The Smiling Infidel Word Of The Day: Learning New Vocab The Infidel Way!

My Sexy-Mexi husband Papi has recently embarked on a triumphant weight loss regimen in which he's dropped a staggering 30 pounds in less than six weeks time.
He wants to lose another 10 so that he fits the average weight-height chart specifications of 150 pounds.
The problem with that is that the creators of these charts have a one-size-fits-all mentality and they don't take important things into account like abnormal head sizes, or extreme body hair, or gold teeth because I'm sure all that adds extra weight to a person.
Anyway, my Papi has a gargantuan head atop his very petite 5'6 body.
The more weight he loses the more prominent the disparity.
I told him that with his light brown skin he's starting to resemble a caramel candied apple on a stick.
My very righteous and spiritual Papi shot me his dainty middle finger in response.
I'm not scared of him because I now outweigh him. I can wrap my arms around him and pick him up.
Yesterday I swung Papi around the kitchen....much to his displeasure.
I told him that's part of the trials and tribulations he must suffer as punishment for marrying a woman who's bigger than him.
Before work today Papi continued lamenting that he hasn't lost any weight in 2 days when my fat self finally snapped and informed him that he's dangerously close to becoming an anorexican.
Yeah, an ANOREXICAN......a Mexican who's consumed with an unhealthy/unflattering weight loss obsession.
And that is your Infidel Word Of The Day. Go forth my peeps and try to use ANOREXICAN at least once in a sentence.
Then, when you've exhausted the possibilities to throw in a random ANOREXICAN or two, look into joining my new 80's Lingo Resurrection Society.
I'm doing my part. I introduced the kids at church to the lost word "boss." Now they use it instead of the more popular "beast." Dude, that's so BOSS!
My amazing dentist, Dr. Thomas Hernandez is trying his hardest to bring "NO DOY!" back from the edge of expression extinction. It's kind of like that song "He's Bringing No Doy Back......Hey!"
I firmly believe that with a few word nerds on our side that together we can reinstitute the lost glory of choice 80's grammar for a whole new generation.
Awesome? Yeah, like NO DOY!

Terrific Tunes Tuesday (Foster The People-HOUDINI)

FOSTER THE PEOPLE just released this song last week.........
Upon hearing it I immediately ponied up the .99 cents to add it to my extensive iPod music collection......
It actually makes me want to get up and exercise.........
I love this song so much I would commit polyandry to marry it.......
I plan on putting this song on indefinite replay because it transports me to a magical world.......
A world where autotune nightmares like Ke$ha are punished for their musical crimes with a nice vocal cord clamp........

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.