BlabberMouse

I Knew This Was Going to Happen

I had a perfect record. I could have been the Poster Elf for the Advent Candy Distribution Society. For twenty days in a row, I'd succeeded in placing seasonally appropriate candy behind the correct doors on the correct days. Until a little late-night reveling tossed me off track.

Read all about it.

In other news, Patrick just walked up to me with a massive gaggle of key chains (collected at various rummage sales by father in law and sent to the boys with their quarterly Box O'  Toys, Key Chains & Beer Koozies That Take Over Every Square Foot of My House), and do you know what the bottom-most key chain says? It's a pair of lips. And it says "KISS CLUTTER GOODBYE."

Ha! HAHAHAHHAHAHAH.

Ha.

Morning Monolgues: Three Judges

The boys and I have been watching a little reality TV lately; most recently we've been enjoying "So You Think You Can Dance". And we've noticed a pattern with the judges.

Hello! Let's Talk About My Hair.

When all else fails, there are always my follicles to fall back on. So I got a haircut. The kind of haircut where I say, "I'm going to get my hair cut", and then I come home and Larry says, "Wait. Did you get your hair cut?"

So, it's a bob. Or as I like to call it, a Square One. The most straightforward of haircuts. The place from which all future haircuts can go TERRIBLY, HORRIBLY WRONG.

No fancy stacking in the back. No angles. No layers. Nothing. Just a guy walking around my head with a pair of scissors making all the pieces exactly the same length.

And when I say "just a guy", I mean it very literally. He was just a guy. No bells and whistles.  No smiles. No conversation. No flamboyant gestures or chin jutting complaints about the salon where he used to work. No pickle or side of slaw. Nothing. I've never seen anything like it. This guy acted like personality is a rare and precious elixir to be hoarded under lock and key.

I tried to inspire him with my own abundant personality--See? Look! I just SPRAY THIS SHIT ALL OVER THE PLACE! And it keeps refilling!!! Like magic!

But he was having none of it.

Just a deadpan:

--What do you want to do?

--Oh, you know! It's the holidays--such a chaotic time! I just want to get back to basics ... I'm thinking a simple bob. Just make it all one length ...

--Okay.

And then he handed me a mirror when he was done.

--Okay?

--Yes. Thanks. But how was it FOR YOU?

She's Got the Hole World in Her Hands

I don't know if you're aware of this, but I write a humor column for a magazine called Her Nashville (IT'S IN THE PINK BINS!!!). Perhaps I've mentioned it once or twice. On the Her website there is a Confession Booth, in which readers submit anonymous confessions for publication. Recently, one woman, a doctor (of the PhD. variety, so, you know ... grain, salt) confessed to discovering that, after all these years, she wasn't peeing out of her vagina after all.

"I'm a Dr of therapy so I should know my stuff, but last night I discovered that where I thought I was peeing from and where it actually comes out were two totally different places. I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed by my lack of knowledge ... or thrilled that my fun zone is a lot more accessible than I thought it was."

You're not sure if you should be embarrassed by your lack of knowledge?

Let me help you with that.

On a scale of ridiculousness, that's like one tick below not realizing that you don't shit out of your face.

YOU MEAN THERE'S A SEPARATE HOLE FOR THAT? 

I had no idea!

This makes eating so much more pleasurable now.

Keeping His Options Open

--Mom, I’m thinking about who’s going to be my wife.

--Yeah? Who are you thinking about?

--Well I’m still thinking Ava Grace, except I don’t know where she lives.

--That does make it tricky.

--Can I get married whenever I want?

--Well, I think you have to be 18.

--Oh yeah, I know that. I mean after I’m 18. Can I get married when I want?

--Sure.

--Like when I’m 40 or 50 or even 60?

--Yes, even when you're 40 or 50 or 60.

--Okay. So I’ll just keep looking.