The Blog of Bex

Oh, snap . Today is my fortieth birthday. FORTY! As in, I'm not in my 30's anymore! It's kind of a shock. Isn't that weird? It's like having a clown car sneak up on you - you can see and hear it coming - yet somehow you're still surprised when the clowns start piling out. It's the same thing with my age. I knew I was progressing nicely through the thirties. Yet somehow, I went to bed when I was 39 years and 364 days old and woke as a forty year old. My first thought was, "What the fuck...I'm how old?!" I've heard that many women have some "work" done in their 40's, believing that little "tweaks" here and there are more natural looking then if you have a major overhaul when you turn 60. When a forty year old gets something done her friends say, "Wow! You look well rested - that vacation did you wonders!" But when a woman of "a certain age" gets it done her friends give each other knowing looks and

The Dow Industrials fell today by 777 points. Holy shit . The partisan bickering makes me want to smack a politician or two (or a thousand) in the head with a fucking shovel. I have no idea whether or not this Bail Out plan is good for us or not. Neither do you. Nobody does. Is it better than doing nothing?? Maybe. Or, maybe we need to crash in order to wake up. Maybe we need unemployment to skyrocket into double digits to regain a work ethic. Maybe we need to run out of gasoline in order to become truly motivated to find another source of fuel. Maybe we need to learn this lesson the hard way so that we will remember it and pass it along to future generations. Although, my Grandparents told me lots of stories about the Great Depression. Horrible, sad and desperate stories. I'll bet lots of Grandparents have talked about it. We all learned about it in school. Yet look how arrogant we are. I've laughed at my Grandma for collecting (and then using) fast food packets of salt, pepp

Once upon a time there was a man called Jose A. Cruz who hailed from Clarksburg, West Virginia. He was 34 and, I would guess, funny looking. One evening he went out with the boys and "had a few". Just all in good fun. Boys will be boys, you know.... On the ride home he figured that if he didn't turn his headlights on he wouldn't have to deal with any awkward questions from The Law. It must have been quite a surprise when he was pulled over because of the lack of headlights. The responding officer noticed that he reeked of cheap booze and had slurred speech so they gave him a field sobriety test which he failed not once, not twice, but THRICE. Somewhat predictably, they arrested him. He was transported to the police station for a breathalyzer test. Not to be outdone, our hero - after what I'm sure was some serious and lucid self-reflection - tilted over to his side, farted loudly and fanned the nastiness into the face of his arresting officer. Did you hear that???

I hate bugs. A lot. Big, small, doesn't matter. I'm highly suspicious of them all, up to and including the illustrious lady bug. So you would think that the fact that there is a spider in my bathroom would be cause for distress. Surprisingly I haven't killed it or called in the heavy artillery (aka Mike, the bug guy, with his Can Of Death). I just sit there and watch this little guy build his teeny tiny web. And then I wait with him, joining in the pondering of where the hell the other bugs are. He doesn't know that I've employed a man to spray toxic fumes into every nook and cranny of this house. So he picked a little corner close to the ground, maybe thinking he'd rack up some ants or something. But he got bupkis. He walks around, inspecting his web with care. And every now and again he'll sprint up to the corner and stay really still. Maybe he's crazy and keeps thinking that he hears bug footsteps or something. It has me wondering how long he can go w

Kate and Leopold was a movie about some English dude who invented a time machine and then accidentally fell through it to current day New York City. One of the funniest parts of the movie happened when he was walking a dog which then took a dump on the street. A cop came over and instructed him to pick it up and throw it away. He looked at her incredulously and said, "Are you suggesting that there exists a law compelling gentlemen to lay hold of canine bowel movements?" This line cracks me up for a variety of reasons. First of all, it is talking about poop, a topic I routinely find hilarious. Second of all, it is a strange obligation and certainly doesn't feel very dignified when you have to turn a baggie inside-out and pick up something warm, wormy and odoriferous that your dog expelled from his ass. The alternative is just as gross - I don't know anybody who likes to step in dog crap. And I know some total freaks. But the problem is that not everyone picks up thei

Over the weekend I was introduced to a lovely young woman. Beautiful hair, beautiful, eyes, a nice figure...she really was something. And then she spoke. She said, "Ithss veewwwy nice to meet you, Bexth." And I thought, "Oh, bless her heart! This pretty little thing has a horrible speech impediment! She sounds like Elmer Fudd, poor thing...." And then I noticed the flash of silver in her mouth. No, not a filling - her tongue was pierced with a metal rod with a ball on the end. Now I had a friend who did this years ago. She invited me out for margaritas and a discussion of her piercing: Me: What the fuck did you do that for?! Her: Oh, Bexth, you don't understand! It's fowrw sex.... Me: ?! Her: Owal sex - you see, it makes it feel bettewww! Me: Owal sex? What is that....OH. You mean ORAL ! Listen, did it ever occur to you that you were just doing it wrong? Maybe you should have asked somebody for a little help before you went and did something drastic, like

It is my sincerest wish that almost everyone survives Hurricane Ike. Almost . Because, truth-be-told, in the battle between Geraldo Rivera and Ike...well, I'm pretty much pulling for the hurricane. What's not to like about Geraldo, you ask? Hmmm...is it the fact that he's an attorney? Nah. Is it a case of Former Talk Show Host Rage? Nope. No, it is because I've begun to strongly suspect that Geraldo Rivera is a fucking tool . My hypothesis began during Hurricane Gustav. I was flipping through the channels on TV when I came across an image of Geraldo running up and down Bourbon Street in a soaked rain coat holding some sort of meteorologist tool that gauges wind speed like this: The anchor kept trying to ask him questions about flooding, people who were in harms way, etc. But Geraldo couldn't hear and he was zig zagging around with his little wind catcher going, "FIFTY miles an hour! That gust was 50! ....Oh, wait a minute, here comes another....WOW! We've

Do you know what I just love? It's embarrassing, but I'll admit it. Ready?? I love, love, LOVE a class taught at my local YMCA. It's called Zumba and it is, essentially a dance class with an emphasis on latin and hip-hop music. The interesting thing is that this is at the YMCA, so it's not like this is where all the hot girls work out. (Except for me. Obviously.) Real people go here. Some are young and cute. Some are old and wrinkly. But the local Y is like Elis Island. Bring out your fat and ugly. Your skinny and uncoordinated. All are welcome. It's the People's Gym. There is one instructor, Terri Starnes, who stands out above the rest. She has these amazing dance routines that I just love following. And I'm not the only one. It's a fucking epidemic. You take her class once and you're hooked. The funny thing is that many of her moves seem inspired by belly dancing and, well, stripper moves. One of my favorite routines that she does is to a song call

Seven years ago today I was in my suburban Atlanta home. I had two daughters - the eldest was almost two years old and her sister was a six month old baby. We were playing a game when the phone rang. It was my baby brother calling from his cell phone. He had been in his Manhattan apartment and said that it sounded like a huge jet had swooped past the building. Everything had rattled loudly and really startled him. He was on his short walk to work and said that he heard sirens and saw smoke but that the buildings were all so high he couldn't see what had happened. I turned on the tv and saw the building on fire. I told him what they had said, "A small commuter jet hit the world trade center." He wondered out loud if his girlfriend had seen it as she worked two buildings away from the trade center. He arrived at the bank where he worked and said that he had to go on the elevator and would lose our connection so we said goodbye and hung up. I was watching the Today S

I used to work for a banking operations center. Due to the nature of our business the building was very secure and every port of entry to every department was filmed 24/7 and required, at minimum, a security clearance card and possibly an interaction with an underpaid (yet somehow always overweight) security guard. One autumn morning I was supposed to give a presentation on my departments' budget and I was nervous. It was my first time being involved in the budgeting process and my presentation would be heard by several senior level folks I didn't know. So I got up early, went through the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru and arrived at work an hour or so before anyone else to prepare. The conference room was down the hall from my office but was separated by a thick glass wall with a revolving glass door in the middle of it. I headed that way about 15 minutes before my presentation with my left arm full of my papers and notes. In my right hand, dangling by my thigh, was the enormous cup

I have Vaseline underneath my right index finger nail. No amount of soap and water seems to vanquish it. Sshhhhh. Don't tell anyone, K? Because that could lead to awkward questions. But I'll tell you what - today, just for shits and giggles, let's skip the questions completely and just go to the answers. And, GO. Projectile vomiting. One massive pile in the doctor's waiting room. Once in the car. Twice at home. Yes, that IS a lot of puke for a two year old. Anal suppositories. TWICE. No I am not honoring my pledge to lay off of the cosmo's for a while and fuck you for bringing that up after the day I've had. Did this make you smile? Or were you just envious that you didn't get to spend the morning pinning down a pissed off and puking two year old long enough to further enrage him by shoving a suppository up his ass? (thought so) Either way, feel free to click my HB smiley below. And, as always, if you're shopping around for funny blogs this is the pl

A couple of weeks ago I got a new phone. It's a BlackBerry and is so shiny and new - I love it. There is no Cheerio crumb/paste mixture stuck in the edges. There has not been any juice, coffee or cosmo spilled on it. It is pristine. For now. Later that same day I had to pick up a shirt for one of my numerous kids at the mall so I strapped my snazzy phone on the waistband of my pants, grabbed my bag and away I went. I was browsing around when suddenly I felt the unpleasant stomach bubbles that typically preceed horrific diarrhea. I stopped - dead in my tracks - and waited to see what would happen. It went away and I took inventory, "Am I going to crap in my pants?" I felt ok, so I continued shopping. Suddenly the bubbles were back, coming in waves about every 10 seconds. I ran with my shirt to the register. There was not a store employee in sight. The retail warriors who jumped my ass with offers of "Could I help you find something in particular? Are you sure???"

My cyber friend, LeighOnline , is going through an ORDEAL this week. She's cutting back on the margarita's, which I think we can all agree is cause for angst in and of itself. Also? Her husband is going in for a colonoscopy this week. Some of you may know that I am something of an expert on what I like to call "Ass Trouble". And no, I don't want to talk about it. But I do want to share this post to give her (and you) an idea of what her hubs is in store for this week: A couple of months ago I went to my twentieth high school reunion. I hadn't seen most of these people since the day I accepted my diploma. One exception was a guy named...well, let's call him "Joe" in case he doesn't want to be discussed on a public blog. Anyway, I bumped into "Joe" several years ago on Bourbon Street in New Orleans around 11:45PM on New Years Eve. I don't know about him but we had been drinking since that morning so I didn't remember much abou

I was just watching the hurricane coverage and, somehow, I began to wonder about why some people do the stupid things that they do. And then, after the stupid act, they find themselves in need of rescue personnel so they call 911. I think that there should be an exit-interview with these "victims". Or at least some kind of post incident questionnaire. We'll call it the IPIQ - the Idiot's Post-Incident Questionnaire! Here are a couple of examples: Questionnaire for the U-Boat driver: There was a sign posted back there that screamed "WARNING! THIS STREET IS FLOODED AND IF YOU DRIVE INTO IT YOU AND YOUR CAR WILL FLOAT AWAY IN A RAGING TORRENT!!" Why did you drive onto the shoulder of the road (to pass the sign - without scratching your car), tentatively stick the nose of your car into the water before you gunned it, thereby springing your car, yourself and your children into a dangerous raging river where you were swept along until crashing into a bridge? (ple