The thought of this sweet lady in Rio worries me. ANYhoo… she decides to bid on this showcase, and after some careful consideration bids $4,000 on the showcase.
Bob’s like “$4,000???????“ Subtle, Bob.
The other contestant, this tiny, jumping VERY excitable Asian woman tells the old woman to bid higher. Maybe she doesn’t get that this is a competition? Anyway…so, little Jenny reevaluates her bid and quite calmly changes her bid to $9,000.
And she wins because the hyper Asian lady slightly overbids her showcase, and now she doesn’t get the minivan, six pairs of running shoes and the other thingy in her showcase which I’ve forgotten because I was blinded by the six pairs of running shoes as a viable Price is Right prize. Of course, the spaztastic Asian woman doesn’t think she lost because she’s closer in price and assumed she’d win with Jenny’s low bid. Bob, being the professional host and having seen it all, nips her erroneous celebratory jumpfest in the bud by forcefully yelling “YOU’RE OVER!” at her. And now, Jenny is packing her bags for Rio, suckah!
And by the way, Bob ain’t looking so hot these days. He may be nearing his final spin at the big wheel. Just trying to prepare America for this eventuality.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:15 pm | Comments are off
-image-She just doesn’t get it
I’m not saying she’s out of touch all the time, but sometimes, Martha just doesn’t get it. She does not consistently feed her audience. If you’re cooking, share the goods, I say. That’s what your big ass sidestage kitchen with at least two chefs is for, right? Wrong. She was teaching Serena Williams how to bake this brown sugar sponge cake. It looked awesome. I was drooling even before she scooped up the caramel ice cream and poured on the hot fudge. The audience was salivating. They knew what was coming, or so they had been led to believe. This is how it went down:
Serena is salivating, too. Her piece is sliced up, and Martha is pouring on the sauce. Martha explains to the audience how the hot fudge sauce will thicken over the ice cream and how it’s going to taste so good…audience is on the EDGE of their seats… purses and manbags are being put under seats in anticipation… and here’s what the audience is waiting to hear…
Martha: “And guess what guys?”
Audience: collective ooohs, aaaahs and excited clapping…
Martha: “You can go home and make this!”
Audience: abrupt stoppage of clapping.
“You can go home and make this?” Are you fucking kidding me? She did NOT just totally cake-tease her audience? Uh yea. She did.
If I Were In The Audience: Sound of chair flipping over, swearing and stomping footsteps, as I beat the hell out of there and go get my own damn cake someplace else.
And if that was not enough… I swear, people, Tyra Banks was a fucking guest Barker Beauty today.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
9:02 am | Comments are off
-image-Bangs, Pepperoni and Pee Pee
In that order!
Bangs
First, thank to you my TB-infected friend (I hope that all cleared up) for sending me a hair-related quiz: http://quiz.ivillage.com/cosmopolitan/tests/coolcuts.htm This one determines whether you should go for layers or bangs. As a former marketing research employee, I found it disturbing that the answer choices (agree or disagree) rotated. But that wasn’t the point. Oh yes, the point is that the quiz said I should go for bangs (gasp!). I can hear Suzanne screaming (NOOOOOOOO!!!) all the way from Punta Cana. Furthermore, because I have a square face, I should go for jaw-length bangs. Oh right, the kind that don’t fit back into the ponytail and piss me off. Unless…now hear me out… I grab some of those Goody silver barrettes and glitter hairspray that the Olympic gymnasts use and clip/shellack my hair back. Olympic chic– soo Cosmo!
Pepperoni
We did order the Cheesy Bites pizza for Valentine’s Day. The bites were delightful, but the pizza itself was kind of flat. My husband asked them to put the pepperoni and ham in the shape of a heart on the pizza. And they did. And I laughed. Gotta love him.
PeePee
Jojo peed on dad after getting out of the bath but before we could get the diaper on him. It was beautiful, because my husband was carrying him on his chest. So his tshirt was all urined-up, and Jojo wasn’t covered in pee. I heart Jojo.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:40 pm | Comments are off
-image-Two Women. Two Very Different Valentine’s Days.
Hello lover!
Happy Valentine’s Day! What are YOU doing for this “holiday?” Ready to be jealous? If not, you best skip the next few sentences. My romantic husband and I are planning on ordering the new Cheesy Bites pizza from Pizza Hut tonight. Can it get any hotter? Any more hip and current? Any more romantic? Oh yes, we’re getting extra sauce on the side, too! Saucetacular! He pulls out all the stops for me. Ok, so it was my idea.
And what about the saleswoman at the local giftshop? What is she doing for Valentine’s Day? Well, let me tell ya! She’s getting a colonoscopy, yet she has time to babysit Jojo at night, should we want to go out. I didn’t have the heart to tell her our romantic stay-at-home with pizza plan, what with her colonoscopy looming. I also didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d rather leave Jojo alone with a wild ferret (ah Lexa…RIP). So on the way out of the store, she yelled verbatim: “Have a great Valentine’s Day! It’s Valentine’s Day and I have someone going up my butt!”
And all I get are cheesy pizza bites. Doesn’t seem fair.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:54 am | Comments are off
-image-Chop Salad
I keep threatening my husband that I’m going to chop off all my hair and get an easy, sassy short haircut. One that doesn’t take 15 precious minutes to blowdry, as I try to placate Jojo, who is kicking around on the bathroom mat (I put down a clean blanket on top of the bathmat, thankyouverymuch). One that Jojo cannot grab onto with his kungfu death grip and break off (not yank, but cracks off because my hair has suddenly become ridiculously brittle) at varying lengths.
So, innocently searching the internet for other non-related items (Colin Firth may have been involved), I found myself at the BBC UK site and stumbled upon this page of quizzes.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/drama/cuttingit/quizzes/
I took the “What hairstyle should you have” quiz, and I’m fairly certain (please agree with me) that I’m not this stagnant:
You’re not someone who moves with the times. Your hair is definitely retro. You’re certainly no slave to fashion. Once you’ve found a hairstyle that you think suits you, nothing will make you change it. You never know your luck, bubble perms might come back into fashion!
Now hold on just one second, snooty British quiz…I gotta AquaNet. Cough Cough. Ok, much better. I don’t even know what a bubble perm is, but ok, you’re right if I didn’t have one, I probably wanted one at some point. But my mom would tell me that she could give it to me in the basement from a home perm kit. And every time, I trusted her. And every time, I looked like an albino Little Orphan Annie. Soooo attractive. But that’s not the point here, people. The point is I don’t have a bad perm anymore. I don’t have bangs which I curl, tease and spray. I look fairly stylish in the hair department, when I find time to shower and blow dry and before Jojo spits up in it. So blow me, mr. you’re not someone who moves with the times!
But I have been contemplating bangs. Thoughts? Am I crazy? Will I be kicking myself as soon as I get home and have to deal with them myself?
Speaking of things that blow…this entry does. bah.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
9:39 am | Comments are off
-image-gold, Squirrely, GOLD!
Four score and a couple years ago (ok, maybe just 5-6 years ago), I put forth to The Daily Show website’s “funny photo of yourself” contest a montage. A montage…my friends…of an extremely obese half-naked man, painting upon a ladder that I’d taken with stealth precision a few years earlier. That montage won me the coveted top prize of the script from the Mike Myers “Austin Powers” show, fully signed by all staff including Lisa’s beloved, Mr. John Stewart.
Fast forward to 2006. I applied for tickets to said Daily Show. In the spirit of the upcoming Olympics, I decided to go for the gold. I stated my case for VIP tickets, citing my victory of yesteryear and name-dropping “extremely obese half-naked man painting on a ladder.”
And girls…I stuck the landing (ok, I know that’s summer Olympic talk, but work with me). I have two bright and shiny VIP tickets (”print out this email and bring it…”) for one of the May tapings!! Just what do VIP tickets entail? From what I can tell, we need to be at the studio just 5 minutes before the doors open instead of 60 minutes for regular ticket holders. The rewards reaped from photographic genius keep a’comin…
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:01 pm |
-image-Something’s Off Mom
My “model mom” (see previous post) called last night and the look on my husband’s face indicated bad news. My stomach dropped, tears welled, and my husband’s expression didn’t change a bit…I had hoped I read him wrong and he’d shake his head with a smile to ease my worried look. He handed the phone to me while patting my knee. She knew she’d worried him and me, so she immediately asked how her Jojo was doing– was he playing or sleeping or WAIT A MINUTE, MOM, TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG. Scenarios were racing in my head… had her breast cancer returned? Did Dad have a heart attack or stroke or cancer? Despite my parents’ fabulous outer appearances and perceived good health, we have terrible family health histories. No matter how often they hit the gym (almost every day, faithfully, for decades) and how young they look and act, my parents, brother and me well know how young all of their parents were when they died. So, I was expecting the worst. What I got? A dead battery…to her pacemaker. She knew it was going to need to be replaced soon, but she thought it would be in March, after their trip to Mexico. But, it conked out the previous evening, and she couldn’t sleep because her heart was beating so hard and so quickly. Despite her medical training, history and better judgment, she ignored it until she started feeling incredibly shitty yesterday and decided to call her cardiologist. Yup, they said, it’s done. Apparently, you can go 3 months without changing the battery. I’m not sure I’d test that theory, and she definitely wasn’t going to!
She’s going into surgery in a couple of hours and will be able to leave the hospital, barring no complications, three or so hours after that. I can tell she’s nervous even though she tried her best to act like it’s no big deal. She reminded me that the original surgery, when they implanted the device and put leads in her heart, was much more dangerous. So, she’ll be ok. Right? Right!!
My sweet husband asked if I wanted to fly home to be with her. Of course I did, but she’d think it was silly and why did I bother coming without Jojo? Maybe I should have packed up little Jojo and headed home. But really…she insists it’s a quick and common surgery. Ugh. I should have gone.
I hate living out of state.
UPDATE: Mom feels like a million bucks! She went straight from the hospital to a tasty dive called Coney Island for hotdogs and fries. Seriously.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
11:01 am | Comments are off
-image-Model Mom
Not to brag, but look how cute my mom looks on her friend’s website. The picture of the back of her head is heeeelarious, under the “uses” link. That is some crazy platinum salad.
And if you need a hotpack, these do rock.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
7:45 pm |
