Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Whip It- Devo
Let It Whip- Dazz Band
Beat It- Michael Jackson
Whip Appeal- Babyface
Chains Of Love- Erasure
Leather And Lace- Stevie Nicks/Don Henley
Southern Nights- Glen Campbell (Only the sickest freaks listen to Glen Campbell)
Okay, I'm a Bakery poseur. I've never actually ventured inside an S&M Bakery, although I hear their special "Kiss My Bundt" cakey treats are 100 percent yum.
I snapped this picture inside the supposedly wholesome Kroger's Bakery last week while deciding on a cake for my son Buster's 11th birthday.
I never before knew that something called "whippy" could constitute an actual icing flavor. At least it wasn't combined with a nutty topping. Yeah, Whippy Nuts Crunch sounds like a delicacy you'd only find sold by street vendors at a parade in San Francisco. Maybe whippy is a delightful blend of horse whips, whipped cream, and the House Majority Whip.
I'm going to invent a new online glossary devoted to whippy stuff. I'll call it WHIPAPEDIA.
At this point, Kroger's is but one step away from becoming your erotic bachelor/bachelorette party cake headquarters.
Fear of the unknown and inexplicable urged me to wisely opt for the tried-and-true buttercreme topping.
The Smiling Infidel's adventurous palate stops here.
Friday, September 26, 2008
So, what does one do to pass the time when suddenly thrust into a primitive world devoid of modern technology?
I don't know if EVERYBODY was Kung-Fu fighting, but my mini-Infidels sure were. Why yes, their moves are as fast as lightning when they move with expert timing.
Right about now, Master Jason wishes he'd devised a way to hook up his students to a converter that would at least harness enough butt-kicking energy to power the A/C and a few fans.
Spaghettios........they're not just part of your completely crappy dinner anymore! Stef Knee busied herself making profoundly enlightening Spaghettio People art. Here she is with the masterpiece she calls "A Portrait Of Limbless Spaghettio Siamese Twins And Their Pet Pig Whom They Can't Actually Pet Because They Don't Have Arms."
Our neighbor has a lime tree with heavy fruit-laden branches that hang down into our yard. Reagan, the crotch-sniffing wonder dog, likes to play ball with the limes before devouring them. He's one third of the way towards becoming a doggy alcoholic. He's got the limes but hasn't fetched any salt or Jose Cuervo to go with it just yet.
Reagan also enjoys putting his paws on our shoulders while prancing around on his hind legs. He usually couples that with simultaneously chewing on his latest lime conquest.
We call it "Texas Lime Dancing."
We thought it only fair to give ample warning to any crusty criminals skulking about our property. Although we didn't have electricity to operate our home security system, that certainly doesn't mean that we didn't arm ourselves with a backup plan.
PROTECTED BY INFIDEL NINJA SPORK WARRIORS sounds infinitely more terrifying than a PROTECTED BY RADIO SHACK sign, don't you think?
Candlelight Dinners= Tres Romantique!
Crapping By Candlelight? Umm, not so much.
Candlelight Tweezing= Oh Baby, PLUCK ME....PLUCK ME........PLUCK ME MORE! As AC/DC should have sang it, "You PLUCKED Me All Night Long."
Candlelight Hurdling= In preparation for the JACK BE NIMBLE/JACK BE QUICK CANDLESTICK GAMES.
We grew accustomed to getting lit every night. That sounds sort of wrong, but you know what I mean. As an added bonus, nine days of candle use resulted in a massive accumulation of fruity-scented wax. I'm going to carve an exact likeness of myself out of it.
Always the entrepreneur, my Sunbum decided to capitalize on the power outage by opening up her own door-to-door Underwear Washateria and Professional Skidmark Removal Service. Ahh, my Sunbum, making her mark by erasing the marks of others.
She didn't have to look far for her first customer. Desperate and down to her last pair of fresh undies, Stef Knee hired Sunbum to do the job that no other Infidel wanted to do.
Our neighbor gifted us with a box stuffed full of Vienna Sausages. I think this situation falls somewhere under the "Love Thy Neighbor" statute and so I had little choice but to graciously accept his inedible weenie bits-and-pieces.
Weenies In A Box= Fun For The Whole Family!
Forget that ridiculous Speed Stacking Cup sport, we made our own new and improved Infidel version!
Speed Sausage Stacking.........coming soon to a Food Pantry near you.
Our runner-up idea for using orphaned cans of unwanted Vienna Sausages was to stage a sort of 2008 update of the "Hands Across America" movement. We were going to call it "Vienna Sausages Across America Across The Atlantic Ocean And Back To Vienna Where They Belong."
So much action and adventure and it was all powered on nothing but pure, unfiltered Infidel awesomeness!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
She's not much into talking on the phone, but then she had her own secretary so she didn't have to.
So anyway, she called to invite the whole Infidel clan over to her home for lasagna since we'd gone without electricity for so long we were turning into an indigenous tribe of Caneaters.
After the arrangements were made my Grandma was anxious to get off the phone. In her haste the best line she could come up with was a flustered "I have to go right now because the battery is running low in my...............(long dramatical pause)..........in my FIRE ALARM!"
Preparing for the future doesn't just entail food and water and all that stuff. No, a prudent person should also have a handy dandy list of viable excuses ready for immediate use at all times.
*Thanks Grandma. The lasagna was delicious!*
Saturday, September 20, 2008
What would it be like getting a Quickie in the middle of the grocery store's cleaning aisle?
Just the idea of such bourgeois indulgence made me flush with a temporary sense of shame.
Still unsure, Papi leaned towards me and with the soft lilt of his Mucho Mexi accent he hesitantly asked, "Are you sure that you actually need a Quickie right here, right now? Or do you just want a Quickie? There's a big difference between needing and wanting a Quickie, you know."
To which I burst out with a much more enthusiastic response than I had intended as I exclaimed, "YES! Yes! Yes! I definitely need a Quickie!"
Papi finally relented and agreed to my persistent demands for a grocery store Quickie.
As I tightened my grasp on the smoothly rounded hardness in my hands, I knew that this was so right and so very satisfying beyond even my wildest fantasies.
The Quickie experience left me breathless.
It really got the job done.
My dishes have never been cleaner.
Friday, September 19, 2008
America is tired of all the debating, polls, and speculation. It's time for a new candidate. A candidate who isn't afraid to admit what he really is: a chicken.
It sounds refreshing, doesn't it? Here is a candidate who can't talk. He may crow a lot, it's true, but he can't lie to you. He's a bit bird-brained, but c'mon--so is the current president. This is one cock who won't get sucked into bad foreign policy. No doubt he'll get embroiled in scandal, but when he does, we'll toss him on a platter and he can feed some hungry voters.
Here is an excerpt from an interview with Katie Couric:Katie: Don't you feel it's a little late to be entering the game at this point? Do you truly feel you have a chance against the other candidates?
Mr.CDD: Buk buk-buk. Buk brawk brawk? Buk buk! Braaaaawk!
Katie: Um, yes, it is true that he has limited experience, but what about yourself?
Mr.CDD: Buk buk buk. Braawk, buk.
Katie: I guess I can see your point, but don't change the topic. I wanted to ask about your own lack of exper--
Mr.CDD: Buk buk? Buk-buk brawk buk! Baaaaak. Er-erer-er-roooo!
Katie: That's beside the point. It was a politically brilliant move on his part. But, back to yourself--
Mr.CDD: Buk buk buk? Buk baaaaawk.
Katie: Please--I just want--
Mr.CDD: Buk-buk buk! Braaawk? buk-buk-buk!
Katie: [turns to cameraman] This interview is over. Let's get out of here.
Mr.CDD: Brawk! Buk buk!
The preceding message was brought to you by:
In fact, we're learning new things every day.
Why, just this very evening at dinner I discovered that sugar ants-who cleverly hid themselves amongst the stars on our new tablecloth from Carrot Jello- look exactly like the tiny black poppyseeds in the Poppyseed dressing that I'd just doused my salad with. Yeah, I know this because they staged a surprise attack and marched themselves right onto my generic brand paper plate where they got lost in the iceberg lettuce jungle.
After the initial shock of having to scramble to cough up nearly 1,000 dollars to fix our tattered and leaky roof yesterday, I resolved to build our next Casa De Infidel out of newspapers and newspaper bags. I learned that they're more resilient to Hurricane force winds than any construction materials used by Houston home builders because while throwing my route today, I
See the flattened newspaper sheathed in a green plastic bag lying on the driveway? I delivered that LAST week.
I witnessed the unspeakable destruction of gorgeous homes and towering trees all around our neighborhood, and yet somehow these stupid newspapers survived 85 MPH winds.
I guess you should never underestimate the indestructible power of printed paper pulp. It comes complete with its very own force field!
Several brick privacy fences running the perimeter of a custom gated community came crumbling down.
I hope that there weren't any boys named Joshua hanging around at the time. They have a really bad reputation ever since Biblical times for destroying walls.
This massive tree was plucked from the ground with such ferocity that it yanked up all the roots and swaths of the lawn along with it.
Hurricane Ike really should have gotten into the Tree Removal business because they left behind some impressive work around here that would look great in their company portfolio.
Hurricane Ike Tree Removal Service: Ain't no oak tree wide enough, ain't no pine tree high enough, ain't no willow tree low enough..........for us to demolish!
When Hurricane Ike blew into town like the Big Bad Wolf with a threatening "I'll huff and puff and blow your house down," we ran around and squealed like little pigs as it reduced all the hay, sticks, and bricks in its path, to rubble.
I've yet to see a single newspaper house destroyed. Nope, not even one.
Newspapers: The building blocks for our future.
We can construct a new kind of home by combining strips of newspaper with a stiff flour-based glue. Then we'll fill it up with candy like a giant pinata; you know the kind that made you cry as a kid because no matter how hard you smacked it with your streamer-wrapped broom stick, you couldn't even make a hole big enough to score a squished and expired Tootsie Roll out of it.
My next house will be in the shape of The Incredible Hulk because I like green and I need something spacious to accommodate a large family.
Besides, I can't very well house everyone in a dinky Spongebob design, now can I? Although the spongey-ness would certainly help in times of flooding.
And shockingly, I also learned that if my Papi ever tires of me and needs a new Mamacita to raise his mini-Infidels, he has only to travel to the corner car wash to pick him up one. She'll even work 24 hours.
Unless the "MOM" is really just an acronym for Milk Of Magnesia. Now that would bring me infinite joy and unbridled lust for all the spicy things down at the Golden Turban Indian Buffet.
*One more lesson learned: Be nice to your neighbors because one day you will be really, really grateful for that line to their generator they allow you to plug in for a couple hours every day*
Thursday, September 18, 2008
"Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."
-The Big Book Of Overused Expressions So Old They Fart Dust
For all the concerned people that wondered if we Infidels have enough to eat in the face of such calamitous conditions, the answer is.....YES!!!! Heck Yes! A whole YES World Tour filled with YES men and YES groupies! (even though I really only like that "Owner Of A Lonely Heart" song)
There's something you should understand: Food is/was/always will be my primary source of concern when it comes to preparing for conditions that may threaten the link between the Infidel family and our outside food sources.
I toiled away in the kitchen all day on Friday, like a proper Molly Mormon, in anticipation of Hurricane Ike. Yes, I was even barefoot.
Here's my sunny Sunbum loading caramel icing onto the hot rolls we scored at the 99 Cents Only Store.
What better way to send out an "S.O.S" than by making some hot, sloppy S.O.S. for dinner?
S.O.S= Sheet On A Shingle
Let's hear ABBA sing a song about that!
Actually, I could use some of that pasty sheet to hold down my roof shingles. They didn't fare so well in the face of 85 MPH winds.
I often cook big pots of chili and then look for cryptic hidden messages that brew up in the spicy tomato sauce.
It's like reading tea leaves or lazily gazing at the sky while pointing out giant peg-legged elephants you see hidden amongst fluffy white clouds.
In this pot I found one yellowish, demonic-looking eyeball and an arrow sign.
I need to find a chili pot message interpreter to tell me what this all means, S.T.A.T!
And on the first day of the storm, The Smiling Infidel created a pan of cornbread........and it was declared delicious by all who feasted upon it.
The mini-Infidels scoffed at me because when I heard that Houston would be shutting down in anticipation of the storm, I frantically called over to Mr. Gatti's and ordered four large pizzas with my $7.00 coupon.
Pizza makes for mucho bueno emergency food storage. Some like it hot. Some like it cold. Some like it in the pot nine days old.
That last group is a bunch of pizza-torturing weirdos. Stay far, far away from them.
The funny thing is that my Visiting Teacher stopped by with some homemade goodies to tide us over and then guess where her next stop was?
Go on. Guess.
Yes. She was going to stock up on pizzas to feed her houseful of teenage boys.
She's from New Zealand, but even New Zealanders know what to do in the event of a Hurricane/Cyclone. CALL FOR PIZZA!
We may have been out of work, but that don't mean we can't still make us some bread!
I cooked more stuff but I'm tired of uploading pictures.
Here's my Papi sprawled out on the Infidel Bed of Love featuring Semi/Sort Of/Used-To-Be White sheets.
He's undoubtedly inhaling the scentalicious aromas of all the many things I whipped up throughout the day, and dreaming that he somehow lucked out and won The Stepford Wives Sweepstakes!
*We're STILL Without Any Electricity. I Post-Dated This Yesterday For Today. Think Of It As An Emergency Infidel Blog Post Storage!*
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
We are now on Day #5 with no sign of restored electricity in sight. Like Noah releasing a dove from the ark to seek out dry land, we keep tossing our sneakers that have been tied together up in the air, praying for it to find an intact power line to string themselves up on. So far, no good.
Out of sheer boredom, Papi and I are now gold star members in the Hurricane Club. It's kind of like the Mile High Club, except you get blown (around) more and leave behind a lot of damage and debris.
So, here's the post I was slaving away on last Friday moments before we lost power courtesy of Hurricane Ike:
It's nearly 11:00 at night. We're just a few hours away from the much ballyhooed arrival of Hurricane Ike.
The tempestuous gusts of tropical storm wind has really begun to increase as evidenced by the swaying of the pine trees surrounding us..........and the special brand of Houston "Trash Tumbleweeds" blowing down the now-empty residential street where the Infidel family resides.
So did you bring back that permission slip that I gave you? You're going to need it because I'm taking you on a picture-filled field trip into the heart of our Hurricane Ike Preparation Day. Hurry up, go forge your mom or dad's signature.
Come on, you know this isn't the first time you've ever done such a thing.
Observe our special assembly of The Rainbow Flashlight Coalition. We're a very diverse family that doesn't discriminate against flashlights regardless of color, size, or shape.
CRANK THIS, Souljah Boy! Thanks to my years spent honing my hand-cranking skills on the Championship Homemade Ice Cream circuit, cranking up out little Freeplay radio is a gripping but simple task.
It's Wednesday now. I'm not giving you an updated picture of my pantry because it's starting to look sad. Below is how it looked last Friday.
We've been eating our meals straight out of cans just so we don't have to wash out bowls and plates. We're sinking lower and lower down the scales of civilized society. I think we're now just one step away from eschewing the life of finger bowls and salad forks forever. However will we get invited to a Posh Spice Dinner Banquet now, I ask you??!!??
My water bill has erroneously read $700.00 for the month. I say erroneously. The water company says "NOT erroneously. Pay up." At least our bottled water only set me back around 15 bucks.
The oldest Infidel son, Buster, will henceforth be referred to as "The Little Water Drummer Boy."
Buster made sure our water drums were cleaned, filled, and ready to go. I'm hoping that our Homeowner's Association narc that keeps harassing us about weeds in the cracks of our driveway stops by so we can play a little dunking game with him using our large-enough-to-hide-a-man's-body water drums. Wouldn't that be so much fun??!?
The mighty Infidel truck found secure housing in our garage for the first time ever.
The Infidel spawn call it a "GAY-RAJ."
I sincerely hope that we never actually meet a gay guy named Raj because that might be a bit awkward.
*Special Thanks to our neighbor who has allowed us to run a line to his generator today. He thinks I'm using it to vacuum and cook. Right. I have priorities, people!*
I'm here to tell you, in the midst of my Rocked-like-a-Hurricane Blogtopia, that you don't know me as well as you might think.
What many of you Infidel-ites may not have realized is that I have utter and utmost love for all things seafaring. Seafood, sea urchins, seamen, Chicken of the Sea... no creature residing in the Seven Seas is safe from me and my undying fishy affection.
Why, just the other day I was telling a fish story to my adorable, charming, mustache-bleaching friend, the incomparable Millie Chicken. I said to Millie:
"Millie, my love, whose lips are impossibly moist and appealing..."
Millie was a bit grossed out by this, I could tell, but continued to listen politely because that's what she does at any cost: listen politely. She's just that kind of girl.
"... Millie my angel, do you know what I love most in the world?"
"Me?" she guessed, tossing back her mahogany hair and batting her eyelashes.
"So close, but sadly, no... there is one thing on earth - OK, seven other things on earth - that I love more than you. No, actually eight, because Papi and the six kids are the first seven and then I was going to tell you this other thing that I really have a hankering for and I got so discombooberated that I lost count."
"Uh-huh," Millie intoned. I could tell she was getting bored. Of course - the topic had turned away from herself to something else.
"I really love fish."
"Yes. Fish. I love to eat them. I even love to write songs about eating fish. How's this: Fishedy doo and a fishedy dye... Sammy Davis, Jr. had one glass eye..."
Millie tried to covertly glance at her watch - it was obvious she was uncomfortable - and then looked up at me. Her face was strange: it wore the look of someone who'd recently rocked out hard to Rod Stewart's "Infatuation" but had suddenly remembered that headbanging is best left to people under the age of twenty. Either that, or she was suffering a sudden attack of gas.
Then, it finally hit her. I'm talking it probably took a good fifteen minutes.
"You. Eat. FISH?"
"Yes, my choicest morsel."
"That is just sick," she spat in my face.
"Why, my dear, my darling one?"
"My... best... friend," she sniffled noisily into a yellow embroidered handkerchief, "was maimed by a harpoon!"
She whipped out this picture:
"They even had her STUFFED and MOUNTED!" she sobbed into my shoulder.
Well. Was my fish-face red that day.
I didn't stick around to get the rest of the story - a nagging voice in my fish-addled brain wondered how this was even possible - but you can imagine how awkward things have been between me and my beloved Millie ever since.
And that, my friends... is a fishy story.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I mean, who wouldn't? Carrot Jello is always there for me in emergency situations. I just put it up to my ear, and it comforts me. I'd like to sleep with it at night, but that'd be a messy situation. You know, with Papi in there too.
When the power is out, and I can't access the "Little Debbie" website for new and exciting recipes, Carrot Jello is there to give me comfort. "I cried a tear, she wiped it dry. I was confused...because it's dark and there's no powerrrr."
Somebody get the power company over here, quick, or I'm gonna go all trading spouses on my kids.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
How big is the party? The entire Gulf Coast region is participating in welcoming Hurricane Ike sometime this evening.
Having just seen Ike practically devour Cuba, we know that he has an enormous appetite, but our hopes remain high that Ike will be too bloated and lethargic from his last meal to do too much damage at our hometown soiree.
By the way, this party is strictly B.Y.O.B......Bring Your Own Boards. I guess it could also mean Bring Your Own OB (tampons), but you can't really cover up windows with tampons. Well, unless you hook them all together and make a super absorbent curtain to accent your white furnishings.
So last night my man, Papi and I were discussing our plans for when Hurricane Ike decides to strike. We've got the food. (I hid my Little Debbie snack cakes in a box of diet bars so my kids wouldn't find them!) We've got the water. We've got new batteries in my very important shaving razor because I don't want to evacuate looking like a Yeti-Human hybrid. We've got gas-pretty much I ALWAYS have gas-so the main Infidel Family survival preparations are already in place.
Papi still seemed a little concerned when we crawled into bed last night and so I did what any loving wife should do. I abruptly and forcefully rolled over, pinning Papi down while uttering these infinitely comforting words of reassurance:
"Papi baby, you don't have to worry about a thing. When the Hurricane hits I'll just get on top of you and shield you from the destruction with my massive body."
Papi closed his eyes. I'm still not sure if that was out of relief......out of sheer terror.......or if it was so he could pray more fervently than he's ever prayed before.
I'd like to dedicate the symphonic version of that Scorpions song, Rock You Like A Hurricane to my classical music-loving Papi. :)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
You can also wrap an old Smiling Infidel up in newspaper and call it "Change".......... but it's still going to stink.......and not even in 8 years either. No, it'll only take about 8 minutes.
As a matter of fact, I just emerged from my weekly newspaper cocoon and I can absolutely verify that yes, indeed, I DO stink.
You can't truthfully call it "change" though, because as a dutiful paper carrier, I'm wrapped up with newspapers practically every single day of the week.
Well good. I've finally purged these ridiculous remarks from my cranial sanctum. I've also wrapped up my episode of feigned outrage aimed at the perceived slight against any and all Smiling Infidels. Now that I'm done with all that irrelevant/inconsequential/unimportant rhetoric, I'm ready to get back to the serious issues that face me as the leader of this great blog.
At ease. As you were readers. As you were.
Confused? Don't be. American Politics At Its Most Asinine Here:
Presidential Hopeful Barack Obama Talks Pigs And Fish In A Campaign Speech. Maybe He Was Hungry?
In response, the Republicans have felt the need to get their wrinkly elephant panties all in a bunch and demand an apology for the "insult" they deemed as a direct jab at McCain(old fish)/Palin(lip-sticked pig).
Puh-Leeze, people. Grow the Hell up already. Unless Miss Piggy is going to gather up a Pork Ninja Squad to storm Mary Kay Cosmetics in a hostile lipstick takeover and then decides to focus the next porcine reign of terror on Long John Silver's, we do NOT need this fish/pig distractionary crap.
And in a super amusing sidenote, the entire Obama speech captured on that clip was plagiarized from a political cartoon dated 9/5/08.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
A PAUSEY is a large group or organization that gathers together due to a shared commonality, pursuit, or interest. Most notably, a PAUSEY consists solely of women who are either currently mired in the hot-flash throes of menopause or are blissfully post-menopausal, hence the upgrade in social status from the generic POSSE to the more descriptive PAUSEY.
Pausey: Now with 80% less Estrogen!!!!
Next up on the PAUSEY war schedule: THE GOLDEN GIRLS PAUSEY versus the hard-core rappers of THE INSANE CLOWN POSSE. Oh Estelle Getty, where are you when we need your ferocity the most??!!?
Friday, September 05, 2008
Wait, I'm exaggerating a bit. We didn't actually acquire our own Tropical Paradise for the 99 Cent purchase price. No, it was more like $1.07 after tax.
Who needs to bury their head in the sand when life smacks them around in its perverse version of the Whack-A-Mole game? Not us. We only have to tuck our heads into the soft, wooly crevice of our armpits to be whisked away to a carefree land of endless beaches and endless coconut shrimp platters.
The label does clearly state that it offers up 24 Hour Tropical Paradise service. It'll be like putting that Tom Cruise "Cocktail" movie on replay while you have a mock Mai Tai marathon........only better! Let those stinky Beach Boys have Kokomo all to themselves. You can have your very own Tropical Pit Paradise!
If you like pina coladas...........and sniffin' your pits in the rain.......then this is the deodorant you've looked for.......take a whiff and ESCAPE!
*Suave's Tropical Paradise scented deodorant really does smell sort of like a pina colada. Well, a pina colada made in your blender with the missing lid so then you improvise by covering it with your bathing suit that reeks of Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion instead*
Suave Tropical Paradise Is The Official Deodorant Of Tiki Gods Everywhere!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Her speech last night at the Republican National Convention was nothing less than stunning. Governor Palin made her debut on the national stage with grace, wit, and a charisma that stemmed straight from being comfortable with who she is and what she stands for.
Even Wolf Blitzer--the cantankerously crusty CNN pundit--had to grudgingly concede that Governor Palin "not only hit a home run, she hit a GRAND SLAM!"
Is it too early to start hawking Palin For President 2012 merchandise?
*I'm NOT a John McCain fan for oh so very many reasons. Palin makes the McCain ballot a definitively more palatable choice for me*
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
So Then We Were Game Playing While Role Playing While Playing At The Pool......ALL At The Same Time!
In the beginning of the summer, the oldest of my mini-Infidels, Sunbum found her thrill on BOOberry Hill. She'd slowly and silently ascend from the depths of the shimmering pool water with her face completely veiled by her long, dark hair. Then Sunbum would turn towards me and whisper "Seven Daaayyyyyssss" in her most chillingly malevolent voice.
Now, my Sunbum retains a bronzed mochalatta-coloring to her skin. Sadly, this automatically disqualifies her from auditioning for the lead role of Samara if ever they produce a third installment of The Ring movies. The American film was adapted from Japanese cinema, so I guess Sunbum could wait around to see if Mexico will make their own version of it. In which case, Sunbum should be practicing hissing out the Spanish translation for Samara's big line: "Siete Diiiaaassssss."
You know, that Samara probably was a real terror but only because she got freakin sick and tired of having to channel her best Scooby-Doo ghost voice to keep chanting "Seven Days. Seven Days. Seven Days", ad nauseum. I can imagine her wanting to break out of her two word rut only to be shut down by the dictator-like director bellowing at her, "Samara baby, nobody really cares about your thoughts on global warming or your tips on how to decorate your well with rustic charm. Just give us the phrase that pays."
The same thing happened to that nice old lady from the "Where's The Beef?!!!" commercials.
Us Infidels may homeschool, but that doesn't mean that we're sitting around trying to outclever each other by transforming our geeky thoughts into a super-secrety, anagramatically-correct code.
Well now it's closing in on the end of the summer and Sunbum has grown weary of repeating her "Seven Daaayyysss" tag line. So, she began mixing it up a little by flipping it into an odd sort of word association game between the two of us.
Anyway, in me and Sunbum's improv word association repartee, I like to pretend that I'm really the announcer on Password guardedly whispering out the answers in hushed, secretive tones while wearing a gaudy, powder blue polyester suit.
Here's how it works: Sunbum stays in her demonic child character and gives me fresh, new phrases to work with in order to make a complete sentence.
A Few Of Our Recent Favorites: (My Answers Are After The Dotted Line)
Seven Eggs................To Make A Proper Souffle
Seven Berets...........The Kind You Find In A Second Hand Store
Seven Craig's..........And I Bought Them All For Cheap On Craig's List
Seven Cakes............For Seven Brothers
Seven Meg's..........If You Add In Seven An's You'd Get Seven Megan's
Seven Ches..........Down At The Communist Assassin Clone Production Plant
Seven Lays(potato chips)..........Told You I Couldn't Eat Just One
Seven Chang's..........To Beat The Crap Out Of The Five Browns.
Seven Pegs............ In The Lost&Found Down At The Legless Pirate Bar
Seven Legs..............My Pet Octopus After His Unfortunate Smoothie Machine Accident
Okay, it's your turn to add on!
*Sunbum did not actually watch The Ring or The Ring 2 or Ringu. She already has me for a mother. Isn't that psychologically damaging enough?*
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
On our way home from the Ward Labor Day Picnic yesterday, my 12 year old daughter Stef told us of a most disturbing conversation she overheard while sitting on a bench close to the fishing pond. It was a gruesome topic being discussed amongst 4 girls aged 7-8, who treated it as though it were nothing more than a sunshine happy piece of fluff--like something akin to talking about the newest Littlest Pet Shop character to hit the market.
I'm referring to The Choking Game which provides oxygen-deprivation "thrills" which so often has turned unexpectedly deadly and tragic.
Stef said that one of the girls turned to her friend and giggled while saying, "I'll tie you to the tree and choke you with a rope first. It'll be fun!"
The conversation continued on about playing choking games until a freaked-out Stef strolled a little closer towards them and they skittered away on their bikes and scooters.
I'm not exaggerating when I say that I am totally and completely shocked and horrified at this. My stomach kept turning flip-flops when Stef told us what happened........mostly because I don't know what to do with the information I have. At this age, could they even understand the ramifications of such a thing? Chances are they heard about The Choking Game from someone at school or an older sibling, but in their innocence they didn't quite grasp the meaning of it all.
Papi thinks we should drop it and that it's the parent's responsibility to figure out what disturbing things their kids are up to. I'm not so sure. Personally, I'd like to be kept apprised of things my minor children are doing while out of my line of vision.
The Bishopric addressed The Choking Game issue not too long ago, but it was aimed towards the Young Men and Young Women program. I'm positive that the majority of Ward parents would never expect this kind of dialogue from the lower elementary set.
Just know that if this is springing up here, amidst a group of relatively wholesome families, then it can strike anywhere. I may have to pull out my old standby emergency anonymous e-mail and let the Ward leaders know that this is going on.