Stuff From 2010 I Hope Never Happens Again: Part 1

While gathered together with my family at the dinner table for our traditional Christmas Day dinner I glimpsed my mother gazing at me wonderingly.
I honestly thought she was going to uncharacteristically burst forth with a display of maternal emotion to gather me in her motherly arms while smothering me with love and exclamations of how profoundly grateful she is for me, her one and only daughter.
I smiled widely at her in anticipation.
And then,  my mother extended a single finger to tenderly touch the side of my face before recoiling in horror and blurting out "Holy crap what is that? Are those SIDEBURNS?!!!?? You really need to take care of that, Fifi* because you look absolutely ridiculous like you're trying to channel Elvis or something."
Everyone seated at the table laughed. I felt really self-conscious and put my turtleneck shirt up over my face so that only my eyes remained unobscured.......like a Ninja Elvis.
It's obvious this blog should be renamed The Smiling Sideburn.
I'll look into that today.

*Fifi is my mom's nickname for me since the horrible home perm experiment that went tragically awry in the mid 80's

I've Been Recruited For A Secret Task Force.....

Today I found myself a tad befuddled when an e-mail cropped up in my inbox with the mysterious subject title of: Gonzalez Hunter Job Offer.

Okay, what exactly does that entail? I've never actually hunted Gonzalez before. Is this a pursuit of Gonzalez in the singular form or should I wait until there's a whole herd of Gonzalez's gathered together?

Ooooh, I know: I'll just wait for the next Gonzalez Family Reunion to make my move. How hard can it be? Armed with a Sharpie marker and a package of sticky name tags I can magically transform myself into any member of the Gonzalez family and then infiltrate their ranks from within.

I'm pretty sure I was targeted for this monumental albeit dangerous assignment because of a secret buried in my ancestry. Yeah, unbeknownst to me, I was likely descended from a long line of Gonzalez Hunters. It's just an evolved component of my sophisticated DNA......you know, like Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Van Helsing.

Although I'll have to be extra cautious to avoid falling prey to any wily Gonzalez's trying to sink their teeth into my Infidel flesh. They say that once bitten you'll appear normal without any adverse effects, that is, until the taco truck rolls by blaring "La Cucaracha"; that's the trigger that transforms you into a full-blown Gonzalez wherein you find yourself helplessly floundering about zombie-like to the oompa sounds of an accordion while your recently sprouted Pancho Villa mustache sways to and fro with the gentle breeze.

I'm going to buy some kind of Gonzalez Hunter protector gear. Dang it, I have to take precautionary measures. I just can't afford to chance it and end up having to superimpose the letter "G" over all my monogrammed stuff.

I just had a thought.....what if I'm only supposed to hunt Speedy Gonzalez and not just any old random Gonzalez? Nobody's been able to catch that slippery little Mexicano rodent in decades. I bet my Gonzalez Hunter performance bonus depends on it.

Crap, crap, crap.

I Keep My Friends Close And My Chin Hairs Closer

You know how certain weed species get introduced to an area outside their native habitat and they immediately set out to virulently choke out the natural landscape? Yeah, well, wiry chin hairs keep cropping up to destroy my natural beauty despite the Herculian efforts aimed at eradicating them.
As I pondered the uses that an overabundance of chin whiskers can provide, I indulgently chuckled. I envisioned myself taking the hoity toity art world by storm as I create abstractly avant garde masterpieces using only the bristles of my custom chin hair paintbrush. I'm a humanitarian at heart but I'm woefully short of the required hair length necessary to weave a wig for Locks Of Love. I'd like to maybe make my own line of chin toupees for the hair follicle-challenged hipsters out there. It must be agonizing to attend poetry slams and indie rock concerts devoid of the de rigeur goatee. How I weep for them. I yearn to transform my own hirsute misfortunes into soul patch happiness for others.
I try to remain optimistic about life despite my smooth skin shortcomings but then I ran into my old friend Mrs. Sam at the park on Saturday.
As we chatted, my eyes kept disobediently gravitating towards Mrs. Sam's jutting chin. And then the stark realization occurred that Mother Nature is nothing more than a cruel and insidious harpy.
Mrs. Sam and I go wayyyyy back. So far back that I've actually blogged our most scintillating tales complete with hand-drawn pictures from the second-oldest Infidel daughter. From making a binding verbal pledge vowing that we'd never cannibalize one another's family in a time of famine to animated discussions of us potentially teaming up to run for President/Vice President, Mrs. Sam and I have mused about many things.
At the time (2006) Mrs. Sam seemed adamant that I ascend to the top of the ticket since a black candidate could never win a Presidential election in America. Surprise!
Mrs. Sam And I Are Both Immortalized In That Song Called "Doin Tha Butt"
An Anti-Cannibalism Contract Between Friends Who Don't Have The Last Name Donner
Anyway, I'm 30-ish, white, and I suffer with the heartbreak of strikingly noticeable black chin hair that furls and curls as it makes its way across my chin like a giant scraggly tumbleweed. Mrs. Sam is 50-ish, black, and suffers from an extreme proliferation of shaggy white chin hair as though her face is merely masking her real identity as the Abominable Snowman.
Ebony and ivory NOT living together in perfect harmony. Side-by-side on our chin pores, so gross, oh Lord, why can't weeee(afford electrolysis).
Do you see the unfairness of the situation?
Everyone desires to stand out in a crowd but this just isn't the way to go about doing it.
A chin hair swap would absolve both of us of our heavy unwanted hair burdens. I have what Mrs. Sam wants and she has what I need. If that's not possible, how about just some decent chin hair camo or chin hair ammo? Is that too much to hope for?
How I long to one day have the authority to truculently shriek: "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.........cause I don't have any" to an advancing foe.
*sniffle*

They're Trying To Tell Us Something.....If Only We'd Listen!

Did you know that I'm a mover and a shaker? Yes, it's true. To be more specific, it's actually my tremendous derriere-resembling a hot air balloon with a giant seam running up the middle- that's attained the official mover and shaker status. The Cheek Family-residing somewhere on the Infidel Southside Backside- are proud to announce that they're not only mover/shakers but they're also esteemed gold members of the Wiggly-Jiggly Club, too.

Lately, though, I'm starting to think that my right butt cheek is desperately trying to send me a message through a fat tissue Morse Code system that goes like this:
Twitch-Sag-Twitch-Twitch-Spasm-Still-Pulsate-Twitch
Can anybody translate that for me?
My left butt cheek remains wholly silent. It very well could be mute but I don't know since I haven't had my butt cheeks tested for disabilities.

The oldest Infidel daughter, Sunbum, confided in me this weekend that she too felt weird involuntary movements in her right butt cheek. Naturally this led to a lengthy discussion delving into the deeper meaning of it all:
Sunbum: "My right butt cheek feels weird whenever you play your loud cantina music.....almost like it has a pulse.....pulsating to the rhythm of the beat."

Me: "Ewww, a pulse? That's one place you don't want your heart located- just think of the nasty stuff it'll pump through your body."

Sunbum: "True dat!"

Me: " My right butt cheek feels a lot like when I was pregnant with all you mini-Infidels. It's almost as if something is on the inside kicking and pushing and trying to get out. That's all I need is for my butt cheek to suddenly birth yet another butt cheek. I don't want another mouth to feed or another butt crack to wipe."

Sunbum :(Laughing Irreverently At My Butt Cheek Pains And Concerns)

If I ever somehow decipher the mysterious Butt Cheek Morse Code I'll post the key here. Maybe all of our individual butt cheeks are working as a collective with bits and pieces of a bigger apocalyptic message and we must work together to solve the mystery before it's too late!

I am so sending this post to M. Night Shyamalan for screenplay consideration.

Friday Face-Off!

The obviously photogenic children of two amazingly gifted bloggers have made competing videos. It's up to you to decide which one rules in today's Friday Face-Off! On a sidenote, these kids have some remarkable genetics working in their favor. Not only are they both quirky and fun but they've also been blessed with the kind of superstar chins that Professional Chin Stunt Doubles yearn for!

Miss Face Declares Her Love Of Cheese! (0:11)

Mr. Face Love Cheese And Sings Cheesy Songs! (:49)

*Your Click Right Here, Right Now For Me At Humor-Blogs.Com Will Aid In The Chin Transplant Relief Fund So That All Youngsters May Enjoy Making Dorky Mr./Miss Face Movie Clips. Thank You For Your Support*

The Things We Do For Love

Personally, I HATE walking in the rain and the snow when there's nowhere to go and feeling like a part of me is dying while I'm looking for the answers in his eyes. I think we're going to break up and then he says he wants my makeup. What?!!!??? Forget it. My man is already prettier than me. I won't supply him with my beauty arsenal to accentuate that.

I'm preparing myself early for the Valentine's Day festivities tomorrow. My arm feels achingly sore from shaving this stunning heart into my back hair as a declaration of true love for my Papi. The guy in the picture made it look so easy, but I had a lot of difficulty positioning the razor and the mirror. My first attempt looked like a smiley face with a pointy goatee. I continued trying to sculpt the delicately rounded heart curves and consequentially ended up with a ginormous sized heart that exposes my many back moles like little nakey mole rats. Maybe this guy has his very own back hair shaver buddy. I wish I had my very own back hair shaver buddy too. :(
Hopefully, etching out the words, "Te Amo," into my mustache will go a little smoother.

Do you think my Papi will squeal in delighted surprise when I use my strength to reeep my blouse open? (thanks Nacho Libre!) I'm also going to serenade Papi in my most loveliest falsetto voice to Tiny Tim's endearing romantic classic, "Tiptoe Through The Tulips With Me?" I can't wait! Hey, can anyone out there loan me a ukulele for the night?