This is a lovely short from Iran. Four people in a compartment on a train. They go through a dark tunnel and there is a kiss and then a slap.
Who kissed whom? Who got slapped? Of course, it is never what you think. This one got me laughing at the end and crawled up under my skin and kept me laughing for a while.
Who did you think did the kissing and the slapping?
Wii came out with a new game, WiiFit Plus. My favorite game on there is the Chicken thing. It might have an official name, but that’s what we all call it because you get on the balance board and flap your arms like a chicken to fly.
I know chickens don’t really fly, and neither do people, but with this game it feels like you’re really flying.
What’s even better is you work up a sweat without even realizing it. This game is so worth the twenty bucks. Even if you’re just watching.
I’ve been seeing people with looooong loooooong eyelashes. Ridiculously long. So long I saw a lady getting hers cut at the salon next to me. I asked the hairdresser if something was wrong with her to have all this overgrowth.
Nothing wrong, she’s using one of those new lash products that grows them thicker and longer. I thought I might invest $150 bucks and do a special here, a product demonstration with some before and after pics.
Sound fun?
Okay, so I’m cheap. I couldn’t part with the hundred and fifty clams. I saw somewhere on facebook that a mom discovered how to mix two household ingredients to get longer lashes. Free. F-R-E-E free. So I clicked that link.
And I tried it.
Here’s the before shot:
After just one night, voila! Here is the after shot:
The unibrow (or eyesbrow, as Spanky calls it) is an unintended side effect. Must have smeared this stuff all over while sleeping.
So I shaved it all off and started fresh.
Wait, what the hell? My eyes turned brown? I’d better put some more of this stuff on and grow an eye fro before anyone notices…
That’s better.
But seriously. Ladies. Those ridiculously long freak lashes are horrible. I can understand if someone has short and thin lashes and wants to improve a little on Mother Nature. A little. But not eyelashes that keep knocking you in the eyebrows. It’s just too much.
It certainly isn’t worth a change in eye color, which is a real side effect of the prescription formula Latisse. Actually, it can cause patchy brown spots on light eyes, so not even a uniform color change.
What do you think?
Today started out just like too many days this summer. Craptastic.
My genius child Spanky failed her driving test. I thought she was kidding when she texted me. This kid has never failed anything. Ever.
So while she’s waiting for me to pick her from driving school, she sits on the sidewalk in front of an Italian restaurant which pipes music outside. She texts me, “I’m sitting outside the Italian place, they are playing Il Divo and it’s too dramatic.”
She’s kinda laughing and kinda crying when she gets into the car. Fast forward to later in the afternoon and everyone thinks this must be the end of times or something because the impossible has happened. Also, Spanky has quite a temper. We have no idea what she will do.
Things were quiet. Her Facebook status was posted, “fml.”
She never once blamed the driving instructor.
So when she asked me to bring her to that soul sucking mall, I agreed. She never buys anything there which makes it seem like a useless trip, right?
We go in a department store and there is a huge advertisement, a male underwear model with… well… Here’s what Spanky says about it, “Is he selling underwear or socks?”
Ohmygod we found it on the internet:
Ridickulous.
We look everywhere for purple patent leather pumps. Not because we really want them, we just like saying, “purple patent leather pumps.”
We see some shoes, sparkly, hooker-looking, platform flip-flops and I say only a gay dude would wear them, but she one ups me on that, “Only a straight man pretending to be a gay man would wear that.”
We notice a lot of women wearing maxi dresses and Spanky says no one under forty wears them (she calls them cougars, too). She’s almost right. There was a 30ish looking chick with one on, but Spanky said “That’s a thirty-year-old wanting to be a forty-year-old so she can hit on twenty-year-olds.”
Not that all women over forty in maxi dresses are cougars, we just like saying, “Cougar.”
So we laughed and laughed and laughed our way through the hell hole mall and it all ended with Spanky saying I should totally quote myself on Twitter, “Keep your fucking hands off my dump truck!”
What that’s all about, I’ll have to tell you another day. I just had to say it somewhere on the internet, for Spanky who fails with grace.
I dropped Spanky off at her driving school only to be called back to pick her up because they had over scheduled drive times. Now if she had cancelled, I would have had to pay a $25 cancellation fee. I know this because I had to pay once when Kara went to that same school and had to miss an appointment due to illness.
So I drove back over there, walked in with my big sunglasses on and told the reception that they owe me twenty five bucks. The lady laughed. I didn’t. There were a bunch in people in there and I could hear a little snickering.
Finally someone said, “She’s right.”
Hell yeah I’m right.
Twenty five dollars is not really what I wanted. I only needed to make a point that if I had to pay up for missing, they did too. So I made a deal with her to schedule two drive times (you have to fight for those, believe it or not, and can only make one at a time and they have to be two weeks apart).
I got two for next week. Yay!
After that we took off for Ross, a store that reminds me of a garage sale of never used items of clothing, shoes, and various housewares. Bargains on crap we don’t need.
One of the reasons they sell name brand things at bargain prices is because the product was a massive failure. Spank and I like to look at items in there and come up the reasons these products failed. Most of the time, the item is just fuck ugly.
Like a white shirt with three gigantic buttons on the front.
The suitcase that rolled in every direction but had skulls and crossbones all over it (I almost wanted that).
Funny screw ups are fun to spot. Look at the animal texture baby book:
Didn’t even bother to match the hair color.
Check out the scribbling on this doggie tee:
Gangsta dog?
What’s coming next is such a massive failure of catastrophic proportions, I don’t know why they didn’t take this out to the trash and burn it.
Fire the people who worked on this shit too.
Seriously, it’s the worst thing I have ever seen and I swear I did not move this product to another area to make it “display better.” This is exactly how i found it.
(I almost didn’t post this, it is sooooooooooooooo bad)
But here goes. The Product Failure of the Year. Of ever, maybe.
That. Is. A. Lunchbox.
Here’s a guest post by my dear, dear, Spanky:
________________________________
Just when everyone thinks I am some sort of supergenius freakjob immune to spurts of adolescent activity, I have to go do something so utterly teenager that my mom laughs at me for it.
Supernatural started it.
I could go on a very, very long time about Supernatural; the perfection in dialogue and casting, the guns, the knives, the kicking in of doors and the knock-down, drag-out fights.
My type of show.
More specifically, I’ve been mooning over the two main characters. This is probably where I began my descent. So cute, I raved. So funny and so perfect. And manly. God knows I need manly after my ex.
But this obsession was quickly thrown to the backburner (mind you, still a smouldering backburner) in favor of a more overlooked component of the show.
The music.
I like rock. A lot. But I’d been a bit lost in the realm of techno and Japanese music before I started listening to the songs behind the pretty boys.
Suddenly, the long-neglected iTunes card came into play, dwindling away quickly.
I rifled through my mom’s old CDs, in search of Kansas or Black Sabbath.
This was music I’d heard my whole life, music with which I’d been completely familiar, and I’d ignored it?
A crime, to be sure!
So I popped album after album into my overheated drive and loaded up, reveling in radical riffs and watching the songs pile up.
More recently, an associate sent to me twenty or so very subject-specific songs.
“Why, what subject deserves so many songs?” You might ask.
I’d hit you on the head for not waiting for me to answer the question before you asked it, then whisper, “Zombies.”
Because every good library needs a few good zombie songs.
In fact, for such a powerful cultural phenomenon, it struck me as peculiar that some backwoods internet crawler could only dredge up a few. Still, not terribly determined to search for any of my own, I settled for the meager brain ballads provided to me.
Curiously enough, I came to the conclusion that there are apparently two types of post-apocalyptic envisioners: zombie-half-alive types and zombie-half-dead types.
I’m still unsure as to which one’s more optimistic.
And that’s how I ended up with four hundred “Recently Added” songs on iTunes.
Here are some, if you’re into that sort of thing.
Zombie Zoo by Tom Petty
Walk Like a Zombie by the Horrorpops
Brains! by Voltaire
Re: Your Brains by Jonathan Coulton
And, for a blast to the past…
Heat of the Moment by Asia
Here is a short and funny video of a guy showing his wife how to shoot a 50 caliber Desert Eagle.
He should have been less concerned about what she was doing with her tongue (guys!) and told her to lock her elbows.
Ouch!
That said, I’ve never fired one of these.
Have you ever left a comment on a blog and just seconds after hitting “submit” regretted it and wanted to take it back because you felt like you might have made a complete fool of yourself?
I have.
Now I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my life, but today was the first day anyone ever accused me of not being a Cajun.
And they did it here on this blog.
Here’s the comment someone left on my “About Me” page:
I’m sorry but i have grown up Cajun AKA coonass and I believe you’ve grown up somewhere in Shreveport LA, Which is not Cajun . Your video of the Cajun viral video of the guy that sounds more like a Mexican is freaking stupid. Please before you call your self Cajun please make sure you really are one.
Thanks
Dustin Bordeaux
While I found that completely hilarious, I got all fired up and responded:
You must be talking about Poo Poo Broussard who is just about the hottest thing in Cajun Country right now.
I did not grow up in Shreveport, I grew up near Lafayette. And a little down Bayou Lafourche. I can cook gumbo, catch and boil crawfish, fish oysters (and eat them raw), let’s see… skin a nutria, you better watch out boy, I can give you a good ass whuppin too.
Now behave on this blog, I know yo mamma didn’t raise you to talk like that.
Later I got to thinking that maybe someone was pulling my leg to get a reaction from me. OhmyGod, have I made a fool of myself? Come to think of it, someone had left a comment very recently over at Clair’s blog, something about her not being a Cajun (she is).
Then I thought, maybe it is the same person going all around the internet targeting Cajuns and questioning their roots to start some kind of flame war?
And that just totally cracked me up. If you want to start a riot, go try that. See if you come out of that with your skin intact.
Turns out it wasn’t the same person. The video he’s referring to is probably the one in the post “My Sorry Ass Cajun Christmas.” My sleuthing skills tell me the commenter landed on my blog by looking up “how to debone a turkey.”
Been dere, done dat.
My son has been having some problems keeping his Obama sign in his yard, so he set up a hidden camera and has it up on a website that shows live streaming video of his sign. Anyone can watch.
That cracks me up. Here’s the link, go see:
Steal Blane Jr.’s Obama Sign Live Streaming Video
Once you see the player, you have to click on play. The screen will be blank for about 5 seconds.
Oh, and I swear, I will not get in that leaf creature costume and steal his sign at 10 PM CST tonight.
Man. I am laughing like a hyena here. It all started when I went to read a guest post of Ginny’s on Brian’s blog. Somehow I ended up at a post the dude did on his unibrow.
Actually it was about a book bag/man purse and he had a poll asking whether he should keep it or not as well as a toss in opinion regarding the unibrow. I’ve never seen a unibrow like that before and showed it to Spanky. She thought maybe it was Photoshopped. Anyway, long story short, I’m usually nice to other bloggers and am careful about how I say things to others. Normally I don’t comment on something if I can’t think of a nice way to say it or if I don’t want to get involved.
I almost didn’t comment, then thought maybe no one ever tells him the truth about it, that it had to go. He had to know, and I had to say something. I told him to yank it.
I felt a little bad about it and wondered if maybe I was being shallow. Then I thought back to my own brows, how for so many years I plucked them myself and they looked like total crap. Only I didn’t know they looked bad. Someone finally told me and suggested a salon that does good work. I went and wow, what a difference. Looking back at some old photos I can’t believe how long it took someone, anyone, to tell me one side of my face did not look like the other.
I’m glad I was honest.
You should go read Brian’s post, The Taming of the Brow for a good laugh (it has photos and everything). I can’t wait to show that to Spanky tomorrow.
Okay, I made the video and you all have to go see how we are managing to keep our Obama sign in the yard.
I have done a lot of videos in my lifetime, but I have never edited one. This was my first go.
It’s part reenactment, part prank, all fun.
It’s only four minutes long and that includes the bloopers and credits.
Enjoy the show and make sure you have the sound on:
Let me know what you think, even if you think it sucks. We all had a lot of fun doing it.
If you haven’t seen the latest ETrade baby commercial, hit this:
Just when you thought the dancing baby couldn’t be topped…
Now that the conventions are done, here’s another candidate for president, Paris Hilton. She’s going to paint the White house pink if she wins. That’s hot!
No matter what your politics, you gotta admit this is damn cute!
Republican VP candidate’s Daughter spit shining her little brother during the convention last night:
It’s been a rough two days as the girls have had their wisdom teeth removed on Monday. Both are doing well now.
They don’t pull them under general anesthesia, but use what is called waking anesthesia. Intravenous Demerol (opiate based pain medicine) and Versed (tranquilizer) along with a local anesthetic such as Novocaine. They’re awake during the entire proceedure, eliminating the need for intubation and a breathing machine.
Sweetpea had hers removed first since she had four of them. It took less than thirty minutes for her. Spanky went next and it took less than ten minutes since hers were just two uppers.
By the time they let me go back there to help wake them up, Sweetpea was bouncing off the walls. I promised not to tell anyone whether or not she had been crying for me. She also got the new nickname of Amy Winehouse:
Sweetpea: Mom. My entire face is numb. After we leave here, you have to take me to get my lip pierced.
Me: You’re not getting your lip pierced.
Sweetpea: What? This is the best time, I can’t feel anything. Let’s go.
Me: Sit down. You’re not getting your lip pierced.
Sweetpea: (rapid fire speech) I have a friend who has all the stuff. I’m going to call him to come over tonight and do it. If you let me get my lip pierced, I ~swear~ when I get my tattoos they won’t show.
Me: Tattoos?! No. Hush all that nonsense.
Sweetpea: F*%k that. I’ve been wanting my lip pierced since I’m 12 years old. Gotdamn. This f*%king sucks.
Me: Sweetpea, you’re embarrassing me, the nurses can hear you. Where did you learn how to talk like that?
Sweetpea: You.
Blane’s there too and he’s about to lose his mind hearing all this. I go see about Spanky, coming out just now.
—–
They drag Spanky down the hallway toward her little recovery room. Her feet aren’t touching the ground and her eyes slowly crawl the the outer limits of the sockets. She looks like she’s been lobotomized and I have a hard time holding back an explosion of tears. But I do. It’s hard, my breathing skips as if I’d been crying.
I guess Sweetpea must have been like that at first too, but they didn’t let me see her until a lot of what she had wore off. Sweetpea, (aka Amy Winehouse) is able to walk now. She bursts into Spanky’s room:
Sweetpea: Mah, Dad says he’s moving us to Europe for two years and I won’t have a cell phone or a computer.
Me: Blane!
Poor Spanky keeps crying and doesn’t want to wake up:
Me: Spanky, wake up so we can go home.
It takes her a full minute to complete just one sentence.
Spanky: I. Want. My. Thinking… Back.
Me: Wake up and you’ll be able to think.
Spanky: I don’t like this.
Winehouse, sprawled out in the chair has advice.
Sweetpea: (Slurred) You better never smoke pot, Spanky.
Me: (to Sweetpea) Okay, Amy Winehouse.
Sweetpea: Why you call me that?
Spanky: I. Can’t. Think. (crying like a little girl)
It seemed as if she was falling even deeper into netherland as the time went by. I think she might have been a little shocky. The doctor passed by, and when he saw how pale she was, he lowered her head and looked panicked. I told him she is normally really pale, but suggested a little blood pressure check (duh).
Then came vomitus eruptus. I had the trash can to catch it as soon as she sprung up.
Spanky: How’d you know I was gonna hurl?
Me: Mammas know everything.
Sweetpea: They do?
Me: Hell yeah.
Sweetpea: (whisper) Got-damn.
——
Whatever was in Spank’s stomach must have been what was making her so lethargic. She was wide awake after that and we got to go home. That quick.
The next two days was pretty much me slaving over the two girls. Administering a million pills, filling ice paks, gettting them this and that… They wouldn’t sleep and just in case, I’d bought them some Magic Marker posters to color.
They kept saying “I forgot how fun it was to color…”
Sweetpea worked on her sketch of Cobain.
Spanky worked on her plushies for an anime festival she’s going to at the end of this month.
After about the second day, Spanky admitted, “I love playing the invalid.”
A week from today Spanky and Sweetpea will have their wisdom teeth removed. It seems senseless to remove teeth that haven’t even emerged, but those things are known to make teeth crooked and we don’t want that since it cost a fortune to get them straight with braces.
I brought them today for the pre-op xrays and one of Sweetpea’s friends came with us. The friend was saying she had hers removed and that she had six of them. Four at the top, two at the bottom. I didn’t believe her, thought she was just a kid who doesn’t know each tooth has a name and her dentist went hog-wild with extractions. At $375 a tooth, what’s the incentive for dentists to encourage patients to keep their teeth?
So the girls have their xrays and the dentist says Spanky is more evolved than the rest of us because she only has two wisdom teeth. The two at the bottom never formed.
I think back to what Sweetpea’s friend said and imagine her walking out of there with her knuckles dragging the ground.
When we get home I tell Blane about it and he boasts about only having had three himself.
I remember those things. We got them out at the same time when we were in our early twenties. Mine had all emerged and I was quite proud of that. His were impacted (to a nurse that is an ugly word, ask one). I was a nurse at the time and glad the word “impacted” had nothing to do with my teeth. The dentist sent us home with our wisdoms in a little plastic box. I only had two removed because I’m using the bottom ones due to a whack dentist who removed two molars when I was a kid. Damn good thing I had my spares.
So these teeth in a box, Blane’s looked like creepy witch hats, the roots all gnarled and hillbillyish. Mine were straight and textbookish. I told him I would make a voodoo necklace with them and we’d live happily ever after.
But I didn’t. In fact, I ran across them a couple of months ago when I flooded the bathroom. I’d left the sink plugged and the tap on, and when I came back the water had run down the countertops into every single drawer in there before crashing down to the floor into a one inch catastrophe. In one of those drawers was a couple of plastic boxes, floating in the water.
At first I threw them in the trash. Then I dug them back out. I thought maybe I’d at least show the kids what that looks like. Like you do when you find some animal bones in the woods.
I’m not going to show them before they have theirs removed, though. They have no idea how big those things are. That they have long roots.
Oh, and yeah, I told Spanky not to let it get to her head that she was more evolved than the rest of us in this family. She just groaned and mentioned how this was just so typical, she was the “cheap kid” who hardly ever spends money, that her extractions will cost half of what Sweetpea’s will.
True, but she promises to get even with college costs.
Did you go to 7 Eleven yesterday?
That is one day every kid has marked on the calendar. If they have one. July 11th (7/11) is free Slurpee Day. We piled in the car, all of us and headed out there. We heard earlier that Little Blane already had eight free Slurpees, the green Hulk flavor. He also claimed his pee had turned green.
The first place we went claimed their machine was broken. Yeah, right. Second place claimed they were out of the free cups. Uh huh. They offered all other cup loads of Slurpee for 25 cents. Okay.
This kid was prepared:
Little fucker drained the cherry Slurpee machine.
But that’s okay. We wanted the Monster Black Ice flavor.
Because you can’t beat having a black tongue.
Here’s something fun if you missed out on the free Slurpee Day. A pissed off Amy Winehouse beating on a fan while she sings:
As drunk/high/busy as she was, she didn’t miss a lyric. Man that’s funny.
My son Blane got this computer program that he used to create this horse creature. Cracked me up when I saw it. When I asked how he did it he said, “You start with a backbone and add the meat.”
Go see and let’s name that horsey. (make sure the sound is on)
Besides flying, Mireille is quite skilled at levitating.
And Scrappy is learning how to do it from the very best.
Now don’t go telling the government about this because they might just try to draft my dog into the CIA.
Oh, you don’t believe there are spy dogs?
There was a man selling what he claimed was a talking dog. A guy goes to buy that dog and of course he doesn’t believe the dog speaks, but he goes with it, asks to see him, then asks the dog if it’s true he could talk.
The dog replies, “Of course it’s true. I used to work for the CIA, and I speak seven languages.”
The buyer pulls out his wallet and asks the owner, “How much?”
“Five bucks.”
“But Mister, that’s a talking dog, why so cheap?”
The seller responds, “He lies.”
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