The Smiling Infidel Word Of The Day-Learning Words The Infidel Way!

ELASTICITY e·las·tic·i·ty- The State Or Quality Of Being Elastic.
Wouldn't you all like to possess the state or quality of being elastic? Well, too bad, because like Highlander, 'In The End There Can Be Only One' and, I am that elastic.

A state of elastic? Pshaw! Why would I set my sights on such mediocrity? If all goes according to my stretchy and diabolical plans.......Today--Elastic City. Tomorrow--Elastic Planet! Sho nuff. As an important leader, I won't lie to you- Elastic City is not the promised land of milk and honey. We instead have nacho cheese flowing through our streets alongside bubbling fountains cascading with carbonated Mountain Dew goodness.

Planning a vacation to Funky Town? That place is just played-out, y'all. And I don't really care how many times your lady pleadingly begs you, "Won't you take me to Funky Town?" No, what you need to do is pack yourself a giant bag of tortilla chips and come visit Elastic City!

*Special Thanks Goes To No Cool Story The Official Artistic Muse Of Elastic City Who Designed This Funny Trinity-esque Picture*

The Smiling Infidel Word Of the Day

Okay, class. Our super special word for today is:
Toiletries
Toiletries: A sacred, self-fertilizing tree that grows bountiful toilet harvests every year. Money doesn't grow on trees--but toilets sure do!

Word History: American folklore tells of an instrumental figure that aided in the spread of Toilet Trees by roaming the countryside and taking dumps in a most uncivilized manner. The trees soon sprang up from his stomping dumping grounds. That man was none other than Johnny Crapperseed, which is why we call toilets 'Johns' in honor of him.

*Special Thanks To NCS For Her Abundance Of Photoshop Cleverness. I Love The Way The Toilets Are Hung With Gaily Colored Ribbons Like Christmas Ornaments. I May Want To Do My Christmas Tree With A Toilet Theme This Year Thanks To Inspiration From NCS! Gracias.*

Once Upon A Time, A Girl Infidel And A Boy Infidel Met And Fell Madly In Love

Just when I defiantly said, "That's it! I'm getting out of the MEME game forever!," someone went and pulled me back in. My tingling spidey senses tell me that you're laughing at me, Millie. I'm only doing this because Toni asked demanded me to and she's one of my all-time favorite bloggy buddies. So here goes, 8 things about my sexi-Mexi Papi and me:

1. Like most tales of true love, ours also has a soaring and unforgettably sweet beginning. We shared our first date at Pancho's Mexican Buffet on the very day when Kurt Cobain's bloated body was discovered and news of his death blanketed all the media. Tres romantique, no? And here's where I wrote a post about it using only Nirvana song titles.

2. Our special, special love song is Adina Howard's 'Freak Like Me.' I used to sing it to Papi while gyrating around seductively. In my maternity overalls. At 9 months pregnant. I modified the words to accommodate Papi since he really isn't a "roughneck n**ga" kind of guy. I instead sing it as "I need a REDNECK BROTHER that can satisfy me." Changing words to classic songs just for my Papi because that's how much I love him.

3. Shortly after we met, I used my genetically superior rolled tongue to show Papi how astoundingly far I could spit watermelon seeds. One seed veered a little off course and smacked Papi right in the middle of his forehead where it stuck. Our eyes met, and Papi professed, "I must have you and make you mine." True story.

4. We're musically incompatible and I've never matured past the 'LOUDER! LOUDER! LOUDER!' speaker volume phase. Papi often times comes home to yell out "Turn down that music, girlie. It sounds like a freakin cantina in here!" I tease him about one day opening my own Cantina and calling it The Freakin Cantina.

5. My Spanish sucks. My in-law's English sucks. I credit this for avoiding any major family melees over the past 13 years.

6. I'm the resident Infidel prankster around here. One time I thought it would be hysterically funny to stand up on the toilet seat while 7 months pregnant to look down on Papi showering and then throw a cup of cold water on him. Ummm, I did, and the toilet seat broke sending me careening into the shower, curtain and all. As I laid there stunned, fully clothed, getting pelted with water, and wrapped up in the fallen shower curtain, all Papi could say was, "What happened? What happened? What the Hell just happened?" I never did that stupid thing again.

7. When people talk about fears of Mexicans taking over the United States, Papi just laughs and tells me that they've already conquered us with love by marrying up the white gringos/gringas. He does have a point there. Conquistadors Of Love!

8. Papi delivered Melody, the youngest of the mini-Infidels, himself when the midwife didn't make it on time. Yes, he really did.

Papi's an optimist. I'm a pessimist. Papi says "BUTCH UP, girlie!" when I whine. Papi says "With faith in God and hard work, nothing is impossible!" Papi's motivated. I'm prone to extreme bouts of laziness and procrastinating. Papi's a classic Type A. I'm a classic Type B. Papi's the no-nonsense disciplinarian. I'm the official nagger/arbitrater/candy briber/threatener. My approach doesn't work as well. Papi's righteous and churchy. I'm much less so. We've made a great partnership for 13 years, though. Oh, and I never feel like I have to hide the fact that I'm using the toilet from him by running water or anything else. Poop freedom- that's the secret to a long and happy marriage.

Good Mail Girls Aren't Just Good.......They're Grrrrrrreat!

It's that time of the month again. No, not that time.......Good Mail Girl Booty Roundup Time!

That Crazy Bloggin Canuck, Amber practically insinuated that she could smell my foul Infidel breath all the way up into the pristine mountain air of Colorado, so she sent me some minty fresh gum to remedy the odorific situation! She also sent me a headband which she claims I can use as a miniature butt towel. Ha! That wouldn't even be big enough to absorb the beads of sweat on my upper lip. I've devised some other uses for Amber's gift. More on that in a future post.

Jeannie from Texas sent the purdy butterfly card which got front door space on our refrigerator. That's like the card V.I.P section in the Infidel house.

Isaura, another Texas peep, sent the Picasso replicate note card. It struck me as funny since during my dad's bachelor days, he only had this one framed print hanging on his walls. Nothing else. Not even a Farrah Fawcett poster. How incestuous do you presume the Internet to be? Well, cue up the "It's A Small World After All," music because Isaura not only calls H-Town home like I do, but I also know her parents who attend Church in the same Ward as us. Her father organized a kickin Homeschool Tour of The Port Of Houston, where he's the Big Jefe Poobah, last year, and completed our tour with a waiting table full of chili dogs! Yeah, free chili dogs=undying Infidel love. It's all so freaky, really. But in a good way. So, mind your tongue, because you just never know who may stumble across the things you write.

Look at the address label closely and you'll know who sent me a leetle birthday package stuffed full like a veritable cornucopia of goodness all for me! No Cool Story's gift arrived just in time as our house sat smack dab in the middle of a Houston style typhoon. Luckily, No Cool Story knows all and she thoughtfully provided me a super special umbrella hat to protect my lustrous Infidel hair from the harsh elements. I've always wanted balls, and now I have three! Not only that, but they're Smiling Infidel balls! Due to my generous nature I divvied up the remaining goodies with the mini-Infidels. Thanks No Cool Story!

Even my Papi received Good Mail this week. He came rushing in from the mailbox with flushed cheeks, excitedly waving this catalogue around that bore his name on the back. Yes, it seems that the company, Uniquely Quince, wants Papi to "embrace his inner princess" and use their over priced quinceanera products to "show off his sparkle." I flipped through the countless pages of glittering tiaras, scepters, attendant gifts, various party themes, and felt immediately grateful that we're not Catholic. Holy frickin crap, with 4 girls that would hit their quinceanera age within a 6 year span, we'd have to file bankruptcy. No, when my young ladies turn 15, I'll let them order the big pack of Chicken Nuggets at McDonald's to celebrate. Fifteen nuggets for each of their fifteen years. If they have a party, we'll make it a festive Dollar Store theme. Mismatched My Little Pony paper plates and party decorations imported from China for everybody!

You Say It's Your Birthday?

Well, Happy Birthday to you.............

Hey Omar!
Get Crazay!
It's Yo Birthday!
You Thir-tay!
No Bacard-ay!
Fat Albert Say!
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Bombs Away!
Use The Bidet!
In Yo B-Day Suit? No Way!
How Risque!
No Britn-ay!
At This Part-ay!
Fire the D.J!
I'm Getting Carried Away-ay!

Seriously, I just wanted to give a shoutout to my Creator on his special, special day. It's by the sweat of Omar's brow, and possibly the sweat of Omar's butt from endless dedicated hours plopped in his computer chair, that has made The Smiling Infidel the smiley faced beacon of light it is today. Omar has selflessly chosen to use his technological prowess and mad programming skillz to assist the lame and ugly blogs of this world with nary a desire for glory or compensation. To whom much blogger knowledge is given, much is expected. Omar obviously lives and breathes this philosophy. I was once counted among the most pitiful of the blogger down-trodden. Shamefully, my blog template came straight off the blogger rack. Hundreds of other blogs shared the exact same colors and design as mine, and I remained just another unoriginal face in the crowd. But now, I hold my head up high because the great and mystical, Omar, restored my blog beauty confidence with his extreme makeover powers rendering The Infidel a knockout one-of-a kind original!.

So, head on over to Omar's place and shower him with some Happy Birthday love! Three decades and counting.....

Special thanks to No Cool Story and her amazing graphic created just especially for Omar. No Cool Story is teh shiz, y'all!

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

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

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

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

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