The Smiling Infidel: Currently Starring In Woody Harrelson's Killer Sequel "Natural Born Pickers." (Death To Blueberries!)

How much pickety-pickin power do we pack?

Well, I don't like to boast but me and my troupe of mini-Infidels have ascended to the highest levels on the competitive picking circuit.

We're currently poised to win Mexico's biggest game show WHO WANTS TO BE A MIGRANT WORKER!

Last week we found our thrill on Blueberry Hill as we deftly filled bucket after bucket with a grand total of 12 1/2 pounds of blueberries within 2 hours time.

It's especially amazing considering that drought conditions severely limited the amount of blueberries available. It forced us into getting all up in the blueberry bushes business. We even engaged in some unscrupulous shakedown tactics. Primitive but effective.

My favorite trick involves dressing up in blue from head to toe. It makes it easier to become one with the blueberry. Once I infiltrate their ranks I convince the blueberries that I'm protecting them from the savage pickers on the hunt all around them. Then I coax them into the bucket with a promise of entrance into my special Blueberry Relocation Program. They don't know that's actually secrety code for "Operation Bucket To Belly" until it's too late.

[Insert Maniacal Laughter Here]

It was a sweltering 101 degrees as we picked and sweated and saw mirages of The Great Blueberry smiling down upon us from afar. We entertained ourselves by singing everything from "Hollaback Girl" to Bread's Greatest Hits.

And then an older lady with a voice that perfectly parroted Edith Bunker burst our blueberry pickin bubble of happiness by continuously screeching for "Bob." It went on for at least 20 agonizing minutes.

"Bob......Boooooooooobbbbb......BBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBB......where are you BOOOOBBBBBBB??!??"

After enduring such a lengthy onslaught of this woman's shrill whine I certainly couldn't blame Bob for running off to play a game of solitary hide and seek.

I don't know what possessed our normally subdued selves, but with the exception of my oldest son Buster, the rest of us started imitating the lady by simultaneously calling out for our very own imaginary friend named Bob. It got way out of hand. We used the bushy landscape as camouflage when saying things like:

"Hey everybody, Bob is a palindrome.....from front to back he's exactly the same!!!"

"Bob plus O equals BOOB!"

"B-O-B stands for Blueberries on Bob!"

And then Buster clamped his hand over my mouth and frantically whispered, "Mom, you HAVE to stop RIGHT NOW or Bob is going to come over here and he's NOT going to be happy."

That made me uncontrollably spray out a bunch of blue-tinged saliva in laughter.

I ain't fraid' of no BOB!

BOB was probably off Bobbin' For Blueberries somewhere. No, not really. Boo, the youngest male heir in the Infidel household, accomplished that stupefying hands-free feat all on his own when he spotted a lusciously plump blueberry dangling off a low-hanging branch. Boo crouched down and in one fearsome moment he lunged, his pointed teeth bared as he aimed for the blueberry target. In one tremendous gobble he devoured it whole. He's more Jaws on a blueberry diet than he is a mere mortal boy.

So then fearless mini-Infidel leader Sunbum commenced to brazenly yelling out a roll call with oddball names not usually seen outside of psychedelic nightmares incited by consuming a fermented blueberry or two......or three(dozen). She wanted to see if any of our fellow field workers would answer her.

I guess it's just too much to hope for that persons going by Boogaloo Shrimp, Jermaine, Pocahontas, Tyrone, Mathias, and Huffy would all be assembled in one place at the same time.

It's possible that we all turned a bit delusional and loopy courtesy of the complimentary heatstroke that came FREE! with every blueberry bucket picked.

Or maybe we're just the most obnoxious and orneriest gang of purple-fingered blueberry pickers this side of the fruit bowl.

If you see us heading your way, clear a path.....your blueberries are belong to us!

The Smiling Infidel Explains The Unexplainable: S'MORES TORTILLA CHIPS EDITION

We Infidels will climb the highest Target shelves and swim across an ocean of fountain drink seas in search of new culinary adventures.
We'll journey to the very ends of the aisle just to seek out rare and exotic wonders.
We'll be as our pioneer ancestry--traveling the linoleum plains with all our immediate possessions stowed away in a cart as we pursue the newest in flavor explosions for you, our dear readers.
We'll even navigate the treacherous express lane frontier just to bring pure, unadulterated joy to your ailing tastebuds.
Our latest snack food-finding mission yielded a bounteous but unique crop.
BEHOLD: S'MORES TORTILLA CHIPS
(Note how they're "authentic-style." Yep, it's imperative that you stay far, far away from the black market tortilla chip impostors.)

If you can stomach eating stuff coated in brown dust then a bright future awaits you down at the Gorilla Fingers Grill. (Don't look that one up on urbandictionary.com)

Crunch & Munch: That's their Tortilla Chip Tasters Task Force code names.

Chip & Dip: These two are a rogue band of chip eaters--circumventing the Tasters Task Force and causing biting mayhem wherever they go.
I see we have a wily double agent in our midst.

Young Melody pulls the tried-and-true "damsel in distress" maneuver......

So she can willfully bump off the competition and hoard the bag of chips all to herself!

Sometimes great combinations come together through a series of miraculous events......while other times great combinations arise out of necessity--like when there's nothing left in your pantry to eat but some stale tortilla chips and a half bag of marshmallows, so you sprinkle some cocoa powder on top and call it dinner.
I'll let you decide which was the inspiration for this product.
Before you ostracize your fellow man for their unsightly brown-streaked fingers, I hope you'll remember this post and restrain your brown dust prejudices.
Eating the S'more chips is cruel enough punishment.

[The Smiling Infidel Theater-located in the lefty section of my brain-is currently putting on an amusing production explaining the origins of S'mores tortilla chips. Apparently a stereotypical Mexican was crossing the Texas border late at night while clutching a bag of tortilla chips. Well, he accidentally but fortuitously slams into a cowboy, thus dropping his chips all over the cowboy's campfire s'mores. The accusations go back and forth: "Listen, pardner, you jus done dropped your dang tortilla chips into my s'mores" with the Mexican rebutting with a: "No Senor, you drop your s'mores into MY tortilla chips." And then they both trepidatiously take a bite of their concoction....they find instant flavor combo Xanadu....and go into business with one another suckering stores like Target to carry their product. I love happy endings.]

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.

Instead Of The Midas Touch, We Infidels Have The Gigundo Booty Touch

The Gift of The Gigundo Booty manifests itself in any number of ways at La Casa De Infidel.
A minute on the lips, forever on the hips? Not at our house.
It all goes straight to our built-in, back-end, super-squishy seat cushions.
We've recently begun diversifying our Gigundo Booty portfolio by adding a free annual Gigundo Booty bonus courtesy of our local credit union.
It really isn't fair to our competition who lack the magical Gigundo Booty Touch that us Infidels have; but then the competition can sit comfortably in teeny-tiny chairs, so I guess it all balances out in the grand scheme of the universe.
See, for the second year in a row a Gigundo Booty-blessed mini-Infidel has beaten out all other contest entrants to win the top prize at the credit union.
Here's Stef looking smug with all the trappings of her stocking contest success:
(Stef is a little over 5'5 to give you an idea of how tall the stocking is)

And here's Sunbum from last year showing off the rewards one can reap when possessing an awesomely mystical power like Gigundo Booty Touch.

My girls' Gigundo Booty skills are in high demand. They have a date with Ed McMahon and the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes entry in a few weeks so you need to book them early.

*Some of the contents were duplicates of last year. For instance, we're now the proud owners of fuzzy little King Kong twins. I'm betting they'd make a great pair of ear muffs or a really fun bikini bra. Stef also got an authentic Gwen Stefani doll that came complete with her own Alice in Wonderland costume. Sometimes I think that swallowing weird potions in little bottles would explain an awful lot about Gwen and her music/stage persona.*

As If There Was Any Doubt.........

Our Plates And Our Guts Doth Overfilleth With The Bounty Of Free Open House Tidbits

Sing It With Me, Churchy People:
Saturday is a special day
It's the day we go out to the buffet
We clean all our plates and we lick all our spoons
And then we feel bloated on Sunday!

The key to true happiness is to find joy and contentment no matter your circumstances or where you are in life.
My true happiness lies in the Holiday Open Houses that all the local stores host this time of year because nothing makes my Infidel soul soar higher than dainty little morsels of free food amidst a background of fall festivities.
We managed to hit four (FOUR!) Kroger Open Houses this weekend and even had enough spare time to make a quick appearance at our local Wal-Mart.

The mini-Infidels made the acquaintance of international superstar, The Pillsbury Dough Boy.
A word of warning: Do not poke The Pillsbury Dough Boy expecting his jolly trademark "Hee-Hee!" because he pokes back.
Coming To A Movie Theater Near You: The Pillsbury Dough Boy Pokes Back.....This Time, It's Personal!
I guess you have to build up a strong sense of self-defense when you know that people want to bake you alive in their ovens.
One day The Pillsbury Dough Boy might find that special little yeasty lady of his dreams and become The Pillsbury Dough Man.
I hope he never publishes a memoir about it.

Ever see a Goddess in a hair net before? No? Well, feast your eyes below!

It is She who rules over the mighty Steam Table Kingdom with a metal serving spoon in place of a royal scepter. She has an eye for fairness and equality as demonstrated by the perfect food proportions she scoops onto the waiting plates of her loyal subjects.

Buster's stuffing his face and getting stuffed with stuffing. Ironic, no?

Look at my little guy! He's on Round Three in the Open House Eating Ring and he shows no sign of slowing down or giving in to his food opponents. He's like a hungrier version of Rocky Balboa with a lucrative sponsorship from The Clean Plate Club of America.

Melody says: "I'll give you free cheese in exchange for free food. CHEESE!"

Stef works on her Hand-To-Mouth coordination skills using a tricky Lilliputian mini-spoon. She's well on her way to earning her Black Belt in the Competitive Food Eating ranks.

If I knew how to use Photoshop I'd erase my Elvis sideburns and double triple chin. Sorry about that.

(I told you I was fat and I don't like wearing makeup. Stop acting so surprised. And for heaven's sake, your eyes do NOT burn. Stop trying to poke them out of your head. I don't look that gruesome in this picture.)

What the World needs now.....is cake, sweet cake.......

The whole Universe revolved around the cake lady. Literally. My own mini-Infidels kept circling the table like they were in orbit.

The Shrimp Table attendant looked worried when we swooped down upon him. He briskly took off towards the safety of the butcher counter- allowing us to have our way with the bowl of shrimpy lovelies.

Do you have an upcoming Holiday Open House scheduled? Are you looking for a special guest appearance by the notorious Infidel Family to brighten up the party? We'd be happy to oblige!

Just contact our social engagements representative to make arrangements.

If that fails, just light up your giant spotlight with The Sign Of The Fork and shine it over the city to beckon us. We always heed the call of The Sign Of The Fork. Always.

More From The Handbook: "How To Embarrass Your Children By Using The Economic Downturn Plan."

Twice last week, I made my crew of mini-Infidels feel like they wanted to put themselves up for adoption. I think they actually entertained a few fleeting thoughts of hitching a ride to the Safe Haven state of Nebraska.
Yeah, I pulled off these stupefying feats of embarrassment not once but TWICE!
Okay, so I received a coupon by e-mail for a free Blockbuster movie. After agonizing over selecting a couple movies we could all agree on while trying to shield my impressionable children from the outrageously graphic DVD covers they place right at a child's eye level, we marched up to the counter to pay, coupon in hand.
They refused to take my coupon because we were still a whopping 4 hours away from the clock striking November 1. The register totaled up 16 dollars and something cents.
I balked at the price, positive there was a calculation error.
Then I realized that Blockbuster had raised their pricing to a grandiose $4.99 a movie.
I told the guy that I was sorry to trouble him but I just wasn't going to part ways with 16 dollars of my hard earned money for some low-rent movies.
When his mouth dropped open in surprise, I considerately offered to re-shelve the movies for him. He declined.
The older kids flushed red and tried to hide themselves from the world in the darkened safety of their hoodies.
And then we walked out and went next door to the Kroger's video rental kiosk where we rented 3 movies for ONE DOLLAR a piece.
My kids got over the humiliation when they realized the tremendous savings aspect.
See, we're usually so cheap that we only check out movies for free from the Library.
I guess I've gotten spoiled and now by virtue of comparative pricing, everything hits me like heart-palpitating sticker shock.
The oldest Infidel daughter has waged a valiant battle against her acne for awhile, trying every remedy out there short of a clear skin voodoo ritual.
Finally, the Doctor took pity on her and wrote out a prescription for some medicated pimple cream.
We have insurance now so I didn't think anything about it when I left the prescription at the Pharmacy to be filled.
Twenty minutes later when I went to go pick it up and the very cute and very nice Pharmacist smilingly told me, "That'll be 60 dollars, please," I about stroked out.
Seriously? SIXTY BUCKS for a tube of Zit-B-Gone? Whoa.
Again, I sent my kids into Mortification Mode when I calmly informed the Pharmacist that I'd have to come back for it another day and left the prescription with him.
It looks as though bad times are here and are only going to worsen.
I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had to hone my once amateurish cheapskating skills into a haggle-at-the-dollar-store Grand Champion. I'm the new Scratch&Dent Queen. :)
My kids may hate my occasional Super Scrooge outbursts, but I think they're finally understanding the realization that our days of frivolously spending money without a plan or a budget is a thing of the past.

And The Great Pumpkin Smiled Down Upon The Infidel Family

I hope the Great Pumpkin never finds out about my GREAT PUMPKIN PIE recipe. Yeah, that might be kind of awkward, especially if the Great Pumpkin reads the noted remark revealing how much I love my GREAT PUMPKIN PIE slathered up in whipped cream.
It just sends the wrong sort of message.
So does my other recipe for GREAT PUMPKIN NUT BREAD, but we won't go there.

Well, never let it be said that my back-breaking, so-irritating, low-compensating, bowel-restraining, soul-maiming job doesn't have its perks.

I drove past an open field this morning and spotted these poor orphaned pumpkins just forlornly lying there entrenched in the tall wispy weeds with their Cheeto-hued shell covered in brownish grime and frothy bubbles of dewy wetness--remnants of the recently evaporated early morning mist.

Okay, yeah, that sounds much more flowery and eloquent than saying I saw a bunch of filthy orange gourd thingies that appeared as though they'd recently taken a tumble through a Manure Maze, right?

Anyway, the space surrounding the pumpkin orphans was littered with broken pumpkin carcasses and stringy pumpkin guts.

Love is a battlefield and so too is a Pumpkin Patch turned Pumpkin War Zone.

This was obviously the work of the produce-killing comedian Gallagher who's looking to disband his Smashing Watermelons group so he can join up with the newly reformed Smashing Pumpkins.

Practice makes perfect.

Or maybe notorious pumpkin serial killer, Peter The Pumpkin Eater is on the loose again.
I don't really know who the guilty party is here. That's for the Pumpkin CSI team to determine.

I jumped out of my mighty Infidel truck and hurriedly rushed over to the field where I scooped up the pumpkin smash survivors and relocated them to my Infidel Truck/Pumpkin Rehabilitation & Adoption Center. Then I headed home.

My mini-Infidels swarmed out of the house, excited to meet their new found pumpkin buddies.

I let them each adopt the pumpkin of their choice provided that they solemnly swear to never use the pumpkins as a bowling ball.

They're also strictly forbidden from terrorizing the neighborhood in a Legend Of Sleepy Hollow re-enactment.

I'm fine with the mini-Infidels utilizing a hollowed-out pumpkin as a bike helmet, though.

Oh, Great Pumpkin, thank you for thy bounteous blessings. I never doubted that you were real. Not even for a nanosecond.

*So, pumpkins this size are about 4-5 bucks on average around here. I picked up 8 intact pumpkins. That's like finding $32.00. I wasn't even going to splurge on buying pumpkins this year because it's clearly classified as "Frivolous Expense" in the family budget.

If I can convince the mini-Infidels not to carve the pumpkins up, we'll have a natural autumn yard decor until the end of November.*

A Proverb From Physicians Running Behind Schedule: Patients, Entertain Thyself

Scheduling Doctor's appointments for all 6 mini-Infidels last week turned into an exercise in extreme patience.
We sat there at the clinic for an excruciating 3 hours on Friday. And then on Monday, we tacked on an additional 4 to our Frequent Vinyl Bench Sitters Rewards Program.
When will these public waiting rooms ever learn that vinyl in 90 degree Houston heat can only cause the heartbreak of excessive leg sweat?
Rivulets Of Leg Sweat: The key to keeping vinyl furniture looking shiny and smooth.

You know what I think? I think that plopping you down into an examination room/holding cell for hours on end with nothing to read except a tattered copy of Golf Digest, is the preferred method the office staff uses to administer an effective temperament test without you even realizing it.
Little do they know that 4 of us are bloggers. We're accustomed to sedentarily staring straight ahead at nothing in particular for hours on end while restricting all movement, outside of the clickety-clackety motion of our typing fingers.
We remained determined to not let the winds of boredom declare victory on us. After all, we freakin know how to make our own entertainment in a sterile and humorless room!
First thing we did was thoroughly read the instructions on the hand sanitizer dispenser. That was fun. Just as we were about to start crafting our own cast of tongue depressor characters for a rendition of Popsicle Stick Theater, I remembered that I brought along my trusty camera sidekick.

Naturally, Sunbum, the eldest mini-Infidel, remained the least inhibited.
Here she's a little bubble of unbridled enthusiasm stuffed into a fashionable Pyramid inspired gown.

And this is the precise moment where the Nurse pops that bubble of unbridled enthusiasm with a hypodermic needle filled with the meningococcal vaccine.....followed by a tetanus booster......followed by a chicken pox booster....followed by a Hepatitis A shot.....followed by a TB test.....followed by a blood screen and a urinalysis.

Sunbum is now ready to expand her circle of friends to include those afflicted with the above conditions.
You can submit friend applications here.

As several earnest but hollow promises of"The Doctor will be with you any minute now" drug into tedious hours, we started to give up hope.
Sunbum remarked that the privacy sheet she was given to cover her lower extremeties during the exam reminded her of something you'd see on a crime drama where they use a white sheet to cover up a corpse. I guess this shortened sheet is the one reserved for use on a person who's only half-dead--or for midgets.

Bored, Sunbum started fashioning her sheet into a gallery of remarkable designs. I encouraged her to. Mainly to stop myself from tying sheets together to make an escape from our third floor prison.....or a noose.
I'm going to field a guess and say that in this picture, Sunbum's representing the under-represented class of Constipated Shawl Wearers...........

Ready To Tie On The Feed Bag With A Customized Bib Guaranteed to Catch All Drips And Dribbles...........

Striking A Pose Suited For An America's Next Top Model Competition.....Or Doing The Robot. I'm not entirely sure.

People Jump Ship. People Jump Rope. And Some People Even Jump, Jump For Your Love- But Only When Listening To The Pointer Sisters. Instead, My Sunbum Jumps Sheet........

Working On Her New Line Of Du-Rags That Double As A Baby Burping Cloth........

Only A Clorox Sponsored Superhero Would Dare To Wear A White Cape........

Ghost Costume: You're Doing It Wrong!
Virgin Mary Costume: You're Doing It Right!

Sadly, not all of the mini-Infidels were so thrilled with the photographic attention as they actively shied away from the digital spotlight.

Stay tuned as next month The Smiling Infidel gang and their multitude of toothy problems, invade an unsuspecting Dental Office in hopes of depleting them of all their complimentary toothbrushes to resell on the toothbrush black market.

So Then We Were Game Playing While Role Playing While Playing At The Pool......ALL At The Same Time!

I believe in evolution.

In the beginning of the summer, the oldest of my mini-Infidels, Sunbum found her thrill on BOOberry Hill. She'd slowly and silently ascend from the depths of the shimmering pool water with her face completely veiled by her long, dark hair. Then Sunbum would turn towards me and whisper "Seven Daaayyyyyssss" in her most chillingly malevolent voice.

Now, my Sunbum retains a bronzed mochalatta-coloring to her skin. Sadly, this automatically disqualifies her from auditioning for the lead role of Samara if ever they produce a third installment of The Ring movies. The American film was adapted from Japanese cinema, so I guess Sunbum could wait around to see if Mexico will make their own version of it. In which case, Sunbum should be practicing hissing out the Spanish translation for Samara's big line: "Siete Diiiaaassssss."

You know, that Samara probably was a real terror but only because she got freakin sick and tired of having to channel her best Scooby-Doo ghost voice to keep chanting "Seven Days. Seven Days. Seven Days", ad nauseum. I can imagine her wanting to break out of her two word rut only to be shut down by the dictator-like director bellowing at her, "Samara baby, nobody really cares about your thoughts on global warming or your tips on how to decorate your well with rustic charm. Just give us the phrase that pays."

The same thing happened to that nice old lady from the "Where's The Beef?!!!" commercials.

Us Infidels may homeschool, but that doesn't mean that we're sitting around trying to outclever each other by transforming our geeky thoughts into a super-secrety, anagramatically-correct code.

Well now it's closing in on the end of the summer and Sunbum has grown weary of repeating her "Seven Daaayyysss" tag line. So, she began mixing it up a little by flipping it into an odd sort of word association game between the two of us.

Anyway, in me and Sunbum's improv word association repartee, I like to pretend that I'm really the announcer on Password guardedly whispering out the answers in hushed, secretive tones while wearing a gaudy, powder blue polyester suit.

Here's how it works: Sunbum stays in her demonic child character and gives me fresh, new phrases to work with in order to make a complete sentence.

A Few Of Our Recent Favorites: (My Answers Are After The Dotted Line)
Seven Eggs................To Make A Proper Souffle
Seven Berets...........The Kind You Find In A Second Hand Store
Seven Craig's..........And I Bought Them All For Cheap On Craig's List
Seven Cakes............For Seven Brothers
Seven Meg's..........If You Add In Seven An's You'd Get Seven Megan's
Seven Ches..........Down At The Communist Assassin Clone Production Plant
Seven Lays(potato chips)..........Told You I Couldn't Eat Just One
Seven Chang's..........To Beat The Crap Out Of The Five Browns.
Seven Pegs............ In The Lost&Found Down At The Legless Pirate Bar
Seven Legs..............My Pet Octopus After His Unfortunate Smoothie Machine Accident

Okay, it's your turn to add on!

*Sunbum did not actually watch The Ring or The Ring 2 or Ringu. She already has me for a mother. Isn't that psychologically damaging enough?*

You Should Never Sing Wildfire At The Top Of Your Lungs In A Crowded Movie Theater...........

I think that qualifies as a federal offense or something.

I didn't intend to make this an all-classic rock-all-the-time theme week. Maybe I was unknowingly possessed by the ghost of a 1970's radio DJ during the night and he's controlling my every move. That would go a long way towards explaining why I wanted to dress up in a crochet vest today and why I keep asking everyone-even the dog- "Hey baby, what's your sign?"

When I was a little whippersnapper my mom had the sheet music to Wildfire. We spent many hours of my youth wailing for Wildfire along with the earnest Michael Martin Murphey. My mom and I also sang the Bumblebee Tuna jingle over and over. Bum-Bum-Bumblebee, Bumblebeeeee Tuuunnnaaa.......... I think she was grooming me to land some commercial work and bring home either a check or a lifetime supply of canned Bumblebee Tuna.

Anyway, I ran calling Wiiiilllldfiiiiire so often that I'm surprised I wasn't branded by the neighborhood residents as The Girl Who Cried Wildfire. No, we didn't live on Yellow Mountain. I think those people got accustomed to a lady screaming "Wildfire!" a long time ago.

There's a particularly memorable line from that song that goes:
There's been a hoot-owl howling by my window now
For six nights in a row
She's coming for me, I know
And on Wildfire we're both gonna go

When the oldest of my mini-Infidels were younger we had a scintillating discussion about owls because an owl family decided to nest in the tree right outside their bedroom window.
The conversation turned towards that line in Wildfire. I explained that Michael Martin Murphey (Seriously, that name is so freakin long. Why can't we just call him MMM?) wrote that because according to Indian legend, an owl perched outside your window means that somebody is going to croak off and croak off soon.

That was a big mistake. One that should be chronicled into the humongous tome filled with my sometime appalling parenting skills.

The three of them were terrified of sleeping in their rooms because with every piercing Hoo-Hoo of the owl they grew more and more certain that signified death swooping in to take them away.

So traumatic. When I was a child I was terrified of owls, too. But that's only because I knew they couldn't be trusted to be honest with you if you gave them your Tootsie Roll pop and asked them to tell you how many licks it takes to get to the center.

The owl family eventually took their Hoot-a-Palooza across the street to our neighbors. They have a magnificent oak tree with branches that extend towards the heavens and a trunk big enough to shield me when I duck behind it to avoid the Boy Scouts peddling popcorn on our street. It's far superior to our lowly pine. Snobby owls.

So there you have it. Need a guest room? Import some owls to live in your trees and then tell the Indian Legend of Certain Death to your smallish children. They'll refuse to ever step foot back in that room again and you'll have gained valuable bedroom space.

Michael Martin Murphey On Letterman Performing Wildfire

*Holy freak, MMM aged really well. He retired his 70's blond bob look that he stole from Toni Tennille along with his puka shell necklace and he now looks like a respectable older cowboy. A cowboy that wears impractical non-weatherproofed fringe suede, but you know. He should have passed his ten-gallon cowboy hat around the audience to take up a collection. Maybe MMM made a lot of money selling Wildfire to the glue factory at the same time he was selling copies of the Wildfire song and doesn't need the cash that bad. Who knows? He ran calling, whooooo will buy Wildfire..........He ran calling, whooooo will buy Wildfire.......*

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.

The Infidel Family Actually Leaves The House To Go Somewhere: A Pictorial

Yes, the Infidel World Tour rolled through town last Friday. We made sure to hit all our favorite stops because I wouldn't want any of the cashiers at the fantastical 99 Cents Only Store to think that we've fallen out of love with them. Never take your 99 Cents Only store for granted, people.

Our first tour destination landed us smack in the middle of the Public Library where we observed the most unholiest of unholy children's section decorations. Minnie Mouse is either angling for a role in a Disney remake of King Kong or she's interested in getting this big fella back to her place so she can finally procure that luxurious gorilla fur coat she's always dreamed about.

I'm not sure what rigorous event they put these prunes through to call them "Champion" but I do know that according to the box you are forbidden from eating them anytime other than breakfast. Oh, and the prunes also have pits. I'm praying that doesn't mean armpits.

Spanish Telenovela-styled drama at the 99 Cents Only Store! We love our hot and spicy Abuelita mucho mucho-and so naturally we were greatly distressed to find that Abuelita's new boyfriend, Don Gustavo has taken over her company. Oh sure, he may look like the epitome of elderly sweetness behind his adorable little spectacles, but inside brews a company-stealing monster who wooed Abuelita and then snatched her business out right from under her. Poor Abuelita.

(Yes, I make up melodramatic back stories for my Mexican cinnamon chocolate beverage products, don't you?)

The 99 Cents Only store envisions a brave new world where all fast food is made out of marshmallows.........

and people will drink their juice out of grotesque bug carcasses.

Here's comes Peter Cottontail....hopping down the bunny trail......well, the "bunny trail" is actually code for Aisle 8 at the 99 Cents Only Store. Yes, now you too can celebrate a one-of-a-kind Easter in July with these delicious treats.....because food poisoning is timeless.

Sunbum's Addiction.

These almond cookies are seriously delicious.

Beware the zombie starfish tub toy!!!! Any film called Starfish Zombies would spawn a zillion sequels due to the starfishes unique ability to regenerate itself.

Racially insensitive socks. Seriously, these win the prize for the most WTF? socks ever in recorded history. And what is the significance of the little For Sale sign? Is this unwrinkled Raisinette/Milk Dud/prune with legs a real estate agent? Maybe he's pimping himself out and he's actually the one for sale? So many questions that only a professional sock interpreter can answer.

Pirate's Booty Potato Chips: The Best Kind Of Booty Call! Yeah, I groped me some Pirate Booty at World Market!

Kung-Fu Fido Fortune Cookies For Dogs, as seen on the shelves of World Market. Our resident crotch-sniffing wonder dog, Reagan doesn't need a cookie apprising him of his fortune because I tell him every day, "I See A Sausage Factory Looming In Your Future If You Don't Stop Scratching Up My Windows." See? I could totally be a canine fortune cookie writer.

I have an unhealthy obsession with edible drinking cups. It began somewhere in my childhood when I saw Willy Wonka crunch into this tulip-shaped teacup he plucked from a bush. Anyway, Willy Wonka had to contend with a crispy cup that sounded like it was made from a stale rice wafer. I'm opting for these made out of Belgian chocolate.

The stockers at World Market must have a lot of fun when they decide where to shelve merchandise. What else can explain the cans of Spotted Dick juxtaposed next to the Wing Nut containers? If you combine a Spotted Dick with a pair of Winged Nuts you'll get the oddest dragon-ish mythological creature ever created.....probably the blindest and the dumbest, too.

I scoped out these Poker Pretzels for bloggy friend and Mistress Of The Poker Table, Alice. Pretzel diamonds can also be a girl's best friend.

And finally I'd like to conclude the Infidel World Tour by showing the "obvious much?" label on this nutty bag of Naked Nuts. Okay, it's a sack of peanuts manufactured by a company called Naked Nuts and yet they still had to post a disclaimer on the back stating: Manufactured in a facility that uses Peanuts and other nuts.

You know what I loved the most? The very stoic cashier-who's checked us out nearly every time we venture to the 99 Cents Only store-never cracks so much as a smile at us. Well, while he was ringing us out I was busy taking pictures of the Naked Nuts on the conveyor belt. Suddenly my mini-Infidels started whining, "Mooooom, he's done. You need to come pay now." And so naturally I told them, "Not now. I'm busy playing with these here Naked Nuts."

We actually scored an LOL-moment from the Cashier. Yesssssss!