Mama's Got A Brand New Bag......Well, Almost

Look, I've got my pride and all but I simply can't resist the allure of awesome stuff forlornly sitting curbside on trash day; awesome stuff just waiting to be whisked away to the garbage dump of no return.
I once found a $600.00 dollar sofa from Pier One in perfect shape and an equally nice entertainment center callously flung out next to trash cans brimming with the stacks of money these folks presumably use to wipe their rich heinys with.
Where did I learn this trashy behavior from? My mother.
The situation is exactly like that Public Service Announcement where the father finds his son's pot stash and incredulously asks him where he learned to do such filthy things and the kid angrily retorts "From you Dad, alright? I got it from watching YOU!!!"
Yeah, so my mom may be out of her prime refuse-hunting days but she's still a cunning addition to any Garbage Day Safari going on in H-Town.
So, about a year ago she spied with her beady eye a trashy treasure trove just ripe for the picking.
Lying haphazardly next to the street was a large piece of designer luggage in mint condition.
What could my mom do? This saucy little black bag was beckoning her forth so she stopped her truck and hopped out to have a look.
As she lifted up the suitcase she noted that it felt unnaturally heavy.
Excitedly she started fumbling with the zipper thinking that it was the luggage version of Russian Nesting Dolls.
What she found instead more closely resembled a nightmarish mystery meat Turducken Surprise.
Stuffed inside the bag was a gargantuan gray cat. It was dead. It was stiff with rigormortis. It was also staring blankly at the human who dared intrude on his perpetual cat nap while violating his final resting place.
My mom screamed and let the actual, literal, proverbial "cat out of the bag."
Hello Kitty!
This experience along with a touch of imaginary Cat Scratch Fever has pretty much cured my mom of her innate dumpster diving tendencies and her desire to travel to the Catskills.......or Kathmandu.........or the Kit Kat factory.
As a family we always try to make the best of a furry situation but alas, the Dr. Seuss company refuses to publish our cleverly titled The Cat In The Bag book--a sequel to The Cat In The Hat. Anybody know where I can purchase a little red and white striped hat for a dead cat?
Perhaps there's some money to be made in the unexplored area of kitty body bags.
Maybe the Cat In A Bag concept will interest certain local restaurants. I should trademark it immediately!
So, What's New Pussycat? It's the end of the post. Nobody reads to the end. Can I make an inappropriate joke now about the funniness of my mom out on a street corner picking up pu......No? Okay.
Just Throw It In The Bag!

Crank Dat Infidel Girl!

I thought I'd post this schmaltz-tastic video to share with the world seeing as how I'm a bonafide honorary Jew and all.
Well, I am a Kosher Queen which is kind of like ABBA's "Dancing Queen" minus the ham.
Like I said, I am the Kosher Queen, well, for the most part and with the definite exception of my insatiable Pig-Out Porkfest days.......not to mention the fact that I occasionally flaunt some dangly bacon strip earrings that would make any decent Jewish American Princess shudder with revulsion. (Hey, at least I didn't buy the bacon strip pasties because I saw those in the same online shop)
And the fact that I've told some very, very, very naughty Matzoh Ball jokes in my time.
And then there's the snigger-worthy photoshop pic I created of "Jewbacca."
And my oldest son once thought that Michael Jackson's big 80's hit was actually an enthusiastic ode to Judaism. "I Wanna ROCK With Jews.....All Night."
And maybe I'd be disqualified from honorary Jew status if they knew it was me who yakked up half-digested halvah candy and gefilte fish at the synagogue right before Rhona Goldstein's bat mitzvah and then hoofed it out of there as fast as my fat little gentile legs could run, only returning when it was time to shake my Christian tookus to the sweet sounds of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack at the after party.
But anyways, I do know every single solitary word to Hannukah's Da Bomb, Aight, and I can spin a dreidel at warp speed, so really, all should be forgiven.


Here's CRANK DAT KOSHER BOY for your viewing pleasure! I hope it gets a place of honor on a Jewkbox somewhere.

"And Then They Told Us That We Had To Leave The Church Because Our Kids Were Too Loud........"

That is the precise snippet of conversation I overheard last week while cruising the clearance section in Target's toy department.
This 30-ish mom was animatedly telling another 30-ish mom with 3 well-behaved toddler girls in tow why nobody should ever go to this particular non-denominational church because they were so rude to "kick them out" just because the "kids were too loud."
Guess where the precious, saintly, old-enough-to-know-better boys of Senorita Clueless were at that exact moment in time? Go on, guess!
They were several aisles away where the two had helped themselves to an array of sporting goods equipment such as a baseball bat, baseball, glove, and helmets.
The misguided spawn of this oblivious mombie alternated between hitting the ball into other customers and smacking the boxed merchandise on the shelves with the not-paid-for bat leaving big dents and damage everywhere they went.
Meanwhile, Mom of the Millennium continued loudly prattling on about the injustice her family endured while never once stopping to catch her breath and find out that her boys were terrorizing everything and everyone around them.
Sadly, this scenario is becoming far too common as the dreaded Entitlement Epidemic has hit critical mass where I live--unduly affecting parents and their undisciplined children in droves.
I'm no psychic but given all I know about the worst entitlement offenders I can pretty much guarantee that the poor beleaguered minister and/or his staff politely asked this lady to get her monsters under control because they were in a church and not ringside at a WWF Smackdown event.
Naturally, she thinks that nobody should ever dare criticize her or her "little gifts from God" even if they are laying waste to Target or a house of the Lord as though it were a demolition derby.
People need to get a grip.......and then they need to get a grip on their kids.
There's waaaayyy too many parents that have lost the words "NO, NO, OH HELL NO!" from their vocabulary.

I Don't Really Know How I Feel About Black & White Marriages

We recently got invited to the wedding reception of a cute young couple whose parents are both in our ward at church.
Their wedding colors are black and white but I think they may have taken their color scheme a bit too far because the bridal registry listed a request for not one but TWO toasters........one black and the other white.
Twas' A Tale Of Two Toasters!
What I can't decide is if this startling appliance move represents a spirit of integration or the atrocity of segregation.
Will the toasters sit side-by-side symbolizing a harmonious yin and yang or will they be forced to perform toasting tasks based solely on color?
All right, all you boxes of toaster treats, let's line it up........Dark Chocolate Pop-Tarts on the left, Vanilla Milkshake Pop-tarts on the right, please.
Perhaps they're wisely anticipating that the newlywed novelty will wear off fairly quickly and they're looking for some cheap thrills and entertainment in the form of toaster races.
Who's toast will get done first? *cue soaring adventure soundtrack music* Find out and see on the all new heart-stopping reality action series "A Watched Toaster Never Pops.....Or Does It?" *swelling ominous music*
There's a real possibility that these two may end up succumbing to the illicit seedy world of illegal toaster gambling.
"I'm putting everything I got on white. Let it ride, baby!!!"
Maybe owning two toasters is just the new status symbol of choice among the whippersnapper set.
Maybe they're saving all the brown, crumbly toaster leavins' in the little trays in hopes of constructing them into a magnificent artistic rendering of their wedding day to hang above the mantel.
Maybe they got stock in the Eggo waffle company as a wedding gift.
Oh, there's so very many possibilities and questions here.
On the plus side though, the happy couple can always "get toasted" together anytime they want.
After all, isn't the sharing of quality time the secret to marital success?
I think it's only apropos that we propose a "toast" to the bride and groom and offer them much toasting happiness for all time and eternity............or however long their toaster warranties last.
Whichever comes first. 

Imma Be, Imma Be, Imma Imma Imma Be

Imma Be finishing up the first leg of my back-to-school odyssey very soon.
I just completed my Business Law final exam and I'm moving on to summer semester #3.
All of this means that I only have 4 classes left before I can finally leave community college as one of their most ancient sophomores and start my junior year this January at either Sam Houston University or University of Houston.
I haven't decided which one yet to target for admittance into their esteemed institution with my beg, boogaloo, beguile, and bribe with Infidel cupcakes campaign.
Yeah, I did say BOOGALOO. I may or may not be considering a bright future in the breakdancing profession, okay?
Add to that, my incredibly sharp and hard-working 15-year-old daughter Sunbum will henceforth be embarking on her third semester at college this Fall.
Papi and I are in the preliminary phases of our master plan entitled EMPTY NEST EXTRAVAGANZA and Sunbum is operating according to our grand scheme.
Now, we've called in 14-year-old Monkey for duty. She's headed to the college tomorrow to take the entrance exam and start Phase Two of the plan.
Excellent!
It may be a bit cocky but I believe that I can count my chickens before they hatch.........and then chicken dance with them in reckless celebratory abandon after they hatch.

I Guess I Prefer Getting Hawaiian Breeze In My Face Over A Hawaiian Punch

Hawaiian Breeze makes me feel fiiiiiine blowing through the jasmine in my miiiiiiind.........and then I appear on camera wearing my irresistible pink hibiscus muumuu while my recently cut she-mullet hair flaps seductively in the fan-created wind.

Well, that would be the idealistic scenario and a lot more commercial worthy than where the Infidel household has actually stationed their coveted can of Hawaiian Breeze air freshener: The bathroom--where all the miracles of Infidel digestion and elimination takes place.

I'd like to say that one push of the spray button elicits an intoxicating scent that transports you to a relaxing hammock smack in the middle of a fragrant pineapple plantation.

Quite truthfully though, the smell is more akin to taking a big dump at a luau...........much to the horror of everyone around you trying in vain to enjoy the last succulent remnants of their aptly named Pu Pu Platter.

Forget the matchbook trick, what we really need is a flaming troupe of Hawaiian fire dancers in our bathroom to dissolve the odious odors because it's just too big a task to assign a paltry can of .97 cent air freshener.

Sorry Glade, Inc. The Infidel Family heartily defeated you this round. Rematch?