Rub-a-dub-dub

Let's play a quick game....
Sock is to shoe, as mitten is to hand.
Hat is to head, as belt is to pants.
And the last one, I shall see if you can figure out....
Hugs is to kisses, as limp sausage is to ______________________
If you guessed "bathtub" you are the winner winner chicken dinner.  Don't see the correlation?  Yeah.  Me neither.  But according to all of the "male enhancement" commercials, virility goes hand-in-hand with soaking in a bathtub in an outdoor scene, with your lady-friend lounging in a tub right next to you.  I just don't see the connection.  What does a trip to the land of Calgon have to do with a *ahem* limp appendage?  Is it a bath fizzer that puts a little "pep" in their "step"?  Are they supposed to play a water game that involves tug boats?  Is "Mr. Bubbles" code name for bath magic?  And I'm sorry, but there is nothing enticing about sitting in a bathtub in the middle of the outdoors, even if the feller next to me is pulling off a fine impression of Captain Stubing.  I just keep thinking about mosquitos swarming, and then the water getting chilly.  Are these people that have outdoor tubs-of-love that fancy that they have outdoor plumbing so they can keep pumping in the hot water?  And don't things prune when you're in the water too long?  So if someone can explain to me the connection between appendages that salute and a bathtub, I'm all ears.  For now, I have to get going because I have the sudden urge to catch up on old Love Boat reruns. :)

Spanx you very much

I'm going to be frank.  Being a woman can sometimes blow.  When I have to run down a set of stairs, I usually have to hang onto the girls so I don't knock myself into unconsciousness, or give myself a nose bleed.  Every few weeks I practically have to strap on a feedbag so I don't die from the hunger pangs, and then the only thing I can wear that doesn't cut off my circulation is my Snuggie and a pair of sweatpants.  On top of all of the "perks" that women have to deal with, we're expected to primp, pluck, dye, wax, pencil in, or erase out.  And because it's not socially acceptable to walk around town in a backwards bathrobe, and lumps are frowned upon, "scientists", aka-some dude- invented a contraption that smooths you down, and sucks the life from you.  It's called 'Spanx'.  What it really should be called is an "Extra thick sausage casing that will squeeze the air out of your lungs, give you a case of swass and swoobs, and prevent you from sitting, bending, breathing, and eating. But hey, it helps smooth down that awesome case of muffin top." I figure they chose 'Spanx' because it was easier to fit on the label. 
Now let me paint you a little picture.  It was a balmy summer day, and I had to wear an ensemble that required a few smoke and mirrors. And spandex.  So before I put on my LBD, I had to do what 98% of American women do.  I pulled out the pulleys and cranes, and attempted to pull up a nude colored onesie that promised to cast my muffin top, good day.  I guess I should've waited until the steam cleared from the shower, because I soon found myself in a "Chinese finger cuffs" situation.  You know, you get one body part in, but find yourself at a standstill because nothing else is going in, and nothing else is coming out.  So then you do what any rational individual does in a situation where you are stuck in lady shape-wear.  You panic.  You yank and pull and cry and sweat.  And then you realize that sweating just makes things even more immobile, which only makes you panic even more.  The only thought that is racing through my head is, "For the love of God, if I have to call the Fire Department and tell them that I am stuck in a pair of lady underpants  that go all the way up to my second chin, I will die of embarrassment first."  And then it dawned on me.  My husband was home.  This man has seen me at my best, at my worst, and now stuck in something that only someone doing the Tour De France should wear. 
So take a bit of advice, if you're ever in need of a smoother rump, bust out the nude colored biker shorts.  But do yourself a favor, either do it in frigid temperatures, or make sure you have a pair of meat sheers handy in case you have to cut yourself out of a sticky (or life squeezing) situation. :)

Hot Cross Buns

Today's post is brought to you by the antics of my husband.  You see, I am not the only prankster in town (reference H2Oh-no-you-didn't), and I feel that it is only fair that I illustrate his capability of being mischievous ( <----I just had to google search the correct spelling of that.  It still looks wrong...)  Leonard and I are kind of opposites when it comes to pulling a fast one on one another.  I toss around frosty beverages into the shower, and he turns up the bun warmers in the car so I think that I either a) peed my pants, or b) am having a hot flash.  Oh that trickster.  He manages to put that baby on high when I'm not looking, so that ten minutes into the car ride I'm suddenly sweating bullets, and my badunkadunk feels like it's on fire.  Just as I'm about to hang my head out of the window like a labrador, it dawns on me that the husband has pushed the magic seat warmer button, and now we don't need to make a pit stop to Target to buy estrogen supplements.  You would think that after the first twelve times of him doing this in the middle of the summer, that I would eventually catch on.  But no.  I don't.  And he keeps on pushing the bun toaster buttons when I'm not looking.  So if you are ever the lucky passenger in the Sharpe Mobile, and the Lenster is behind the wheel, try not having a panic attack when you think that you are going to spontaneously combust.  He just cranked the heat seat to high.  Just levitate your rear end off the seat for a solid ten minutes, and then it should be cool enough to sit down once again.  And then when he's glancing off to the side, just click his bun warmer to a solid three.  All is fair in love and bun warmer war. :)

Words with friends...

...the real-life version.  I LOVE learning new words.  And I'm not talking about the ones that you'll find in the Webster's Dictionary.  I mean the ones that people ever so cleverly come up with on their own.  The list below is a list that was generated by brilliant minds.  Next to each word will have a definition, which will then be proceeded by it being used in a sentence.  I hope you enjoy these little diddy's, and find a way to include them into your own vocabulary. 
*Swass-Translation: sweaty a**.  He had swass from riding on his banana seat bicycle for too long.
*Swoobs-Translation: sweaty boobs.  She had a bad case of the swoobs because her bra didn't have enough support.
*Swassh-Translation: when you get mustache sweat because it's hotter than big-o-b's out there.  My swassh was uncontrollable as I rollerbladed  in my speed suit.
*Bowlette-Translation: a combination of a bowl cut and a mullet.  That man has the sweetest bowlette I've ever seen.
*Thees-Translation: when your knees and thighs become one and are indistinguishable.  Thanks to the water weight, my thees are ginormous.
*Boob loaf-Translation: the appearance your boobs make when squished into a sports bra.  Check out my big boob loaf.

Those are just a few.  Now if you can find an individual that has a bowlette with a bad case of the boob loaf, and they have a bit of a swassh situation going on, please take their picture and send it to me.  I will then iron that picture onto a tee-shirt, because that would be more glorious than a screen print howling wolf tee-shirt. 
Alright, I have to go to my Scrabble tournament.  It should be fairly stupendiful.  :) 

H2Oh-no-you-didn't

Here is the God's honest truth, if I find an opportunity to act like I'm twelve, well, then I seize the day.  Carpe Diem.  Or in my case, carpe shower.  Let me clarify.  You see, Leonard and I have been married for a handful of years now, and there are certain things that will never get old.  Hugs.  Kisses.  Forgetting where we parked the car.  And tossing ice cold water onto the other unsuspecting person while they are in the shower.  I take total and absolute credit for this little doozey, because I'm the one that started this awful surprise.  This is another childhood trait that I decided needed to be resurrected because of the sheer brilliance of it. When I was a kid I would fill up my dinosaur glass cup with freezing cold water, sneak into the bathroom, and then toss it over the shower curtain where my mother was completely unsuspecting.  She would shriek and yell, "Krissie!!!!", and I would dart out of the bathroom like a bat out of hell, laughing hysterically thinking that I was so crafty.  Now, fast forward about twenty-five years, and I still do it.  Except this time it's my husband, who instead of just yelling at me, he gets me back.  Let's take the other day for example.  He was taking a shower and I had too much time on my hands.  So as he's chatting away about lord knows what, the wheels in the old bean were turning so I carpe showered.  I muttered a few, "Uh-huhs", and some, "Oh reallys", to make it seem like I wasn't up to something suspect.  When I knew he would be taking at least the next thirty seconds to tell me all about how he wants to update his short jort collection, I flew like a gazelle into the kitchen, grabbed a gigantic plastic cup, and filled it with water that would have put the Arctic Ocean to shame.  Right when he was about to tell me the importance of having exposed pockets along the bottom fray of your jorts, I ever so cleverly pulled back the shower curtain just a tad, and threw him a cool beverage.  Right in the kisser.  I don't know what my favorite part was.  The look of sheer shock on his face, or how I could actually see the wheels beginning to spin in his own bean, about how he was going to get me back.  Of course, this precious moment is promptly followed by him yelling at me about how immature I am, and me doing the silent laugh because I'm laughing so hard no sound is coming out.  Now, lets fast forward again to today, where he got me back.  Was I suspecting a frosty cup of water to come hurtling over the shower curtain?  Yes.  Did I still cling to the side of the wall like my life depended on it?  Absolutely.  Did I find a new and innovative way of getting him back?  You're darn tootin.  After I was all gussied up and had shiny hair (cold water tends to shock the old hair follicles and makes them glisten), Leonard jumped on into the shower.  Every few minutes he kept peeking out of the curtain to see if I had a water jug, canteen, or bucket of some sort.  But I didn't, and I had zero intention of doing it either.  So instead of giving him the expected, I stole all of the towels in the bathroom instead.  Even the wash cloths, because I knew he would try to use those to dry off, and I wasn't about to give him the opportunity.  So you see, even though I am technically an adult, I try not to act like one too often.  And as far as my husband is concerned, he already knows that if you mess with the bull, you're going to get the horns.  Or in my case, you'll get a refreshing icy beverage tossed in your kisser, and then be left with toilet paper squares to towel off. :)

It's all about the girth of the tail

This post is specifically for my friend Gina, who wants to *HORF* every time she hears the word "girth".  So Gina, girth girth girth girth giiiiiiiiiiiiiirth. :0) 
The reason why I know this word makes her want to vomit, is because the other day I was talking about the girth of my ponytail.  You know, the wideness and thickness of it, and we determined that her ponytail girth put my ponytail girth to shame.  You see, I shed like a Golden Retriever.  Once a month I have to bust out the Drain-o because the shower drain is clogged again from my brown locks of delight.  Every week when I vacuum, I have to take out the shears to unclog the Dyson, because my Rapunzel tendrils cause the sucker to sound like a yeti.  My luxurious strands end up on the dogs.  And at least once a day a single strand finds its way down in my shirt, nestled securely next to my unmentionables, causing it to tickle, and resulting in me shoving my hand into my tee shirt digging around like I'm trying to find buried treasure.  I feel like Gretel leaving a trail behind me, except instead of delicious gumdrops, it's hair.  At least I'll always be able to find my way back to my starting point.  I'm even considering starting a new business selling baby toupees.  I figure what I pull out of the brush every few days will be enough to don the cap of a newborn.  I like to be practical.
On an end note, for those of you that know Gina, please ask her to discuss the girth of her p-tail with you, and make sure you say the word "girth" repeatedly.  Try it in an accent to give it more flair.  She'll really enjoy it. 
*Gina, you know that I love you, and was only able to do this because I know what a great sport you are.  And trust me... she has enough on me to get me back at any time.  I'm fairly certain she knows my own list of words that make me want to vom.  And for the rest of you, you're all fair game.  Ha. ;)