When Starlets Speak

There are some people who are just so stupid that they should really try not to speak in public. They might mean well but you really never know what might pop out of their tiny little mouths. As my example I give you...Sharon Stone.



Before I get started, I have a few comments on the above picture. First of all, where are you going, Rambo?? Secondly, Jesus. Nice rack. What is she, 60?? Lastly, where is her obligatory-I'm-a-starlet red Kabullah string? She's probably wearing it for underwear, that saucy little minx.

On with the post....

You might remember Sharon from the Camel Toe Hall of Fame here. But today I'm talking about how she suggested that the earthquake in China was karma biting the ass of the Chinese people due to the country's treatment of tibet. REALLY????! With 60,000 dead and about that many missing and presumed dead that's a lot of fucking karma. I read that there are approximately 14 million people who are now homeless due to the quakes. I say approximately because when your number has that many commas in it it's impossible to be exact.

Now, I am not dissing the Tibetans (and I'm not just saying that because I don't want a quake to hit my house and render us dead and/or homeless). Free Tibet. But only if Sharon Stone would kindly shut the hell up before she says something REALLY dumb. Like Charlie Sheen seems like good marriage material. Or that Ozzy Osbourne probably looks better naked (shudder).


By clicking on this link you agree that Sharon Stone is a douche. Plus, I get a vote. Which I love.

A future in funerals

Excuse my absence, friends. I've been out of town at an unexpected funeral.

Pretty much the only funny thing that happened to me this whole week was at the funeral home. My kids were there, aged 2, 7 and 8. They were playing outside and my oldest found a dead bird. She came running into the building, breathlessly describing it. I told her that maybe she should go bury it. She left me presumably to do that just.

A few minutes later the undertaker approached me and informed me that he had assisted Thing One in this endeavor. He said that she was really sweet (he's totally right about that). He also mentioned that she has a beautiful future in the undertaking business. I'm pretty sure that the horror splashed across my face summed up two things:

1. Although I have respect for this guy I sincerely hope that my kid doesn't choose the undertaking arts for a career. (Please, please, please.)
2. I also wondered how much a bird funeral would add to the impressive bill of the human one? And how would it be subcategorized? Feathered Friend Burial???

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Is that a Batter Blaster in your pants or are you just happy to see me??

All right, ya'll. Hang onto your hats. Today we're going to delve into Product Development and Analysis. It's gonna be super awesome. And, go....

So there I was, cruising through Costco looking for ginormous containers of food for my family. I was near the dairy section when something new caught my eye. Without further ado, here is the product:

Apparently it is AMAZING! In case you can't see the image well it is, in essence, pancake and waffle mix in a pressurized can. Oh! And it's organic! Because everyone knows that parents who are willing to feed their kid breakfast from a pressurized can (with some syrup on it) really give a shit about the product being organic. Is it me or is this kind of like making organic Twinkies??

So it occurred to me that I should make sure that there aren't organic Twinkies available if I was going to make sarcastic comments about them. I've just been to google and as a result I am now aware that there is something called "The Twinkie Problem" and that it basically consists of health food advocates who are pissed off that it is possible to have an organic twinkie. They are mad because a Twinkie is the quintessential junk food and therefore shouldn't be able to make something certified organic because everybody knows that it's chock full of unhealthy crap. Huh.

I can't imagine being the guy who gets pissed off at something like that. He and his wife are at a cocktail party and someone broaches the subject. The guy starts sweating profusely and pursing his lips. The wife says, "Now, Dear...remember your blood pressure...."

Back to the AMAZING organic waffles in a pressurized can. I have a feeling that these are going to be like those frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with no crust. The first time I saw these at the store I thought to myself, "Jesus. The day that I don't have time to make a fucking PB&J is the day that I'm gonna end it all..." And here I am with a freezer full. So, I think the waffles are ridiculous. But I am already warming up to the idea and will probably, at some point, buy a can. Of pressurized organic waffles. That are apparently AMAZING!

I'll keep you posted.

You'll never believe what Humor-Blogs keeps in a pressurized can! Check it out...

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water!!!

I saw the movie Jaws at an impressionable age. Living near the coast in South Florida I had daily opportunities to go to the beach. But I never wanted to go into the water because any time ANYTHING even so much as TOUCHED me (sea weed, coral, a friend) I freaked out - convinced that a shark was going to eat me.

In fact, to get me out of water all you have to do is one of two things. The first is to look over my shoulder in surprise or horror. The second way is to hum the Jaws theme song. Da duh. Da duh. Daduh daduh DADUH DADUH!!! I could walk on water when I hear that. And this doesn't remain isolated with the beach. These two methods have worked in pools and even in the bathtub.

The only thing that ever "bit" me in the ocean was a jellyfish. Now don't get me wrong, it hurt like a MUTHA but there was little doubt as to whether I would survive it or not. I love going to the beach for vacation but I still to this day remain vigilant at the ocean...

A couple of years ago my husband, Don, was invited to go to Jamaica with a buddy. He was having a great time, as the resort was all-inclusive and he was up to his eye balls in pina coladas and massive food buffets.

One day he decided to borrow a snorkel and check out the local reef. He was really getting into it and was impressed by the many beautiful fish. (Cue the Jaws music.) Suddenly, he felt something grab his leg. Startled, he spun around to find an apparent Jamaican local (sans snorkel). The Rastafarian repeated his inquiry as to whether Don would or would not like to purchase some pot. Don looked around, absolutely incredulous, and said, "Ummm, I'm SNORKELING. In the ocean." What was this guy thinking? Talk about an inopportune time to shop for drugs. Don has wondered, in hindsight, what made him appear to be a good prospect for this guy. Was it the mask/flipper combo? The fact that he was already inhaling strongly through a tube? It's hard to say...

The ironic part of the story is that this encounter made Don feel paranoid and he eventually quit snorkeling and went to the bar for a stiff drink. I'll tell you, though, for my money, I'll take the Rastafarian drug dealer over a shark any day of the week.

PS Check out the Humor Blogs Website! They have relatively few sharks...

I'm not a Gynecologist (but I'll take a look)

I have a funny gynecologist. This wasn't necessarily an attribute I was initially looking for but, now that I've had time to reflect on it, if you are going to be between my legs doing things that don't feel good then you need to be at least funny.

I had my dreaded annual exam this morning. This is something that I loathe and just seeing the metal clamps makes me cringe. And when I cringe, my muscles constrict. And when my muscles constrict it is extremely difficult to put the clamps ANYWHERE. I think I should probably give up my kegel exercises. Ahem. So basically what I'm telling you is that my doctor had to fight for entry. And I was busy negotiating with my knees as they were involuntarily snapping shut, therefore making his job even more difficult. It was a busy morning for all involved.

At any rate, when he was done with his "business" he tugged on the clamp and it didn't budge. He put his hand on the sheet (so he could see my face) and said, "Hey, Bex, can I have my clamp back please? You're going to look funny walking out of here with it crammed up your hoo-hah. It'll be like a gynecological maracas!"

Like I said...he's pretty funny. For a gyno. With clamps. I should get him a spot on humor-blogs!


Is it weird that I totally want this T-shirt??

The Less Than Gifted

Oh how the times are a-changing. I just waited in line for 20 minutes at Costco for the privilege of paying $87 to fill up my car with gas. I actually, in a weird way, don't mind paying a lot for gas. I think it should cost a lot so that we use less of it. Maybe. Although just a couple of years ago it cost me $25 to fill up. It's a huge difference that definitely makes an impression on our family budget. Jesus. Listen to me talking about the price of gas. The next thing you know I'll be telling you my memories of Grover Cleveland as our President. Anyway, the thing that pissed me off was the lady in front of me.

She was middle aged and was driving a small pickup truck. Yet it appeared that this was her first time - ever - pumping gas. It was all a complete mystery to her. She studied the screen carefully with her wallet in hand. Reading. Every. Word. Why is it that I always get behind these people? Like at the bank. Every time I need cash I seem to get behind someone who is trying to refinance their mortgage via the ATM machine.

In case you've never been to a gas station at Costco here is what you do: The first thing is you stick your Costco membership card into the receptacle. Then you choose how you'll pay for your gas and push the appropriate button. Next you decide what type of gas you want, stick the hose in your tank and depress the thing on the hose that makes the gas come out. When your tank is full you remove the hose, close up your tank, take your receipt and leave. The mentally challenged need not worry as the above directions are very clearly bulleted out for you on the pump in case you can't retain them.

But our friend seemed excruciatingly challenged by this. She pressed her nose against the screen, presumably to better read it, and then stood motionless. Obviously she processes information very slowly. I'm thinking that if it takes you 10 minutes to read and then follow the instructions on a gas pump then operating a car in general just isn't going to be your bag. What does she do on the interstate when there is a directional sign? Pull over and contemplate for 20 minutes that she's been warned that the bridge will freeze faster than the street??

It seriously took her around 15 minutes of dicking around before I saw her take her receipt. Witnessing this accomplishment caused me to commence (prematurely) celebrating in my car which caused her to look up at me with a startled yet dull expression on her face. At which point she let go of her receipt. Fan-fucking-tastic. She very s-l-o-w-l-y looked down at her feet to see if perhaps it had dropped into her shoe. No such luck. With the pace that a retarded sloth could have beaten she looked under the truck to retrieve the little piece of paper that she will never, ever need again.

Maybe there should be separate line for people like this. If we start that I'd also like to see something similar at banks as well as at airport screening lines. I always seem to get behind the family of 12 that have never before left their town, never mind flown anywhere, and they don't know that they are expected to take off their shoes, belts, watches, jewelry, cell phones, and so on. It really is getting pretty ridiculous. They should at least play some slow jazz or something to make people feel more comfortable stripping in front of thousands of strangers. And then, of course, you have the post-coital, frantic and rushed re-dressing that happens after the screening. Nobody looks you in the eyes as they've lost all respect for you as you struggle to find your shoes before you step on something gross.

Boy. I really went all over the place with this post. The price of gas. The bank. Costco gas. Sloth Lady. The Airport Screening Line. Slow Jazz. Final destination? Humor-Blogs! Check it out for some funny stuff!

Do you have a hotdog or a hamburger in there???

In my professional opinion about 1% of the general public are androgynous. This is a really polite way of saying I don't know if they typically urinate from an upright or seated position. When I encounter someone like this I find myself staring. Are those breasts or simply man-maries? Is that your wedding tackle in your pants or a well placed item in your pocket? Either way, I hope that you're happy to see me....

I saw someone yesterday who could have easily convinced me that s/he was either a man or a woman. I just had no idea. So I found myself staring. I become so engrossed that I think my mouth opened a little bit and just kind of hung there. (Now you know yet another ugly truth about me. When I think hard I become a mouth breather. Tres sexy, non?)

Anyhoo, after a while I realized that s/he saw me staring and was openly staring right back at me. I wonder if s/he knew why I was checking him/her out. Ok. Let's call her/him Pat so that I don't have to keep worrying about the fucking pronouns. So, I wonder if Pat could tell why I kept staring about crotch level. If it was a man he was probably thinking, "Jeez. Take a fucking picture. These soccer moms are so sad...."

If it was a woman she was probably wondering if she had forgotten to zip her fly. Just like when someone is looking at me and they wipe their nose I immediately wipe mine thinking they are trying to tell me that I have a bat in the cave. And then they, of course, wipe their nose again thinking that I was trying to tell them that they need to hit it again. Back and forth, back and forth until one of us summons the courage to ask, "Do I, um, have something on my nose?" And then the other one will say, "No, do I?" And then we'll both laugh. Good times.

Back to Pat. What I'd really like to know is if Pat actually knows if s/he appears androgynous and enjoys the anonymity that must come along with it. People don't know if they should expect you to play football or to knit doilys so you spend your days doing whatever the hell you want to without worrying about gender expectations. Hmmm.

Here is my humor-blogs link. Click it, please? For me, the annoying mouth breather???

Maybe Next Month It'll Be Playboy...

OK. I swear that I am not unnaturally fixated on Miley Cyrus. I like one of her songs, my daughters are big fans, but that's about it. So when the big broohaha started about her Vanity Fair pictures I thought, "Meh...who gives a shit."

The above picture is in Vanity Fair this month. Do I think it is a strange portrait of a father and daughter? Pretty much. Would I want my 15 year old daughter topless on the cover of a magazine? Um, no. But I didn't boycott her music or tell my kids they couldn't watch the show anymore. I guess Miley's "people" are grooming her for more adult things in the future. It is, afterall, a business and it sounds as if she might be their cornerstone product. (Although I would have thought that, at some point, she might have said, "Gee, Daddy? Do you think you could get your hand off my ass?!" Typical kids at this age insist that their parents drop them off at the mall from a block away so that their friends don't see the very uncool spectacle of a teenager exiting his moms minivan. It is kind of hard to imagine a teenager agreeing to do this shoot.

So she took some risque shots. Big deal. HERE is the weird thing...I was at the gym the other day and was flipping through a stack of magazines. In this stack was a magazine I'd never heard of called Christian Living Magazine. On the cover were none other than Miley and her Dad, Billy Ray.

Now is it me or is the composition of this photo significantly different than that of Vanity Fair? Notice the halo-esque sun setting behind Miley's head. And the peaceful look on Billy Rae's face that screams, "I really hope nobody at this religious magazine notices my Satan beard." The only thing missing from the picture is a lamb or two grazing in some green grass and maybe an angel sitting on the clouds.

Meh. What do I know. When I was her age I (along with a girlfriend) flashed my boobs at a car full of boys and then was truly surprised (and terrified) when they chased our car throughout south Florida all night long. Live and learn, right? But it does seem like this kid has really broken out of her shell over the last couple of months. Let's just hope that it ends here and not with a million dollar deal with the Girls Gone Wild Schmuck.

Girls Gone Wild Go Wilder at Humor-Blogs. Look it up, it's true! I checked it out on snopes.com...

Yoo hoo...

I have a mechanism on my blog that allows me to see where you are coming from. More specifically I can see where your Internet Service Provider is located. Now don't freak out - I can't see your names or that you aren't wearing any pants or stuff like that. But I can see that, if you use a search engine, what search terms you used to find me. I guess Important Blogs that actually make money and are famous and stuff use it to help guide their topics du jour (rather than throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks like I do). Anyhoo, I was perusing my sitemeter and looking to see who my recent visitors were, etc.

Just a few minutes ago somebody googled "dudes naked blogs" and they were somehow directed to me. More specifically they were directed to this page on my blog. Incidentally this happens to be one of my very most favorite blog entries. At any rate, if you're still on, HELLO! Please put your pants back on. I wish that I had some sort of questionnaire to give you as I'm now quite curious. It would look like this:

1. Did you really mean to click on me??
2. Did you find what you were looking for?
3. Is the word "dudes" really in your everyday vernacular? 

4. I have a firmly held belief that a persons body odor is indicative of his/her mental health and therefore people who smell pretty good (or at least don't smell pretty bad) aren't going to use my epidermal layer for a lamp shade or something. Do you smell good?

Lastly, I've made the top ten in the mattresspolice caption contest! Woo hoo! I'm not holding onto any hope of winning but if you get a chance check it out...watch me proudly accept the fifth place prize!  

Well, that's about it for today, folks. The rest of my day kind of sucked. A few buzzwords: illness, bloody diaper rash, runny nose, big zit coming in from NOWHERE on the neck of a grown, 39 year old woman. It's been a full day with a little something for everyone. 

Feed to humor-blogs.com.

Nice Headlights!

I have some very exciting news. The Blog of Bex has received - for the very first time - a topic request for a new blog entry!

What is the topic request, you might ask? It was to be about headlights. I'll be honest...I don't know much about them. In fact, I hate it when I have a burnt out bulb in the car. Changing a bulb at home is easy. It's changing them in the car that is the challenge. Honestly, the problem is that I can't see where they go! The light itself doesn't unscrew, therefore it's an impossible task for me. Am I totally retarded on this? (Wait...don't answer that.)

As far as the "other" headlights go, all I know is that when it happens to me I feel VERY self conscious. I don't know if it's better to ignore the fact that my nipples are ready to rip through my t-shirt or to cross my arms a little bit high to block the spectacle from others.

So there you go, Diesel. It wasn't my best effort (or even my breast answer - ba dum CHAH) but I gave it a shot.

So here is what I wanted to talk about today:

A few weeks ago my 2 year old sons swimming lesson was canceled at the YMCA. The instructor called me at home (thoughtful, eh?) to alert me so that I didn't have to do the frantic "hurry-up-get-his-bottle, where-is-his-suit, what-about-a-change-of-clothes, hurry-the-hell-up-we-are-going-to-be-late" dance first thing in the morning.

I was kind of glad as it's a major ordeal to get ME anywhere on time, never mind when I'm rolling with him. So I got kind of chatty with the instructor and asked why we weren't having class. She said that the pool was closed because they had to "Super Shock" it. She further explained that this is required by law if there is fecal matter in the pool. I said that someone's kid must have had a leaky diaper to which she replied, "Ummm...this happened at 5:30 in the morning. There weren't any kids in the pool."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation as we each contemplated the events that must have lead up to and then followed an adult taking a crap in the pool at the Y. I imagine an older person swimming his or her laps thinking, "Whew...I shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee with my bran muffin! I've gotta go pretty bad...but...I think I can make it for another lap or two...OH MY HOLY HELL!!! I just shit in the pool! What to do...WHAT TO DO???!"

The practiced liar wouldn't make any sudden splashes so as not to attract attention to himself. He'd just mosey on over to the steps swimming a graceful sidestroke whilst simultaneously shaking his ass so the remaining shit would fall out of his pants before he climbed the steps and exited the pool. The rookie liar would probably panic and begin treading water at a frantic pace while looking around to see who might be looking at them. Then they would do a scurrying dog paddle to the closest exit and never again return to the YMCA. Or did they do what some do when they fart - deny, deny, deny. This is the guy who would stay in the pool and pretend that he didn't notice a shit floating around. When the lifeguard instructed him to leave he would become irate and scream at all of the other swimmers, "Jesus Christ! Which one of you fuckers SHIT in the pool?! What kind of animals are you, anyway??!"

Whichever outcome I wonder what happened in the locker room. Did they shower off, throw their bathing suit away and then sneak away? I guess that's the only real option. It's not like they'd say, "Yeah...SO?? I shit in the pool...so sue me. I just thought I had to fart...."

Regardless, I didn't have to get into my bathing suit (which might have incited my headlights) and drag my two year old around in the pool. And that, my friends, was a good thing.


Headlights and bran muffins are served with every purchase at humor-blogs.com.