The Smiling Infidel's Shop of Homemade Valentine Cards Is Now Open For Business!

Caterpillar, my 3rd grade daughter with big bushy caterpillaresque eyebrows, decided to make her own Valentine cards for the class exchange.
I elected to join the artsy fartsy extravaganza too since it's not often that we drag out the multitudes of crafty buckets, and crafty crates, and crafty boxes from the crafty storage locker.
John "Thank God I'm A Country Boy" Denver himself inspired me to create this one-of-a-kind construction paper masterpiece for my beloved husband, Papi.
OUTSIDE:

INSIDE:

If you've been reading this blog since 2006, then you understand the joke. If you haven't, then you need to dedicate the next two weeks to soaking in all 650 posts. Pronto!

Okay, back in April 1994, as Papi and I drove to Pancho's Mexican Buffet to enjoy our first date, we heard the news that the dead body of Nirvana front man Kurt Cobain had been discovered. I wrote a post using all Nirvana titles HERE.

Anyway, I'm not a Sentimental Lady at all (much to Bob Welch's disappointment) but because of Kurt, I'll never forget the momentous occasion of our first date.

Here's my scrapped Valentine's Card rough draft:

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES.....

LIKE A DEAD GRUNGE ALT ROCKER

I decided that wasn't as romantic as reminiscing over me and Papi's shared love of Pancho's delicioso chili rellenos.

Neither was discussing our post-date adventures:

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES....

LIKE THE STINK IN THE BATHROOM

Papi's a lucky, lucky man, for this year he'll celebrate with not one but TWO fancy cards custom-

designed especially for him by his loving wife.

OUTSIDE:

INSIDE:

There's a lot of naughty hidden messages on this card. You can squint and holler at Lurlene to fetch you your readin spectacles all you want, but you won't be able to read them. I used a special ink that can only be deciphered by the eyes of my one true love.

I'm also going to make some scandalous lingerie out of crepe paper streamers, gingham fabric scraps, and some googly eyes.

One day, when Sinnamon Bunns from the Shady Lady Cabaret gets her own craft show, then she can give you a personal tutorial on how to construct the classiest nipple pasties you've ever seen out of heart-shaped crafty foam.

I cannot tell a lie:

Taco Bell Hot Sauce moves me to do strange and wondrous things with scrapbooking scissors and a hot glue gun.

OUTSIDE: (SAUCY!)

INSIDE:(Needs a sample pack of Preparation H)

HAPPY VD EVERYONE!

VD=Valentine's Day not Venereal Disease....which is too bad because I've got this great idea for a line of VD cards that feature a real condom in the middle......

The Infidel Family Actually Leaves The House To Go Somewhere: A Pictorial

Yes, the Infidel World Tour rolled through town last Friday. We made sure to hit all our favorite stops because I wouldn't want any of the cashiers at the fantastical 99 Cents Only Store to think that we've fallen out of love with them. Never take your 99 Cents Only store for granted, people.

Our first tour destination landed us smack in the middle of the Public Library where we observed the most unholiest of unholy children's section decorations. Minnie Mouse is either angling for a role in a Disney remake of King Kong or she's interested in getting this big fella back to her place so she can finally procure that luxurious gorilla fur coat she's always dreamed about.

I'm not sure what rigorous event they put these prunes through to call them "Champion" but I do know that according to the box you are forbidden from eating them anytime other than breakfast. Oh, and the prunes also have pits. I'm praying that doesn't mean armpits.

Spanish Telenovela-styled drama at the 99 Cents Only Store! We love our hot and spicy Abuelita mucho mucho-and so naturally we were greatly distressed to find that Abuelita's new boyfriend, Don Gustavo has taken over her company. Oh sure, he may look like the epitome of elderly sweetness behind his adorable little spectacles, but inside brews a company-stealing monster who wooed Abuelita and then snatched her business out right from under her. Poor Abuelita.

(Yes, I make up melodramatic back stories for my Mexican cinnamon chocolate beverage products, don't you?)

The 99 Cents Only store envisions a brave new world where all fast food is made out of marshmallows.........

and people will drink their juice out of grotesque bug carcasses.

Here's comes Peter Cottontail....hopping down the bunny trail......well, the "bunny trail" is actually code for Aisle 8 at the 99 Cents Only Store. Yes, now you too can celebrate a one-of-a-kind Easter in July with these delicious treats.....because food poisoning is timeless.

Sunbum's Addiction.

These almond cookies are seriously delicious.

Beware the zombie starfish tub toy!!!! Any film called Starfish Zombies would spawn a zillion sequels due to the starfishes unique ability to regenerate itself.

Racially insensitive socks. Seriously, these win the prize for the most WTF? socks ever in recorded history. And what is the significance of the little For Sale sign? Is this unwrinkled Raisinette/Milk Dud/prune with legs a real estate agent? Maybe he's pimping himself out and he's actually the one for sale? So many questions that only a professional sock interpreter can answer.

Pirate's Booty Potato Chips: The Best Kind Of Booty Call! Yeah, I groped me some Pirate Booty at World Market!

Kung-Fu Fido Fortune Cookies For Dogs, as seen on the shelves of World Market. Our resident crotch-sniffing wonder dog, Reagan doesn't need a cookie apprising him of his fortune because I tell him every day, "I See A Sausage Factory Looming In Your Future If You Don't Stop Scratching Up My Windows." See? I could totally be a canine fortune cookie writer.

I have an unhealthy obsession with edible drinking cups. It began somewhere in my childhood when I saw Willy Wonka crunch into this tulip-shaped teacup he plucked from a bush. Anyway, Willy Wonka had to contend with a crispy cup that sounded like it was made from a stale rice wafer. I'm opting for these made out of Belgian chocolate.

The stockers at World Market must have a lot of fun when they decide where to shelve merchandise. What else can explain the cans of Spotted Dick juxtaposed next to the Wing Nut containers? If you combine a Spotted Dick with a pair of Winged Nuts you'll get the oddest dragon-ish mythological creature ever created.....probably the blindest and the dumbest, too.

I scoped out these Poker Pretzels for bloggy friend and Mistress Of The Poker Table, Alice. Pretzel diamonds can also be a girl's best friend.

And finally I'd like to conclude the Infidel World Tour by showing the "obvious much?" label on this nutty bag of Naked Nuts. Okay, it's a sack of peanuts manufactured by a company called Naked Nuts and yet they still had to post a disclaimer on the back stating: Manufactured in a facility that uses Peanuts and other nuts.

You know what I loved the most? The very stoic cashier-who's checked us out nearly every time we venture to the 99 Cents Only store-never cracks so much as a smile at us. Well, while he was ringing us out I was busy taking pictures of the Naked Nuts on the conveyor belt. Suddenly my mini-Infidels started whining, "Mooooom, he's done. You need to come pay now." And so naturally I told them, "Not now. I'm busy playing with these here Naked Nuts."

We actually scored an LOL-moment from the Cashier. Yesssssss!

I Have A Very Exciting Announcement.....I'm Finally Ready To Write My First Novel!

As you know I've been seriously mulling over the prospect of penning a book for quite some time. I've spent many a night tossing and turning while visions of a glossy book jacket bearing an author line that reads: By Elasticwaistbandlady, danced in my head.

I could feel the distinct presence of the muse of inspiration visiting me this morning as she flitted about, enlightening me with a brilliant story idea. Yes, I could literally feel this presence way down deep into the darkened recesses of my bowels.......literally.

What kind of book am I planning to write? Well, technically there's no specific categorical label for my kind of stuff just yet but I'm working on it. I think you could accurately describe this piece as being in the newly created (by me) 'Gastrointestinal Horror' genre. Barnes and Noble will likely shelve my novel somewhere in between Stephen King and Paula Deen. Maybe they'll let my book get all close and comfy on the same shelf as Morgan Spurlock and his revolutionary 'Supersize Me' documentary.

So, the basic premise involves international intrigue and high stakes drama that all takes place within the confines of my body.

I work non-stop to bring home the bacon between Tuesday and Thursday every week-- as a result I'm working so hard I don't even have time to fry up the bacon that I'm bringing home. We rely fairly heavily on frozen foods and leftovers for family sustenance on these two days. Well, as you know the Infidel family is ALL about diversity......so much so that we ate burritos for lunch yesterday, leftover sauerkraut and sausage for dinner, and I polished off 8 piping hot potstickers fresh from the skillet for breakfast this morning.

See, I bet you didn't even know that Mexico, Germany, and greater Asia were embroiled in a war, did you? But they are. Right inside the battlefield of my stomach. I'm a sort of pacifist and I can't tell you how much all this strife has made my heart burn. I may need to enlist the assistance of Major Maalox to come up with some battle strategies.

Anyway, my book will be comprised of 3 short stories entitled:
The Sauerkraut Always Rings Twice
Little Shop Of Burrito Horrors
The Potsticker Strikes At Midnight

I need to work out some pertinent details with my publisher-- especially my plan to have this novel printed on comfy 2-ply paper in case my tales of gastrointestinal horrors scares the everliving sheet out of the reader.

*My oldest daughter, Sunbum has been experiencing "difficulties" since yesterday, too. Sunbum's war only involves Mexican and German in-fighting, though which is kind of ironic because Mexico and Germany comprise Sunbum's ethnic background. She's at war with herself. Read all about it on her blog HERE.*

The Smiling Infidel:Spicier Than The Spice Channel

Okay, I've adopted a set of useful rules to keep me safe while working during the graveyard shift.
Rule Number One:Do not make eye contact with strangers or engage them in conversation.

So one morning, a few months ago, I stopped at the friendly neighborhood Valero gas station for some very important Nacho Time. As I walked in, I noticed this gigantic mass of a man wearing a mesh trucker cap and stuffed into a nastily stained gray T-shirt underneath a red-checkered flannel shirt. He was leaning his massive body over the rectangular cooler filled with iced-down beer and looked like the long-lost identical twin of Billy Pratt who plays Kurt Russell's best friend in the classic 80's cheeseball film, Overboard. Oh, don't even come around here and pretend that you haven't seen that movie, because I know better. I bet you sit around and watch it every time its the Saturday Matinee Movie on TV and mouth the dialogue right along with the characters. (I do!)

Anyway, so I stroll off to the back of the store to get some bottled water and then make my way over to the oozing font of processed nacho cheese goodness when I hear Mr. Hee-Haw bellow out to me in a maddeningly slow Southern drawl, "How you doin, young lady?"

I fervently continued on with my nacho mission and completely avoided his red-eyed gaze as I politely answered, "Fine."

The man still continued to try to chat me up even though my back was to him and I'm obviously blowing him off. Now admittedly, I was dressed in my super sultry 'Where My Peeps At?' T-shirt that I bought for $1.99 at Walgreens Drug Store paired with my seductive Hanes Her Way gray cotton capri pants and crusty Birkenstock sandals. I mean, who can really blame the guy for ogling my divine beauty? Can't nobody work the Manual Laborer Hottie look like I can.

The Valero attendant knows me by name and understands my nacho addiction. He scurried to the back to bring out a dish of fresh jalapenos for me as I stood there waiting, paper nacho tray in hand..

Mr. Hee-Haw actually stood up straight, detaching himself from his beer cooler perch, and excitedly waved his arms around while hollering at me in his mouth-full-of-moon-pie way, "Jalapenos? Now I know it's true. You is the woman of my dreams!!!!"

Crap.

It became obvious that he wanted to cart me off and make me the Queen of his double-wide trailer. The sound of 'Dueling Banjos' started ringing in my ears. Apparently, Mr. Hee-Haw has very rigid criteria in selecting a woman. I can only imagine his online dating application on the line where it asks to specify his perfect match: "Must Love Jalapenos." It's a bit disconcerting that he identified me as the woman of his redneck dreams. I wonder what the woman of his nightmares must be like? It's probably the saucy server over at Pancho's Mexican Buffet who sternly told him, "I'm sorry sir, but you've eaten every last chili relleno in this place. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

As I stood at the register paying, Mr. Hee-Haw attempted one final maneuver......he complimented my awesome red truck and asked if he could go along with me to help throw my paper route.

I'm a heartbreaker. When I screeched an emphatic "NOOOOOO!" at him I could actually hear his ego whooshing out like when you sit down on one of those squishy, padded toilet seats. Ssssssssssssss.

I find it incredibly sad that a guy so old has to resort to trawling for fat, married chicks at a convenience store. His pick-up lines were also incredibly sad. Isn't there a 'Picking Up Women At The Gas Station For Dummies' book that he can consult and take notes?

My Papi thought the whole incident was funny, especially since I had to fend off the amorous advances of the decrepit and ancient Matzo Man just last year. I guess consuming so many spicy jalapenos has made me a red-hot mama; irresistible to all who encounter me. :)

Where Do Old Chefs Go To Die?

Do they go to 'An Old Chefs' retirement home where they compete in cooking contests using only bran and prunes as ingredients? Maybe they get sent out to pasture where they can run and frolic freely alongside packs of wild chefs? The answer is:none of the above.
No, apparently they all get shipped out to the special Santa Paula spice factory crematorium where their culinary essence is transformed into a rusty orange powder and packaged right up for retail sale at fine generic stores everywhere.
Always one to set himself apart from the crowd, Super Chef Emeril Lagasse has bottled his own name-brand essence to reduce the chances of having to co-mingle his superior essence with the essence of a more common chef who probably only ever wore a foufy little white hat while serving up runny omelets stuffed with imitation bacon bits to bloated tourists down at the La Quinta Inn breakfast buffet.

Now, I know all you gourmands are saying, "But hey, that Emeril guy is still alive!" Exactly right. Much like the mystifying question, 'Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?' we have to wonder who's really inside Emeril's Essence.

He's obviously perpetrating a fraud when he claims you can have a little Emeril in every bite. BAM!

*I sprinkled some Essence of humor-blogs.com on my meal but it made it taste funny.*

Topped With Cheesy Goodness, Mexican Casserole Really Satisfies!

What is an Infidel Gourmet on a reeeeeaaaallly tight budget to do when there's bills to pay and voracious mini-Infidels to feed? Well, this Infidel Gourmet turned her hope-filled eyes towards the savior of many a cheap family meal: The Casserole.

I picked up a bag of dry elbow macaroni at the grocery store thinking we could couple it with some of our extensive cheese collection living in the refrigerator, and then I saw it.........A no-fail recipe printed on the bag listing out ingredients that I already had stocked at home. Score! I hurried home to try out Mexican Starburst Casserole which was sure to delight the taste buds of even the most fickle of my mini-Infidels. If you're under 18 and reading this: No, the recipe does NOT have actual Starburst candies in it-Mexican or otherwise. Sorry to disappoint you. If you're Mexican and reading this: No, the recipe does NOT have actual Mexicans in it either.

Anyway, I added a few more spices because it's obvious the chefs who created this dish wanted to cater to the milquetoast Yankee Cracker palette. Many of you are saying, "But Infidel, aren't YOU a milquetoast Yankee Cracker?" Yes, I am. But living in Texas for 20 years has refined and conditioned my palette to accept the spicier things in life. The final casserole entree resembled chili poured over macaroni and topped with cheese. It wasn't too bad, but it wasn't too good, either.

We try not to say disparaging things in front of our many chillens, so my sexi-Mexi Papi reserved his criticism about the meal until we had a moment alone. Papi kept insisting that real Mezzicans don't eat casseroles with macaroni thrown into it. And I kept saying, "Are you calling the fine people at the macaroni company, liars? They said it's a Mexican Casserole, and I totally believe them." Papi raised his voice and emphatically yelled, "I don't care what the macaroni people say, I'm telling you that Mexicans do NOT eat this casserole!!!"

I'm a lover, not a fighter. So I smiled the biggest dimpled smile I could muster and softly said, "Yeah? Well I know of at least one Mexican who ate that casserole!"

This Writing Technique Earned The Erik Estrada Seal Of Approval!

The August gathering of the Creative and Radical Alternative Penmanship Society, or C.R.A.P, will now come to order.

Our exclusive writing review board is a little short-staffed after the big Agatha Christie Poison Pen fiasco last week. Our condolences to the families. We're playing things a little safer this time by showcasing the finest in edible ink.

Voltaire had his favorite feather pen which, if he were alive today, would likely heatedly argue with Captain Feathersword of The Wiggles over which is mightier- The feather pen? Or the feather sword? At C.R.A.P, we eschew classic writing traditions, and opt instead for the unique. Our reviewer, Sunbum, has donned a lovely sombrero for the occasion, and filled her ink well with picante sauce to test its worthiness as a viable ink substitute. Armed with a bowl of tortilla chips, Sunbum carefully pens an important message onto the scrolled paper.

Weary of people telling her that her writing lacks zest and verve, Sunbum happily reports that chronicling her thoughts with salsa adds an instant spiciness to everything, with little to no effort. Quotes Sunbum: "I imagine that this is what a Penmanship Class in Mexico must look like. Tables filled with fresh hot sauce and tortilla chips, just ready for their eager pupils to create a written masterpiece with."

Indeed. Who wants to enter the strenuously choreographed world of salsa dancing when you can sit on your butt and become a salsa writer instead?

Sunbum had only one lament about using the Chip N Dip process. She advises that it's a technique best used when accompanied by a huge writer's block.....of cheese!
Next week, our reviewer will travel back to the beginning of writing instrument history by using a bug-eyed squid to recapture the pen and ink basics.

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!

'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.

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Which Spice Girl Am I?....... Dollar Store Spice!"