I Finally Called It Quits With Bernard On Monday

I really thought that things were going to work out between Bernard and I.
He came highly recommended. In fact, multiples of noteworthy people testified as to Bernard's greatness......and then tattooed it all over his backside. They used glowing terminology filled with praise like "an instant classic!" and "amazingly brilliant!" These accomplished folks swore that once I got involved with the genius that is Bernard, I'd never be the same.
They were wrong.
For the past three weeks Bernard and I remained steadfast and inseparable companions. I gave him a chance to win me over. Yes, I really did, but he disappointed me at every turn.
Ours was a co-dependent relationship. Sure, I desperately needed Bernard, but his silent nagging to pick him up whenever I had a free moment really grew tiresome.
I fervently believed that by focusing on developing an intense love, or at the very least, some sort of deep understanding of him, it would conquer all our problems.
Instead Bernard lorded his academic superiority over me. He insisted on using lofty verbage so archaic that not even the combined super sleuthing team of Merriam &Webster could decipher what the freak he was talking about.
I knew from the beginning that Bernard was a bit cerebral. I struggled with his difficult, plodding nature, but I always had faith that I could change Bernard by cradling him in my arms for hours at a time while tracing his every curve with my highlighter-stained fingers.
Don't judge me, but once, in a fit of sleep-deprived insanity, Bernard and I carelessly tumbled into bed together.
Turns out he's just as boring in the sack as he is everywhere else.
Sad.
I could never take Bernard out in windy weather. Mostly because he's so dry he'll spontaneously burst into flames and cause an epidemic of wildfires. I can't have that on my conscience.
Weekend At Bernie's? Yeah, try THREE Weekends with MY Bernie. He's a little slice of pocket-sized deadweight.
So on Monday I summoned up the courage to tell Bernard that he had caused me a lot of headaches and untold grief. Bernard didn't even respond when I pulled the final plug from the respirator keeping our relationship alive. And then I told him that I never, ever, ever want to see him again.
Bernard took it surprising well when I banished him to the corner of my kingdom to sleep forever with the fishes......the silverfishes, that is.
Enjoy the Bernard Buffet, little paper-eating critters!

I Know Where James Bond Lives

Even without the numbers I knew it was his place.

There was a Moonraker Landscaping Service pruning a giant Thunderball topiary and James was out grilling some fresh Octopussy with this guy who had a Goldfinger.

So much for Bond's private hideaway lair as being "For Your Eyes Only." He practically had the whole Casino Royale there partying it up with him at his makeshift Baccarat table. (It used to be one of those Thomas The Tank Engine tables with real wooden bridges and stuff!)

The Spy Who Loved Me? Uh-uh, sister, he's The Spy Who Loved Everyone! Good thing that Diamonds Are Forever because James Bond's love sure isn't.

Well, Tomorrow Never Dies and we can all Die Another Day, right?

Even though the party was an easy View To A Kill target for The Man With The Golden Gun he chose to drink a martini instead. It was a chocolate martini with a toothpick-skewered gummy bear in the middle.

Whew, that guy like so didn't scare The Living Daylights out of me. Good thing, I'm a Live And Let Die kind of gal, you know?

If I was James Bond's security adviser, I'd recommend replacing the telltale 007 numbers on the mailbox with a nice bronzed set of 99's and getting a nameplate for the top that says "Maxwell Smart" or "Ethan Hunt" you know, something a little less obvious than a nameplate that reads " Bond...James Bond...."

My Baby Is Growing Up So Fast.......

Can you believe it? Ophelia, the youngest member of the Infidel family, is already driving!
Granted, she doesn't have a license or insurance or even a Jack-In-The-Box antenna ball, but hey, those missing qualifications don't seem to stymie the thousands of folks driving every single day in these here United States.
Naturally, while elated at Ophelia's developmental progress, I'm still a trifle disappointed with her and the way she brazenly displayed her innate carjacking skills.
Poor Barbie was caught completely unaware as Ophelia ambushed her, nibbled on her head, and then crawled into the Barbiemobile for a quick joy ride around the living room.
I am Ophelia's mother and so of course I very sternly admonished my little guinea pig heathen for her criminal behavior before sentencing her to punishment in the Time Out Corner.
She pooped all over the Time Out Corner.
Such defiance!
I guess I'll have to dispatch the Rescue Heroes patrol car (with real working siren and lights!) to lay down the law with Miss Ophelia.
I should probably warn Jake Justice beforehand though that Ophelia has a thing for plastic men in uniform. He needs to be prepared when she strikes with sharp-toothed retaliation.
Ophelia, the Chomp&Gnaw Outlaw Scofflaw.

P.S. Ophelia won't be receiving her PHD, but we are working on a custom plate that says "OH GEE!" in reference to her initials O.G.

Well, I Guess Just Anybody Can Get A PHD In Texas These Days.....

Here I am, struggling with the very basic of courses at a community college while my neighbor tools around town flaunting her PHD to anyone and everyone.

It sickens me.

It enrages me.

It makes me want to march down to the Courthouse and demand that I be given my PHD, too!

Surely, by this time, I've earned a PHD in Blogging with a Master's in the Art of Sedentary Living.

The Courthouse only awarded me a paltry and inconsequential GDS.

What the heck am I supposed to do with a flippin GDS??!??!?

Become a Greasy Donut Server? Maybe a professional Gigolo Date Scheduler?

"I'm just a Gigolo, and everywhere I go, I take Elastic the Scheduler with me....."

How about a Gay Dar Salesman? I'd suck at that. I defended George Michael's hetero manliness until the very day he got caught by Police buying chorizo inside a Los Angeles public restroom.

Perhaps a Giant Daisy Sniffer would be a nice career change for me. I already have the requisite super-sensitive nose skills along with tons of expert daisy-sniffing experience.

Guardian of Dirty Seals? Yes, all the bronzed statues will show me holding a scrubby brush in one hand while patting the head of a smiling but filthy seal with the other.

Grave Digger Supervisor? I've already done that.

R.I.P. Goldilocks the fish and Jasper the dachshund.

I hate my neighbor and her sudden windfall of good fortune.

I wonder if I can put my Grave Digger Supervisor background to work?

I wonder if my neighbor's PHD is transferable............

The Smiling Infidel's Shop of Homemade Valentine Cards Is Now Open For Business!

Caterpillar, my 3rd grade daughter with big bushy caterpillaresque eyebrows, decided to make her own Valentine cards for the class exchange.
I elected to join the artsy fartsy extravaganza too since it's not often that we drag out the multitudes of crafty buckets, and crafty crates, and crafty boxes from the crafty storage locker.
John "Thank God I'm A Country Boy" Denver himself inspired me to create this one-of-a-kind construction paper masterpiece for my beloved husband, Papi.
OUTSIDE:

INSIDE:

If you've been reading this blog since 2006, then you understand the joke. If you haven't, then you need to dedicate the next two weeks to soaking in all 650 posts. Pronto!

Okay, back in April 1994, as Papi and I drove to Pancho's Mexican Buffet to enjoy our first date, we heard the news that the dead body of Nirvana front man Kurt Cobain had been discovered. I wrote a post using all Nirvana titles HERE.

Anyway, I'm not a Sentimental Lady at all (much to Bob Welch's disappointment) but because of Kurt, I'll never forget the momentous occasion of our first date.

Here's my scrapped Valentine's Card rough draft:

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES.....

LIKE A DEAD GRUNGE ALT ROCKER

I decided that wasn't as romantic as reminiscing over me and Papi's shared love of Pancho's delicioso chili rellenos.

Neither was discussing our post-date adventures:

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES....

LIKE THE STINK IN THE BATHROOM

Papi's a lucky, lucky man, for this year he'll celebrate with not one but TWO fancy cards custom-

designed especially for him by his loving wife.

OUTSIDE:

INSIDE:

There's a lot of naughty hidden messages on this card. You can squint and holler at Lurlene to fetch you your readin spectacles all you want, but you won't be able to read them. I used a special ink that can only be deciphered by the eyes of my one true love.

I'm also going to make some scandalous lingerie out of crepe paper streamers, gingham fabric scraps, and some googly eyes.

One day, when Sinnamon Bunns from the Shady Lady Cabaret gets her own craft show, then she can give you a personal tutorial on how to construct the classiest nipple pasties you've ever seen out of heart-shaped crafty foam.

I cannot tell a lie:

Taco Bell Hot Sauce moves me to do strange and wondrous things with scrapbooking scissors and a hot glue gun.

OUTSIDE: (SAUCY!)

INSIDE:(Needs a sample pack of Preparation H)

HAPPY VD EVERYONE!

VD=Valentine's Day not Venereal Disease....which is too bad because I've got this great idea for a line of VD cards that feature a real condom in the middle......

Oh Great, Another Mouth To Feed......

It's a GIRL! After going waaayyy past a Christmas due date, she's finally here! I'd like to formally announce the newest addition to the Infidel Family:
OPHELIA GUINEVERE
If we'd gotten a boy we would've named him OTHELLO LANCELOT. And then we'd have had to promptly hide all the little swords and itty-bitty action figure weaponry we have in this house.....you know, just in case.
Ophelia's furry like me but she takes after Papi in the super smarts department.
It won't be long before she can jump through flaming miniature hula hoops while wearing a purple tutu and playing Dueling Banjos.......and then we'll get a nice tip box and open a booth at the Flea Market to showcase her phenomenal talent.

Not to be outshone in the constant competition for attention around La Casa de Infidel, Reagan (The crotch-sniffing wonder dog) shows the world his talent: Brilliantly rolling himself up in his bedding like a gigantic Reagan Taco/Burrito.
I should be more circumspect about what pictures I post here. I know that "some" people in "some" cultures will misinterpret these photos as a recipe idea.
Well, good luck finding tortillas. Although, one could probably improvise with wonton wrappers for some delightful Reagan Egg Rolls.......

What You See Is What You Get, Right?!!??

In my English class we're expected to dissect, describe, diagram, and discuss the various essay selections within our textbook.

So, we've focused in on this one excerpt culled from a novel discussing the tragedy of illiteracy in America. It's written by the foaming-at-the-mouth education reform radical, Jonathan Kozol.

My Professor clicked his tongue at me for calling Jonathan Kozol "dangerous," but I careth not. I don't mince words. I call em' like I see em'.

Mr. Kozol initially endeavored to write books with the interest of persuading teachers to adopt an educational model based on those being used in such lovely bastions of human rights as Communist China and Cuba. He even added text instructing teachers to hide their leftist point of view while they indoctrinate the children into opting out of saying The Pledge of Allegiance. Kozol has toned down his anti-America rhetoric a bit since that first novel in 1980. Consequently, he's risen to prominence among the academic Illuminati who celebrate him and make sure his novels are de rigeur reading for our future educators.

Not to mention the eerie fact that Kozol looks like he was cloned from the wild-haired DNA of accused celebrity murderer, Phil Spector.

Like I said, dangerous.

If you desire to read his 2 page essay that's completely devoid of the actual factual, it's right here:

The Human Cost of an Illiterate Society

You'll really love his pointed jabs at what an execrable society we are based wholly on hyperbole-laced fairy tales emanating from a giant talking butt somewhere in the land of magical conjecture.

Is illiteracy a huge problem in the United States? Yes. Are some schools failing our kids? Yes. However, Kozol loves to pontificate without offering any solutions, nor does he bother to dig underneath the epidermal layer to see what's festering below.

Here's Some Of The Highlights From The Response Essay I Wrote:

(Kozol tells the woeful tale of a destitute woman on welfare who bought a gallon of Crisco because she thought it contained a magical plate of golden fried chicken like the picture on the front showed. It didn't. She had no more money. Her family starved to death. It is your fault, you uppity Americans, for failing her.)

1. I too have been deceived by the rampant chicanery these marketers foist upon us lowly, uneducated consumers. My sister-in-law desperately wants to get married. I thought my prayers were answered when I saw the ruggedly handsome man beaming out from beneath the plastic wrap on a package of Brawny paper towels. Wow, a sweet 2-for-1 deal! I can score a husband for my sister-in-law while still getting the benefit of super absorbency to clean up whatever B.S. may spill out of my English book. Imagine my crestfallen face, creased with the agony of disappointment, as I got home and eagerly tore open the package only to discover that there was no knight in shining flannel there to rescue my sister-in-law. I was so sad. I'm going back to the store next week. I think that studly, lemon-scented Mr. Clean guy may be more her type anyway.

2. This essay is a mesmerizing piece of fiction--especially if you're a fan of Charles Dickens. Kozol writes with the intention of reducing people born without a sense of discernment into a sniveling, salty puddle of tears. He wants you to wail and weep and wave your garments around like you've just landed a spot in the supporting cast of a really cheesy straight-to-video Bollywood production.

(I'm not heartless. I do have compassion for the plight of the less fortunate. But I'm not looking to bank on it and build a career out of the trials and tribulations of others like Kozol has done. Neither do I think it right nor productive to perpetuate a victimhood mentality. After articulating the many extenuating circumstances that do indeed trap illiterate people, I had to point out one last thing......basic human nature that applies to ALL of us.)

3. The sad truth is that you could erect a magnificent fountain of knowledge right there inside the living room of an illiterate person. You could even hand them a silver-plated chalice engraved with their name, but you can’t physically FORCE someone to have the desire, drive, and motivation necessary to dip that cup into the font and partake of it. That is called free agency. In this country, we are the masters of our own destiny.

4. Jonathan Kozol actually states: "If even one third of all illiterates could vote, and read enough and do sufficient math to vote in their self interest, Ronald Reagan would not likely have been chosen president."

Really, Jonathan? May I call you Jonathan? So, you're basically equating the principles and ideology of the Democratic Party with a horde of illiterate would-be voters too stupid to know what's good for them? That's certainly an interesting indictment of your own views. May I quote you on that? Ooops, I already did!

Further research on Mr. Kozol reveals that he's adamantly anti-choice when it comes to education despite big city mayors like Baltimore's Kurt Schmoke singing the praises of single-gender schools and the school voucher program.

Beware the man who seeks to strip you of dominion over your own life.
Kozol wants your kid to be stuck in their crappy school without any options of escape. He wants you to sit around and cry and blame all your troubles on the public school system. If you succeed, he fails. When you realize that you have the power to overcome all obstacles, he and the other misery profiteers will be out of a job.

There's a valid reason that Jonathan Kozol is #9 in the scathing tome "The 100 People That Are Screwing Up America" penned by the self-described liberal writer Barry Goldberg.

Like I said, dangerous.

*I ain't skeered of comments. I'm just too busy to pay much attention to my blog and whatever comments, good or bad, this post will trigger.*

No Wonder Most Politicians Have No Qualms About Bleeding Us Dry Through Taxes

If you, the general American public-bereft of advantageous upper-crust connections-neglect to report or pay your taxes properly you can expect anything from a hefty fine to the confiscation of your property to satisfy the debt.
If you, the average American politician-with enough clout that you can buy and sell your upper-crust connections-neglect to report or pay your taxes properly you can expect to be rewarded with a seat in the current Presidential administration!
I guess an obligation like taking care of taxes is only for us "little people."

Tom Daschle, former Senator, House Majority Leader, and unscrupulous health care lobbyist has now been appointed as the nominee for the position of Secretary of Health and Human Services.
No, that doesn't sound like a conflict of interest. Not at all.
Anyway, Daschle owes the United States government over 140,000 dollars in back taxes. Super. He traveled to Washington from the frosted plains of South Dakota to do good.....and he's done very well indeed!

Timothy Geithner, our newly sworn in Secretary of the Treasury, has been audited by the Internal Revenue Service more than once. The media revealed that he owed over 60,000 dollars in back taxes- a fact that Geithner blamed on his incorrect usage of the Turbo Tax program.
Seriously, he's in charge of the nation's money and he uses Turbo Tax. No, make that: He uses Turbo Tax incorrectly.
Super!
So, seeing as how Geithner now presides over the I.R.S did he simply get his fancy new Cabinet Club pen to write out a big, fat 60,000 check to himself or did he just surreptitiously wave the debts away to Never Never Land using his special Secretary of the Treasury magic wand?

I hoped for change, I really did, but it seems that we're just going to get more of the same B.S. from President B.O.

This just in......Obama's Chief Performance Officer, Nancy Killefer is forced to withdraw due to..........interlude.......duh...duh...duh...dramatic prairie dog moment.....UNPAID TAXES. What a surprise. Can anyone in the Obama administration figure out how to pay their taxes? Maybe they should commission my genius accountant husband, Papi to come on up there to D.C. and give them a helping hand.

I nearly forgot about the Democratic Congressman from New York, Charlie Rangel. He's the chairman of the powerful tax-writing House And Ways Committee. He also owes over 70,000 in unpaid taxes to the I.R.S.
Yes, we the people need to keep shining a light on these tax-evading cockroaches. I doubt any of them will scurry away with shame like a normal cockroach but at least we'll know who we're dealing with when election time rolls around again.

I'm waiting for the next novel to be released: The Audacity Of Auditing