Wordless Wednesday Edition:"Contact BJ Services For All Your BJ Needs!"

A Day In The Life Of Your Average Infidel

Sunday marked the last performance for Cirque Du Soleil here in Houston. All us Infidels felt a twinge of sadness knowing that we only had one more day to gawk and wave dorkily to these incredible people before they packed up and left our neighborhood for the undoubtedly paradisaical stadium parking lot in beautiful Columbus, Ohio. *cough* So, two of my mini-Infidels accompanied me yesterday to Kroger's grocery. And what to our wondering eyes should appear? But 3 Cirque performers/technicians buying beer! I didn't want to bother them but curiosity got the better of me. I stood there interrogating two of the guys in the frozen food aisle, with a whole barrage of Cirque daily life questions. They smiled politely, and answered my queries with sexy French accents. Oooh la la! Then, after our purchases, as we strolled towards the exit doors, I spied the hulking giant of a man that played a clown in the show. I guess for contrast comedic effect the Corteo writers thought it funny to pair him with the teeny, tiny Gregory. Guess what? He wore socks with sandals and a dirty faded out shirt! He only purchased St.Pauli Girl beer, and a pack of Saint Arnold beer, (Hey, you hoser, the man likes his Saints, okay?) and two bags of Kroger rolls. Ahhhh, beer and rolls- the breakfast of champions! We talked to him too, but sadly, his low-pitched mumbling would need an interpreter fluent in the language of Eddie Vedder and Bob Dylan to translate.

As if the day could get any better, I came home and found an unexpected package from the hottest of the hottest, Miss Hot Fruita Mom herself, Annie! She sent me a lovely note pad tied with a lovely ribbon and made even better with the lovely note attached to it. So lovely. But then, I wouldn't expect anything less than loveliness from Annie, because she's a lovely person. And I got to speak on the phone with two of my most favorite people, Carrot Jello and No Cool Story.

All of these events happened while I wore my crusty sweatpants. I did feel a little embarrassed talking to people involved in Cirque awesomeness while wearing sweatpants with flip-flops, and my greasy hair hanging in strings. I even felt embarrassed opening mail from fashion forward Annie while looking so wretched. But now, I'm convinced, that exciting things only happen to me when I look my worst. I may never wash my hair or take off these sweatpants again.......

Davey, Davey Matthews.......King Of The River Pollution Frontier!

Just in case you don't remember the embarrassing incident two years ago, Dave Matthews tour bus dumped 800 pounds of liquid waste into the Chicago River and ON TOP of river boat tourists. I knew the man was full of crap, but 800 pounds worth? Whoa!
Let me clarify, I'm no fan of Dave Matthews. I would rather wear my most grossly uncomfortable tight-fitting, boob-squishing, underwire-poking bra for 7 straight days before I ever want to hear 'What Would You Say?' again. I'm serious. Courtesy of FM radio and even XM Satellite radio, I've heard an entire lifetime quota of that song in just a few short years. The song, 'Crash,' is no romantic ditty either, despite the masses of swooning trendy suburbanites who chose that as "their" couple song. 'Ants Marching,' makes me want to march too..........right over a cliff.

Dave Matthews has also won entry into my "Just Shut Up And Sing Already" exclusive group for politically charged, yet sadly hypocritical entertainers. The man seems hell bent on taking over kid movies too. We've watched 3 films this past year all starring Dave Matthews posturing the only facial expression he knows how to pull off, the constipated grimace.

Like, Lisa Loeb, though, I do loooooovvvveee at least one DMB song. Yes, 'American Baby' rocks me in a gentle way I haven't known since my days as a suckling infant. In my opnion, 'American Baby' didn't garner nearly enough airplay upon its release in 2006. So, if you only find it in your heart to listen to one Dave Matthews song this year, make sure it's 'American Baby!'

Lisa, Lisa And Hello Kitty Jam Beats The Snot Out Of Lisa, Lisa And Cult Jam!

So, did you get the memo yet? Yeah, the memo sent out from the powers that be. Will you please stop saying "Whatchoo talkin bout, lastic?" and pooching your lips. That really disturbs me.

Just understand that the memo lays out the stipulations mandating that all mommies over the age of 30 must select at least one favorite Lisa Loeb song and play it endlessly until even the dog can howl along in tune. The mandate includes the over-hyped, over-played..... matchbox 20, Dave Matthews, Jack Johnson, and Celine Dion too, but I found an exemption clause and jumped on it immediately. I like Lisa Loeb. I won't lie and say I'm a raving Lisa lunatic in need of a frontal LOEBotomy, but she's a decent entertainer.

So, 'Underdog' wins as the chosen Infidel Favorite Lisa Loeb Song. I adore the creepy Hello Kitty theme in this video and the fakey plastic perkiness all around. And the seemingly possessed Hello Kitty strumming the guitar in the background holds a cute 'je ne sais quoi' appeal to it. Us Infidels have oft quoted this song, repeating in a forceful manner, "Don't be thy enemy, and DON'T stand in back of me." You can't complain when you've been warned......

Yeah, This Name Does Make Me Feel ILL!

I spotted this name yesterday while cruising through the hood. ILLISSA? Did they bastardize my name, Melissa, or is it a screwy ILL-mannered attempt at Alyssa/Elissa? I just can't decide. Mainly the word ILL sticks out. ILL, as in sick, ailing, afflicted, nauseous, poopy..... ILL like the rappers in the 80's who used to break it down with a raucous chorus of "You Be ILLIN!" ILL as in ILLegal. Doesn't the yard sign make this a house of ILL repute? It just rouses my insatiable curiosity to no end as to why the parents thought this an attractive name for their offspring. Did they sound it out first? Maybe these folks hail from ILLinois, Land Of Lincoln, and they decided to pay tribute? Certainly, I don't mean them any ILL will. And I don't want anyone to feel ILL at ease, but foisting this crap name on a child seems ILL-advised.

I'm In Mint Condition

Yes, I do indeed have a mint condition. So, all of you already know about my bendy chip compulsion. You know that my sandwiches must be sliced diagonally into cute little triangles. But I bet you didn't know about my special proclivity pertaining to individually wrapped peppermints, did you?

What's wrong with this innocent picture of the Dumass Taco candy dish? I'll tell you. The prestigious swirled peppermints should not have to fraternize with the inferior mint knockoffs lounging around in the middle of the dish as though they belong in the same neighborhood as the affluent swirled peppermint. That's just wrong. Look at the plainly dull white center of the knockoff mints. They're so freakin boring, I get a narcoleptic attack just looking at them. I've always felt an unexplainable attraction towards swirlies my entire life. Whether that entail dunking my brother's head into the toilet for an old-fashioned swirlie, or fruit swirlies in my yogurt, the Infidel consensus is that SWIRLIES ROCK! I'm an American, and I'm using my God-given freedom and right to refuse to partake of just any old peppermint. No, the mint must bear the Infidel preferred swirly stamp of perfection, or I don't want none of it. Peppermint Patty got my back on this matter too, dawg. When I hit it big, my appearance conditions will include a demand for me and my entire entourage to have unlimited swirled peppermints provided for us along with all the TV's in my dressing room playing non-stop 'Breakin 2:Electric Boogaloo' , movie marathons. It's a deal breaker for me.

I may spit a lot when I talk, but at least it's spittle candy coated in minty fresh goodness. Mmmmm.

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

The Infidels Go To The Big Top!.......No, I'm Not Talking About My Blouse.

We finally got to experience the awesome Cirque Du Soleil on Friday, live, and in person. I know. As though daily life in the Infidel house isn't a frenetic three ring circus in itself. Our circus quest began two weeks ago while visiting our second home......Kroger's Grocery Store. The mini-Infidels and I went through our weekly ritual of congregating around the rack of tantalizing day old bakery goods. As we stood there, shamelessly squeezing and fondling the discount loafs, we spied two of the most adorable and perfectly tiny people standing in front of the butter case. Later we found out through the magic of youtube, that the couple was none other than Gregory and Valentina, the teeny stars of Cirque Du Soleil's production of Corteo!




In this video, Gregory attempts to tame some wild beasts of burden prancing cavalierly across the stage while Valentina stands side stage with the drummer clown. And in this clip, Valentina bounces and soars across the circus audience with the aid of giant helium balloons. The audience participates, keeping her afloat like a human beach ball. Very cool. Especially her sweet little voice that sounds like she shared a French kiss with the helium tank right before the show. Truthfully, it would require the efforts of a blimp or a zeppelin to attempt to lift this corpulent Infidel butt up in the air. And the audience would probably let me plummet to the ground because they wouldn't want to touch my feet to buoy my fat butt back up again.
Then we discovered that the recently built luxury apartments a few streets away from our house, holds the honor of providing temporary residence for the Cirque performers during their month long stay in Houston. The charter buses sit outside to shuttle them back and forth to practices and performances. We're the nerdiest of the nerdiest. I say this because every time we pass by the bus, we wave ecstatically and blow kisses to the Cirque people. Secretly, I have a fervent hope that their troupe desperately needs the talents of a bearded woman who can bite her own toenails, and they'll offer me a spot on the Cirque team.
Assuming that we could never possibly afford the exorbitant costs of Cirque Du Soleil tickets, we stopped by their amazingly vibrant and behemoth yellow and blue swirled tents for some pictures last week. I wanted the kids to at least get a close up look at the phenomena that prior to now, we'd only witnessed courtesy of DVD's checked out from the library. Look at their disappointed and pitiful little faces. If only I had a tin cup and a sign for them to hold that states, "Will Look Really Sad For Tickets," they might have scored a few on their own volition.
And then..........my Mom and Grandma pulled the ultimate in sneakiness by surprising the entire Infidel clan with tickets of our very own to attend the show! I freakin choked on my own spit when I got those tickets in my hot little hands, people. I stood on tippy-toes, during a blustery, windy day, in the bed of my truck, just to snap this picture. The security guards shook their heads at me in disgust. Life as a Cirque groupie is so hard sometimes....... The dizzying swirls and dramatic spires made me think that this is what Russia could potentially look like if they ever got a sense of humor.
Yes, and here's the Infidel peeps just chillin tent side and waiting for the show to begin! The Corteo theme centers around a clown's journey to Heaven and all the adventures and memories that swell up on the way. When compared to other glitzy and borderline garish Cirque Du Soleil productions, Corteo retains a very refined and understated quality. There's more flying angels in fabulous dresses than you could shake a pitchfork at. Grown men immerse themselves inside gigantic Cyr wheels, where they rotate like spinning tops. I called 'Heads.' Sunbum called 'Tails.' The performers kept their balance, and didn't topple over. Not even once. And the show included an impromptu rubber chicken rain storm. Yes. Now, that's what I envision my own Heavenly ascension(hopefully) to look like. An ocean of rubber chickens as far as the eye can see.

Oh, and my son, Buster, loved the show despite the noticeable lack of people dancing on crotches.

Colour My World.........With Love

Pervasive messages of tolerance and diversity have surrounded me my entire life. How many times I've spied billboards, commercials, and T-shirts espousing the phrase, "True love sees no color." The Infidel household strictly adheres to an eternal gospel perspective of loving and respecting our neighbors regardless of color, race, or creed. On the surface, it may seem as though I've achieved the highest echelon of color blindness, but it's not true. I'm a giant hypocrite.

I constantly engage in the shameful practice of dividing and segregating just solely based on color and hue. I even have a special place in the house reserved for whites only. Non-whites have a place too, but I adamantly refuse for them to ever co-mingle or get too closely acquainted with the whites. It may sound ignorant, but I worry about their color rubbing off on my close little circle of pristine whites. I explained my conscientious inner conflict to Papi. He's a lovely shade of caramel himself, so I assumed he would hold a greater understanding towards my moral dilemma. I began telling Papi how judging and separating according to color runs afoul of all my standards and values and that I just couldn't stand to go on this way any more. Unsympathetically, Papi dryly told me, "Tough, girlie. You still have to do the laundry."

I've acquired a lot of cuts and scrapes from getting knocked down off my pulpit.

Forget About Your Nervous Breakdown, Enjoy A Tantric Styled Breakdown!

Hear the awesome guitar driven sound pulsating through your PC speakers? See the super hot Portuguese lead singer, Hugo Ferreira? What about the video showing the classic struggle between geekdom and chicdom among high school students? How do you feel about happy endings where the much abused and bullied nerd finds a friend and an advocate? Yes, 'Breakdown' ranks as my absolute favorite Tantric song ever. Alas, they've since parted ways, never to realize a follow up hit. It's all for the best, though. Do you know how weird I felt sharing with people about my enthusiastic love of Tantric? They gave me those mal de ojo looks like I was some sort of twisted kinky freak. I got all excited when I found out that Sting adamantly loves Tantric too. He even gave an interview about it! Ummmm, then I discovered that he was referring to the other Tantric, as in the ancient art of tantric lovemaking. Slap to the forehead moment. It's like the time when a casual boyfriend asked me what I was listening to on my Walkman and I blithely responded, 'Do Me Baby.' Oh, what a priceless moment of confusion.

Life has kicked this Infidel butt all over the place the past few days. I'll return shortly to read what's been going on during my brief blogger sabbatical, and to share some love. No, not Tantric love. Sicko.

Wordless Wednesday Edition:"Yep, He's A Beauty, But You Should Have Seen The Size Of The Fish Mailbox That Got Away!"

FISH!...............It's Not Just For Dinner Any More.

With A Neneh Cherry On Top

Today, I'm going way back into the Infidel musical favorite archives to, 'Our Year Of The Spandex Short'........ 1988!

I think of a young Neneh Cherry every time the super talented teenager, Jordin Sparks, performs on American Idol, just based on their similar appearances. Oh, how my 14 year old self loved to break it down to the beat of "Buffalo Stance." Nearly 20 years later, though, and I still don't have any clue as to what exactly a 'Buffalo Stance' is. I've partaken in many a 'Buffalo WING Stance,' but I'm not sure Neneh was referring to their spicy wing goodness in her song. Be on the lookout for the two dorky chicks dancing jerkily in the background, because those are my patented choreography moves. Just so you know, I forgave Neneh long ago for her blatant thievery of my special "Chicken On Fire" dance routine.

Freakin Puerto Ricans!

Hey, carronin went all Spanish on us by adding J.Lo's latest video to her blog. I'm just playing copycat.
Today's Infidel Jam is brought to you by the fine Musica En Espanol awesomeness of Puerto Rico. Ahhhh, Puerto Rico, the fabled birthplace of Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Celia Cruz, and the all time Infidel boricua favorite.........CIRCO! Lead singer, Fofe, and his merry band of faux punk musical comrades have crafted an amazing sound that runs the gamut from traditional pop, to cheeky rock, and then back to a classic, spicy Spanish groove. It keeps my musical ADD in check as I never get bored with their songs. "Un Accidente," currently rules as the reigning Infidel favorite. I love how the song kicks off with an Iggy Pop 'Lust For Life' drum beat. CIRCO's music is so good, it will even distract you from the decidedly creepy unattractiveness of Fofe. And, that's not an easy feat to pull off!

Speaking of music, we heard the new Shakira/Beyonce song "Beautiful Liar." Gag. Really, is it necessary to keep repeating your name over and over to make up for a glaringly noticeable lack of decent lyrics? How many times must we hear, "Shakira, Shakira. Beyonce, Beyonce?" So freaking annoying. I like to supplant my own name when singing along though, just for fun. "Melissa, Melissa......Hey!" So, then, we experimented, much like we did when the kids first learned 'The Name Game,' song. Alas, only my children lucky enough to bear a 3-syllabled name could pull it off. My 2-syllabled kids felt really left out and sad that they couldn't make their names work in a Shakira song. So, parents, that's another deciding factor to contemplate when selecting a name for your unborn babies. Please don't short change your kids by giving them anything less than the 3-syllabled names which they so richly deserve. I feel as though I have failed my precious 2-syllabled children and they will have suffer major esteem issues because of it.

Oh, and, uh, yeah, that was me changing the lyrics to Bananarama's version of 'Venus,' as a child to "Goddess of beauty and love, and Melissa was her name." I've got it, yeah baby, I've got it..........a touch of dementia, that is.

Oh, That Explains It!

Back in the day, I thought Jonathan Frakes was the hottest Star Trek man to ever walk the face of the Earth. Then he ruined it for me by marrying that hussy, Laura, from 'General Hospital.' I remained convinced that if they held a "Most Bootylicious Crew Member" contest aboard the Star Ship Enterprise, Commander Riker would shake his groove thang and take top prize. Secretly, I wished that he would incite mutiny on the deck by forming an alliance with Worf. Together, they'd stage a coup wherein bald Captain Jean Luc Picard would have to walk the plank so my man Riker could assume the leadership position. I mean, come on, how many times could Riker be expected to laugh at Captain Picard's lame joke of, "Number Two, I order you to take a Number One!"?

Anyway, the striking similarities between Frylock and Jonathan Frakes boggle the mind. And maybe even breaks a few copyright restrictions. Truly, everything I ever needed to know in life, I learned from Star Trek.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

I have a startling confession to make......
I've developed an insatiable crush on an animated french fry container.

It wasn't always this way. In days gone by, discovering wiry strands of goatee hair or a pair of eyeballs peering out at me from the cardboard folds of a greasy french fry box, would have sent me into nauseated fits of hysteria. But, no more.

The Infidel family remains ensconced in a time of prehistoric TV that passed the world by, eons ago. We only count one small archaic set among our earthly possessions. No cable. No satellite. No TIVO. No plasma. Not even a fancy remote control. Nothing. However, once I saw the Aqua Teen Hunger Force clips on youtube, I knew that my fetish and interest for all things weird, was piqued. The episode that hooked me involved Frylock drawing a 'treasure map' for Master Shake to dig holes where 'X' marked the spot. Secretly, all the X's marked where Frylock wanted his new azalea bushes planted. Such a clever ploy. Such a devilishly handsome and witty character.

So, yes, I like a talking, floating, limbless, apocalyptic french fry warrior. And he doesn't even have to supersize, or dab on any of that fancy catsup stuff for me, because I love Frylock just the way he is. I fantasize about him suavely whispering in my ear, "Oh yeah, baby, who's yo FRY DADDY, now?" I wonder if I could get Papi to wear a Frylock costume in the boudoir? Hmmmmmmm.

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!

It's The Most Stinkiest Time Of The Year.......

Here's a picture of the hardest working butt towel in all of Houston!

The unmistakable signs of spring has begun it's showy annual parade. Everything's blossoming up, providing large swaths of color all around the Infidel homestead. Perky daffodils, the shade of effervescent sunshine, dazzle all those who pass. The chirping of spring's official harbinger, the magnificent red-boobied robin, echoes through the lushly green and scenic landscapes. A steady rise in temperature means the ever abundant Houston hoochy mamas can finally exchange their sensible warm clothing for the more skankarific staples in their closet. Those poor Daisy Dukes and matching sparkly tube tops really suffered through a long dormant winter season. Like the famed rodent, Puxatawny Phil, sticking his head out of the ground to signal the impending arrival of spring, we Houstonites look towards the first sighting of the cagey half-naked woman strutting around the jungles of Wal-Mart, her natural habitat.

This week, the biggest, grandest, whiffiest, most tell-tale sign of spring reared up from the rear. My rear, to be exact. Yes, when the heat is on, I sweat. A lot. The time has drawn nigh to break out ye olde butt towel to line my truck seat with. Oh, glorious butt towel.........Master of super butt sweat absorbency and long faithful servant to The Smiling Infidel. May you live to fight and soak up butt puddles for many years to come. You know that song that goes, "Flowers in her hair, flowers everywheeeerre?" We sing it, "Butt sweat in her chair, butt sweat everywheeeeerrre!" At no point does our version mention anything about anybody loving "The Butt Sweat Girl," though. Oh, que triste. So, here's to you, my beloved butt towel, for all that you do, and the sweat that you stop from seeping through. I salute you! Woo Hoooo!

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Hey You, Stop Staring At My Booty!"

My luscious, luscious Easter candy booty, that is, because it's mine..........ALL MINE!

And All Shall Obey The Command Of The Roach Whisperer!

What could my sexy-Mexi Papi possibly have in common with these three people? Well, while he may possess lovely little man chi-chis that look like slices of Mexican pepperoni, they certainly don't rival the chestage of 'The Ghost Whisperer.' Papi remains firmly old school in his doggy and child training practices too. No, soft voices and feel good mellowness did not factor in at all when he established himself as the alpha-male of our household. However, Papi has a gentle side that really surprises me sometimes.

Last week, my daughter who suffers from a phobia of insect close encounters of the worst kind, ran screaming from the house because she had spotted the biggest, baddest, ugliest cockroach in the history of cockroaches loitering around our front door like a roachy vampire just waiting for an invitation to cross the Infidel threshold. What did I do? What I always do when a roach is involved. I summoned forth Papi, our resident Roach Bounty Hunter and legendary Roach Slayer. My Sunbum and I watched from a safe distance as we waited for Papi to give that roach his last rites and extermination orders. Instead of the much anticipated Cucaracha Smackdown, though, I witnessed Papi leaning over the roach, speaking to it, and gesticulating wildly with his hands. What the frick?

I cautiously moved in closer and heard him telling the roach to move away from the house as he shooed it from our front stoop with a paper plate. The roach didn't scurry away at first, and actually had the temerity to rise up as though he needed more instruction from his master, Papi The Roach Whisperer. I wanted to give the roach directions too......to the nearest Raid Roach Motel! Where he could check in but never check out. Papi had one foot up in the air, and I wondered if our cucaracha had his entire life flash before his beady microscopic eyes as he literally waited for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Papi succeeded in ushering it out to our front yard where I hope it became supper for one of the many lizards running around. I couldn't resist teasing Papi calling him a 'closeted Buddhist' and 'The Roach Whisperer.' I imitated and mocked Papi endlessly, taunting him with a soft and whispery, "Move on now roach. Your business here is done and you need to go towards the light where your kazillion little roach family members are waiting for you."

So, aside from my title as The Smiling Infidel, I am also the 'Muchacha de la Whisperer Cucaracha!' This roach exorcism might have been just an anomalous event. We can't feel entirely certain that this little roach wasn't the stoner star of the 'La Cucaracha' song, so high from his 'marijuana que fumar' that he could barely stumble around, let alone figure out how to enter our house. Even with the door wide open. Oh well, at least he didn't try to sing us any Bob Marley songs or tell Cheech and Chong jokes. I should patent my Papi's awesome roach whispering skills. He's like the Roachy Pied Piper. I'd live in fear of the major insecticide companies, though, looking to rub out their superior roach extermination competition.

Just Thought You Should Know....

That our huevos are bigger than your huevos!
Happy Easter to all of you Infidels from all of us Infidels!