Accept No Imitations!

Look at the prize I picked up while browsing the "Authentic Mexican" aisle at Target.
He's in a red shirt....I think that means this little manly slice of Authentic Mexican burrito is on sale at a bottom-of-the-jalapeno-barrel clearance price.
I haven't seen Authentic Mexican products marked this low since their brand closeout of Farting Queen Refried Beans.
SCORE!
Much better than the disappointing spectacle I found over on the "Fake Mexican" aisle.
It was just some guy slathered in self-tanning lotion while wearing a black pipe cleaner mustache and sitting atop a stick donkey that he called Pedro.
He kept leering at me and asking if I'd like to see some "Mexican Impersonator Churro."
Quasi-Mexi Sicko!
People, you must take heed and beware the Authentic Mexican impostors invading your local retail outlets.

*THIS POST HAS BEEN FLAGGED BY THE COMMITTEE AGAINST OFFENSIVE CHURRO REFERENCES*

I'll Be Your Shelter In The Storm Because I'm Not Bright Enough To Be Your Candle On The Water!

Have you heard the news? We're playing host to a very special guest blowing into town tonight for a whirlwind event! Literally.
How big is the party? The entire Gulf Coast region is participating in welcoming Hurricane Ike sometime this evening.
Having just seen Ike practically devour Cuba, we know that he has an enormous appetite, but our hopes remain high that Ike will be too bloated and lethargic from his last meal to do too much damage at our hometown soiree.
By the way, this party is strictly B.Y.O.B......Bring Your Own Boards. I guess it could also mean Bring Your Own OB (tampons), but you can't really cover up windows with tampons. Well, unless you hook them all together and make a super absorbent curtain to accent your white furnishings.

So last night my man, Papi and I were discussing our plans for when Hurricane Ike decides to strike. We've got the food. (I hid my Little Debbie snack cakes in a box of diet bars so my kids wouldn't find them!) We've got the water. We've got new batteries in my very important shaving razor because I don't want to evacuate looking like a Yeti-Human hybrid. We've got gas-pretty much I ALWAYS have gas-so the main Infidel Family survival preparations are already in place.
Papi still seemed a little concerned when we crawled into bed last night and so I did what any loving wife should do. I abruptly and forcefully rolled over, pinning Papi down while uttering these infinitely comforting words of reassurance:
"Papi baby, you don't have to worry about a thing. When the Hurricane hits I'll just get on top of you and shield you from the destruction with my massive body."

Papi closed his eyes. I'm still not sure if that was out of relief......out of sheer terror.......or if it was so he could pray more fervently than he's ever prayed before.

I'd like to dedicate the symphonic version of that Scorpions song, Rock You Like A Hurricane to my classical music-loving Papi. :)

I Perish The Thought Of Ever Hearing My Papi Whistling, "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!"

I've known my sexy-Mexi husband, Papi, since I was still a bright-eyed teenager brimming with equal parts vim, vigor, and stupidity. Fine, it wasn't really equal parts. The stupidity/naivete portion comprised at least half of my teen-aged being on any given day. Occasionally, I'd hit that full 100 percent stupidity mark.

Yay for being 100 percent perfect at something!

Papi-a recently-immigrated Mexican National and recent return missionary-decided that he wanted to find that special someone who believed in the idea that marriage should comprise teamwork and partnership. (Apparently his dating history involved a lot of spoiled Mexican-American Princesses)

Not to worry, this story isn't going to turn into a third-rate romance novel cover that reads something like....."He was a bronzed, uptight immigrant-with a chest like a hairless chihuahua-out looking for love, adventure, and authentic chimichangas in a foreign land. She was a flaxen-haired Goofball Goddess in overalls whose proudest moment in life was finally realized when she mastered the hand motions to M.C. Hammer's, '2 Legit To 2 Quit.' Through a series of hilarity and hijinks plus one positive pregnancy test, fate will conspire to bond them through the eternities....."

Basically, Papi confided that he chose me as his betrothed because I was the only white chick he had ever met who didn't mind working 2 manual labor jobs while attending school at the same time. He also said something about me being a hard worker "just like a burro." I've tried to make his sweet words sweeter by blocking out that uncalled for donkey comparison.

To that point I hadn't found anyone willing to laugh at the myriad of weird things I frequently blurted out. When Papi acted as my own personal Comedy Club audience, I knew he was the one for me. Nevermind the fact that while Papi did speak perfect English, he didn't quite understand the nuances of American humor- he was only chuckling because he reasoned it was the polite thing to do instead of saying, "Huh? I don't get it. Are you on crack or something?" I really thought that "Pull My Finger!" transcended all languages and cultures. Sad.

It turns out that no matter how hard-working or astoundingly fertile or personable I am, I'm still lacking in the domestic skills category. If Papi had made a Perfect Wife Checklist prior to getting married, I wouldn't have fared too well:
Cook- Ummm, well, that is my mom's maiden name...soooooo....I guess, technically, yes?
Clean- I mastered the art of wiping and that's about it.
Iron- Heck Yes! I take 2 tablets every day!
Vacuum- Only for emergency liposuction, roach carcass disposal, and finding lost earrings.
Sew- A needle-pulling thread? La....a note to follow sew?
Knit- No, I'm lice-free and nit-free, thanks.
Scrapbooking- Well, I once did that Slam Book thing in Junior High. It made a girl cry inconsolably. Does that count?

Luckily, Papi excels in all the areas where I'm deficient. He's my personal Iron Man. For reals, y'all. He's as delicate with my silks as he is steamy with my cotton-blends.

Sometimes, Papi's long-hidden talents rises to the surface after lying dormant for so many years.

Our daughter, Caterpillar, recently attended a Church Activity with other girls and they learned how to knit. Yeah, they be turning my daughter into a knitta. Maybe she can one day join Knittas, Please!, H-Town's premiere knitting gang.

Anyway, I didn't have a clue as to how to help Caterpillar finish her knitting project at home. I suffer from acute Yarnophobia- so I have a legitimate excuse. Naturally, Papi stepped in and wowed us all with his nimble fingers and knitty know-how. *le sigh* Is there nothing that man of mine can't do?

Whenever I think about our future together I get this vision in my mind of a stark role reversal. In it, I'm sitting around on our front porch swing in my dungarees, smoking a (bubble) pipe and scratching at the wiry old people-hairs on my chin. My grand-children will all congregate at my feet, begging for me to tell them another story about when I was a young whippersnapper. I'll instead take out my false teeth and wave them about as an instrument of terror while chasing my screaming progeny. Papi will look resplendent in his calico apron. He'll content himself with silently watching us from his rocking chair-a bemused smile etched upon his weathered face as he lovingly knits me a pair of legwarmers so I can show our grand-kids how to shake it like that chick in Flashdance.

I have seen the future. And it is good.

There Always Has To Be At Least One In Every Family.....

I'm talking about camera hogs.......shameless, ruthless picture stealers who will stop at absolutely nothing to ensure ingratiating themselves into a photo frame a split second before the camera button clicks--thus immortalizing their photowhoring visage for many generations to come.
Meet my 6 year-old son, Logan. All I wanted to do was document my Melody's blissful joy as she realized her life's dream of winning the Sam's Cup Tournament. (That would be the Sam's SODA Cup) We rarely drink soda at home so when Melody slurped her first sip of Sprite mixed with Fruit Punch through the straw, her little face just lit up. (It was probably just gas) Of course Logan also wanted a piece of the Sam's Cup bounty hence his fierce expression and oddly arched Jack Nicholson eyebrows.

The only possible way to defeat a camera hog on the prowl is to use stealth and cunning. Apparently I lack both because my next picture attempt screamed out ABJECT FAILURE just like the first one.
Here we see Logan demonstrating his 'Give-Me-Prune-Juice-NOW' look.

I had to call in backup assistance to handle Logan. My enforcement team lured him away with the promise of cheese pizza leaving me just enough time to snap this lurvely portrait of Melody sharing her Sam's Cup Styrofoam Trophy with big sister Sunbum.

This picture is dedicated to Sunbum's online twin, Lauren Face who's visiting the not-fictional town of Forks, Washington (you know, where Bella and Edward live) even as I type this. See Lauren? You're not the only one who got to visit Forks this weekend!

Love Is In The Air......And Not Even Lysol Spray Can Stop It!

Listen up men: The Valentine's Day Countdown has begun ticking away. You only have 3 weeks left to procure the perfect gift for your very special lady.

Heart-shaped boxes of gooey chocolate, floral bouquets, novelty jewelry, edible underwear; those Valentine present ideas are played out and blandly predictable. Luckily for you though, I'm more than willing to assume the role of The Smiling Infidel Cupid to assist you in making a unique and creative gift choice this Valentine's--one that your sweetheart will swoon with unfettered delight over and rejoice that she's gotten herself such a considerate man that anticipates her every need and desire.

Yes, my inventive yet practical female urinal pulls double duty for your on-the-go gal. It's a portable toilet slash beautifully hand-painted vase all in one!

Guys, tell her you love every single last part of her right down to her urethra. This gift assures your special love that you regard her luscious derriere as simply too good to plop down on a filthy public restroom commode seat and that you're making a pre-emptive move to prevent her from being bitten by venomous South American spiders lurking underneath or contracting an irritating urinary tract infection.

The durable beauty of this urinal will undoubtedly ensure that only her heart is full of love for you.........and not her bladder.

*humor-blogs.com only gave their sweetheart a mayonnaise jar for Valentine's Day last year*

And Together Papi And I Are Makin' Bacon!

Papi and I have a shared employer in common named Mr. O.
Mr. O enjoys referring to Papi as "Boss" on a daily basis.
"Boss" as in Boss Hogg from The Dukes Of Hazzard.
"Boss" as in "Hey Boss! Will you go and collect subscription money from this deadbeat customer in the dark of night even though he has NRA stickers pasted all over his rusted-out El Camino?"

Mr. O constantly calls me "Babe."
"Babe" as in the wee little sheep-herding piggie in the movie of the same name. Apparently I'm just like a pig in the city.
"Babe" as in "What's going on Babe? How much longer will you allow me to work you and your man to death for an itty-bitty paycheck that wouldn't even buy a barrel of pickled pigs feet on the black market?"

From my own perspective, this just further solidifies that Papi and I were meant to be together. We're a matched set, we are. Pig and Pig oinking happily into the sunset with our hooves intertwined. This goes a long way towards explaining why our house is such a Pig Pen all the time. And really I can't yell at the mini-Infidels for acting like little piglets anymore, can I? After all, it's certainly not their fault that they're a pork by-product.

I guess Pork:The Other White Meat only applies to me since my Papi is a striking shade of yummy mocha. :(

For more oinkalicious blogs that are funner than a bag of Pig In A Poke pork rinds from the flea market go visit humor blogs.com

Turning Mexican, I Think I'm Turning Mexican, I Rather Think So.......

Papi and I really love that new vampire detective show on CBS: Moonlight. It's scintillating, mindless diversion the way scintillating, mindless diversion was intended to be. There's only two TV programs I watch faithfully during the week and this follows immediately after my beloved Ghost Whisperer. I've since lovingly adopted Moonlight into my limited TV viewing schedule.

So basically Mick St. John is the Edward Cullen of the Vampire Detective World. He has morals! He has values! He has a great azz, feathered hair, and an undead heart of gold!

MOONLIGHT [1:58]

This particularly steamy episode featured the main chick who lusts after Mick as she takes a naughty drug made of vampire blood that sends her straight into batsheet crazy territory. At precisely 1:15 or so you see her pulling a Bella Swan by pantingly begging Mick to turn her into a vampire while offering up her succulent neck. Of course our hero doesn't take the bait and instead douses the mortal hottie in a cold shower.

As soon as the commercial break hit, my Mexican Papi startlingly lunged across the bed at me and bared his teeth inches from my neck as he seductively purred, "Girlie, do you want me to turn you?" I started laughing as I pushed him away and said, "Turn me into what? A Mezzican? I'd rather die than ride around in a low-rider Vatamobile blaring mariachi music while eating a chorizo breakfast taquito. Besides a diet rich in beans is no bueno for a farty chick like me."

My amazing, over-talkative Gringa Powers saved me once again from the clutches of a hot, Mexican predator!

Wait a minute. I want to be pursued by a hot, Mexican predator. I wonder if I can trade in my Gringa Powers for some Chicana Power? Maybe then I can finally satisfy my man........by making him the best Chicken Mole evah!

Walking Down The Store Aisle Is Reminiscent Of The Day I Walked Down The Aisle With My Papi

A simple trip to the grocery store always serves to remind me of the boundless love that Papi and I share and how it all came to pass. The aisles, practically brimming with symbolic reminders of our life together.

Papi went looking for some White Snuggles......and he surely did get what he was seeking! Obviously, I trounced the competition who advertises that a golden brown whole wheat equates to wholesomeness. Well, I guess Papi didn't want something healthy for him. Ha! Oh, wait a minute......

Papi and I shared nothing in common except the same employer. So, when he continued persistently pestering me, the resident workplace heathen, to go to church with him, I thought he was full of.......

(Well, not really. But they don't sell crap manure at the grocery store, now do they?)

And then, while only two months into our courtship, and many stomach lurching dates down at Pancho's Mexican Buffet, Papi proposed to me. Yeah, I know, that guy has some big......

Stop that! I can read your calculated little minds. You're putting together and computing short dating time along with a seemingly hasty marriage. Well, I most certainly was NOT ........

Nice And Easy just isn't my style. Rather, I'm more of a......

kind of gal!

Papi and I enjoy a glittery fairytale ending, and it's definitely not a classic boy gets girl yawner like Cinderella And Prince Charming. Neither does comparisons to The Princess And The Pea. Aside from the fact that I do re-enact the story everytime I serve split pea soup for dinner. Our story isn't even relatable to Beauty And The Beast, althoughPapi often calls me a beast. No, ours is a happy union of a salty white cracker coupled with a spicy Mexican tortilla. I'm so very glad that Papi likes..........

JUMBO BUNS!!!!

Once Upon A Time, A Girl Infidel And A Boy Infidel Met And Fell Madly In Love

Just when I defiantly said, "That's it! I'm getting out of the MEME game forever!," someone went and pulled me back in. My tingling spidey senses tell me that you're laughing at me, Millie. I'm only doing this because Toni asked demanded me to and she's one of my all-time favorite bloggy buddies. So here goes, 8 things about my sexi-Mexi Papi and me:

1. Like most tales of true love, ours also has a soaring and unforgettably sweet beginning. We shared our first date at Pancho's Mexican Buffet on the very day when Kurt Cobain's bloated body was discovered and news of his death blanketed all the media. Tres romantique, no? And here's where I wrote a post about it using only Nirvana song titles.

2. Our special, special love song is Adina Howard's 'Freak Like Me.' I used to sing it to Papi while gyrating around seductively. In my maternity overalls. At 9 months pregnant. I modified the words to accommodate Papi since he really isn't a "roughneck n**ga" kind of guy. I instead sing it as "I need a REDNECK BROTHER that can satisfy me." Changing words to classic songs just for my Papi because that's how much I love him.

3. Shortly after we met, I used my genetically superior rolled tongue to show Papi how astoundingly far I could spit watermelon seeds. One seed veered a little off course and smacked Papi right in the middle of his forehead where it stuck. Our eyes met, and Papi professed, "I must have you and make you mine." True story.

4. We're musically incompatible and I've never matured past the 'LOUDER! LOUDER! LOUDER!' speaker volume phase. Papi often times comes home to yell out "Turn down that music, girlie. It sounds like a freakin cantina in here!" I tease him about one day opening my own Cantina and calling it The Freakin Cantina.

5. My Spanish sucks. My in-law's English sucks. I credit this for avoiding any major family melees over the past 13 years.

6. I'm the resident Infidel prankster around here. One time I thought it would be hysterically funny to stand up on the toilet seat while 7 months pregnant to look down on Papi showering and then throw a cup of cold water on him. Ummm, I did, and the toilet seat broke sending me careening into the shower, curtain and all. As I laid there stunned, fully clothed, getting pelted with water, and wrapped up in the fallen shower curtain, all Papi could say was, "What happened? What happened? What the Hell just happened?" I never did that stupid thing again.

7. When people talk about fears of Mexicans taking over the United States, Papi just laughs and tells me that they've already conquered us with love by marrying up the white gringos/gringas. He does have a point there. Conquistadors Of Love!

8. Papi delivered Melody, the youngest of the mini-Infidels, himself when the midwife didn't make it on time. Yes, he really did.

Papi's an optimist. I'm a pessimist. Papi says "BUTCH UP, girlie!" when I whine. Papi says "With faith in God and hard work, nothing is impossible!" Papi's motivated. I'm prone to extreme bouts of laziness and procrastinating. Papi's a classic Type A. I'm a classic Type B. Papi's the no-nonsense disciplinarian. I'm the official nagger/arbitrater/candy briber/threatener. My approach doesn't work as well. Papi's righteous and churchy. I'm much less so. We've made a great partnership for 13 years, though. Oh, and I never feel like I have to hide the fact that I'm using the toilet from him by running water or anything else. Poop freedom- that's the secret to a long and happy marriage.

Back When I Wanted To Heavily Pet One Of The Pet Shop Boys

It's Tuesday in the big, bad world.........do you know what that means? That's right, dawg, another edition of GAY TUESDAY is here! Holla!
Twas the summer of my formidable year between middle school and high school when I first delighted in the melodic sounds of The Pet Shop Boys. And when I first spied the super dapper and nattily dressed Neil Tennant, I wanted to sing, "I Can't Take My Eyes Off You," to him. I've always felt an attraction towards the men residing on the nerdy end of the spectrum and when Neil proposed certain "Opportunities" and said that I had the looks and he had the brains and "Let's Make Lots Of Money," I knew what "Love Comes Quickly" meant

My Mom had her love of Neil Diamond and I had my own Neil love. During my moments of "Being Boring," I'd fantasize about Neil forgetting his "West End Girls," and instead deciding on an H-Town girl. Together we'd pay "Rent," for a little house out in "Suburbia" where "The Streets Have No Names." Happy thoughts of engaging in "DJ Culture," and a little "Domino Dancing" with Neil put a spring in my step and a song in my soul. Yes, that Neil Tennant was "Always On My Mind." If "Left To My Own Devices," I might have flown off to England to claim him as my own. Then, tragedy struck. I found out that no matter how cute and charming I was, Neil Tennant would never be interested in me. Ditto for George Michael. Ditto for Doogie Howser. Ditto for Lance Bass. Well, you get the point. That was "So Hard" to take and I kept thinking "What Have I Done To Deserve This?" But dwelling and coveting the very "Heart" of another individual, well, "It's A Sin."

Things between Neil and I never materialized, but at least we have some fantastic music for Gay Tuesday provided by him and his partner. I need my army of Gay Warriors strong out on the battlefield to reclaim Teh Gay and cheesy Rainbow merchandise back for the regular folk. The song playing today by The Pet Shop Boys will help to fortify and boost the morale of my Gay Warriors and Dusty Springfield fans alike!

'The Cha-Cha Slide'.......One Of The Greatest Love Songs Of All Time!

An Ancient Infidel Proverb: "He Who Live In Small House With Many Young Grasshoppers Must Cover Mating Ritual Sounds By Playing Loud Music."

And so, that leads us to today's story. Papi and I believe in absolute discretion when it comes to matters of amore. I mean, sure, we do have six kids to symbolize our love and to show that we have, in fact, 'done it,' but you'll never find us groping each other during Sacrament meeting or flaunting inappropriately racy behaviour out in public. Occasionally, we will engage in a mutual KISS outside the confines of our home. That would be Prince's version of KISS. Papi told me that I don't have to watch 'Dynasty,' to have an attitude.

Our love is big, but alas, our house is small. Papi and I have taken to loudly playing music off computer playlists during our conjugal moments in order to disguise any mysterious sounds that would inevitably raise questions among our many mini-Infidels. While fitting, no, Donna Summer's moany, breathy, 'Love To Love You, Baby,' did not gain entrance into any of the coveted Infidel playlists.

Well, during one such occasion, I absent-mindedly clicked the play button without checking the list first. The retro sounds of 'We Are Family' filled the room, and Papi and I were good to go. A few minutes later, though, DJ Casper and his unforgettable 'Cha-Cha Slide' began barking out aerobic dance commands to a thumping beat. Do you know how disconcerting it is to try to love up your man while another man continues telling you "Slide to the left, slide to the right, now clap?" Nasty DJ Casper kept asking, "How low can you go?" And I was like, "That's none of your freakin business, DJ Casper!" It's so hard not to fall into his hypnotic spell and obey his every word. It seriously took every ounce of strength to refrain from doing the 'Charlie Brown' and the 'Cha-Cha' when DJ Casper told me to. I knew then that I had clicked our kid's songlist and that the finest in children's entertainment was providing the backdrop music for our afternoon delight.

Our listening fun didn't end with just the 'Cha-Cha Slide'......... oh no! 'Cha-Cha Slide' was promptly followed up by The Wiggles 'Hot Potato.' I mean, I regard my Papi as super hot, but not exactly a Hot Potato. A state of nakedness already brings out feelings of awkwardness and low self-esteem in me, I really didn't need Raffi calling me 'Baby Beluga' over and over again to enforce those feelings. Oh well, at least we didn't have 'The Hokey-Pokey' saved to the playlist. Putting your right arm in, and your left leg in, and then your whole self in, and shakin it all about, might have proved a very painful experience.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

I have a startling confession to make......
I've developed an insatiable crush on an animated french fry container.

It wasn't always this way. In days gone by, discovering wiry strands of goatee hair or a pair of eyeballs peering out at me from the cardboard folds of a greasy french fry box, would have sent me into nauseated fits of hysteria. But, no more.

The Infidel family remains ensconced in a time of prehistoric TV that passed the world by, eons ago. We only count one small archaic set among our earthly possessions. No cable. No satellite. No TIVO. No plasma. Not even a fancy remote control. Nothing. However, once I saw the Aqua Teen Hunger Force clips on youtube, I knew that my fetish and interest for all things weird, was piqued. The episode that hooked me involved Frylock drawing a 'treasure map' for Master Shake to dig holes where 'X' marked the spot. Secretly, all the X's marked where Frylock wanted his new azalea bushes planted. Such a clever ploy. Such a devilishly handsome and witty character.

So, yes, I like a talking, floating, limbless, apocalyptic french fry warrior. And he doesn't even have to supersize, or dab on any of that fancy catsup stuff for me, because I love Frylock just the way he is. I fantasize about him suavely whispering in my ear, "Oh yeah, baby, who's yo FRY DADDY, now?" I wonder if I could get Papi to wear a Frylock costume in the boudoir? Hmmmmmmm.

I'm In Loooooove............Sweet Love!

My Papi and I have both have distinctive accents. Mine is of an unremarkable milquetoast, plain Jane, white cracker, middle of the road, Mid-Westerner. My Papi, however, possesses the super suave sexy Mexi accent that's the stuff of legendary cinematic Latino lovers. Most of the time we do speak the same language, although it's not always the language of love. On occasion, though, our vastly different accents do interfere with the smooth process of communication.

Just the other day while standing in the kitchen I began teasing Papi because moments prior I bum rushed in, almost toppling him over, in a desperate effort to score the very last Kit Kat candy bar out of the candy bucket. Yeah, most people have a candy dish. We have a candy bucket. What of it? Papi narrowed his gorgeous coppery eyes at me and bitterly said, "Girlie, you will be so sorry when the RAPTOR comes and takes me away, and you'll be left behind." I began laughing uncontrollably. I mean, who's to say I didn't use Papi as bait so that I could escape the hungry clutches of the RAPTOR? I won't really feel sorry when the RAPTOR comes and leaves me behind. Nope, not at all.

Which leads me to wonder about super sensual soul singer, Anita Baker. She must have experienced a much different RAPTOR than the ferocious, sharp clawed prehistoric beast that Jurassic Park introduced us to in the 90's, because she even wrote a touching sentimental song professing her unflagging amore for all things RAPTOR. Yes, Anita has found herself 'caught up in the RAPTOR of love,' and she says that nothing else can compare. The RAPTOR of Love reportedly beat out The Gangster of Love and the space cowboy to win the affections of Miss Baker. I wish them much happiness together. I'll send an economy sized package of Band Aids for their wedding present, because sometimes, love hurts.

*Raptor artwork credited to the creative genius, No Cool Story, of Mas Cowbell fame. Thanks!*