Thursday, May 31, 2007

Show Your Newspaper Carrier A Little R-E-S-P-E-C-T And In Turn We Won't Pee On Your Paper

I'll never win the coveted Newspaper Carrier Of The Year Award, but that's okay with me, because revenge is sweeter than some crappy little trophy with my name scrawled across it. The photographer obviously used newspaper carrier stunt doubles, because, believe me, I've never seen anyone smiling like that down at the warehouse.

Some Houston Chronicle subscribers feel the need to whine, cry, and moan incessantly about their newspaper. You would think that people had actual lives outside of complaining about a home delivery service that they get for mere pennies a day, but no. Every day customers in the district call in to the complaint hotline using their snottiest voice, "I want my paper tied to the front door handle because I'm a laaaawwwwyer." WTH? Who cares if you're a doctor or a lawyer? Why do you have such low self-esteem that you need to lord your title over a little peon newspaper carrier? During Hurricane Rita last year, I promise this is true, people called in hysterical that they didn't get a paper. Ummm, Houston received dire predictions and an evacuation order to clear the city. Just north of here, people died, and had all their worldly possessions ripped away from them, and you're worried about a frickin disposable newspaper? This district has a lot of economically privileged people living in it and the constant barrage of asinine requests tend to reflect that. I swear some of them won't feel the warm glow of customer satisfaction until I march their paper right into their over-priced, under-insulated, mini mansions, and plop down at the kitchen table to read it to them and show them all the pretty pictures.

One particular guy on my route wins the 'A-Hole Of The Year' Award. Of course, the most demanding subscribers also never give a word of praise or thanks. They never give a tip at Christmas, and they never smile or wave cheerfully at you when you pass by. I started this route to help out with the bills when Papi went back to school a few years ago, and this butthead sobbed his little eyes out at the time that he absolutely HAD to have his paper by 5:00 A.M. That's a full 30 minutes before the allotted weekday delivery deadline of 5:30. So really, I made him a favour out of the kindness of my heart. Last October, a tornado touched down a mile from my route while I was still out throwing. The wind and the torrential rains proved severe enough to flood out the streets of the neighborhood, thus stranding me for about 30 minutes. Mr. A-Hole called in 6 times to complain that he hadn't gotten his paper at 5:00. Seriously. Okay, impassable streets, whirling tornadic activity, one sad and pathetic, dripping wet newspaper lady stuck in the middle of it all, and he's only worried about HIS newspaper? Where do people find this misguided sense of entitlement that they should have everything they want, when they want it, and damn everybody else? I began throwing his paper whenever I felt like as a form of protest, but he took his endless complaining to the boss of my boss. In a perfect world, they would have told him to screw off because he signed a contract that promised him 5:30 delivery and nothing more. We don't live in a perfect world, and they acquiesced to his demands.

I suppose that poor unfortunate souls like me, stuck in crappy circumstances because we depend on the money that our menial labor provides, just sucks up the negative and learns to bear it. However, I've started extracting revenge in small doses that satisfies the primal urge in me that wants to go and toilet paper his house and spray paint salacious things on his truck. I'm greeted every day by him standing outside scowling at me with his arms crossed. If it's 5:01, he impatiently taps his watch and shakes a disapproving finger at me. He requested sidewalk delivery. I make sure to throw it as far as possible from wherever he's standing so he has to move his mean azz to go and pick it up and feel the sting of inconvenience. It shows him that he's not the boss of me, no! I'm a wild flower of the night that can't be controlled by his dictatorial ways. The top of each bundled section gets rumpled and ripped, so I usually discard them because it really isn't fit for delivery. Well, it's fit enough for his delivery. I save them all especially for him in a neat little stack on the dashboard. I guess he made such a fuss about what time I delivered the paper, he doesn't want to hassle looking even more petty by whining about the actual physical condition. It's readable, I suppose, if you smooth out the wrinkles, and you don't mind shredded paper hanging off the corners. I get a sick sense of pleasure knowing I'm giving him the worst of the worst, bright and early, every single day.

I told my mom about all this. Understand, she's more demented than I will ever be. It just so happened that she was driving through the main thoroughfare in the neighborhood and she asked which house Mr.A-Hole lived in. I told her, and she started laughing really hard. Apparently, at that very moment, she felt the burning desire to gift his front yard with her Chik-Fil-A trash. Oh, she's so very bad. She now makes it a tradition to pass by his house and throw something whenever she's in the area. I love my mom.

Take heed and treat your newspaper carriers right or suffer the consequences!

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Forget About Bringing 'SexyBack,' Mika's Bringing 'Love Today!'

Rising International superstar and John Mayer clone, Mika, holds the distinctive honour of leading our Gay Tuesday charge today with his perfect Freddie Mercury falsetto voice and hot disco beats. I defy you to listen to his smokin new song, 'Love Today' and have the ability to control your body from wildly sashaying to and fro, and your voice from singing along to the ultra catchy repetitive chorus.

As you know, my merry band of Gay Warriors continue fighting the good fight, reclaiming all things GAY back for the side of us plain old happy people. I'd like to recruit Mika to join the venerable Gay Warrior Squad, but he already broke one of our major tenets by squabbling with Scissor Sisters lead singer, Jake Spears. Shirtless vest-wearing Jake accused Mika of ripping his 'unique' sound right off the Scissor Sisters. That's ironic, since everyone knows that the Scissor Sisters, in turn, ripped their 'unique' sound right off vintage Elton John material. No, only good feelings must exist among the Gay Warriors. In order to join our ranks, you're required to feel perpetually happy, agreeable, perky, and only fart sparkly rainbow dust. Jake and Mika will have to work out their differences in the rainbow Jell-O wrestling pit.

Happy Gay Tuesday Everyone! May you always feel pretty, and witty, and GAY!

You know you've made it to the big time when New York City dedicates an entire port-a-potty in your honour. Congratulations MIKA for the prettiest, most colorful, most brilliantly GAY toilet I've ever had privilege to look upon.

Pop Tarts: The Box That Pandora Opens When She's Looking For A Treat

The Infidel family wields our sanctified purity like a big stick. So, naturally, when I realized that unscrupulous marketers, eager to oversexualize our impressionable children, had moved onto furthering their seedy agenda with the animal cracker market, I knew that the time had drawn nigh to seek out a snack food without heathen ties to it. Pornographic images of copulating animal crackers do not belong at our hallowed kitchen table. I felt an inspired prompting to begin buying Pop Tarts as a wholesome alternative to the X-Rated animal crackers. Sadly, the heartbreak of Pop Tart addiction soon followed.
Ummmm, NO, not these supposed Pop Tarts that are really Cheeseballs in Pop Tart disguise. We've received divine instruction to partake of all things in moderation. I couldn't stand idly by and allow my beloved mini-Infidels to spiral down into the swirling vortex of Pop Tart dependency, so I forced them to face their empty calorie addiction and stop cold turkey. The Infidel Homestead has remained Pop Tart free and clean for 2 weeks now, but the hallucinatory withdrawal symptoms linger on. I say.....Be Gone Devil Cat Of Doom In The Pop Tart Box. I know who ye are!

Pop Tarts have proven a cruel mistress. Look at their blindingly shiny packages that beckon and tempt us weak mortals, flauntingly playing on our love of reflective things to lure us into their sinfully delicious web. We're Texans, and as such, my boys wear cowboy boots and big belt buckles. The Pop Tart demons that we worked so diligently to defeat, once again reared their ugly heads yesterday. My boys polish up their cowboy boots every Sunday for Church using the pre-moistened wipes infused with shoe polish that you see pictured on the right, next to its Pop Tart twin. Some hapless soul left that Pop Tart package doppelganger out on the kitchen counter, thus forcing all who passed by its leering metallic shininess to pounce upon it and scream with obvious insatiable Pop Tart lust, "Pop Tarts! We have Pop Tarts in the house again. Rejoice!" My strong moral compass wavered, as I too fell victim to the ruse, and stampeded over my kids in an attempt to try and grab the assumed Pop Tart package first and claim it as my own.
Such wicked and unholy deceptions.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream For...... Professional Screamers?

Long have I wandered aimlessly down an often confusing life path fraught with perils and disappointment to find an optimal career that will bring me happiness along with mountains of untold riches. At one time I felt a strong determination to work towards eradicating the dreaded 'Third Boob' Syndrome that busty women like myself suffer from inferior bras neglecting their lift and separate duties. My interest waned and I moved on to devising unique recipes involving SPAM in hopes of getting a sweet SPAM cookbook publishing deal. Apparently, someone already thought of SPAM cupcakes and I realized that perhaps this profession had reached a point of saturation. Oh what to do, what to do? Surely my destiny in life doesn't revolve around throwing newspapers for an eternity, does it?

Inspiration smacked me upside my addled head last week while listening to my new favorite group, Dutch Goth Rock band, Within Temptation. Their music usually retains a lush folklore-ish feel to it as the gorgeous Sharon den Adel bursts forth with soaring angelic vocals that make you feel as though you turned a wrong corner somewhere and ended up lost in a J.R.R. Tolkien landscape. Well, they've taken a different direction with the recently released CD 'The Heart Of Everything.' The first big track 'What Have You Done Now?' pairs up lovely and demure, Sharon, with an obnoxious guy who yells at her through the entirety of the song. And then, it hit me......

I've mothered children for 12 years now. Needless to say, I've honed and elevated the ancient art of screaming to all new heights. Upon further contemplation I realized that without their potent screamer, would Linkin Park have risen to the top of the charts? Where would Evanescence's career have gone without their screamer guy backing up Amy Lee in the huge breakout hit, 'Bring Me To Life?' Yes, the world of rock needs people with mad screamer skillz, and I got em!

I aspire to becoming the most sought after guest screamer the world has ever known. I'm envisioning bands far and wide begging me to collaborate with them to give their song the extra scream-tinged oomph that only a specially trained screamer like myself can bring. Maybe I'll even take my vociferous talents mainstream. Ah, yes, I'm mentally picturing the glowing marquee now...........THE MORMON TABERNACLE CHOIR FEATURING SPECIAL GUEST SCREAMER ELASTICWAISTBANDLADY LIVE AND IN PERSON FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY! I wonder if special guest screamer people get crowds of adoring screaming fans? That might feel threatening like they're competitively trying to edge me out of my chosen screamer profession. I'll definitely have to impose strict contractual vows of silence as a requisite for all concert ticket sales.

Truly, I've heard people often remark that I'm "such a scream," my entire life. It's time to turn my irascible quirks into a profitable venture!

Sunbum adores Within Temptation's beautifully epic song, Angels, the most, but I'm more partial to the fabulous story telling properties of Stand My Ground. I declare them to be Holland's greatest national treasure. Well, aside from the whole tulip and wooden clog thing. I do love my clogs, just not of the toilet variety.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Good Mail Girls......Single-Handedly Keeping The Post Office In Business Since 2007!

For those of you creeping up in age like I am, do you remember the cheeseball commercials for Impulse perfume back in the 80's? "If a man you've never met before suddenly gives you flowers.....that's Impulse!" I usually thought to my snarky little self, "Mmmm Hmmm, it could be your perfume, or it could just be a psychotic serial killer wooing you with a bouquet before he makes a winter coat out of your skin." Something about this whole Good Mail Girls project reminds me of those ads. Everytime I discover a fresh piece of mail from an unknown blogger mingling with my many bills in the Infidel mailbox, I automatically say to myself, "If a person you've never met before suddenly gives you stuff........that's Good Mail Girls!" Catchy, no? See how insidious pop culture is? Twenty years later and that little piece of marketing genius still resonates with me.Here's the Good Mail Shakedown list thus far:

To the left, to the left(Beyonce,anyone?): Gaze upon the bounty from Aubrey featuring a cute journal and birthday card along with some Pop Rocks. Note that she didn't send a Coke with it because she doesn't want me to explode before I can send something out to her. Once upon a time, this package came with a Dove Chocolate bar too. Sadly, an untimely end came quick and swift to the sweet little chocolatey morsel.

Movin on up, movin on up, to the top (and a deeluxe apartment in the skyyy):Jennifer personalized some Good Mail gift tags for me along with a sheet of stickers. She's the first blogger that I didn't 'know' to actually send me something.

To the front, to the front(now slide, baby, slide!):Annie sent me a birthday package with a notepad, bookmark, magnets, flower seeds, and a little bit o' chocolate. Yes, I hit the Good Mail Lottery with this chick!

Move it to the right(it's the Harlem Shuffle): Tori thoughtfully sent 2 CD's consisting of hymns arranged and performed by her super sweet husband for both myself and the grieving mother who lost her children last week. The awesome bubble wrap is an added bonus providing hours of POP! POP! POP! fun at the Infidel house

And on the far right where all the neo-con zealots dwell: Look closely at the beautiful wrapped chocolate mountain I made because it won't be there for much longer. Kimberly sent 4 candy bars all the way from the Great White North ,Canada, eh! No way hoser, I'm not sharing with any of you, eh.The Good Mail Girls have proven that they're versatile and willing to celebrate the good times as well as show sympathy during the times of sorrow and strife. This little collection of cards emphasizes how real and human our little blogger connection project has become. These ladies sent out messages of prayer and condolences for a nameless, faceless family who suffered an unimaginable loss of two children last week. They also took the time to holla a birthday shoutout to me!

Thanks Millie, Compulsive Writer, Amanda, PJ, and Raesha for your kind words and birthday wishes!

After work today, I'm dedicating the rest of my time to making all my fellow Good Mail Girls dreams come true! Like my Hawaiian friend, Lilo, once said, "No Good Mail Girl gets left behind......or forgotten." By the way, Good Mail will be answered in the order received which places the long waiting and ever patient, Jennifer, first on the list. The scriptures tell us that patience is a virtue, Jen, so you must be the most virtuous of them all!

Late Breaking News! This Just In! Extra Extra!

Lookie what Carronin sent me for my birthday! Thanks Carronin!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

My Lastic Wants To Party All The Time, Party All The Time, Party All The Time!

Where else but The Smiling Infidel will you find an Eddie Murphy song for a birthday weekend theme? Go on and click the title to see what I mean.

Guess what the entire Infidel clan did on Saturday afternoon. Go on......... Guess! Yes, we spent it at a very exciting dance recital where my little Caterpillar performed with her class. The theme revolved around all things Radio Disney and Caterpillar's group shook it to 'Be True To Your Heart,' and 'What I've Been Looking For' from the movie, 'High School Musical.' Initially, I was none too thrilled at the black velvet and mesh, belly button-baring costumes that set me back 40 bucks. However, after seeing the downright trampy outfits the other girls had to wear, I felt immediately grateful that Caterpillar had something much more modest to prance around in that didn't expose her or cause massive wedgies. At the rehearsal dance I noticed all the fabulous bows atop her classmates long streaming ponytails. Caterpillar didn't have any, but the other moms told me where to go to buy one so that my Caterpillar could be a little princess clone along with their daughters. It cost a freakin 7 dollars for some wadded up ribbon! WTH? I decided to rifle through my obscenely mammoth ribbon bag and pull something together myself. I did. I saved 7 dollars and made something a lot cuter. You see, necessity isn't the mother of invention, being BROKE is.

As if the afternoon could get any more exhilarating, Caterpillar received her dance trophy. Yes, go on and stare in shock and disbelief at the hideousness of it. It's a bobbleheaded ballerina that doubles as a very special Exorcist Ballerina when you turn her head all the way around. Pea soup not included.

My super cute 5 month old nephew, Peyton Nathaniel, came to stay with us for the entire weekend and celebrate the grandiose birthday of his Smiling Infidel Aunt. My Dad and step-mom treated me to a fabulous dinner at our favorite Colombian restaurant. There's no greater love in this world than a father buying his daughter a succulent South American styled steak (alliteration!) on her birthday. I know what you're all thinking, but, no, my dad isn't a professional Dom Deluise impersonator. Although, he is thinking about auditioning for the 'Cannonball Run' remake.

The weekend of Infidel birthday love and adoration finished with a chocolate swirled cheesecake just for me. Awwww, don't you just love happy endings?


Tomorrow brings a posting brought to you live and in person from under the enormous cavalcade of Good Mail Girl stuff I've received. Yeah, a cavalcade!

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Back When I Wanted To Heavily Pet One Of The Pet Shop Boys

It's Tuesday in the big, bad you know what that means? That's right, dawg, another edition of GAY TUESDAY is here! Holla!
Twas the summer of my formidable year between middle school and high school when I first delighted in the melodic sounds of The Pet Shop Boys. And when I first spied the super dapper and nattily dressed Neil Tennant, I wanted to sing, "I Can't Take My Eyes Off You," to him. I've always felt an attraction towards the men residing on the nerdy end of the spectrum and when Neil proposed certain "Opportunities" and said that I had the looks and he had the brains and "Let's Make Lots Of Money," I knew what "Love Comes Quickly" meant

My Mom had her love of Neil Diamond and I had my own Neil love. During my moments of "Being Boring," I'd fantasize about Neil forgetting his "West End Girls," and instead deciding on an H-Town girl. Together we'd pay "Rent," for a little house out in "Suburbia" where "The Streets Have No Names." Happy thoughts of engaging in "DJ Culture," and a little "Domino Dancing" with Neil put a spring in my step and a song in my soul. Yes, that Neil Tennant was "Always On My Mind." If "Left To My Own Devices," I might have flown off to England to claim him as my own. Then, tragedy struck. I found out that no matter how cute and charming I was, Neil Tennant would never be interested in me. Ditto for George Michael. Ditto for Doogie Howser. Ditto for Lance Bass. Well, you get the point. That was "So Hard" to take and I kept thinking "What Have I Done To Deserve This?" But dwelling and coveting the very "Heart" of another individual, well, "It's A Sin."

Things between Neil and I never materialized, but at least we have some fantastic music for Gay Tuesday provided by him and his partner. I need my army of Gay Warriors strong out on the battlefield to reclaim Teh Gay and cheesy Rainbow merchandise back for the regular folk. The song playing today by The Pet Shop Boys will help to fortify and boost the morale of my Gay Warriors and Dusty Springfield fans alike!

Monday, May 21, 2007

How Do You Say 'Pull My Finger' in Spanish?

I think that as proud Americans we can all recognize the profound impact that the Mexican and Latino culture has had on our society. I mean, thanks to Ricky Martin livin la vida loca and breaking down long held bon-bon taboos, we can now endlessly shake our own bon-bons to our little heart's content without fear of reprisal or torch bearing mobs. Thanks to Mexico and their culinary specialties, we can experience Montezuma's Revenge in a whole new way. The searing pain of heartburn with a spicy international flair. Viva! Ole! Aye Carumba! Thanks to inventive Mexican styled luchador wrestling, we no longer automatically think of Zorro when one asks the age old question of , "Wow, who was that masked man??!!!??" Instead it conjures up mental images of lumbering wrestlers outfitted in butt hugging Lycra tights like some sort of sausage casing for men. Nice.

Yes, we should definitely celebrate diversity and the beneficial elements it's brought into our lives. However, I'm getting a little irritated about the flow of Spanish speaking foreigners taking American jobs and contributing to a lowering of an acceptable living wage while propagating an almost slave trade environment because they'll labor for a ridiculously low amount of money.

Just last week, this issue really hit home with me. My own beloved resident Mexican, Papi, sat typing away at the computer while I lay in bed trying to drift off to sleep. All of a sudden, a deafening noise shattered the silence of our boudoir and it immediately snapped me to attention. I bolted upright in the bed and furtively looked around the room to see where it came from. That's when I noticed Papi smiling devilishly while leaning to one side and again the same explosive sound echoed through the bedroom once more. I couldn't believe my ears. Here was Papi, a fart amateur, horning in on my territory. Irate, I started chastising Papi for his flagrant flatulent disregard for me. Who does he think he is???!!? I have 32 years experience in the field of farting, and here's this damn Mexican who thinks he can just waltz into this country and take over my job. Unskilled fart laborer. What's next? Will I lose my lead fart position because Papi will work for less? Will he take a second job and outsource me for nose picking too? Where does the madness end?

Remember how our parents generation received dire warnings about the future of America due to the nefarious 'Brown Wave?' I bet they never expected that the 'Brown Wave' would literally take over good old-fashioned American 'Brown Wave-Brown Panty' ingenuity. Times.....they are a-changing.

The music today reflects the fact that like Thalia, I too, 'Amor A La Mexicana!' We both look stupid in sombreros too. Arriba!

Sunday, May 13, 2007

If It Wasn't For My Mother And Failed Contraception I Wouldn't Be Here Writing To You All Today!

You see all these naughty kittens? It's obvious they lost their mittens, and now they shall have no pie. Why do you think creepy mommy cat is smiling? It's certainly not due to the furry fruit of her pussy loins ceaselessly squirming and crawling all over her. No. It's because she knows that she just scored herself an entire pie since she doesn't have to share with her ungrateful mitten losing spawn. What, do they think kitten mittens just grow on freakin kitten mitten trees?
So, what does a destitute Smiling Infidel give to her own Mama on Mother's Day? Well, I broke out ye olde DJ Infidel turn tables and scratched up a trio of specially mixed CD's just for her! And then to make the gift seem more personal, I took time out of my busy, busy schedule to print some pictures off the Internet to stand in as custom CD case covers. What a good daughter am I. In all fairness, The Ghost Of Mother's Day Past knows that I used to put forth more effort, but this year I have my Papi finishing his last two semesters of college (no student loans!) and homeschool/pre-school curriculum and tuition for 6 kids to pony up.(no student loans!) I did pick out tasteful music even though I secretly wanted to burn 'Bootylicious,' and 'Hollaback Girl,' onto the CD's. I thought better of it when I realized that a move like that would likely jeopardize my birthday gift status one week from now.

And finally, what Mother's Day gift would be complete without precious memories of your children encapsulated in keepsake pictures? I am my Mom's only daughter and oldest child, after all. My Mama delights in recounting tales of how monstrous I behaved as a child, so I thought it only fitting that I send her my absolute best 'Grudge' pose to frame and prominently display on the coffee table. I found a great glow-in-the-dark hockey mask at the dollar store too, but I'm saving that little beauty for next year. Won't my Mom feel proud when she tells visitors to her home that yes, her daughter is indeed the Bride Of Jason!

To All You Mother's, Mommie Dearests, Baby Mamas, Big Mommas, Mami Chulas, and Mother Truckers Out There........................Happy Mother's Day!

Friday, May 11, 2007

'The Cha-Cha Slide'.......One Of The Greatest Love Songs Of All Time!

An Ancient Infidel Proverb: "He Who Live In Small House With Many Young Grasshoppers Must Cover Mating Ritual Sounds By Playing Loud Music."
And so, that leads us to today's story. Papi and I believe in absolute discretion when it comes to matters of amore. I mean, sure, we do have six kids to symbolize our love and to show that we have, in fact, 'done it,' but you'll never find us groping each other during Sacrament meeting or flaunting inappropriately racy behaviour out in public. Occasionally, we will engage in a mutual KISS outside the confines of our home. That would be Prince's version of KISS. Papi told me that I don't have to watch 'Dynasty,' to have an attitude.

Our love is big, but alas, our house is small. Papi and I have taken to loudly playing music off computer playlists during our conjugal moments in order to disguise any mysterious sounds that would inevitably raise questions among our many mini-Infidels. While fitting, no, Donna Summer's moany, breathy, 'Love To Love You, Baby,' did not gain entrance into any of the coveted Infidel playlists.

Well, during one such occasion, I absent-mindedly clicked the play button without checking the list first. The retro sounds of 'We Are Family' filled the room, and Papi and I were good to go. A few minutes later, though, DJ Casper and his unforgettable 'Cha-Cha Slide' began barking out aerobic dance commands to a thumping beat. Do you know how disconcerting it is to try to love up your man while another man continues telling you "Slide to the left, slide to the right, now clap?" Nasty DJ Casper kept asking, "How low can you go?" And I was like, "That's none of your freakin business, DJ Casper!" It's so hard not to fall into his hypnotic spell and obey his every word. It seriously took every ounce of strength to refrain from doing the 'Charlie Brown' and the 'Cha-Cha' when DJ Casper told me to. I knew then that I had clicked our kid's songlist and that the finest in children's entertainment was providing the backdrop music for our afternoon delight.

Our listening fun didn't end with just the 'Cha-Cha Slide'......... oh no! 'Cha-Cha Slide' was promptly followed up by The Wiggles 'Hot Potato.' I mean, I regard my Papi as super hot, but not exactly a Hot Potato. A state of nakedness already brings out feelings of awkwardness and low self-esteem in me, I really didn't need Raffi calling me 'Baby Beluga' over and over again to enforce those feelings. Oh well, at least we didn't have 'The Hokey-Pokey' saved to the playlist. Putting your right arm in, and your left leg in, and then your whole self in, and shakin it all about, might have proved a very painful experience.

Giving A Whole New Meaning To The Phrase, "Hey, Nice Package!"

Super special bloggy friend, Carronin, sent me a super special package this week. In tribute to her famed and inventive blog, "Do's And Dont's," I'm gonna break this post down Carronin style!

DO hold your special package to your bosom while you dance a jig and sing out, "Rejoice! Rejoice!"

DON'T break out your junior C.S.I. handwriting analysis kit to see what kind of person your bloggy friend really is. (I did. The kit revealed that Carronin has a Shiz Factor to the infinite power!)

DO name your own personal lunch lady immediately. Blog world, meet Lunch Lady Helga.

DON'T put up with any crap from Helga. She's working for you, not the other way around. You see, Carronin sent Helga to Houston using First Class, and now Helga thinks she's V.I.P and too good to serve up Spam Casserole. She's insisting that we should feed people steak tartar and non-alcoholic mimosas. I draw the line at buying Helga, Chanel aprons, and Prada orthopedic shoes, though.

DO oooohh and aaaahh over your custom made CD and marvel at how much music you have in common with your bloggy buddy. Seriously, 'White And Nerdy,' is my official theme song to life. I want to bowl with the gangsters too!

DON'T act childish and pout because your kids want to play with your new toys. Remember to practice what you preach and share. I may have to build a special hiding place for Helga so that nobody else can horn in on my Tater Tot Surprise action.

DON'T use your new purdy pen and pad to write anonymous hate mail to your local radio station for overplaying Fergie, Nelly Furtado, and Coldplay. They have a way of tracking these things, you know.

DO start plotting your reciprocation strategy immediately.

DO encourage your shriveled heart to swell up with gratitude that you know such nice and thoughtful people.

Thanks Again, Carronin!

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Wooooooo Dream Weaver, I Believe You Can Get Me Through The Night!

Listen, Dream Weaver guy, Gary Wright, or whatever your name is, I work during the night. I don't need you to get me through the night, or to reach the morning light. I really only need you to get me through a few hours of peaceful slumber without the constant interruption of weird dreams. That should fall within the realm of possibility for an omnipotent Dream Weaver, right? Just please, lay off the psychotropic drug use, Dream Weaver, and spin me something other than the bizarro world you've infiltrated my sleep with lately. Whatever happened to the Dream Weaver work ethic? Why don't you provide me with some useful dreams, like winning lottery numbers, or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop? The shorter the amount of time I have for laying my butt in bed, the more calm and restful it should feel. And yet, I'm constantly waking up exhausted with a sopping wet, slobbery pillow in the wee hours of the morning.
I swear that TV station owners back in the early 1980's, had to sign a contractual clause stipulating that they would agree to show constant repeats of the 1978 comedy farce, 'Foul Play,' every night of the week. And show it non-stop they did! I mean, movies with midgets, Dudley Moore, and a psycho albino killer just makes for good cinematic fun. But, it wears a little thin by the the umpteenth time you've sat through it because you're too lazy to find the remote to turn it off.

So, last night I dreamed that I received the honor of meeting his Holy Grace, The Pope. Yeah, Pope Benedict XVI himself, rocking the robe and beanie cap look to the max. Instead of his traditional white robes, though, he appeared dressed in a very stylish black and red gown ensemble. I reverently knelt before him upon our introduction, and then proceeded to engage in enlightened conversation, wherein the talk turned to matters of entertainment. I vividly recall that I started chuckling and enthusiastically told the Pope, "Hey, that's just like the movie, 'Foul Play.'" The Pope looked at me quizzically saying, "My child, I'm not familiar with that particular film." I gave him a buddy slap on the arm and said, "Yeah, you know, the Chevy Chase movie about a plot to assassinate the Pope. It was soooo funny!" Then security abruptly swooped in, whisking the Pope away from me. Obviously, the papal security team knew that a potential threat lie in anyone who would reference a lame Chevy Chase movie.

A lot of my dreams have a precognitive quality to them, and they often come to fruition. I've made a mental note to myself that if I'm ever to meet the Pope, I will not bring up the subject of 'Foul Play.' No, I'll keep to safe topics like 'The DaVinci Code,' or maybe the vast complexities of that TV show, 'The Flying Nun.'

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Mathematics 101-When Buying Shorts, If The Width Is Greater Than The Length.....You Should NOT Wear Them!"

We even borrowed a ruler from the office supplies section to verify, that yes, indeed, the width of these lovely cotton knit shorts measured out far greater than the actual length.

Please stop this detrimental assult on the public's ocular health. Only you can prevent plus sized fashion tragedy.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

I Feel Gay Today! Come On, Let's Be Gay Together!

It's time to rise up, bloggers, and reclaim the word 'gay' back from pertaining to one's bedroom behaviour, and redirect it towards the traditionally wholesome definition of giddy joy. Remember when you felt pretty? Pretty, and witty, and GAY? Well, you can feel that way again, my friends, because every Tuesday here at The Smiling Infidel, will now be Gay Tuesday! Is your name Gay/Gaye/Gaylord? Have you suffered through a lifetime of ridicule because of it? No more. Gay Tuesday will lovingly remind people that Gay simply means sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows everything.

Forget Fat Tuesday, and Ruby Tuesday, they're all played out, dawg. Everything's coming up Gay Tuesday! So, come on out of the closet and wear your long-hidden glittery rainbow shirt too, because we're taking it back. We're taking it all back.

I'm leading the charge, and what better way to unite the reclamation masses than with some music to buoy us up on our Gay Tuesday mission? I selected the Scissor Sisters because they embody the groovin essence of Gay Tuesday. They're fun, and festive, and gay. Very gay. I don't know about you all, but I can't possibly fight a battle without a proper disco beat thumping in the background. The Scissor Sisters get two snaps up and a limp wristed declaration of "Faaaaabulous!" They've mastered a sound of smooth and catchy melodies, and combined that with a delightful element of camp and kitsch. I love them. They fulfill me in a way that the self-proclaimed Disco Queen, Donna Summers, never could. I'm not sure who to feature for next week's Gay Tuesday. I might have to put The Pet Shop Boys and Erasure in a room and let them settle it the smackdown way.

*By the way, my girls and I think Jake Shears is cuteness personified. The first time they ever saw a Scissor Sisters video, Sunbum said, "Oh, he's wearing a vest with no shirt. I know what that means."

Monday, May 07, 2007

Penny-Ante Blogging!

Ahhhh, an institution of American society, the beloved Penny Dish. These little plastic fountains of one cent wealth are often spotted snuggled up alongside the cash registers at local convenience stores. Even the finest area Dollar Stores reserved for the most discriminate of Dollar Store shoppers, will dedicate coveted counter space to the almighty Penny Dish too.

The esteemed Ben Franklin in all his infinite financial management wisdom once said, "A penny saved is a penny earned." How true and fiscally responsible, Ben! Ben Franklin:The designated fun sucker for guilt ridden penny candy buyers everywhere. What about the irrepressible Lionel Richie, who not only dances on ceilings all night long, but also croons unabashedly of his undying adoration for pennies in 'Penny Lover'? That's all kinds of wrong, Lionel. I'm not clear on what exactly the role of a 'Penny Lover' entails, but I'm pretty sure that I don't want Lionel's pennies in the sacred Penny Dish when he's done loving them up. And, yeah, I said sacred Penny Dish, because everyone knows about Pennies From Heaven.

So, you all understand the basic premise behind the ingenious Penny Dish, right? "Take A Penny. Leave A Penny." That's essentially akin to my own favorite request, "I'll pull your finger if you pull my finger." It's meant to celebrate a spirit of giving and showcase the benefits of symbiotic relationships. Why not adopt this principle towards the field of blog commenting as well?

I'm here to declare that henceforth the blog known as, The Smiling Infidel, will adopt this generous philosophy towards any and all comments. Reciprocating comments already ranks at the tippy top of the Blogger Commandments, but I know that many amongst you have flagrantly sinned against these Blogger covenants. So, I propose a program called "Leave A Comment. Get A Comment." It's simple, straight forward, and meant to give a boost to the egomaniacal comment whore residing in all of us. Stop lurking! Say something! Make your thoughts heard if only to type out the corny 'LOL!' in agreement with other commenters. Just do it! Ever wrestle with blog intimidation or a sudden onset of speechlessness? We all feel that way sometimes. I came up with a bloggy formula long ago......No Comments=Everyone Hates Me. Don't do this to your bloggy buddies. Show them the love!

A penny for your thoughts?

Saturday, May 05, 2007

And On This Day In History, A Sunbum Was Born Unto Us

Yes, today marks the annual beer-swilling Mexi fiesta known as Cinco De Mayo. But, here at La Casa De Infidel, we instead focus in on celebrating the birth of our oldest mini-Infidel, Sunbum! Lucky Sunbum, born on 05-05-95, has the only birthdate that Papi can remember out of all his chillens. Two years ago, her birthday fell on the triple nickel, 05-05-05. Guess what her favorite number is?
On a Friday afternoon, twelve years ago today, I lay in a birthing room at Houston's historic Hermann Hospital which overlooks the Houston Zoo and Sam Houston Park. The soap opera "Bold And The Beautiful" played on the TV, and I watched it to distract myself from the powerful force that had put me into active labour only hours before.......Papi's homemade spicy quesadillas. It's hard to suffer through contractions, stomach cramps, and butt burn all at the same time. I distinctly recall feeling terrified to push when the Doctor told me to because of 'intestinal' fears. So, as my modest self struggled with having feet in metal stirrups and being the unwilling star of the 'Exposed Infidel Hoo-Hoo Show', I concentrated on the Cinco De Mayo festivities playing out directly under the birthing torture chamber. Papi ran interference from window to bed relaying all the goings on. The park was crowded with colorfully dressed people engaging in traditional Mexican folkloric dances, Maypole weaving, and some old-fashioned mariachi action. I could only hear the festivities in between my own pathetic whimpering. And then, just a few scant hours after entering the hospital, Sunbum emerged! At 7 pounds, Sunbum had the lowest birth weight of all the mini-Infidels, but she quickly gained ground, doubling her poundage within a few months.
If you ever chance to play Flag Football with Sunbum, watch your back! She's a defensive wonder and a hard throwing force to reckon with.
Sunbum isn't the fastest runner, but her stealthy kickball maneuvers showed that she could kick azz at kickball. Many a time, the ball went soaring into the ether after Sunbum kicked it, paving the way for several runs. In the off season though, Sunbum enjoys reading immensely. So much so, that she often completes a book a day. Sunbum will now enter the Young Women program at Church having fulfilled all her Faith In God requirements, and will interview for her first Temple recommend tomorrow! She's also going to Girls Camp with the Church in June. My baby is growing up. *sniff* Sunbum at Christmas. Look at that sweet face as she closely examines the new sports bra that Santa stuffed into her stocking. Isn't it ironic that people stuff bras while Santa stuffs stockings with bras?
Sunbum also holds rank as the mighty leader over the entire Infidel spork fighting ninja squad. She has trained her ninja underlings in the ancient art of spork fighting and making constipated, yet fierce, facial expressions.
Lookie here, even Mr. T is getting in on the Sunbum Birthday celebration! He pities the fool that don't wish Sunbum a Happy Birthday. Forget about lame Cinco De Mayo parties. In fact, just cross Cinco De Mayo off your calendar entirely, and replace it with something more meaningful and important..... Sunbum's Birthday!

The music selection today is one of Sunbum's favorites by Zayra Alvarez. You know, that chick who performed so sucky on Rockstar:Supernova. It turns out that when she sings her own songs in her native Spanish, instead of bastardizing classic rock music in English, she's quite good. Her CD enjoyed a creative boost from a Houston influence too. Blue October.

Friday, May 04, 2007

With My Mind On My Money And My Money On My Mind!

When you're a working lady of the night like I am, the drone of the radio becomes your constant companion. I've trained up my oldest daughter, Sunbum, to enjoy the wonders and high ridicule content of talk radio with me too. Together, we like to mock the inarticulate people who call in and not only lack the capability of presenting a valid point, but also stammer an endless stream of '"Uuuuuhhhh, and then, like, you know, uuuuhhhhh." Have you ever engaged in the extreme auditory sport of talk radio marathons? Let me clue you in. The radio gods only give us little people approximately 20-25 minutes per hour of actual dialogue, while the remainder of the time is eaten up with incessant commercials. The agonizing repetitive play of some ads has resulted in Sunbum and I reciting them from heart right along with smarmy Mr. Announcer Guy.

How often we've listened and gagged during the rather descriptive ads for colonic irrigation products that rid your body of impacted fecal matter. How often we've rolled our eyes and uttered a resounding "Riiiiggghhhhtttt," at the A.D. Kessler 'Creative Real Estate' promos, touting a dubious property buying scheme that will supposedly make you an overnight millionaire. How often we've marveled over the women unsure of who their baby daddy is when a local lab advertises special cut rate DNA testing services. As interesting as we both find impacted fecal matter infomercials, our favorite radio spots belong to the "Get Rich Quick While Working At Home" people.

Yesterday, one of their plethora of ads ran on XM Satellite Radio obtrusively interrupting our talk radio staple, Dr. Laura. It began in the usual way.
How would you like to work from home?
How would you like to be debt free?
How would you like to never have to worry about money again?
How would you like to be your own boss?
How would you like to lay around watching TV and licking a potato chip bag clean while still making an income?

Sounds like a dream come true, right? Well, then the announcer prattles on to say that you could work as much or as little as you want in your free time earning passive residual income. You only need to contact them and buy a starter kit to get yourself on the road to financial freedom. AHA, there's the catch. But then, Sunbum and I felt our cynical hearts soften when Mr. Announcer Guy continued his spiel with talk of enjoying a 'STICK FIGURE INCOME.' Whaaaattt??!!?? Sunbum and I gasped and looked wide-eyed at each other. We can make money with stick figures? Why didn't anyone tell us this before? What a long awaited revelation! We've lived our entire lives outside the gilded 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' walls, and now Mr. Announcer Guy has coyly offered us the chance to break in. I put my girls, Sunbum and Monkey to work as soon as we got home.
Sunbum has elected to balance her life out by only working part time with the lucrative 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' plan. They did specify that you could work as much or as little as you want, because it's so very versatile and flexible. The results of her stick figure slacking are visibly evident. She'll never make it to the Golden Stick Figure pyramid level at this rate.
Monkey, however, has given herself over completely to the 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' plan, dropping both her school studies and basketball practice to focus in on creating stick figure wealth. She doesn't need no exercise or education cause she's gonna be rich! As her mother, I'm very impressed with her dedication, and collection of vibrantly colored stick figures. I'm confident that Monkey's efforts will really open the door to a life of luxury and prestige.

So, TODAY ONLY, I'm offering all you bloggers this life changing program. You want in on the proven 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' plan? Please send $99.99 to The Smiling Infidel in Crackertopia, for your starter kit and folder of glowing 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' success stories and testimonials. Respond immediately and I'll also throw in a very special limited production of exclusive Smiling Infidel smiley face stickers to complement your STICK FIGURES!!!!!!

*Disclaimer: Results are not typical of actual 'STICK FIGURE INCOME' plan members. In fact, most of our program members can barely afford the bread to go with their monthly allotment of government cheese. You will have better odds of success investing in a cache of lottery tickets and mustache wax.*

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Baby Carrot Is Almost Here! No, That's Not To Be Confused With Baby Carrot Top. *shudder*

Carrot Jello is having a baby, baby, she's gonna have a baby!

I watched this clip a few months ago, and the infectious remix has all my mini-Infidels and I dancing and singing, "Baby, baby, gonna have a baby!" There's possibly no finer entertainment than the sperm receptacle freak show women that populate Maury Povich's legendary TV program dedicated to bringing the seamy underbelly of decent society to the masses. Someone edited a clip of a 15 year old girl with big plans for her future, and set it to a spiffy techno beat. Young Victoria has her heart set on dropping out of school, appearing on 'Girls Gone Wild,' and having her baby. And she don't care what her stupid momma got to say about it neither. Well, I think she'll make a fine mother, because after all, Victoria pointed out that she's got THUH-REE pacifiers for her baby, and a blanket if the baby gets cold. What else could a kid possibly need?

What does this all have to do with Carrot Jello? Ummmm, not much, except she too is all filled with the excitement of "Baby, baby, gonna have a baby".........TOMORROW MORNING! And Carrot Jello probably don't care what her momma got to say about it neither! Us Infidels can't wait to see the sweetness of Baby Carrot. So, stop by and wish Carrot Jello good luck/thoughts/prayers/lifetime supply of diapers, for her scheduled Friday morning birth, aight?