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Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday? – Lori Culwell (Funny Strange)
Published July 28, 2009 | 
Introduction by our very own Kristy Nuttall:
This week’s guest blogger hardly needs an intro since she’s written for us before about cooking, novels and Cheerios. Funny (or is it funny / strange) thing is, when she wrote that post, it was only a day or two later that the big Cheerios controversy broke. I think she must have some REALLY important news people reading her blog. Lori Culwell always has the best stuff to share. I love her wit, charm and … well … sense of absurdity. If you don’t already read her blog, Funny Strange or you haven’t read one of her books … you are certainly missing out.
So without further adieu … I give you :: drum roll please :: Lori Culwell …
People Say Weird Things to Me
by Lori Culwell
Last weekend I was getting my air conditioner repaired by a retirement-age Russian A/C guy who kept warning me to watch out, because when he cleaned the drain, it was “going to make black explosion in hallway.”
I tried not to laugh at just how funny this sounded, because I got the jist of what he was saying — I just thought his choice of words was odd. Later, when the job was done, we were standing outside my building discussing a totally different matter (namely, the recent costly elevator renovation and how he thought the board should have gone about this, including different vendors and an early visit from an inspector). When he was done with this I said that if we got another elevator remodel we also would need an additional income source for the building, and could he recommend a nice Coke machine vendor? I was joking of course, but with total seriousness, he took his glasses off and said “I recommend energy drinks. Much more popular for this market. You can get them at Costco and mark them up by 200%.”
This is just to say: people say weird things to me. Not pervy weird, but–interesting, like “why did that aging Russian A/C guy know all of that, and why did I happen to be talking to him about vending machines?” weird. You know what I mean. My husband says that I have a knack for bringing out the absurdity in people, and maybe that is right, because no one loves a good non-sequitor more than I. Perhaps that is why I started a blog called Funny Strange. Because now, when people see absurd things, they email them to me or post them on my Facebook.
Here’s another example: my friend from high school is driving along and sees a sign that says “Free Bag of Oranges with Fillup.” So of course she immediately writes this on my Facebook wall, because who wants to know how weird that sign is, and how random it is to be giving away fruit at a gas station, or what a weird idea it is to incentivize the purchase of a necessity like gas with a complete impulse buy like tangy oranges?
Lori Culwell wants to hear about it, that’s who.
So, let me put the call out to you. If you happen to drive over tire spikes in a parking garage, and when you call roadside maintenance they ask you if the reason you drove over tire spikes is because you were being pursued by law enforcement and that was the only way to stop the high speed chase, even though if that were the case you’d be in jail and totally wouldn’t need roadside assistance (this happened to me last week), please come over to my blog or my Facebook and tell me about it.
Further, if you’re driving on the 10 freeway and you see a huge, hand-painted sign that says “PIG FOR SALE,” please double back and take a picture and send it to me.
Also, if you see a guy waiting at a bus stop and with him he happens to have a life-size R2D2 trashcan filled with what might be garbage and you stop to wonder … a) how he’s going to get that droid on the bus and b) if he’s going to have to pay bus fare for his life-size R2D2 because it’s for sure going to take up more than his fair share of space, please, for the love of God, take out your camera phone and put it to good use.
All this is to say that frankly, I love an absurd situation, maybe more than I should. I think absurdity is the universe’s way of keeping life interesting for us.
Now, go forth and photograph, or tell me a weird story!
Who’s in DA Damn House Wednesday – My Year To Get Skinny
Published July 22, 2009 |
Intro from our very own jodycakes: I have known Michelle for 20 years, she has been on of my best friends from the day we met and I am thrilled that we get a chance to stay in each other’s lives through technology. She has a beautiful family that lives in the “Couv (Vancouver, WA) but when we were growing up and getting to know one another in Denver, we spent a lot of time creeping around, getting into loads of trouble – and yes, she does swear like a sailor – I can confirm this with every fiber of my being. So would it surprise me that her daughter might pick up this habit…not in the least. Let’s welcome Michelle from My Year To Get Skinny. ::claps::
Out of the mouths of babes.
Here is a some background about me: I swear. I like to swear. I swear like a sailor…well, I could probably make a few sailors blush with my language. The “F” word is my second favorite word in the English language. As a matter of fact, a few weeks ago someone on my Facebook page informed me I was vulgar. VULGAR! I was thrilled!! I had never been called vulgar before; how fun! I have never worried about my language except if I was out in pubic, around my family (never, ever, ever say the “F” word around my mom. Jody did that once. Just once!), or around children. You know, I was raised with manners so I really do watch my mouth when it was necessary.
However, when I had my own daughter 4 years ago it never occurred to me I would have to watch my language around her. I mean she was this little, adorable baby who didn’t understand what I was saying nor could she repeat it. Sean (my husband) kept telling me “You better watch yourself. One of these days she is going to be old enough to repeat you!” This was always said in good fun and I would always answer with “Yeah, yeah, yeah, what the F*** ever.” See, I told you I’m a lady. 
Well, my swearing days have finally come and bitten me in the a**…I’m sorry I meant to say bottom.
One evening this past April as the three of us were playing she looked at us and said “This is my bullsh*t. It’s cool!” Wait…WHAT?!?!?! She repeated herself “This is my bullsh*t!” Then it hit us! She was trying to say was BULLDOZER!!! We were laughing so hard I thought we were going to cry. Of course, I grabbed the video camera and made her say it a few more times. It’s funny, adorable, and so very wrong but it is also so awesomely innocent. There she was trying to say bulldozer but because her mommy has a potty mouth she got it wrong. Here is Miss Agnes in all her bulldozing glory - (Click on the link below to see her YouTube Video)
Ms. Agnes in all her bulldozing glory
Anyhoo, A few months have gone by and she hasn’t had a bulldozer moment so I thought we were safe. Sadly, I was wrong. A couple weeks ago I said my version of “bulldozer” and she scolded me. There she stood with her hands on her hips saying “Mommy, we don’t say bullsh*t. Bullsh*t is a bad word. Don’t say bullsh*it at school!**”. It took everything in me not to just bust out laughing. All I could do was tell her she was right, turn, and walk into the bathroom to hide my laughing. It only gets better…early this Spring, Agnes and I planted over 1,000 wildflower seeds in our front yard. Every morning we walk down to the flower patch to see what new blooms we have. I think we have an AMAZING flower patch. Evidently Agnes thinks so too because as we stood there, holding hands, looking at the 100′s of flowers we had grown she yells “HOLY SH*T!” My reaction “Um, what did you just say?” “HOLY SH*T!” I told her we couldn’t say that word because it was a bad word so she should say something like “Holy Cow!”. With that suggested I have created a “Holy Cow” monster.
Well, it could be worse. At least she hasn’t started in with “F” word…yet.
**For the record, I did not say “bulldozer” at a school. We were in our home with all the windows closed so the neighbors don’t hear all the vulgar language.
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday? – Not Going Postal
Published July 15, 2009 |
Introduction by our very own Kristy Nuttall:
Our guest blogger today is one that never ceases to make me chuckle. I love her sense of humor, her wit and of course her honesty. Here name is Dawn Cole (aka Lettergirl). Dawn is a stay-home Mom, recovering television journalist and a returning college student … at the age of 41. To stay sane, she shares her own special brand of crazy with the internet on her blog Not Going Postal, as well as the online edition of the San Antonio Express-News. She lives in San Antonio, TX where tacos are a breakfast food and 95-degree days are sweater weather.
Just take a minute to check out her about page for a small glimpse of what I’m talking about. I mean … anyone who can get kicked off a food blog and live to tell … well … she’s my kind o’ people. I originally met Lettergirl through Elle’s New England Kitchen … of course … another foodie blog. Maybe she’s got a problem with food? Is there a 12 step foodie recovery program? Hmmmm
When Elle shared the link to her friend LetterGirl, I did like a good blogger friend should and checked her out and left a comment. In fact, this was the first post I read of hers called, “Dear Popular Girl on my 5th Grade soccer team“. I couldn’t help but feel for the 12 year old girl in the post who would later become Ms. Popular on the Web. Since then, I have learned that she certainly doesn’t disappoint. She’s a truly good writer and knows how to be a good blogger friend … even if she DOES get kicked off foodie blogs … she’s all good in my book.
So … without further adieu … I proudly introduce you to Dawn Cole … Letter Girl.
Kids and Cell Phones
Fifth-grade graduation was filled with tenderness and poignant memories. Our little miracle baby who needed 4 heart surgeries before kindergarten, poised and confident as she walked across the podium. Her handshake with the principal marked the end of elementary school, and I was already crying when she got back to her seat, scanned the crowd, and our eyes met.
Then, she lifted a hand to her ear like she was taking a call, and mouthed “CAN I HAVE MY NEW PHONE NOW?”
Yes, we got her a mobile phone for graduation. She does some babysitting in the neighborhood, she’ll start Middle School in the fall, it seemed like a good time. And anyway, this was not a child who talked on the phone with friends *before* she got a phone. How much would she really use it, anyway, right?
First month, she sent 781 texts to friends, all of them scintillating things like “I like toast” and “Go buy a potato.” I checked on urban dictionary, prayerfully hoping there was not some drug/sex/rock & roll reference, and was relieved to find she is just weird. She also sent 180 pictures of her Jack Russell terrier to people, and because her phone takes video, she also sent numerous friends a video of herself eating a cookie and saying “Yum” in 14 different accents.
When a problem with her SIM card meant she was without a phone for two days, it started pinging like a Las Vegas nickle slot machine when she turned it back on.
“I have 11 new messages,” she gushed. “People DO care!” (I know exactly how she feels. I feel the same DAMN way when I have new blog comments, Twitter messages or responses to my Facebook status.)
We’re monitoring her phone to make sure she stays safe and sane. Our carrier lets me set smart limits that mean she doesn’t get texts or calls after 9, and she can’t surf the internet and start chatting with 47-year-old men pretending to be Demi Lovato. And I reserve the right to read her texts and block the numbers of any boys I find unsuitable. Anyone who shaves? Can’t text my kid.
I’ve had to confiscate them from third-graders who had them at school, and also know plenty of parents who say “when you can pay the bill, you can have a phone.” Love to hear your experiences.
How about you? What’s your take on cell phones and kids?
Remember, comments show you DO care. Just ask my middle schooler.
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday? – Mango Girl
Published July 1, 2009 |
Introduction by our own Lindaloohoo:
Today we bring you another special treat. It’s sweet. It’s juicy. It’s Mango Girl.
There are lots of reasons to love mah Mango, as I like to call her. Aside from the fact that she is mom to a great son named Pitcher and she’s an amazing artist, with a potters wheel and a paintbrush, she also has an icon on her blog called ‘Today’s Reason To Drink.’ (As if I need a reason. Still, an excuse is sometimes called for.) And the coolness doesn’t stop there. She calls her husband Pale Rider, which must win the best name for your spouse in the history of the blogosphere award.
Mango is also a two time cancer survivor. Some pesky little ovarian cancer and some more than pesky melanoma. When Mango Girl talks about wanting to win the Lotto, I step back and think, you have my sweet.
And when we’re not trading hot flash stories, she puts me to work on her awesome writing challenges. She will come up with several random words and readers must work them into an interesting, so there were two girls in a bar story, or, ok, perhaps something more profound for you deep thinkers out there. The homework is fun enough, but BONUS, she sends the winner a piece of her most awesome pottery!!
And then, there are stories like the one she shares today. After reading, please take a minute to comment and celebrate someone in your life who did something nice for you, just because you needed it and they could. Then, keep that feeling fresh as you go about your day and find a way to do something nice for a stranger in your life . . .
Kindness of Strangers…
When Pitcher turned seven, I was married to my second husband (but not living with him as we were in the midst of a divorce; if you are wondering, my marriage to Pale Rider is my third, and my last), living in Gulfport, MS. As Pitcher was in Houston with his father during his birthday, I obviously had to make a road trip to celebrate the little guy’s special day.
I had a very old car. Old, but reliable. My car had nearly 300,000 (not a typo) miles on it, but she was well cared for. My soon-to-be-ex-husband convinced me to take his new (used) truck for this road trip. He would feel better about my safety. Isn’t that nice?
I take said new (used) truck and head west my friends! Head west on a trip I have made so many times, I can’t even count, hence the 300,000 miles on my car (that is another story).
On the road again…past New Orleans…I pass Ponchatoula (which claims to be the strawberry capitol of the world), pass several other long since forgotten little Louisiana towns, and I hit a traffic jam in the middle of absolute nowheresville.
I hate a traffic jam. Who doesn’t? But in the middle of Podunk (no offense to any folks from Podunk) Louisiana? What the hell gives?
I am jamming to my road trip music ~ I am such a junkie for Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of Hell” soundtrack…geesh! Get’s my blood pumping! So I am ok with moving .04 miles per hour for the last 90 minutes…I am screaming along with the lyrics (you can find them HERE.)
And I mean seriously screaming, with the windows up and the a/c blasting.
OK. It has now been almost 2 hours and I have gone all of 5 miles. I am getting a little more than irritated because I have to PEE. Obviously there is an accident somewhere up ahead and the goddamned rubberneckers are making the situation worse. It’s a 2 lane highway.
Ooops. Gas is now sitting precariously close to empty.
Double Ooops!! I can’t see out the back window. There seems to be a black film covering said back window.
Triple Ooops!!! I am STILL about 4 miles from the nearest exit.
Why can’t people just drive, pay attention and not cause accidents?
I pull off to the side of the road to inspect the lovely black film which is now covering my soon-to-be-ex-husbands new (used) truck’s back window. It doesn’t look good.
I limp to the exit, now only 3 miles ahead. Still at a snails pace. Thank GOD! There is a gas station. I pull in. I leave the truck by the front door and find the nearest bathroom so I can PEEEEEEE ~ OMG! Where is a catheter when you need one????
I come out of the bathroom and find the gas station guys to tell them of my problem with the truck. (I have no idea where I am in Louisiana). The mechanic takes a quick look at the truck and clucks, in a coon-ass accent. I am thinking this is not good.
He climbs under the truck, spends quite some time under there and comes up with the news. The axel rod is broken. Ok. Fix it.
Uhm, it is not that easy. It will also cost about $1,500 to fix it.
I try to call soon-to-be-ex-husband. No answer. I am certainly not paying for this shit. It is HIS truck.
One of the mechanics offers to take me somewhere as it will be at least 2 days before they can get the parts to fix the truck and I had told them I am on my way to my son’s birthday (which is the next day). I ask him if he can take me to the airport in New Orleans. He sort of chuckles. The airport is 3 hours away.
Ok. Take me to a hotel and I will find a flight out tonight. He agrees. Mind you, I have a gun with me; a 9mm Glock, so I feel fairly safe accepting this ride. Said mechanic takes me to a nice hotel. On the way, he offers for me to stay at his place for the night. With a Rottweiler guarding the door, as well as a gun for my protection. This is when I tell him I have my own gun, thank you very much, and it is pointed right at him. He is not offended.
He drops me at the hotel and tells me he will pick me up in two hours, allowing me time to make flight arrangements, he will take me to dinner, take me back to the hotel, go home and pick me back up in the morning to take me to the New Orleans airport.
I call all the airlines for a flight out. It is going to cost me nearly $1,000 USD to get to Houston tomorrow. Houston, 4 hours away and you want $1,000 USD for this? HELL NO! I will rent a car.
Mechanic guy shows up 2 hours later, as promised. I tell him of my flight dilemma. He says nothing. We have a nice dinner, play some pool and have a few cocktails. It is now almost 10 p.m. and I need to get to bed. I have a long day ahead of me. Mechanic guy takes me back to the hotel, said thank you for the company, offers yet another gun for my safety and tells me he will be here to pick me up at 6 a.m. to get a car.
I sleep well.
Mechanic guy is right on time come 6 a.m.
We don’t go to a car rental place. We go to his place.
He has his other car waiting for me. Since we parted company last evening, he went home, changed the oil and tires, and filled the car with gas. It was mine for the duration of my trip. I would be gone for 4 days. No problem he said. He gave me his phone number and wished me a safe trip. Inside the car was a birthday present for my son, wrapped in cute baseball wrapping paper.
There was also a note for me. Inside the note, it said:
“Mango: Have a wonderful trip to celebrate your son’s birthday. If you want to stay longer, please don’t worry about the car. Just call me and let me know when you will bring it back.”
Sincerely,
Mechanic Guy.
I was floored.
I ended up staying a few extra days. I did in fact call Mechanic Guy. He was glad I was having a wonderful time.
From the money I saved flying Pitcher back, I spent the money and bought Mechanic Guy some lovely gifts from Houston.
Pitcher rode with me as I drove the car back to Podunk, LA; was picked up by some friends and headed home to Gulfport. Soon-to-be-ex-husband got his truck fixed.
I made it to 700,000 miles on my car and then gave it to a single father with 2 kids.
I will forever be grateful to the Mechanic Guy in Podunk, Louisiana.
The Kindness of Strangers.
Who’s in DA Damn House Wednesday – Sharron from Sports Breather
Published June 24, 2009 |
Sharron has been a guest blogger in da DAMN house before, and always lively. As I had mentioned before she not only is a kick ass business woman running her Sports Breather business, but does yoga 3 times a week and makes a mean meatloaf. And well, she’s my mom. And I absolutely adore her, so she’s throwing caution to the wind this week and asking you guys a couple of DAMN questions about dating – let’s see what advice we can help her out with!
Where have all the young men gone?
Or perhaps should I ask, “Where have all the old men gone?”
The old Pete Seeger folk song from the 60′s says “gone to graveyards, every one”. But the song was referring to the Viet Nam war.
The challenges of dating are many, at any age. At 65, they are daunting.
Here are just a few examples of what I have had to contend with:
First of all, the pool of available men in this age bracket is SO small it is almost nonexistent. And, of course, at this age, women outnumber men by an amazing number. Many of the men have died of early heart attacks, and any number of other ailments and calamities.
And for sure, the Viet Nam war did claim a lot of them…then and even now, it still does. One of the things to beware of is someone who is still living that horror. And believe me, they are out there.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, is an ongoing and horrible thing for the men suffering it, but, at this point in my life, I just don’t need to deal with someone with this problem. May sound harsh, but well…
One of my first questions for any possible relationship is “Were you in the service?” Then I proceed to gently probe some more and sometimes decide against a second date.
Recently, I met a very nice guy who was a Marine who served in Viet Nam. He walked point during the war and saw many awful things. One of the worst stories that he told me was when he and some others returned to San Francisco in 1968, and people threw apples and other garbage at them anc called them “baby killers”.
Also, many of the available men have so things wrong with them physically, that they are just looking for someone to take care of them for the next 20 years…….No thanks.
And if you can believe it…there are a huge number of men in this age bracket that are channeling Marlon Brando in “The Wild One”. The number of pictures that I see, on the dating websites, of men on motorcycles with the full beard and pony tail is amazing. Most with a huge gut hanging over their belt. It just makes you wonder who they think will find them appealing.
I actually had an email from a guy who looked like the one of the long bearded guys from ZZ Top. Heck, maybe it was…and maybe I should have answered him! Naw, he probably spent all his money on drugs in the 70′s.
A few other things to make you think twice before getting even marginally involved - He’s never been married??? What? At this age??? Or, married 3 or 4 times…whoops! (What’s the story there…) Well, if all the wives are dead, why? And if all have been through divorce – I find myself saying “Oh my, really scary.” And my only thought is “What is really wrong with you?”
So, my question to you, dear WMDA readers are “Where have all the old men gone?” and “What’s a girl to do?”
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday – Tami Lindahl
Published June 17, 2009 |
Introduction by our very own Kristy Nuttall
Tami has been in the fitness industry since 2001. Her first “aha” moment in fitness, was one day she was volunteering at the senior center and there was an aerobics class going on, she heard the teacher, Linda Bennett, say she was going to find a sub for the class. Tami approached the instructor after the class and Linda pointed her in the direction of getting her first certification in fitness which was group exercise through the Aerobics and Fitness Association of America (AFAA). Linda took her under her wing and Tami was subbing for Linda doing water aerobics, low impact aerobics and “sit n’ be fit” classes.
To date, Tami has created and ran a successful “Fit Kids” program, owned her own fitness center, helping many of her members and clients lose weight and get fit, been a guest host on KHTS radio Fitness hour with Ellen Como, Beyond Harmony, and the Senior hour. She has been published in several local magazines and chairs on the Health and wellness committee.
One of the things I dig about her site Free Trainer Tips is that she offers quick, practical advice. Today’s no exception. She offered to do a quick post for us to cover how to tackle summer vacations and still get a small workout in. Wish I had read this BEFORE we went to Dallas a couple weeks ago.
Stay fit while traveling
By Tami Lindahl of Free Trainer Tips
Summer is just about here and vacations are just around the corner. You have worked so hard to achieve that beach body here are some tips to keep you on track while you travel.
1. First of all you are on vacation and you are not trying to get fit you are just trying to stay fit so your workouts can be shorter. Just getting 10 to 20 minutes in can really keep you on your program. The longer we go without exercise the less we want to do it so as long as you get a little bit in while on vacation, the easier it will be to get back into your routine when you return home!
2. Are you planning any tours? Rather than take the bus tour go for bike tours or walking tours. Look for more activities that keep you moving, like kayaking, paddle boats, snorkeling, volleyball, Frisbee or even swimming. Isn’t being able to do these things the reason we exercise anyway?
3. If you are in a hotel room that has a coffee maker try doing your exercises just long enough to brew a pot of coffee. It doesn’t seem like much but trust me if you are doing jumping jacks or push-ups the entire duration it takes to brew the coffee you may want to skip the coffee and head straight for the shower!
4. Bring your fitness book or magazine with you. Chances are if you’re on vacation you’ll be laying by the pool or ocean and will get a chance to read. If you are reading the fitness book it will help keep you inspired to eat right and get your exercise in!
Have a great time and I’ll see you at the gym when you get back.
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday?
Published June 9, 2009 |
Hi everyone. Well I have good news … and not so good news.
Everyone chooses the bad news first so I’ll get that out of the way first. We don’t have a guest for our Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday this week.
Now before you start crying and whining, let me give you the good news. Our readership has grown so much in the last couple of months that we decided to take the bad and turn it into something good. For those of you who are new to Where’s My DAMN Answer? THIS has got to be your lucky day.
Since we don’t have some fabulous new blogger that we found out in the internet we’ve decided to share ALL the bloggers who have been a part of Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday since we launched the feature.
The list of people who have come out to play with us since February is very impressive.
Our first victim guest for the Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday feature was Shonda – The Cowboy Chronicles talking about Sex and Parenting.
Then came:
Donna from Spatula’s and Corkscrews talked about copyright infringement in the food blogging world.
Jodycake’s Mom Sharron shared her funny post about how DAMN hard it is to open packaging these days.
Rude Cactus decided to join in the fun and was our very first MALE blogger to play. He used the Where’s My DAMN Answer floor to not only make us laugh but to also ask our readers about how the HECK to get his son to eat foods that are new.
Mancunian Moon talked about being a Houston transplant and reminded us to live in the moment a bit more often … even when all the surroundings are WEIRD.
Karena Lineback shared with us that doing situps can actually make your stomach bigger.
Jenny On The Spot wrote about questions/answers that she and her loyal readers had.
MeandMom asked our very smart readers for advice on what to call her LOVAH in front of her child.
Kevin Grossman talked about taking care of parents while having young kids – the sandwich generation.
Croque Camille taught us how to make stock from scratch.
Melissa from Alosha’s Kitchen had an awesome post about following your dreams.
TheBloggess had the funniest and shortest guest post in history – Lindaloohoo’s intro was also HILARIOUS!
Maleah Rebecca talked about the most embarrassing moments.
BigSisLilSis talked about things we DIDN’T have when WE were kids.
Lori Culwell talked about things that are both funny AND strange – Cherrios’ claim to fix it ALL.
Steenky Bee shared one of the grossest (yet funniest) posts that had to do with puke like none other.
Flutter talked about TITS and told the best story about being FIRED because of them.
And of course you remember our guest from last week:
Jeff Balke had an awesome post about Lifetime Channel Titles
Seriously … we have had the BEST, MOST TALENTED BLOGGERS in the internet on these pages so far and we hope that each week you take the time to read them and hopefully click over to their sites to get to know them better. It’s because of these people that we are growing at the rate that we are. They have been there to give us advice, encourage us, make us laugh and lead by example.
In a word … or maybe two … THEY ROCK!
Posted in Check This Out, Who's In Da DAMN House Wednesday? | 
boobs, Croque Camille, flutter, funny strange, jenny on the spot, Karena Lineback, kids, lori culwell, maleah rebecca, meandmom, puke, rude cactus, Sandwich Generation, sex, spatulas and corkscrews, steenky bee, stock, the bloggess, Who's In Da DAMN House Wednesday? | 
4 CommentsWho’s in Da DAMN House – Jeff Balke
Published June 3, 2009 |
Jeff Balke is a native Houstonian and a recent graduate into the over-40 category. Ladies, he’s only 25 years from retirement! Besides his overly self-referential blog , he writes a music industry blog called Broken Record for Chron.com. He builds websites for a living, takes goofy pictures and calls himself a “professional photographer” and plays the loud rock and roll with his band. Mostly, he wastes time on Twitter and pretends to be an adult. His mother is so proud!
I met Jeff through a mutual friend Katharine at lunch one Saturday afternoon and instantly fell in lurve. This guy is hella funny. There were 4 gals and Jeff – he had his own harem of girls that afternoon. As we ate Ethiopian Food and stopped in at an Argentinian bakery, we laughed and talked about music, Houston and life in general and I thought…hey, I can definitely add a new friend like Jeff to my repetoire. So without further adieu, I introduce to you Mr. Jeff Balke:
Bring Me Back My Baby and Other Tales of Incredible Peril, the Jeff Balke Story
Hello, ladies. I’m assuming you are all ladies…and naked…because it makes my writing so much easier. You know how they say if you are nervous, you should picture people in their underwear? I prefer to picture them naked with only bacon covering their privates. And that’s how I imagine all of you.
So, HI! Now that we have that out of the way, I’m really happy to be guest blogging for you today, so be a good class and sit up straight and all that. Don’t make me crack you with the ruler…unless you like that sort of thing, perv.
I wanted to cover a topic I know you ladies all love: vaginas. No, wait, that’s something you all have. Let me check my notes…
I know it’s here somewhere…
Oh, right, NOT vaginas. Silly me. Lifetime Movies! You ladies – and I mean that in the 70′s “sophisticated lady” sense, not the vulgar 80′s “dude looks like a lady” milieu – and your Lifetime Movies really crack us boys up because we don’t have anything like that. As men, we crave only variety…I’m sorry, what? ESPN, you say? Yes, and your point is? We built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and braun! It’s science!
What I think makes us giggle like little girls – besides Cute Overload – are the titles. But before I get into that (that’s what he said), I have to ask why the persistent use of the same actors – I mean besides the fact that these are one step above soap operas…BESIDES that! Look, I’m sure Meridith Baxter Berney plays a mean villainess as well as she plays a suburban housewife haunted by her past, but perhaps throw a bone to some other worthy actress. How about that chick from Kate & Allie, you know, not Jane Curtain, who is awesome squared, but that other one who was also in Scarecrow and Mrs. King, or was that the homely brainy Charlie’s Angel? Whatever.
Also, is it just me or does Tori Spelling have a contract that requires her to be in the dumbest movies ever? Maybe it’s a curse since her father has inflicted such pain on tv watchers over the years. Now that I think about it, her dad left her with a crappy legacy and a bad nose. Way to go, Aaron!
Ok, back to these ghastly (Yeah, I said “ghastly.” It’s a completely valid word for the 1800′s.). In Lifetime’s world, everyone is stealing babies or addicted to sex or living next to serial killers or sleeping with hot guys who lead secret lives of perversion while stealing babies who are addicted to sex with serial killers…and they have the titles to prove it.
Here are some of my favorites, admittedly not all directly from Lifetime, but what isn’t no doubt is something Lifetime covets like your neighbor’s hot wife even though your neighbor might kill her with a baseball bat and blame it on you and then steal your wife from you while you’re in jail – thanks a lot, Kevin Spacey! You might want to look that reference up. I’ll wait…
…ok, got it? Great! Now, on to the titles.
Christmas in Handcuffs
This monstrosity starring Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Slater from “Saved by the Bell” is hard to resist because, let’s be honest ladies, who doesn’t want their stocking stuffed with a little BDSM this Christmas? The message here is, if you can’t find a guy and your family thinks you’re on the road to Spinster Town (5 miles south of Old Ladyville and just east of West Lesbianton), kidnap one with your Hello Kitty handcuffs you normally reserve for that weird, nerdy guy at the video store you sleep with when you’re really hard up and bring him home to mama because you’ll totally fall in love or be arrested and die in prison after getting shanked by and inmate named Margie who calls you “her bitch.” Either way, it’s a Christmas miracle!
Crimes of Passion: She Woke Up Pregnant
Speaking of “Charlie’s Angels,” this one stars Lynda Carter. Wait, she was “Wonder Woman.” Aw who cares, she was a hot chick crime fighter and that’s all that matters to me! Ahem. In this abomination, she faces the all-too common problem of being impregnated by her dentist while under anesthesia. It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. You get sleepy under the influence of the nitrous oxide and next thing you know, Corbin Bernsen is fondling you, asking you to “rinse out your purty little mouth” and then cutting your face off. I’m just surprised this was a movie and not a John Stossel investigation.
Terror in the Mall
Hey, if there’s one thing we men know you women love, it’s shopping. You have a whole series of books on the subject, a movie about it and pretty much every commercial on tv where the programming isn’t dedicated to sports, babes or building stuff. Let’s face it, what would be more engrossing for you than being trapped in a mall during a flood with that hot guy from “Silk Stalkings” and some escaped, deranged killer on the loose. Oh, did I mention the mall was about to explode from a buildup of gas and not the kind from Paul Bart’s colon either? I imagine this would be confusing for many of you. Do you shop or do you scream? If there’s a wedding dress store in the mall, my guess is both.
These Old Broads
Other than the offer of sex with young soap opera stars, free prescription drugs and the promise you’ll be reincarnated as the Queen of the Universe, how do you get Shirley MacLaine, Debbie Reynolds, Joan Collins and Elizabeth Taylor together in the same room? Offer them a Lifetime movie with a really demeaning title, of course. Throw in Peter Graves so you can make that “stop calling me Shirley” joke on the set and you’re in business. The plot says the women all hate each other. Without Xanax, I’m guessing that’s not too far from the truth.
Note: I know Leslie Nielsen is the guy that made that “Shirley” joke in the movie, but he wasn’t in the above flick, so don’t start protesting outside my house. You’d probably clash with all the hot women who loiter around my house ever since I started using Axe body spray.
To Be Fat Like Me
I’m guessing “would be awesome” is not the way that sentence is supposed to end, but it sounds right to me. The premise here is that fat people get picked on in high school. Really? I’m shocked. Kaley Cuoco, the very hot neighbor from “The Big Bang Theory,” decides that fat people whine too much about the lack of Twinkies in the fridge or something like that and sets out to prove that personality is all you need. Naturally, she dons a fat suit, enrolls at a rival high school, you know, so no one will recognize her, with her perky cheerleader mentality and is met with, you guessed it, jeers and ridicule. Oh, hot girls, when will you learn that perky only works with boobs? Of course, she gets to take off her fat suit and show everyone just how hot she really is and how stupid they were for making fun of her because now they can’t “get with this.” Sort of reminds me of Can’t Buy Me Love when Dr. McDreamy gives that speech about cool kids and nerds. So inspiring…so, so inspiring.
Mother, May I Sleep With Danger
Finally, my all-time favorite. Tori Spelling is in it, which is awesome. Yes, it’s all about a boyfriend turned stalker, which is mega awesome. That’s all, well, AWESOME. But, the best part is that Tori feels the need to ask her mother’s permission not to be friends with, not to go out with, not even to marry, but SLEEP with danger. First off, she’s sleeping with a concept, which is totally possible if you are in a holodeck on Star Trek. What? Stop looking at me like that! But, more importantly, it’s like saying, “Mom, can I be a total whore with this stalker because he really loves me and I’m a total slut and my dad, Aaron Spelling, gave me this giant nose that I hate and therefore I hate myself and really need to have sex with a creepy guy to prove I’m lovable? Kthxbye!” This one just has it all including the aforementioned Tori Spelling nose starring as “that thing we can’t stop looking at no matter how hard we try.”
In conclusion (I really wanted to end this like an 8th grade term paper), chick flicks go well beyond anything that Cameron Diaz takes on in an attempt to revive what was a once promising career. They pull at the heart strings of middle American women and help them to remember that, even on a seemingly boring cul-de-sac, it is possible for a former drug addled prostitute to find love with a child pornographer, once she has plastic surgery and he finds Jesus, natch, and still get that St. Augustine to sparkle green like an emerald in the summer sun…or am I just thinking about the Dallas suburbs. Same diff.
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesdays – Flutter
Published May 27, 2009 |
Introduction by our very own Lindaloohoo:
This week we feature Christine, aka, flutter. Discovering her site really brought me full circle on this whole internet thingy. In my mind, reading words like hers are the reason the blogging world exists. She is funny enough to make Tip Tucker slow down, quirky enough to make Lucy Ricardo take a back seat and eloquent enough to move the mountain that stands firm. And of course, her own introduction is way, way better than anything I could come up with, so stop wasting time reading my shit. Here, read her shit:
A survivor, a writer, a knitter, a cook. Sometimes someone who kind of sews, a beginning painter, a diabetic. A singer. An amazon with a predilection for high heels and vamp nail polish. A wearer of red lipstick. A friend, a fiance, a sister, a daughter, a soft place to land. Able to belch like a trucker, write the perfect thank you note and laugh at a fart joke. Poetic, loving, struggling. Dark and divine. flutter is a girl named Christine, and she can be reached at http:byflutter.com but be nice, she bites.
And now, on to really important stuff, like making George Carlin smile through his dirt nap dreams:
Tits.
Honkers, boobs, funbags, milk-makers, hoo-has, jugs, cans, puppies, sweater jockeys, breasteses, tatas, mams, girls, the twins, boulders, peaks, bosoms, hooters, knockers, melons, pillows, rack. Bee-stings, bazookas, chesticles, coconuts, headlamps.
Whether you are a member of the itty bitty titty committee or if you strain the straps on your over the shoulder boulder holder, every day as a woman in some way includes your tits. It just is the way it is.
Those of us who have jigglers (the big ones that move around when you walk) deal with back pain, digging underwires and ogling passerby. Women of the smaller persuasion feel the pressure to pad or to enhance to adhere to a standard of beauty.
Guys are pretty lucky we don’t have the same standards for balls, aren’t they? Can you imagine men walking around with their giant balls in a sling, jiggling to and fro in front of the catcalls of rabid women?
“YYYYeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh baby! Shake them balls! Oooooooh yeah! I wanna bury my face in them nads!” Um, yeah. No.
I worked, for a very short time at an escort agency. Now, before you get your knickers in a twist, I wasn’t an escort. I was the unfortunate soul who answered the phones and sent the girls on their “assignments”. I would put on my best sex-kitten voice for the men who called in, describe our girls, get credit card numbers and addresses. This sometimes went smooth as silk, other times the sheer stupidity of tit-blind men was beyond comical. To wit:
“Thank you for calling, how can I service you?” I would purr.
“Yeah, can you send me a blonde with big tits?” I always knew when this was the ice breaker, that idiocy was sure to ensue.
“Well, sure. I have Candy who is a 5’7″ blonde, her measurements are 34d, 28, 36…”
“Bigger than that.”
“Um, ok. I have Danielle who is blonde, 5’2″ her measurements are 36dd, 26, 34…”
“Bigger.” [insert pervy snort here]
“I’m so very sorry but double d is the largest I have available, right now…”
“I don’t care about the cup, I want like a 46dd, but she can’t be fat.”
“So you want a thin girl with a 46dd?”
“yeah.”
“You do realize that is like, physically not possible, right?” I had dropped my sexy voice and didn’t bother to disguise my irritation.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have tits, I do know.”
I then proceeded to give him a fifteen minute lecture on what measurements mean. I could swear I was able to hear his erection deflating as I spoke. Poor guy was just trying to get his rocks off and I am giving him an in depth anatomy lesson. Clearly I have remarkably innappropriate instincts.
I was not long for the escort service. The last straw was when a frat house called, some kid whacked off in my ear and I asked him if he felt like a big man…now that his frat brothers had been witness to the only sex he’d ever had. They called back and complained to my boss.
Me and my tits, out of a job.
My boobs have gotten me into more trouble than out of trouble. By a large margin. Which, I have to say is one of the best things about the internet. I know you aren’t looking at my chest when I am talking and that? Well, that’s just tits.
Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday – Steenky Bee
Published May 20, 2009 |
Introduction by our very own Lindaloohoo:
Today we bring you a post written by a woman named . . . Jen. During the birth of the blogging biosphere, there must have been a convention that I wasn’t invited to, in which a panel appointed all the great and funny writers to be named Jen, Jenn, Jenny or Jenny the Bloggess. J-Bob or J-Lindaloohoo need not apply. With this post, we have now completed our exploration of the many spellings of that name and discovered some fabulous talent along the way.
This particular Jen is, by nature and name, awesome. She is funny and real and real funny. She also knows the proper use for that special finger and she bandies about words like ’wicked’ & ‘freaky whore’ – not necessarily used together, but the day is still young. Really, what’s not to love? Here, this post kinda sums her up for me, cause who else does THAT?
Her tag line is ‘You may want it, but you definitely don’t need it.’ And oh, I’m thinkin’ you ARE gonna want it and we all know, want is the first step down the road to need . . .
It’s Jen from Steenky Bee coming at you today. If you don’t already read me, well, consider yourself lucky. I would never force myself on you because I’m just not that pushy. Also, I’m not much of a writer.
I lied. I am sort of pushy.
Like many of you, I’m a mother. As mothers, we’ve all experienced those quiet moments with our children that make us proud. And as mothers, it’s understood, nay, expected that we share these cherished moments with others and embellish them slightly to make us sound a bit more accomplished as a mother than we really are.
I wish I had such a story to share with you today. I do, however, have a story about the time my children threw up on me while I ordered a sandwich.
A few months ago, the entire Steenky family suffered through an aggressive cold strain. Our daughter had awful congestion that caused wicked coughing fits that caused her to spit up the contents in her tummy. Our family had endured a strict diet of clear fluids and soups for almost a week. During this time, my husband Jeremy and I downed copious doses of Nyquil on alternate nights so we could get a little sleep. Between the two of us I think we emptied two bottles in one week’s time.
Also? I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive Jeremy hosted a rave at our house on one of my “Nyquil Nights”. There can be no other explanation for my vivid dreams set to techno music that evening.
By the end of my cold, I was craving bread of any kind. All it took was a $5 Foot Long commercial from Subway and the realization that I hadn’t been out of the house in over three days for me to set a plan in action that would test my motherly instincts and gag reflexes simultaneously.
I found Jeremy passed out on the sofa surrounded by balled up tissues with a working draft of his living will. Hmm…maybe he was feeling worse than I thought? I decided against waking him for the Subway excursion, but only after I skimmed over his legal documents to make sure I was still included in his will. (I was) I threw the kids in the car and we left without him to fulfill my sandwich craving.
Minutes later I found myself staring at the Subway menu board salivating at the thought of getting my hands on a hoagie roll. My carbohydrate-rich fantasy was cut short by a loud gurgling sound from the passenger-side back seat followed by silence…followed by the unmistakable howl of my infant daughter.
I flipped on the interior light and whipped around to find her covered in what was her dinner hours earlier. I jumped from my seat, circled the car and whipped her door open. I spied a pile of blankets on the floor and silently praised myself for being too lazy to clean out the car.
I grabbed the first blanket and wrapped it around my head to fashion a scent barrier resembling a fluffy burka and wiped my daughter down with the other. Once I had her somewhat calm and clean, I wedged myself in the backseat and continued my chore. It was then that I heard my 4-year old pipe up and loudly complain about the “smell of sick” in our car. I believe he got as far as Momma, it stinks in…before I felt the sensation of vomit hitting the back of my neck.
Awesome.
I had no choice but to console my son, because, for one, we were in close quarters it would just be rude not to, and somehow, in all the commotion my sweat pant leg (can you say sexy?) became tangled in the cup holder. I couldn’t escape the backseat even if I wanted to.
So the three of us sat there; Me, my son and my daughter holding each other in the back our car. (Thank God for leather seats.) I did my best to ignore the stench hanging in the air. The kids did their best to be supportive of me as I whimpered about vomit running down my back.
I could hear the drive-thru attendant squawking at me through the intercom so I did what any mother would do in the same situation. I rolled down my son’s window, ordered two Subway Club sandwiches, one with extra mustard, one with no pickles and requested extra napkins.
I wedged myself free by removing my sweat pants, climbed into the front seat and pulled forward to the drive-thru window. I avoided direct eye contact with the cashier as best I could and pretended not to notice her sizing me up as I sat there, sans pants, sporting a Hello Kitty blanket on my head.
On the ride home, the three of us stared forward into the darkness. Only the occasional sniffle from one of us would break the eerie silence. I pulled into the garage and carried my babies and sandwiches into the house with care. I laid the kids down together in the master bed and rubbed their feet as they drifted off to sleep.
I sneaked into the kitchen and found my husband sitting at the table eating his sandwich. “Lover, you forgot my pickles,” he mentioned casually.
I gestured back to him with my middle finger exactly what he could do with his missing pickles. He knew better than to ask where my pants were.
Posted in Who's In Da DAMN House Wednesday? | daily life, family, guest blogger, humor, steenky bee | 28 Comments
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