TMI Thursday: How I Dented My Derriere

As I was flipping through the Restricted Section of my mental library this week and pondering which juicy tidbit I should share with you all on LiLu's TMI Thursday, I realized that many of my stories fall into three categories:

Crazy things I've done while drunk
Amusing vomit stories
Dirty, dirty sex tales

I've already talked about the first two, and I told a story about gettin' jiggy wit' it last week, so I need to mix it up today if I want to keep things fresh, am I right?

Today I will tell you a tale from my childhood, and you will like it, goddamn it.

Today's tale: In which I scar my ass for life.

I was maybe 6 years old, and it was summer in Vermont. My grandmother and her friend Lilah were visiting from New Jersey, and I was all juiced up on excitement and Freeze Pops. My father owned a furniture company, and for some reason he had rented a U-Haul for the day; I suppose his delivery truck was otherwise occupied. He and his workmen were loading heavy furniture up into the truck via a big wooden ramp.

For some reason that now escapes my logical adult mind, I saw the wooden ramp and decided it looked like a... GULP... slide. While the men were inside getting another helping of back pain I crawled up the ramp and yelled out to Grandma and Lilah, "Hey! Watch this!"



I sat my previously-unblemished six-year-old ass down on the wooden ramp and slid.

Does that not just make you CRINGE to your very CORE?! Good lord!

As the 4" long wooden splinter embedded itself firmly into my right butt cheek, I proceeded to scream like a banshee. My grandmother came running to my aid, but there was clearly not much to be done right then and there.

Thus it came to pass that two white-haired little old ladies in their late seventies each took hold of one of my arms and together hauled a screaming, crying child half a mile down the street to our house.

Once at the house, my mother sent me to lie face down on her bed and arrived moments later armed with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a pair of tweezers. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes for just a moment, before saying words that I'll never forget, "Well, Pookus (shut up), this is gonna hurt."

She wasn't lying. It did hurt, and if I had known swear words I'm sure I would have used them and no one would have blamed me for doing so. I cried and shrieked and she muttered and prayed until she had plucked every bit of wood from my little bum, cleaned the wound, and sent me whimpering away.

I don't remember what the scar looked like for many years; kids honestly don't think about stuff like that, and how often do you examine your own rear end? I do remember as a tween that the mark was still there, and was still slightly purplish and hard. Eventually the color faded and just left a thumb-sized indentation, which remains to this day.

And that, my friends, is how I ruined my chance of becoming a thong model. If it weren't for that one little mark.... Ooh, curses!

ha ha.

The End.

(Not Really) Wordless Wednesday

AKA: Cleaning off the pictures from my cell phone day!

Here's my pride & joy debuting his new alter-ego: Captain Underpants! Yes, he came downstairs with his drawers on his head and proceeded to prance around doing superhero type things. I thought the (faded but not gone) skid mark stain on his forehead and his missing front tooth were especially nice touches.

We're so proud.


Yet another example of my Mad Parenting Skillz: my youngest was home sick last week. He didn't feel much like eating all day, so when he asked for some Cheez-Its I obliged, only to find him passed out in the bowl 5 minutes later. Awwww....



This one was taken by my husband, who then texted it to my phone. Here they are on the chair lift of the local ski hill near our house. Look at my big kid! Yet another hobby that they can share without mom. I'll be in the lodge, drinking spiked hot chocolate and reading a trashy novel if you need me....


My little guy is following in his big brother's footsteps, if this photo is any indication!! Look at that sassy lil' fella. I love this kid so much, they should name a country after it.




Finally, holy hat hair, Batman!

And yes, I know my kid's a fashion plate in this outfit. Just be glad he's wearing pants, ok? I always am (even though I hate pants).



That's all I've got, but be sure to show up tomorrow when I embarrass myself with more TMI Thursday fun!

Mala and Silent Bev Go To The Movies

Mornin', folks!

How are you all? You're looking especially sexy this morning, if you don't mind me saying so. What? You didn't realize that I could see you? You have underestimated The Bev yet again, I see. Muahahahahaha!

Ahem. Okay, enough of that silliness. You all want to hear about what a great time I had with Mala on our date the other night, don't you? Of course you do!

Here's a preview of how this story ends:



But let's start from the very beginning (a very good place to start...). On Saturday I peeled myself off of the sofa and went to get a mani/pedi with Mala, which is always an interesting experience. The place we've been going to is as un-shi-shi salon as they come; it's more like a Vietnamese sweat shop. The women who work there are all teeeeeny tiny creatures who spend 12 hours/day sanding down giant American feet while horrible movies play on an endless loop. Every time we go, it's a movie we have no desire to sit through, and this time it was no exception. The movie was Tyler Perry's I Can Do Bad All By Myself, and dood, it was depressorama!

Also, the lead actress reminded us of someone, but we couldn't put our finger on it.



Then it dawned on us - the answer was right there in front of us all along! Her doppleganger was swimming around in an algae-infested tank, in keeping with our Hell on Earth motif.



Those of you who remember my last post about this place will be glad to know that the fishies are alive and well!

I've decided that this nail place and the poor ladies therein exist in one of the circles of Hell: eye to eye with people's calloused February feet, cleaning out their toe jam, while watching a Madea movie? Yeah, definitely a scene that Dante left out of The Inferno.

ANYWHO, we managed to put our moral issues aside and simply enjoy the vibrating massage chair, scorching hot whirlpool foot bath, and excellent company. Well, we enjoyed the chair after we figured out how to turn off the "ass rape" feature; seriously - who exactly wants a hard moving poky thing jabbing at your buttocks while you're trying to enjoy a massage? Hmmm, never mind - don't answer that.

Once our nails were did and we freed ourselves from the Tyler Perry spell we we went to dinner, where what little voice I had was completely obscured by the din of several large parties in the dining room. This is when we started communicating largely in hand signals, which was interesting. Thankfully Mala's powers of telepathy were working well that night, but I'm still not used to having my friends order my meals for me. They don't seem to mind being the dude, but it's always funny when they tell the waiter, "The lady will have the salmon and a big-ass honkin' chocolate martini. Actually, make it a double." Hopefully by the time I get used to that my voice will have returned to its original glory.

We had 90 minutes to kill before the movie started, so before we left the restaurant we requested some to-go cups and made a quick stop for some libations.



Ha ha! Just kidding, we didn't really get Carlo Rossi. Mala just wanted to show off her big jugs.

We did get a couple of bottles of cheap wine, and we couldn't resist this one in particular, just because of its name.

As one would expect from an $8 bottle of Chianti, it tasted more like "My Cousin Vinegar" than Vino. But whatev.

We went to the movie theater and bought our tickets to see Shitter Island, then proceeded to have a few lovely glasses of wine in the comfort of Mala's car. Why? Because we are KLASSY. Obviously.

We just hung out, listened to music, sipped our wine with our pinkies extended, and laughed about how awesome we are. Good times! Then we took some horribly unflattering photos of ourselves making dorky faces and showing as many of our chins and forehead wrinkles as possible, and that's how the first photo of this post was born. That's clearly the best of the bunch.

Don't hate us because we're beautiful.

The movie was good, btw, but not fantastic. We both liked the mind-bending aspect of it and the twists at the end were intriguing. I found it to be more sad than scary, though there were some very ominous scenes that were reminiscent of Scorcese's work with Cape Fear.

So that's that. On Sunday I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything I hoped it could be, and more.

Hasta la pasta!

OOBH Stew: Hot and tasty

Hey now, sexy bitches! T.G.I. mothalovin' F, am I right?

Hope you've all survived another week and are looking forward to the weekend. I've got a date with my special lady friend tomorrow night which will most likely result in more tales of being sandblasted, waxed, and plucked within an inch of our lives by non-English-speaking women who seem to find all body hair abhorrent. Bless their hearts.

For now, I've got another delicious batch of stew for you, so put on your plastic lobster bibs and dig in! This could get messy.

WTF is that?!



I found this picture this week and immediately right-clicked that bad boy because I know you all love it when I gross you out/scare you. I sure hope this this was Photoshopped!

In Ga-Ga we trust.

Apparently there's some sort of trend going on right now where people deface old GW on the one dollar bill and make him look like everyone's favorite freak-bitch-monster! Since you know I dig the Ga, I'm all over it.



Lahve lahve lahve!

Rosie the terrorist



As if she could be any LESS attractive, right? I mean, seriously. Ew.

I am a closet lolcats fan.

I got a chain email this week that I not only did not delete before reading (sorry, Aunt C.), but I actually giggled at some of the contents. These two in particular made me smile.




Last but definitely not least:

Are you watching Modern Family on ABC? No? Well, why in the name of Blog not?! It is seriously the funniest show since our dearly departed Arrested Development. I love every single thing about it! Here's a taste - if you tell me this doesn't make you laugh, I'll ask you to have your funny bone examined.



Btw, the hilarious and beautiful Sofia Vergara is also a thyroid cancer survivor. HOLLA, sistah!

The similarities don't end there, obv. I mean, have you SEEN her amazing rack? It's almost as nice as mine!

heeee

Have a nice weekend, peeps! The Bev loves you.
XOXO

TMI Thursday: You got what where?!

Yes, folks, another tale of debauchery brought to you by LiLu's TMI Thursdays, and the letter U.

U is for uncomfortable, which is how you're going to feel after reading this. Enjoy!

When I was a wee lassie of about 17 I had my first serious boyfriend. I'd dated other boys before, naturally, but this son of a preacher man was the one with whom I went all the way... and we went all the way every chance we got.

Since we both lived with rather strict and annoyingly-present parental units, we used to go all the way outside pretty frequently during the warmer months. Hey, it was northern Vermont - there were lots of secluded spots in which to boink! Once the temperatures dropped we took to the shelter of our cars, which is yet another reason I plan to be a bitchy mom who never lets my sons borrow my car.

Screw teen spirit! Why does my car smell like sex?!



One time in late summer/early fall, we went to one of our favorite au naturale spots and started getting our freak on.

(cue Barry White)

A day or two later, I started to itch. Not just a little "Ooh, I have a little tickle; I think I'll scratch it and feel relief" kind of itch either... it was a claw at your skin like the town crazy on acid level of scratching. Soon enough, raised red splotches and spots appeared all over, but the majority of them were on my derriere, back, and the backs of my thighs.

I sat there in study hall, scratch-scratch-scratching away at my own ass, wondering what in the name of Judas Priest I had gotten into. A quick check-in with the BF confirmed that yes, he was also itchy and blotchy, but his problem areas were his hands, arms, and... erm, knees.

"FRACK FRACK FRACKIN' FRACK!" We exclaimed.

It was Poison Ivy. Before the end of the week it was EVERYWHERE, and we were miserable sinners who had sinned and now were roasting in the fiery bowels of Hell on Earth.

Ok, maybe that's a touch dramatic, but you get the idea: it sucked.

I remember coating myself in calamine lotion and praying my parents didn't find out. My parents are great people, but talking about doing the nasty and any resulting rashes is just NOT something I felt like discussing at the dinner table. Ever.

Thankfully, within a week the ailment had faded and all that was left were pale pink spots to remind me that I was a fool and an idiot and I deserved every blemish.

Oh, and next time, bring a blanket. ;)

FB irritants

I have a few Facebook-related gripes to unload, so bear with me.

Has someone ever copied your status and gotten kudos from their friends for how funny it is, but they never admit that they stole it from you word for word?

This happened to me yesterday. I was reading my little news feed and saw my own status report - I had just posted it an hour or so before and people were commenting on it. I did a double-take; it was my status report, yet it had been posted by one of my friends. All of her friends had left "Ha ha! Your to funny" (grinding teeth) comments on it, yet did she 'fess up and say, "Actually, it's the Bev who's funny. I just thought it was a good one so I posted it too?"

Nope.

It doesn't really bother me, don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm copyrighting my status reports, for goodness sake. I just think it's strange.

People are so odd.

Ever get copied on a never-ending message?

I was invited to a party several weeks ago. It seems the quirky (read: crazy) weather man at my last TV station was finally let go after the station changed hands several times and they're now focusing less on live news and more on, I dunno, Spanish-speaking cock fighting game shows or something. I don't know, I don't watch that crap now that they don't pay me to create it anymore. Anywho, a bunch of ex-cow-orkers were planning a party for Al and started a Facebook message to discuss the details of the event. There were about 20 people on the message list, including yours truly.



I decided early on in the planning process that I wasn't gonna go. My trusty sidekick was going to be out of town and I had my surgery to get through, plus it seemed like everyone who was going were Newsies and I was more of a Production Goddess.

Yet I kept getting the emails. Every. single. day.

Soon the messages deteriorated into "witty" banter about how drunk everyone was going to get, funny things Al might say, and "hilarious" reminiscences of the station's hay day. At this point, I just went ahead and deleted them without reading as soon as I logged into FB, but still - the multiple email notifications per day as well as the constant "housekeeping" on Facebook was reeeeeeeeeeeeaaaally getting on my nerves.

I'm a teensy bit OCD about FB, you see - I cannot have tons of unanswered messages or notifications glaring at me. I must get rid of the little red numbers before I can peruse people's status reports and leave my inappropriate and subtly pervy comments!



The event came and went, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Now, maybe I could get some peace from these incessant notifications about an event which I had no intention of attending.

Then the idiots went and STARTED A NEW GODDAMNED THREAD to rehash their fun night and start planning another one... in motherfucking MAY!

fkjas;fkjadsf;iae sdfasdjkfasdf; jasdfk;sdja;fijsd;fkasdj f;kdafj asdk;fjas;ifj;iadjrtio;werv!

(That's the sound of my head exploding)

So, lemme get this straight - I'm supposed to put up with 5-10 email notifications per day about a party I declined an invite to, and now about a party that I probably won't go to either... for the next 3 months?! Fuckin' A, dood. Stick a fork in me, 'cuz I'm done!

Okay, enough of me bitching. It's a beautiful sunny Wednesday, and I'm going to pretend that I didn't cry into Dr. Duk Dong's white coat this morning when he told me he wanted to fry me again and I told him where he could cram his radioactive iodine. The appt was a bummer and a total waste of good mascara, but the day is young and my good spirits will prevail, damn it.

Because they must.

Have a happy Hump Day, Humpy McGees!

What makes my Happy happy this week

It's a Tuesday that feels like a Monday here at my crap job, so I thought I'd tell you all about a few odds & ends that are making me feel all warm & fuzzy lately. We can all use warm & fuzzy feelings, can't we? I thought so.

Peppermint Tea.

Simple, soothing, aromatic peppermint tea. Aaaahhhhh... feels so good on my throat, smells so yummy, and hopefully will make my stubborn left vocal cord feel like singing again! Eventually.

Tik Tok by Ke$ha.

I tried to ignore this song. I really, really tried. I didn't want to like it, and I honestly don't have room in my life for yet another blonde pop star with overly auto-tuned vocal tracks. But this song... dudes, I just don't know. It must contain crack cocaine, pure & simple. The first time I heard it I thought, "Ugh, this sucks. Go away, Ke$ha!" Then I heard it again and started to do the old head bob, then a little shoulder shimmy made an appearance. Next thing you know, I've downloaded it and am full-out car-dancing and making a fool of myself at stoplights. Oh, the shame!

Now, like all good addicts, I want to get you hooked on it too. Try it - you'll like it!



That girl is a hot mess but damn if I don't find her adorable. Crap! It's just a great party/dance tune, what can I say? I can see myself grooving to it in Laurie's convertible! I can see myself peeling Malomatic up off the dance floor after she decides to examine the club's carpeting up close!

In related news, GAWD, I need a night out!

Leap Year

I saw this movie last weekend. Even though I'm not usually a huuuuge rom-com fan, I do like the odd chick flick from time to time and I adore Amy Adams, so I was eager to see this one. Plus, it was filmed in Ireland and I like movies with nice scenery, so sue me.

It was a-freaking-dorable. I loved it, and not just because Amy is cute as a button and the male lead is handsome and has a fantastic accent, though none of that hurts. It was just a sweet little movie - no big surprises, but the way my life has been lately, I don't want surprises! I want nice, and this movie was just that: nice. I likey.

This Old Spice commercial:



I'm sure it debuted during the Super Bowl, but I don't watch that shizz so I hadn't seen it till the other day. Holy crap, we laughed so hard! I actually rewound and played it back, something I never do with commercials. I just love it! Nice job, Old Spice. Hilar!

So there 'tis. Stuff I dig right this very minute. Hope you dig it too!

Tootles!

If the Olympic Village is a-rockin'...

...don't come a-knockin'!

Hey there! Hope everyone had a nice V-day and got some good lovin' from their loved ones. Speaking of good lovin', I need to address a thought I had on Friday evening while watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympic games. As always, instead of getting misty over American pride (which I cop to once in a while because what am I? Made of stone?!), I found myself thinking about all of those attractive young athletes in their adorable Ralph Lauren gear. I thought about how pumped they all must be to have realized their dreams and been repaid for their long hours of training by achieving the ultimate: being at the Olympic games.

Can you imagine the rush? The excitement in the air must be palpable! And of course, all that adrenaline and hot blood coursing through those young, fit bodies from every country.... Well, I can only imagine the parties that must be happening once certain competitions are over and people find themselves free to mingle and enjoy a frosty beverage or twelve. It doesn't take a genius to do that math - even I can manage it, and I kind of suck at numbas.

excitement + youth + alcohol - stress = S to the E to the X ! Am I right?

"Hey everybody! We're all gonna get laid!"



First of all, everything about the opening ceremony made me think of dicks. Yeah, I know, that's kind of typical for pervy ol' Bev. But honestly, I can't be the only one who noticed all of the massive phallic symbols?



Mmmm, frosty penises....



My favorite part was at the very end of the opening ceremony when one of the giant peens had a little stage fright and decided to just lie there while the other three pillars rose to the occasion, as planned. Poor, flaccid pillar. I'm sure all of us ladies felt like soothing it a bit, "It's okay. It happens to all pillars once in a while! It doesn't bother me a bit. I'll bet no one even noticed."

But anyway, back to the sexy athletes and all the boning they must be doing once they have either won their medals or screwed the proverbial pooch. You KNOW they're hitting the bars. You know they're scoping out the cute Asian figure skaters and the Swedish ski bunnies. You know they're trying to wiggle their way into the U.S. snowboarder social circle so they can knock a few back with the charismatic (and by all accounts, funny and nice) Shaun White.

Back in my TV days I worked with a news photog who was a big skier. He grew up in northern NH and spent all his free time on the mountains; in fact, I believe he's still on the ski patrol at Bretton Woods. Nice guy. Anyway, he grew up with Olympic skier Bode Miller. He knew him pretty well, had partied with him, and told lots of stories about Bode and what a nice, down to earth kind of dude he was.

So when Bode made the Olympic ski team four years ago in Italy, we were all rooting for him. Not only was in from NH, but he was a good kid and a friend of a friend!

Well, Bode didn't do so hot at the games. Why? Because Bode likes to party, and Bode partied a little too hearty and screwed up his runs. No medals for Bode. In fact, we were all kind of ashamed that he hadn't taken it more seriously.

According to my friend, Bode told him when he returned that the parties at the Olympic village were EPIC. Those athletes can apparently show us ALL how it's done!

Bode is back again this year, and hopefully four years of maturing will keep him on the straight and narrow until AFTER his competitions are complete. I'm still rooting for ya, Bode!

That's the kind of wonky crap that goes through my little brain on a Friday night after having two glasses of wine for the first time in weeks. Yes, I've been laying off the booze because it's drying to the throat, and I'm doing everything I can to get my dang voice back. You SEE what sacrifices I make, damn it? I miss my vino! On Friday I had some and felt pretty darn good, so of course I started picturing all of these clean-cut professional athletes doing the nasty. Of course! This is ME we're talking about.

One last inappropriate observation, and then I'll shutey:

You call these torches? In college, we called them "spliffs."



That is all.

Have a happy Monday, and go U.S.A!

PS) How cute are the Canadians? I think I have a crush on an entire country; even worse than I did back when the Kids in the Hall were in their hay day!

Friday lunch special: OOBH Stew

Hello, you sexy thangs, you! Happy Friday!

As most of you know, OOBH Stew is a tempting mish-mash of all the funny and cringe-worthy pop culture items that I stumbled across this week while pretending to work at my crap job. I throw them all into a big pot, add some special seasoning (AKA acerbic wit), and stir it up with an ugly stick.

"Needs more dog!"

Then I let it simmer until it's kind of a murky gray color, which is how I know it's ready to serve - usually on a Friday. I like to serve it with a nice tossed salad. (You heard me)

First up, this one's for my BFF Mala, who finally managed to make it back from her two week long vacay (Green-Eyed Monster alert!) a few days ago. Malomatic has always loved that wacky little Brit, Mr. Bean. Lord knows why, but I love her so I look the other way. In exchange, she says nothing about my Gaga or True Blood infatuations as well as the fact that I refuse to watch any reality show involving Brett Michaels with her. It's what you do for friends, yes?

Oddly enough, several times this week a Google image search turned up this little beauty while I was looking for pictures to use here on the blog, so I thought it must be fate. You must need to see this:



CREEEEEE-PEEEEEEE! If anything that looked like that ever came out of my vagina I would immediately call an exorcist and start salting the ground.

NEXT.

InTouch Weekly SAYS this is Debbie Gibson showing off her new bikini body. I call bullshit.



This
is Debbie Gibson.

I don't know who this strange-faced impostor is, but it can't be Debbie Gibson. She'll always be this 80's fabulous to me.

Pop that collar, girl. Pop it!

Wow, she's thin. Anytime you can count someones ribs between where their boobs ought to be, girlfriend is definitely skinny. I'm less concerned about the fact that she has starved herself into Crypt-Keeper territory than I am about the fact that her face is... well, somethin' just ain't right. Right?

Dlisted, one of my fave blogs(from whom I boosted this photo) says she looks like "Uma Thurman after going overboard in the sauna." True 'dat! I was thinking she looked more like naked Mr. Burns.

Last but not least, Nicolasa over at Low Expectations posted this cute little site today that lets you generate your own candy hearts for V-day. Here are mine:




What would yours say?

So there it 'tis. I hope you all enjoyed it.
Have a great day. TGIF!

(My First) TMI Thursday: Carlos Rossi

I'm trying something new here today. Since I tend to post all my TMI stuff all willy-nilly (heh heh, I said "willy!"), I've decided to try to streamline it a bit and follow the lead of the Indefatigable Mjenks in participating in Lilu's TMI Thursdays.

Not long ago I posted about a trip to the liquor store and all the fun we had finding inappropriate sexual innuendos in the bottle sizes and shapes. I left out one bottle, deciding to save that story for a rainy day. Well folks, it ain't raining but today is that day nevertheless.

May I introduce you to an estranged friend of mine? This is Carlos. Carlos is cheap and easy, two things I've never been despite what you may think. Yes, I know I'm a bawdy gal and I like to talk about all things dirty (with the exception of poop), but just because I'm a perv doesn't mean I'm a bimbo. On occasion, I can even pass for classy.

This story is NOT about any of those occasions.

One spring break when I was about 20 my sister and I decided to take a trip to the Bahamas, just the two of us. We went to an all-inclusive resort that turned out to be kind of lame as far as night life went, but we enjoyed the beach and the sight-seeing. We swam with dolphins, tried parasailing, drank rum, and watched Asian tourists sing karaoke.

The Rong and Winding Load has never been so poignant.

On our last night we decided to take a sunset booze cruise, and I got so drunk that it's all kind of a blur.

This isn't us, but it's a reasonable facsimile:



I do remember at one point talking to a lovely southern lady and for some reason I started to imitate her accent as we talked. Before long I was in full-on Scarlett and Rhett mode and no one could convince me that I wasn't a sassy southern belle with an attitude. To this day, I still blush when I even think about it, so of course I'm sharing it here with anyone who cares to read it.

Why? Why the hell not, that's why.

As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, as we disembarked from the boat I spotted a big jug of Carlos Rossi and decided to liberate it so we could have a delightful plastic cup of Chablis back in our room. Like I needed it. I slipped the huge jug under my shirt and whistled innocently as I strolled past the bemused boat staff, then I cackled about how clever I was to everyone in the shuttle during the ride back to the resort. The nice lady with the accent was also riding in the shuttle, of course, because I always have good luck like that.

I passed out as soon as we got to the room (a photo exists, but no, I'll never share it) and when I woke up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers I've ever had in my entire life, my sister had placed that big ol' jug of wine right next to my bed so I'd see it as soon as my bleary eyes creaked open. When I went to the bathroom to yack, I found that she had also gotten bored and had drawn all over me with a Sharpie.

When you pass out before 8 PM, anything goes. I know this.

On the way to the airport that morning I did something so vile that it goes down in bevstory as one of my top 5 worst moments as a human being, ever. Worse than my experience with Alli (don't ask). Worse than that night in college when I lost my undies.

In a shuttle bus full of people en route to the airport, I actually turned green and barfed into my own purse. Quietly, yes. Discretely, even; no one even noticed, or if they did they were polite enough not to say anything. But still. Not classy. And yes, the southern lady was also on the shuttle to the airport that day.

I blame Carlos Rossi. He must be related to Jose Cuervo -- cousins or something.

So there it is. I don't know if I'll be participating in the TMI fun every Thursday because of my fear of committment and all, but I'll do my level best!

From the Vault

Howdy!

Sorry about the misfire yesterday! Some of you noticed (and bless your hearts for that) that I posted something yesterday and then deleted it before anyone could read it. Oops! I just wasn't feelin' it, so I took it down. No biggie!

I'll make it up to you today by showing you some mildly-embarrassing photos from my misspent youth. Just a few snapshots from my life, nothing too racy today, but be sure to check in tomorrow when I join in on the Lilu's TMI Thursday fun!

For now, we're opening the Vault:

July 1986
Check out this hot ticket in her polyester mini skirt in the July 4th parade! I grew up in a small town in Vermont; not born a poor black child as you may have previously heard. I twirled the baton, and badly. Later I would go on to play the flute, also badly, in between dancing (badly) and doing gymnastics (you got it, badly). Regardless of my lack of dexterity and grace with my baton, I had my glory days, like this one.



Spring 1995

In college I was a big theater nerd. I took every class offered by the Dept. of Theatre and spent most of my free time working on shows. For my advanced stage make up class I needed to find a friend with very short hair to do a bald cap on; any hair longer than an inch and a half looked bulky under the thin latex caps. Since all of my friends were rich kids in a hippie phase, the person I knew with the shortest hair was a girl, my friend Erica.

Here's my masterpiece! Bald caps are tricky - lots of adhesive, base, etc. but I got an A. :)



Spring 1997

Last but not least. This picture cracks me up! Here's a very young Jim on one of the few occasions that he managed to drag me up and over a mountain. We did an overnight trip up Camel's Hump (heh heh, hump) in Vermont. It was beautiful but the mosquitoes nearly carried us off the mountain, and physically it was just hard as hell. Bev no likey.

So here's Jim and his bowl cut admiring a scenic vista. Is it just me or does this look like either a posed Sears portrait OR as if he's sitting on an invisible toilet?



It's his impeccable posture, I think. IDK.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed this little peek into my vault. Have a happy day!

I'll be Maverick; you can be Goose.

Hi all! Good weekend?

Mine was okay, but nothing to write home (or blog) about. Yet, here I sit wanting to write something despite my glaring lack of good material. Now I know what it must be like to be a writer on SNL!

On Saturday morning I took my kids on a cub scout outing to the NH Air National Guard in Concord. The guardsmen were very accomodating and even let the kids climb all over one of their helicopters for quite a while, then landed a copter and gave a little show of what it could do outside while we watched inside. Very cool!

The only buzzkill was my oldest son, who woke up that morning with a bug up his arse and the word, "No" punctuating every sentence he uttered. I swear to dog, if I didn't love him so much I would have left him with the guardsmen until he was old enough to enlist. He started his Asshole Tour of Duty (AToD) by taking the pilot's seat and refusing to give it up to other kids for turns, then we got down to brass tacks when he took off across the hanger towards a roped-off high security section and wouldn't come back.

Oh, and remember the part about how I have no voice and am also in charge of keeping my 2 year old from hurting himself while climbing around in a helicopter? Yeah, that was also happening. Did any of the other parents in our pathetic little den offer to help when they saw me struggling, voiceless, to calm a tantruming 65 lb. six year old who refused to do anything I asked, even go to the bathroom? Nope, they sure didn't. Great job, folks - it takes a village!

Rest assured that when I finally wrestled the kids back into the car and calmed down for a minute, D felt mom's wrath. He lost his new mp3 player (a hand-me-down from J), his lunch trip to McDonald's, and his afternoon playdate with my friend Jill's daughters. So THERE.

The moral of this story: Mom may not be able to git' ya when you're being bad, but you'll pay later. Oh yes, you'll pay.

You mess with the bull, you get the horns.



Yesterday was even more dull. The high point was a trip to BJ's in which I bought a bunch of stuff because I had some killer coupons, then I forgot to use said coupons at check-out because YOU KNOW WHO decided to goof around and distract me. Yes, the AToD continued as he tried to push the cart away (with his brother in it) as I struggled to pay, load the cart, and make myself heard by the annoyed cashier. That little brain fart cost me about $20. Sigh.

It was really just more proof that I shouldn't have left the house at all, and I wouldn't have if we weren't at Defcon 5 thanks to a severe diaper shortage and a case of the toddler ploppy-poos.

By the time my husband and his brother came home from their calm, delightful day of skiing, I was a wee bit frazzled. I passed off tortellini-boiling duties and retreated to my room to regroup.


I know a lot of you probably enjoyed the Super Bowl last night. I didn't watch; I don't really "do" sports. What I did find myself zoning out to for a good 20 minutes last night was this:

Puppy Bowl IV.


Good gravy, is there anything cuter than 3 month old puppies? Fuzzy puppies, fat puppies, skinny puppies, puppy tummies, puppy breath... just... PUPPIES!

Yes. I dislike sports and love puppies. SO? It's good to be a girl.

A mom? The jury's out on that one.

Here's to a better week ahead!