Showing posts from January, 2009

Lego Flooring Sucks: An Open Letter to Target and Costco

Dear Target and Costco:

I have spent fortunes in your stores. In fact, I visit so often that my 3 year old son calls you "Popcorn" and "Hot Dog", respectively, because those are the rewards he gets if he's a good little monkey while we shop in your store.

So listen, I have a question for you guys. Whose bright idea was it to put those fucking red bumps outside of your doors? You know the ones I mean, right? The crippling ones on the floor that regularly break my eggs and cause my son, who is still sitting in your cart on our way into the parking lot, to grimace in pain as his testicles are pounded back into his stomach and beyond. Yes, those red bumps.

I would really love to meet the brain trust who thought that these might be a good idea. Seriously - what the fuck?! They practically shake me to my knees, knock my shit around in the cart and hurt my feet through my shoes. What possible good purpose could they have???

As if all of that weren't enough, I am a wom…

Neti Pot Nuttiness

Last summer I took my kids to the neighborhood pool even though I had a horrible sinus infection. And yes, I'm expecting my major award any day now. Anyhoo, I was sitting and suffering, watching my kids frolic, when a friend showed up. Now, she wasn't a good friend. We didn't have a whole lot in common other than being mothers. She was really into all of that natural, vegetarian, holistic crap. She was even wearing her Free Tibet! t-shirt over her itsy bitsy bikini (that she looked alarmingly fantastic in).

She looked at me carefully and said, "You look like you don't feel well" which is, let's face it, a polite way of saying "Damn, Girl - you look like shit!" I told her about my sinus infection, expecting pity and the offer of an organic pulp bar or something. But no, she hit me with the, "Do you have a Neti Pot?" Of course I had no idea what the hell she was talking about so she explained it. "You're kidding! I don't know…

Paris in 1995

On July 25, 1995 I took the metro from my dormitory in Paris to the station Saint Michel, which was a stones throw from Notre Dame Cathedral. I was with a group of fellow students and we were to meet our professor for Le Bateau Mouche, which is a tour of Paris on a little boat.

Saint Michel is a busy station as it has two main trains that intersect there. RER B is the bottom line and above that crosses the RER C line. And then above RER C is the street.

We arrived at the station via RER B and looked for the exit our teacher had told us to use. A couple of the students saw a big map and began to study it, convinced that it would show them the way. I thought this was stupid and said so - after all, how hard could this be? Get out of the station, look for a river. Follow the river until you see the boats.

Our group split into two and we left our friends who were fruitlessly staring at the map. We ascended some stairs and were standing next to the RER C train when we felt an explosion. There…

As if I needed ONE more reason not to like Sushi

Apparently a group of seven Japanese men were sickened recently, three of them critically, for eating Blowfish testicles. This has caused me to wonder...what the hell is the matter with people, anyway???!

Now, before I get too judgmental I should note that they ordered the grilled fish nuts. Perhaps they thought that, through the grilling process, the tender regions might be somehow pasteurized or something. And speaking of cooking them, how big could these things be anyway? What kind of grill do they have to accomodate what couldn't be much larger than an M & M??

It is well known in Japan that eating any part of a blowfish could be deadly yet people treat it as a delicacy and clamor for it in restaurants. But let it be known - if anyone I know ever gets sick from eating Blowfish - whether you ate the balls or not - prepare to get about the same amount of sympathy you'd get for "accidentally" lodging a gerbil up your ass.

Douche Du Jour

You know, it's not every day when you find someone so socially and morally repugnant that even evangelical Christians don't want anything to do with him. But this is exactly what has happened when the New Life Church pushed out pastor Ted Haggard with the following statement: "Dude. Live in the now. You're GAY. Don't go away mad, just please, please go away."

Simultaneously gay activists are actively trying to push him back into the church as they don't want him, either.

Even the infamous NAMBLA (North American Man/Boy Love Association) rejected him with the following press release: "Ehhhh....yeah...regarding the rumors that Ted Haggard wants to join our ranks...umm...we are going to have to pass. He makes our skin crawl."

In closing, I would like to suggest that Gayle Taggard go have random, crazy cougar sex with as many hot guys as possible. She probably has a lot of tension to release.

Stewardese, translated for YOU

I used to want to be a Airline Stewardess. But then I thought that maybe that wasn't such a great idea because, at the end of the day, you're just walking around a pressurized tube that sails through the air at 300 miles an hour while hustling cocktails and preparing for a catastrophic crash. All while wearing heels and panty hose. Fuck that.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that I'd find a way to screw up the little speech they give before take off. At the very least I'd struggle with keeping a straight face through some of it. As it is I can't help but translate their Stewardese into Bex Speak:

What the Stews say: "If the airplane cabin were to suddenly lose pressure..."

What I hear: It is possible that, at any given time and with NO real warning, there won't be enough oxygen on this fucker to sustain human life. But don't panic....

Them: " which case the oxygen masks will pop out of the overhead compartment. Please put on your mask before assis…

MOM...she started it....

Our house is typically a peaceful place. But every now and again, my girls fight. And then every once in a blue moon they BATTLE. We're talking punches, smacks and name calling. Apparently being called "poopie head" is the pinnacle of bad names right now, which is quite fortunate considering the bad words they've surely heard me mutter over the years.

These battles will often times will go for a day or two, peppered with periods of peace. Then, suddenly, there will be an attack, which will be a retribution for some previous offense.

For example:

Girl 1 is sitting on the sofa, reading a book when Girl 2 stealthily descends upon Girl 1 and snatches the book away.

Girl 1: Chases her sister until she's cornered and slaps her arm.

Girl 2: (in an incredulous voice) "What was THAT for?!"

Girl 1: "You took my book!"

And the bickering escalates which brings a visit from the pissed off maternal figure in the house. By the time I get there, they are both breath…


I think I was 11 when I got my first menstrual cycle. What a strange time in a girls life. My daughters are getting older and that's weird, too, to see their bodies changing and their personalities more developed and complex.

When I was around 12 or so something really horrible happened to me. And every now and again the terrible memory will wash over me, leaving my stomach tied in knots. I feel that I should warn my girls, but I just don't have the words, you know? How can you explain to a young girl just how quickly things can go downhill??

It's very complicated. Yet also simple. Here is what happened. I was invited to go the mall by a girlfriend whose dad was willing to drop us off. My cycle had started that morning so I put on the only protection we had way back then - a maxi-pad that you could land an airplane on. If you wore pants that were too tight with one of these things on you looked as though you had some kind of tail that made squishy diaper noises as you waddle…

Crazy chicks are dangerous, yo.

Just when I was getting ready to have Lorena Bobbitt's name permanently laminated on the "Craziest Wife EVER" trophy, I read the little ditty about an Australian lassie who saw her husband hug another woman.

Did she ginsu his junk off, a la Bobbitt? No...she went a little pyro on us and doused his genitals with alcohol and then SET THEM ON FIRE.

(Get your hot nuts...get your hot nuts here....)

Apparently the fire in his crotch woke him up with a start and he leaped off the bed. This action knocked the bottle of alcohol over which ignited the whole place and he eventually died from his injuries. They've charged her with murder.

I wonder what defense claim her attorney might be considering.

"I thought I saw a tick and was going to burn it off but didn't want to wake him...."

"I was cold and thought he might be, too."

"Well, he loves The Doors, and I was going to surprise him with an interpretive dance to Light My Fire...."

My point is, if your…