(You Know It's Never) Wordless Wednesday

Hey there!

Look! Over there on the right: 98 FOOBHs (Friends of Out of Bev's Head) on the wall!

*rubbing hands together*


Almost 100! You know how excited I get about stuff like this, I don't front. :) Thanks for all of you who've joined. I love each one of your faces, even this one.

It's gonna be a party up in here when I see triple digits! I might even have a little work done, but don't let that get around. I just want the blog to look rested and twenty-five again, is that so wrong?

Ok, on to some photos. I took these on St. Patty's Day.

Traditional Irish music provided by Laurie's step-dad's band. We were totally "with the band."



Balls for lunch! My favorite.



What goes better with balls than beer? Not much.



After lunch we saw this:



Most of the waitresses just wore some beads and a hat, but this one went all out.



Something tells me that she got great tips that night!



Look at this dapper young lad.



Mark is a humanitarian.



And that was pretty much my day. Well, after I found my car, that is. I admit that after dinner I went to the wrong parking garage and climbed to the top level before realizing I'd parked in a garage a few blocks away.

It was a long day!

TTFN!

Shrinkage?!

Nah, not that kind of shrinkage. Simmer down, fellas.

The other day in the grocery store I saw that Cheez-Its were on sale for $1.99/box, so I threw a box into the cart for the boys. A day or two later, Jim had the hongries so he got the box and was munching away when it suddenly occurred to him that there was something awry. The box was really, really small.

Small boxes - men hate those, right?

*whistling innocently*

Anyway. Looks like the Sunshine Company has pulled a fast one on us. The box is now several ounces lighter and is square instead of rectangular. It's basically now postage-stamp sized, but roughly the same price as the old packages. Jim held the box up and examined it before declaring that it was "freaking him out."

Not long ago I noticed the same thing about ice cream. As a kid, we'd get half-gallon containers of my favorite Breyer's ice cream, but a few years ago I noticed that I was able to palm a carton of ice cream when removing it from the freezer instead of having to use two hands. It seemed slightly smaller because it was - it had shrunk from a 1/2 gallon (2 quarts) to 1.75 quarts. No big deal, right? It's not like my waist needs that extra half a cup of smooth, delicious ice cream, right? However the price... it didn't get smaller, now did it? Recently they shrunk the Breyer's containers even more. Now your money will buy you 1.5 quarts and the container looks positively Lilliputian to me.

Last September Mala made a similar observation about her giant man hands the mini bottles of Corona that she bought accidentally. I'm really not pleased about these products that make our hands look massive.

Across the board things have gotten smaller; everything from bags of chips to paper towels are smaller but cost the same price. Apparently, inflation causes shrinkage. Since many Americans are overweight anyway I guess it's not a huge problem if we get 2 less ounces of fat-laden potato chips into our gullets, but still... I noticed.

Have you noticed? What else has gotten smaller?

Excellent First-Impressions Are Kind of My Thing

Good morning! How are my adorable & oh-so-lovable readers this morning? I hope you're all doing well. I've got a minor case of the Mondays, but nothing I can't handle. It's a gray, rainy day 'round these parts and I want nothing more than to fake a plague and go home early, but I will tough it out. I think. We'll see.

The weekend was nice. We went to a super fun dinner party at Mala's house on Saturday night. They recently met a nice couple whose kids are the same ages as Mala's kids, and they thought we'd like them too. They were right - we all hit it off immediately and had a great time together. We're all very down to earth, which is good because the second we met I blurted out,

"Do you have a bag of poo? 'Cuz I do!"

Let me explain. We had arrived about 45 minutes before they did and we had already dipped into the first of many bottles of wine. Mala was setting out plate after plate of amazing appetizers and we were happily snacking and chatting when my 2 y.o. wandered his stinky self in and sat next to me, asking for cheese. As fate would have it and because I am an amazing mother (ahem), I had brought a few diapers with me but hadn't bothered with wipes. I mean, the kid had already crapped twice that day, so I figured we were cool on the numero dos, right? WRONG.

So J and I grabbed him and some wet paper towels and took him to the bathroom to take care of bidness just as Mala was greeting E & M at the door. We were quick and thorough, but when all was said & done I was left holding a plastic shopping bag containing the world's stinkiest diaper. Obviously I didn't want to just put it in the bathroom or worse, in the kitchen trash, so I slunk into the kitchen amidst all the hubbub of introductions, coat-taking, etc, and tried to get Mala's attention to ask where to stash my bag of crap. E & M had brought their dog, and E was holding a similar looking bag and looking as bashful about it as I was, and since I'm kind of the gregarious type (What? You haven't noticed?) I stuck out my hand and used that little ice-breaker above.

I'm not sure he knew quite what to do with me, especially when it turned out that his bag contained not dog poo but dog food, but he had the good manners to laugh and I'm pretty sure I won him over by the end of the night. Hopefully he didn't mind the rather inauspicious start to our friendship.

Oh, and he ended up getting reeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaally partied-out by the end of the night; as in, he slipped into a semi-catatonic state and didn't speak or move for at least an hour until my husband had to help him to his car so his wife could drive him home.... So I think we're even. :)

We played some Guitar Hero, but I was playing terribly. I was tipsy, sure, but even drunk I usually do better than 64%, which was my average during this session. It wasn't until Mala picked up the guitar later that she realized that I had been playing in left-handed mode the whole time, which explains why everything on the screen was backwards. OOOOPS. Oh well, at least I'm not losing my GH skillz - I was worried! It's bad enough that I can't belt out the tunes, don't take my awesome ax-wielding talents too!

On Sunday I spent most of the morning shuffling from couch to fridge and sipping water. Yes, I had the mother of all Box O' Wine-induced hangovers. J had gotten up and out early to go skiing and my oldest son slept really late since he'd been up running with the pack of kids the night before, so it was just me and M watching Curious George for most of the morning.

The one good thing about a bad hangover is that I won't feel like imbibing again for a loooooong while. This is especially good news for my ass, which seems to have expanded recently when I wasn't paying attention. Sigh. It's time to buckle down because we're going on vacation in Florida at the end of April and I don't want to be mistaken for Shamu when we hit Seaworld. So no booze this month... except for when we go see Get The Led Out in Boston in two weeks. Other than that, I'm determined to shrink my assets before stuffing them into a tankini and hitting the chaise lounge!

I'm also considering trying a spray tan before we go, which sounds like excellent blog-fodder... especially if I end up looking like an Oompa Loompa, as I suspect that I will. Stay tuned!

Wish me luck! Have a great day. *MUAH*

OOBH Stew

Mornin', friends! Well, we've survived another week and all I have to show for it is a raging headache from the Bloody Marys I enjoyed last night during ma' stories. Actually, that's not entirely true - this week I picked up three new followers! Huzzah! Welcome, new peeps! Make yourselves at home; I'm glad you're here. Only seven more till I hit the 100 follower milestone - I'm oddly excited! I am not sure what I'll do to celebrate that momentous occasion but I'm pretty sure confetti will fall from the ceiling and you'll hear champagne corks popping. I really am very easy to please when it comes to the blog. ;)

For now, hunker down and grab a slab of bread to dunk in this week's OOBH Stew, won't you?

First up, I found this during my interwebz travels this week & laughed:



Hot Pockets

This one has been making the rounds on Facebook this week, with good reason: it's hysterical. I especially love this clip because Jim used to take Hot Pockets to work for lunch all the time. One day about two years ago he (finally!) got sick of them and hasn't had them since, yet his cow-orkers still ask him every day, "What, no hot pocket?" He hates it! Ha ha!

Anyway, here's comedian Jim Gaffigan riffing on the frozen mystery-meat concoctions:



Speaking of the hubster, last night he turned to me during a commercial break in my beloved 30 Rock and said, "I gotta tell you, the more I think about this Hot Tub Time Machine thing, the more I wanna see it."

After I stopped laughing I asked him why, and his reasoning was oddly sound. We're both fans of screwball comedies; it's no secret that I have a rather juvenile sense of humor on occasion. Jim is also an avid skier so he loves movies centered around ski slopes, and he was aghast last night when I admitted that I've never seen Hot Dog. He thinks HTTM looks a bit like Hot Dog, so he's in.

I've recently heard it compared to the uber-funny movie The Hangover, so maybe it is worth a look-see?

Sure, the first time I saw this confection with the idiotic title I thought it looked stupid and wondered what had become of John Cusak's management, but Jim is right; the more I see the previews, the funnier it looks. Of course, I might end up a little bit dumber after watching it, but whatever. That's the price you pay for comedy sometimes, ain't it?

Funny cast, screwball antics, no mental heavy-lifting? I guess I'm in, too!



Next, in the "funny yet wrong" category, my BIL shared this yesterday and I admit that I giggled:



So there it is! Hope you all got at least one good chuckle out of this round-up. I know I enjoyed collecting stuff this week, as always.

Hope you all have a lovely weekend!
XOXO

TMI Thursday: Why I Don't Drink Gin

Hey there, bloggy buddies! It's that time of week again, the time in which I will bare pieces of my tawdry past and share some of the moments that have made me least proud of myself. As always if you'd like in on this action or if you crave more TMI goodness, head on over to LiLu's blog for more TMI Thursday fun.

Today I will tell you a story about my first time. No, not that first time, but if you're nice maybe I'll tell you that story someday too. No, I'm talking about the beginning of a very different love affair, one that remains a part of my life to this very day despite a rather rocky start. Yup, I'm talking about booze.

I was 15 and had been invited over to my friend Cath's* house for a sleep-over with another girl, Donna*. At this age I was firmly in my inexplicably angsty "I hate my mother" phase, so of course she and I had a big fight at dinner before I went to Cath's. My mom is not the easiest person to get along with, but at that age I'm sure I was no treat either. I don't remember what our fight was about that night, but I do remember her driving me to Cath's house in stony silence and me slamming the door hard behind me when I got out.

Once at Cath's place I was determined to move past the fight, so we went to her room and hung out. I remember watching Madonna's oh-so-scandalous Justify My Love video many times; Donna had confiscated a VHS copy of it from her older sister and we were sufficiently titillated by it.

Back in Cath's room Donna produced a pilfered bottle of gin from her backpack, and we proceeded to get smashed. I don't even recall if we mixed it with anything, but something tells me that we didn't. As is always the case with Young Bev I pushed past the revulsion I felt for the taste and downed a whole helluva lot of it.

The rest of the night is a blur; what remains in my memory is like a movie directed by Darren Aronofsky: repetitive flashes and blurry snippets of some rather horrifying images. I remember hearing The Doors playing somewhere in the background. Laughing. Flopping on the floor with the other girls, laughing. Not being able to get back up. The ceiling. A yellow plastic bucket. The return of that night's meatloaf dinner into said bucket. The concerned face of Cath's mother hovering. Me crying. Me saying I hate my mother, again and again and again. Me in the shower with my clothes on. And then nothing.

The next morning I awoke to my very first hangover. I was dressed in Cath's too-short sweatpants and shirt, my hair smelled horrible (cigarettes, gin, and puke, or Eau De Lohan as I've come to think of it), my head was splitting, and there was a stinky yellow bucket sitting next to me on the floor. I had never felt so sick or worried or embarrassed in my life, but it was about to get even worse.

Cath's parents had gotten divorced a few years earlier and her mother had a new live-in boyfriend named Ron. Ron had one of those lazy eyes that makes it difficult to tell which one to look at when you're speaking to him, and when we shuffled into the kitchen that morning he seemed to be looking at all three of us at once... but mostly at me.

The empty bottle of gin sat on the counter in front of us. He settled himself on a stool on the other side of the counter, leaned onto his elbows and peered at my puffy face before saying quietly, "Tell me about your mother."

I stammered and swallowed hard. Clearly they thought I was living in some sort of abusive home thanks to my drunken whining, and I suddenly had visions of Ron calling my mother and telling her about all of the horrid things I'd said about her in my drunken stupor. I mumbled something about just having had a fight the night before, she's not that bad, we just don't get along sometimes, and no... she doesn't hit me. Eeeeeeesh.

Thank goodness I was saved by the sound of my sister's car in the driveway. Grabbing my things and apologizing my way out the door, I dashed for the safety of her car. My sister is 6 years older than I am and had recently graduated from college and purchased her very first brand new car. She had to buy a new car because of yours truly, but that's another story for another day; suffice to say that her last car lead me to my first near-death experience and ended up a hunk of twisted metal in a junkyard. Because I'm awesome like that.

Come to think of it, it's really a miracle that she still speaks to me at all.

I confessed immediately, and true to form she was kind but took great delight in teasing me about it. "Oh, Pookie," (SHUT UP) she murmured, shifting her new car as we accelerated away from the house of shame. Her car was a blue Ford Probe and we were both a little bit in love with it.

She did what any good sister would do and coached me on what to say to mom: that I was sick, that I had thrown up, that I just needed to be left alone for a while. I was too inexperienced to know that alcohol has a way of making its presence known the next day - its acrid stench seeps from your pores and offends anyone who gets too close. I know that now. Debbie took me through the McDonald's drive-thru and bought me a small orange soda, which I sipped gratefully and gingerly.

Four minutes later I repaid her for her kindness by opening my mouth and spewing the orange soda all over the windshield and dashboard of her new car. It was thin vomit, pure orange soda, really, but it went everywhere and was a sticky drippy mess.

My darling sainted sister said nothing, but her mouth hung open in a wounded way that still haunts me, even though thankfully we laugh about this incident now. Mostly.

I started to cry and she took me home and escorted me past my suspicious mother to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the day. To this day, I can't even stand the smell of gin. Or orange soda. Thankfully my mother has never once mentioned this incident, but her face at dinner that night told me that she knew. Oh yes, she knew.

So that's that. Tell me about the first time you drank, won't you? Misery does love company!

*Names changed to hide their shame.

Game Time! Bang, marry, or smack?

It has been ages since we've had a rousing game of Bang, Marry, or Smack, so let's do this shizz!

You know the rules. Of the following celebs, which one would you bang like a screen door in the wind, ma-wwy like Princess Buttercup, or smack like a rude frat boy?

Feel free to choose both boys & girls - we don't judge.

The Ladies:

Professional Weight-Gainer Kirstie Alley


Funny Lady/Potty Mouth Sarah Silverman


Actress/GILF Betty White


The Guys:

Musician/reality star/bandana-wearer Bret Michaels


Singer/songwriter/blabbermouth John Mayer


Vanilla Gorilla/TV personality/philanderer Jesse James


Post your answers & join the fun. C'mon, you know you want to....

TV Pimpery

Greetings, Earthlings. How goes it?

Okay here, just plugging along on another dreary Monday. The weekend was good but definitely nothing to write home about; my in-laws came to visit and by the time they left one of them was violently ill with a stomach bug and another was limping due to a sprained knee from skiing with the J. Two out of three left us in wheelchairs, essentially, which is no testament to my mad hostessing skillz, I assure you! I swear I washed my hands before serving the shrimp cocktail, I swear!

The super fun part of this equation is that in about three days I fully expect us all to be retching as well, so thanks for that lovely parting gift! E-Coli, the gift that keeps on giving. You really shouldn't have.

Other than that I have nothing exciting to report except for the return of a couple of my favorite shows this evening, so I'ma go ahead and talk them up so those of you with Showtime can join in the merriment.

U.S. of Tara and Nurse Jackie return tonight!

Both of these terrific shows are coming back for their second seasons tonight, and I adore them both. They are each extremely funny but also have a deeper vein of reality running through them as well. Nurse Jackie stars Edie Falco as a pill-popping RN who is juggling a high-pressure job, a family, and a pharmacist/boyfriend while trying to keep herself as numb as possible in the process. The show is smart and fast-paced, and I guarantee that you will fall in love with the character of Zoey pretty much immediately.


U.S. of Tara is written by Juno screenwriter Diablo Cody, and as such it has her usual flair for pop culture references and 100 mph dialogue. Toni Colette is brilliant as Tara, a wife and mother who battles multiple personality disorder.

Tara's family is as tolerant as you can expect them to be when one of the alters is a tough-talking MAN, another is a 1960's housewife type, and another is a sassy teenage girl. According to Entertainment Weekly, this season we'll be introduced to another alter, one who thinks she's a shrink.

Awesome, Blossom.

Again, the show takes a difficult subject-matter and somehow finds the humor in it all, the characters are likable and complex, and I guarantee that it will make you laugh AND think.

So, give 'em a look-see, won't you? If you don't get Showtime you can always catch up on the first seasons of both on DVD! And no, I didn't get paid to endorse these programs... but I wouldn't be opposed to that. Hint, hint....

One last thing. Twilight's New Moon came out this weekend and my ILs were interested in seeing it, so we watched it on Saturday night. As some of you may remember I saw this film in the theater with some girlfriends, but I, um... didn't quite remember much of it. *cough* Not sure why... perhaps it was the multiple cocktails or something, but at any rate I dozed through most of it.

After watching it again on Saturday night it's clear why I slept through it: BOOOOOOOORING. Damn, that movie sucked! They could have cut out about 30 minutes of moping and it would have been much better, IMO. Of course, New Moon was my least-favorite book in the series, so maybe that's why it did nothing for me. But still... major suckage.

See ya!

TMI Thursday: Karma is a Bitch named Curtiss

I'm back on the TMI Thursday bandwagon! As always, head on over to LiLu's place if you crave more tales of debauchery.

Fair warning: This post is not for the squeamish. I mean it.

Today we're going back to my senior year of college. It was a Spring day much like this one: clear blue skies, warm weather, the muddy scent of thawing ground permeating the air. I lived in a rented house in Burlington with four other girls. Recently one of the girls, S., had gotten a Husky puppy with her boyfriend. The dog was a female that they inexplicably named Curtiss after a male character in a Cheech & Chong movie. S. and her boyfriend broke up shortly after acquiring the puppy but were sharing her custody and care, however Curtiss spent a good deal of her time at our house.

I love dogs, but Curtiss was pretty annoying. She whined incessantly (Huskies don't really bark) and wasn't completely housebroken, and S. treated her like a child and spoke baby-talk to her in a manner that I found to be as grating as nails on a chalkboard. The dog was always up on our furniture and shedding on our clothes, and she wasn't overly friendly to anyone but S.

One day I came home to find that Curtiss had gotten into the trash can in the upstairs bathroom. Three of us had rooms upstairs - S., B., and myself. As is often the case when a group of women live together our monthly hormonal cycles were pretty much synchronized, a fact which became abundantly clear when I stepped onto the landing upstairs and discovered what looked like a crime scene.

Blood...everywhere. Bloody things... everywhere. Smears on the wall, on the carpet, half-eaten tampons. It was horrifying. It looked like Curtiss had not only snacked on the offending materials but had rolled around in them as well. Curtiss herself was cowering in the corner, eying me warily.

Covering my mouth, I fled the scene. By the time I reached the bottom step my other roommates had arrived home from class, and I filled them in on the situation upstairs. After assessing the damage S. asked who still had her period. She and B. had finished theirs several days earlier and we had put the trash out since then, so before too long all eyes were on me.

Now, let it be known that I'm a pretty tidy person; I wrap everything in many layers of TP and sink them to the bottom of the trash can like the disgusting little reminders of fertility that they are. I was flabbergasted when S. and B. suggested that since the garbage been mine, I should clean up the mess.

It wasn't my dog who had unearthed the garbage and ripped it to shreds, mind you! It wasn't my fault in the slightest, yet the jury of my peers had made their decision, and it was final.

I was PISSED. I grumbled and swore and stared daggers at the dog, who kept trying to sneak in and grab more bites as I gathered it up into a Hefty bag. I vowed to get my revenge on my bitch roommates someday.

Turns out, I didn't have to wait long to get some sort of satisfactory revenge.

The next day S. took Curtiss for a walk on the college green. It was another lovely day, and the green was bustling with students walking to class, lying on blankets, and generally enjoying the sunshine after months of dreary winter weather. S. had Curtiss on a leash when Curtiss squatted to poop, but nothing came out. The dog got more and more frustrated and started scooting around in the crouched position, clearly straining to relieve herself.

S. started to get concerned as the minutes ticked away and people started to laugh and point. A dark blush crept onto her cheeks as she followed her panicked dog in her awkward pooping pose, and she finally realized that there seemed to be something blocking Curtiss's rectum. Lifting the dog's tail, she was horrified to see what was undeniably the string of a tampon sticking out of Curtiss's asshole. S. tried to maneuver the dog over to a more private section of the park, but the dog stubbornly refused to relocate and had started whining and nipping at her backside.

It was clear what needed to happen, and there was nothing S. could do but grab the string and pull. Nothing happened. More people started to notice and S. could hear them laughing. She gave another hard tug, to no avail. Finally she sat behind the animal and grasped the dog's rear between her legs and pulled as hard as she could. The dog yelped loudly and laughter erupted behind S. Several hard yanks later, the tampon came flying out along with a huge log of dog shit, leaving S. sitting on the ground holding the world's most disgusting piece of evidence that Karma does exist, and she's a wicked bitch when she wants to be.

Revenge. It is sweet.

The moral of this story: don't mess with The Bev... and put your bathroom garbage in a locked cabinet if you have dogs.

(Not at all) Wordless Wednesday

I'm too verbose to go wordless, and you love that about me. Damn it.

I'm not here today, I'm sitting in an Irish pub drinking Guinness with Laurie and watching the freak show in downtown Manch-Vegas. Don't hate me because I have Wednesdays off, okay?

Anyshoe, here's another glimpse at some of the more PG pics from my cell phone.

She sells seashells by the sea shore.



A few weeks ago Laurie & I pretended that it was summer and went to the beach for the day. It was brisk, but that didn't stop us from putting the top down on her convertible and enjoying the fresh salty air, walking on the beach, and enjoying a lovely harbor-side lunch. With wine, of course. Lots and lots of wine. C'mon, this is ME we're talking about....

Who let the dogs out?



Hours after they arrived, I turned to Mala and observed, "Is your husband wearing white jeans?!"

He totally was.

He didn't have a satchel, however... or maybe he just (wisely) left it in the car.

Massive Head Wound Danny



My kid has a thing for Harry Potter and will often draw a lightning bolt "scar" on his forehead while pretending to be the boy who lived. The other day he used a red marker and made this face when I took his picture. It's a little bit Harry Potter, a little bit Exorcist, and a helluva lot of awesome.

Should I be concerned that his eyes are looking in two different directions?

Eh, I'm sure it's fine.

I can't make this shit up.



I like crossword puzzles. This one was particularly amusing for some reason. Can't put my finger on why....

Have a great day, everyone, and Happy St. Paddy's Day!

Don't stop!

It's a large fiery ball at the center of our universe, but that's not important right now!

That's right, the sun is out here in New Hampster. The actual sun is actually shining. Huzzah!

Seeing blue skies, sunshine, & sure signs of Spring have brightened my mood considerably. As such, I've got a super awesome video for you today to make up for the world's most dreary music video I put up yesterday (sorry about that). Trust me when I tell you that YOU WILL F'ING LOVE THIS.

Some of you might remember the fun marching band version of this OK Go song that Cary put up on LOTD a while back. This is the newer (way cooler, IMO) version that the band just released, and it is another one of their fantastic continuous shot masterpieces.

Check it out!



Was that super-happy-fun times or WHAT?

Yeah, I thought so too.

Speaking of continuous shots, tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day. Doing anything fun?

I haz bad breff.

GAH. I'm a wreck today, folks! The time change yesterday really f'ed with my routine & kept my kids up way past their bedtime, so this morning we all overslept. I haven't set my alarm clock in almost seven years because my kids never sleep past 7 AM, so this morning when I woke up around 5-ish to more dark skies and the patter of rain on my window I rolled over and snuggled back into the blankets figuring the kids would be awake soon.

Well, not today. Today I cracked an eyelid open and saw that it was already 7:30 and we need to leave the house by 8:05, so I was a whirling dervish for the next 35 minutes. I mananged to get everyone up, fed, clothed, shod, and into the car on time, but now I'm sitting here with dripping wet hair, glasses instead of contacts, no caffeine coursing through my veins, and missing a rather crucial button on my pants. Oh, and the clincher is my bad breath, because I was so rushed I forgot to brush my teeth after leaping out of the shower in record time. BLECH!

But I made it to work, and only 20 minutes late! Yaaaaaay...?

First order of business (after I finish complaining and grossing you all out with my stank mouth) is to go next door to the grocery store and get myself coffee and a muffin and a travel-sized toothpaste/brush kit. Thank goodness my boss is not coming in today so I can take my time collecting my fuzzy thoughts. I also just MacGuyver'ed my pants with a paperclip, so I'm feeling a little more put-together already.

Other than my hectic morning, the weekend was fine. I had a killer migraine on Friday so I just came home and crashed, but Saturday the fam and I went shopping and bought my youngest his "big boy" bed. Then we had the Malas over for dinner and a movie, but it was pretty low-key. We basically just ate too much and then lay around like bloated ticks. Yeah, I know -- we are so hot! Try to keep up - we's outta control!

On Sunday I spent the day slipping in and out of consciousness. What? I've been overtired lately! It rained all day so everybody was a bit sluggish. We just watched movies, did laundry, napped, and grazed all day.

Since this post has been kind of a big fat turd, I'll reward you for reading it with the world's most boring music video. I've been listening to this song obsessively for two weeks now, but just now when I found the video to share with you I'll admit that it's kind of a stinker. But the song is cool, so ignore the zombie-like performance by the fugly band, okay?



So there it is. How were YOUR weekends? Do anything fun & exciting? SPILL.

OOBH Stew: It'll stick to your ribs

T to the G to the I to the F!!!

As promised, I've prepared a savory stew for you today. It's a little chunky, but something tells me that you won't mind. Get out your sporks and dig in!

Ingredient 1: Gaga's skinny dancing bod.

Let's start with the MUCH-ANTICIPATED new Lady Gaga (featuring Beyonce) video for Telephone! WOOHOO! It's a good day for us little monsters, isn't it? It's not so much a music video but a mini-movie; it's gorgeous and filthy and I TOTALLY DIG IT, despite those handful of bizarre product placements.

NSFW due to some language, violence and some mild girl-on-girl action! Hop in the Pussy Wagon and take an adventure with Lady G & Beyonce, won't you?



Pretty outrageous, right? I think I'll be watching that about 100 more times today. I love how the Ga poked fun at her own rumors early on with the, "Told ya she didn't have a dick" comment!

Ingredient 2: Gary Busey's Tweets

I don't care for Twitter. I keep trying to like it because more and more friends join every day, then I get an email saying, "So-and-so is now following you on Twitter!" so then I feel guilty about never twatting. Well, the other day I was telling my friend Laurie about how I don't get why Twitter is so popular and she told me that I needed to be following Gary Busey, STAT.

Holy crikey, was she ever right! We all know Gary is looney toons, but hearing the crazy come from the (giant-toothed) horse's mouth is nothing short of sublime!

Btw, he's actually not just insane, but he's hysterically funny too. Who knew?!

Here's a selection of some of his recent tweets:

So, Corey Feldman and I now need a new 3rd for our 3-on-3 basketball tourney this weekend. Who wants in?

I've got to go change a diaper. And I have to change the baby while I'm at it.

#Imtiredofseeing people saying "I'm unfollowing you". It's like a hooker telling me I was bad in bed. I don't care! Just get in the trunk!

I just got a painting of David Carradine, and I hung it in my closet.

And that, my friends, is how Gary Busey made me love Twitter.

Ingredient 3: Samsung knows about your profile pic.



HA!!! I love that. It be funny 'cuz it be true.

Ingredient 4: Something tender - an example of excellence in advertising.

I don't know why this commercial gets me right in the throat, but it does. It's just nice to see people doing nice things and acting kindly towards each other, I guess. I know - I'm a big softie. What can I say?



Sorry for all the videos, but it has been a visual kind of week I guess!

Ingredient 5: Goodbye, Corey Haim

I grew up watching Corey Haim's craptastic films, so I'd be remiss if I didn't even mention his death in today's stew. As with all celebrity deaths I always remember where I was when I heard the news that they've finally snorted or injected their way into the afterlife. In Corey's case, I was in the dentist's chair with the hygienist's gloved fingers in my mouth. Awesome, and kind of fitting, yes?

R.I.P. Lucas. We'll always have The Lost Boys, won't we?

Have a good Friday and an excellent weekend!
Smooches -
B

Seven is my lucky number

Hey there! I'm sorry I've been MIA this week. I just wasn't feeling it and didn't have much to write about, so I just... didn't. But I know some of my regular readers may have noticed my absence; in fact my sister texted me this morning to make sure I wasn't out on a ledge somewhere. I assure you that I'm perfectly fine, not depressed or even overly-busy, just having a prolonged case of the Mondays this week!

Oh, and I won't be taking part in the fun of LiLu's TMI Thursday this week, but go on over there and check out her linkies if you need a dose of debauchery! I don't feel like sharing this week, I feel more like hoarding. I'm sure I'll get my blogging mojo back in time for next week's post though, so never fear!

I think I shall unearth something I wrote a few weeks ago instead. The lovely and talented Señorita recently gave me an award, which made me all a'tingle! Here it is:



Isn't it purty? So homey and... um, crafty. Why is it spelled wrong, you ask? Who f'ing cares! It's a major award!

The rules:
List seven interesting things about myself and then pass them along to seven others.

My conundrum: how do I choose just seven? I love you all equally! I'm a good mama and I don't play favorites. At least, not that you know. HEH.

So here we go. Seven things about La Bev:

1. When I was 13/14 my friend and I were really, really into The Cure. We used to dress up like lead singer Robert Smith and take pics of each other. My mom would get back the packets of developed film and be so ticked off when she'd find photo after photo of us mugging in full-on "goth" garb.


2. I secretly played with Barbie dolls until well after puberty. Long after they'd been packed away I would sneak up to the attic to play with them. My favorite was a Hawaiian doll I called Miko. I had a little girl-crush on her, for realz. She was so pwetty....


3. I went to three, count 'em THREE, Lollapaloozas. In a mosh pit at one of those shows I received a cut on my left eyebrow from my then-boyfriend's tooth. I still have a tiny scar there, which is why I wear my hair over that eye.

4. I like the smell of diapers (in the morning). Not used ones, sickos, but a nice new package of Huggies or Luvs. There's just something so clean and comforting about the scent, and it reminds me of when my babies were little bitty things and not 6 year-old 4'4" brutes with giant stinky feet that are almost as big as mine.

5. In college my friend C and I numbed our brains with pink champagne and our stomachs with frozen hamburger, then we pierced each others belly buttons. Oddly enough, mine got infected and the stud fell out shortly thereafter, but she kept hers for in years. Obviously I am the superior piercer among the two of us. Oh, and you guessed it - I still have a tiny scar. Seeing a pattern here? Who needs tattoos when you've got mad skarz?

6. Last month I sent/received 3,400 text messages.

7. I'm a supernatural mumbo-jumbo junky. I believe in ghosts even though I've never seen one myself, and I have my fair share of psychic moments, but they're never very helpful. I sometimes know things about people that I have no business knowing or I'll know when something is going to happen right before it does. Of course, it doesn't seem to help me pick lottery numbers or anything handy like that. In fact, I have supremely bad luck with the lottery; I've only played a few times and every time I don't get ONE SINGLE MATCHING NUMBER.

Which is why I'm still working at my crap job, obv.

There you have it, 7 facts about yours truly. Now, to tag 7 lovelies.... I'm going to go ahead and pick 7 newish followers because I'd like to learn more about you. No offense to my other regulars - you know I love you long time!

Let's do this thang.

Carol at By The Way

Mike at I can't believe she's still single

Kate at New Life

Mike129 at Livin the Dream

Salt at Salt Says

BigSis at Speaking of Witch

Heather at The Truth As I See It

Spilly spilly, peeps!

Anyone else who wants to play, please go ahead and grab the award too, ok? I really hate leaving people out. See? That's an 8th fact about me that I'm throwing in gratis. You're welcome.

I'm already working on a lovely batch of stew for tomorrow, so bring your appetite for destruction!
XOXO