True Confessions

Hello, good people of the web. Today I feel the need to unburden myself of some pesky items that niggle at my conscience. After all, I am all about being real. Also, if I can in some small way make you feel better about yourself by revealing my dark, moldy, dust-bunny coated inner self, well, that’s a job well done in my book.

By the way, did you know that True Confessions was a seedy, steamy periodical back in the day? Which day, you ask? How far back, you ask? I’m not really sure. I don’t really care very much, but if one of you wants to research it, or already knows but wants to pretend like you had to research it to find out, well then feel free to enlighten me.

tc

Apparently it consisted mainly of torrid stories of unsanctioned romance and tawdry encounters. Also, it cost ten cents, which I’m sure was quite the guilty pleasure back in the day. How much does one have to pay nowadays to set their senses a-quiver? I’m guessing it’s at least a quarter by now.

Getting on with it (no, not like that):

1. I don’t think Ryan Gosling is attractive. Like, at all.

What’s more, I cannot even comprehend the attraction. He has a face like a thumb. A thumb with a poorly drawn face on it. Okay, so he’s got “abs” and “pecs” and some other stuff going on below the neck, but really? Isn’t that kind of a man-reason to like a man? You know what I mean.

For instructive purposes, I hereby submit two photographs. One is a thumb. The other is Ryan Gosling. You be the judge.

thumb

rg

 As you can see, the difference is hardly detectable.    

2. I wish I had a sensory-deprivation chamber.

After a long day of screaming at my children homeschooling my darlings, I can think of nothing…and I mean NOTHING…better than floating in a SDC. Deprived of any sensory input, either bad or good. Devoid of touch, sound, and sight. The danger would be that I might refuse to emerge, or regress genetically like Eddie Jessup in Altered States.

me

3. Sometimes I don’t return my Wal Mart cart to the cart corral.

cart

This one may get me disowned by my very own brother, who views this as a deep flaw within one’s personality. But I’m being real here. Sometimes it’s too far away. Sometimes it’s three million below zero and I want to get into my car before my extremities shatter. Sometimes there’s a creepy guy checking me out. But most of the time, it’s because I just loaded half the contents of Wal Mart into my trunk and I’m just so damn sick of Wal Mart and handing over my husband’s whole damn paycheck to the whole damn cashier every damn time I go that I figure they can damn well pick up my damn cart. Those cart boys are perfectly capable, and they even have motorized cart-collectors to help them now, the pansies.

4. I want to grow my hair out, but I keep fantasizing about short haircuts.

Really, I have to resign myself to the fact that I’d rather look like this:

MyHero2

than this:

pssh

5. Sometimes I run away from my toddler and hope he gets distracted by something else before he finds me again.

Oh my word. Toddlers are so adorable. But oh my word. Toddlers are so CLINGY. Judah is at the stage where he is learning to Not Need Mommy So Much. However, when he is not on board with this current learning experience, he is certain, nay, convinced with firm, unwavering conviction, that he Needs Mommy At All Times, Without Exception. Even when he is not hungry, poopy, wet, or hurt. Just because There’s Mommy! There She Is! I See Her, Therefore I Need Her!

When he sees me under these conditions, he employs a technique known as “quick, grab a body part and do not let go”, at which point I employ evasive maneuvers. In other words, I run away. I run as fast as I can to a remote location and hope that he gets distracted by something interesting and realizes that playing with his siblings, or with a random toy, or with the dog’s orifices, can be every bit as entertaining as hanging onto my legs and wailing.

At least until he spots me again.

6. It took me all day to write this post.

This may be reason number one why I don’t blog so much anymore.

TGIF

It’s Friday! And that’s reason enough to share with you these two videos of my Cowboy X. He’ll be two in just two months, and I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that.

Enjoy! And please do not notice the part where my baby almost pokes his eye clean out with an IKEA treat-cone-thingy leftover from Valentine’s Day, mkay? Thanks. Also, if you have a severe aversion to slobber/drool/things that cascade out of toddler’s mouths, you might wanna skip the first one. Although it is quite amusing.

Cue The Discordinant Stringed Instruments

All right, all right, I give in. I’ll post about LOST. After last season’s spectacularly hideous ending, I was completely ambivalent about watching the show at all anymore. I knew I would never be happy with whatever cockamamie, half-assed, pathetic excuse for a wrap-up they would try to foist off on viewers, but on the other hand, could I seriously not watch it through to the grand finale?

I think I could not. I’m fairly certain my life would not be diminished in any way by not continuing to view the series. When I think of all the ways the writers have disgusted me, frustrated me, and insulted my intelligence, I get a little angry. They could have ended the thing literally years ago, but they couldn’t just go ahead and fish, they had to cut bait for ten thousand episodes in which they introduced characters for the sole purpose of killing them off. Genius.

However, not watching the show would mean joining the ranks of unlucky souls who have to endure hearing people talk about their theories concerning it.

Ultimately, there were five reasons I decided to continue to the bitter end:

 jin

sayid

weenie
(josh. get some dirt on. you look like a weenie)

richard

jesus. i mean desmond.

I know! I know! I’m sorry! But I have to be honest. Without this lineup, I’d be sayin’ sayonara faster than you can count to 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42.

Let’s be serious, people. The plot is in a shambles. It has never lived up to the standard it set in its (sniffle, snort, *HONK*) mind-blowingly fabulous first season. You remember the first season? The season full of mystery, intrigue, and strange things that went SKREEEAK!!! SKROOONK!!! RAAAAA!! in the night? The season where Jack was admirable and noble, and Locke was freakin’ awesome? The season before I wanted to wrap Kate in cotton candy and set fire to her?

As it was, the grand kick-off episode did not suck quite as spectacularly as I was prepared for. I was surprised by how fondly I still felt about many of the characters, how fervently I still want everything to somehow turn out all right for them, and how much I enjoy it when Ben looks like this:

ben
oh yeah. he’s confused.

Locke, while not exactly Locke, finally seemed to have a purpose and conviction again, albeit an almost certainly evil one, and although Sawyer did not exactly say F*** off, B****!! to Kate, I’m almost sure that he thought it, and that counts for something, right?

At the other end of the spectrum, were I and my family alone in our gape-mouthed-horror-which-rapidly-turned-to-hysterical-laughter-response to the “underwater island” CG JOKE? And who else wishes fervently that the smoke monster would just go back to being a terrifying idea instead of looking like the Tasmanian Devil doing a little freelance work just to make ends meet?

So, Jacob and The Smoke Monster (who we will call SM from now on, for brevity’s sake), are obviously some sort of opposing Egyptian dieties duking it out with each other in a grand chess match involving human beings as pawns. Maybe they were sent to the island ages ago as some sort of punishment by even higher powers? And Jacob is so obviously going to use Sayid’s body to perambulate around in, but I’m believing that it will be in a benevolant sharing sort of capacity. You know, a capacity that leaves Sayid completely unharmed in the end, when Jacob finds a more convenient mode of transportation.

Don’t pop my bubble, people. It’s all I have.

If the writers of the show hoped to distract viewers from the gazillion-and-forty questions still unanswered by throwing out a few tantalizing clues wrapped up in one or two WTF! moments and plenty of parallel universe scenes to convince us that no way, not ever, nuh-uh, no you DON’T, want the series to end with Oceanic 815 landing peacefully at LAX, then, well…they succeeded. At least for me. 

At any rate, I have hope that the season will not be too painful to watch after all.

Mr. Sandman, bring me…some sandpaper…?

I’m not a napper. I never have been a napper, except occasionally on days of heavy pregnancy or narcotic influences. Unlike My Beloved, who can drop off anywhere and anytime, it’s simply not in my nature. There’s a little voice in my head that chants “things to do, things to do, things to doooooo…” which naturally is a wee bit of a distraction when one is trying to court the Sandman. 

 

Today, however, right after reading Science and History to my middles, I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when The Sandman sneaked up behind me and went all Chuck Norris on my noggin. One minute I was about to get up and do math with Emma, the next minute I was slumped on the cushions, drooling.

 

To add insult to injury, he made certain that my face was resting peacefully upon a pleated pillow. For two hours.

 

When I finally awoke and staggered to my feet, the day was waning fast. The voice in my head was shrieking things to do things to do thingstodo THINGSTODOOOO!!!! I dashed into the bathroom to smooth my hair and prepare for my far-too-frequent foray to the evil, alien-run megagroceryopolis, when I saw my right cheek.

 

I was imprinted.

 

Severely.

 

I rubbed. I lotioned. I did facial stretching exercises. And I waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Rubrubrubrub…repeat…

 

Still there. Undiminished in their spectacular depth and symmetry, they covered my right cheek like some sort of Star-Trek, The Next Generation alien makeup. I was a refugee aboard the Enterprise, rescued from a doomed planet and destined for relocation. Only without Captain Picard there to soothe my ragged nerves with dulcet assurances.

 

yowza

oh jean-luc! where were you in my hour of need?

 

Nothing screams OLD! OLD! YOU’RE GETTING OLD!!!!!!!!!!!! like pillow-face that will not fade. In my twenties those lines would have smoothed out with one smile. In this case the only one smiling was The Sandman. In fact, I was fairly certain I heard him having an all-out fit of hysteria somewhere in the clouds above.

 

I went to Wal Mart anyway. I once saw a guy there wearing a hat on his head fashioned from a sweatpant leg. And considering this website, I guess a woman with a topographical map for a face is pretty small potatoes, after all.

Seriously. It’s hard to get published?*

Every time I receive CBD’s catalog of the newest Christian fiction offerings, I find myself giggling. Setting aside, for the moment, the very fine argument that the moment “Christian” fiction became its own genre it also nestled down inside a slick and silky coffin and began driving in the nails, I submit that for every one quality “Christian” novelist there are at least 100 high-school-creative-writing-teacher’s-pets churning out books that get published simply by virtue of the fact that they are bereft of anything objectionable, and contain at least one scene of someone getting baptized.

 

However, I do have one thing to say in their favor: their summaries in the CBD catalog are delightful targets for mirthful ridicule.

 

Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it. I’ll write several blurbs for novels that exist solely in the dark recesses of my twisted mind, along with copying an equal amount of completely real  blurbs from completely real novels. Can you tell the difference?

 

Ready? Here goes.

 

The Scent of Jasmine

 

Retired Private Investigator Flax Cracker thought he’d left business behind him when he won the lottery and moved to Honolulu. But things aren’t all peaches and cream in the land of aloha. When his sweet and unassuming neighbor, Honey Sunshine, is accused of murdering her 3-star General of a husband, he finds himself caught up in a desperate race to clear her name. But will his heart be the second casualty in this thrilling murder mystery?

 

Okay, okay, so that was a gimme. I was just dying to use those names. The following will be more of a challenge, I promise. No fair googling titles to see if they exist!!

 

1. Hourglass

 

The sleepy little town of Moss Point, Mississippi, is shaken out of its slumber when a mysterious stranger arrives with the apparent ability to stop, and even reverse, time!  The tight-lipped and brooding Mr. Adrian offers the struggling townspeople economic stability if they choose to accept his offer of help, but is he the angel he appears to be…or something far more sinister?

 

2. A Widow’s Hope

 

A tender love story set in the rolling green fields of Ohio Amish country! When newly widowed Hannah relocates from Pennsylvania to Ohio with her sheep, she’d determined that her new life won’t include romance…until she meets widower Seth Miller. Is the gentle farmer drawn to Hannah–or to her productive flock?

 

3. Sweet Charity

 

An undisciplined two year old named Charity has Shauna Alexander seriously questioning her calling as a child care provider. Pastor Kent Chapman’s heart is still raw from losing his wife. He knows he spoils his daughter, but he can’t help but see his wife in her. During a computer repair mix-up, Kent finds himself attracted to Shauna, but when their worlds collide over the rebellious toddler’s behavior, both must work toward reconciliation. Will the Lord cause Kent to choose between his daughter and his heart?

 

4. Blue Skye

 

Skye Cerule finds herself sinking into an unshakeable depression after the death of her twin sister. When she resorts to an overdose of sleeping pills one dark night, she awakens to find herself in the care of Dr. Darrin Angelus at the local mental hospital. Through the good doctor’s compassionate therapy, Skye begins to feel stable enough to be released. However, when her sister begins to visit her in the dead of night with strange warnings about Skye’s future, she begins to question what is real and what isn’t. Will she ever find peace?

 

5. Pasadena Promises

 

Love blooms like a rose from the thorns of war for three strong-willed women. Rebecca, a widow, reaches out to battle-scarred Courtney. Will Jack ever see Daisy as the compassionate woman she has become—not the little girl he once knew? And Claire struggles to understand Daniel’s reluctance to enlist after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

 

6. Spurred by Love

 

Hotheaded cowboy Flint Colton has been breaking mustangs since he was kneehigh to a prairie dog. But when fiery Stella Dawson shows up to offer a newfangled method for gentling wild horses, sparks fly between the two! When Flint’s prize stallion escapes into the Texas hill country with Stella’s favorite filly, they are forced to work together to bring their horses home. Will they find more than just the runaways during their time beneath the endless prairie sky?

 

Okay, time’s up. Which are fake, and which are tripe real? Leave me a comment listing the THREE FAKES and I’ll reveal the truth Saturday, along with a fun prize for the winner (picked from all the correct entrants).

 

*alternate title: Sour Grapes Make Great Whine

Metaphor Monday, except not

Hi ho, friends! I DO have a metaphor for you today, but it has a movie to go along with it to really drive the point home, and I unfortunately do not have said movie uploaded at this time. So next Monday, fer sure.

 

If YOU have a metaphor, please post it! Leave me a comment so I can get my metaphorical fix for the day, if you please!

 

Instead of a metaphor, let me just see if I can give you a few reasons to smile today.

 

This:

 

 

Toby’s Zoolander face:

 

 

No. He’s never seen the movie. His expression was completely spontaneous. I don’t know what this means for his future.

 

Also, the other day, I was in the market for some new deodorant (I realize this is somewhat more than a rabbit trail. It’s more of an out-of-control spaceship plowing a trough in a wheat field as it crashes to earth, but I never promised to be coherent, especially on a Monday)

 

Now, let me just say that to NOT smell like a wet skunk is satisfactory to me, but what I saw opened my eyes to a fragrant wonderland of pitty delights. I had no idea such choices were becoming available my bodily cavities. Why, I could smell like Cherry Mischief if I wanted to!

 

Wasn’t she a Bond girl?

 

How about Rockstar Rose? 

 

Forget it. Then I saw that I could smell like Classic Romance, or Delicious Bliss.

 

My daughter Rose thought it said Delicious Bass. Which I think very well could be the next great thing in Men’s deodorant, but for women, notsomuch.

 

The one that really caught my eye, though, was called (are you ready?)

 

(wait for it)

 

(seriously.)

 

Sexy Intrigue.

 

My brain almost exploded with the possibilities. My armpits? Could smell not just sexy, but intriguingly sexy?

 

Images of myself with a train of men, sniffing the air in my wake, compelled by the intrigue, Pied-Piper-style, flashed through my mind.

 

What more could armpits want?

 

So I bought it.

 

I knew you’d want to know.

Dear 2009 (cc: Father Time),

Well, Mr. Speedy McVanisherson, you’re really chapping my hide lately. Oh sure, I didn’t mind way back in January when you sped by at the speed of an ice storm, but now? Now you’re messing with my warmths, mister. Now you’re just being hateful.

 

I haven’t done half of what I wanted to accomplish yet this summer. Not even a quarter! I’m telling you, something’s gotta give. I may not be battling an army in the name of the Lord, but I could really use the sun standing still for an hour or two these days. How about it, Time? Can we strike some sort of deal?

 

How about taking a few geriatric hours from my 80s, when my bladder will only be a placeholder in my loins and my joints crumble by the second, and giving them to me now? Today? You see, today I need to garden. Organize a closet or two. Paint a hallway. Begin some projects with my children. What will I need those hours for then, I ask you, besides reminiscing?

 

And how can I reminisce about everything I did if I never get to DO anything because you keep snatching my every moment away while my back is turned? You are a manipulative, crafty poopy-head, Time. You can’t tell me that you aren’t taking my hours and giving them to someone else. I see all those people accomplishing 1,001 things every day and smiling while they do it. You’re not fooling me.

 

You’ve never liked me, have you?

 

It’s because I wasted you in my youth, isn’t it? You just can’t forgive and forget. Okay, so maybe I even used the expression “killing time” once or twice. Come on! It’s just an expression; it’s not like I did it literally! You know what? I’m sorry. Really. But I think it’s time for you to get over it.

 

Let me know when you’re ready to negotiate. I’ll be right over here, modifying my DeLorean.

 

Sincerely,

Jenni

 

PS. Could I borrow a few pounds of plutonium? Don’t try to tell me you don’t have any, either.

What I Did on My Summer Staycashun

By Jenni

 

On my summer staycashun, I went too my parents hous to hous sit wile thay went to a famly reyunyun  reyoonyun get together. My parents liv on 160 akers and it is rilly pritty. It was also rilly hot. It got up to 106 digrees. Lukily, we bot a pool with a big bloo rubber ring and filled it with woter. It saved our lives.

 

(not rilly us)

 

We saw sum deer, and sum turanchulus  tuhranchuluhs  big harry spiders and turtles and frogs and toads and skinks and bunnees and a kiyotee. We didn’t see a skunk but we smelled it win my parents dog desided to try to eat it. He is not verry smart.

 

at leest hes cute

 

Becos I am the gud dotter, I also helped out around ther plase. I pulled the weeds in ther flower gardins evin tho it wuz so hot I almost evaperatid  evaperated  diyd. Win I felt lik I wuz going to puke, I wud go jump in the pool and feel beter. Thin I wud go pull mor weeds evin tho they didnt ask me too, becuz I am the gud dotter lik that.

 

Weeds ar evul.

 

I also got eeten by chiggers becuz I sat on ther home, I gess. Chiggers itch rilly bad. Thay lik to bite you in bad plases wher you cant scrach becuz it isnt pulite.

 

Chiggers are even mor evul then weeds.

 

I also polished moms silver and cleened her windoes. Becuz I am a gud dotter  I love her.

 

My staycashun wuz a lot of werk but it wuz mor fun than I ecspectid. I wotched lots of sunsets and even wun sunrise. I did not feel clostruhfobic  clostrufobik  trapped. Kuntry air is hot but it feels happy. Espeshully in the morning and eevning.

 

 

Sum day I wud lik to liv in the Kuntry to.

 

The End

Very Funny

Let’s face it: the world is a scary place sometimes. Life can be hard, and cruel. But I’m a big fan of laughing at life. Even if sometimes it’s inappropriate.

 

Actually, especially if it’s inappropriate.

 

With that in mind, I put together a little poll for your (I hope) amusement. Feel free to steal it for your own blog if you are having trouble coming up with fodder lately. I think a dearth of blog-fodder is somewhat epidemic in the blogosphere right now, so I’m doing my part to help out.

 

If you decide to play, just leave a link in the comments so I can read your answers! Whoever makes me laugh the most will win my much-coveted You Tickle Me award.

 

 

You know you want him! How can you resist the cephalopodishness? 

 

Here’s the poll:

 

1. Who can make you laugh the hardest (someone you personally know)?

 

2. Who has the most contagious laugh (of those you know personally)?

 

3. What is the funniest movie you’ve ever seen?

 

4. Who is your favorite comedian?

 

5. What’s the funniest cartoon you’ve ever seen?

 

6. What’s your favorite comic strip?

 

7. What’s your favorite joke?

 

8. Here’s a link to something that will make you laugh:

 

9. What was the last thing you laughed at so hard you cried?

 

10. Got a funny photo? Show me!

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

And since I’m starting this whole deal, I’ll go first. (ed note: my post is video-heavy. Yours does not have to be!)

 

1. All of my siblings can reduce me to a helpless blob of giggles at random moments, but for sheer reliability, I have to say that my brother Matthew takes the prize. He’s the funniest guy I know.

 

 

However, if he gets together with my other brother, Paul, together they are so hilarious it’s almost dangerous. Seriously. You could die laughing.

 

2. This would be my 11 year old son, Josiah. When he was younger, especially, when he thought something was funny he would get us ALL cracking up from the sheer contagiousness of his laugh. Remember that Bugs Bunny cartoon when Bugs comes up from the ground into the bullring in Spain and the bull is trying to kill him? Josiah got so tickled by the funny dance the bull did at one point that I thought we were going to have to administer oxygen to all of us.

 

Here’s the cartoon:

Bugs Bunny – Bully For Bugs

 

And here’s the kid:

 

Uncle Josiah. Don’t let the calm exterior fool you.

 

3. This one is reeeeeally hard. I love comedies. And I’ve seen a lot of them. So I’m going to cheat and pick two. Father Goose  is my favorite classic comedy because, hey, it’s Cary Grant being something besides suave and debonair, and School of Rock is my favorite new comedy because I laugh every. time. I watch it. Jack Black has never been more funny than this movie; it was made for him.

 

4. Gotta be Steve Martin. I cut my teeth on him, and with a body of work that includes scenes like these, what’s not to love?

 

 

5. Although Bugs with the bull is pretty hilarious, I gotta go with Bugs performing opera. The horse alone just slays me. It’s six minutes long, but guaranteed to make you smile, unless you are dead, in which case all bets are off.

 

 

6. Rose is Rose, but only the older stuff. I have always had a soft spot for Rose, a sweet and unassuming mommy to one, devoted wife to Jimbo, who periodically slips into the persona of a biker chick when life becomes too safe and predictable.

 

(click to see full-size)

 

and…

 

 

7. This would have to be the knock-knock joke featuring an interrupting cow. It ALWAYS gets a laugh, even from people who despise knock-knock jokes (under normal circumstances: me), but you have to be quick to get it right. It goes like this:

 

person one: Knock knock!

 

person two: Who’s there?

 

person one: Interrupting cow.

 

person two: Interrupting—

 

person one, quickly! MOOO!

 

Trust me. It’s funny.

 

8. You’ve never seen Hugh Jackman look less like Wolverine…Punk’d at it’s all-time finest moment. I laughed through my cringing.

 

9. This.

 

 

 

10. 

 

 

Your turn!!