Friday, March 30, 2007

Infidel Featured 'Gotta Have Mas Cowbell' Song Of The Month

Hot Chip-Over And Over

We all have our own specific musical preferences in the Infidel household.

9 year old Buster likes to get down and groove to a rousing chorus of 'Doo-Doo's' in his music. Naturally, he counts The classic Police song, "De Doo Doo Doo De Da Da Da," and Suzanne Vega's Doo-Doo filled song "Tom's Diner," among his favorites. The reigning Prince of pop in Turkey, Tarkan, even has an entire song in Persian called "Dudu." Buster loves that one best of all. He's so multi-cultural in his Doo-Doo love. Don't substitute crappy Green Day "Dookie," for Doo-Doo in Buster's music rotation though.

10 year old Monkey fills with unbridled delight when the pop stars of today and yesterday spell out the words in their songs. Thanks Gwen Stefani, Bay City Rollers, and Fergie!

11 year old Sunbum prefers a 'Na Na Na' beat in her music. Journey followed her musical specifications perfectly in their song, "When The Lights Go Down In The City," which etches the 'Na Na Na' record of 2 whole minutes! British band, Kaiser Chiefs, has an entire song dedicated to nothing but the smooth, delicious sound of the 'Na Na,' called, what else?, "Na Na Na." When Sunbum feels desperate for her 'Na Na Na' fix she'll even resort to 50's doo wop group Sha-Na-Na.

7 year old Caterpillar moves her spirit fingers when a good old-fashioned hand clapping song fills the air. Yes, indeed, that girl loves the clap. Well, not 'The Clap, mind you. The creme de la creme of her playlist include Scissor Sister's clappy "Don't Feel Like Dancing," and some vintage clap that can be heard in Rose Royce's "Car Wash."

This 32 year old cracker has a fever though. The fever that only the sharp ping sound of the magnificent cowbell can cure. I'm all about the cowbell. I practically burst with excitement when the 80's station plays the opening strains of Loverboy's "Everybody's Working For The Weekend." Nothing but pure cowbell joy, baby! Hot Chip's "Over And Over," is the featured Infidel 'Gotta Have Mas Cowbell,' song of the month. No, maybe the millennium! This song is so catchy. We listen to it over and over and over and over, like a monkey with a miniature cymbal! Morning, noon, or night, the time is always right for a dose of cowbell.

Monday, March 26, 2007

I'm In Loooooove............Sweet Love!

My Papi and I have both have distinctive accents. Mine is of an unremarkable milquetoast, plain Jane, white cracker, middle of the road, Mid-Westerner. My Papi, however, possesses the super suave sexy Mexi accent that's the stuff of legendary cinematic Latino lovers. Most of the time we do speak the same language, although it's not always the language of love. On occasion, though, our vastly different accents do interfere with the smooth process of communication.

Just the other day while standing in the kitchen I began teasing Papi because moments prior I bum rushed in, almost toppling him over, in a desperate effort to score the very last Kit Kat candy bar out of the candy bucket. Yeah, most people have a candy dish. We have a candy bucket. What of it? Papi narrowed his gorgeous coppery eyes at me and bitterly said, "Girlie, you will be so sorry when the RAPTOR comes and takes me away, and you'll be left behind." I began laughing uncontrollably. I mean, who's to say I didn't use Papi as bait so that I could escape the hungry clutches of the RAPTOR? I won't really feel sorry when the RAPTOR comes and leaves me behind. Nope, not at all.

Which leads me to wonder about super sensual soul singer, Anita Baker. She must have experienced a much different RAPTOR than the ferocious, sharp clawed prehistoric beast that Jurassic Park introduced us to in the 90's, because she even wrote a touching sentimental song professing her unflagging amore for all things RAPTOR. Yes, Anita has found herself 'caught up in the RAPTOR of love,' and she says that nothing else can compare. The RAPTOR of Love reportedly beat out The Gangster of Love and the space cowboy to win the affections of Miss Baker. I wish them much happiness together. I'll send an economy sized package of Band Aids for their wedding present, because sometimes, love hurts.

*Raptor artwork credited to the creative genius, No Cool Story, of Mas Cowbell fame. Thanks!*

Sunday, March 25, 2007

It's A Sign From Above!

You won't ever have to feel guilty again for blowing a small fortune down at ye olde hair salon because, evidently, it's a God approved activity. I just wish that He'd expand it to include electrolysis and facials so that I can justify the expense to my Papi in the name of holy righteousness and propriety. Oh well, God loves perms, hilites, and cuts, and He loves you too! Amen.

*Yes, this is an actual sign and not computer generated. It caught my eye the other day and I knew that I had to photograph this rare and stunning declaration of good hair styling love coming straight at you directly from the man above

Friday, March 23, 2007

Thinking Thinkers And The Thoughts That They Thunketh.....

See that shiny little award? My new Infidel blogging comrade, Slacker Mommy, picked me out specifically to receive this honor celebrating excellence in profound cerebral exercise. She said that my blog makes her think, but she declined to specify what exactly I make her think of. I shudder at the mere thought! So, in return I'm to play Haley Joel Osment for the day and 'Pay It Forward' to 5 more worthy blogs that induce deep thinking and potentially increases I.Q. points among their readers. Here's the rules, regulations, stipulations, good vibrations, excitation.............oh wait, that would be the Beach Boys. No, here's the guidelines laid out neatly in black and white on The Thinking Blog Awards. And now for the moment you've all been waiting for...........drum roll are the Infidel nominations for Super Thinky Awards.
If you ever need a word savvy Scrabble partner to give the smack down to an excessively outre opponent, Kimberly's your chick. She can work in the grandest of 50 cent words into a post about diaper rash and princess costumes. Now, that takes talent! Besides, her blog could use a little more sidebar bling-bling. (Ha! Look at me, I used the word 'outre.')
He's left, I'm right. He's vegetarian, I'm carnivorous. He's liberal, I'm conservative. He's cultured, I'm a heathen. He's not religious, I am. He has cats, I have a dog. They said that a blog relationship would be impossible and could never last. What fools! jams mixes it up with a nice assortment of music, art, photography, and jokes alongside more serious global scale topics, politics, and current events.
She incorporates an extensive knowledge of art into her amazingly well crafted posts. Julie's ability to tie and bind centuries old artistic nuances to modern day life, is legendary. The whole month of December featured various paintings of Jesus as seen through the eyes of a myriad of painters from different eras and countries. Julie has a place in my blogroll as "Mental Tesserae-Makes Me Think," and I mean every word of it.
Wowing the blog world over with her impressive photo-shop skills and funny comments. Think you can outdo NCS and her mad skillz? I got two words for you......BRING IT!
She's my first real bloggy friend. We've known each other since the beginning of time. Well, since the beginning of our blogger time, anyway. She may eat straight from a can, and sport manly man-whiskers on her chin, but she's always a lady to me. I feel like I'm channeling Billy Joel right now.

So, go forth, young bloggers, git yo think groove on, and click the honoree links to discover blog joy and revel in the extreme happiness found therein.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Spring Has Sprungeth!

Lookie, lookie! I done bought something purdy for the home and hearth in a grand attempt to usher in a new season. I passed by this little beauty nestled on a shelf beneath the marshmallow candy eggs at Kroger's grocery store and plucked it up immediately for the low, low price of $9.99. Yeah, I said the grocery store. What? Doesn't everyone shop for high fashion home decor at the same place where they buy their anti-fungal cream and frozen waffles? Unfortunately, the $9.99 constituted my entire allotted spring decorating budget. I guess that the tacky Pepto-Bismol pink inflatable bunny pack that I've had my eye on will just have to wait for next year. Part of me wishes that the manufacturing company had used real bird eggs in the wreath construct because then I'd have the eggs symbolizing Easter, and then later, cute little birdies to carry the springy look until summer hits. The functionality would continue as the birds grew and we celebrated summer with a big poultry feast fresh off the grill. Maybe I'll have to build my own festive spring wreath next year. For sure, it wouldn't be PETA approved, but I bet ruthless domestic diva, Martha Stewart would give me the thumbs up.

Monday, March 19, 2007

The Candy Mann Can!

This real estate agent is in desperate need of a savvy Press Agent. And I'm ready to volunteer my unique 'marketing whore' services for the job. Just envision a whole promotional paraphernalia blitz with my craftily genius slogan boldly emblazoned across them. Yeah, a veritable butt load of plastic combs, coozies, key chains, all printed with "Need To Sell Your House Fast? THE CANDY MANN CAN!" She needs glitz! She needs glamour! She needs huge signs adorned with dancing multi-colored lollipops to take advantage of her sweet, sweet name. I mean, who wouldn't want to buy a house from the Candy Mann? It's the kind of name recognition that earns you immediate attention and fanfare. I'm afraid that dear 'Candace' just isn't capitalizing on the marketing potential that having such an incredible moniker allows her. If Candy Mann called you on the telephone, wouldn't you brag to all your friends that you personally know the Candy Mann? I would.

How about this cute little jingle for her radio and T.V. ads? It goes to the tune of The Candy Man. The original one, not Christina Aguilera's horrifying version.
Who can take a crap house
And shine it up with paint?
Cover up the termites and the cracks. What a Saint!
The Candy Mann, the Candy Mann can
Candy Mann can 'cause she sells a house with love
And makes the 'hood look good....

Candy Mann should just embrace the sweet awesomeness of her name. After all, her sister, Gaye Mann, wasn't nearly as lucky as her. Gaye Mann barely eaks out a living driving an ice cream truck. Believe it or not, people aren't that eager to buy frozen treats from a vehicle that says 'Gaye Mann Ice Cream' on the side. "I scream, you scream, we all scream at Gaye Mann Ice Cream." Poor Gaye Mann.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

My Own Little Pearls Of Great Price

The oldest of the Infidel spawn, Sunbum, possesses a bounty of clever pith stored up in her stocky, EMO wannabe, pre-teen body. You never know when she'll bubble over and unleash a torrent of caustic snark either. Long tortured by her more gregarious sister, Monkey, who's only 11 months younger, Sunbum pounces on any and all retaliatory opportunities. While at the park this week, the kids frolicked on the playground. The equipment and sand pit had seen heavy drenching from two days of continuous typhoon-like rain. Naturally, everywhere my little minions wandered, they accumulated layers upon layers of muddy grime onto their clothing. When Monkey turned her attention towards the honking geese behind us, Sunbum yelled out at her with the jeer to end all jeers. She screeched, "Hey Monkey, what's up with all that sand on your butt? Are you working on grinding out a pearl with the sheer force of your butt muscles?"

It's apparent that I have embraced and excelled in the duties of motherhood. Who knew that purchasing a set of National Geographic Kids books for my mini-Infidels would pay off in such a big way? Knowledge really is power! Well, power to step up your insult game, that is.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Fertilize This!

Look at me. Look at how happy I am. Nothing makes me feel more fulfilled than fertilizing the weeded jungle that is my yard. I just can't get enough of it. Whenever I catch sight of my super duper special fertilizer spreader, my smile just grows ever broader. I practically prance joyfully as I push around my lethal weapon on wheels and listen to the plaintive cries of the weeds as I crush the life out of them.
Ummm, no. That's not really me. Truthfully, I would never garden in a clean and starchly pressed button down shirt. Who does that? Wouldn't wearing a belt impede bending over to do the nasty deeds involved with gardening? And look at that lady, you just know that she's only giving a cheesy smile for her big photo op and as soon as her moment in the flashing gardening paparazzi sun is over, she'll drop that fertilizer spreader like a hot potato and relinquish control of it back over to Jose and his landscaping crew that has dutifully tended her yard for the past two years. Hey, I'm just here to keep it real. For real, y'all.

So, how much of a lazy gardener am I? Well, I waited until a forecast of torrential rain before I dragged my mardy bum out to the garage to pull out our fertilizer spreader that only sees the light of day twice a year. You see, I didn't want to have to fertilize and water it into the yard too. Crap, what do you think I am? A gardening machine? No, better to let nature take care of the watering part. Here's where it gets good. My little monkey spawn, eager to escape the confines of the house, begged me to set them free with a promise of helping out in the yard. I told those little barefooted heathens that they better put on some shoes first. I squatted down in the yard and waited patiently for them to emerge from the house. They all burst happily through the front door and then just stopped, mid-step, to stare at me. My oldest daughter, Sunbum, screwed up her face, and asked me what I was doing. I told her simply, "Just fertilizing the yard without using environmentally damaging chemicals, honey. It's the Al Gore endorsed way." I then waved to the rest of my underage landscaping team, saying ,"Come on, you guys better hurry up and squat down to do your business too. We have a lot of ground to cover here."

And that, parents, is how you take crap from your children and use it to your advantage.

Monday, March 12, 2007

A Slice O' Life!

I try my best everyday to show that I'm a humble spirit with a contrite heart. A mere mortal who revels with delight in the simpler things that life has to offer. However, when it comes to sandwiches, I'm a bonafide snob. You see, I find sandwiches carelessly sliced straight down the middle, boring, and not very aesthetically pleasing. No, I MUST always obey my nagging compulsion to delicately maneuver the knife diagonally when cutting a sandwich. I secretly enjoy the extreme makeover aspect of transforming ho-hum squares into perfectly delicious little triangles. Yes, I understand that a sandwich triangle isn't equilateral and takes on more of an isosceles slant, but it's still sweet sandwich shape Xanadu to me. Aight? All you hyper-critical math geeks better back it up. Hear me??!!??

Now, let's just say that you were to offer me a sandwich that you lazily chopped in half with nary a fleeting moment of consideration to my sandwich cutting needs. I'd still accept it and silently forgive you for your sandwich slicing sins. Then, I'd devour your sandwich offering with a smile of gratitude, unless it's egg salad or liverwurst on rye, but I'd secretly loathe the bland rectangular shape of it. You see, a sandwich is a sandwich is a sandwich. I don't care if you hack it up into little pieces like the Texas Chainsaw Sandwich Massacre, I'd still eat it. But, given a choice, dainty sandwich triangles reign supreme. It's my very own personal Sandwich Bermuda Triangle where the sandwiches enter and always disappear, never to be heard from again. If I'm lucky. *Burp, Belch, Hiccup*

Hear the song that's playing? It's "Particle Man" by the venerable goofball group that wields a mean accordion, They Might Be Giants. Why did I choose it? Well, Particle Man hates Triangle Man and foolishly enough, tries to take him on. Particle Man loses. Triangle Man emerges victorious. Yeeeeeesssss!

Friday, March 09, 2007

For All That You Can't Leave Behind

Today, I'm slicking back my hair to make it all fabulously greasy and glistening. I'm also donning my special occasion powder blue polyester 3-piece business suit to channel the inner life insurance salesman within me. I may even go all crazy and put on some mustache wax to give it an awesome sheen. Yes, this is a very special Infidel Public Service Announcement brought to you today by the fine folks at Just My Size fat women sweats gear with a special contribution from the Frito Lay Corporation and their superb Cheeto product line.

See the guys in the picture? They're smiling through their pain. You see, the women in their lives have forced them into using painful 1-ply toilet paper for their hygiene needs. The womenfolk also went and cut off ESPN Sports Center and then had the further audacity to make these men give up their Cornut addictions and settle for the less manly tasting dollar store imitations. The man in the right hand corner hasn't gotten a new flannel shirt since Nirvana broke up. And the poor guy up front got a lame James Spader makeover down at the student beauty college. The dude up in the left side of the frame wears glasses all the time so he can be incognito when he drives his 20 year old Yugo hatchback. This was all a valiant effort to make room in the family budget for the necessary evil that is life insurance.

I can't think of anything more disheartening than facing the tragedy of losing your spouse and then have your attention and time subverted from your children who need you more now than ever because you have financial woes on your mind and must work overtime to make ends meet. After hearing too many young widows call into financial radio guru, Dave Ramsey, in desperate circumstances, I told Papi that we needed to buy a life insurance policy outside of his company's optional insurance offerings. I advocated this because whenever you switch jobs you have a certain period of waiting before your benefits kick in and I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't have to take up residence in a cardboard box with our six kids if Papi dies. However, I do have some great cardboard box home decorating ideas that would make Martha Stewart turn green with envy. Papi took out a nice princely sum on himself naming me as beneficiary, of course. I told him that I already have big plans for the money and he just has to do his part to set it all in motion. Papi did not look amused at this kind of morbid talk. Even stay at home moms should take out a policy thus ensuring your husband will have the opportunity to focus more on your children's needs than work in the event of your demise. Your husband may even have enough money coming to him from your policy that he can hire a smokin hot French nanny to tend your children. Nothing can replace you, of course, but this will help him heal the sorrow. Ladies, you can try out the latest in child care and hire yourself a buff "MANNY," to lighten up your burdens. Ummm, I really don't want any of you guys in my blogger family to die. Okay? So sit up straight, go take a walk, and drop the chalupa!

Just please remember that life insurance isn't for the dead. It's for the living. Think of your family and the quality of life they would have if something unforeseen happens to you. My work here is done. I'm going to change into my leisure suit now and sip me a Shirley Temple with a twist of lime while I listen to some Bee Gees on the record player and lounge on my red velvet sofa.

If I Could Save Time In A Bottle.....

I'd have extra days to enjoy the new local Japanese buffet featuring all-you-can-eat crab legs!

I would never purposely ignore anyone. In real life I have an annoying habit of not realizing that somebody is speaking to me and I'll turn my back on them. Sometimes I even start to walk away before Papi calls my appalling social gaffe into attention. I'm worse than a deliberately rude person because I'm cluelessly rude. The blog world is different though. I don't have to think as hard on my feet or have my mind wander off aimlessly into a million directions so that I miss what's going on right in front of me. So, when you have a perceived notion that I'm rude because I don't respond to comments right away or take little blogging absences, it's not you. It's me. My Papi is finishing up school and has a grueling schedule along with an insane amount of work. I toil away at three different part-time jobs along with the joy of my 6 homeschooled children who demand that I feed them occasionally and rent Ninja Turtle videos. Due to Papi's overloaded course path this semester, I also inherited the privilege of taking over one of his part-time jobs twice a week too because my life just wasn't full enough. Idle hands are tools of the Devil, you know. Factor in basketball/soccer practices and ballet classes to the mix and you can see why I'm too exhausted to even pluck my overgrown eyebrows or extend my middle finger to inconsiderate drivers. I'm so tired during the middle of the week that I can't even perform my motherly chicken dancing duties with the kids. Weep for them. Anyway, thanks for putting up with me. I love all the comments. I am honor bound to reciprocate all comment action, it just takes a little longer for me to get around to it these days.

Enjoy the Infidel Jam Of The Day , "The Mating Game," located in the sidebar. There's a fabulous martini bar groove working throughout this slinky little jazz like song. Fans of Grey's Anatomy will likely recognize it as it's been used in a couple episodes.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

The Long Goodbye

The music today is brought to you by an infinite amount of sadness. Five years ago, this week, my stepfather passed away suddenly at the relatively young age of 47. He left behind his only son, my half-brother, who was but 13 years at the time. Given the undue amount of stress involved with funeral prep and handling my Down Syndromed brother completely alone, my mom turned to me play the role of Funeral Home D.J. I picked the prelude music and chose the service hymns straight from the LDS Hymn Book. My stepfather was a cowboy so I stuck to that by selecting a few country tunes. 'The Long Goodbye' had only been released a few months earlier and since my step dad harbored a fanatical love of all things Brooks And Dunn, I knew it would fit the mood perfectly. I also chose Al Jarreau's hauntingly beautiful 'Heaven And Earth,' but Best Audio Codes doesn't offer that track to put on my blog. Both songs make me want to sob big buckets of tears. And yet they're not your traditional melancholic death dirges. There's a bittersweet loveliness behind the flowing melody. I'm feeling especially weepy as our heart aches for a family at church with 3 very young children that lost their beloved father and husband this week. Sometimes bad things happen to very, very good people. :(

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

This Is Dedicated To The Skipping Impaired Among Us

I allowed my sweet daughters to watch the new video for the song "Be Good To Me" from the Disney manufactured star du jour, Ashley Tisdale. I realized instantly what a grievous error in judgment I made, for not only did Ashley cavort around in front of thousands of screaming and impressionable pre-teen girls wearing nothing but skimpy booty shorts and a corset style bustier, but she also opened up her dance routine with herself and a bevy of backup dancers skipping to the beat. Yes, skipping. It dredged up scarring memories of my less than idyllic childhood and the shame bestowed upon me because I lacked the ability to skip. My pre-school teacher pointed an accusatory finger at my mom and told her that something must be gravely amiss with me because a normal child should possess an infinite amount of skipping prowess by the age of 4. The other children sensed and vulturously sniffed out my weakness forcing me to lose every round of 'Simon Says' we ever played. They'd laughingly cast a skewed glance at me and command, "Simon says to.......SKIP!" The abject humiliation felt unbearable.

I tried to remedy the skipping ailment on my own by begging my mom to buy Skippy brand peanut butter instead of her usual cost cutting generic brand. Contrary to my childish belief system, however, Skippy does not, in fact, hold magical skipping powers.

All these years later and I still can't skip. I've tried. I've failed. I've endured teasing from my own children as they flaunt their Skip-It toy in my face. The ramifications of non-skipping are clear. I'll never find myself with the prestigious 'Skipper' title. Never. Not even for a 3-hour cruise.

And thank goodness I've never made any friends with people named Lou, because I'd never be able to skip to them.

I can't possibly be the only one in the world with this crippling limitation. I wonder if I can check myself into a prestigious Skipping Academy where the finest Skipping Professors in the business will teach me to skip like one of the impish VonTrapp children, frolicking and singing on the scenic mountainsides. I'd never skip class, well, because, I can't. Oh, to dream of a day where nobody will cast dispersions upon a non-skipping individual. A time where skippers and non-skippers alike will join hands and live in peaceful joy and harmony.

Choose The Right And Choose The "Get Right" Too!

Today's song is brought to you by none other than Miss J To The Lo herself. If you're thinking at this moment, "But Infidel, you're a fat white chick. This isn't your style at all," you'd be gravely mistaken. I do like to mix it up sometimes, yo. However, I've never gotten "Jiggy With It" no matter how many times Will Smith has asked me to.

This song has blaring horns in it, which I love whole-heartedly. It also held the distinguished honor of being the Official Rump-Shaking Song Of 2005 for the Infidel household. Goodness knows I'll never forget the time I downloaded this little beauty to Papi's cell phone thus displacing his yawnarific standard issue Nokia ring tone. The shocked look on Papi's face when it started blaring in Sunday School was well worth the dollar download fee. It's almost as sweet as when I substituted a little Snoop Doggy Dogg jam on his cell last year and it went off letting everyone in the conference room think that my Papi was "rollin with tha dogg pound." I bought him some much needed street cred with that one. Awwwwww, YEAH! Good times.

Monday, March 05, 2007

I Was Born During The Year Of The Dork

The bloggy music featured today is brought to you by the 'You're A Nerd And Nobody Likes You' cool feeling number #188.

Who can resist the melodic strains and subtle nuances of Al Stewart's cherished oldie, "The Year Of The Cat?" Apparently, the kitchen staff and hostess of a Louisiana Mexican restaurant, that's who. My boyfriend at the time worked there and as I waited for him to lock up the place at night I noticed this little gem on the restaurant jukebox. One quarter later and I was enveloped in the nirvana that is Al Stewart. He's my second favorite Al in the whole entire world, losing only to Weird Al, and just narrowly beating Big Al from Happy Days. Al Gore did not even break into my list of the Top 1,000 Al's. So, I happily hummed along and entertained incense and patchouli thoughts while perched at the corner table covered in glittery turquoise Formica. Honestly, I only played the song three times, but that was enough to incite rancorous mutiny from the kitchen. I heard a loud call from there bellowing out, "For the love of all that is holy, will somebody puhleeeeeeze make that crappy music stop before I kick the mess out of the frickin jukebox." That lovely sentiment was echoed by laughs, cheers, and a chorus of "Right On!" I slunk further into the corner and pretended it wasn't me that made the song selection and let them assume that the jukebox was malfunctioning and that's why it kept repeating the same track over and over.

So, here it is, "The Year Of The Cat" in all its uninterrupted glory playing non-stop all day for your listening pleasure. I can now unleash myself from the oppressive burden of shame to admit my undying love for this song. I'm also saving a butt load of quarters at the same time.