And The Great Pumpkin Smiled Down Upon The Infidel Family

I hope the Great Pumpkin never finds out about my GREAT PUMPKIN PIE recipe. Yeah, that might be kind of awkward, especially if the Great Pumpkin reads the noted remark revealing how much I love my GREAT PUMPKIN PIE slathered up in whipped cream.
It just sends the wrong sort of message.
So does my other recipe for GREAT PUMPKIN NUT BREAD, but we won't go there.

Well, never let it be said that my back-breaking, so-irritating, low-compensating, bowel-restraining, soul-maiming job doesn't have its perks.

I drove past an open field this morning and spotted these poor orphaned pumpkins just forlornly lying there entrenched in the tall wispy weeds with their Cheeto-hued shell covered in brownish grime and frothy bubbles of dewy wetness--remnants of the recently evaporated early morning mist.

Okay, yeah, that sounds much more flowery and eloquent than saying I saw a bunch of filthy orange gourd thingies that appeared as though they'd recently taken a tumble through a Manure Maze, right?

Anyway, the space surrounding the pumpkin orphans was littered with broken pumpkin carcasses and stringy pumpkin guts.

Love is a battlefield and so too is a Pumpkin Patch turned Pumpkin War Zone.

This was obviously the work of the produce-killing comedian Gallagher who's looking to disband his Smashing Watermelons group so he can join up with the newly reformed Smashing Pumpkins.

Practice makes perfect.

Or maybe notorious pumpkin serial killer, Peter The Pumpkin Eater is on the loose again.
I don't really know who the guilty party is here. That's for the Pumpkin CSI team to determine.

I jumped out of my mighty Infidel truck and hurriedly rushed over to the field where I scooped up the pumpkin smash survivors and relocated them to my Infidel Truck/Pumpkin Rehabilitation & Adoption Center. Then I headed home.

My mini-Infidels swarmed out of the house, excited to meet their new found pumpkin buddies.

I let them each adopt the pumpkin of their choice provided that they solemnly swear to never use the pumpkins as a bowling ball.

They're also strictly forbidden from terrorizing the neighborhood in a Legend Of Sleepy Hollow re-enactment.

I'm fine with the mini-Infidels utilizing a hollowed-out pumpkin as a bike helmet, though.

Oh, Great Pumpkin, thank you for thy bounteous blessings. I never doubted that you were real. Not even for a nanosecond.

*So, pumpkins this size are about 4-5 bucks on average around here. I picked up 8 intact pumpkins. That's like finding $32.00. I wasn't even going to splurge on buying pumpkins this year because it's clearly classified as "Frivolous Expense" in the family budget.

If I can convince the mini-Infidels not to carve the pumpkins up, we'll have a natural autumn yard decor until the end of November.*

The Best Twilight Trailer Video Ever!

I saw this video at the Navel Gazing blog and decided it was too good not to steal it to post over here and share the Twilight spoof laughs.

Just so you know, my daughters are hard core Twilight fanatics. And yet they still rolled off the bed from laughing so hard even though this cheeky film maker dared to make a mockery of their precious Vampire/Werewolf love triangle drama.

Things My Mother Taught Me......

When I was 5 years old, my beloved Grandfather passed on.
My mom tried to soothe away my profound sorrow by explaining that Grandpa hadn't really left us. She said he'd transformed into a beautiful angel who was watching over me....and everything I did.........all the time.......no matter where I was........Grandpa would ALWAYS be there, WATCHING me.

I refused to shower without my bathing suit on for nearly 6 months after that. I dressed myself in the darkness of my closet and slept underneath my bed at night. I constantly worried that Grandpa was going to rat me out for hiding my morning vitamins in the light fixture that hung over the table.

I feel guilty about that last one. I'm sure my Grandpa is more ARCHangel than NARCangel.

Grandpa, wherever you are........don't give up any of my trademark beauty secrets or my one-of-a-kind Fish Stick Casserole recipe. I know that you know but just keep it on the low, aight?

Hey, I Wear The Pants In This Family Too......Even If They Are Crotchless

It's finally happened. Temperatures dropped in Houston out of the sweltering 90 degree range down to a brisk and happy 56 degrees.
I am so ready to give my saturated butt sweat towel a final ceremony to properly celebrate the closing of butt sweat season.
So, my usual boudoir ensemble features the very titillating delights of my all-cotton elastic waist band shorts.
They have bleach spots on them and the drawstring hangs disproportionately longer out of one side.
I hate that.
Whenever I make a midnight potty run that stupid string always dangles down, brushing against my leg and sending me into full scale panic attack.
See, my not yet fully conscious morning mind registers it as a cockroach that's decided to stealthily stake claim on the Infidel Southern Territories that include Mt. Hairy Knee and the Temple Of The Fatted Calf (Calves). And then I start screaming and slapping at the imaginary insect foe. Every time.
Anyway, cooler weather means cooler nights which means that it's time to break out my slinky bedroom winter gear.
You should see my sexy sockwear and matching thermal nightshirt. It's hawt.
So, I don't know how this tragedy befell me but, my favoritest sweatpants in the whole world went into closet storage with a minor hole smack in the crotchal seams and now, just a few months later, the hole has metastasized into the circumference of a personal pan pizza.
That's an ad slogan that will never be used by Pizza Hut.
"Our personal pan pizzas are as large as the hole in the crotch of your sweatpants!"
I put them on anyway figuring that as long as I acted all ladylike and stuff and kept my legs closed, nobody was going to notice the gaping gulch.
Unfortunately I can't watch TV without sprawling about, treating the bed like I'm in stirrups on the Gynecologist's exam table.
I'm terribly uncouth in the confines of my own home.
Well, my man Papi came wandering into the room and was immediately smitten by my racy new evening wear and its innovative "ventilation" system.
Yes indeed, the wonder of crotchless sweatpants combine all the warmth and comfort you've come to expect from your sweats while also showing off your secrety slutty side.
Crotchless Sweatpants: Redneck Lingerie At Its Finest!

The exclusive Crotchless Sweatpants line can be found at all Lurlene's Secret stores or at fine Billy Bob's Of Dollywood retailers everywhere.

Closed Captioned For The Sane And Sober

This video of a spasmodic Joe Cocker singing "I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends" at Woodstock has been modified so that the rest of us who didn't hit the same mushroom themed party before the big event can understand what the lyrics are all about.

It's easily the funniest thing I've watched on YouTube all year. Personal favorite moment happens around 2:25. Who knew that Joe Cocker envisioned Jesus as needing a fashion accessory like a turban to accent his long, flowing robes?

4:06

Newspaper Wars Part 2: The Carrier Strikes Back

One of my beloved Chronicle customers fails to grasp the concept that by obnoxiously blocking her walkway with 2 huge trucks, I can't possibly deliver her newspaper on said walkway without smacking into her trucks.....and yet she continues to relentlessly call in to the feckless Chronicle customer service line and demand that her special walkway delivery instructions be followed.

My first instinct was to write a curt little note pointing out that when she decides to turn a public street into a private parking lot with her vehicles she's putting hers and her neighbor's homes and lives in jeopardy. If I can't see the curbside house numbers neither can the Police, or the Ambulance, or the Fire Department. Well, that's assuming that a fire truck could even manage to get anywhere near a blazing inferno of a home due to all the vehicles scattered about. Not to mention what could happen in the event of a sudden Pizza Emergency and the delivery guy gives up all hope of ever finding you and it ends with you, weeping and frozen into a pathetic state of Pizza Withdrawal.

Even though I'm completely exhausted and supremely irritated with able-bodied people who think they're entitled to special treatment, I decided to instead stuff her paper with a little letter of whimsy bemoaning my lack of any supernatural newspaper-throwing powers.

Don't mess with me, people. I'm armed with a sharp #2 pencil and a pad of paper and I'm NOT afraid to use it!

If you can't read the above correspondence that I wrote to the obviously brilliant customer who presumes that I can throw newspapers straight through 2 tons of automotive metal, here's the transcript:

Dear Cherished Subscriber,

So, you think I possess enough superhuman strength that I can deliver your paper from great distances and over 2 large vehicles parked vertically in front of your walkway?

HOW YOU FLATTER ME!!!!

Alas, I am but a mere mortal who lacks the benefit of a bionic arm.

I physically cannot possibly chuck your newspaper to your specified delivery location. Especially since I'm so busy trying to navigate my way around the many vehicles clogging your cul-de-sac.

I can't leap tall buildings in a single bound nor can I stop a speeding train. Don't tell that to my boss though because he thinks I'm the GREATEST carrier ever!

Love,
Your Carrier

I consider this akin to a Public Service Announcement.
I'm calling my non-profit group, GIVING A CLUE TO THE CLUELESS.
You can make your donation checks out directly to me.
Thanks.
Or you may choose to support my other cause benefitting newspaper workers like me who suffer from non-evolved paper carrier genetics.
If only we could grow an extra arm or something it would have make our lives a whole lot easier.

Land Of The Free.....But Only If You Totally And Completely Agree With Our Point Of View

Do you have a yearning to speak candidly with one of the Presidential nominees this year?
Joe the Plumber did and now he's being raked over the coals for daring to ask questions and challenge the darling of the mainstream media, Senator Obama.
For going against the grain and not being a good little sheeple who throws himself down to worship at the feet of a political celebrity, Joe is paying a steep price.
The media is eviscerating this guy who rightly pointed out that Obama's "Take From The Productive And Spread The Wealth To The Less Productive" policy is Socialism bordering on Marxism.
They've relentlessly dug up "dirt" on Joe so they could paint this average citizen as a right-wing redneck who should be completely discredited for voicing his personal opinion.
I've read several leftist pundits who have written that they bet Joe is sorry now for showing up and asking questions and that he's "getting what he deserves."
Is this what our society has come to? Are the citizens of this great country going to have to cower silently in a corner because rising up and being vocal about something they disagree with results in vicious personal attacks and public slamming?
I don't care that Joe the Plumber doesn't have an actual plumbing license (he's only worked on jobs that doesn't require one) and that he owes back taxes.
Does that somehow negate his Constitutional right to Free Speech?

The message is clear:
You will be good little sheeple and do what you're told, understand?
Don't question authority. We know what's best for you.
We will tell you what to do, what to say, and what to think.
You will go along with the corrupt 700 billion dollar bailout even though at least 8 out of 10 constituents said NO, and you will like it.
If you do not comply with our demands and show absolute obedience, you will be swiftly punished.

This is a bi-partisan post/rant. This issue transcends politics.
People, we are being taught that if you dare to publicly question something, you can expect to have your curbside trash ransacked and your pre-school teacher interviewed in an effort to get as much crap on you as possible.
That's just one frightening step away from starting up and shipping non-compliants off to the Re-Education Camps. You know, like what they do in Communist countries like China when the people get a little restless and ask questions of their government.

Both Senator Obama and Senator McCain voted to pass the disastrous pork-laden bailout whose funds are now being managed by the very same slimy Goldman-Sachs weasels who pushed it in the first place.
That was a bold in-your-freakin-face move to the American public considering the majority of us didn't want it.
The bailout was a bad day for the average American taxpayer but it was a very, very good day if you're in the business of rum running and making bows&arrows for children.
What happened to the concept of a representative government?
I guess if I were to bring up a pertinent issue like this to either candidate's face I can expect for the whole world to find out that I lip sync hymns during Church and that I voted for Kinky Friedman in the last Texas Gubernatorial race because I hated all the other mainstream party candidates.

Is this our long awaited and hoped-for change? Well then, I say change it BACK. Let's kick it old school and bring back that little happiness that our Founding Fathers called a Constitutional Republic.

If Anyone Needs Me I'll Be In My Kitchen Shooting Rock Videos Inside A Bowl Of Tomato Soup

When I'm tired, I get a little bit loopy......and then the non-stop parade of drunken giggling begins. Now, new and improved drunken giggling with banana-scented flying spittle!
Comedy Clubs can do away with the 2 drink minimum and just require guests to show up after having worked two days straight with little to no sleep. I can guarantee they'll be more loosened up and ready to laugh at whatever mediocre comedian takes the stage. Heck, a crowd like that will double over and almost wet themselves when the owner starts the show by pointing out the emergency exits and the No Smoking sign.
The club can make up revenue in food sales.
I know. I've worked 2 days straight and I'm feeling a weird bubble-headed sensation along with being faminous.
I made that word up. Ravenous+Famished=FAMINOUS

Okay, if I go to sleep now I won't wake up to get my mini-Infidels off the bus or drive my girls to Homeschool Teen Camp because I'll immediately enter a comatose state that not even a kiss from my true love, Papi will be able to awaken me from.
So to keep me awake, I watched a heralded video debut on youtube from a group called The Urgency.
It features young men who may or may not have just escaped from junior high detention hall in enough time to make it to the video shoot.
Personally, I'd expel them for singing about the raunchiest of things while a woman who looks twice their age shakes it in a sequined goddess outfit. The poor thing can't even open her eyes because her lids have been spackled with more glitter than you'd find at a Princess Party for a hyper 5 year old.
Oh, and did I mention that it appears as though they're singing in some sort of hazy purgatory that looks an awful lot like they took a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of a bowl of tomato soup?
This video presentation is brought to you in part from our sponsor, Campbell's Soup, because Campbell's is Mmmmm Mmmmm Good.
The funniest for me was some of the comments posted underneath this video masterpiece.
My favorite read: "At first I thought they were gay. And then I found out that they're actually from New Hampshire, and I was like, yeah, that explains a lot."
I've been quoting that piece of brilliance all day today.....and then following it up with a bout of drunken giggling complete with another round of banana-scented flying spittle.
You see what a crappy economy is doing to the entertainment industry? Do you??!!? Instead of special effects created hot molten lava or shooting flames, these young ingenues are forced to settle for prancing around in a hot steaming bowl of tomato soup.
Maybe they should have added The Urgency onto that ridiculous pork-laden 700 billion dollar governmental bailout.
Ooops, excuse me. At last count our New World Order commander, Presidente Bush had tacked on yet another 200 billion.
Round and round the trillion dollar debt grows. Will it stop? Nobody knows.

As a complete bonus, the lead singer of The Urgency bears a startling resemblance to that randy goat herder, Balki Bartokomous.
People, how can you take punk rock seriously when your lead singer looks like Balki Bartokomous and adds a weird superfluous "S" to the end of his song lyrics?!??!?
"Well, of course you can't, don't be ree-dee-cu-lous."

*I've tried to spare your intestinal mechanisms from churning and working overtime this fine day but if you really MUST see the video I'm mocking, it's HERE.

Sometimes Dreams Do Come True.....

My favorite pizza consists of thin crust topped with Italian sausage, mushrooms, and black olives.
You should keep this pertinent information handy. You never know when you might get the prompting to send a pizza to a hungry woman in Houston.
Anyway, I've never once partaken of a Scratch-And-Dent styled pizza, but the instant that my Infidel eyes locked onto the magical Manager's Special sticker slapped on the side of the crumpled box, I knew it was fate that had led me to that darkened corner of the Kroger Deli after closing hours.
You see, in my possession was a coupon for $2.00 off on this exact brand of pizza.
So, the original price was $8.99. It was marked down to $5.20 because of the squished pizza packaging. And then I furthered the savings with a $2.00 coupon!
We all ate lunch today for $3.20.
Yesssssss!!!!!!
Not even a neighborhood Pizza Pimp can beat that kind of bargain pricing.
The midnight cashier looked concerned as I cradled the pizza to my chest and lovingly cooed about how happy I was that we'd finally found each other at just the right moment.....the moment that made all my cheap eats dreams come true.
The early bird gets the worm. However, the late-night Infidel scores the deeply discounted pizza!

A Proverb From Physicians Running Behind Schedule: Patients, Entertain Thyself

Scheduling Doctor's appointments for all 6 mini-Infidels last week turned into an exercise in extreme patience.
We sat there at the clinic for an excruciating 3 hours on Friday. And then on Monday, we tacked on an additional 4 to our Frequent Vinyl Bench Sitters Rewards Program.
When will these public waiting rooms ever learn that vinyl in 90 degree Houston heat can only cause the heartbreak of excessive leg sweat?
Rivulets Of Leg Sweat: The key to keeping vinyl furniture looking shiny and smooth.

You know what I think? I think that plopping you down into an examination room/holding cell for hours on end with nothing to read except a tattered copy of Golf Digest, is the preferred method the office staff uses to administer an effective temperament test without you even realizing it.
Little do they know that 4 of us are bloggers. We're accustomed to sedentarily staring straight ahead at nothing in particular for hours on end while restricting all movement, outside of the clickety-clackety motion of our typing fingers.
We remained determined to not let the winds of boredom declare victory on us. After all, we freakin know how to make our own entertainment in a sterile and humorless room!
First thing we did was thoroughly read the instructions on the hand sanitizer dispenser. That was fun. Just as we were about to start crafting our own cast of tongue depressor characters for a rendition of Popsicle Stick Theater, I remembered that I brought along my trusty camera sidekick.

Naturally, Sunbum, the eldest mini-Infidel, remained the least inhibited.
Here she's a little bubble of unbridled enthusiasm stuffed into a fashionable Pyramid inspired gown.

And this is the precise moment where the Nurse pops that bubble of unbridled enthusiasm with a hypodermic needle filled with the meningococcal vaccine.....followed by a tetanus booster......followed by a chicken pox booster....followed by a Hepatitis A shot.....followed by a TB test.....followed by a blood screen and a urinalysis.

Sunbum is now ready to expand her circle of friends to include those afflicted with the above conditions.
You can submit friend applications here.

As several earnest but hollow promises of"The Doctor will be with you any minute now" drug into tedious hours, we started to give up hope.
Sunbum remarked that the privacy sheet she was given to cover her lower extremeties during the exam reminded her of something you'd see on a crime drama where they use a white sheet to cover up a corpse. I guess this shortened sheet is the one reserved for use on a person who's only half-dead--or for midgets.

Bored, Sunbum started fashioning her sheet into a gallery of remarkable designs. I encouraged her to. Mainly to stop myself from tying sheets together to make an escape from our third floor prison.....or a noose.
I'm going to field a guess and say that in this picture, Sunbum's representing the under-represented class of Constipated Shawl Wearers...........

Ready To Tie On The Feed Bag With A Customized Bib Guaranteed to Catch All Drips And Dribbles...........

Striking A Pose Suited For An America's Next Top Model Competition.....Or Doing The Robot. I'm not entirely sure.

People Jump Ship. People Jump Rope. And Some People Even Jump, Jump For Your Love- But Only When Listening To The Pointer Sisters. Instead, My Sunbum Jumps Sheet........

Working On Her New Line Of Du-Rags That Double As A Baby Burping Cloth........

Only A Clorox Sponsored Superhero Would Dare To Wear A White Cape........

Ghost Costume: You're Doing It Wrong!
Virgin Mary Costume: You're Doing It Right!

Sadly, not all of the mini-Infidels were so thrilled with the photographic attention as they actively shied away from the digital spotlight.

Stay tuned as next month The Smiling Infidel gang and their multitude of toothy problems, invade an unsuspecting Dental Office in hopes of depleting them of all their complimentary toothbrushes to resell on the toothbrush black market.

I Cast Ye Out, You Demons Of Inferior Mommyhood.....BE GONE!

So, on Tuesday, the youngest chillens of my mini-Infidel tribe darkened the doorstep of a public school for the very first time in their entire lives........and they lived to go forth and bring home more TAKS (State Testing) review worksheets another day.

I need to learn that it's not possible to do everything all at once. It's just not. I can't effectively give my kids what they need in the area of homeschooling when I'm juggling several jobs and fighting to maintain a somewhat orderly household.

The mini-Infidels have adapted well to a school environment which is enough relief to counter balance my feelings of being a complete and total failure.

It's difficult to send off children you've birthed at home and held close for so many years to the same institution you loathed and withdrew your older kids from.

The youngest, Melody, walked in the door after her first day of Kindergarten, threw up her arms and loudly announced, "Everyone in my class LOVES me!"

Melody didn't learn important things under my tutelage- like mastering reading skills- but at least I can take full credit for nurturing her very healthy self-esteem.

Dan Patrick Wants To Be Your FOREVER Senator!

Most politicians only jabber on about Hope And Change For The Future. But one Texas Senator is truly turning his thoughts towards the future--the very, very, very, very, very, very distant future, that is.

We received the above survey and newsletter from Senator Dan Patrick's office last week. Apparently he expects to live out another 517 years or so while serving in the Senate because he's prognosticating exorbitant property taxes for the year 2525 while discussing what he plans to do about it.

He's like our very own Property Tax Specialist Nostradamus.

That's very comforting to know that us mortal citizens can rely on a political man in command to reduce our wallet-draining Texas property taxes........and it'll only take 517 years for Senator Patrick's big action plan to come to fruition!

Okay, if Texas Senators serve terms spaced out in two-year increments, then Senator Patrick only has to win approximately 258 more elections.

Whoa. I hope his campaign invests in some quality heavy-duty campaign gear and signage because it needs to last a really looooong time.

By the time 2525 rolls around, Senator Patrick will likely be nothing more than a giant dictatorial brain pickled in a super-sized Mason jar like something out of A Wrinkle In Time.

You know the folksy duo, Zager And Evans , prophesied what life would be like in the year 2525. They didn't seem to mention anything about property taxes, though. They instead included lyrical wording like "In The Year 2525, if man is still alive. If woman can survive."

Well, we know at least one man will still be alive in the year 2525 and that man is Senator Dan Patrick!

IN THE YEAR 2525- ZAGER AND EVANS (3:24)

*I couldn't resist writing a short piece of snark on the survey before mailing it back. Honestly, the 2525 wasn't just a singular typo-- 2525 was repeated ALL OVER the page. I theorize that whatever aide or intern that typed this up was probably listening to his Ipod and jamming to this melodious song that discusses a post-apocalyptic world circa 2525. I'm inspired. I'm going to go buy something expensive that costs around $517.00 and then I'm going to finance it for a dollar a year for the next 517 years. Yep. Sounds good to me.*

Shamelessly Working The System To Your Advantage: Buffet Edition

I am the Queen of all I survey. Well at least I am down at the local all-you-care-to-eat buffet.

Just so you know, I had nothing to do with voting down the cherished "all-you-can-eat" buffet phrase down in favor of the current and more politically correct, all-you-care-to-eat. That took place long before my ascension to the Royal Buffet Throne. I would never have tolerated such mealy-mouthed buffet lingo insolence from insubordinates that still follow that whole archaic "Democracy" thing. Thank the Golden Corral Goddesses above for allowing me the blessing of a plastic sneeze guard to separate myself from those lesser-beings.

Anyway, you don't become the Ruler Supreme of a Buffet Monarchy without learning a few valuable face stuffing tricks along the way.

As my magnificent crew of mini-Infidel rapidly age, they're finding themselves mired within a frightening land outside the relative comfort of Kid's Menu pricing. I've had to employ trickier and trickier techniques to keep them fed in the luxuriant manner they've become so accustomed to.

By royal decree, there shan't ever be generic brand Macaroni And Cheese served to Her Buffet Majesty's precious offspring. After all I am raising future heirs to the Royal Buffet throne. Only Kraft original makes it past the food testers and onto our dinner table.

So, here's our top secret smorgasbord strategy laid out so that even the most casual of buffet patrons can follow it. Think of this as a sort of Buffet For Dummies instructional post.

Most buffet pricing changes abruptly at 4:00 P.M. They signal the transition between lunch and dinner by hauling away the petrified weenies that've been loitering around the buffet steam table all day (Sorry, Gramps) and swap them out for some freshly grilled steak and other carnivorous yummies.

Buffet King Papi and I synchronize our watches for exactly 3:50 P.M. before gathering up our brood to make a sweeping entrance into the restaurant. That way, we can stroll to the register a mere moments before the dinner pricing kicks in.

It's a real adrenaline rush.

We're literally living out that lame adage of getting steak on a hamburger budget.

Another tip is to ask the grill guy to slice open your steak before claiming it as your own and bathing it in steak sauce.
On a recent goodwill sojourn to visit my loyal subjects over in Buffetland, my well done steak looked chargrilled on the outside like this:

But after slicing off a chunk, it was revealed that the interior was more reminiscent of a nice honkin piece of steak tar tare.
I'd like to give Golden Corral the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were simply trying out a new entree choice by combining recipes?
Steak Char Char on the outside with a nice raw Steak Tar Tar on the inside.

You know how most Chinese Buffets plop down gigantic golden Buddhas in their entryway to guard against potential Kung Pao thieves? Well, I hope to one day position a line of Buffet Queen Elastic statues in the atrium area of my favorite buffet places. My specifications call for wide, outstretched arms that will welcome the masses of hungry people searching for a great pants seam-ripping dining experience.

Elastic: Buffet Queen And Patron Saint Of Buffets

What? You're Still Talking About That Flippin Hurricane? Are You Ever Going To Get Over It?

It's only been 3 weeks since Hurricane Ike blew through. No, I'm NOT over it yet.
My Papi lost his office building to a tornado that spun off from the Hurricane.
It landed on the building, shattering windows and flooding the lower level.
We still have damage to our house and we're still trying to recoup the loss of two refrigerators worth of food.

Things are just now starting to feel a little like normal again.

I'm usually loathe to read The Houston Chronicle. However, the front page story last week made me giddy with joy.
Meet 60 year old Madelaine Carter, who, as of last Thursday, still didn't have her electricity back on.
When asked by the reporter about her situation and how it felt to be surrounded by others who were enjoying their restored power, she was quoted as saying, "Everyday is pretty much the same. You sweat, and you HATE everyone."
I'm nominating Madelaine Carter as the unofficial spokeswoman for the Houston Hurricane aftermath.
I HEART her to the infinite butt-sweat towel power!

Houston is known by many titles:
Space City
H-Town
Bayou City
Home Of The Smiling Infidel
4th Largest City In America
Fattest City (Awarded By Men's Health Magazine)
Beyonce's Hometown

After seeing the mountainous piles of tree remnants stacked up in neighborhood yards awaiting city pick-up, I considered another title to add to Houston's impressive profile.
Houston: Firewood Capital Of The World
This picture would look fantastic on some new glossy travel brochures touting the firewood surplus that Houston has to offer.

I maneuvered the mighty Infidel truck into a squealing U-Turn so I could go back and take a picture of this little irony in action.
Out of the 6 businesses in this local shopping strip, Lucky Money was the ONLY one that sustained major smackdown damage.
Lucky Money......Or Is It?
I guess Hurricane Ike and I share mutual feelings regarding check cashing "services". You'd be better off doing business with greased-down, slicked-back Tommy Salami over in Little Italy.
Tommy will offer you a more reasonable interest rate.

I drive past this house every day and I still can't get over my amazement at the tremendous force that ripped up their colossal tree, roots and all.
Using this picture as a guide, it's somewhat difficult to gauge the staggering height of the huge chunk of formerly front yard turf standing straight up.
It extends all the way to the tippy top of their second floor roof line.
For reals.

We nicknamed this tree in bondage, "Gulliver" because it appears as though a tribe of Lilliputians showed up, tied it up, and staked it up so that poor "Gulliver" can never escape and run free with any roving gangs of young, rebellious trees.

There's many of us around here that can now proudly display a "LANDSCAPING BY HURRICANE IKE" sign in our yards.

It's interesting to note that when you play the Scissors, Rock, Paper game in nature, the paper will usually win.
Paper comes from trees, right? And these trees decimated everything they fell on. They crunched and munched their way through a couple tons of SUV metal along with a sturdy rod iron fence.

We met this friendly father of four while pumping gas a week ago. Like us, he still didn't have water or electricity but at least he had an important message to share with the World:
"Protect Your Nuts"
We would all be wise to hearken upon this wise counsel.
I'm happy to report that our nuts remain blessedly intact to see another day from the inside of a nice loaf of banana nut bread.

There's Even More Stupefying Hurricane Pictures Over At Boston.Com

You know that whole "Time And Season" lecture we hear so often? This is really not my Time or my Season for blogging. I initially closed comments on my last post because the blogger guilt I suffer through when I can't reciprocate comment love is destroying me. That may be a bit melodramatic, but it's steeped in truth.

Things aren't all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows everything at La Casa de Infidel. Well, unless you count the sunshine streaming in from the many exposed holes in our roof after Hurricane Ike.

I had to go crawling back to my old job last week. I'm grateful for the employment but that doesn't make me any less stressed or tired from returning to the grueling daily work grind. Sad.

The three youngest mini-Infidels are about to get acquainted with the "WE TEACH STATE TEST TAKING SKILLS ONLY" public school system after years of homeschooling. More sad.

Blogging will have to drop to the bottom of my very long list of priorities and responsibilities. Seriously, my list rivals the length of an unfurled roll of toilet paper. Saddest of all.

Thanks for all the super clever comments. Millie Chicken confided in me that the commenters she reads here are existing on a diet chock full of fun witticisms and that you're a cut above most blog respondents. Yeah, she really did say that! There's no generic "LOL!" comments going on here.

During our long bout without power I read comments via my cell phone and blogged using a line hooked up to our neighbor's generator. We only got 1-2 hours a day but at least it was enough to feel connected with the rest of the world. You have no idea how happy reading comments made me during the tedium of nearly 10 days without electricity or a job to go to.

Later,
The Smiling Infidel