Songs In The Key Of Golly Gee!

Today's edition of Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week has special audio visual accoutrement provided in the sidebar located to your right and linkies down below. I've implemented its use for the benefit of all you young whippersnapper readers who won't have a freakin clue what song I'm referencing since it likely dates back to a time before time when the advent of MTV had not yet come to fruition. Read about a song you don't recognize? Clickety on the titles for your musical enlightenment.
First off, I'm snickering at the mere title of "Mungo Jerry's Greatest Hits!" Did they really have another chart topping success outside of their groovy 'saltshaker' song, 'In The Summertime?' The eldest of the mini-Infidel daughters vehemently dislike this song because of the sexist attitude displayed within. Most people treat it as a mindless summer anthem, but the lyric "If her Daddy's rich,take her out for a meal. If her Daddy's poor, just do what you feel," really raises the hackles on feminists and caste system abolitionists alike. The girls asked me about their own Daddy and what kind of treatment they could expect on a date. Well, we're not rich or poor. We're just your average stuck-in-the-middle, run-of-the-mill, middle class folk. Mungo Jerry didn't even bother to share his sage words of advise for us middle class people. Whatever shall we do without his prophetic guidance and counsel? I told my girls that we could play a rousing game of fill in the blank. So now, whenever we hear the song played on the radio, we sing it various ways. Including:
"If her Daddy's middle class, she'll have a moustache!" (we can't afford electrolysis:(
"If her Daddy's middle class, you can pass some gas!"
"If her Daddy's middle class, take her out to Dumass!"(<------a local taco place)

Want to know my innermost secret that's filled me with guilt and shame since childhood? It all stems from the country crossover song, "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." When that cocky young Johnny accepts the fiddle throwdown challenge from the Devil, I silently cheer for the Devil. Yes, it's true, I'm one of Satan's Cheerleaders. I can't help it, the Devil's sassy contribution to the fiddle faceoff is smoking hot and dare I say, downright sexy? Whereas, to my ears, Johnny really doesn't demonstrate a fiddle hoedown mastery on a level much above that of a paunchy Oak Ridge Boys cover band playing at a high school square dance. I prefer Devil Food cake over Angel Food cake too. My soul is doomed.

I'm a little musical conundrum. Yes, I am! Resting next to my dark and broody NIN and Korn CD's, Dan Fogelberg's smiling face provides a stark contrast. I adore him. Anyway, my mom harbored a strange fixation for Butter Rum candies; constantly lining our candy dish with them. For years, I sang along with Dan's "Leader Of The Band," wrongly crooning, "And the BUTTER RUMS in my instrument, and a song is in my soul." I always contemplated how messy it must be to play an instrument stuffed full of butter rum candies, but never did I think that I understood the lyrics wrong. Turns out, they read, "And the BLOOD runs through my instrument." Well, that's just downright icky. What? Does Dan know of some kind of Texas Chainsaw Massacre Marching Band? No, I'll always prefer to think of sweet little butter rum yummies nestled up inside their instrument of choice.

It took 20 years and the enlisted aid of an Internet lyrics page to decipher what the heck Chrissy Hynde is belting out in her strangely pitched voice. You know that song, "Back On The Chain Gang?" There's a verse that goes, "Brings me to my knees when I see what they've done to you." I've sung it as "Bring me some MAYONNAISE when I see what they've done to you," for two whole freakin decades! I mean, I like mayonnaise as much as the next gal, but I thought professing a love for the creamy condiment in the middle of a serious song seemed misguided.

And finally, an original lite rock favorite from the original lite rock artist . Not even "I'd Really Love To See You Tonight," could escape my befuddled lyric interpretation skills. When England Dan tells his lady love, "I'm not talkin bout movin in, and I don't want to change your life," I instead heard it as "I'm not talkin bout the LINENS." I just naturally assumed that maybe they had a big blowout fight over the messy linen closet like the one I witnessed my mom and stepdad having. As I got older, I then wondered if possibly an angry spat erupted from one of them messing up freshly laundered sheets with menses or clumpy chest hair. Maybe 'Linen' was code for coming home snockered and three sheets to the wind? Clearly, all the musicians above could benefit from a stint at The Eliza Doolittle School Of Enunciation.

Now your big chance has arrived to gain sympathy amongst those of us suffering from immense music dorkiness too. Share your own favorite misheard song lyric or stroy right here, right now!

The Smiling Infidel Is Brought To You Today By The Letter 'R'

Yeah, that's right, the letter 'R', and it doesn't stand for Righteous, either. Oh, if the gossipping ladies at church with their very sweet and wholesome mommy blogs could see me now. Undoubtedly, they'd hyperventilate from over-exaggerated gasps while covering their mouths and tittering with nervous giggles. I can hear them blustering about, saying, "That Sister Smiling Infidel is so very, very naughty. We must blackball her forever from partaking of any sacred scrapbooking events. First her camel toe joke, and now this!"

So, how exactly did I earn an 'R for Restricted,' rating? It's all thanks to Gay Tuesday and my usage of the words 'GAY,' and 'Queer.' What? In my world, that means 'Happy,' and 'Odd, respectively.

Now, that I'm officially hardcore, I'll have to make all you Infidel reader peeps get a signed permission slip from your mommy and daddy. You have my word, that I won't rest until I get this blasphemous R rating changed............to an X!

You Can Take The Girl Outta The Beach, But You Can't Take The Beach Outta The Girl. True Dat, Beach!

Whatever happened to that perky little surfer girl we all grew to know and love? Did she suffer a horrible fate from a tragic hair dye overdose? Admit it, it's more than a little schizo to go from bubbly blond on the movie screen to bouncy brunette on your TV show. In my mind, I like to envision that one day Gidget happens upon a group of pre-EMO girls laying about all glazy-eyed on the beach, toking it up, and listening to the Rolling Stone's 'Sympathy For The Devil.' Annoyed by her endless sparkly chatter, and spontaneous singing of the Beach Boy's Greatest Hits, they punish Gidget with the worst bikini strap snapping Malibu has ever seen. It was the 'SNAP!' heard round the world. Huh, apparently, not everybody wishes they could be California Girls.

Nobody else could surf like the amazing Gidget. Where else can you freakin stand still on top of a surfboard while a sunny ocean backdrop scene plays behind you to give the appearance that you're actually in the water? Yeah, I could get my fat arse up surfing too with a few cinematic tricks and gravitational miracles. Ain't nobody going to mistake me for a Little Surfer Girl, though. Go on a Surfin Safari with Gidget? Sure, let me get my gun. So, Paula Cole wonders, 'Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?', but I'm insatiably curious as to 'Where Have All The Gidgets Gone?' Did she marry that lame duck, Moondoggie, and spawn a whole gaggle of preening and useless beach bums? Did she make a pact to sell her soul in exchange for becoming an immortal beach bunny? What? And then, while cruising through H-Town last week, all of my Gidget questions gained an immediate answer.

Gidget Goes Houstonian! Instead of 'Beach Blanket Gidget,' she now stars in 'Red Realtor Jacket Gidget,' along with it's sequel 'Straight Up 6% Gidget!' Yes, Gidgets alive and well! If you consider selling real estate in an over saturated housing market trapped in a downward spiral, alive and well.

I wonder if she shows houses in her old, termite-damaged Woody with surfer boy Jack Johnson cranked up on the antiquated stereo system? Listening to Jack Johnson loses you any coolness points you may have once had, Gidget. Does she still wear her teeny-weeny, ruffled bikini underneath her modest realtor uniform so that she can peel it off and go running to the beach at a moment's notice? Oh wait, we live an hour away from the oil contaminated, grungy waters of the Gulf Of Mexico. Maybe she doesn't mind swimming with the debris and brown submarines floating in Houston's famed bayou system? The only Surf that Gidget will find around Houston sits on a shelf at the local grocery store's cleaning aisle. Surf laundry detergent doesn't come with a surfing board. No. Instead, it's usually used in conjunction with an ironing board.

Oh Gidget, California Dreaming on such a Houston day.

Goody Goody............Good Mail!!!

Although most of us don't drink, don't smoke, we're not to be confused with Goody Two, Goody Two, Goody Goody Two Shoes, aight?

Suzanne sent me this delightful candy-filled card in my darkest, most chocolate deficient hour. Each sweet line written by Suzanne evoked even sweeter feelings within me. But Suzanne isn't one of those all talk and no action chicks. Oh no! She puts her money where her mouth is. Or rather, she puts her chocolate where her writing is. And, in turn, I put the chocolate where MY mouth is! It's a win-win relationship all around. When I first pulled that glorious letter out of the envelope, my first and only thought was.......

Special thanks to Nikko and her bovine beauties sticker assortment.

And then there's Millie with her suspicious Tupperware secret operative spy postcards. Anyone who receives a Millie Tupperware card is forewarned that it contains hidden microchips that can detect cheap Dollar Store plastic containers. These clever but innocent looking postcards then records and sends all that information back to Millie down at Tupperware Intelligence Headquarters. The Tupperware ladies are watching you.....

Jeannie and I remain embroiled in a 'Who's The Most Savvy Environmentally Friendly Recycler?' competition. She sent me an adorable butterfly card which I promptly transformed into the darling magnets seen pictured below. Then I shipped them back to her with a note telling her that Father Al Gore loves me the best. Not to be outdone, Jeannie penned an entire note on the cardboard square that came with her sheet set. I've got something up my sleeve, though, that will have her crying "Mercy" before the week is out. Think you can beat me, Jeannie baby? Bring. It. On. Good Mail Girls............Keeping The United States Post Office Alive And Kicking Since 2007!

*Today's Music Was Specifically Picked Out For The Benefit Of Bloggy Friend Burg Who Has Never Experienced The Magic That A Little CAKE Can Bring Into One's Life*

The Manor Estate Known As 'Mellow Yellow'

Out of all the strikingly gorgeous color combinations in this world, why, oh why, would anyone choose to throw brown and yellow together? WHY?!!!??? The mini-infidels and I don't actually call this home, 'Mellow Yellow Manor,' because Donovan probably still has some sort of copyright law attached to his 60's classic. However, we do refer to it as 'The PooPee House.' See what I did there? I made my very own compound word! Poo aptly describes the skid mark brown trim circling around the eaves and splashed across the garage doors. I'm ever so glad they didn't go with a chunky texture paint. Yes, that definitely would have increased the 'EWWWWWW' factor to the infinite 'EWWWWW' power. The Pee part adequately covers the yellowish hue selected to adorn the rest of the homes exterior.

I sincerely hope that the house never falls under a demolition order because I can just imagine the confusion it could potentially cause among the workers. They'd argue bitterly, one saying "We can't tear it down. The house is yellow. Everyone knows if it's yellow, let it mellow." While some of the other guys will chime in with a vociferous, "Oh yeah? But it's also brown. Remember, if it's brown, flush it down!" I fear that it'll launch a spirited battle not seen since the stadium Tastes Great-Less Filling days. Things could get very ugly.

Do you really want to instigate another Civil War, people? Then you must choose your house colors wisely. The power rests in your capable paintbrushing hands.

And Then The Day Came When I Had To Make A Choice Between My Two Great Loves.....BIMBO Or Ho-Ho's?

Houston, where you can get a hot, fresh BIMBO delivered right to your door everyday! I wonder if they offer a discount on their stale, day-old BIMBOS? Would people actually settle for a crusty BIMBO that's been sitting there awhile? Have you ever encountered BIMBOS with an expiration date stamped right on them? I would assume that kind of fore knowledge makes BIMBO life planning a lot easier, don't you think? You can purchase a BIMBO twin pack. Double your pleasure. How sinful is that? If I confessed to you that I once bought a BIMBO value sized package deal and then delighted in the bounteous BIMBO goodness found therein, would you think less of me? I never made BIMBO buying a part of my life until I met my Papi. Shamefully, he's an ardent BIMBO lover of the highest order.

I've decided to host a BIMBO party, and you're all invited! That way, if everyone partakes in a little BIMBO action, I can feel validated in my own BIMBO wickedness. R.S.V.P. me if you're coming. Naturally, the party is BYOB....... Bring Your Own BIMBO!
Hey! Who you calling a Ho-Ho?

Infidel Weird Thought Of The Day

Putting random and strange ideas in your mind since 2007! Life will never look the same to you again..............

So, there's this la-di-dah upscale neighborhood under construction a few miles away from my house where they feature replicas of Italian villas right down to the stucco exterior and Spanish tiled roofs. Now, I don't know why, but I'm absolutely ravenous in the early morning hours when I travel down the cobblestone streets winding around these homes. I swear, every time I look up at the delicately scalloped edges of the terracotta hued roofs, images of lasagna noodles and their own delicately scalloped edges flash through my mind. I'm not crazy...............well, okay, maybe a leetle bit, but just witness the side by side comparison, and judge for yourself. If I ever start to build Italian Villa style dollhouses, I now know that lasagna noodles will make the perfect roof!

And now, you will never look at Spanish tiled roofs without thinking of lasagna again. I've cursed you with carrying the burden of my own weird Infidel thoughts! You're welcome.

The Smiling Infidel Shower......Where All Good Bottles Go To Die

Welcome to the empty bottle graveyard. Please tread softly through with an awed hush of reverence as we memorialize these wonderful bottles and the short but productive life they led. We understand that it wasn't the eye-catching packaging that made them so special, rather it served as a mere vessel to house the more important contents within them. Yes, because, truly, it's what they had inside that counts.

I keep my vast assortment of personal shower necessities shelved in the rack that hangs suspended from the shower head because that's the designated place for them. Sadly, I'm not the sole Infidel butt that gets scrubbed in this shower stall turned communal mini-Infidel bath house. Between our two youngest children, Papi, and all of my gear, it makes for more shampoo/soap/scrubbies/sponges than you could shake a whole flock of animated Scrubbing Bubbles at. Naturally, the wee Infidels need their bath stuff placed at a convenient, easy to reach level, so I gave them their own shower corner. Papi, though, has decided to litter the entire shower bottom with his manly man variety of masculine hygiene paraphernalia. Wait! Before you all go "Awwwwwww" at how harmonious and utopian our shared shower collection arrangement seems, there's trouble in Infidel shower paradise. I discovered that nearly all the bottles have long since run dry. The ones that look full? They're full alright......of stagnanated water from the kids filling them up. It took the large size Target bag to deal with the removal of all the crap culled from our shower bottom yesterday.

Apparently, the rest of my shower sharing clan have adopted a "See No Trash, Hear No Trash, Speak No Trash, Pick Up No Trash" policy. Which leaves me to fulfill the official duties of The Shower Undertaker, all alone. Father Al Gore will jump for joy when he learns that we believe in reincarnation, though. Yes, one day, through the mystical sorcery performed down at the recycling plant, our bottles shall rise up to live once more.

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!

Music today provided by the smoooooth soul sound of one Mr. Al B. Sure. The video cracked me up because it totally embodies the late 80's. Ready for the video checklist?
Girl in micro mini dress with big POOF hair-Check
Guy trying to act macho cool when he sings with a girly falsetto voice-Check
Lame dance moves-Check
Guy wearing thick gold chain and a tank top-Check
Guy in acid wash jeans-Check
Guy flipping up his collar while making his lips poochy like a fish-Check
Sunglass snap on-snap off action that predates CSI's Horatio Cane-Check
Guy trying to act tough while wearing a preppy dork sweater-Check
People snapping their fingers and doing that shoulder shake thing-Check
Guy wearing crustache and sporting a mean looking unibrow-Check
Okay, hold up. Even in the 80's that unibrow and crustache thing wasn't cool. You'd think that with the entourage of stylists Al B. Sure had, that somebody would have said, "Oh, no PLUCKING way can we have you looking like that. Somebody bring me some mega tweezers right now!"
No matter, I still liked him and bought his debut on cassette and then bought it again later on CD. That's right, sucka, I did it and I admit it. Hey, I wanted to give the brother a helping hand because electrolysis don't come cheap.

Oh, What A Naughty Little Monkey That Curious Boy George Is!

It's Wednesday, otherwise known as 'Hump Day!" What better way to celebrate a very special Gay Tuesday Wednesday than making it an official Gay Hump Day?
Today, we'll make a return to innocence. Remember your days of youth and the very first time you saw Boy George on MTV singing in full makeup and plucked eyebrows alongside some very pretty young men? I do. I knew something felt a little off, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. Nor, would I actually, you know, want to put my finger on it. Ahhhh, yes, this all transpired way before the word 'GAY' ingratiated itself so firmly into our culture(or culture club!) and became a common word to denote an entire group of people. During those times I would gleefully sing the Flinstones theme song with nary a thought to the ramifications of words with double meaning. "We'll have a GAY old tiiiiiiimmmmeee."

I can still vividly recall sitting down with mummy for our afternoon tradition of enjoying a spot of tea with crumpets when I looked over my monocle at the telly showing Boy George writhing around lasciviously on stage while donning his gay apparel. I turned to mummy and declared, "By jove, mummy, that ole chap seems rather queer, doesn't he?" Yes, queer indeed. What an apt all-encompassing descriptive word that is.

Happy Gay Hump Day Everybody!

Have You Ever Noticed That Butter Has The Word BUTT In It?

I'll admit it.......I'm a hater. An acronym hater, that is. Don't worry, my hate doesn't include worthwhile organizations like the (HarperValley)PTA, PTO, DARE, LDS, DEA, CIA, CSI, and the IRS. Wait a minute, I guess I do hate the acronym IRS and all that it stands for. No, rather, I'm referring to Net Speak and the sinister acronym abuse that's creeping into our English vernacular and all forms of computer correspondence. I know a lady who peppers each and every one of her homeschool group and personal e-mails with an abundance of random and irrelevant 'LOL's!!!!' as far as the eye can see. Example: "So which curriculum is everybody using this year for their DD and DS?LOL!!!!" What does that say about us homeschoolers to any and all who would read such drivel? I'll tell you what it says, that homeschooling moms remain ensconced at a mentality level that would rival a giggling teenager. Furthermore, if people really LOL'ed and ROFL'ed as much as they claim, they'd need some serious psychiatric intervention. No offense to the very funny bloggers around here, but you've never actually made me Roll On The Floor Laughing. The scriptures tell us 'everything in moderation,' and that should definitely extend to frivolous acronym usage as well. I've always wondered how this acronym craziness on the computer came about, and then I saw my receipt from Kroger's yesterday and I was like, WTH? Look closely, it reveals conclusively that you can catch the LOL syndrome from LOL butter. My mom must have vaccinated me in my youth against the detrimental effects of LOL butter, because so many good people I know seem to suffer from it while I remain immune.
Just a warning that you need to avoid this butter at all costs if you desire to follow down a rosy, acronym-free path for the rest of your life. The fat free version probably rings up as LMAO since you can Laugh Out Loud all day while floating high on LOL butter, but if you're serious about reducing the size of your butt, you need to eat the fat free LMAO or Laughing My Arse Off butter substitute.

Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week Super Extravaganza!

Think of today as a never ending Infidel Freak Secret Party! An Infidel Freak Secret Party to end all Infidel Freak Secret Parties! Three Infidel Freak Secrets like a personal Infidel Freak Secret menage a trois. More Infidel Freak Secrets than you could stuff into a special Infidel Freak Secret Party Gift Bag! All Infidel Freak Secrets all the time! Woooooooooo Hoooooooo!
This may come as a complete and total shock to you, but I'm not always a lady of upstanding behaviour and genteel manners. Sometimes I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders and then when I look at my gargantuan bra with its harness-like straps, it pretty much confirms those feelings. What started as a bad habit has turned into a habitual routine. I like to plop my ample bosom onto tables or desks whenever I'm seated and working on a project because it's comfortable and temporarily alleviates my heavy burdens. I always think to myself, "Whew, that's really a load off my chest....literally" This horrifies my daughters to no end so I make a conscious effort to never plop my bosom on any surface out in public. We have a little chant around the Infidel dinner table, "Mommy, Mommy, if you're able, take your ELBOWS off the table." That's a gentle reminder that Emily Post would surely frown upon such barbarian meal time antics. Well, now my girls recite "Mommy, Mommy, if you're able, take your BOOBIES off the table." Even at a regular weight, this has been my curse to bear, and it's hereditary. Mock now, oh youthful Infidel daughters, but one day soon, you shall see the truth and the light. Oh yes, you shall see.
Infidel chickens should never watch frightening movies because it scares the chicken feed out of us. If you're looking for a good flick to take your Coulrophobic Anonymous group to, this ain't it. Stephen King weaves a masterful tale of a killer clown who likes to roam the sewer systems and feast on the flesh of young children. Super! I both read the book and watched the movie at 15. Consequently, I now refuse to park my vehicle anywhere near an open curbside sewer. We almost didn't buy our current house because we have a sewer manhole located directly on our driveway. I told Papi that he'll feel really sorry when Pennywise the clown pops up out of that thing someday because we settled for the first cheap house that came along. Occasionally, I have to get out of my truck in the middle of the night while working to pick up a paper or whatever, and I'll go to extraordinary lengths to avoid coming anywhere close to the sewer. I make sure to keep one wary eye on the opening at all times, just waiting for a sinister hand to come bursting out of the shadow. My parents generation worried about giant man-eating crocodiles lurking around in the sewer, but our fears loom much larger. Giant man-eating crocodiles........those were the good old days.
And lastly, 'The Story Of Ping' has delighted and graced the Infidel generations for well, ummmm, generations. My Grandma read it way back in the day! Anyway, it tells the story of a wayward duckling who lives with his mother and his father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins on a boat with two wise eyes on the Yangtze River. As per tradition, their master calls the ducks back to the boat every night after their day of roaming the Yangtze. The last duck to cross the little bridge to the boat gets a WHACK! on his back with a little whip thingie. Ping gets the WHACK! treatment one day when he narrowly escapes becoming a duck dinner and returns to the boat late. I have six kids. Sometimes they tend to dawdle and procrastinate when I call them to get ready so we can leave the house in a reasonable amount of time, so I took a life lesson from the example of Ping. The last Infidel out the door gets a WHACK! on the back. The last Infidel to line up after playing at the park and ignoring my repeated calls for them gets a WHACK! on the back. The Infidel who takes the last ice cream cone I was saving for myself gets a WHACK! on the back.(kidding) And so on and so forth. Now, I only have to mutter the words, "Remember Ping!" and they scramble to line up and avoid coming in last. Parenting at its finest. Throw away your Dr. Spock book and pick up Ping instead.

I hope you enjoyed the Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week Extravaganza. Please leave a comment below and drive safely home. Remember, The Smiling Infidel is your convenient one stop shop for all things Infidel and Freak Secrety.

Oh, Poor Pitiful Me

After you get done clicking the title, you can sing it with me y'all......."I've Had A CRAP Day, The Ulcer Don't Lie, I'm Being Stomped Down, And I Really DO Mind. I Had A CRAP Day, Yeah, I Had A CRAP Day."
I'll spare you the series of unfortunate events in all their misery inducing detail and instead use a speedy list form lest you get pulled down into the depths of despair with one non-Smiling Infidel:
1. I've toiled endlessly for the past two days straight with only a couple hours sleep wedged in between. During my scant few hours of slumber last night, Papi woke me up to tell me that I was farting and giggling in my sleep. Hmmmm, it reminds me of that song, "I hear the secrets that you keep when you're farting in your sleep." Kind of dispels the myth of the paradisaical dream world, doesn't it?
2. Papi's 5 day a week summer school schedule means that I have to haul the mini-Infidels to their activities and arrange working around taking care of them without any help. I've also had to take on some of Papi's part time jobs because he's at school. See? I'm proving that we don't need to flood our country with illegal labor when we have sucker white chicks who'll work hard for next to nothing.
3. Hot time, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty. Yeah, the scorching sun makes my job and the job of my cherished Butt Towel, just that much more difficult. As an added bonus, I twisted my back and have taken to walking stooped over since Monday night since I can't straighten up without searing pain shooting down my spine. Combine that with my super hairy arms and I look like Cro-Magnon man, not even evolved enough to appear on a Geico commercial.
4. I took the kids to the pool around 7:00 tonight, and then my truck wouldn't start when it came time to go home. Papi's at the pool right now trying to get a new battery into it. Have you ever seen a fat woman in a clingy wet bathing suit pushing a full size truck to try and get it started? It ain't a pretty sight people.
5. We've lived with our 11 year old dryer making unnerving screechy noises like the big shower scene in Psycho for the past few months. Sadly, it progressed to a point of shaking and heating up to near explosive temperatures before finally going to the big dryer heaven in the sky. We're now the proud owners of a brand new dryer..........and a 250.00 bill that has to be paid in a month to avoid finance and interest charges.
6. I already told you about my practically new truck tire getting punctured at Boy Scout Camp. Farewell 100.00 dollars, it was so nice getting to know you for the brief amount of time we had together.
7. I'm neglecting all of the glorious blogger comments you guys have left. THANK YOU, that's the one bright spot in this otherwise sucky week. Things will settle down by tomorrow afternoon, and I'll make my triumphant return to comment with a vengeance. No good comment goes unpunished or unreturned around here.

Because I'm in a state of suffering, so shall you suffer too. I'm going to play some P. Diddy until I return tomorrow. Have fun reading while plugging your ears!

Ani Di Franco Is The Good-BI Girl!

As you know, I'm all about diversity. I'm opening up Gay Tuesday slots to anybody who wants to entertain my rainbow-suspendered band of Gay Warriors while they're out on the battlefield reclaiming all things GAY and sparkly rainbow printed back for the rest of us simple happy folk. So far, we've only seen male solo singers and old school styled groups showcased here, but today, that's all about to change.
Ani DiFranco can join my Gay Warrior squad any time. The woman has a tenacious ferocity that's only matched by her self-taught musical mastery and rockin songs. Ani represents all things BI. She walks upright like you and I do while flexing her muscles. That makes her a BIped with buff BIceps. She tours and performs concerts all over the country, so she's indeed BIcoastal. I'm thinking her armpit shaving regime likely falls on a BIennial plan, and only when she's BIsecting her Garden Burger to share with her partner.

You see, like most of us, Ani doesn't feel GAY every day. Of course, I feel GAY today because it's Gay Tuesday, but yesterday I felt anything but GAY thanks to a never ending series of special challenges presented before me. Ani's keeping it real, for real, and she's setting a fine example for the rest of us. She doesn't have to embrace her GAY side all the time, and neither do we.......except for on Gay Tuesday, of course. I expect everyone to be little beacons of happiness and mirth at least once a week. If you only feel gay one day a week, make sure that day is Gay Tuesday!

Happy Gay Tuesday!

Enjoy her song 'SHY,' playing all day on Gay Tuesday. It's the first Ani track that really caught my attention way back in 1996. And then when I saw that most of the video was shot with her doing some major thinking while perched on a toilet, I knew that Ani was one of my kind of people.

Picked A Peck Of Purple Perfection!

Day after day, I tell my mini-Infidels, "Stop picking at your food", "Quit picking on your brothers and sisters", "Can you please stop picking your nose?", "Don't pick at that; you'll get a scar". They rarely listen, and usually continue picking anyway. However, this weekend I harnessed their well honed picking skills as a force for good as we made our annual sojourn to a nearby blueberry farm. With much picking power comes much picking responsibility. The final picking mathematical equation looked something like this:
1 Extra Strength Deodorant Wearing Grand Poobah Infidel + 6 mini-Infidel Picking Experts+ 1 Puddle Of Perspiration+ 1 Buttload Of Nasty Crawfish Habitats That We Kept Stepping On+ 2 Dozen Mosquito And Fire Ant Bites+ 1 Hour Elapsed Infidel Time= 16 1/2 Pounds Of Luscious Blueberries!
Yeah, my picking minions have proved conclusively that picking practice makes for picking perfection. Not an idle hand could be found amongst any of the Infidels all day. These pictures provide documentation of that.

As we gazed upon our massive blueberry bounty, we could scarcely contain our picking joy. So we decided to embrace our inner migrant worker, and hit another farm to try out our luck at blackberry picking. The blackberries , just barely in season, proved an elusive but worthwhile picking venture. I told the kids to follow the wise counsel of gangster rapper Lil Jon and The Eastside Boyz, and just 'Drop It Low' because the grandest and juiciest of the berries remained hidden from plain view nestled underneath the lowest branches. Ordinarily, I'd feel too ashamed to let the public see us demonstrate our picking prowess, but here's some photos of our family blackberry picking time along with 2 of the many bags filled with, quite literally, the fruits of our labour. We scored 6 pounds of hard won blackberries in an hour which rendered me a trifle concerned when Papi reacted with unbridled enthusiasm as I recounted our wild picking success to him. I'm afraid he's going to farm us out to the migrant worker circuit because we're just that good. Takin what we're givin cause we're pickin for a livin!


And here's a little sneak preview of the Infidel 2007 Christmas Card as we continue our field test studies and research into the subject of Texas Port-A-Potties.

Welcome To The Infidel Time Machine:Destination 1980's! Don't Forget Your Leg Warmers And Jelly Shoes

I constantly snap pictures that catch my interest in one way or another. I used to participate in the blogging community's collaborative Wordless Wednesday effort, but I just don't have time for it these days. I hate to see a fun picture go to waste, so today I bring you a retro 80's feel as I inexplicably undergo the task of matching all the photos seen here with an 80's theme counterpart. Oh great Goddess of Nachos, how I worship thee and your lovely processed cheese goodness. The Valero gas station attendant knows me and the full extent of my nacho addiction. She's allowing herself to slip into the role of co-dependency as she gifts me with fresh jalapenos whenever I stop by.

As I fall helpless under the nachos enchanting spell, I always think of this song: Starpoint-Object Of My DesireThe sight of this gargantuan, Pepto-Bismol pink gorilla amused my daughter, Monkey, and I this week. I couldn't help but feel sorry for this inflatable beast, though. I mean, how demeaning and demoralizing to have to wear such an itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie, yellow polka dot bikini. What, are they trying to pimp her out to become the next Bride Of King Kong? Or maybe to win the Miss Gorilla Fingers International beauty pageant?

I hereby dedicate this little simian ditty to her: Peter Gabriel-Shock The MonkeyThis obviously inflammatory banner really caught my ire. Who do these people think they are discriminating like that with their storage business? There's laws against this sort of prejudice, you know. I mean, it's all fine and good for the elite letters of R & E, to revel in their own exclusive little club, but what about the rest of the alphabet? Will they always be on the outside looking in? Is there no room at the inn for 24 more letters? Such heartless and cruel alphabet abuse makes this Infidel profoundly sad.

It also makes these guys sad because they'll never receive an invitation to play at the R&E gigs since their kind obviously isn't welcome: ABC-Look Of Love
I'm sort of a pizza connoisseur, and I'm not afraid to top my pizza with strangely new and exciting things. Sadly, I can think of nothing more disgusting than a pizza laden with taco corners. What's next, discarded sandwich crust pizza? No, it's just plain wrong to recycle your crispy little taco corners in this way.

I think that I should recruit this man to come and speak about the perils of ingesting Taco Corner Pizza. He's all about 'Puttin On The Ritz,' but I'm thinking that I'm okay with crumbled Ritz crackers on my pizza as opposed to someone else's germy taco leftovers:Taco-Puttin On The RitzAnd finally, we find ourselves stuck at the Adhesives Inc. company. I guess it's a sticky job, but someones gotta do it. I wonder if any former employees have told the boss to take his job and 'stick it' where the sun don't shine?

I'm sure I already know what they play at the company picnic every year, their theme song, of course: Huey Lewis-Stuck With You