I Wrestled With Your Angels--On Easter Day, No Less!

Have you ever found yourself wondering what West Side Story would be like if the Sharks and the Jets were replaced by Maori Indians in pink shirts rivaling for the coveted "King of the Big Balls" title against another gang of native New Zealanders?
Have you ever pondered the state of bowling alley facilities on an international scale?
Have you ever decided to start crooning lovely yet heartbreaking songs while spraying foot funk disinfectant and wearing your monogrammed bowling shirt?
Have you ever wanted to enjoy an all-access backstage pass to a bowling alley but you thought you'd have to be a roadie and do naughty things with the alley manager for the privilege?
Really? Well, that makes you slightly odd like me.........but, on a brighter note, I did find the perfect video for us to enjoy!

I'm so glad to discover that bowling alleys in New Zealand look exactly like those in America. Whew! I don't think I could have gone on living another day without getting verifiable video proof.

(This should definitely qualify under the category of: "Learn Something New Every Day.")

And All The Sailors Say: "Elastic, You're A Fine Girl....."

The sailors also say: "What a good wife you would be."
They obviously haven't had many in-depth discussions with my man, Papi.
Okay, so I've only flung myself into Hokey Karaoke twice in my entire life.....and the world is a much better place for that decision.
Coincidentally, both of the times I faced sudden stage death I chose to sing the most recognized of the ode-to-chicks-named-after-alcohol songs, "Brandy."
Hey, I tend to stick with what I know.
Maybe next time I'll diversify and perform a totally sober version of "Margaritaville." I'll whip out a salt shaker during the grand finale and proclaim: "Here it is! As Jimmy Buffet as my witness, I will never search for my lost shaker of salt again......"
As me and my backup singer Sunbum took the stage, I huskily spoke into the microphone dedicating the song "to all my peeps who find infinite musical inspiration from the stylings of Kroger in-store radio."
And after that lively intro, a bunch of raucous DOO-DOO burst forth from the speakers.
That would be the DOO-DOO background chorus.
The Looking Glass sure did like to surround their "Brandy" with a lot of DOO-DOO.
At the end of our performance I gleefully told the audience that I had been saving up all my powerful DOO-DOO just for them.
They didn't seem impressed.
Anyway, before each and every "Brandy" refrain I encouraged the audience to sing along with me. Nobody did. At least not out loud.
Undeterred, I embraced my inner lounge singer and started dialoguing in between the lyrics...."What did all the sailors say? Come on, I can't hear you! All the sailors said Brandy, you're a fine girl...."
By the way, I was wearing my amazing tie-dye sneakers. I credit them with keeping me swaying and stepping in time to the Brandy-soaked rhythm.
The remainder of non-participating mini-Infidels later remarked that roughly half the audience did indeed lip sync along and seemed genuinely amused at our antics. The other half though, well, they appeared torn between looking embarrassed for us and/or sitting completely stone-faced as though "Brandy" didn't have the power to save their mortal soul.
Luckily, I know different and can readily bear the testimony of "Brandy" at any given moment.
Oh, I saved the best part for last. The venue happened to be a gathering of Constitutionally-minded people participating in the newly-instituted 912 Project that's predicated on an ideology based not on politics, but on principles and values.
I wanted to start a Conservative Conga Line, but my inner voice nixed the idea. It might be viewed as a tad too risque to lead a room full of people into grabbing at stranger's hips while lining up, one behind the other, to shake it jungle-style to Gloria Estefan. As it is, I think some folks already assumed that I must have spiked my Diet Coke with a hidden Brandy flask.
I'll admit it: I DO LOVE my "Brandy."

The Looking Glass guy who sings "Brandy" looks nothing like I assumed! The official article on Wikipedia details how he started a heavy metal band just a few years later. How you evolve from squeezing out soft processed cheese like "Brandy" to heavy metal, is beyond rationality. It is amusing to note, however, that the Red Hot Chili Peppers also did a rousing cover of this song.

I don't care what anyone says: I'm going to make it a point to serve up "Brandy" at all my parties.....and you should too! I bet Brandy likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain while wasting away in Margaritaville with her friends Jose Cuervo and Sherry. Poor Sherry, she's still on the run from that stalker, Steve Perry. He's relentless even though she told him it would never work out because Sherry Perry makes for an abominable married name.

From The Ankles Up, I'm All Business.......

But from the ankles down, I'm all party.....

More specifically, I'm a hippy-dippy, tie-dyed Bob Marley party. You should see my magnificent toe hair dreadlocks.
When wearing these shoes, my feet relentlessly tap out the Morse Code version of "One World, One Love" all day long as though independent from the rest of my body.
"Let's get together and feel alriiigghhhttt....."
That's the real reason why Asians bind their feet. It's to shut them up.
I finally was forced to adopt a zero tolerance stance prohibiting them from burning any kind of "incense" in the sanctity of my footwear. I understand that my feet may consider my Good Time shoes as their special private place where they can do whatever they feel like, but you know, sometimes I do need to get through security and ultra-sniffy dogs to get places.
Man, I'm such an unmellow fascist pouring holy water on their little smoke-filled lovefest.
Reluctantly, I did compromise and purchase some lovely socks for my feet made from the most organic hemp crops. They feel positively toasted in them.
Anyway, I think I've long established my predilection for the most bizarro WTF?-ery of novelty socks, but I've never before shared my bizarro WTF?-ery shoe fetish.
I picked up these little homage to the Grateful Dead beauties at a new thrift store that caters to teens called Plato's Closet. I visually scoured the shoes for any traces of foot funk left over from the previous inhabitants. I also did some deep and profound sole searching. I'm happy to report that these shoes were undoubtedly never worn and yet still bore an amazing price tag of only ten bucks.
I am a little disturbed to think about Plato, one of the greatest philosophers in history, as a cross-dresser, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that the sparkly tube dress and high heels in his closet were cheap. I do like a frugal man!
I only have a few pairs of weird shoes. Certainly not enough to open up my own FooFoo Feet Museum in the shoe closet just yet.
See, I have certain stringent criteria regarding price, function, and comfortability factors. I'm not easy. Not just any old random oddball shoe can apply for employment at Smiling Infidel Central.
Here's some of the lucky few who made it past the rigorous selection process:

If Papi and I ever get divorced, I'm going to date both Dr. Scholls and Mr. Vans so I can be sure that my poor, defenseless little feet will never be stinky or cold again.......

One Of The Most Clever Music Videos I've Seen In A Long Time

As an added bonus, I absolutely love the song too. Oren himself directed this snappy and brilliant little video that moves seamlessly along with his lyrics.

I Had An Explosively Big DM Movement Yesterday....

DM= Depeche Mode
Depeche Mode= French For "Fast Fashion."
I'm sure you knew exactly what I was referring to by the post title, right?
Anyway, I created this funky little fashion ensemble for my oldest Infidel daughter, Sunbum.
My gosh, it looks as though this child was orphaned at birth and raised by a Flock Of Seagulls, doesn't it?
Sunbum's first words weren't "goo-goo-gah-gah" like most babbling babies. Nope, it was more like Kajagoogoo.
Did you ever watch that emotionally manipulating movie with Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour called "Somewhere In Time?" Well, basically Christopher has to dress himself head-to-toe in authentic period clothing before venturing back in time. If he doesn't, the space/time continuum will be broken thus sending him careening back to the present day.
Yeah well, using that important time traveling criteria, Sunbum is more than ready to hitch a ride in a passing plutonium-powered Delorean headed towards the year 1985.

Here's The Valley Girl Approved Checklist That I Studied Like Scripture Before Attempting My Feat Of Creatively Monumental Proportions:

• Utilize blinding fluorescent colors as though your nickname is Neon Leon. Check.
• Scrunch and bunch your socks like you're playing an accordion made from cotton. Check.
• Flippy-Floppy hair with a totally rad headband. Check.
• 3 garishly designed plastic wristwatches climbing up the arm letting everyone know you take fashion cues from the black market watch hustlers on Madison Square. Check.
• A Vintage Guess? black denim jacket that used to belong to your mother when her entire wardrobe consisted of overalls. Check.
• Activate the Popped Collar Sequence on my mark....3....2....1....... Check.
• Black pencil skirt that allows you a justifiable excuse to back out of any and all breakdance challenges. Check.
• A groovin, grommeted belt to cinch and bind and bring it all together like a corn tortilla encapsulating spicy taco meat goodness. Fer sure. Check.

What? What's that you say? You said, Wang Chung to you??!?
Well, may the power of Wang Chung also be upon you, my fair reader.

It's No Coincidence That You Can't Have Brawn (Or Brains) Without A B-R-A!

For years I've remained cognizant of the cryptic messages that my XM Satellite Radio has wordlessly sent to me via its display screen; but I'm truly baffled to explain this latest digital outburst.

Fight Like A Bra.....what exactly does that mean, XM Satellite Radio?
Should I fend off mortal enemies and foes using a soft cup technique which entails me just kind of aimlessly batting them around with my hands encased in pillowy cushions? Or should I take a few battle cues from the padding and smother those suckers like how the foamy lining chokes the will to live out of booby skin?
If I were to Fight Like A Bra right this very moment, it would be a clean fight. However, if we'd engaged in a vicious quarrel a few minutes before my shower, I'd have absolutely guaranteed you a very down and dirty bra skirmish.
Bottles of Boob Sweat: Guaranteed to repel any and all attackers
Should bra fighting ever become a national sport we all know that the underwire and all its malicious poking, tugging, and boobage-cutting maneuvers would win the grand championship.
I suppose there'd be a training bra/featherweight boobs division too for those perky young whippersnappers who haven't honed their brassiere war strategies yet.
Personally, I think Fight Like A Bra gives some interesting insight as to why I detest wearing a bra so much. You see, its warring nature is wholly incompatible with my genteel ways.
Although if bra fighting really did make headway into the world of competitive arena sports like bull fighting has, I'd have to cheer for my sturdy Playtex bras. I know they'd beat the snot out of those flimsy lace things that Victoria's Secret has to offer........ One good snap, and they're OUT!
Heavens, I force Playtex to take the 18-hour bazonga-holding challenge on a regular basis. Of course they're well equipped to fight it out with other bras. That is some superior durability at work right there.
To ensure victory we'd first have to make sure that the Madonna line of I-Stuck-My-Boobs-In-A-Pencil-Sharpener-To-Make-Them-Pointy bras are disqualified.
Madonna can take those grotesque boulder-holder abominations she foisted on an unsuspecting public and get into Unicorn or Rhino fighting or something.

I'll have to have a more in-depth chat with my XM Radio display about its too frequent communiques rife with odd advice and what exactly it wants me to do with it.
Not too long ago it was flashing graphic things at me like You Give Good Love, I Want Your Sex, and I'm In The Mood For Love, and I was all like "Pardon me, XM Radio? Are you coming on to me? You need to mind your manners."
I also hate it when it asks me geographical stuff like Do You Know The Way To San Jose? I mean, gosh can't it just talk to one of its GPS buddies? I'm not a freakin cartographer. And no, I don't know how to take you down to Funky Town either.

Okay, so perhaps the XM Radio isn't exactly a useful tool to rely on for life-altering guidance but the next time you find yourself embroiled in an escalating confrontation just remember the promptings of my XM Radio and employ some Fight Like A Bra moves; sure to make any opponent feel squeezed, manhandled, strangulated, and profoundly uncomfortable just like my own breastages do every single day of their young, fleshy lives.

Delta Burke Hates Me: She Tried To Strangulate My Lady Bits Last Week!

Be warned: Just because someone's a washed-up television star from the 80's doesn't mean they should be handed complete creative control over their own intimate apparel line.
But, if they did, we would have seen undergarment products from former big-name stars lining the shelves of department store underwear sections a long time ago.
How about Gary Coleman's Big Boy Briefs? Or Shelley Long's Long Johns? Or maybe a nice pair of Joan Collins' Cougar Thongs.

Okay, so while shopping at Big Lots discount store in pursuit of the perfect birthday present for my friend Carrot Jello, I found a 2-pack value box of Delta Burke brand girdles on sale.
Really, is there any better way to tell someone how much they mean to you than sending them a couple of lace-front girdles?
The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Girdles: A Movie For The Less Physically Fit.
Since Carrot and I wear the same size, I figured that I'd keep one and send the other to her as a kind of gut-minimizing, fat pouch-eliminating take on the old Best Friends heart necklaces we all coveted during our schoolgirl days. Although at no time did I consider writing "Best" on one girdle and "Friends" on the other.
A girdle is the perfect gift of friendship. It literally girds you up when you're feeling down. Girdle Twin Power.....ACTIVATE!
Just so you know: One girdle's black and one girdle's ivory. Kind of like a Girdle Yin&Yang.

Then suddenly, before I could ship the girdle to Carrot's house, a most unfortunate girdle tragedy struck the Infidel home.
You never think it can happen to you.......
On the day of Papi's company Christmas Party I couldn't find my steadfast and true girdle sidekick anywhere and trust me, I freakin needed it so I could squeeze into my dress.
I searched high and low for it. I even commissioned our dog Reagan to go on a girdle rescue mission since he has fantastic sniffy capabilities. But it was all to no avail.
Duct taping fat rolls to smooth them out doesn't work as well as I thought it would.
In desperation I turned to Delta Burke to solve my girdle emergency.
Initially the ivory-colored girdle slid right on with ease but then, much to my chagrin, it stopped somewhere between my navel and lower belly pooch.
I read the package. It did not mention anything about it being a pack of low-rise girdle bikinis. And yet there I was, standing in something that looked like and pinched like an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny little Delta Burke bikini.
I may be grossly rotund but my pubic area is not where I need to focus slimming efforts.
The thought flashed into my mind of Papi's co-workers gossipping about me and saying things like: "Wow, Papi's wife has the most toned and svelte pubic area I've ever seen. It's a shame the rest of her is so hefty."
In disgust, I hurled the hoo-hoo oppressing garment across the room.

My mom had a similar experience with Delta Burke.
She purchased a Delta Burke brassiere in a slightly larger size to ensure a good fit.
The bra not only refused to cup her bosoms properly, it also had the audacity to mock my mom as she futilely struggled and strained and grunted to hook the tiny clasps in the back.

I speculate that Delta is a fat lady who secretly hates other fat ladies. She probably takes out her aggression on the portly population by manufacturing undergarments in smaller sizes than what the label says so that the buyer will feel like a total blob of billowing blubber when they try to wear it.
Delta is banking on the fact that the low-rent stores who carry her inferior shrinky-dinky apparel don't have dressing rooms. See, then large-and-in-charge women won't know the true discomfort and trickery Delta is serving up until they get home and find themselves totally compressed by the vacuum-sealed Delta girdles.
They'll undoubtedly feel too fat and ashamed to return the stuff because they don't want to have to recite the sad tale to the customer service manager about how their big butt refused to be harnessed and confined into such a ridiculously small polyester prison.
Brilliant marketing strategy!

Delta Burke should go work for the people over at the Just My Size clothing manufacturer. She's had a lot of practice selling stuff that really is just her size and her size only.
But one thing's for certain, Delta Burke may hate me but I hate that panty-pushing hussy even more.
From this day forth, we are enemies.
Delta will never be allowed into the sanctity of my underwear drawer ever again.

From Elastic To Physcokity........

Kind of like that crappy movie From Justin To Kelly.........except the music in my version is much, much better.

Super Blogger PHYSCOKITY and I are so musically compatible. It's a crying shame we don't live closer to one another because then we could totally co-DJ important events like Ward socials, bar mitzvahs, and maybe even an IHOP grand opening or two! Think of it, Physcokity- we could get paid in pancakes!

DJ Elastica and Physcokity rocking the house! Yesssssss. I'm going to buy us matching gold spandex catsuits and coordinating headbands.

Here's a few more songs that I thought you'd love, Physcokity.

VOICE IN MY HEAD- PAINKILLER HOTEL
(Check out the guitarists. One looks like Scott Foley and the other is a ringer for Sean Astin)

I'D RATHER DANCE WITH YOU(THAN TALK WITH YOU)- KINGS OF CONVENIENCE
(The favorite of oldest Infidel daughter Sunbum, right now.)

MOVE- CSS

SILVER LINING-RILO KILEY

One of my favorite commenters and fellow homeschooling mother, J-MOM asked me where I hear all this music. Well, we don't have cable TV, or an iTouch, or even a Wii gaming system. It's rare that we splurge on superfluous items and gadgets, but since I spend half my life driving around, my man, Papi wisely purchased me an XM Satellite Radio system for my truck a few years ago. It happened none too soon because shortly after I developed an extreme allergic reaction to FM radio stations that made me break out in hives every time they played Rihanna, Nickelback, and Lil Wayne 20 times an hour. XM radio quite possibly saved my life and my sanity. I have music A.D.D. Fortunately, I like almost all genres so that keeps me busy channel-hopping on the hundred or so music stations XM has to offer.

I'm a huge music snob now. I seriously can't have a normal conversation with someone without it reminding me of some random musical lyric. Sometimes I can control myself and keep from bursting out singing. Most of the time, though, I can't. My friend, Millie, often converses in an entire language comprised of nothing more than the finest quotes from TV shows and movies. We make an interesting pair.

*I certainly don't expect anyone to sit through 4 music videos nor do I expect any comments. I just was in the mood for sharing some great tracks that you'll likely never hear on mainstream radio because they're too busy playing their role as Masters Of Musical Mediocrity.*

b.: My mom was going to name me Rebecca. That is, until she heard Barry Manilow's tender ballad Could It Be Magic? where he croons, "Sweet Melissa, Angel Of My Lifetime." And so that's how I came to possess the most popular girls name of 1974 along with millions of other Melissa's.

I Got The Music In Me! And Not Even An Enema Can Take It Out!

I'm a fat, white, mild-mannered (mostly) Mormon chick from the suburbs with a heart gut of gold. I've also spawned 6 children. I homebirth, homeschool, and wear pants with a stretchy elastic waistband.

Given all that, what kind of music would you expect to find if you had a sudden out-of-body experience and inexplicably find yourself floating over my outdated but expansive CD collection?

Maybe Air Supply's Greatest Hits? Or Pat Boone's much ballyhooed extravaganza of heavy metal covers? Perhaps I have a secret collection of Reader's Digest special Stardust Memories love song compilation CD's. Oh wait. That would be entirely accurate. I actually do own 2 Stardust Memories CD's. What can you really expect from a woman named after a Barry Manilow song. (Really!)

Anyway, it's presumptive to assume that between gawking at the stacks of lame CD's and my iTunes Library that you'd run the risk of collapsing form a cheese overdose, right?

Wrong.

You can't judge a person's musical tastes from their appearance. I've gone to see such lite rock favorites as Chicago, The Little River Band and Earth, Wind &Fire. But I also got jostled and slammed in the belly of a fierce mosh pit during a Suicidal Tendencies performance in the 90's.

So, what are we listening to at this very moment in the Infidel household? Well, we happen to LOVE the first single from Bloc Party's brand new release, Intimacy.

BLOC PARTY- TALONS

DAWN OF THE DEAD- DOES IT OFFEND YOU, YEAH? (Great pop song. Weird video)

And finally, this song has been playing non-stop at our house all summer and we're still not tired of it! Ever wonder what happened to Albert Ingalls on Little House on The Prairie? Wonder no more! Check out this video at around :30 seconds in. It's Albert Incarnate!

MGMTElectric Feel

Music Video Codes By Music Jesus.com

We went to a Homeschool Family Formal Dance last year. The music was provided by a member of our homeschool group with seriously awful taste. They expected us to get our groove on and shake it to emotionally draining songs like Eric Clapton's "Change The World" and "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion. The one and only fast track played was the overly-long "Rock Lobster." I'm totally going to petition to take over DJ duties next year.

*Here's A Picture Of Us At The Fall Family Formal circa 2006. I can't find the one from last year. We're all smiley and stuff because the party organizers just rolled out a platter of Pigs In A Blanket and some guy munched the floor while dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe. These are precious memories you just can't buy.*

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.

My House Is More Ghetto Than Your House: Escaping To A Tropical Wonderland For Cheap

Can you physically buy Paradise? Of course you can! Us Infidels bought ourselves a little slice of Tropical Paradise happiness-for less money than a loincloth layaway plan- down at our favorite 99 Cents Only store.

Wait, I'm exaggerating a bit. We didn't actually acquire our own Tropical Paradise for the 99 Cent purchase price. No, it was more like $1.07 after tax.

Who needs to bury their head in the sand when life smacks them around in its perverse version of the Whack-A-Mole game? Not us. We only have to tuck our heads into the soft, wooly crevice of our armpits to be whisked away to a carefree land of endless beaches and endless coconut shrimp platters.

The label does clearly state that it offers up 24 Hour Tropical Paradise service. It'll be like putting that Tom Cruise "Cocktail" movie on replay while you have a mock Mai Tai marathon........only better! Let those stinky Beach Boys have Kokomo all to themselves. You can have your very own Tropical Pit Paradise!

If you like pina coladas...........and sniffin' your pits in the rain.......then this is the deodorant you've looked for.......take a whiff and ESCAPE!
*Suave's Tropical Paradise scented deodorant really does smell sort of like a pina colada. Well, a pina colada made in your blender with the missing lid so then you improvise by covering it with your bathing suit that reeks of Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion instead*
Suave Tropical Paradise Is The Official Deodorant Of Tiki Gods Everywhere!

Hey, It's A Flashback Wednesday Without The Actual Flashing Part!

Uh yeah, this is a Flashback Flash-Free Zone. No clothing will be removed because we don't have to take our clothes off, to have a good time, oh no.

So then, right there in front of all our congregated bloggy sisters, I blurted out to my friend Millie, "Hey Millie, everytime I hear that song, I Wanna Kiss You All Over, I think about YOU!"

She giggled nervously.

See, awhile back Millie had the funniest blog post where she pointed out that growing up, us 30-40 somethings didn't have any clue what animal/mineral/or vegetable was cranking out the hot top 40 tunes we heard on our radio. In the days before MTV, music was strictly an auditory experience unless you went to concerts or watched variety shows on TV. Anyway, after catching a glimpse of some of the original artists singing the original songs we all know and love, Millie discovered that perhaps radio was the safest place for them and for us, too. She once famously wrote, "Oh my heavens.........after I saw those guys from Exile, it made I Wanna Kiss You All Over seem like a horrible threat."

EXILE- I WANNA KISS YOU ALL OVER

If you can get beyond the unfortunate set designed by Lippy Lippinschitz you'll notice the bangs-wearing lead singer who appears to be a cross between a walking stick bug with an Uncle Rico face and a human metronome. Witness how he tick-tocks back and forth in his smoooooth Sansabelt polyester pants while keeping perfect time with the funky rhythm. But really, the giant lip minefield littering the stage? Are they the remnants of some Mick Jagger lip perfection experiments gone horribly awry? Maybe they borrowed them from the props department at Steven Tyler's Sharty Like A Rockstar Academy.

On the left of Uncle Rico circa 1978 is the bearded guy who didn't look quite "brotherly" enough to fit into The Doobie Brothers.....or The Bellamy Brothers.....or The Righteous Brothers, so he had to join up with Exile. I bet those nice Jonas Brothers would have given him some band member asylum.

To the right of our lead singer is obviously the mustachioed stunt double for John Oates who was hired to shield John from the ladies flinging their panties onstage at Daryl Hall. Nobody wants to lose an eye whether they be Private Eyes or otherwise.

You HAVE to watch the entire video to appreciate the very non-charismatic backup musicians in Exile. Their zombie faces are more glazed over than an entire bakery stuffed full of glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Remember the robotic animal band at Chuck E. Cheese that sang Happy Birthday to you that year you turned 9? Well, guess what? The guys from Exile were actually the ones performing underneath those furry costumes. Surprise!

WALTER EGAN- MAGNET & STEEL

Oh how many countless times I've breathlessly told my Papi, "You are a magnet and I am steel." I've seriously always loved this song. I never bothered to look up Walter Egan on youtube until last week. It's quite apparent that Walter Egan's stylist based his onstage persona to resemble that of a sinister-looking Shirley Temple ventriloquist doll. Yeah, it was the 70's. Yes, I know that a lot of men during that era wore make-up combined with navel-grazing satin shirts and white bell bottom ensembles. Sadly, only toothy Andy Gibb or David Cassidy could pull off those dapper disco looks.

If Walter Egan had told me that I was a magnet and he was steel, I'd of had to have myself promptly demagnetized.

Next up we'll explore the secret life of Dave Loggins. Was he simply an innocent, starry-eyed troubadour pining away for his love to "Please Come To Boston" or was he really a secret agent working for the Travel And Tourism Commission?

I Got Plenty Of Sole Inside! (Unfortunately It's Way Too Squishy)

Both pairs of my beloved Birkenstocks have seen a better day. I really did try to equally distribute the gift of potent Elasticwaistbandlady foot sweat between them, but they're still weathered down to a point where the insides look like Tiny Tim's teeth after he's been on a licorice bender while tiptoeing through the tulips.

The Birkenstock Two have lost all ability to properly grip my massive feet. So consequently I struggle when I'm walking to keep my tootsies from sliding around. They also make unholy armpit fart noises from the foot friction. I've grown weary of laughing off the embarrassment and telling people that I opted for shoe insoles manufactured by the Whoopee Cushion company.

I don't enjoy shoe shopping at all. If I could get my house full of mini-Infidels to work like little sweatshop elves-cobbling together shoes- I'd happily take that option over dragging myself to the store.

Luckily, I found these tanned leather beauties that scream out "MIDDLE-AGED MAMA!" while replacing my oldest daughter's black EMO shoes that sprung a leak last month. (I think she wore them down from constantly polishing them. I have weird kids with weird shoe fetishes)

Since Ross Dress For Less discount stores don't offer complimentary hose footies for trying on shoes, I snagged my new sandals without even giving them a trial run through the bargain lingerie section.

The first day of ownership I wore them to Church without incident. The second time I slipped them on though, I noticed an odd "SSSSSSSSSSS" sound that followed me everywhere I went.

I keep losing steam as I age, but I'm not losing air. My mind kept nagging me. Maybe I did have a slow leak somewhere? Well, I wasn't about to stick the tire pressure gauge in any of my holes to find out!

Perhaps my Made In India shoes came specially equipped with a bunch of baby snakes inside, and that's them in there, hissing with each step I take?

I exhausted all logical possibilities and finally concluded that the annoying sound was emanating from the ridiculously puffy sandal insole.

Terrific. Now the first impression I make when I sashay into a room will be my lifelike impression of air whooshing out of a padded, cushiony toilet seat when you plop down on it.

How will I ever win the Hide-And Seek Grand Championship when my shoes betray my location with every step? 

These sandals have been rejected by the Stealth Ninja Society and The National Library Association.

*I kept the 10 sticker inside so I could show any doubters that I am and always will be a PERFECT 10!*

Hair Today......GONE Tomorrow!

I'm not only a fatigued homeschooling/working/blogging mother of 6 mini-Infidels but I'm also the President of a local bank. I bet you didn't know that, did you?
Yes, we opened the First United Infidel Hair Bank about two years ago. Naturally I selected myself as the most qualified El Presidente to handle Hair Bank business.
Deposits have trickled in slowly but the hair market is a solid one that grows at a nice and steady pace.
Last week we decided to liquidate all of our accumulated tress assets. The snippets of hair weighed right around 2 pounds in totality!
We then transferred ownership over to the Locks Of Love organization so that our severed ponytails-minus the split ends- may live on through others.
That picture I posted in the sidebar of my curled coif with hair descending down to the middle of my back? Yeah well, as of last Monday, it's completely outdated.
I'm now sporting a sensible chin-length bob with cute little layers that curve around my face. My hair's short but there's still enough there to utilize as a privacy curtain so I can shield others from seeing me blush in an awkward situation emergency. That's a very important hair feature to have.
Not to worry, our First United Infidel Hair Bank may have closed up shop but the Severed Ponytail Society lives on! Us Hair-i-tics are intent on growing a fresh new crop of donations by the end of next year.

I'm Still Dressing The Same Way I Did In The 80's.......My "Look" Was Inspired By Revenge Of The Nerds

Okay, every Sunday I thumb through the glossy newspaper ad supplements from the various stores. Lately I've noticed a disturbing trend emerging that confirms my hypothesis that the American fashion merchants are launching a conspiratorial plot to unload all the 70's crap they didn't sell the first time around.
You, as a consumer, have the power to stand against such tyrranical clothing evil. Just say NO! to gauzy peasant blouses, ultra cameltoe-inducing gaucho pants, halter-styled jumpsuits, tab collars, cork-wedge platform sandals, and polyester tops with gaudy patterns on it.
Listen, us Infidels have been listening to a lot of Euro music lately and the accompanying videos show a starkly different trend spreading across Europe. From the skinny ties, colored belts, suspenders, and striped T-shirts with colored blazers it's obvious that they're embracing all things circa 1983.
They're bringing 80's back......yeah! So if you suddenly get a hankering for something retro, make sure you set your closet time machine to bypass the 70's era completely.

The oldest mini-Infidel daughters find themselves completely enamored by this group from Denmark called Alphabeat. Think of a Scandinavian version of a Disney High School Musical production with upbeat song material and backed by an unstoppably perky band: That's Alphabeat. The paired boy/girl lead singers ooze super adorability and charm. They're also both too young to have lived the 80's experience. Yet all their videos show that unmistakeable 80's vibe going on.
ALPHABEAT- FASCINATION 3:02

We're also really loving an English band called Black Kids. They're sporting the patented Mr. Rogers pullover cardigan style and belted jumper dresses along with a distinct New Wave-ish sound. One word of caution: casually telling people that you're listening to "The Black Kids" might lead them to some interesting assumptions about you and your racial viewpoints.
BLACK KIDS- I'M NOT GONNA TEACH YOUR BOYFRIEND HOW TO DANCE WITH YOU 3:39

Our favorite Black Kids song!
BLACK KIDS- LOOK AT ME WHEN I ROCK WHICHOO 4:12

As if I needed more evidence to add to my case that the 80's will rise again-check out the Swatch watch knockoffs I scored at Walgreens Drug Store for $2.99. The picture on the left shows my broken, crumbling Swatch watches that cost a hefty $35-50 bucks back in the Swatch heyday. Now look at the Walgreens watches. Do you see much of a difference aside from the huge pricing gap? Nope, neither do I.

You know what time it is? It's 80's time, fool! The store ads may be full of models wearing clothing that appears as though it's straight from the Sonny & Cher collection, but I believe that most consumers are going to shun that and adopt the mantra, "It's 2008 and we think the 80's are great!"
So, Izod Lacoste is back. Checkered Vans are back. Leggings under mini-skirts are back. It's only a matter of time before we're wearing the doofy vest look again with our layered socks while showing off our Steve Perry-inspired mullet hair.

(We're also grooving Infidel-style to this group called Morandi. Apparently, they're the preeminent Romanian pop/techno sound of the moment. Anyway, I swear to you when I saw THIS VIDEO all I could think of was the possible but remote theory that George and Andrew dropped a few love children when touring Romania back in the 80's because these two guys from Morandi are freakin WHAM! incarnate.)

Hey, I Don't Mean To Alarm You But There Appears To Be An Alligator On Your Breast!

Yeah, my mom bought into the all the preppy reptilian hype back in the 80's. I had quite a few toothy alligators dancing across my chestage as an adolescent.....and then as a teen the man-eating alligator emblem was displaced by a fearsome band of snobby Polo ponies. Nowadays the only thing hovering over the breast area of my shirts are the stains from the meatball sandwich I ate for lunch.
Honestly, I can't really fault my mother for choosing the trendy look for my wardrobe. As I recall, the only other fashion options in 1984 involved Valley Girl mini-skirts, parachute pants, checkered Vans, zippered leather jackets, fugly stirrup leggings, OP beach wear, and Garanimals. None of the above options would ever look normal on the pudgy, white bread-suburbanite me .

After an extended hibernation, Lacoste is back on the scene.
Look at how excited one Houston neighborhood is to welcome in a new era of all things Lacoste. They LOVE Lacoste and they're not afraid to show it. They even named their street Lacoste Love Ct.
You too can be a resident of Lacoste Love Ct. but only if you solemnly swear to uphold the strict tenets of their Home Owner's Association Policy. The H.O.A. states that all residents must wear Izod Lacoste apparel at all times. Residents must also decorate their yard space with alligator fountains and all topiary bushes must be cut into the shape of alligators. I think they're working on a fundraiser to isolate their street from the rest of the neighborhood by building a moat and stocking it with real alligators.
I hope they realize that they'll never be able to get another pizza delivered to their home again.

I really like the NO OUTLET notice situated above the street sign.
It's as though the occupants of Lacoste Love Ct. are saying LACOSTE LOVE OR DIE, BABY. THERE'S NO WAY OUT!

Oh For The Love Of All Things Holy And Decent.....Are You Wearing That Shirt Again?

I'm practicing repeating the title line to this post because I can see that it's going to be the most oft-used phrase in the Infidel house for awhile. I know the truth of all things without even resorting to using my special all-knowing, all-seeing Magic 8 Ball.

The oldest Infidel daughter, Sunbum makes no secret about her love of Edward Cullen and now thanks to blog friend ALICE of the Honey Pie Manor she can proudly display her love wherever she goes! Yes, Edward is not only in Sunbum's heart but he's also now emblazoned across her heart (and chi-chi's) too.

I'm kind of a genealogy slacker- but to the best of my knowledge, we don't have even a drop of Cullen blood in our ancestry. However, yesterday, when the package bearing the name of Sunbum arrived at our house, and she tore into it and lifted out the T-shirt destined to become her main wardrobe staple- I could swear that she was sparkling just like a bonafide member of the Cullen Clan. It was a beautiful sight.

Pictures....BEHOLD!

THANKS ALICE!!!!! May you only encounter vegetarian vampires and horny-but-harmless werewolves all the years of your life.......

*Now to figure out a covert and secrety hiding place for the shirt on Sundays so Sunbum won't try to wear it to Church!*

(And as a sidenote......THIS IS THE WORST EDWARD PICTURE EVER!!! The FUG......it burrrnnnsss. Picture courtesy of gofugyourself.com)

My Mini-Infidels Found My Secrety Time Capsule Buried Inside A Rubbermaid Container....

Irritatingly enough, the discovery made them undergo a metamorphosis process from a handsome bunch of Infidel spawn into a braying, cackling herd of donkey escapees from Pinocchio's Pleasure Island.

I'm not all that sentimental but I have held on to a few of the last cornball vestiges from my childhood. The hand corsage from the 8th grade dance is long gone but the cruel things my peers wrote in my middle school yearbook lives on.

The two oldest Infidel daughters (12&13) almost suffocated themselves from laughing so hard while they read through the flimsy "yearbook" my middle school provided. It's really just a bunch of blank pages stapled together with the school name and mascot printed on the front. I knew I was opening myself up to a world of ridicule when the Infidel daughters noticed the not-so-prestigious name of the academic institution in which I attended.......Wunderlich. (WONDER LICK) There seems to be a recurring theme throughout the bright, marker-festooned yearbook pages--mostly that theme involves "friends" writing out every synonym that they could conjure up for the words "gullible and slow." Observe a few sample pages below where I'm referred to as dense and dingy. A quick flip through the book will reveal other such descriptive joys like goob, airhead, and nerd. I'm really not sure how this book has survived for so long without me chucking it into a giant S'More-making campfire.

The Incredible Disintegrating Swatch Watch Collection!
I loved, loved, loved Swatch watches back in the day. I could pretty much count on getting a new watch to add to my awesome Swatch hoard every Christmas. So if you calculate the roughly 8 Swatch watches in my possession and all of them going through a rotation of use that brings along the expected wear and tear......then these things are really just pieces of prettily colored plastic crap! I haven't worn any of them for close to 15 years-- and yet their sedentary life just lying around in a box was too much for them to withstand so they had to start peeling and breaking off big chunks of the wristbands.

When I was a little young (I was never little) girl...........I spent my free time writing to TV shows and getting autographed pictures. And now I look back and think, "Wow, that's so weird. I really was a dingy air-headed goob after all." I did manage to score a picture of the uber hot MacGyver among a few others but they're stored in a separate (but equal!) Rubbermaid container somewhere in my closet. My only claim to fame arose when the TV game show, Double Dare actually used one of the Obstacle Course ideas that I sent to them. You know the one where the contestants have to search through a rancid cheese filling lining the holes on a gigantic plastic Swiss Cheese to find the flag? Yep, that was mine! What did I get in return? A Double Dare T-shirt and an autographed picture of the host, Marc Summers. Wow.

This is a shameful part of me that I tried desperately to hide from you. It's true, I succumbed to peer pressure and wore these mega-ugly painted wood necklaces that never should have see the light of day outside of a nursing home Bingo Hall.

Here's a closeup of the Country Scene necklace. Quite inexplicably, the farm girl is sporting a ravishing femullet. Look at her.....she's all serious brunette business from the front but when you turn her over it's 100 percent sassy blond party action! Well, that's only if you're having a Little House On The Prairie party, but still.

I hate to sully my reputation like this-- but as a teen, I really got around. I worked at all three of these places before I ever hit my 20's. For some unknown reason, the capable name tag maker person at Randall's did not spell my name right. Having an extra consonant thrown into my name may have made me look more special than the scads of plain Melissa's running around there at the time but it didn't go too far towards helping me with my cashier career......Randall's made it into my personal Record Book under 'Shortest Working Stint Ever.' I preferred my Kroger name tag. I liked to wander the store and steal goofy stickers off different products to add to my tag. Sometimes I was Juicy, sometimes I was 100% Lean and on certain days I was 'Crusty On The Inside.' (stolen from a French Baguette loaf). I can honestly say that this was the only time in my life that other people would stare directly at me before saying "Hey, look at Melissa, she's Fat Free today!"
Yeah, my very first job was at Captain D's seafood when I was only 15. Got a dirty fish joke? Save it because I've already heard them all.

And now I know the real reason why they bury Time Capsules deep into the ground. I should've taken a life lesson from History and done the same thing!

My House Is More Ghetto Than Your House: Window Covering Solutions

The Problem:
Our back door is located in the kitchen area and it faces West. The afternoon sun intrusively barges in through the large rectangular windowpanes practically blinding us while we're trying to stuff our faces at meal time. The back door window also lets in too much heat making an already stiflingly hot kitchen just unbearable. Our back door offers a scenic view of the 2-story home behind us whose bored kids constantly sit in their upstairs window watching our house like they're on some sort of Food Patrol surveillance. I think they want to steal my super secret Tater Tot Casserole recipe so they can pass it off as their own and rise to the top of the Mediocre Cooking TV Show circuit.

Another Problem:
We don't exactly have the money for store bought window treatments right now. Yeah I own a sewing machine but I don't know how to measure or follow a pattern so the solution to our window dilemma will have to lie elsewhere.
(Here's my Stef showing the problem back door and how we're constantly 'Blinded By The Light.' At least we've never been "revved up like a deuce!"

In total hot flash frustration and with beads of sweat dotting his upper lip, Papi spied our large ream of crafty paper. He then set about using his genius-and many, many pieces of duct tape- to engineer us a makeshift curtain so exceedingly fine it would make all of Shanty Town weep with envy!

The Final Solution:

Voila! No more solar penetration! (Why does that sound so dirty?) It's also nice not to have our beastly crotch-sniffing wonder dog, Reagan jumping up on the window with his big, pitiful 'Please Sir, May I Have Some More?' face while he watches us eat our dinner.

You won't find tips for making your home Ghetto Fabulousssssss here. However I do offer the finest advice available if you're interested in a Ghetto Practicality mentality. Ching!

The Curse Of The Pink Pantser

See these pants? I hate them. I loathe them. I abhor them. I despise them. I rue the day they were ever cobbled into existence from Pebto-Bismol stained fabric. To be fair they're not even really pants. No, they're so much worse because they're actually a blindingly pink pair of CLAMDIGGERS masquerading as pants!

Why do I even own such a wrinkly testament to the power of Fug? I'm not sure of all the minute details surrounding the inexplicable purchase but the evidence shows that the frugal side of me passed by the clearance rack at the store, spied the $1.50 price tag on these wretched pants and immediately hatched a plan.

My frugal side chloroformed and tied up the mini-What Not To Wear fashionista that also lives in me in an effort to subdue its small voice of reason so that Miss Frugality Run Amok could then wreak havoc in cheapo pants inspired by the color of pink vomit. That is the only possible explanation.

I try to avoid clothes that stand out at all costs. Owning a pair of clamdiggers that would color match the wadded up bubblegum stuck up underneath a park bench is not the way to blend into a crowd. Everytime I wear these hideous pants I half expect a kindly old lady to comment to me that they remind her of her long-gone beloved Pink Poodle, FooFee.

You know how you have clothes stuffed into the back of your drawer/closet/bureau that's reserved for your worst case clothing scenario option only? Yeah, my pink pants should really be housed in a sealed glass box mounted on the wall with a little mallet hanging alongside it and a note that reads:In Case Of Extreme Laundry Emergency- Break Glass.

I had such a laundry emergency day recently as I hadn't any other alternatives available to me other than wearing the Mary Kay clamdiggers de doom. No lifelines left, no dramatic music, no friends to call, no multiple choice......no, donning the pink pants and transforming myself into the ultimate non-superhero, The Pink Pantser was my final answer.

My mini-Infidels understand my deep and abiding pink pants hatred. When they saw me with them on a few days ago, they started laughing. My second oldest daughter, Monkey commented "Ooooh, it looks like it's The Return Of The Pink Pantser." To which I coolly strolled past her in my crusty cotton clamdiggers and remarked that yes it indeed it was the return of The Pink Pantser......and then I turned around and pounced on her while screeching "It's the Revenge Of The Pink Pantser, fool because The Pink Pantser will always strike again when you least expect it."

Well, I guess the drawstring on the pants could be used to tie up mortal enemies of The Pink Pantser in a pinch but mainly my fight-winning strategy is watching my foe fall over, completely paralyzed from laughing so hard when they see me strutting about in my Pink Pantser costume.